HI i am here to demand (ahem) ASK about the world of crimson daybreak!!

Hi Marine! The world of Crimson Daybreak was formed just to fulfill the prompt(s) and get the piece done, but for you I will delve into it a bit (lot?) more <3

First of all, I did admittedly fit in more worldbuilding into that than I thought I would. It’s one of my finer worldbuilding moments. For real, though, let’s just talks about the dragons because. well, that’s what bore the sacrifices that’s central to Crimson Daybreak.

(Note from future me: this turned into a retelling/overview/dive into the original ceremony that became the Crimson Daybreak sacrifice).

Read more because long ramble/explanation. To no surprise.

So there were dragons and they weren’t just big beasts, they were godlike beings. Like. Massive as all heck, formed the world and all things in it sort of godlike beings. They were older than known history and as the human race was starting to take off… the dragons were dying out. By that point, the Creation that formed them (this world’s chaos/stardust that forms literally everything) was running out. It was in the world, in the things that they had made. So there’s one dragon left. The youngest of them, the one that’s contributed least to the world it’s breathren made and the one that will be it’s tomb. The only known to humans and it’s so obvious that it’s ancient — curled atop the highest mountain peak, cracked and covered in ivy like an old ruin, hardly breathing, hardly alive. It’s there and for a while (years, decades, centuries), it’s worshipped. Is a temple and a god both.

The humans know little of the dragons, but they form prayers and ceremonies and a religion. The dragon is practically comatose — it’s eyes never open, it’s breaths are few and shallow and long between. It’s hardly conscious. But the humans can tell that it’s divine (it’s a knowing in the air). So they worship it. Send their priests (maybe a dozen or so) into the almost-cage of one of it’s claws, where the sun barely shines between the bars of its talons, to say once-a-moon chants, for good harvests or good weather or good fortune.

But every five-ish years (perhaps it’s a time made significant because that’s when the dragon blinks, for a few decades, until it’s eyes never open again. It’s a significant measure of time, akin-sorta to a decade for us due to something like that), the collection of priests choose one to stand before the dragon, not a foot from its face, to act upon a ceremony (on the day of dragon’s blink). It’s a dual purpose — to see the fate of the next five years (received from the wind, and, if the next years are to be especially favorable — from the dragon’s breath) and wish well upon the dragon, laying some sacrifice or significance before it (the object the chosen person holds dearest, perhaps). There’s a constant wind atop the mountain, drawn to and formed from the last spark of Creation there is that’s still semi-tangible (that’s keeping the dragon alive, that’s feeding the heart of the people’s religion).

Because of the dragon’s decline, breaths are becoming fewer and weaker and longer between. Details are kept tight, between the priests and the chosen person and other such high ranked people but some of it, inevitably, leaks.

And one year, the one chosen (they are chosen as children at 10 (and there’s requirements to even be considered but I’m trying not to get too off-rail), because of… something dragon related. A trinket — a chipped bit of scale or talon or tooth, from the dragon they know or a salvaged bit from one they don’t. There’s a reaction that makes them chosen and perhaps it’s a series of trials — a series of hoops that must be leapt through just right). Anyways, the one chosen one year is closely related to a priest. A daughter, or a niece, or something such. There’s a personal tie, where there’s been no recorded one before (not the records are that in depth, or plentiful). So there’s… a smidgen of doubt, that this child was truly chosen, among the other priests (did the priest spill secrets to the child? Taint the results?) but they continue because once a child is chosen, it’s done. The child is chosen the same day as the ceremony, so as one is fulfilling their part, another is being chosen to replace it. And they are trained/prepared for the next five years, until they are the one standing before the dragon and so the cycle goes, on and on. (And, to clarify: the last girl is not wrongly chosen, just believed to be so).

So a child, tied to a priest somehow is chosen. They — she, because it is a girl and this year and this ceremony and this day is ancestor to the one in Crimson Daybreak. This child, this teenager, for she is fifteen when it is her turn is pessimistic or realistic or just smart. She thinks that all of this: the ceremony, the religion, the dragon; is ridiculous. They see the pattern of the dwindling breaths, have a lack of faith where most/all others have trust. She knows the dragon will not breathe. Suspects that the things it is making her people do is unnecessary — she is not a believer, though she’s kept the fact hidden (she wouldn’t be chosen if it was known).

So she has a grudge, a bitterness, a rage to her. Perhaps on the last ceremony, there was little wind and no breath (like there’s been the last too-many times, tales of it’s breath too old to be really believed to be truth) and the day following it, a friend or family member was lost. And in her childishness, her naïveté, she places blame on the dragon. On the ceremony’s failure. On the religion entirely. The priests are saying that they are ones failing the dragon — there needs to be more worship, stronger worship — but the girl doesn’t believe the fault lies with them. Believes that the dragon is the one failing.

So she is angry and hidden in the large flowing robe, there is a sharpness — a dagger or a spearhead or a rock. And she expects the little response there is, but upon the stillness — the dying dragon, the lazy wind, the dry sky — in the face of it, her rage boils over. She draws the sharpness and strikes it against the dragon’s face. It is not a large wound, in comparison to the dragon’s size (the mountain is a small perch, considering and all of their priests hardly fit in the sacred room of it’s claw) but it is roughly the length of the girl’s forearm and it is deep enough to shed blood. Blood which has never been seen, for it is sacrilege to touch the dragon without proper reason or permission. It is a startling yellow, so bright it looks glowing.

It is a small wound, but to the dragon, who has hardly been living for centuries, to whom this is a revokation of the dribbles of Creation that has been keeping it hardly alive? It is enough. It is the last straw.

It dies.

The divinity falters, the air of life cut out in one harsh moment. The ceremony is done privately, just before sunrise, the chosen girl having made the climb up over the night before. And there is no grand destruction, no obvious revelation — no wind that picks up howling, no sudden onset of black clouds or rain, no out-of-the-blue thunder or lightning. But it is there, the death. In the air. A feeling brother to the one of breathlessness when the air is forced from your lungs. That breathlessness sweeps over the mountain and though there is no grand show of proof, it is known. The dragon is dead. The ceremony has failed. The girl is claimed a traitor of highest degree — she’s slain their god, their world’s heart.

And this day is what Crimson Daybreak’s celebration and sacrifice comes from. The events of Crimson Daybreak would not be if not for this day, twisted though the memory of it becomes.

The girl is blamed, immediate, for on this day the dragon is the chosen one’s responsibility (perhaps they are a keeper of sorts, until they’re twenty and the next person takes over). And her name is ill-remembered, butchered pronunciation of her name modern (meaning Crimson Daybreak time) translating to a grave insult. It’s one of the few shreds that’s survived the centuries between the times.

That, and what follows the dragon’s death.

The felled blood’s crystallized form, that hums under the right girl’s blood. The startling change of the sun — from always yellow to red.

The people are terrified at the change — believe it to be the end of the world, brought upon by the girl. And so she is hunted (the few priests were stunned to stillness or moved to the dragon and she quickly fled). And at some point she is captured — shortly after, at midday, just before the red sun is sinking. And she is dragged back to the dragon’s head and she is killed, as urged by the witnessed priests, who saw her slay the dragon, as retribution and sacrifice. And the night is a long, terrifying thing. People waiting for death, admitting their committed atrocious trying to salvage themselves (also urged by the priests, attempting to earn favor back from the world they think is dying).

And the sun rises yellow again, the next day.

The priests claim it to be because of their honest confessions. That regrets and sins laid bare is what salvaged the world from ending.

And time slowly warps the old ceremony, that day, into what it is during Crimson Daybreak. The terrified confessions turns into the burned ribbons — yellow after the dragon’s blood, burned in repetition of the sun rising and easing the people’s fear and honesty. The chosen girl turns into the sacrificed girl. The slab of blood that hums is the new choosing trial. The sigil the girl’s blood makes upon it is the one the chosen girl drew, all that time ago (then a call for good fortune, now a death sentence). The lone night before is the chosen girl’s hard climb. The room being so red is mockery of the day of the red sun — playing it out on her alone instead of the whole world and her sacrifice is to please the sun’s color shift into lasting just the one day. And so such.

Backtracking to explain a thing or two that didn’t quite come across in the ramble. The ceremony, roughly, is like so:

At ten, a girl is chosen via prerequisites (birthed close to the day of the ceremony?), trials and the last test done on the day of the ceremony. For the next five years, she is raised by the priests, or some other figures in the religion, in preparation of the ceremony. She is taught the loose magic of sigils, has to craft her own that will shape the five years following her day. And on the night before, she must climb to the dragon’s head via the front arm not attached to the clawed room (? Using the scale gaps as handholds? It’s not too long a climb and she is prepared to be capable of it beforehand. The climb is entirely lost, modernly, just the lone girl the night before is remembered). The priests participating in the ceremony, only a few, not all, take a longer route. When the time is right, the girl lays out a pouch of soft sand and draws the sigil she crafted into it. If it is blown away, there is good fortune, if not, there isn’t and the inbetween. The priests are stationed evenly behind the girl in a semicircle. They are to stand witness and they drop their own fistfuls of sand, to blow in the wind/breath.

The chosen one beforehand did not have to be a girl, just. The last one was and that’s what’s remembered so all modern chosen ones are girls. Because the last is all that’s remembered.

Is that. What you wanted, Marine? I got carried away with the original ceremony and kind of forgot that you just wanted more of the world in general, not necessarily the past but it is still knowledge of the world, so… it counts? I think? If you want specifics, you should ask the specifics. I get off track so easily.

If more of the Crimson Daybreak world is wanted (not necessarily Gianna-related at all, just the literal world)… ask? Kinda think I’ve given it too much worldbuilding to be just one thing but I’ve also (miraculously, surprisingly) escaped the Urge (but that may just be the mental exhaustion of doing this all), so. Maybe not? Let me know if there’s interest.

Leave a comment about this because it really took something out of me. Worldbuilding is not my favorite thing when not done on the fly as I’m writing a piece, so give me kudos for this.

We Own the Night

Summary: It’s a shame she’s so bloody beautiful in her low cut, curve-hugging red dress and black high heels, her green eyes glinting with mischief and her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans into him. It’s a shame how sexy she is while she flirts with him and how adorable she is when she giggles and whispers in his ear, almost marking him with her red lipstick as her hand gently caresses his bicep, the warm breath against his skin making his heart race. In ordinary circumstances, they’d be engaging in more enjoyable activities, but unfortunately, he has to arrest her.

A/N: This fic is a result of research for a different undercover cop au and an old post floating around on Tumblr that actually happened, from what I've heard. To avoid spoilers I can't say what the post was, but this fic is my own version of it. When I post the second part of this (there will be a total of two) I'll let you know what post I'm referring to.

Though this story is based on real events, I'm not an expert on undercover work, so please forgive me for inaccuracies.

Thank you @ilovemesomekillianjones for betareading!

Also Available on: AO3 l FF.N

Rated: Explicit for crude language and possible smut.

Part One/Two

Best pussy I ever had—Huntsman69 

 The derogatory remark is followed by numerous others, all very sexually explicit in detail of Huntsman69’s experience with a high-class sex worker named Buttercup. Comments like she has nice tits and gives an amazing blow job. Encouraged by other online Discord members, the host goes on to say that even though she enjoys men pulling her hair from behind as they fuck her, he prefers her in the missionary position so he can gaze into her forest-green eyes while he fucks her.

 How romantic.

 Killian rolls his eyes, but he really isn’t surprised by the language or the lengthy details. He’s been participating in this Discord server for the last few weeks, establishing a presence under the pseudonym CaptainHook by engaging with fellow Discord users who are all from Seattle and are johns or potential johns looking to buy sex. At first, it had been difficult to sound like a john, to get into that type of persona. Most of the men in this particular hub are crass and unashamed. It’s like they’re reviewing fast-food restaurants—she tastes delicious, very tight and wet, offers a free blowjob on the side, all you can eat, best piece of ass in the city. The objectification of women angers and saddens him, but as the mantra goes, to find a criminal, you have to think like a criminal. Or in this case, to find the seller, he has to think like a buyer.

 Fantastic. Where can I find her?—CaptainHook

 She works for Cinderella Escorts—Huntsman69

 Before Killian can respond, he sees that below his message, Huntsman69 is typing. A link pops up a few seconds later.

 She charges the big bucks but WELL WORTH!—Huntsman69 

 Thanks, mate. Sounds like a good bang for your buck :-P—CaptainHook

 Oh it definitely was ;-)—Huntsman69 

 Killian clicks on the link to the ad and braces himself for whatever obscene, demoralizing photos that might appear, but what he finds is neither obscene nor demoralizing. There’s a photo of a woman lying on a bed, clad in red lingerie. She is breathtaking. Soft forest green eyes like Hunstman69 had said, golden blonde hair, beautiful ivory skin. She’s dressed in red lace, and even though her lingerie shows off her lean stomach and a long, gorgeous pair of legs, it still leaves a lot to the imagination. She is a high-class escort after all, which means she charges more than the average street hooker. And based on her appearance and Huntsman69’s graphic depictions of the escort, her business is very lucrative. 

 Killian is fraught with emotion at the idea of this woman subjecting herself to such a lifestyle. One that involves selling her body to pay her bills or because she was coerced or forced into it. His heart breaks for this woman, for all of these women, but he has to shove his feelings aside and focus on the mission—to make it harder for pimps to sell sex and for clients to buy it. 

 Seattle, Washington is currently ranked as one of the top five promiscuous cities in the United States. In response, King County Sheriff David Nolan is behind an initiative, leading a series of stings coordinated with other jurisdictions over the course of several weeks to promote a permanent change in police practices. A permanent change on the streets of King County. Which means undercover cops from different locations swarm in, working two fronts—the streets and hotels—posing as either a prostitute or a client to target both the demand and supply side of prostitution. Killian’s particular job is to pose as a john to scour out sex workers in Seattle, arrest them, but not penalize them. Instead of locking them up, he is to offer them counseling and job training through Sheriff Nolan’s Women’s Justice Program. The clients will however be ticketed and heavily fined, but the ordeal will not result in a criminal record. Sixty percent of the fines collected from the clients goes to support the program.

 This undercover job is not Killian’s first, but it’s certainly the most perturbing one so far and will hopefully be the most rewarding. He is proud of being a part of something aimed at helping women and reducing solicited sex and human trafficking.

 Making up his mind that Buttercup is one of the women he will help, he fills out the form to request her services; he enters a date, time, location and which escort he prefers. He submits the form and is contacted less than an hour later and agrees to meet the escort tonight at Kimpton, a luxury hotel on Aurora Avenue.

 As he closes his laptop, there’s a knock on the door, and he gets up to answer it. He opens the door and is surprised to find his brother on his doormat.

 “Liam…” His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he scratches his head. He told his brother he’d be staying in Seattle for a job, but his brother never mentioned he planned on visiting him. Probably because he knew Killian would’ve told him not to. He has a job to do and doesn’t need any distractions while he’s here. “What are you doing here?”

 Liam’s smile fizzles into a frown. “Nice to see you, too.”

 Killian steps aside, pulling the door open to let him in. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you,” he murmurs apologetically.

 “I wanted to surprise you, little brother. You’re always gone, so I thought I’d pay you an unexpected visit.”

 “But, you know that I’m working, right?”

 “I know.” Liam pats him on the shoulder as he passes Killian, carrying a bag over his shoulder. “I just thought you could use some company.”

 Killian closes the door and sighs. He doesn’t need his brother here blowing his cover. “Listen, the job I’m doing is undercover, so my cover can’t be blown.”

 “Relax, I’m not going to break your cover. So, are you going to tell me exactly what the job is?”

 “Sorry, but I can’t.” Technically he can, but he doesn’t feel comfortable telling Liam he’s posing as a john because knowing Liam he’d want to ride along, and that was obviously not going to happen. 

 Liam pouts like a child but accepts Killian’s answer.

 Killian gets ready for the sting. He has to look like a rich, businessman since that’s the usual clientele of Cinderella Escorts, according to Huntsman69. He’s not sure how reliable of a source that is, but he supposes if a man’s going to pay a high-end escort service for sex, chances are he’s not some poor, homeless guy. So he dresses in a sleek, black suit, fixes his hair and adjusts his tie before heading out the door.

 ~*~

 Killian shows up at the hotel and walks into the bar where he’d agreed to meet Buttercup. Searching around the dimly lit room, his eyes fall on the only person at the bar counter—a woman in a red dress and long, golden blonde hair. Immediately identifying her as Buttercup, he swallows the large lump in his throat. She’s drinking champagne and one leg is crossed over the other, her tiny red dress showing off those long, silky white legs, and the shiny black high heels on her feet. His heart actually stutters. 

 He closes his eyes briefly, coaxing himself into thinking like a john and having that mindset. He is not a cop, he’s a lonely man looking for a good fuck with a gorgeous woman. 

 As he strides across the room, his stomach is full of nervous butterflies, for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. He’s spoken to beautiful women before, but he’s never been intimidated by them. Somehow he’s more intimidated than he’s ever been in his life, and he hasn’t even met her yet. He walks up behind her, praying his voice doesn’t give out on him as he places his hand on her back, speaking in a deep, husky tone. “If I’d have known there would be alcohol involved, I’d have joined you sooner.” 

 She trembles at his touch and turns her head to grace him with a soft smile. 

 Good God, her photo didn’t do her a bit of justice; she’s even more breathtaking in person.

 Placing the glass on the counter, she swivels the bar chair around, shifting her body toward him. Her soft smile transforms into something more seductive as her hand reaches for his tie, the pad of her thumb circling idly over the fabric. Her eyes roam down his body before connecting with his, and all the air escapes his lungs as he peers into her dazzling green orbs. “If I’d have known you’d be so handsome, I wouldn’t have felt the need to start drinking.”

 He flashes a big, toothy grin, slipping into the stool next to her, remaining within touching distance. He leans in close, resting his arm across the back of her bar chair, and licks his lips, his eyes scrolling down her body. Her breasts are fantastic, her decolletage showing off ample skin, and her dress is so short, he can almost see her panties between her legs, if she’s even wearing any. His heart is pounding as he boldly moves his hand to her thigh. She gasps at his touch, her legs shaking slightly, but as his eyes meet hers again, he can tell she’s not opposed to his touch. She welcomes it, her eyes glazing over with lust. Normally he wouldn’t be so brazen, but that’s the point. He’s not Officer Killian Jones, he’s a client who’s about to pay this woman a large amount of money to show him a good time. He’s going to milk this act for all it’s worth. 

 He leans in to whisper in her ear, his lips only centimeters from her skin as he tightens his hand around her thigh, his fingers slipping under the hem of her dress until his thumb is dangerously close to her center. “Trust me, love, you don’t need any alcohol to have an enjoyable time with me.”

 Her breath catches in her throat, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. “I have no doubt about that,” she murmurs, a wicked smirk crossing her lips. “In fact, I normally charge $2,000, but since you’re cute... $1500 will do.” Her hand reaches for his thigh, her fingers roaming over his slacks until she’s inches away from his crotch and has a firm grip on him as she whispers in his ear, “I’ll even throw in a free blowjob.” Her voice is decadent, her words reverberating through him; he can feel it in his stomach. She pulls her lips away slightly and flicks her tongue along the inside of her cheek to make it look like she has his dick in her mouth.

 A low groan rises from his throat as he murmurs in her ear, “Mmmm, I’d love to have those gorgeous red lips wrapped around my cock.” His entire body shudders at the thought. “But truthfully, I’d pay more just to look at you.”

 “So, you mean, I could already be charging you?” she quips with a playful smile.

 “Perhaps,” he teases, smirking against her earlobe.

 She blushes, her hand moving to his chest, feeling his heart beating underneath her palm. Her touch is full of heat, even through his dress shirt, and he can’t help but enjoy their little banter, even if it is part of the job. At the same time, he can’t help but wonder if there would be so much heated tension between them if this were an actual date. If he weren’t undercover and if she weren’t a prostitute. 

 This whole situation is a crying shame.

 It’s a shame she’s so bloody beautiful in her low cut, curve-hugging dress and black high heels, her green eyes glinting with mischief and her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans into him. It’s a shame how sexy she is while she flirts with him and how adorable she is when she giggles and whispers in his ear, almost marking him with her red lipstick as her hand gently caresses his bicep, the warm breath against his skin making his heart race. In ordinary circumstances, he’d be engaging in more enjoyable activities with her, but unfortunately, he has to arrest her.

 The thought pains him even though it shouldn’t, considering he’s basically arresting her for show, to scare her. He won’t actually be throwing her in jail. Hopefully, he’ll be able to help her on the path to a better life.

 “Come back for a nightcap, or shall I find someone else?” he asks, regretting the words as they fall from his lips, but he wants tonight to be over with. To rip off the bandaid so to speak. This woman is very enchanting, and he’s afraid the longer he’s around her, the more his resolve will weaken, and he won’t want to go through with this. Which is ridiculous because he’s doing this for her own good.

 She doesn’t appear to be offended though and instead dons a lascivious grin. “Trust me, you won’t find anyone better for the job.” With those words said, she slips from the stool and makes her way across the bar, adding a seductive sway in the movement of her hips. His eyes are drawn to her perfect little ass like a magnet.

 She turns her head, her eyes holding a come hither stare and her lips curving into a crooked smirk. “You coming?”

 He grins cheekily and stands up, quickly making his way to her. He places his hand on the small of her back, brushing his fingers over the fabric of her dress as he speaks in her ear, “Not yet, but believe me… I’m almost there.”

 She shoots him a satisfied smirk and they head up to her room, unable to keep their hands off each other. His hands on her hips and hers on his chest, their lips ghosting over each other, the heat rapidly rises between them. The evening is an act they’re playing out, as they’re both just doing their jobs, but the attraction between them is real, and even though he wants to get the night over with, he’s not looking forward to the inevitable end.

 They’re still clinging to each other once they’re in the room. Buttercup’s hands are latched onto the lapels of his suit jacket and his arms are still wrapped around her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

 “So, what are my limits, love? Because I’m imagining having you in every... possible... position,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to her lips.

 “For you… I’ll do anything you want,” she replies, fluttering her long black lashes as she eyes his mouth. “I’m all yours for the night.”

 “Am I allowed to kiss you?” He realizes it’s not necessary, but the heat between them is so addicting and his mind is foggy with lust, he loses himself in the moment. 

 Before she answers, he chases her mouth with his, but she pulls away and presses her index finger to his lips, a big, toothy smile gracing her beautiful face. “Easy tiger. First, there’s a matter of payment.”

 “Of course,” he says with a smile, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. He pulls out his wallet, being careful not to expose the police badge tucked inside as he fishes out the cash. 

 As he’s extending the bills to her, instead of taking them immediately, she’s pulling him to her by the lapels of his suit jacket, crashing her lips into his. He elicits a low growl and wraps his arms around her, still clutching onto the bills in his hand as she slips her tongue in his mouth to taste him. Overwhelmed by the heat surging through him, he deepens the kiss and tightens his hold. Her body is pressed deliciously against his and he’s sure she knows he’s as hard as a fucking rock.

 “God love, I want to fuck you,” he groans against her lips. Her mouth is sweet, she tastes like champagne and her tongue is soft and warm; he doesn’t want this to end, but unfortunately, it has to. The deal has been made, and now it’s time to bust her. The problem is, he can’t stop kissing her.

 So it’s probably a good thing when she’s the one to break it, leaving them both gasping for air. He chases her lips again, but she pulls away to take the cash from his hand. “Me too,” she breathes, her voice cracking as she licks her lips, her thumb running over the crisp bills as she studies them in her hand. “There’s just one problem...”

 “What’s that, love?” he asks trying to hide the panic in his voice. Did she figure out he’s a cop?

 She looks up again and leans in, her lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as she whispers, “You’re under arrest.” 

 Wait, what? That was supposed to be his line.

 His features cloud with confusion as he tries to process her words. Is she joking? Is she just into roleplay and wants to play out a fantasy of hers? Yes, he deems. That’s all her words had meant. “Sorry love, but you’re under arrest,” he shoots back firmly with a hard look, letting her know he’s serious.

 She laughs. “Nice try, buddy.” The door flies open and two guys with badges around their necks burst into the room.

 Before he’s able to process what’s happening, they’re pulling his hands behind his back and slapping cuffs around his wrists. 

 Buttercup pulls out her badge, showing it to him. “Officer Emma Swan.”

 Killian blinks in disbelief. She’s a cop too? His mind is reeling with the events leading up to this moment. How had he not figured it out sooner?

 ~*~

 Five hours ago (Emma’s POV)...

 “Best pussy you ever had? Really?” She's not asking out of curiosity, more like disgust.

 Graham shrugs, his features clouding with confusion as he logs off and shuts the computer down. “What? You told me to sound like a creepy pervert.” A smirk crosses his lips. “Besides, it’s not a lie.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, blush spreading through her cheeks. Okay, maybe she was a little curious as to whether he was being truthful or just baiting the fish.

 He chuckles at her reaction and stands from the desk chair. “Oh, come on, lighten up, Emma. It worked, didn’t it?”

 “I thought it was very creepy and pervy of you,” Ruby compliments with a flirty grin as the three of them head out of the apartment to meet up with Jefferson down the hall. When her brother had asked her to go undercover in Seattle, she rented out a monthly apartment with Ruby in the same building as Jefferson and Graham.

 Emma rolls her eyes.

 When Jefferson joins them, they head over to the hotel where several male cops gather in one of the rooms and several female cops, including herself and Ruby, meet in the room across the hall, dressed like prostitutes. 

 Emma’s made several busts already. Before she took this job, she’d never seen a grown man cry, but now she sees at least one every night in a mess of tears when he finds out she’s not actually a prostitute and she instead slaps him with a ticket and a heavy fine. Being a cop has hardened her over time, and now she’s looking forward to seeing CaptainHook on his knees begging her not to arrest him. When the men get on their knees and beg—that’s what makes the whole job worth it. A faint smirk pulls at her lips at the thought.

 ~*~

 Present (Killian’s POV)...

 “Wait a bloody minute,” Killian barks out in irritation, struggling against the cuffs. “This is a big misunderstanding. I’m a cop too.”

 Emma’s mouth opens in shock. After a few seconds of processing his words, she narrows her eyes, studying him carefully, trying to decipher whether he’s lying or not.

 “Check my wallet. I’m doing an undercover job for Sheriff Nolan,” he states.

 Her eyes widen as she glances between the two officers still holding him, before her eyes land on Killian once again. “You’re working for my brother?”

 The one on the left nods at Emma. “Check for a badge,” he instructs, speaking with an Irish accent.

 She reaches into Killian’s jacket, pulls out his wallet and opens the flap, revealing his badge. She sighs in exasperation, dropping her hands to her sides. “He’s telling the truth.”

 “Wait, you mean, we just arrested a cop?” the officer on the right asks, amusement laced in his words.

 Killian grins cheekily. “Aye. Officer Killian Jones at your service.”

 The other two men laugh as Emma lifts the wallet to study his badge again, shock and irritation still visible in her lovely features. “So, let me get this straight… this whole night was a waste?” 

 “Apparently so,” Killian replies, equally irritated. The night was not a complete waste though. He met Emma after all.

 She lifts her eyes, regarding him with a blank expression. “Uncuff him.”

 As one of the officers releases him from the cuffs, Killian can’t help but wonder whether she’s relieved he’s not a john or if she’s just simply annoyed. He mutters a thank you as he pulls his hands in front of him, smoothing his fingers over his wrists. 

 “Here, you probably want these back,” Emma says, handing him the cash and his badge.

 “Indeed. I had to fill out a ton of paperwork for this,” he says appreciatively, holding up the bills before tucking them back inside his wallet. He’s relieved Emma is not actually a prostitute, but he’s also thoroughly confused as to why she’d kissed him. Sure, he’d basically asked her to, but she didn’t have to go through with it. The cash was in his hand. He stares at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “So, tell me something, love—since you’re not actually a prostitute, why did you kiss me?”

 Killian can now see the officer emerging from his left, who has brown curly hair. He steps between Emma and Killian, his eyes darting back and forth from one to the other. “You kissed him?!”

 Killian suppresses a grin when he sees how jealous the man is. 

 Emma shrugs. “What’s the big deal? I was just really getting into my role. I don’t do things half-ass, you know that.”

 “You certainly don’t,” Killian remarks with a smirk. 

 Emma looks at him, smiling and blushing.

 The brown-haired man glares at Killian, blowing out a huff of air before walking away. Killian has to wonder if the man has feelings for her, or if they’re dating. If they are dating, the kiss with another man was definitely crossing a line. Especially since the kiss was unnecessary, and once again he wonders why it happened. But he’s not complaining. He shakes off the thought as another one crosses his mind. “So, how was your ad posted on Cinderella Escorts?” he asks Emma.

 “The website is fake. He designed it,” she says, pointing at the brown-haired cop. “The other girls on the site are also cops.”

 “And Huntsman69?”

 The jealous cop raises his hand. “That would be me.” Putting aside his petty jealousy for the moment, he lowers the same hand, extending it to Killian. “Graham Humbert.” 

 Killian experiences his own dose of jealousy as they shake hands, even though he has no right to be jealous. But he can’t help but wonder whether Buttercup—whether Emma was actually the best pussy he ever had. Has Graham actually experienced gazing into her eyes while fucking her?

 “This is Jefferson,” Graham says to Killian, introducing him to the dark-haired cop.

 “Nice to meet you,” Killian says, shaking his hand.

 “You too.”

 “Well, I’m done working for the night. Want to get something to eat?” Graham asks Jefferson.

 “Sure, I’m starving.”

 “How does North Star sound? I could go for a beer and a burger.”

 “Sounds great.”

 Graham looks at Emma. “You coming?” 

 She averts her eyes to Killian as Graham approaches her, awaiting an answer, ready to head out the door. Killian’s jealousy flares up in his chest again as the other officer places his hand on her back like he’s claiming her as his. 

 “Wait, can I speak to you a moment, Emma?” Killian asks, not only because he doesn’t want to let her get away so quickly, but judging by how uncomfortable she looked when Graham asked her to join him, how even more uncomfortable she looked when Graham put his hand on her and how relieved she appears to be now, he’s also doing her a favor.

 She nods and looks at Graham and Jefferson. “You guys go. I’ll meet you there.”

 Graham doesn’t appear to be too happy as he glares at Killian. “What do you need to talk to her about that you can’t talk to us too?”

 Emma rolls her eyes. “Graham, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

 Graham sighs in defeat. “Fine, we’ll get a table.”

 “Okay,” she responds, but Killian’s pretty sure she’s only agreeing to meet them at the diner so he will leave. After Graham and Jefferson are gone, Emma walks up to Killian and crosses her arms, waiting for him to speak. If she’s relieved Graham’s gone, she doesn’t show it, so Killian can’t help but wonder the question that’s been eating away at him.

 “Are you and Graham…” he pauses, immediately regretting the question before he even finishes it. He has no right to ask. “I mean, I know it’s none of my business, I was just wondering if…”

 “If I was really the best pussy he ever had? You’re right, it is none of your business,” she says curtly.

 Killian’s cheeks burn scarlet as he scratches behind his ear, stammering over his words. “I know… I was just… I was just curious is all. You two seem close.”

 “We used to date, but it didn’t work out, and I ended it. Relationships with colleagues never work.”

 Killian nods. “Ah, I see. I didn’t mean to pry…”

 “You did, but it’s okay,” she says with a shrug. “I can see why you’d wonder. He still acts like we’re together,” she sighs.

 “But still, I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry,” he apologizes with a small smile.

 “It’s fine.” She dismisses his words with a wave of her hand, walks to the square breakfast table and faces him, leaning her back against the edge of the surface. He’s relieved his question didn’t run her out the door. 

 “So, you’re David Nolan’s sister?” he asks, desperately wanting to change the topic for both their sakes.

 She nods, her demeanor softening as she looks at him. “Yeah, I was adopted by his parents when we were kids.”

 “Must’ve been a little awkward having your brother ask you to go undercover as a prostitute,” Killian chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets.

 “Yeah, it was, trust me,” she laughs, and there’s an adorable spark in her eyes as her cheeks turn pink. As hot as she was as a fake prostitute, she’s completely adorable and cute as Officer Emma Swan. “Especially since he’s usually overprotective. Which is why I’m working fancy hotels instead of the streets and why he calls me every day to check up on me and give me several warnings about what to expect while I’m on the job,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “It’s quite annoying.”

 “I can imagine, I have one of those too—a protective brother, I mean. David seems like a good guy though.”

 “He is, he’s always been there for me, so I really wanted to help him out when he told me about the initiative to reduce prostitution in the county. And hopefully, help women get out of the lifestyle.” 

 “Aye, love, it’s not the job I’d envisioned doing when I became a police officer, but perhaps it will be rewarding in the end.”

 She nods in agreement. “I’m sure David will get a good laugh when he finds out about this.”

 Killian blushes and smiles. “I’m sure he will.”

 “I would say we could just not say anything, but Graham’s probably already called to tell him.”

 “Yes, perhaps, but you know him better than I do,” he teases.

 “Yeah, unfortunately,” she retorts with a smirk. 

 He removes a hand from his pocket to scratch behind his ear, his stomach tight with nerves. Though a comfortable air has filled the room, he’s still nervous to be around her. Especially since he thought she was a prostitute about ten minutes ago. He moves to the table, leaning his back against it next to her as he crosses his arms. “I have to say, I’m relieved you’re not actually a hooker, love.”

 She turns her head, eyeing him with a raised brow. “Why’s that?”

 “For one, it’s not a life I wish on any woman. Two, you’re too pretty to sell yourself for $2,000.”

 Her cheeks are flushed as she averts her eyes. “Thanks, I think,” she laughs.

 “Relax, it’s a compliment,” he chuckles. “I have to admit though, you’re quite the actress. I had no idea you were a cop.” 

 “Yeah well, you’re not so bad yourself,” she says, playfully nudging his elbow with hers, making his heart flutter. “Maybe we’re in the wrong profession.”

 “Maybe,” he agrees with a soft smile, his voice cracked. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the effect she has on him and uncrosses his arms, bracing his hands against the edge of the table on either side of him. When his arm brushes slightly against hers, she doesn’t pull away, nor does he.

 “I’m curious about one thing though, love…”

 She looks at him curiously. “What’s that?”

 “The kiss was a little unnecessary, don’t you think? I mean, I was handing over the cash, so you could’ve just arrested me then, but instead, you kissed me…” Killian braces himself for her answer. He hopes he doesn’t piss her off, but judging by the shameless smile she offers him in return, she’s not the least bit upset.

 She shrugs nonchalantly. “As I said, I don’t do things half-ass.” 

 “That’s what you told Graham to appease him. So, what’s the real reason?”

 She lets out a small laugh, her cheeks flooding with blush. “You really want the truth?”

 “Aye.”

 Sighing in defeat, she leans toward him as though there are other people in the room and she doesn’t wish for anyone else to hear as she murmurs in his ear. “I thought you were cute, and I really wanted to kiss you. Is that bad?”

 Killian’s cheeks burn crimson, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “No, love, not at all.”

 “So, why did you ask to kiss me?” she retaliates, pulling away, her eyes dancing with curiosity.

 His grin widens if possible. “For the exact same reason you kissed me.”

 “The real one or the fake one I gave Graham?”

 He swallows thickly, gazing into her eyes, getting lost in them. “The real one.”

 Emma smiles and blushes profusely, either because she’s flattered by his confession, embarrassed by her own, or both. She pushes herself away from the table, quickly changing the subject as she turns around to face him. “So, was there something else you wanted to speak to me about or were you just curious about me and Graham?”

 “There’s something else...” Killian replies, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Perhaps tonight isn’t a complete waste.” 

 Emma studies him carefully, lifting a brow as she plants her hands on her hips. “I’m listening.”

 He taps his thumb nervously against the tabletop, his heart racing as he prepares himself to ask her something he’s wanted to ask her since he found out she was a cop. But he can’t seem to find the courage, so instead, he covers it up with another question. “What if we teamed up? Perhaps we can get more accomplished by working together?”

 She purses her lips, thinking about his offer for a moment. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.”

 He pulls away from the table, closing the distance between them. “You heard of the Unicorn on Pike Street?”

 His question seems to grab her attention; she suddenly perks up, her eyes widening as she stares at him in slight bemusement. “You mean where they serve carnival food and magical cocktails? Of course I have. But aren’t we a little overdressed for that?”

 He shrugs. “Perhaps... but do you really think the night can get any more awkward than it already is?”

 Emma laughs. “Absolutely not.”

 “So, let me buy you a drink and a corn dog? Or were you actually planning on meeting Graham and Jefferson?”

 “You mean my possessive ex-boyfriend and his best friend?” Emma shakes her head. “I’ll pass on that gathering, thanks.”

 Satisfied with her answer, he playfully cocks a brow. “So, you’re saying you’d rather get sick on corn dogs and go into a sugar coma from an order of unicorn droppings and sweet alcoholic drinks with a cute guy you just met half an hour ago?”

 A big smile takes over her face. “Sounds perfect.” 

 A relieved grin crawls across his lips as he offers his elbow. She loops her arm through his, and they head out the door, both looking forward to working together and perhaps something more. 

Harry Potter Analysis Essays: General Worldbuilding

Because we all fucking know Rowling didn’t create this world with any sense of nuance or deep thought so here we fucking are, doing the work ourselves. Do keep in mind, though, that I haven’t touched a single Harry Potter book in almost a decade; all of these are mostly inferences, headcanons, and references pulled from other magic systems and worldbuilding tools found in other media.

This post will detail basic worldbuilding with the intent of fleshing out the Harry Potter universe. List of topics for easy navigation: Technology, Commerce, Education, Religion. Warnings for: gun mention (technology); death mention (religion)

The term “witch” will be used to describe practitioners of magic in this analysis regardless of sex or gender, because witch has always been a gender neutral term and I will never forgive Rowling for pulling the whole witch and wizard bullshit. Now. The analysis.

TECHNOLOGY

There are no phones in Hogwarts. There are no computers in Hogwarts. There are no guns in Hogwarts. And considering that witches from other schools (Durmstrang, Beauxbatons) don’t have these as well, it’s safe to assume that this is the norm for the witch community. There HAS to be a reason for this. Instead of a plot hole, let’s think of this as an obstacle for the magic world. There are no guns, no computers, no phones in Hogwarts not because of lack of thought, but of actual impossibility.

One way or another, complicated electronics and technology don’t work. The most complicated piece of technology that I can think of in canon are the train, the Weasley’s car, and the bus. I might be missing a few things, but that’s all that stands out to me. That’s how little magical technology plays a part in the canon storyline. That’s how little technology is talked about in the universe. Which, to me, is a fucking tragedy.

Address the kind of elitist view witches have in regards to their magic, especially in comparison to muggles. We, as actual people living in the real world, have seen this kind of behaviour many times before. Refusing to acknowledge the advancements made by other countries and cultures because we perceive our own to be superior, or we view that advancement as petty and useless. Remember the people who dunked on the first photograph of a black hole because it was blurry? It’s like that, but with a bigger population who all basically have the same “muggle technology? big pass” attitude. Arthur fucking Weasley didn’t understand how a train terminal worked and part of that is ignorance and the witchy upbringing.

Witches aren’t taught to appreciate muggle technology. Or really, muggle anything. And this lack of understanding and knowledge kind of drove home the superiority complex thing which again, further discourages muggle understanding, and the cycle continues on.

That’s the ideological reason for why there’s practically no muggle technology found in the magical world. Now, what about a different reason? What if the magical world does, indeed, have technology, but in a different way than how muggles perceive technology.

Take the internet for example. We have a wide collection of knowledge that we can access with a phone and wifi. What’s the witch equivalent of that? There are printed books of course, but what about something else? The pensieve is magical technology that can store memories, which is basically home videos and photos. What about several different pensieves connected to each other? Witches can store their memories inside their pensieves, connect it to other witches, and form a network of knowledge so that anyone can essentially dunk their heads in water and live through a step-by-step process on how to make a fucking cake. That counts as technology that intrinsically ties to magic.

So in theory, witches can invent technology tailored to and for them. Medicine that seeks out magical energy to ease the pain of curses and hexes. Bottles that can be filled up with raw, unfiltered magic to be used as bombs or accelerants for other forms of magic. Blank portraits hung in witch homes, where inhabitants can magic a picture of someone onto each other’s canvases to serve as video calls. So many fucking opportunities that weren’t taken.

But why not use muggle technology? It’s already been invented. Is elitism really so prevalent that witches would rather look like fucking idiots using quills and inkwells instead of a fucking pencil? Maybe there’s a reason for that too.

Forgive me for scientific inaccuracies but let’s suppose that witch magic can materialise as energy, able to be detected on the electro-magnetic spectrum. Basically, magic has the same effect on electronics as an EMP would. It shorts out wiring, makes electronic lights flicker, fucks up complicated pieces of technology just by being in magical presence. So, by that logic, if a witch holds a phone, their magical energy would make that goddamn phone go bust. Or worse, explode. And can you imagine what that kind of energy would do to firearms? There have been cases of firearms accidentally discharging because they were dropped. What will happen if the nature and construction of firearms react negatively to fucking magic? Yeah. There’s your reason as to why people didn’t just shoot each other in the head. Complicated technology and magic don’t mix.

But the Weasley car has fairly complicated technology. So, how does that work? In comes witch inventors whose passion and job is basically finding ways to make muggle technology work with the natural witch portable always-on EMP aura. In the PJO universe, Demigods don’t use phones very often because the waves make them more easily detectable. Same concept, but a little more violent. Arthur works for the Ministry which explains why he would have access to a car that doesn’t explode to fiery bits when it comes in contact with a witch’s magic. In fact, that car probably does what muggles did when inventing guns that can fire continuously. In the gun’s case, the recoil from the first shot is used to create energy for the second shot. Not a gun person so I don’t know how to explain it in more detail, but that’s basically it.

That “harnessing recoil” thing can be applied to the car as well. Instead of being shot dead with the all natural witch EMP, the car uses that constant discharge as fuel. Which presents a different challenge for magical inventors: create technology that doesn’t clash with natural magic. One way is to use pre-existing magical tools like the pensieve and improve upon it. Another is the recoil thing, which is finding ways where the constant ambient magic doesn’t disrupt the technology in question.

This is the same reason I use for every fantasy AU I have to explain why characters don’t just shoot each other. And it works for the Harry Potter universe as well.

COMMERCE

You expect me to believe that the ONLY jobs are magical-related? Fuck that noise. There are bakers and architects and taxi drivers and teachers and authors and inventors and clerks and construction workers and hairdressers historians. Remember kids, the job itself doesn’t have to be magic, you just have to be creative with the application. There’s nothing magical about being a taxi driver. You have a vehicle, you pick people up, and you drop them off. The magic comes from how you do it.

Instead of trying to make the job magical (like Aurors, which are basically magic police officers) how about we focus instead on finding ways to apply magic to the job? Back to the taxi driver, how does a taxi driver compete with magical methods like apparition, the floo network, and straight up flight? Please remember that apparating is dangerous and that the floo network has to be connected with the Ministry to work (at least in Britain) and flight is, well, flight.

Taxi drivers in the magical world have to compete with that, so how do they do it? They can take the knight bus route, which is make travel speedy so witches can go from point a to point b relatively quick. Another is to make the ride as comfortable as possible. You have magic, pull a Tardis in the cab and make it so passengers open the door and find themselves in a goddamn hotel suite so they can relax during their commute.

Have your bakers make figures out of fondant and marshmallows that come to live as the candles are blown out. Imagine those little birthday cakes with cars and mermaids and other stuff on top. Now imagine those things coming to life as you blow out the candles. They’re like chocolate frogs without the stupid nonsensical time constraint. Can you imagine what it’ll be like if you have a cake topper that’s a car that can actually move around? Maybe zip through the air around you? Dunno bout y’all but I want that.

And how would trade between witch communities go? No matter how much you try to convince me, I refuse to fucking believe that the sickle/galleon thing is universal across ALL witching communities. Fucking impossible. So there has to be different witch currencies out there with their own exchange rate compared to the sickle/galleon system as well as their respective muggle currency in relation to where they are.

Because of the fact that muggle exchange rates will ALWAYS be present because of the numerous muggleborn and half-blood witches who don’t want to yeet an entire part of their life away just because they can levi someone’s corpus, there IS muggle trade. I refuse to fucking believe that the extent of witch and muggle commerce begins and ends with the exchange of currency. There HAS to be goods and/or services exchanged. Otherwise, how would witch banks even acquire muggle currency in the first place? Do they fucking steal it from the unsuspecting public? No, they gain muggle currency through trade.

Just because witches can make chocolate frogs and moving pictures on cards, doesn’t mean that it’s what they HAVE to make. Witches can easily make things that they can sell in the muggle world that have no magic. Notebooks, kitchen implements, etc. With magic, manufacturing these will be incredibly easy and could break the muggle economy. So I think only banks have clearance to sell witch-made mundane objects to muggles for the purpose of getting muggle currency so they can exchange that with magic currency. There are plenty of muggleborn and half-blood witches that may need muggle currency when they return to the muggle world, so the demand is reasonably high.

Basically, my point is, witch communities trade with each other because that’s what we as humans do. We find something we’re good at, find someone else who’s good at what we suck shit at doing, and we fucking trade. If, for example, British witches are good at making magical confectionery, they can then trade those confectioneries for things like self-writing quills or magical blankets that keep you at your preferred temperature. My point is that there is trade and communication between different witch communities that allow them to better their respective communities whilst simultaneously learning from others.

EDUCATION

Put aside the Hogwarts sorting thing because THAT shitshow deserves its own post. For now, we’ll just take a look at the education system itself. Particularly how the magic education system mirrors our own real world “muggle” system. We will ask and answer this question: Why do these schools exist?

To teach children how to use and control magic, obviously. But why? Why is it so important to enroll every magic user into a witching school and why is it important for these children to get their magic under control? And if learning how to control magic is so important, is tuition still necessary? While we’re at it, we also have to ask: What happens to the children who don’t get taught? Rowling can try to convince me that every witch child was brought under a magic school like Hogwarts as soon as their magic manifested all she wants but that’s fucking impossible.

You mean to tell me that there are no children who were homeschooled? You mean to tell me that there weren’t witch children who bounced from foster home to foster home so often that no matter how much they tried to be located, these children were never picked up? You mean to tell me that there weren’t any children who didn’t want to go to a strange magical boarding school? The fuck are they going to do? Arrest children for non-compliance with magic laws of a magic world that the child wants nothing to do with?

If the answer to that question is “no”, then what do they do with children who have no wish to learn anything about their magical powers? Are they excommunicated from the witch community? Do they send a witch guardian to follow the child around like an underpaid bodyguard with the added difficulty modifier of having to stay undetected? I think that in order to use magic, one must have either focus, or an extreme emotional reaction. The magic we see in Hogwarts is controlled; the students want to cast the spells they’re casting and are in the right headspace to do so. The magic we see Harry do when he traps Dudley behind glass is emotional; his magic reacts to his current mental space and altered reality because of Harry. So an untrained witch who suddenly experiences an emotional outburst could potentially cause trouble, which is why it is best to at least inform them about their situation so they can be aware.

If the answer is “yes” however, that begets the question of WHY untrained witches need to be found and contained if they can’t (or won’t) control their powers. Thankfully, canon answers this one for us with the introduction of Obscurials. Obscurials (or Obscuros but I like Obscurial better so that’s what we’ll use) are the manifestation of a witch’s energy when they repress it, whether by their own volition or by the coercion of their environment. And as we all know, Obscurials are dangerous if left unchecked, because their magic is wild and untamed and capable of causing mass destruction not only to muggles, but to witches as well. So in the interest of protecting both muggles and witches from rogue Obscurials in unfavourable environments, it’s more practical to yeet as many students into witch schools as possible. Or at least get them to a mentor who can teach them if they don’t want to go to magic boarding school.

I really, really, want to talk more about Obscurials and how/why trauma does and doesn’t make Obscurials but we’re not focusing on that today.

We’re focusing on the magic education system.

We’ve now understood and established why education young witches on their powers and the practical applications of it is so important. In order to avoid damage to both witch and muggle society, people with magical talents should be taught how to control their powers so they aren’t a danger to themselves and to others. That’s all fine and dandy. But what do the schools actually teach?

Hogwarts has a fucking crisis every damn year so it isn’t the best example but it’s all we’ve got, so let’s look at it.

We have classes about the magical creatures that exist in the world, some benign and some actively malicious. We have classes on different kinds of magic and their applications (more on this in a different essay) in day-to-day witch life. We have self-defense classes against potentially harmful entities, whether they be another witch or something else. We have classes about different forms of magical practise including but not limited to: arithmancy, divination and herbology.

With this in mind, we can infer that there are multiple kinds of magical practise that range from potion-making to cursing someone to speak only in riddles for a week. We can also infer that the magical world is fucking dangerous. There are animals that can rip you apart without a moment’s notice, and there is an actual literal fucking spell that is a straight up fucking insta-kill if it hits you. If a young witch is caught unawares and unprepared, they will likely die.

And as we’ve learned, if a witch with uncontrolled powers experiences extreme duress, their magic reacts and lashes out at anything and everything. If the witch is powerful enough, they could straight up nuke several buildings (and everyone in em) out of existence.

So, the reason magical schools exist, and the reason why young witches are pressured to attend them, is to protect both the muggle world and the magic world.

But again, Hogwarts has a fucking goddamn crisis every year so other witching cultures might handle wayward witches differently. But we’ll never know because the canon worldbuilding fucking su-

RELIGION

To be fair, witches can be a part of many religions around the world. Some might be Jewish, others Catholic, maybe there are witches who are even Wiccan or Pagan or polytheistic. All of these options are possible and plausible. We also have a few canon examples of real life and “muggle” religions practised by the characters. Fat Friar was Roman Catholic during his lifetime, and because Christmas is celebrated in canon, it’s safe to assume that there are witches who are Christian and that the magic world has at least a passing knowledge of these religions.

All of these religions are also, coincidentally, religions that normal people, that MUGGLES, are a part of. Why is that important? There are half-blood and muggleborn witches, and they might worship the same God(s) their muggle parent(s) do. But there are also pureblood witches who very likely don’t know a lick about most of these religions. There are also pureblood families who might worship their own God(s) and thus, would shun away religions that muggles also participate in. Witches have also existed for as long as humans existed. And witch history (real life witch history) is brimming with hatred and violence and distrust towards witches from normal people. From muggles. So it would make sense for witches (especially pureblood witches) to have their own religion.

The problem now, is that we literally have nothing about that supposed religion. Coupled with the fact that there are literally witches everywhere, a universal religion to witches cannot be applied. We must also consider other cultures removed from Britain where the canon takes place. There are cultures all over the world whose magical practises tie in closely with their religion. I am not an expert on theology. So for the purposes of this analysis, we will focus on the supposed “non-muggle” religion likely practised by pureblood old-timey British witches.

Not that non-pureblood witches can’t practise it, but the world moves on and the stigma against muggles is slowly dwindling. With the rise of half-blood and muggle-born witches, it’s likely that more modern religions are adopted by these new witches. So it’s safe to say that these religions practised by pure-blood families are slowly phasing out. Which would also lead to the whole “blood purity” plot point. The old, traditionalist witches want to be more selective with newer witches so they can preserve their own culture and religion. *cough* parallels *cough*

Onto possible religions that would make sense with the barebone canon universe.

How about the Deathly Hallows?

It’s a story about three brothers, the personification of Death, and the cycle of life. It’s also a story about the values represented by the different Hallows, and a warning about the importance of temperance and how easily these values could be corrupted. In the context of the magic world, temperance is something that is SORELY needed, but unfortunately never fucking seen. Let’s review.

The Elder Wand: asked for by the oldest brother, the strongest wand in existence, a symbol of power. it is strength, it is action, it is decisiveness. In relation to a real-life religion, the Elder Wand is like the flaming sword in the Bible, used as a deterrent to ward away any who would dare try to step inside Paradise. In the HP universe, the Elder Wand can easily be seen as protection from evil, as a way for a witch to protect themselves and the people they hold dear to their hearts. As the strongest wand in existence, the wielder would have immeasurable power and of course, with great power comes great temptation. Temptation which the First Brother in the story succumbed to, and is thus met an untimely and gruesome end. It is a moral about how power in the wrong hands leads to an unfortunate end, and how witches should be proud of their gifts, but they should never be arrogant about it. Homeboi would have lived if he kept his mouth shut about having the most powerful wand in existence.

The Resurrection Stone: asked for by the second brother, a way to bring the dead from their graves, a memory and love for the past. it is grief, it is remembrance, it is guidance. There are several religions around the world that place emphasis on respecting and honouring the dead like Dia de Los Muertos. When we lose someone, especially someone important to us, we mourn, we grieve, we feel as though the world is ending. We are lost. The Stone offers consolation, an opportunity to see those we have lost so that we might move on. It’s a way for us to look back at the past, at the people we have lost, parents and grandparents, teachers and mentors, and ask for their guidance and wisdom. But it’s also a call for us not to stare, not to linger, and not to miss the past so much that we lose sight of the present. The second brother did not understand that moral, and so he misused the stone, preferring to live in the past rather than cherish the life he has which led to his demise.

The Invisibility Cloak: asked for by the third brother, something that could elude Death yet was ultimately surrendered, a reminder that life is short and fleeting. it is longevity, it is acceptance, it is sacrifice. Again, I’m not a theological expert and thus, failed to find a fitting real world religion to compare this particular section, but maybe we can look to nature instead. Death comes for all of us. It’s an unfortunate truth. It takes our family, it takes our friends, and it will inevitably take us. As the third and final brother, the story of the Cloak teaches us to accept that inevitability, and to live life to the fullest because of it. The third brother did not keep the Cloak for himself, he gave it to his son, so that his son may also live a long and fulfilling life. The third brother tried to pave the way for those that will come after him, and that’s ultimately what the Cloak tries to teach. One must try to live life with as few regrets as possible, so that when the time comes, one can pass the Cloak to someone else, pass down knowledge and experience and love, and greet Death as an old friend.

The three stories of the Deathly Hallows are fundamentally good. When you have Power, don’t abuse it. It is important to love and cherish the past, but you must live in the present. Death is inevitable, so make the most out of your time while you have it. At its core, the Deathly Hallows would make a good religion, especially for witches.

And of course, the bit about how one becomes the Master of Death should they come into possession of all three Hallows. In a sense, becoming the Master of Death is finally and wholeheartedly understanding the meaning and lessons the Three Hallows are trying to teach. Accepting responsibility for one’s powers and not abusing it, learning from and cherishing the past but living in the present, and of course doing your best to pave the road for those that will come after you. Understanding these three fundamental things preserves the values exemplified by the Three Witch Brothers and is basically Enlightenment for this supposed religion. All of this essentially boils down to “appreciate life and don’t be a dick” which is a good code to live by.

But, like any other religion, these tenets and values can easily be corrupted and perverted. Ancient pureblood families can so easily twist these morals to benefit them and their agenda. The First story can be interpreted as the Brother being too weak to be worthy of the Wand. The love shown in the Second story can be viewed as weakness. The Third Brother giving the cloak to his son in the third story can be used to dissuade altruism.

Religion in real life is complicated. Religion in a fictional universe can be complicated too. And this is only one small region of the universe. Who knows what kind of stories and lore and possible religions other parts of the world may have.

.

In conclusion, I spent four (almost five) goddamn hours of my one human life tilling at land that isn’t fucking arable, but I have a fucking shovel and I’m prepared to dig deeper into this godsforsaken fandom. I was given a skeleton made of wet tissue paper and I turned that shit into a skeleton made of sturdier materials that will support the weight of heavier ideas. Ideas like what actual combat between two witches who can mold reality like fucking play-doh would look like. You think it’s the boring glorified laser tag team battle we get in the movies? Fuck that, I’m going to give you more. Want an analysis on the Hogwarts Houses that isn’t “good, bad, smart, miscellaneous”? It’s on its fucking way.

This is just bare fucking bones. I’ll be writing more essays in the future and I’m bringing in the heavy shit. So go get comfortable because I’m not done picking this world apart yet.

Opening His Eyes to the Light

Summary:

When Oliver learns Felicity was injured in the aftermath of the Undertaking it forced him to be honest with how he felt about her and just what he was going to do about it. [Post Season One Finale]

Notes:

Okay, so this is a canon AU. It's just something I couldn't get out of my head and decided to write down. I hope you like it.

I apologize for any mistakes or grammar errors and medical inaccuracies. 

Oliver paced the waiting room unable to keep still. When he managed to pull Tommy out before CNRI collapsed with nothing more than a few crack ribs and a broken leg he actually believed he wasn’t going to lose anyone he cared about. He was wrong. He returned to the Foundry only to see Diggle carrying out an unconscious Felicity, blood on his hands, blood soaking Felicity’s clothes. “What happened?” he demanded, moving forward in long quick strides. He was at her side in seconds, pressing a hand to her neck, checking her pulse. It was weak but it was there. “A part of the structure had collapsed and struck her. She had a metal rod embedded in her stomach. She’s lost a lot of blood. She was barely conscious when I found her” Digg’s steps to his car didn’t falter, reaching it in a few quick strides. Oliver kept pace with him ignoring the pain from his own injuries he sustained in his fight with Malcolm. “I’m coming with.” 

Diggle nodded as Oliver yanked the back door to his car open. “There’s a duffle in the back with a change of your clothes.” Oliver climbed into the back, immediately turning and reaching for Felicity. He laid her on the seat and quickly reached for his duffle bag, changing his clothes as quickly as he could while keeping the pressure on her wound. It was difficult to do but he managed somehow. Diggle quickly got behind the wheel and sped off avoiding the wreckage with sharp turns. With his free hand, Oliver pushed Felicity’s hair from her face, his hand trailed down her neck, relief washing over him when he still felt her pulse if not a little weak but still there. She was still breathing and that was the most important thing to him. He leaned down pressing his forehead against hers, her skin felt feverish against his own. “You’re going to be fine, Felicity.” His breath left him on a shaky exhale. “You have to be. I need you to be okay. I’ll never forgive myself if you’re not.” he whispered to her so quietly that the sounds of sirens off in the distance and the roar of the car engine, Diggle pressing down harder on the gas, drowned out his words from anyone but him. Oliver remembered rushing Felicity through the chaos of Starling General Memorial Hospital’s emergency room, demanding for her to be seen. And it was so close to his hood voice that the staff jumped and rushed to Felicity’s aid bypassing others in need, seeing to her immediately and shooting him wary glances. A nurse had wanted to get him seen as well motioning to the spot bleeding on his shoulder, too close to his heart however he refused treatment, dismissing it as a minor flesh wound and told them that they needed to do their damn job and focus on Felicity. He was more than glad that the nurse had not pressed the issue. John who had mostly been silent pulled him aside, telling him he needed to bring it down a notch. He was too close to his hood persona and he needed to act more like Oliver Queen, a concerned friend and not like Starling City’s Vigilante, The Hood, who would destroy anyone who got in his way. That was nearly two hours ago, the waiting, the not knowing was driving him crazy. He needed to know that Felicity was going to be okay. He needed that like he needed air to breathe. He knew he should check on Thea and Tommy. Find out what was going on with his mom but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He couldn’t leave Felicity here not knowing if she was going to make it. “Oliver, man, you need to relax, pacing and driving yourself crazy is not going to help her.” Oliver turned to Digg, his eyes narrowing on the larger man, sitting in one of the hospitals waiting room chairs. “How can you be so calm?” “Felicity, she’s strong. She’s a fighter. She’ll pull through. There’s no way she’d leave us on our own.” Oliver wished he had Diggle’s certainty but he was so used to the good things in his life being ripped away from him. All he could think about was all the things he refused to acknowledge, all the things that went unsaid between them. Feelings he couldn’t admit to anyone. Thoughts he had refused to let himself think in the waking hours. Quiet dreams that he kept to himself. The possibility of never having the chance, to be honest with Felicity had everything he pushed down, refused to admit, rushing to the surface unable to be denied any longer. He was no longer able to keep lying to himself. “Ollie!” He looked up and barely had time to brace himself before Laurel was barreling into his chest. “Have you heard about Tommy?” Oliver subtly extracted himself from her arms. After everything that had happened, he admitted to himself that the feel of her body against his own felt wrong. “No.” Oliver shook his head. “Is he going to be okay? Do you know?” “The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery if not a long one. He got lucky.” her brow furrowed in a look of confusion. “Why are you here if not for Tommy? Did Thea get hurt?” “No.” As far as he knew Thea was fine. He would make sure as soon as he knew Felicity would be okay. “Felicity was hurt.” “Who?” “My friend, Felicity Smoak. You met her once at Verdant, beautiful, blonde hair, glasses, she has this adorable habit of babbling.” “Oh, her,” said Laurel an odd tone to her voice. “The tech help for your club.” Diggle who was keeping quiet mostly through their entire exchange gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s not just the tech help. She has a name. And she’s gonna be fine. Thanks for your concern.” “I barely know her. I’m sorry if it came off like I don’t care but what does it really matter? She’s just Oliver’s employee.” Oliver bristled at her words. “Felicity Smoak does not work for me. She works with me. There’s a difference and it matters. She matters to me and I won’t let you be disrespectful toward her.” Laurel’s eyes widened, her face reddening. “Ollie, I didn’t mean anything by it, I-” Oliver’s head snapped to the left when he spotted the doctor who took Felicity into surgery. He brushed past Laurel, ignoring her calls, meeting the doctor halfway. He didn’t have to look back to know Digg was right behind him. “Felicity is she…?” “She is resting now. Ms. Smoak was very fortunate. The piece of metal that impaled her abdomen narrowly missed anything vital. However, she lost a lot of blood and we had to give her a blood transfusion. However, she does have a concussion. We’d like to keep her overnight for a day or so but she should be able to go home in a few days.” “But she’s going to be fine?” Diggle wanted to double check. “She will make a full recovery. Yes.” Dr. Sawyer smiled. “Can we see her?” Oliver asked, stepping forward. If he could just see her he would know everything was going to be fine because she was. “Yes, you can. If you will just follow me.” Dr. Sawyer began walking away and Oliver and John fell into step behind him instantly. “Ollie!” he ignored Laurel’s voice calling after him and kept walking. Dr. Sawyer took them up four floors, leading them down a series of corridors until they reached a room numbered 421. He pushed the door open and Oliver’s breath caught in his throat, freezing in the doorway, his eyes locked on her sleeping form. “Oliver.” Digg propelled him forward with a hand on the back of his shoulder blade. It seemed that was all the push he needed. His feet carried him to her side, his hand cupped her cheek, taking relief in the feel of her warm skin against his hand. His breath left him in a rush. He didn’t care that there were other people in the room with him. He brushed her blonde hair from her forehead, the back of his knuckles brushing her skin, kissing her forehead, lingering for just a moment before standing up straighter and just took her in. The reassuring way her chest rose and fell with her breathing, the sound of the monitors beeping rhythmically. The way the color was slowly returning to her pale skin. “A member of my nursing staff will be by later to check on her.” Dr. Sawyer informed them. Oliver nodded vaguely as he pulled a chair up next to her bed, sinking into it and clutching her hand. He knew Dr. Sawyer left but he couldn’t remove his eyes from her to confirm it. Digg stepped forward, placing his hand on Felicity’s arm for a moment before taking the last available chair in the room. Oliver could feel the weight of John’s eyes, scrutinizing him. “How long?” John asked. “How long what?” “How long have you had feelings for Felicity? I thought you were still chasing after whatever you had with Laurel.” A beat passed before Oliver could bring himself to answer. “I don’t know when I started to feel something for Felicity. Maybe it was from the very beginning, the moment I saw her, the moment I walked into her cubicle, the moment I met her,  I don’t know.” “And now?” asked Digg. Oliver finally turned his gaze from Felicity to his friend’s searching gaze. “And now I can’t imagine doing any of this without her.” “What about Laurel?” John's eyes narrowed. “Laurel is apart of my past. She’s a friend but I know that’s all we were meant to be. Anything more than that is out of the question. It just doesn’t work.” John nodded. Glad that Oliver had finally removed his Laurel blinders. Oliver’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, Thea’s name flashing across his screen. “It’s Thea. I have to take this.” “Go. I’ve got our girl.” Oliver hesitated before nodding pushing from his seat and reluctantly leaving the room. “Hey, Speedy,” he answered. “Oh, thank God,” Thea breathed in relief. “I’m at the hospital and-” “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asked worriedly. “No, I’m fine but Tommy got hurt.” “I know, but he’s going to be fine.” Oliver was quick to reassure her. “They said he was lucky but he has a lot of healing to do. They're talking physical rehab.” “Tommy can handle it. He’s strong.” Oliver said, his eyes sliding shut. “Ollie, where are you?” he could hear the tears in her voice and it made his chest tighten. “You should be here with me. You should be here for Tommy.” Oliver opened his eyes and looked down, feeling a wave of guilt. He knew he should be there with them. He knew they were here in the hospital somewhere but he couldn’t leave Felicity’s side. He needed to be there when she woke up. “I want to be there but I can’t.” The silence that followed was like a crimination of everything he was doing wrong until finally, his sister broke it. “What you’re doing? Is it important?” “Yes. Very important.” Being by Felicity’s side was what he needed to be doing. “Okay,” Thea said and was surprised by how understanding she sounded. “Do what you have to do. We’ll still be here.”   Oliver was surprised once again by her understanding and was grateful for it. “Thanks, Speedy.” “Call me if you need anything.” “I will,” They said their goodbyes shortly after. Oliver slid his phone back into his pocket and stepped back into Felicity’s hospital room, returning to his seat at her bedside. “Tommy’s going to be okay. Thea’s with him now.” he retook Felicity’s hand in his own. “That’s good.” Diggle clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you gonna be here? I want to check on Carly and AJ.” “I’m not going anywhere.” There were zero chances of that happening. “Go check on your family.” Digg nodded, reaching out a hand, giving Felicity’s arm a squeeze before leaving. Oliver leaned his elbows on her bed, holding her hand in his and just watched her sleep, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. That was all that mattered. Everything else, the fall out of the Undertaking, all of it could wait.

The sound of a repetitive beeping and a burning ache in her stomach had Felicity's eyes opening, her face scrunching up. It was white everywhere, the ceiling, the walls. There was a lemon smell mixed with some chemicals. She frowned, she was in a hospital. That much was obvious. She turned her head to the sound of the incessant beeping, seeing that she was hooked up to some monitors. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember what happened to land her in the hospital. She remembered the building structure starting to come down, she remembered something hitting her in the head, she remembered the sharp agonizing pain in her stomach. The more she tried to remember the faster the details came back to her. She remembered the blood. There had been so much of it. And John. John trying to help her, to slow down the bleeding, telling her she was going to be okay. She tried to move her hand but couldn’t. It was only then that she realized a warm hand with calloused fingers held her own. “John?” she turned her head expecting to find John but no, it was Oliver. Her eyes widened at the sight of him fast asleep his head pillowed on his forearms, resting on her bed, his hands clasping her own even in his sleep. If he was here, things couldn’t be bad. Everyone must’ve gotten out or else he wouldn’t be there. He would be with his family. Or Laurel. Not with her. Or maybe it was her. Maybe she was hurt more than she thought. The beeping of the machine increased. The second it did Oliver jolted up as if he was intuned with any change in the machine. Felicity watched as his eyes shot to the monitor alert but when they landed on her they widened and a shaky breath left his lips as they parted. “Felicity.” “Um, what are you doing here?” she asked, eyes taking him in, even though he had been resting he still looked exhausted. “You were hurt.” The way he said it was like her being hurt was the worst outcome imaginable. “Is it bad?” she worried her bottom lip. “No, you’re going to be fine. You just have some healing to do.” She was sure she imagined the way his eyes flickered down to her lips then back to her eyes. His own eyes a shade darker than before. She must have gotten hit in the head harder than she thought. “You needed a blood transfusion and you have a concussion.” That explained why she was imagining things. Like the way, Oliver was looking at her so intensely. It was like he thought if he looked away she’d be gone, out of his reach. Clearly, her mind was playing tricks on her. Oliver would never in a million years look at her like that. That look, that level of intensity coming from him was reserved for Laurel Lance. “The hospital wants to keep you overnight for a few days for observation.” Oliver continued, his thumb had started moving back and forth across the top of her hand. “But you’re going to make a full recovery.” Felicity nodded, a little unfocused. The brush of his thumb against her skin was more distracting than she was accustomed to. “You don’t have to stay. You should be with Thea.” “Thea’s fine.” She tried to pull her hand free but he only held it more tightly. “I’m exactly where I need to be.” he brought her hand up to his mouth, lips brushing her knuckles. “With you.” Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh.” she stared at him in wonder, half believing she was asleep and fantasizing about him. It’s not like it would be the first time. He was looking at her and saying all the things she could only dream of him saying to her so this had to be a dream. She shifted trying to shuffle up the bed to sit up but pain tore at her abdomen. She gasped, closing her eyes tightly against the pain and breathed out slowly. Okay! Not a dream. That fracking hurt. “Felicity?” Oliver was up out of his seat leaning over her immediately, concern coming off him in waves. “I’m alright.” She got out through the pain. “It just hurts when I move too much.” Oliver nodded, reaching for the call button and pressing it before focusing solely on her. “Just breathe with me. You can get through it.” he cupped her jaw and Felicity leaned into his hand, his touch as his thumb brushed the apple of her cheek. The door to her room was pushed opened but she barely noticed unable to tear her eyes from Oliver. It was only with the sound of a throat clearing that she was finally able to slide her eyes away from Oliver to see Digg. “John.” she smiled. Digg stepped forward with a smile, stepping up to the other side of her bed. “You scared the crap out of us.” he reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Yeah, I’m getting that.” Felicity glanced at Oliver out of the corner of her eye. He was still watching her with the same intensity. Like she would disappear from his sights if he wasn’t looking directly at her. “Well, we would be lost without our girl,” Digg responded. “You know we can’t do any of this without you.” Felicity smiled at his words. “It’s a really good thing you don’t have to then, huh?” “Definitely,” Oliver said before Digg could respond, his hand tightening around hers. Felicity turned her smile on him, squeezing his hand back. A warm feeling filling her chest as she stared into his blue eyes unguarded for once. It was like he was letting his walls down so she could see him. The real him. The man beneath the Hood. Behind the mission. The man who felt everything more deeply, more intensely than anyone could imagine. From the moment she met him she knew he was more than what most people saw, she had seen it even when he didn’t want anyone to but she could now that he did. He wanted her to see him and she did. But more than that she liked the person she could see.

Two days in the hospital and Felicity was anxious to leave. If the doctors needed her to rest up she could do that from the comfort of her own home, relaxing on her couch, catching up on all her favorite TV shows. She didn’t need to be here.   The door to her room was pushed open by Dr. Sawyer. “Please tell me, you’ll be sending me home today,” Felicity said in greeting. Dr. Sawyer chuckled, amusement in his eyes. “Ready to leave us so soon, Ms. Smoak?” “Since yesterday,” Felicity said. “Not that you haven’t been taking great care of me. Hospitals just are not anywhere I want to be.” The door to her room was pushed open again but she kept on talking. “And I’m ready to get out of here.” “Not without me, you aren’t,” Oliver stated coming to stand at the end of the bed as Dr. Sawyer checked her vitals, writing something down on his clipboard. Felicity frowned at Oliver. “I thought you were going to visit Tommy with Thea?” “I did.” he clasped her hand in his. When she first woke up it surprised her that Oliver was at her bedside but over the past two days she gotten used to him being there and reaching out to her. In any way, he could. In any way, she would allow. “You were gone barely an hour.” she pointed out. “And it was enough time. They’re fine. Thea understands. Oh, and Tommy says to get better real soon.” Felicity snorted. She could say the same thing about Tommy but she appreciated the sentiment. Felicity turned reaching for her phone, moving slowly not wanting to strain her wound. “Here.” Oliver was already holding her phone out to her. “Thank you.” she smiled at him and sent a text out to Tommy. Get better soon. I’m glad you’re going to be okay. It would have killed Oliver to lose his best friend. “How is she today? Does everything look good? Is she healing okay?” She could hear the concern in Oliver's voice as he asked Dr. Sawyer question after question however she was distracted by an incoming text message from Tommy. Don’t underestimate your own worth Smoak. Oliver would be lost without you. “Felicity?” She looked up to see both Dr. Sawyer and Oliver looking at her in varying looks of amusement. “Hmm?” she looked between them. “What?” Oliver looked at her. “Dr. Sawyer said you’ll be able to go home later today.” Felicity smiled and her whole face lit up. “Best news I heard all day.” “I do have some conditions.” Dr. Sawyer cautioned. “You have to take it easy. No strenuous activity. And I want someone to stay with you during the first week of your recovery.” “I live alone,” Felicity informed him. “Is there anyone who can stay with you?” Dr. Sawyer inquired. “No, not rea-” “It won’t be a problem.” Oliver interrupted. “I’ll stay with her.” “I’m sorry, you’ll what?” Felicity looked at him wide-eyed “How about I give you two a moment?” Dr. Sawyer suggested, moving toward the door. “Oliver you can’t stay with me.” Felicity protested as soon as Dr. Sawyer was gone. “You have never even been to my place.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “What does that matter?” Felicity opened her mouth but then shut it. “If the thought of me being at your place makes you uncomfortable you can stay at my place instead.” Oliver offered, moving to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” She shook her head, trying not to show how affected she was by his sudden proximity. “Either you stay at the manor with me or I stay at your place so I can take care of you.” Felicity scowled. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.” “I know that.” Oliver licked his lips and her eyes followed the movement before snapping back up. “But I would feel better if I was there in case you needed anything. Felicity tilted her head at him. "Why does it have to be you? Why do you want to be the one to help me?" Oliver lifted his hand to cup her cheek, his hand warm against her skin. "Because I care about you and I want you to be okay." "Oh." Felicity breathed in surprise. It had always seemed like Oliver only had eyes for Laurel Lance. She had thought her obvious crush on him was one-sided but maybe it wasn't as one-sided as she first thought. "Oliver." She bit down on her bottom lip. Oliver's gaze dropped down to her lips and her breath hitched as he slowly leaned forward, giving her time to pull away. But she didn't. She didn't want to. She was too caught up in the moment to care how this would change things.   “Alright, have you two come to an agreement?” Dr. Sawyer asked stepping back into the room. Oliver pulled back the moment broken, his hand falling back to his side. Felicity’s eyes fell disappointment washing over her but then she felt her hand encased in Oliver’s warm one, washing the brief feeling of disappointment away, replacing it with one of reassurance and warmth. “Will you be staying with Ms. Smoak, Mr. Queen?” Dr. Sawyer asked, his eyes flitting between them and down to their clasped hands. “Yes, he will.” Felicity locked eyes with Oliver and his lips pulled up at the corners in a smile that was just for her. “Good. Glad to hear it.” Dr. Sawyer proceeded to give them instructions on how to change her bandages and reminded her repeatedly to take it easy and to be careful not to pull her stitches and reopen her wound.

Diggle pulled the car up outside of Felicity’s apartment. Oliver was seated in the backseat next to her. Diggle got out and moved to open her door before she could. “Are you okay with this?” Digg asked as Oliver got out rounding the car. “Yeah,” she nodded accepting his offered hand. “I’m good.” “I just wanted to make sure,” he replied as he assisted her out of the car. “I know and I appreciate it. You're a good friend, John Diggle.” “You make it easy,” he replied with an affectionate smile. “Remember to take it easy.” Suddenly Oliver was there, wrapping an arm around her and encouraging her to lean on him, offering to help her. “Do you got her?” Digg asked. “Yeah, I’ve got her.” Oliver nodded as he started to lead Felicity to the steps that led up to her apartment. “We got it from here, Digg,” Felicity assured when he looked at her. “I’m sure Lyla and AJ are expecting you.” “Call me if you need anything,” he told her before getting back in his vehicle. Felicity waved as he drove away before turning back around to Oliver, letting him help her up the steps to her apartment complex. She grimaced as she reached the top of the stairs feeling a pull in her abdomen. Oliver frowned concerned, seeing her face pinch together. “Are you alright? Maybe I should..” His arm moved to wrap low around her waist. Felicity could see what he wanted to do without him even having to say it. She held a finger up at him. “Don’t even try to pick me up to carry me, Oliver Queen. I can walk just fine.” Oliver sighed, tightening his arm around her waist. “At least let me take more of your weight. Let me help you.” He encouraged her to lean on him more. “Okay.” Felicity nodded, leaning more of her weight on him as they walked up the steps of her building.

They made it to her apartment and Felicity unlocked her door pushing it open and stepping inside. Oliver immediately started guiding her over to the couch, urging her to sit down and relax back against the cushions. She watched as Oliver bustled around her apartment, asking her where everything was. In a matter of minutes, he had her tucked into the couch, a blanket thrown on her lap, a glass of water on the table, the TV remote in her reach. “Can I get you something to eat? I’m sure I could whip something up.” Oliver shifted on his feet. “You cook?” asked Felicity in delighted surprise. “Raisa taught me a thing or two,” he admitted a bashful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Huh? Guess that’s another thing you can do better than me.” Felicity mused thoughtfully. “You can’t cook?” Oliver found it hard to believe that there was something Felicity couldn’t do. “That’s an understatement,” Felicity said with a wry smile. “I’m sure you can’t be that bad at it.” she was always so good at everything. “I burn water.” Felicity dead-panned with a dry look.

“That’s not possible.” Oliver shook his head.

“It is with me.” Felicity insisted. A chuckled passed Oliver's lips surprising them both. “Felicity Smoak, MIT graduate, bested by the act of cooking.” he teased. “Hey, watch it, I could ruin you,” she warned, her eyes lit with laughter, enjoying this new side to Oliver she was seeing. “Oh, I know .” Oliver murmured but he was sure he would enjoy every second of it. He knew she hadn’t meant it like that but after admitting to himself that Felicity had always been something more. It was damn near impossible to keep his mind from going there. Felicity flushed, the words came out entirely suggestive. Usually, she was the one who made the most innocent of words sound dirty. Oliver cleared his throat doing his best to ignore how far that attractive flush traveled down her neck. “Are you hungry?” “No, I’m good. I figured I just catch up on my DVR.” Felicity allowed the moment to pass. Oliver nodded casting his eyes around her apartment, noticing all the small things, the splashes of color. It was more welcoming than his own home. Felicity went through her DVR list, settling on one of her favorite shows. “Have you ever watched an episode of Game of Thrones?” Oliver’s expression clouded over with confusion. “No.” Felicity’s lips pulled down into a frown. “Not even one?” “No,” Oliver shook his head. “Not even one.” Felicity's frown deepened, her brow pinched. “That is a crime within itself but don’t worry, we’ll rectify this immediately.” she waved her hand at the other end of the couch. “Sit. I am going to educate you on all things Game of Thrones.” Oliver’s lips turned up into a smile, his eyes shining with amusement. He took the seat next to her, close enough that his arm brushed against hers. “I do have one thing to ask you first.” Felicity turned her eyes to him. “What is it?” “When your better would you like to go out with me?” Felicity froze, eyes wide, her heart pounding in her chest. Oliver had expected more of a reaction from her. Blushing, spluttering, adorable rambling, something, not her staring at him unblinking. “Felicity?” he asked in concern. She jolted at the way he said her name, sounding so unsure. “When Dr. Sawyer interrupted us I thought we were having a moment but I also thought maybe I was imagining things, seeing them differently than you were." “ Felicity. ” his hand cupped her jaw and she instinctively leaned into his touch with a quiet hum. “You weren’t imagining things.” “What about Laurel?” The last time Felicity checked he was madly in love with the woman. His other hand came up to her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse point. “After everything that has happened, I see things more clearly than I ever have before. I’m opening my eyes to the light. I don’t want Laurel. I want to be with you.” Warmth spread through Felicity’s chest, seeing the way he looked at her with so much emotion. “ Oliver. ” she murmured softly, reaching out and fisting his shirt in her hand and her other hand coming to rest over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart through his shirt beneath the palm of her hand. Oliver leaned forward slowly giving her a chance to pull away but she couldn’t, didn’t want to. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted it to be real. Oliver closed the last remaining distance between them, brushing his lips against hers tentatively at first but at the feel of her pressing back with her own, he moved his lips over hers more eagerly. Felicity sighed, the feel of his mouth on hers more real than any fantasy she had of him and there were a lot of them. Oliver's mouth moved over hers with a single-minded focus, coasting her to open to him and she gave in, feeling consumed by his intensity in the best way possible. Oliver kissed her until they were both breathless, he eased back leaning his forehead against hers. “Felicity Smoak, would you like to go to dinner with me?” Happiness bubbled up in her chest, her stomach doing somersaults. She smiled wide, her eyes shining brightly. “Yes.” she released her grip on his shirt, patting his chest. “But first we’re watching Game of Thrones.” Oliver chuckled releasing her, he settled back against the cushions, gently pulling her into his side. “Anything you want.” Felicity smiled at the feel of his lips pressing a kiss into her hair, burrowing deeper into his side mindful of her injury. Oliver wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, feeling at peace more than he had in a long time. It was everything. This moment, this feeling, this new beginning with Felicity. It was everything and so much more. She was everything.    

Notes:

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