#'the abuse itself bothered him none at all' he really spent his entire fucking life telling himself that didn't he?

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it’ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns​, my beta @demisexualemmaswan​, and my artist @cocohook38​. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part  is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thesschesthair​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded. 

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours. 

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question. 

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath. 

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

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped. 

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him. 

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake. 

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car. 

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat. 

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside. 

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

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

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward. 

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break. 

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now. 

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won. 

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

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on. 

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home. 

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps. 

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind. 

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep. 

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb. 

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position. 

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual. 

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.” 

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes. 

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

[anonniemousefics]

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.  

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.  

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.  

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly.  “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

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Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

[merakiaes]

Confessions On Drugs - Finn Shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I’m sorry in advance for any possible mistakes. I may have changed your request up a bit but I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 3216

Summary: After being shot, you’re high on pain relief medication and accidentally confess your love for Finn in the presence of the entire Shelby family. 

Being shot was not fun. In fact, it hurt like hell. Well, at least you thought it did. You were currently so high on pain relief medication that you could barely remember your own name, but you guessed that it had hurt, or else you wouldn’t have been where you currently were, lying in the hospital bed surrounded by the very family that had raised and taken care of you your entire life.

“How you feeling, (Y/N)?” John asked where he sat at your left side, watching you with amused eyes as you played with the rings on his fingers.

Your eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, giving it every ounce of your focus to turn all of the metal rings the same way. “Like I was shot in the chest.” You answered without ever looking away from his hand. “But I feel like I’m floating on clouds. Am I floating on clouds? Am I high?”

John chuckled, and the others with him. He nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, you’re pretty high.”

Your eyes instantly shot open and just like that, his rings were as good as forgotten, your attention instead turning to look around at the people standing around your bed. But the only face you could really make out was John’s, the others’ being too far away and only appearing a blurry mess.

“On cocaine?” You questioned, bewildered, before you turned angry, your eyes narrowing again. “I bet it was Finn who gave it to me, wasn’t it? Might as well paint his nose white with all the snow he’s been snorting.”

Everyone exchanged a look, eyes twinkling with amusement and lips tugging slightly at your sudden outburst.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer and leaning against the wall right beside your bedside table. “Why the sudden hostility against Finn?” He questioned. “Aren’t you best friends?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back into your pillow, staring into the ceiling as you answered. “It’s complicated.”

Finn, who was standing at the very back beside Isaiah and Polly, frowned, and spoke up before he could help himself. “Complicated?”

He was confused, to say the least. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest about your retort about the cocaine, as you had spent the past year pestering him about his drug abuse and trying your very best to get him to quit it. But when had your relationship gone from a normal one to ‘complicated’?

You only ignored his question, however, keeping your eyes glued to the chipped ceiling, talking to Tommy. “Do you want to know a secret?”

The man raised his eyebrows even higher at this, nodding his head slightly and taking a drag from his cigarette. “Sure.”

You hummed, bringing your hands up into the air and inspecting them, wriggling your fingers a few times before starting to trace the lines in your palm. “You know Finn?” You asked. “Your brother Finn?”

Everyone exchanged glances, but Tommy’s eyes were stuck on you. “Yes. What about Finn?”

“I hate him.”

When those three words slipped out of your lips, everyone was shocked, and Finn most so of them all, his entire posture growing rigid and his eyes hardening at what he was hearing.

Tommy was speechless for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and asked. “Why?”

“Eyes.” You answered simply, without even missing a beat. “Those damn eyes fucked me over. They fuck me over every day. It’s infuriating.”

You let out another dramatic sigh, still absentmindedly tracing the inside of your hand. “I can’t decide if I want to punch him in the face or have his babies, you know? Have you ever had that problem?”

Now this was what really shocked them. It had been a shock in itself to hear you utter the words “hate” and “Finn” in the same context, as they knew how close you were. But now, now they realized they might be on the way to an actual proclamation of love.

Tommy, now being shocked and slightly taken aback from the surprise and anticipation they were all feeling, lowered his hand holding the cigarette slowly, putting all of his attention on you. “I can’t say I have, but it sounds tough.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head lazily. “It’s the toughest.” You confirmed, narrowing your eyes as you thought. “I should just punch him while we make babies.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and John, Isaiah and Arthur were all now snorting at the back of their throats and having to use every last muscle in their body in a desperate attempt to keep their laughter in.

And it only got harder to do so when a look of horror struck your face, finally realizing what you had just said. “No, wait.” You quickly corrected yourself. “I’m not that kinky.”

“You like his eyes, eh?” Arthur joined in then, leaning forward in his own chair and smiling smugly at you, not that you could see it as you were still focusing on your hand.

A simple sigh escaped your mouth. “Yeah.” You drawled sadly, sighing again.

“What else do you like?” John asked, and you answered without missing a beat.

“Cheese.”

“No-“ He chuckled, shaking his head. “What else do you like about Finn.”

“John-“ Finn began protesting, now a whole flustered mess where he stood, Isaiah silently laughing and looking as if he was on the verge of crying.

But he was ignored, as you had already started talking again.

“I don’t know.” Yet another dramatic sigh. “His face, I guess. His cute, stupid face. He’s tall, which is pretty hot. And he’s got nice hair, and freckles. Yeah, I like his freckles. He’s really cute and it’s ruining my life because I think about kissing him all the time. Whenever I look at him he’s just so cute and perfect, that little shit.”

You narrowed your eyes toward the end, starting to mutter about what a little shit he was under your breath while everyone was now silently teasing Finn.

“Does he know you feel this way?” John asked in a shaky voice, his entire body trembling with the way he was trying his hardest to not laugh out loud.

“Of course not.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, to which he raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Have you met him?” You quickly responded with another scoff. “He’s too busy fucking whores, doing drugs and sticking his head so far up his own ass to listen to anyone but himself. He’s on the top of the world.”

You then made a face, starting to imitate Finn in a deeper but at the same time very ridiculous voice. “I’m a Shelby I can do this. I’m a Peaky Blinder I can do that.”

Polly, Aberama, Michael and Esme who had all been pretty natural up until this point were now having to try their hardest to keep calm, as well, and Isaiah, John and Arthur were practically dying, silently clapping their thighs and laughing quietly.

Isaiah was slapping Finn’s back repeatedly, and with every hit, he only blushed further and further.

“I’d be his if he asked, though.” You continued, too caught up in your own mind to even realize what was going on around you, or who you were even talking to in the first place. “Even though he’s a complete asshole. I’m 99.9% sure he doesn’t like me like that, but I mean, I’ll be fine. As long as he stays single.”

You shrugged naturally, and with the way John and Arthur were now both holding their fisted hands in front of their mouths to hold any sounds in, Tommy picked the subject back up.

“And you don’t think he knows about your feelings?”

You hummed, blinking droopily and finally letting your arms fall back to your sides, moving your attention back to the ceiling. “No, I know he doesn’t.” You answered, shaking your head.

“How can you be so sure?” Tommy asked, and you hummed again, smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth repeatedly, which only added to the humour of the situation.

“He’s very loyal and sweet, but also very dumb.” You answered, seemingly without a single doubt in your mind. “Sometimes, I don’t even know if he’s got any functioning brain cells.”

And that’s when they couldn’t hold back their laughter anymore, Arthur, Isaiah and John howling out and triggering everyone else. The three of them had to bend over and slap their legs where they stood and sat, laughing so hard it could probably be heard all the way out to the street.

Polly crossed her arms, shaking her head at their antics, but she laughed too, as did everyone else but on a much lower level. Tommy joined in on the laughter, too, watching you fondly as you reacted by turning and narrowing your eyes at them.  

“Why are you laughing? Are you making fun of me?” You rushed out angrily, pointing a finger at them. “I’m friends with the Peaky Blinders you know, they’ll cut your eyes out if I ask them to so you better not be.”

Polly shook her head and abandoned her spot at the back of the room, coming over to your bed. “No, we’re not laughing at you, love.” She assured you, and you turned your attention to her, calming down slightly. “We’re laughing at something else. How about you get some sleep, yeah? You need all the rest you can get.”

She gently pushed you back into the bed, smiling fondly at your pissed off expression all while starting to tuck you in under your blanket.

“Fine.” You snapped back, crossing your arms over your bandaged chest but nonetheless letting her adjust the blanket over your body so that you were comfortable. “I guess I am pretty tired.” You muttered.

After making sure you were situated in your bed, Polly turned to the others and slapped John and Arthur on their heads, motioning for them to get up. “Alright, that’s enough fun for today. Let’s not torture your brother too much, yeah?” She said, waving a hand in Finn’s direction, but as everyone turned and got a glimpse of his bright red face, their laughing only intensified.

But nonetheless, Polly managed to get them all out of the room, making sure Finn was going to be alright as he told her he would be staying by your side until you woke up again, before leaving to go back home herself.

Once she was gone, Finn finally allowed himself to take the chair at your side that John had previously been occupying, sitting himself down with an exhausted and flustered sigh, watching your peaceful face as you had already fallen asleep.

He took your hand in his carefully, and soon lulled off to sleep himself.

You weren’t sure for how long you were asleep, but when your eyes fluttered open again, sunshine was shining in through the window as opposed to the moonlight that had been illuminating the room before you fell asleep.

The first thing you noticed upon awaking was the slightly stinging pain shooting out from your chest and the way your head was spinning slightly, and the second thing you noticed was a warm hand limply clasped in your own.

Slowly, you turned your head to the side, and a soft smile automatically made its way onto your lips when finding Finn sleeping soundly beside you in a chair, his hair hanging in front of his eyes slightly.

Your thumb automatically caressed the back of his hand and he twitched slightly in his sleep at the small touch. You stared at him for another moment, before gently pulling your hand away from his and starting to sit yourself up, the aching in your back getting to much and telling you it was time to stretch your stiff limbs.

As you moved, however, Finn instantly woke up, more or less shooting out of his chair, eyes searching the room in panic before finally landing on you, struggling to sit up.

“No, you should lay down.” He was quick to protest, attempting to push you back down by your shoulders.

You met his eyes and smiled lazily. “I really need to stretch my legs.”

He looked at you for a moment, but soon nodded, and helped you sit up the rest of the way, watching as you slowly brought your legs over the edge of the bed, stretching them out.

He sank back down into his chair, leaning his elbows on his thighs, but not once looking away from you as you rolled your neck and stretched out your stiff muscles.

Feeling his stare burning into the side of your face, you turned your attention away from your legs and gave him a look.

“What?” You chuckled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you-“ He hesitated. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

You raised an eyebrow to a start, but once you caught sight of the seemingly nervous expression on his face, you frowned, shaking head. “No. Why?”

He stared sheepishly at you, briefly glancing down at his lap and you instantly brought your hands to cover your face, catching on to what this was about. “I said some stupid shit, didn’t I?”

“You said some very… interesting things, yeah.” He agreed, and your heart instantly picked up speed, anxiety starting to settle in your stomach.

“What did I say?”

“I-“ He hesitated again, and you removed your hand from your face, giving him a desperate look.

“Come on, please tell me. Put me out of my misery.”

His eyelashes fluttered, a habit off his whenever he was nervous. He swallowed slightly, leaning back into his chair and grabbing a hold of the armrests. “You talked about me.” He finally told you. “About… having feelings for me.”

Terror instantly struck your face, your eyes widening and your entire body growing hot with shame. “What else did I do?” You asked, your voice now trembling, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to know the answer.

But now that the conversation was started, Finn’s answer came pretty quickly.

“You insulted my intellect on more than one occasion.” He told you, the corner of his lips tugging slightly. “Called me braindead, an asshole, questioned whether or not I had any working braincells, among other things.”

When hearing this, your eyes widened to the size of saucers, guilt instantly filling your entire body. “Oh, my God.” You said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Are you sure?” Finn chuckled, but judging by the faint blush dusting his cheeks, he was just trying to lighten up the mood, in reality just as bashful as you were.

“Of course I’m sure.” You answered, shaking your head. “You might be… special. But you’re not an idiot. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me.”

You raised your hands to your face again, attempting to hide your shame.

“So you didn’t mean any of it?” Finn asked, and you shook your head, voice coming out slightly muffled against the palms of your hands.

“No, of course not, Finn.” You said sincerely. “I was high on pain medication. I would never call you stupid. I don’t think that at all.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” He sighed. “I was talking about your feelings. For me. Was that just the drugs talking, too?”

With a sigh of your own, you slowly brought your face back out of your hands and gave him a hesitant look, feeling your ears burning hot with embarrassment. “I guess that depends on what I said.”

You watched as his eyelashes fluttered again, and you could feel your heart thumping violently inside your chest as he spoke. “You, uh, said you liked my eyes, my hair, my freckles.” He swallowed, chuckling slightly. “That my height was hot and that you… wanted to have my babies. Among many other things.”

“I-“ You couldn’t find the right words, looking down and shaking your head slightly. What was the point in denying the truth behind his, your, words, if they had already been confessed? You would have hoped your true feelings would never be discovered, but you guessed there was on going back now.

You sighed. “Well, I… I guess that’s pretty accurate.” You answered quietly, looking down at your hands and tugging slightly at the sleeves of your hospital gown. “I mean, you’re a Shelby, aren’t you? It’s no secret that the Shelbys are good looking.”

“(Y/N).” He said sternly, and upon glancing up at him through your lashes, you found he was looking at you with an equally as stern expression.  

You gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, shit.” You cursed, falling back against the bed, squeezing your eyes shut and reaching your hands up to pull through your knotted hair. “Yes. Yes, I do have feelings for you and I have for a long time.” You finally confirmed, your heart feeling as if it was about to jump out of your chest at this point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked seriously, and all you could do was shake your head.

“Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

He was quiet for a moment, and in that moment, all you could think was this is it. This is where he tells me how weird I am for having feelings for him and cuts all ties with me.

But then you heard the ruffling of his clothes, as if he was moving, and only a second later, you felt a warm hand carefully sliding onto your bare knee, followed by his voice. “You wouldn’t have.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your heartbeat picked up even more speed at the feeling of his skin against yours, your entire body starting to tingle. You opened your eyes and brought your hands away from your hair, slowly pushing yourself back up on the bed, eyes looking into his uncertainly.

“You mean you-?”

He shrugged his shoulders and gave you a playful smirk. “You’re an asshole and sometimes I wonder whether or not you actually have any functioning braincells, but I guess you’re pretty cute, too.”

Your eyes widened to a start, not understanding what he was getting at, but when his playful smirk widened, you instantly realized he was mocking you and your shock quickly turned into shame again.

“I still can’t believe I said all of those things.” You muttered, bringing your hand back up to hide your blushing face.

The sound of the chair dragging against the floor could be heard, and soon, Finn had removed your hand from your face, taking both of yours into his.

Upon opening your eyes again, you found that he was now only centimeters away from your face, the realization taking your breath away.

“You also said you wanted to kiss me.” He revealed, not even trying to hide the way he was looking at your lips.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. “Did I?” You asked, your voice barely even audible.

But he heard you, nodding his head. “You did.” He confirmed, finally tearing his eyes away from your lips, instead looking up to meet your gaze.

And then he leaned in and kissed you.

[ambitionsource]

Who in the a class is in some kind of therapy?

what a question LMAO. but honestly, a very fair one indeed. while discussing this, es and i ended up basically dividing it into three groups (if someone isn’t mentioned, it just means none apply)

Is In Therapy Currently

Isadora || as we know from the canon of S3, isa is currently in therapy to work through the grief of valerie dying as well as like... the built up abandonment issues, anxiety, and struggles she has articulating or processing emotions lmao. it also helps her learn better methods to work with her autism

Farkle || i mean... we all watched S1 & 2. we know why he’s there LMAO and by god does he need it. it’s good that he’s improving though!!

Chai || she officially started therapy after the events of S1 while she was abroad because evidently her parents divorce really fucked with her emotional state and coping mechanisms -- as well as having sort of emotionally distant parents and having to navigate the world on her own. basically, money =/= nurturing. but yeah i think she realized what she did with tormenting her classmates wasn’t Healthy perhaps and so she sought out the resources to fix it on her own. her parents certainly weren’t going to be much help

Clarissa || clarissa has been in and out of therapy here and there since she was little, mainly for managing OCD. usually she’s fine and her appointments are infrequent (monthly at this current rate), but she tends to go back to her therapist when circumstances get very stressful, like the events of S2 (she mentions going back to therapy in a scene with charlie and haley in 210)

Not In Therapy Currently, but Has Before

Riley || though not by choice, riley went to therapy for a stretch of time in the aftermath of her bullying experience freshman year. by the start of S1, though, she’s on the tail-end of it after a whole summer full of it. she also had stints in family therapy when she was little when cory and topie were having their first bouts of marriage problems, but she doesn’t remember all that obviously. she’s thought about going back for herself because of all the divorce strain, but ultimately opted against it bc she didn’t want to go through cory or topanga. she mainly sticks to talking to eric if things get too overwhelming and using the coping mechanisms she already has

Darby || miss darbs spent some time in therapy in late elementary school due to having issues socializing with her peers. i think she’s always been a bit awkward and desperate to please, so that can get messy with kids cause kids are mean. she was also definitely bullied at that age for being really tall and so i think her parents put her therapy out of genuine concern just with the hopes that like, she’d be able to develop some coping mechanisms and have a safe space to get advice if they didn’t have the answers. and in some ways it helped, other ways no -- her friendships aren’t the healthiest still (as she’s the doormat), but i think she holds her own BETTER with the plastics having gone to therapy than if she never developed those emotional tools at all

Has Not / Is Not but Really Fucking Should Be in Therapy

LUCAS || this is like the most obvious blinking lights sirens wailing example ever. he is a walking textbook for endorsing therapy. between the domestic abuse, mommy and daddy issues, self-esteem in the subbasement, lack of life purpose, inability to read others well emotionally, inability to process his own emotions, the physical aversion due to his trauma, his kleptomania, his risk-taking behavior, his habit of lying, the fact that he has canonically walked off for days at a time with no warning, explanation, or safety net, that he sleeps in a fucking technician’s booth, he used to free-climb buildings SOMETIMES IN THE RAIN, no sense of self-preservation, intrusive thoughts, inability to express appreciation or affection in a normal non-stressful way...... this man is a therapist’s dream and nightmare. they could spend YEARS unpacking him. but will he ever go to therapy? no. because he a) doesn’t think he needs it, b) can’t ask for help ever, and c) could never afford it. and at this point, d) if his dad heard he was seeking help like that he would shut it down instantly. anyway, he’s the biggest case here. underline him in red

Charlie || charlie is a great example of someone who is like coping... sort of... not really... it Looks like they’re coping but they aren’t really and they really need help. like yes, charlie has stability in certain areas of his life that others don’t, and he’s extremely self-aware of his privileges, but i think that’s part of the problem. he’s convinced himself he doesn’t need or shouldn’t get external help because there are people who have it so much worse than him and he doesn’t... he doesn’t really need it, does he? he’s fine. he’ll be fine. and even if he did think about getting “help,” i think his first instinct -- and advice from others -- would be to go to his church leadership, which is not a suggestion made with ill will but just isn’t helpful considering half of his trauma is tied to his relationship with god and the church and faith. he needs a more objective space to unpack all of that, and obviously church itself is not the answer. i think that charlie will be able to work through a lot of his initial issues on his own with time and patience with himself (something we’re in the thick of right now -- we’re just barely in the acceptance phase), but he should really go to therapy in the future just to like... work through all of the long-term trauma he endured from his upbringing and bridgette’s exile and the dueling psychology of church vs sexuality. like... that’s gonna take some time to unravel and he needs to be in the right place to pursue that on his own. will he, i dont know, but i think when he does a certain heaviness he’s been carrying his entire life will finally like... lift. and he’ll be able to breathe better

Asher || so asher is a bit of a clusterfuck LMAO like he’s diagnosed officially with generalized anxiety disorder but he never saw a specialist, his mom diagnosed him since she’s a psychologist. the complexity here is that because of that... well, they say you should never let family be your personal doctors and i think that’s true for mental health professionals too. like emily basically gave asher the generic coping rundown when he was really young, and then he went on to develop his own coping mechanisms with, at least, a very fundamental understanding of what’s wrong with him. but he kind of developed his own complex about it all too, bc i think emily took pride in him being able to figure it all out and be so capable with his own mental health without ever going to therapy and he kind of internalized that, as well as having internalized a lot his mom’s perspectives and opinions as a mental health professional in a way that its like... well my MOM said that, so i feel kind of some type of way about it. so its all really complicated and twisted in his head and he just doesnt bother to unpack it (something, ironically, therapy would probably help lol). the thing about asher is that for all intents and purposes, he does cope well and he is really in tune with his own mental state. it’s just that he could seriously benefit from having an objective party help him untangle some of his neuroses i think and it would take some of the constant stress off his shoulders, but he’s honestly too stuck in his ways at this point to go. that being said, he’s a vocal advocate for therapy and its benefits -- just not for himself

Nigel || as discussed a bit in the ask i answered about him, i just think nigel carries way too much pressure on himself and he could benefit from someone helping him work through things instead of carrying all his stress on his own -- even if its less complex than some others. he’s like same range as clarissa.

Maya || maya has no issue with self-esteem, but i think she could still benefit from someone helping her actually unpack her issues over her dad and why she is the way she is. a therapist who specializes in narcissism would be a good fit for her -- not because she is one, but she does have... certain quirks where i think having that specialization can help unravel her motivations and actions a little more easily

Missy || she’s just a fucking mess. she shouldn’t be redeemed but i think therapy could really do her a favor and maybe make her less terrible and psychopathic towards people who aren’t like her. maybe

-- Maggie & Es

[blueymoons]

Hey boo! Here's a bunch of numbers for that music meme: 1, 5, 6, 15, 20, 26, 28, 35, 38, and 50 🥳❤️ Looking forward to your answers, I love your music taste!

OOOoh this is so exciting!!! @kenzthepea...I adore you and I haven’t told you that enough lately. ❤❤❤

OK..Here goes:

1. Current Favorite Song: This is hard...Because I love so many songs. But the one I kept repeating today was Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I like the melody, and the lyrics that are so intricate. I especially love the bridge and I think my brain is formulating a fic with this song...but I have to wait and see what percolates. But it feels like that’s about to happen. 

5. A Song That Reminds You Of Another Time In Your Life: I’m going to with It’s Been Awhile by Staind. I don’t know why...but every time I hear this song I think back to the first guy I fell in love with. It literally never played while we were together, or featured in our relationship at all, and has nothing to do with either of us...but it makes me think of him because I feel him in it. I think it’s maybe that during the time I met him, and fell in love with him and was held by him...I was dealing with some serious things in my home life. My mother was abusive, and I felt worthless and like a complete fuck up...but all of that didn’t matter when he hugged me. None of it mattered when we were talking. It makes me feel the way he made me feel and I love that. Because I still love him. Just differently, though 15 year old me is still deeply in love with him...But I am happily married to a man who adores me, who listens to me, and who makes me feel seen...which is exactly what Daniel did for me all those years ago. We’re still very good friends and we sing karaoke together (not currently obviously) and he still gives the best hugs and he’s still as sweet and dreamy and magnetic as he was the day I met him. And I feel grateful, so damn grateful that the first man I ever loved, taught me that I was worthy of that love, so that I could recognize when my husband felt the same way. That was long...but worth it. And you knew I’d be wordy. 🤣

6. A Song That Reminds You of A Place You’ve Been: I cannot hear the Hawaiian version of I’m Yours by Jason Mraz without instantly being transported to the beach house my husband and I were married out of a little over 11 years ago. That song was played multiple times during our stay, and the Hawaiian version is so much more lovely than the radio version. It wasn’t our wedding song...but it is our unofficial wedding song. So much so that it’s the song my husband set as my ring tone when I call him. 🥰🥰🥰 I can’t seem to find the Hawaiian version but the version I linked is very damn close. 

15. A Song That Makes You Want To Fall In Love: This one was really hard...Because I’m already very much in love with my husband...But I’m going to give you two...by the same artist, on the same album, because both give off some serious sex appeal to me and both would make me ache to have someone to feel that way about if I didn’t already have my Husband-Man. Wolf Like Me by Lera Lynn ft. Shovels and Rope, and Lose Myself by Lera Lynn, ft. John Paul White (you knew he had to be in here somewhere). Both are on her Plays Well With Others album, which was co-produced by John Paul and Ben Tanner (of the Alabama Shakes) at their Sun Drop Sound recording studio in Florence, Alabama and is on their label Single Lock Records (I’m a huge fan of pretty much every artist on Single Lock’s label) and these two songs are just straight up magic. Wolf Like Me is like...a werewolf love song. It’s literally her begging someone to be a wolf like her, and understand her, and I believe its a cover...but I choose to ignore that because I don’t ever want to hear anyone but Lera and S&R singing it. It’s haunting and sexy and just...ooof. So good. Lose Myself is sexy AF as well because it’s a duet with John and they’re basically singing about being in love with someone who they know is bad for them...and it’s just so painfully sexily delicious. I dare you to listen to their voices melding and not melt into a puddle. It’s almost impossible. 

(This damn post is going to be really long...I hope you don’t mind. 🤣)

20. A Song You’ve Listened To On Repeat Recently: Rattle by Penny and Sparrow (I think you already know this one) has been on repeat for me lately. This song has been many things to me...But It’s become my worship song. When I REALLY need to talk to God (I’m spiritual...I hope this isn’t something that bothers you. Apologies if it is...I won’t preach...I promise) I turn this song on and I always feel closer to Him. When I first heard it I heard it as a romantic song. But the more I listened to it, the more I felt Him in it and the lyrics really called to me. “Because I’m not proud, I’m not proud, I’m not proud of me...so how could you, how could you ever be?” really nails me on the head. I feel like I fall down on being a light for God quite a bit. I try, always, to be a beacon of love and acceptance and grace to everyone. I want to understand my fellow humans...and love them despite their flaws and foibles...but it’s hard. And so this song reminds me that I’m not alone, and that I’m not the only one who occasionally feels that I’m not making Him proud...but the last lines, “I'm gonna work on waiting, If it's true you wanna say you love me every day. And I'm sorry (that it took me so long to realize) you've always felt that way”, are a beautiful reminder that God’s love for me is something he wants to give me everyday, no matter how much I’ve failed at being His beacon on Earth. So it’s my worship song, because I don’t go to church, but hearing this song is feeling a wash of his love over me and that helps me on really hard days. (I hope that wasn’t too preachy)

26. A Song That Reminds You Of Your Favorite Fictional Character: GOD SO MANY!!! Like...everyone I’ve ever written a fic about...and there are MANY. I guess the best way to find this one is to go to my AO3 series The Music Made Me Do It

28. A Song That Represents Your “Aesthetic”: I don’t really know what my “Aesthetic” is...maybe uptight, bohemian, plant loving, boy and dog mom, who over thinks everything constantly? Is that an aesthetic? LOL. So i’m not sure how to answer this one. But if “aesthetic” means what I would have playing in the house all the time, no matter what, no matter who comes over...It would be THIS entire playlist. It’s called Relaxed Jams (which is the EPITOME of an original title...I’m not good with titles...leave me alone 😂) and it’s pretty much playing nonstop in my house and car...Unless I’m listening to Hamilton...which is also constantly playing. So...there you go...My “Aesthetic”...Hope that works for you. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

35. A Song That Sends Chills Down Your Spine: In the fall of 2018 I was dealing with the knowledge that my oldest son was planning to move to Florida. And I was NOT handling it well. To be honest...I still am not handling it well. I don’t like my baby being so far away and I miss seeing his face, hearing his voice, yelling at him to clean up after himself...I just miss him like I’d miss a limb. We’ve been together since I was 18 and he’s going to be 20 in a few weeks and so, I’m sure you can imagine, over half of my life has been spent loving him. My two boys are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. They are EVERYTHING to me and that’s not hyperbole. It’s FACT. So, the idea of him moving away from me made me feel like I’d done something wrong, something to chase him away. And I was listening to a random Jason Mraz playlist on Spotify when I heard a song of his that I’d never heard before (which, in itself was a fucking miracle). That song is God Rests In Reason (yes...another God song...sorry) and it’s lyrics were so utterly perfect for the way I was feeling that I had to literally pull over on the side of the road because I couldn’t see where I was going for the tears in my eyes. Those lyrics were: “Well your children will not be your children They are the daughters and the sons a beginning They'll come through your womb but not be coming from you They will be with you, but they do not belong to you You can give them your love but not your thoughts 'Cause they'll arrive with their own hearts They're the coming of angels this blessed season Undone they’ll sing, Oh how God rests in reason God rests in reason Isn’t reason enough to prove how God moves through you God rests in reason And thank God you can direct the course of love itself of love itself Directs the course of life Believe not God is your heart child But rather you’re in the Heart of God” And it just SPOKE to everything I felt. I’d been asking myself why my child, who I love beyond everything else, who I’d lay down and die for if he asked me to, would want to leave me. Why would he want to go so far away...and God answered with this song. Because Michael has his own heart...and his heart is pulling him to Florida. And in those moments I started to feel a measure of peace. And I started to cope a little better. I stopped crying and feeling like he was telling me I’d done something wrong, and I started being proud that I’d raised my son to feel strongly enough about his own intuition to follow his dreams and reach for the things he wanted in life. I still miss him. I still hate that he’s gone. But it’s eased. And when it threatens to suffocate me, I go to this song. I realize it isn’t spine tingling in the manner that this question probably meant...but it tingled my spine that a song I’d never heard, by an artist I adore and thought I’d heard everything from, shuffled through my phone at a time that I really needed the message in it. I hope that makes sense...and fills the request.     

38. A Song That You Think Is Underrated: I really think pretty much everything Penny & Sparrow has done is horribly underrated. These two men deserve at least the same amount of accolades that Hozier has. And I’m sure Hozier would agree with me if he’d listened to their catalog. I’m never NOT going to promote these guys and I know y’all are tired of it but they mean a literal shit ton to me and I NEED everyone to know their music and recognize their brilliance. They’re better than Ryan Adams, and all the other sad bastards of folk...and they’re complete and total sweethearts who really give a damn about their fans. I will not rest until I’ve told the entire world about Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke and that’s that about that. You can find a playlist of their entire catalog of music songs here. I listed them in order of release...and I recommend listening to them that way. At least for the first listen. But be prepared to be hooked because they’re addictive. 

50. Free Slot! Any Song You Want To Share: I feel like you just had me create a playlist for you...And I’m totally OK with it. But I can tell you that...the song Green Eyes by Joseph will be featured in a forthcoming work of mine...The chapter has already been written...I just need time to finish the chapters before it. I guess this is a spoiler for the fic...but it isn’t really because if you know anything about my #1 ship...you know where I want it to go...and this song, is perfect for it. 

Goodness Kenz...I hope this was what you were expecting because I feel like I wrote you a book. 

Thanks for asking me for all of these songs...You know I love talking about my favorite musics. And I hope there are some songs that you just fall in love with here. I’d love to hear about it if you do. Hope you’re well.

Love you!

[resinatingbeauty]

Instead of doing another infographic, I thought I would tell you a spooky true story instead, one that changed my life forever. It has nothing to do with the history of Samhain or rituals or whatever, but it was the only verifiable experience I had ever had at that point in my life.

Here it goes, link at the bottom of this post for the local news article I ended up finding 8 or so years later as I didn’t think to do so at the time. Note the comment by the apartment’s previous tenant after the fact, describing ‘strange phenomena’.

It was early November, though all seasons seem to blend together when you live in Florida. I was born in St. Augustine, went up north to Illinois and Minnesota, coming back down here to Palm Coast where I’ve lived for over a decade. Full circle.

I was 19 and lacked the confidence to get a job in the fields that I got my certifications in as an Esthetician/Cosmetologist. I just wasn’t the social butterfly that I felt people expected from their hair stylist. I was also stubborn and wanted to do things my way, which I learned to not be eventually, but much later.

Needless to say, I spent the next year or so being a depressed drug addict working at a fast food place. The drug addiction wasn’t fully set in yet, only just beginning at this point. I still had actual friends that weren’t suppliers or people who just hung around because you got high together. One of them was named Cheryl.

Cheryl was in her late fifties and a former queen of the BDSM scene. How did I know that? She told me and, unfortunately, showed me a photo album once that I cannot unsee to this very day. Eccentric, yet worldly and intellectual. I enjoyed listening to Cheryl. She really didn’t give a flying fuck what other people thought of her because she thought she was great. And she really was.

I was driving her home for a while because she had been in a car accident.Hit by a car while riding her bike, as it that was the only mode of transportation she had. I felt bad for her, so I offered to give her rides home when I was working.

Home to Cheryl was actually a resort hotel that was coverted into fully furnished apartments when the European Village went on the decline due to its management being a complete crackhead. The place was well known as a luxury crack den and many people were always hanging around some drug dealer’s door. It probably had, and still does have, the cheapest rent in down. That’s also due to the fact that its had a fair share of overdoses and suicides in the five years total it had been standing at that point. I felt safe with Cheryl, but I was also naive. Thankfully, she wasn’t a junkie and never tried to rob me, kidnap, or rape so that was nice.

One night I didn’t have to close, Cheryl invited me in to hang out because I never felt like going home to my parent’s house. We would chat and she would show me old photos of her dressed as a dominatrix. You know, normal stuff.

At one point, the conversation turned to the spiritual. At that time, I was far from a spiritual person. I had never had much faith in a God and had lost all faith in my various Gods and Goddesses I had been communicating with for years prior, mostly due to be set in the dark pit of despair that was my mind when I was 19. I was, however, still intrigued by the concept of the paranormal.

Cheryl had a dog. The dog had randomly appeared in the living nook where were sitting and spontaneously started barking at the balcony door. I didn’t know Cheryl even owned a dog, so I was shocked immediately when I heard barking. Cheryl just smiled and started telling me about ‘Caroline.’

Caroline was a tenant that had allegedly killed herself on another floor, but rumors circulating around the resort referenced to her known to be abusive boyfriend actually being responsible for her death. She was a drug addict, which meant her death was swept under the rug and hardly acknowledged by anyone other than those who knew her personally or happened to be present during one of the frequent public altercations between her and her boyfriend.

Cheryl gestured to where the little Yorkie was panting excitedly in front of the balcony and told me that every so often, Caroline would come to her on the balcony, like a full body apparition. She said she would hear her voice and talk to her and expressed no fear at all. Cheryl said she knew that Caroline wasn’t a threat, she was just very sad.

I went home that night thinking nothing more about it other than it was interesting and I could only hope to be as privileged as Cheryl was with her ghostly encounters. I didn’t bother verifying the storyline because I had figured if her death had been ruled a suicide there wouldn’t be much on it to find.

The next night at work, I was set up to bring Cheryl home again but also had made plans with a new coworker who I thought was cute, David, that had taken a part time job on leave from the Navy. He was a good sport about making a pit stop at Cheryl’s and they seemed to get along, well enough that Cheryl invited us up to her apartment again but told us that she had to run to the second floor and feed her friend’s dogs who had gone away for a few weeks. After chatting for a bit, no one felt comfortable staying in her apartment without Cheryl there, so we followed her to the second floor, if not out of curiosity to see more of the building itself that was normally locked to those without key cards.

When we arrived on the second floor, I remember stopping at the end of the hallway where we exited the stairwell and feeling uneasy. This part of the floor seemed much darker than the third floor where we were, and when I looked up, I noticed that there was a light missing at the end of the hall right above a boarded up room at the very end, like something out of a movie. Neither I nor David asked about it, both of us could imagine a million reasons why the door would be boarded, but none of those reasons I thought up correlated with what Cheryl had been telling me the night before. I kept staring at the boarded up door at the end, my eyes scanning over the walls around us. What I saw looked like blood spatters on the wall that had long set in there, but I refused to accept that as truth.

I turned to look at David who had been taking in the scene as I had been. We were both tired. It was well past midnight and from the look on his face I couldn’t read what was going through his mind.Then, everything suddenly shifted.

I couldn’t tell if something had walked past us in the hall or something had happened outside to make the lighting change inside, but the entire hallway seemed to lose the dim lighting it had. It became very cold, briefly, instantly- as soon as it occurred, everything was normal again. I thought I heard someone whispering, quickly. I looked at David again and could tell now that he had experienced everything I had just experienced. I stood there for a moment, my mouth hanging open, all I could come up with to say was,

“You saw all that right?”

David nodded. He knew exactly what I meant. There was no question, but the look on his face wasn’t one of fear. I didn’t even feel fear. What I felt was a sense of sadness and dread so profound and consuming that to this day I don’t have the words to describe it. Like being told you were fired, your lover dumping you, and your whole family dying in a car crash at the same time.

Cheryl finally emerged from the apartment and saw us both standing there. We attempted to describe what we saw to her and Cheryl just cracked a small smile as she was locking up.

“That room down there? Yea that’s where Caroline died,”

David had no knowledge of Caroline. He hadn’t been there prior, he didn’t hear any of the stories that Cheryl had told me about this apparition on the balcony of a girl whose death remained a mystery to many of the tenants. I would explain it to him and tell him what Cheryl had told me the night before, wondering if she had mentioned it in passing knowing what room was going to be at the end of the hall, of which she didn’t alert me to. Maybe she had an agenda to prove she wasn’t insane and to insure I would have my own experience with Caroline.

8 years later, I would look up the name Caroline in conjunction with European Village and found this article that doesn’t seem to give much more than the bizarre way she allegedly killed herself. If you wish to read that article and the bizarre comment from the apartment’s newest tenant, click here

Sound familiar? If you frequent /r/no sleep you may have read a version of this story written under my creativity handle, HereInTheNight.

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 6

a/n: Super quick, I know, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and I really need this story out of my freaking head so I can concentrate on other things. Be forewarned: Although I always had a general idea for what had happened to Killian before he came to Storybrooke, this wrote itself into a bit of a darker place than I’d intended. Most of that will actually appear in the next chapter, but this one does contain mentions of a dubious-consent scenario, due to the ages of the people involved and other factors.

New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.

Rating: T+

Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 and @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 6: 

Neal swaggered into school on Monday morning, looking like anything but a boy who’d not only been suspended for a month but also ignominiously dumped by his girlfriend in public. 

“What’s the douchebag extraordinaire looking so smug about?” asked Ruby. “Did he kick a puppy on his way in this morning?”

“Who cares?” replied Emma, not even bothering to look. She truly could not be less interested in whatever Neal had up his sleeve. It was hard even to imagine now what she had ever seen in him or why she had allowed him to be so overbearing and dismissive of her for so long. Now that she had gotten to know Killian, experienced his genuine interest in her thoughts and ideas, felt the flame of emotion —was it love?— that burned brighter and hotter the more time she spent with him, Neal and his petty self-aggrandizement and jealousies just seemed so pointless. 

When he sauntered over and flung his arm around her shoulder like nothing had happened her skin actually crawled. Fury surged through her and she shoved him away with all her strength, the muscles honed by weeks of fencing finally paying off. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed. “How dare you even come near me after what you tried to do to Killian?”

“Oh, Killian,” mocked Neal. “Of course, Killian, your precious boo, it’s all about him now. So, hey, I was wondering, did your sweet little twoo wuv ever tell you why he moved here?”

Emma frowned, startled by the odd non-sequitur. “No, why would he?”

“Ha,” said Neal, “Of course he wouldn’t want you to know about it. Did you even know he was seeing the shrink?”

“What? Do you mean Dr Hopper?”

“Oh yeah. Seems there’s an awful lot your bae hasn’t told you. Good thing you’ve got me to uncover the lies. I got hold of his records and guess what? Sweet Killian came to Storybrooke because he had to leave England after he got his brother kicked out of the British Navy.” 

“What?”

“See for yourself.” He held out his phone. Emma took it, jaw dropping as she read the document he had photographed in Dr Hopper’s office. 

“Yup. Turns out your boy was fucking the wife of his brother’s commanding officer. Not so sweet after all.”

“His wife? But she must have been ancient!” cried Ruby, peering at the phone over Emma’s shoulder. 

“Twenty-five. Says here she was the second wife. It’s actually a pretty badass move, I’m almost impressed.” 

It didn’t sound badass to Emma. It sounded abusive. What would a twenty-five year old woman even want with a sixteen year old boy? A woman whose husband had power over his brother’s career? She wanted to cry. No wonder Killian was so closed off, so hesitant to let anyone in. No wonder he’d resisted her advances. He must have trusted this woman and it had somehow led to Liam losing his commission. Killian must feel so guilty. She had seen firsthand how much he loved his brother, idolised him really, despite his grumbling when Liam teased. If his actions had harmed Liam, Killian would be devastated. 

Neal was still smirking, though there was a tiny hint of confusion in his eyes. Emma wasn’t reacting quite the way he’d expected. She didn’t look angry or disgusted, just sad. He decided to twist the knife. 

“So your little boyfriend’s a homewrecker, huh? That must be a kick in the teeth. Bet you thought he was an innocent little virgin like you. Or are you, still? You let him fuck you yet?”

Emma glared at him, anger bubbling through her, feeling for the first time in her life like she actually hated someone.

“Or maybe he thinks you’d be too vanilla after the admiral’s wife.” 

“Emma, if you don’t punch this jagoff in his stupid fucking face, I will,” snarled Ruby. 

“No,” said Emma, slapping Neal in the chest with his phone as she returned it to him. “He’s not worth the detention. You’re pathetic, Neal. None of this changes how I feel about Killian, though it does explain a lot. I guess maybe I should thank you for that. Or not, because you only did it to be a jerk. Either way, I never want to speak to you again.” She looked him straight in the eye and spoke a word she had never thought she’d say. “Fuck off.” 

Ruby gasped and even Neal’s eyes widened in shock. Emma never swore. 

She almost laughed at their expressions. Maybe Killian was rubbing off on her. Or maybe she was just tired of being a good girl all the time. Giving Neal her best approximation of one of Killian’s dismissive sneers, she turned on her heel and headed for her first class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of second period the entire school had heard about Killian and the admiral’s wife. Although the majority seemed to agree with Neal that banging an older woman was pretty impressive, there was a small but vocal minority with some less than kind thoughts about the character of a person who would “steal someone’s wife.”

Whatever their opinion, everyone was talking about him, and Emma knew how Killian would hate that, how mortified he’d be to have the secrets he’d protected so fiercely as fodder for school gossip. 

When he didn’t appear in English class, her worry nearly consumed her. She buzzed with anxiety for the whole period, and after it ended Emma did yet another thing that she had never done before in her life, another thing she never imagined she would do. 

She skipped a class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found him where she’d known she would, in the little corner of the library that she’d come to think of as their corner. He smirked when he saw her, the old careless smirk she hadn't seen on his face for weeks.

“You've heard then,” he said. “About Milah.” 

She nodded. 

“At least now you understand why I have to go back.” 

“No, I really don’t.” 

“I left her,” he snapped. “She— she loves me, and I abandoned her. Left her in the hands of that— that demon she married.” 

“Does she? Love you, I mean?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. “Of course she loves me and I—” he looked down at his hands as his voice cracked over the words “—and I love her and I— we—” 

“You—” she swallowed hard. “You slept with her.” 

He shot her a sardonic look. “I fucked her, yes. Does it upset you less not to use the word? Should I tidy up the language for the princess’s delicate ears? I fucked her, is what, and not just once. It went on for months.”

Emma tried not to cringe, knowing he was deliberately trying to hurt her, convinced he wouldn’t be so callous if there wasn’t something deeply wrong. “Did you want to?” she asked. 

He blinked, surprised, and then a stricken expression crept onto his face. “What?” He whispered. 

“Did you want to—” she hesitated over the hated word, “—to fuck her?”

“I— of course I did!” he said, in the tone Emma had come to learn all too well over the past few months, the one he used when he was trying to convince himself of something he didn’t truly believe. 

She took a step closer to him, willing herself not to feel hurt when he flinched away. “Did you really?” she whispered. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to deny her words. 

“It’s okay if you didn’t, Killian.” 

“I— I did,” he said, “I had to.” 

Emma jolted back like she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. “What do you mean you had to?” she cried. Something was definitely very not right here. Had Killian somehow been coerced? She swallowed over the lump in her throat, tears prickling behind her eyes at the thought, at the thought of anyone using him, hurting him as he had clearly been hurt. 

He seemed to be fighting back tears of his own. “Her husband is a monster,” he said in a choked voice. “He abused her, psychologically and— and physically. She was always so sad, desperate for an escape, and I— I worried she might hurt herself, or worse. When we— well, it made her feel better. I just wanted her to stop being so sad.” 

“Oh, Killian.” Emma could swear her heart was breaking, she could feel it shatter in her chest. “I’m so sorry. It must have been terrible, but I doubt there was anything you could really have done—”

“You don’t know that, Emma!” he  nearly shouted, and Emma wondered wildly why Miss French hadn’t appeared to shush them yet. “You don’t know anything about it!” 

“Of course I don’t!” She was shouting herself now, feeling so sad and furious and hurt that he was still trying to push her away. “How could I when you never told me anything?”

“Oh, I should have told you, should I? Told you, the sweetest little princess in the world all about how I fucked a married woman? Told you all the many and varied ways I fucked everything up, so that you could hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, I could never—”

“Well, you should. I destroyed my brother’s career, got us kicked out of our country, made Milah’s awful life worse, got her—” he broke off. “You should hate me, God knows I hate myself.” 

“Oh, Killian—” She reached for him, but he flinched away again. 

“I don’t need your pity, Emma,” he sneered, hating the thought of her touching him knowing what he was, desperate for her to go away and leave him alone with his pain. Pain he would rather die than allow to sully her. “The pity of a sweet little small-town girl whose biggest problem is whether she’ll get into her first choice college or her second. You don’t know what it’s like to have real problems.” 

“Please let me— I just want to help you,” she whispered. 

“Well, you can’t. And what’s more, you shouldn’t want to. Wanting to help someone is what got me into this bloody mess in the first place. Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, that’s the lesson you need to learn.”

“That’s a terrible lesson.” 

“And it’s only a very privileged person who has the luxury not to learn it.” He slumped back against the bookshelves, looking so lost and broken that she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and rolling down her cheeks. 

“Go away now, Emma,” he said. “Please.”

“Killian.” 

“Just go. We have nothing more to say to each other.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she left, Killian sat for a minute, recovering what he could of his composure. Then he went home. There was no point staying in this ridiculous school any longer, he thought. Now that the secret was out, maybe Liam would finally agree to go back to England. 

His gut twisted with what he refused to accept was distress at the thought of leaving Storybrooke. Leaving Emma. He’d known all along that he’d be gone soon, after all, that Emma could never be for him. That bright, beautiful girl deserved far better than someone who’d failed as badly as he had. 

At least she wasn’t with Neal anymore. Killian consoled himself with that thought. She’d go off to college next year and find herself some bloke as solid and wholesome as she was herself, and they would get married and have beautiful children and she would be happy. He almost smiled, thinking about it. That was what Emma deserved from life. 

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, imagining Emma’s future when the door burst open and Liam appeared. 

Killian stiffened at the expression on his brother’s face. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked.

“Emma called me at the harbourmaster’s office. She told me what happened.” 

Killian glared down at the countertop. “Good,” he said defiantly. “I’m glad. I’m glad this happened, now maybe we can abandon this charade and finally go home.”

“Oh, bloody hell, not this again! We are home, Killian! Storybrooke is our home now, we are not going back to Bristol!” 

“Why, Liam? You said we were moving here for a new start, but that’s blown up now. There’s no point in staying in this ridiculous little town anymore, and I am not going back to that bloody school. Can’t we just go back to England and forget this ever happened?”

Liam looked intently at his brother, clinging to the fine threads of his patience. Killian had always been stubborn, but this was a new level of intransigence. “Brother, tell me what’s going on with you. Why are you so desperate to get back? Is it about Milah, because you know you can’t—” 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” shouted Killian. “You don’t know, Liam! I have to go back to her, I have no choice!” 

“Of course you have a choice—”

“I don’t!” 

Liam threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why the hell not? What is it that you’re not telling me? I know there’s something you’ve been holding back, Killian. Please, just tell me what it is!”

Killian pounded his fist on the countertop in frustration, wanting desperately to tell Liam everything but still so terribly afraid of how his brother might handle the news. He looked at Liam’s pleading expression and suddenly all the humiliation and anger and sadness of the day and of his life and of his hopeless future was just too much for him. “Milah is pregnant,” he burst out. “She’s pregnant and she said she’d kill herself and the baby if I didn’t come back.” 

Liam gaped. “You never said… Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“How could I? I’d already made such a mess of things for you, destroyed your career and forced us to leave England, I didn’t want you to know how badly I’d actually screwed up. I was afraid that even if you found out you still wouldn’t let me go back, that you’d try to deal with Milah yourself and drive her to do something desperate. And—” he gulped, looking utterly distraught and so painfully young. “—and also I didn’t want to talk about it. It felt like talking, actually saying it out loud would somehow make it real. But it is real, don’t you see, and I can’t keep ignoring it. I have a responsibility—” 

Liam shook his head, feeling like he’d finally found the missing piece to a puzzle he’d been labouring over for months. “Goddamnit, Killian, have you been keeping this inside all this time? This is what you’ve been hiding?”

Killian nodded, and Liam strode across the room and wrapped him in an enormous hug. “I’m so sorry, brother, I had no idea.” 

Killian sighed against his brother’s shoulder, wishing for just a moment that he were small again so he could curl up in Liam’s lap and let his brother protect him from the world. “So you understand,” he said, sounding tentatively hopeful and profoundly relieved. “You’ll let me go back? You see, don’t you Liam, that I have to go back? I can’t let her— my own child—”

Liam’s heart broke to hear his little brother (which Killian would always be to him, despite his insistence on younger), still barely more than a boy himself, making himself frantic about the well being of his baby. “Brother,” said Liam, pulling back from the hug. “Come, sit down. We need to talk.” 

He led Killian to the sofa, where his brother sat reluctantly, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. Liam was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Killian, there are a lot of things I think you need to know, things I never told you before because I thought you had enough to deal with. Looking back, I realise that this was a mistake. You’ve always been mature for your age, forced to grow up faster than you should have when Mum died and then Father left. I should have trusted you with the whole truth instead of trying to protect you from it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so much guilt or tried to take so much on your own shoulders. 

The first thing you need to know is that you aren’t the reason why I gave up my commission. I wasn’t forced into it by Gold or by threats of retailiation. I relinquished it voluntarily, gladly even, when it became clear that the navy had no intention of taking action against that man for any of the crimes he committed, not least of which the crimes against his wife. I could no longer in good conscience be a part of an institution that swept such serious things under the rug or let themselves be bought with a criminal’s dirty money and nefarious influence. 

What I didn’t know during the time that I was investigating Gold’s malfeasance was how heavily Milah was coming to depend on you for support. I should have noticed it, Killian, should have paid more attention to you. I got so caught up in my work that I ignored what was going on in my own family. That was my mistake, and you are not to blame for it. You’re also not to blame for Milah’s actions. She was responsible for coercing you into a sexual relationship—”

“She didn’t coerce me! I wanted to,” protested Killian, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Had he really wanted to sleep with Milah, or had he just wanted her to feel better, to feel loved and stop hinting that she might take her own life? 

Liam looked skeptical, but didn’t challenge him. “Perhaps, but she should never have put you in a position where wanting to would even be an option. She had no business getting so involved with a teenager, putting her problems on your shoulders, expecting you to deal with her marriage. There was nothing you could have done, Killian, no way you could have rescued her. It was never your responsibility.”

Killian was silent, and Liam could see him thinking, trying to adjust. “She was desperate…” he whispered. 

“Yes, she was. She was in a terrible situation, one that is never easily resolved. I understand why you wanted to help her, I did too. But Killian, look at me.” He paused until his brother’s blue eyes met his own. “You did not fail to save her. There was nothing you could have done. It wasn’t your responsibility. Do you understand that?”

Killian nodded slowly, but he still looked troubled. “I think, since we’ve been in Storybrooke, I’ve had some time and distance to think about it and I have come to understand those things, though it doesn’t really make me feel less guilty. The baby, though, that is my responsibility,” he said. “I can’t let her endanger it. I promised I’d go back and I have to keep that promise.”  

“Brother, this is going to be hard for you to hear, but please listen carefully. There is no baby.” 

“There is,” insisted Killian. “She told me. I went to see her in hospital—” 

“Yes, I know you did. I just wish I’d known what she said to you there. But it isn’t true. I’ve been keeping track of Milah, and of Gold, since we moved. She’s not pregnant. She never was.”

Killian looked shell shocked. “She’s… not pregnant,” he whispered. 

“No,” said Liam. “But she’s left him. Gold. She moved to London and filed a restraining order against him. From what I’ve been told, he’s respecting it. He’s moved on to some other poor deluded young woman, apparently. Milah has filed for divorce.” He looked at his brother, fancying he could almost see the cogs turning in his clever mind as he adjusted to this complete realignment of his universe. “Are you going to be all right, Killian?” 

Killian was silent for a long time. “I— I need some time to process all this,” he said finally. “All this time, I’ve been thinking— thinking about how far along she was and how the baby was developing, if it would be a boy or a girl. It’s going to take some time to accept that it’s not going to happen, that it was never true. Even though I didn’t want it, losing it is still a blow. Does that make sense?” 

“It does,” said Liam kindly. “And... do you still feel that you need to go back? Even knowing that she’s safe, and there’s no baby?”

Killian huffed out a breath. “Bloody hell, give a chap time to think before you start asking life-altering questions!” he said, and Liam felt some of his tension drain away. If his brother was up to making wry quips then that was a very good sign. 

“I really am going to need a while to work through all of this,” said Killian, sounding so grown up that it gave Liam a bittersweet twinge in his heart. “But I think— no. I don’t want to go back. I want— I— I have to talk to Emma.”  

Notes the second: So clearly there are serious issues of age-related ability to consent, here, however it’s important to note that the legal age of consent in the UK is 16, so Milah didn’t technically break any laws. I think we can all agree though that she took serious advantage of Killian’s inherent chivalry and used it to force him into a position where he wouldn’t really feel comfortable saying no, which was clearly not okay. On the third hand (ha!) It’s important to remember that people stuck in abusive relationships often feel driven to take desperate measures and Milah was looking for escape at any cost. There will be more on this as Killian tells Emma his story in the next chapter.    

[brinroberts-blog]

i won't promise you

who brinley and braxton roberts when monday may 22nd what brinley lets her emotions get the best of her, time and time again warnings mentions of incest, pedophilia and abuse

BRINLEY.

No, crashing wasn’t the right word - burning was more like it, and she was the one with the match to light the flame. She could hear herself, how awful she sounded, how she pushed (shoved) everyone away. Because it was easier. Because then maybe she could run.

She knew she had hurt Braxton the worst. But she needed to, she justified, if she was ever going to make them right again. And yes, she had been pissed when she saw his messages with Claudia (who leaves their phone on the kitchen counter?) discussing how concerned they were. Like she was a child who needed tending to, as if they were her parents pushing the responsibility of watching over her to the other.

Well fuck them, she decided. Just because Charlie said Claudia should fuck Braxton didn’t mean she got to, and just because Claudia asked didn’t mean Brinley couldn’t lie.

(In her head, it made sense. The two of them. She could see it unfolding like a romantic comedy and it ached in her gut. If he had Claudia, he wouldn’t need Brinley. If he had Claudia, he wouldn’t be just hers anymore. It didn’t matter that what they had was bigger than everything else, not if he chose Claudia. Irrational, terrible jealousy.

She was an awful sister.)

So she’d run. It was different than Stella (gone but always so present) because she wasn’t taking off with Dave or anyone else. No, she left him passed out cold, her hands on her hips as she made the decision.

Go home. Pack a bag. Disappear.

She didn’t bother with the window, instead coming straight through the front door - let her father be there, a bottle of beer in his hands, judgement and lust coloring his gaze. Let him try a single move, she thought, prepared to fight, prepared to escape. But it was silent, the door to his room closed, her own just past it.

And she packed. A backpack (was she really committed enough to bringing something more?) full of jeans, underwear, a few shirts. A hair tie on her wrist, one in her hair, digging around for her Converse.

But her jacket - her favorite, with the distressed leather she’d worn for years - it was on Braxton’s floor. So she slipped in, his window wide open (waiting for her, she knew, hoping she’d come home) and his phone unplugged next to him as he tossed. Restless. Worried.

And here she was, about to make it worse.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, kissed his cheek, and ran like hell.

St. Louis was only about four hours away, and she sped the whole time. Chicago was too close, too tainted from road trips and hockey games and Stella, somehow still there in her mind. It was three in the morning, the highways empty and silent, and she didn’t even bother with the radio.

For once, silence suited her.

Despite doing 80 the whole time, she didn’t get a single ticket (was she hoping for one? An excuse to head back?) and arrived near the border as dawn was breaking, morning traffic starting to build as people started their week.

But she couldn’t cross. Leaving Illinois felt permanent, unchangeable. Like if she did it, she really couldn’t come back. So she checked into a Motel 6, flopped down on the too stiff bed, and for the first time in weeks, she cried.

It started gentle, silent tears streaming, but before she could gain control once more they built, her body curling against itself as it all came out. Pouring, drenching sobs, enough to dehydrate, enough to wear her out.

At some point, her phone vibrating across the room with messages, surely from Braxton, from Charlie, from Claudia and maybe even Oliver if they’d realized she’s gone, Brinley managed to subside the heaving sobs.

It was only then that she was able to fall into a completely restless sleep.

BRAXTON

There were very few times in his life when Braxton ever felt absolutely broken. The first was when he was 11 and he finally realized that the man who raised him - the man he called Dad still - would never actually love him. His dad looked at Brinkley and saw their mother, the love of his life. He looked at Braxton and saw the reason she was gone and a constant reminder of the fact that she hadn't loved him the way he loved her. Braxton was nothing more than a cosmic joke he was stuck with because how do you explain keeping one twin and getting rid of the other to the small town of Ashbourne?

Then there was the moment when he was 15 and he answered a phone call from a number he didn't know. The woman insisted she was his mother and wanted to meet with him, to see him and talk to him. And at the time, he didn't have a good reason not to go. So he borrowed Brin’s car without telling her why and drove three hours away, the halfway point his mother had picked for them. He waited for an hour at a coffee shop for her until she finally showed. And he knew instantly that she was his mom; she really did look exactly like Brinley. Except her ears; those were his ears.

She hugged him and he felt a rush of parental affection for the first time in his life. He even dared to think maybe this had all been a mistake, her leaving. But then she sat him down and explained the reason she wanted to see him: she wanted Braxton to come live with her. She'd married his father, they were a family. They had a daughter and a dog and they wanted to make things right with him. But not Brinley. She didn't want her. How could anyone not want her? How could she even think he'd leave Brinley behind for a women who waited 15 years to come to him?

Then there was now. Where his best friend, his beloved sister, the person who made him feel like he belonged in this world, Brinley didn't want him anymore. Yeah maybe she was trying to play it off like he was the one pulling away from her, saying that he had everyone else and didn't need her anymore but he knew her. She was really telling him that she didn't need him.

It left him hollow inside; he'd long ago accepted the fact that he was severely codependent on her but it didn't matter to him. She was literally half of him. His mistake was assuming she thought the same way.

“Where's my daughter?”

His dad’s gruff voice forced Brax to stop staring at his deteriorating cereal. Not like he'd been eating it anyway. But it was the way he said it, always “my daughter” and never “your sister” or “our family” that wore him down more than usual. Because his dad didn't want him and neither did Brin; he wasn't anything to either of them anymore.

“I don't know. Probably at work,” Brax said automatically to cover her even though he knew she wasn't working until the afternoon.

“She hasn't been home in a week,” their dad grumbled. “Probably off fucking that North kid.”

“I wouldn't know,” Brax sighed. There was no way Brax would ever tell their dad about anything Brinley did. It wasn't his business and they both lived in fear of the day that he decided it was. Because Brax was sure it would come. It was why he let Brinley sleep with him. It was why he covered for her, why he caused minute distractions when he could to divert their dad’s attention.

But this morning, still drunk, their dad clearly didn't have the patience for the game. With a sharp slap to the back of Braxton’s head that cracked his neck, Braxton felt his dad’s hand hard against his skull, holding his head down against the table. His glasses fell off.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled in Braxton’s ear, his breath smelling like beer and piss. “You only exist because I say so. You live here because I say so. You have clothes and food and fucking glasses because I say so. And in return I ask for one thing. You keep up with my daughter. If you can't even do that-”

“You're hurting me,” Brax spat, trying to scuffle out from under his dad's grip.

“This doesn't hurt,” he insisted, adding more weight to his hand. “Listen boy, here's what's going to happen. If you're not going to hold up your end of the bargain, then you're out.”

“What?”

“Get out,” he hissed, “of my house and don't come back without my fucking daughter.”

“But-”

“GET OUT!”

He released Braxton and stumbled away; Brax scrambled up the stairs, instinctively running to Brinley’s room before he remembered she wasn't there.

And none of her stuff was either. Not the stuff she loved anyway. Her favorite shirts that were always on her bed. Her shorts and jeans and sunglasses. Anything with a charger, gone. The picture of all of them, even Stella, gone.

Brax panicked, like couldn't breathe panicked. She was really gone. Like… gone.

He ran downstairs. He grabbed the keys to his dad's car off the hook and hopped in. He spent all day driving every street, looking in every corner he could think. By 5 he felt like his lungs were stuffed with cotton. He threw up on the side of the Welcome to Ashbourne sign.

He had to find her.

At some point he remembered the Find My Phone app. He plugged it in, following the trace to a Motel 6 next to the border. And once he figured out her room, he stopped. He wasn't sure what to do next. She didn't want him around. She'd run this far from him. But he needed her. He was scared. He was… lost.

He knocked. She didn't answer. He knocked again, his voice watery. “Brinley please. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. You don't have to talk to me just let me in. Please? I don't have anywhere to go.”

BRINLEY The sun was settling low in the sky when she woke up, tears dried on her face and snot crusted against her skin. Disgusting, but it wasn’t like she didn’t feel it deep inside her bones to match her outward appearance.

Her phone, containing at least half a dozen voicemails and texts, said it was shortly after 6. She’d slept for almost twelve hours, and her back cracked and ached from the uncomfortable position she’d been in the entire time, too exhausted to bother moving even in sleep.

The next move evaded her. There were two options, really: go home, face the music, accept who she was and what she wanted, or run. Her skin seemed to crawl as she scrubbed at it harshly with the scratchy washcloth, the motel’s shower steaming around her and turning her body a dark red. She needed these feelings out, she needed her head clear. But the options kept circling, round and round and round again, a merry go round Brinley couldn’t find herself off of.

If she decided to go back, she knew, no one would have even noticed her absence. She’d disappeared for longer, usually with Charlie, but after having pissed off all of her friends, she doubted anyone was even looking for her. Her boss was already pissed at her, she knew, for ditching without even calling on the first day the pool opened. But they couldn’t yell at her, not this year. The only thing Stella had given them in her absence: a get out of jail free card.

It was almost two hours later, her hair still damp against her plain white teeshirt as she stared at the uneaten pizza in front of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, but the thought of processing food was...daunting. And after years of the Pazza, eating a chain just seemed nauseating. Instead, she nibbled at the crust, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to decide.

Home, or run.

The knock at the door startled her up off her bed, panic welling up inside of her. There were only two people who could have traced her, but as she heard Braxton’s pleas, her breath steadied, her heart still racing slightly as she slid the lock open.

“How did you find me?” she whispered, eyes wide but he didn’t answer her, just pulled her in for a hug, crushing and overwhelming and she pressed her face against the curve of his neck, breathing him in. She could feel his sadness on him, how he wore his heart on his sleeve, and she knew, immediately, why she hadn’t crossed the state line.

There was never any leaving Braxton behind.

The tears came abruptly, though she didn’t understand how she’d had any left; her sobbing in the early morning hours seemed to have only been an appetizer, a tease of what she was capable of as she collapsed, right out of his grasp, her body curling up on itself on the floor as he closed the door behind him, immediately sitting down next to her and stroking her hair and back.

“I’m sorry,” she choked, the words heavy in her mouth. She was apologizing for so much, and he didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” she tried to get out, her breath catching in her throat as she cried.

She knew he was crying too, trying to console her, and it only made her feel worse. She’d done this to them, she’d broken them and who was to say if they could ever fix themselves completely once more?

”I’m so fucked, Brax,” she managed, “how do you not see it? That I’m just like him? That I’m just like her? That you’re better off without me?”

BRAXTON

The weight of the world was nothing compared to the weight of his sister collapsing in his arms; Brinley was barely 110 pounds really but he’d never seen her distraught like this and the weight of that crashed into him more than anything else had. It made her heavy, made him feel weak and useless, and all he wanted to do was make everything right for her again. To hold her together.

”You’re not like anyone,” he whispered, his voice small as he tried to reassure her even as he was flooded with a queasy mix of relief and fear. “You’re Brinley. You’re just like you. You’re perfect.”

”I’m not,” she continued to cry. “I’m so fucked. I’m fucked.”

”You’re perfect,” he repeated, as many times as necessary until she calmed down. Or maybe ran out of tears, he wasn’t sure. But she didn’t let go of him and it was only then that he realized he was still crying. His shoulders shaking. His eyes blurry and heavy. His head hurt, the kind of tension that only came from holding everything in for too long.

”Brin-” he tried to say but god, he couldn’t put anything else on her. He had no idea what she faced that caused this kind of total devastation in her. And whether she liked it or not, he’d always been her protector. He’d always stood up for her and carried the load for her when he could. And he did everything he could to make sure she didn’t have to worry about him, or carry his load. But he couldn’t do it alone. He needed her there to have any kind of strength.

”I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at his own tears and trying to force them back. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I don’t even know- I didn’t mean to do it.”

”It’s not you,” she said quickly and he coughed a short laugh. It was him, he knew it was him. She couldn’t hide that from him. He didn’t know what it was at all, but it was him. Somehow, always-

He was always the mistake.

”I’m just fucked up,” she repeated and he shook his head violently, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her to his chest again. It was all he could do. All he could think to do. She just had to be there and nothing else had to matter. Nothing ever had to matter again, just her.

Hours passed, the minutes slowly ticking by on the clock by the television. She lay with her head in his lap, letting him stroke her hair. And every time she tried to say something about herself, he contradicted her. Because he loved her, more than she loved herself apparently, and as long as he kept telling her she was wrong, there was a chance she would believe him. She had to believe him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she decided she didn’t. If she didn’t come home.

Or maybe she had the right idea… maybe they didn’t have to go back. Stella had disappeared - taken, kidnapped, run away, who knows? - how hard could it be for two more Ashbourne kids to up and leave?

”Brax?” she whispered, so quiet he almost missed it. “What are we going to do?”

He hesitated longer than he should have, long enough for her to lift her head from his lap and sit on her knees, facing him. He deflated, leaning heavily against the edge of the mattress. She was looking at him, fear in her eyes and concern in her lips and all he could do was try to run through the options in his head a thousand miles a minute.

”What if we didn’t go home?” he asked, his voice as small as her and he could tell by the little gasp that she hadn’t expected that from him. “What if… Brin…”

”Brax?”

He suddenly felt like he was choking. The sensation had been there all day, overridden by the blind panic that had consumed him over Brinley. But he could suddenly feel the way their dad had held him down, the pressure on the back of his head again. The stink of his breath, the threat he made him. The complete and utter disgust he had for Brax. And it was crushing Braxton’s chest, his ability to think and breathe and function.

”I don’t want to go back,” he gasped, his fingers digging into his palms as they clenched. “I don’t want to go back to that house without you, Brin. I can’t. He won’t let me. He… Brin, he kicked me out.”

BRINLEY

“He what?” she screeched, her anger shooting through her body as she jolted upwards, to her feet, her eyes immediately searching for her phone, ready to tear him apart. “He can’t fucking do that, I won’t let him do that, you belong where I am and if I have to go back,” and she knew, inevitably, she did have to return, “then I’m not going back without you.”

She paused long enough to let out a near scream of frustration, her voice angry and harsh when she yelled “WHERE IS MY PHONE?”

Instead of giving it to her, Braxton pulled her to the bed, their knees still touching (always touching, as if the past 72 hours had made them even more codependent than they already were, and just maybe they had) as he told her. How his head had been held down, beer breath and strength used against him and Brin made him turn around, examining to see if there was a wound.

There wasn’t, but she kissed the nape of his neck anyways, a small shudder running through him that seemed to cause one of her own, her eyes closing momentarily as she soaked it in.

”See?” Braxton whispered, fingers wrapped tight around her own. “You’re nothing like him.”

Her eyes watered again, but she managed to stave the inevitable off. Tears would do no good. “You don’t see it?” She asked, and honestly, it might have hurt worse. At least if he saw her as she saw their father, Brin would know. Because this love she felt, it consumed her. And if even Braxton didn’t feel it -

”I am,” she murmured, a finger pressed against his lips as she shook her head. “Because I love you.”

”I love you too,” he replied, but she shook her head, her finger brushing over the curve of his jaw as she looked at his lips, wondering if she was really...could she? Was she brave enough?

”No,” her voice, barely louder than a breath as she leaned in close, eyes glued to his until she could feel hik hold his breath, “I love you.”

And she did it. The only thing she could never take back from their relationship, the only thing that could damage them beyond repair.

She kissed him.

BRAXTON

The world stopped. She kissed him and he literally froze. He couldn't hear anything but dead silence. Didn't feel anything but her hesitant lips in his. Couldn't see anything except the top of her head that smelled like her swimmer’s shampoo. She kissed him. She was kissing him.

He wasn't sure what to do. Kiss her back? Pull away? Why was she- what did she- was this some kind of-

No. No, it made sense. All her insisting that she was like him, like their father. Because they both knew about the way he looked at his daughter, the irrational mix of lust and transference and that the only reason he'd never done anything to her was because he was ultimately a spineless coward. But Brinley saw herself in him because she kissed Braxton.

Him. Her brother. Her half brother really. But him, her twin. Braxton. Him.

And just as carefully, he kept letting her. Her lips against his, almost innocent if it didn't carry so much weight for her. Or him. Because he couldn't tear himself away but he couldn't seem to close his eyes and lose himself to it. Because as much as he believed now she'd been fighting this, a part him - a dark part that questioned everything possibly good in his life - wondered if this was just some kind of… claim to him.

(Because he knew his sister and she was insanely possessive. Her things were hers and if she shared it was only because she knew she owned them. And she knew, she had to know that she owned Braxton. He'd take a bullet for her. He'd lie for her. He'd do anything for her.)

(Including this.)

(It wasn't like he hadn't… not seriously, not explicitly… but he'd always known they felt and acted like more than siblings should. And she seemed to need this and he just needed her, no matter what. He wouldn't lose her by staying, but he would by pulling away. He knew that much.)

He waited until she stopped, rolling over and away from him as she curled in on herself. And he moved with her, his arms circling around her waist as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder. Holding her until she seemed to relax into him, just barely.

“You're not him,” he whispered. There's never be any kind of doubt in his mind about that. “What he does is… he wants to punish you for being here because she's not. But you look like her. So all he sees is her. He wants you because he can't have her.”

“It’s still-”

“Not the same,” he finished for her. “We… you and I, no matter what… you know we belong together. You can't come into this world with someone and not belong together.”

She didn't respond. He didn't know if his answer was enough for her.

“I love you, Brinley,” he whispered into her back. “I love you.”

BRINLEY

Kissing Braxton wasn’t like kissing Dave or even Charlie; it was like coming home. A rush, a relief, the edges of her brain fuzzy with more than just want. And he kissed back, softly, as if he was afraid.

And why shouldn’t he be? This wasn’t something they did. Sharing a bed was already judged by even their closest friends, the ones who knew why she was scared to sleep alone. She and Brax, they shared everything in the world but -

Maybe not this.

The tears threatened again and she turned away from him, burying her face in the comforter. He could say he loved her, he could say she wasn’t their father, but she could feel it. The disconnect between her heart and his. He loved her, but maybe -

He didn’t love her enough. Not the way she loved him. He’d give himself to her if she asked, but it wouldn’t be what either of them wanted. Brax was probably thinking of his cute sophomore, or maybe even Claudia or Phoenix or anyone else. It hurt her more than anything else ever could have.

”We have to go back,” she muttered after awhile, her arms wrapped tight around her torso. She wouldn’t beat herself up over this, but maybe - maybe now she could move on.

Move forward.

”No we don’t,” he replied, but she ignored it. They did, even if their father was an asshole (one she could almost understand, now, in a way) and even if Stella’s absence was tearing them all apart. Because even if she was angry at Claudia, she couldn’t really abandon her. And even if she had told Charlie, he’d take her back. And even if Dean was being an asshole, and Oliver was quieter than normal, and Phoenix was lost at sea, the seven of them needed each other.

”Let’s go,” she demanded, unfurling herself enough to pack and Braxton tried to stop her, to get her to talk, but she was already moving past, rushing forward. She was tired of crying, sick of it, and she wouldn’t stop to think and do it again.

”Brin,” he tried once more, hand on her wrist as they stood by their cars, Brin’s backpack already thrown in the messy backseat. “Are you sure?”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted. And she wasn’t sure, at all. But she’d made her decision and now, now she’d have to live with it.

She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, her palm resting against it in a familiar motion they did when they were little. It’s yours now, they’d whisper, hidden beneath sheets in their couch fort, keep it.

He had her heart. He probably always would. And he’d never understand the depth of her emotions, but she’d be okay with it. She’d learn to be okay.

”All good all the time,” she promised before slipping into her car, leaving him to follow as they made their way back to Ashbourne.

[writersindigestion]

taunted | edward nygma x reader

“maybe regret wasn’t a strong enough word.”

reader gender: female

words: 2527

warnings: probable PTSD, paranoia, trauma, substance abuse, death, general negativity

notes: hey, y’all. this part was getting... extremely lengthy. the original document is closing in on 10,000 fucking words, so i did y’all a favor and split this part up. no ed in this one, though he is heavily mentioned... will post the next part within a day or two. lotsa edward later on.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

[Y/N] never made a return to her post at the GCPD. She didn’t tell them she wasn’t coming in, she didn’t tell them she was quitting, and she definitely didn’t tell them why. Surely they had tried contacting her cell phone - not that she could answer it, considering it had been stolen. The precinct had tried calling her home phone as well, but in the past weeks, she’d completely moved in with Chrysanthemum. Every time she returned to pack more things, she’d see the blinking light on the answering machine, but could not gather the guts to check her messages.

The only employee that ever got ahold of her was Kyle - and he was more than happy to keep his mouth shut for a chance at spending more time with a woman who never failed to make him smile. He’d brought her desk things to her, all bundled up in a little package so as not to break anything. All she’d really wanted was her coffee mug, but she was sure-as-shit happy to have any of her stuff from work in the first place.

Kyle had asked if she wanted to spend the night at his home, but [Y/N] turned him down, explaining that she didn’t feel safe enough in Gotham to accept his offer. He pressed her for details, worried that she was in danger, but she shut him out. It hurt, just a little, to think of the kicked-puppy expression on his face as she closed her door for the night.

This was for his safety as much as it was for hers. Who knows what his plans were as of late? Was he busy murdering someone else? Did he look for her? Was he still covering his tracks? Or even, blissfully, she wondered if justice was hot on his heels.

She shook those pleasant thoughts from her head - the man was a genius, if not a felon and a murderer - he wasn’t likely to get caught. Still, a little part of her was hopeful, and a large part of him was an egomaniac - he could get sloppy for the sake of narcissism.

There was nothing more in the world that she wanted than to meet him again so she could give him the beating of his life. If [Y/N] ever saw Edward again, however, she knew she’d either end up dead, kidnapped, or laid. None of those situations were ideal since she figured fucking him would just feed into whatever sexual, and likely psychological, fixation he had with her (or maybe, it was herself with the fixation).

It didn’t matter - it was the only thing that mattered - it didn’t matter at all. She didn’t dwell on it - it was the only thing she dwelled on - she didn’t dwell on it at all.

Her head ran itself in circles, trying in vain to make her feel safe. Safe? But being afraid was so much safer. Stay afraid, stay safe - that’s how it worked, right? It had been so long since the young woman had felt secure. Every single thought of Nygma was encapsulated entirely by fear - especially when she was alone.

But sometimes, at night, she would feel her lover crawl into bed behind her, wrapping thick, warm, caring arms around [Y/N]’s middle - and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the feeling of Chrysanthemum breathing next to her, she only felt the cold, slender limbs of the forensic murderer coiling tighter and tighter at her torso. Depending on her level of lucidity, she might feel the feathers of dark, unintelligible murmuring along her neck, or icy claws tiptoeing between her legs. And as she leaned into the heat of her lover, she couldn’t help but think of the anaconda drawing her deeper into its circle.

She’d often find herself in a state of sleep paralysis, unable to escape the nightmare, even though she knew it wasn’t real.

[Y/N] rarely slept anymore. Her girlfriend would cry with frustration, tired of seeing the traumatized young woman in a state of such despair. She offered her everything - a confidant, a therapist, medical help, a vacation, a night out - but most everything required leaving the comfort of the apartment building, and so her efforts were ineffective.

Drugs, however, were the one thing that helped. Most of her surplus cash was spent on weed, booze, and sleep meds. At first, Chrysanthemum wasn’t bothered by the blatant substance abuse, but after finding her lover puking in the toilet on one too many occasions, she started hiding all of her drug paraphernalia, leaving only a solitary beer in the fridge every morning.

[Y/N] noticed the sudden disappearance of her liquor, pills, and marijuana. In fact, for several days, most of her alone time was spent searching for her stash. She never found it, and hated herself too much to complain. When she wasn’t working at the coffee shop on the ground floor, she was sitting, stock-still, in the chair by the window, a lonely beer in one hand, and her head in the other. The TV would drone on in a nearby part of the room, filling in the empty spaces between morbid thoughts, and her eyes would lay steadfast on the church across the street.

In the midst of depression and the beginnings of a drug habit, a new development was forming - Jim Gordon was sent to Blackgate prison for a string of crimes that were suspiciously… Nygma-fied. [Y/N] spent the morning following that piece of news with her head hugging the porcelain throne, and a small handgun clutched in her fist. She wouldn’t let Chryssie leave for almost four days, she was so petrified that she was next on his list. Eventually, she lacked both the emotional and physical strength to keep her girlfriend home with her.

The frayed woman was allowed two beers and a small glass of wine, provided that she accompany Chrysanthemum on at least two outings per week. Begrudgingly, [Y/N] obliged, even going so far as to add an errand every day! Unfortunately, her daily trip was to the building next door, where she took up a gym membership and started participating in self-defense classes.

It was “unfortunate”, being that the only reason for pushing herself was to try and keep her girlfriend safe from a man that she hadn’t seen in several weeks. Chryssie joined her on most gym days, intent on keeping the withering woman from hurting herself. At least she was more health-conscious now - the exercise kept up her appetite, which Chryss was sure to satiate with nutritious meals.

“Gotta keep your strength up, girly! Do it for me, if not for yourself.”

More weeks passed. More gym days. More coffee-making days. More staring-at-the-church days. More searching the apartment days. More snakes-around-her-waist days.

[Y/N] had long since reached a stalemate with someone she wasn’t even sure was still a player in their sick, little game.

The woman somehow refused to admit to herself that she was afraid - especially at this point in the situation. Sure, she got nervous if her girlfriend was a bit late coming home. Sure, she choked on her own heart when someone knocked on the door. And sure, she checked the dark corners of their home for long, lanky men every morning, noon, evening, night, and each time she got home from any single errand - but that didn’t mean she was scared, per say… Just… Unhealthily cautious.

It was getting to the point that she wished he would: a) kill her, b) kill himself, c) otherwise die, or d) get himself arrested.

And one glorious, partly-cloudy, snow-littered, chilly day - Edward Nygma selected option - drumroll, please - … “D”!

When her roommate returned home that day, she was concerned to find [Y/N] sobbing - not that it was unusual, however…  Tender hands caressed shaking shoulders, and she placed her head in the crook of her neck. “Honey… Baby?” She cooed, rubbing circles on her girlfriend’s arms, “Baby, what’s wrong? Can I help?”

The fragile woman’s body shook harder after the question, her tears soaking into the crumpled newspaper she had clutched in her fists. After another moment of tears, she relinquished hold of the paper, letting Chryssie take it.

“Jim Gordon Released As Cops Catch Correct Killer.”

The couple were quiet for a moment before soft giggles started to rise from [Y/N]’s chest. Her giggles escalated in volume until she was practically howling with laughter until her cackles became so loud that they could no longer even be heard.

It was infectious. Both women found themselves on the floor in a fit of hysteria, eyes cinched shut against their own giddiness. Nearly five minutes passed before either of them spoke.

The previously crying woman was the first to break the silence. “... That’s a lot of alliteration…”

…

They erupted once more into peeling squawks of laughter, and laid there, on the floor, for nearly an hour, content to simply hold each other.

She had Edward’s mugshot framed later that evening, tucking it carefully away in the bathroom cabinet, and a celebration was planned for the next night.

All of her friends came - the ones she’d spent months avoiding, the ones she’d alienated. When asked what the sudden cause for cheer was, [Y/N] would only grin wider, would only speak louder - it was like weeks of damage and shame had been lifted from her shoulders.

Everyone was ecstatic to see the woman they once knew act like herself again. She was ecstatic to smile again. When the bane of your existence was under lock and key, what more reason did you need to throw a party?

She wrote a card to Jim, feeling forever grateful for his work in the force. It took her a few tries to get it just right - half of the rewrites were because of her tears staining the page. She couldn’t tell him the real reason, but she could congratulate him on his regained freedom.

God save Gotham if Gordon should ever fall like that again. The people should shudder at the thought.

[Y/N] was bustling with energy now that Edward had been detained - she felt like she could conquer the world. That was… Until the Adderall wore off.

She came down from that high pretty hard, finding herself blearily wandering her apartment after spending an ungodly amount of time wide-awake. The road to real recovery would be a long one, but it was nice to imagine, if only for a night, that she could feel like herself again. Chrysanthemum had flushed the leftover pills anyways.

Tiny steps, then. [Y/N] thought positively, or at least tried to. She figured that feeling down wouldn’t make her situation better. There were compulsions to avoid, paranoia to ignore - therapists to see, something she still refused to do.

The first item on her agenda was to visit someone she’d been meaning to see for far too long.

Solid, black leather boots sunk into the ground, her feet set firmly into the dark, damp earth, and her body turned towards the warm, grey headstone before her. The dirt, though it had begun to pack together, bore no grass, showcasing recently overturned soil. The woman’s face was solemn, her tongue twisted around itself as she searched for the right words to say.

After several minutes, [Y/N] spoke, voice bending and cracking with the weight of sorrow, “I’m sorry I… I didn’t come sooner, Kristen. I know how much punctuality meant to you. We were supposed to hang out… Several months ago.”

A cold breeze bit at the back of her neck, but she would not pull her hood up as if to punish herself for the negligence of her friend. “It’s my fault you’re here now - you know that, right?”

Her brow crinkled, feeling the stinging behind her eyes. She could almost hear Kristen yelling at her from behind the tombstone.

You know that’s not true. I wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for Edward.

She cringed, angling herself away from the grave just slightly, but the wind only served to draw more tears forward. It wasn’t fair. [Y/N] didn’t deserve to be so heartbroken, and her friend absolutely didn’t deserve to be swimming with the proverbial fishes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side when you needed me. He is an evil man - I knew that and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you,” She said, her words becoming more and more strangled as she continued, “I should be in Arkham with the rest of the clinically insane - or at the very least in prison. I practically let him kill you. I let him murder my best friend.”

The babbling woman clutched a small, tin box in her hands, jostling inwardly with her guilt-ridden conscience. Stepping forward, she set the parcel just before the headstone, next to a few, stray, withered flowers. “I was going to bring you a bouquet, but I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

Fumbling, she opened the box, ignoring the teeth of winter air on her skin. Inside lies a newspaper clipping, showcasing Ed’s arrest, a small bag of generic, strawberry-flavored candies, a box of matches, a Beatles cassette tape, and a tube of chocolate pink lipstick.

“It’s cheesy, yeah, but I think about you a lot. The matches are because your hair is fiery, by the way,” She explained, laughing slightly at her own expense, but the moment of mirth only served to make her feel more empty as it passed, “... I should probably get going - before my hands freeze off. Oh!-”

[Y/N] moved with a start, digging in her purse for something. After many moments of struggle, she pulled out a small figurine, placing it with the rest of her gifts, before shutting the lid tight.

Laughter crept back into her body with the tears, and she shook with both as she rose to her feet. “It’s a Santa Claus doll, my dear Saint Nicholas! I know you would hate me for leaving that with you, but you’re not allowed to feel sorry for me - I’m still as rotten, inappropriate, and unfunny as I was when you were alive.”

Several more minutes went by, but the female finally got out her parting words, “I’ll be back again soon to leave you some actual flowers, and check on your grave. I know you’d want it tidy.”

“... I just have one thing to ask, and I know it’s a lot - the afterlife, if there is one, is probably very busy, but I need to borrow some of your strength.”

Her tone deepened as if trying to keep others from hearing her, “Please watch over me - protect me where I couldn’t protect you from this shithole city. Please forgive me for leaving you when it mattered most. Please help me recover from this - I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

With reluctance, she began to walk away, stopping only a second more to say goodbye, “You deserved so much better, Kristen Kringle. I love you to the end of the earth, and back again. Please sleep well.”

-

... Y’all, this is a whole lotta feelings, and not a lotta action. But fret not - I will return within a few days time to add to this narrative. I’ve got a ton of shit going down in part four. You’re not even ready. Leave me a request - I’ll pretty much take any! Tag me in your stuff, I’d love to read it! <3′ ALSO: looking for a beta reader. Message me if you’re interested. - writersindigestion

[maggshouse19]

Melissa Benoist is a Wonderful Ray of Sunshine

And doesn’t deserve any assumptions on her opinions.

You know, I don’t normally voice my opinions on shows on here… but lately I haven’t been able to stop.

Now, let’s first start with my opinion of the second season.

I have loved this season. There is no other words to describe it. From Kara’s development as a women, now that she’s found her footing as a hero. To the smaller storylines (and I use that description cautiously, for fear of haters) that encapsulate the characters’ relationships that aren’t directly related to Kara. 

I adored the four way crossover, and revel in the idea that Barry and Cisco spent time to educate Kara on the other heroes, and how proud she was of herself for remembering everything. 

The new characters this season, though a maybe unpopular opinion, measure up to the loss of Cat Grant, Maxwell Lord, and Lucy Lane. I still wish they were in the show, but sometimes personal life has to outweigh professional life. 

M’gann was such an interesting storyline, and I loved her and Jonn’s connection.

 Lena is an actual babe and a badass and super smart and I couldn’t adore a potential villain more. 

Maggie Sawyer is a literal angel. Bringing her into the show was an amazing decision. The storyline she brought along with her is so important and also so moving. Also, the dimples. 

Lyra. Oh Lyra. What a fucking badass. I’m so happy that they’ve finally gotten past Winn pining for Kara and brought in someone he truly cares about in such an intense way. 

Snapper Carr is fucking incredible and absolutely hilarious. And I love how much he roots for Kara no matter how badly she messes up as a reporter. And even though he’s fired her, I really don’t think we’ve seen the last of him. 

Lastly, Mon-El. It’s not secret if you’ve seen my blob(g), that I absolutely adore Mon-El. Even before her and Kara were together, that just adds to his character and his development. Now, while I don’t necessarily agree with everything he’s said or done… I don’t think that he is in anyway abusive or toxic! That’s just a ridiculous statement to make on a relationship or character that is not being used for that purpose through the writing. So, stop. It’s ridiculous. 

Also, Just so you all know: I SHIP KARAMEL AND FUCKING LOVE LENA LUTHOR.

As for the idea that the writers have put Kara Danvers, the main character herself on a back burner storyline is insane. Saying that is like saying that Arrow is no longer about Oliver’s Journey, and the same goes for the Flash. 

SUPERGIRL IS ABOUT KARA’S JOURNEY AND HER LIFE AND THAT INCLUDES THE OTHER CHARACTERS WHO SHE INTERACTS WITH. THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT SHE HAS TO BE THE MAIN FOCUS OF EVERY EPISODE. 

This also goes for every other character. Who cares if a character hasn’t had a lot of screen time? If they aren’t benefitting or impacting the main story arc or the main character’s journey, the extra screen time allowed by not adding a pointless scene that only lasts two minutes, gives the writers the ability to dive deeper into the main story arc and continue to fully develop their main character(s). 

Now, onto today’s ET Interview with the cast for the Musical Crossover.

While I know that Leanne tends to gear her interviews towards the couples that she ships, again, who fucking cares? Let her ask questions about what she wants. 

As for the responses to her questions, I think a large part of the fandom is truly  misinterpreting Chris, and especially Melissa’s answers.  

Yes, it is obvious that Chris is totally on board the relationship between Kara and Mon-El, I mean- why wouldn’t he be? It means he’s still got a job and that there are people who appreciate and enjoy his work. As for him apparently throwing shade? Fucking let him. The anti-fandom has dragged him and his character through the mud all season and that’s ridiculous. 

MELISSA MARIE BENOIST IS AN ABSOULUTE FUCKING SUNSHINY BABE.

The amount of assumptions I’ve seen today about her response to Karamel is insane. Melissa is so gracious and lets her work speak for itself. She does not owe any single one of us her opinion on a ship. I REPEAT SHE DOES NOT OWE USE HER OPINION. 

This all being said, I don’t think we can truly make any this or that decisions about her response. For all we know, she was trying to remain neutral in the situation. By not saying yes or no to whether or not she shipped Karamel, she did just that. 

She by no means did anything to receive the following assumptions: (All of which I’ve seen as reblog(g) comments on the interview)

“Saved myself from being fired

“Melissa avoided that question like the plague. Let it be known that she DOES NOT ship k*ramel.”

“something about their relationship bothers her enough to respond in this way instead.”

“she took back the “I don’t” so the karamel children won’t cry and whine about it”

“Melissa legit looked like she wanted to die the ENTIRE time she was talking about it tho. Like even when asked if Karamel is a cute ship name.”

And these are only a few. This is ridiculous. You are entitled to your opinion but to make assumptions about an actor or actress’s opinion that they do not willingly give out is ridiculous. So, please for the love of Rao, STOP. 

Also, please butt the fucking hell out of their personal lives. It’s none of your business and they are grown adults. 

Also, if you’d like to see my previous post about ships and vocalizing your opinions on ships, you can find it here: X

I hope everyone continues to enjoy the rest of the season! 

Thanks!