#Given that the bell is the center of the story it is off to color it in with the jacket

[jhsharman]

Ding-a-Ling

I would think it would be in keeping for Veronica to still be able to i.d. a Nehru Jacket. It gets a tad odd anyway in that they don't update to outdated anything else in the story.

Groovy?

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom lore for the Blood Blossom Au

Blood Blossoms -- otherwise scientifically known as rosa hemato -- are an extinct genus of flower from the rosaceae family that disappeared from the mortal plane in the late 1600s due to over-foraging from settlers during the Witch Trials. Prior to their extinction, they were already a rare breed of rose because of an evolutionary trait resulting in their main source of energy being ambient ectoplasm.

This means that blood blossoms only grow in areas where there are unusual levels of ectoplasm present. Regardless, however, only one or two bushes of blood blossoms can grow, as too many of them results in the ectoplasm being sucked out with no room of replenishing back to its original levels. This kills the blood blossoms in return. So a balance has to be met.

Blood blossoms have a mildly unsettling appearance. Their namesake, "blood blossom", comes from the blood red appearance of their petals, which start out as a vibrant red but steadily grows darker with age similar to blood drying on a page. Their stems, leaves, and thorns are, rather than green, a rich black-purple color. The center where the pistil sits is the typical yellow, however, it takes on the appearance of a yellow eye peering through the petals.

Blood blossoms emit a sweet, fragrant scent that allows them to not only attract bees, but also break down ectoplasm for consumption. See, what it does is that it discharges some of its pollen into the air, which then "latches on" to ecto. As the pollen begins to float down to the ground, the ectoplasm then sinks into the soil for the blood blossom to then draw into its roots. It gives the ectoplasm a physical body to latch onto, which it then uses to consume it.

Despite having a symbiotic relationship with ambient ectoplasm in it's natural habitat, the interactions it has with ghosts is an entirely different story. To ghosts, Blood Blossoms are terrifying, opportunistic parasitoids capable of consuming spirits whole if given the chance. Ghosts give off significantly more ectoplasm and when the blood blossoms sense that, they emit more pollen in order to consume it. Which is where the whole "blood blossoms are natural ghost shields" thing comes from.

Their sweet scents and vibrant colors made them popular upon discovery for perfumes and dyes, and when eaten taste sweet and slightly bitter, almost irony. Which is another reason for their namesake. During the Salem Witch Trials it was theorized that blood blossoms could expel the sins/demons from someone's body when consumed and prevent possession, or when surrounded by the roses, would trap the demons inside it's host body which would then be burned to banish it back to Hell along with the soul of it's host.

Which made them incredibly popular in executions, exorcisms, and Mass.

They could grow anywhere in the world so long as there was an adequate amount of ecto present.

Surprisingly enough, they do not commonly grow in or around gravesites due to a competitor flower nicknamed "rest in peace lilies" which, despite their name, are actually from the asparagaceae family and have more in common with bluebells. They're more modernly known as everlast bells. Ghosts prefer them over blood blossoms because they have a similar effect on ghosts as poppies do on the living where it sends them into a restful slumber. Hence their nickname "rest in peace lilies". The dead loove them.

In the Ghost Zone, their effects on the dead are far more potent than when they grew in the living realm due to the excessive amount of ectoplasm. They also grow much faster, so ghosts treat their appearances on islands similar to how one treats mint or kudzhu after finding it growing in their lawn: with extreme prejudice. And a lot of terror. Ghosts tend to rip them out when the flowers are not in bloom, or burn them when they are.

Their appearances in the Zone aren't much different than what they looked like in the living realm, with only a few mild changes like their thorns being sharper, their petals being more angular, and their eye-like center actually looking more like an eye. It's theorized that the Infinite Realm versions of blood blossoms gained very mild sentience, just enough that it almost feels like their eyes follow you when you pass by them, like a painting. Nobody is willing to test that theory.

To a ghost, getting caught in the hooks of a blood blossom means a slow, agonizing death akin to thousands of needle-sized mouths eating you all at once. The pollen doesn't stop until the ectoplasm is all broken down. Blood blossoms in the Ghost Zone are very much capable of eradicating a ghost entirely, core and all, with no chance of return. No passing go, no reconstruction, just complete oblivion.

Danny, prior to his poisoning, had severe allergic reactions when in physical contact with blood blossom in his human form. Rashes, blistering, hives wherever the blossom had physical contact with, inflammation, you name it. Luckily that hadn't been something he needed to worry about since they're, well, extinct.

[storyboard-sketch]

Headcanons about Cult of the Lamb: Sheep Culture

Something that Lambert (aka the Cult Leader) never got the chance to learn as they were born in the age when sheep were already being hunted to the point all of them were in hiding and scattered. So much of this they never got to experience themself, but they remember that cooking was a big thing...all they had the chance to learn however was which grass was fireproof. That's the kind they use for making bowls while cooking for the cult and its something they teach their followers too.

Location:

The sheep herds used to be well known, spread out across the far north of the Lands of the Old Faith and often mingling with yaks, deer, skunks, goats, and rabbits that also dwelled in the Highlands and Cliffs.

Hierarchy

Contrary to popular belief the bellwether (lead sheep) was usually a ewe rather than a ram but if one proved themselves capable, gender wasn't a factor in leadership. What mattered most was the ability to sense danger long before anyone else and know how to handle it calmly and swiftly.

Rams were often seen moving about supplies or working as guards around the fields. It was once very simple to spot the emissaries of the Old Faith trying to approach and swift to deal with them. While the sheep were on the plains they were safe...or so they thought.

Ewes did various chores across the villages, from humble crop tending to going out on trading missions with other villages. The ewes were very adaptable and would even take shifts for the guard rams when needed.

Yearlings were what the sheep called teenagers, rambunctious and energetic...they were tasked with learning what herbal magic the sheep elder yows knew. Tempering their attitudes and forcing them to learn patience.

Culture

Song and dance were indeed a big part of sheep culture. Not because the sheep were without concerns but because they were intelligent enough to know how dangerous their home was. Rather than live in fear, the sheep learned to take each day as a gift and celebrate it. For they may not be here for tomorrow.

Talented with herbal magics, even more so than Leshy's or Kalamar's followers. The sheep often used harmless enchanted meals to change their wool patterns and colors. Like dying your hair, the effect wears off after somewhere between a week and a month depending on how strong the enchantment is.

They could also create powerful healing potions to swiftly heal docked tails or missing limbs taken by battle. Some say there was one potion that could completely regrow missing body parts...but that's just a legend. Right?

Sheep were vengeful by nature. Wrong one of them and the whole flock will remember. They memorize faces easily and make their own decisions about who to trust and who not to. There are stories of some that headbutt their enemies straight off of cliffs.

They made it very difficult for the wolf tribe to hunt them as the centuries continued, but this resulted in them becoming like fish in a barrel for the Bishops. As they built their villages to be well fortified with tall dried briar walls and homes in the center... it was easy to burn them out.

A lamb's fleece (or poncho) was usually sewn by relatives while they were young and their bell was given to them when they came of age. Fleeces were meant to represent both family connection and their personalities. To help identify all at a glance. The bell however was an alert system in case any of them got lost or were in trouble. Later...these things became heirlooms as sheep became more and more rare.

Food

While mostly vegetarian, some members of the sheep did have carnivorous traits due to heritage (on this island who knows what can happen?) and thus were able to farm squirrels and birds for food on top of their regular farms.

Baking was a big deal for sheep, nothing like a warm fresh baked roll with honey to help after a bad day. Or coming home to a sweet cake to celebrate their hard work all month. It was a reward, flour took a long time to make and sugar hard to harvest... so baked goods were saved for special occasions.

The crop for the highlands was sugarcane, when the sheep were lost the plants were too. No one knows where to find any these days.

[abovethemists]

The Worst That Could Happen - Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Summary: Nicholas Rush has been told to lighten up or face repercussions in his professional career. Lacey French is in desperate need of a wedding date. A blind date provides them both with an opportunity. From the prompt “Rushacey blind date”. 

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

In the end, Rush took a half-day on Thursday, heading north on the I-95 around two in the afternoon. It was just under a four hour drive to Storybrooke, most of the way straight highway. He only had to look at directions on his phone once he exited, taking a twisting forest path through dense green trees. After twenty minutes he was worried he was lost, certain there was no town up ahead, only more greenery. But, before he could fret too much, he saw a sign to the side of the road. “Welcome to Storybrooke”.  

The forest finally gave way to small wood framed houses, increasing in frequency as he approached the center of town. It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to set, casting white clapboard and red brick in shades of gold. The houses soon started to be joined by businesses, a fishing supply store here and a convenience store there. Soon he had turned on to Main Street, a quaint little downtown that looked plucked from another era entirely. Main Street seemed to lead down to a wide bay dotted by boats in the harbor, their colorful flags fluttering in the evening breeze.

It was a far cry from Boston, even further from Berkley, Glasgow, anywhere he’d ever lived. It was like something from a story where a plucky female detective investigated murders that rocked the small, closed community.

Rush shook his head. What was supposed to be so great about small towns anyway? No wonder Lacey hadn’t expanded her business. She needed to be somewhere with clients if she wanted to design clothing.

Lacey had given him an address for where to meet her and he’d assumed it was her home. That soon proved incorrect as he turned off Main Street to find 910 Maple.

He stopped the car, parking on the curb and climbing out to look around. Rather than the house or apartment building he’d been expecting, he was faced with a two-story shingle style cottage, its gray paint starting to fleck away in places. Hanging above the small porch was a wooden sign bearing the name Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. He’d noticed a Granny’s Diner on Main Street and the two businesses seemed to back into each other, connected by a late addition to the original buildings.

Rush sighed, walking around to the trunk of his car and pulling out his suitcase. Well, it was Gold’s, in actual fact. He hadn’t owned anything he could hang his borrowed suits in and Gold had insisted his beloved clothing make the trip in style. He hoisted the garment bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk shut, shuffling up the cement steps that led from the curb up to the B&B.

So Lacey had booked him a room, he supposed. It was just as well, considering he and Lacey barely knew each other. She’d hardly want a strange man sleeping on her sofa no matter how harmless he seemed.

The entrance to the inn was small and slightly musty. He couldn’t imagine there was much use for a hotel in a town as small as Storybrooke, but he’d expect there to be other guests with a wedding in town. From what he’d gathered, the bride was far from local.  

There was a small desk nestled under the stairs, a row of recessed key cubbies set into the wall beside it, each bearing a key attached to a shiny brass fob. Rush wasn’t sure he’d ever stayed at a hotel with an actual key rather than a plastic card.

The desk was currently empty and the little bell set atop it made barely a sound when he tapped it, certainly not enough to summon anyone to his aid.

Rush stepped away from the desk, looking around and straining his ears for any sign of life. Perhaps the eponymous Granny was busy in her diner.  

He thought he could just make out a mumbling of voices proving he wasn’t alone in the inn when it was punctuated by a loud laugh, well a guffaw really, and he immediately recognized it as Lacey’s. He wasn’t sure how he could recognize the laugh of a woman he’d only known for two short weeks, but he could picture her accompanying smile, her head thrown back, eyes filled with mirth. Rush smiled in spite of himself, following the sound down the hall and into a cozy lounge.

Lacey was seated on a red damask sofa, sagging a little in the middle from use. She had a china tea cup balanced on her knee and a wide smile on her face. Across from her in a high wingback chair was a plump old woman with a graying bun piled up on her head. She had a pair of bifocals hanging around her neck and a thick khaki cardigan wrapped around herself for warmth.  Granny, he presumed.

“And speak of the devil, here he is!” Lacey cried, motioning at Rush with both arms spread wide, her tea nearly sloshing out of its cup. “You made it!”

“Uh, I did,” he said, dumbly, nervous as always when faced with Lacey’s full attention. She was smiling at him as if she was genuinely happy to see him and though he knew it was most likely an act, he couldn’t quite stop his own smile at the sight of her.

“So you’re the one who swept in and stole our Lacey,” the old woman said, leveling him with a hard look. Rush turned to face her.

“I haven’t stolen anything,” he returned. “I’m just here for as long as Lacey will have me.”

Granny regarded him for a long moment, before giving a curt nod and standing up.

“Let’s get you checked in, shall we?”

It was the work of moments to get Rush checked in, one of those shiny brass key fobs in hand, even with Granny leveling mild threats at him if he treated Lacey badly.

“She’s mildly terrifying,” Rush said once they were headed up the stairs and out of ear shot.

“Who, Granny?” Lacey asked. Without waiting for an answer she gave a flippant wave of her hand. “She’s harmless. Unless you insult her cooking, that is.”

“Is she your grandmother?”

“No,” Lacey said with a shrug. “Everyone just calls her that since she runs Granny’s Inn and Diner. I don’t think she was the original Granny though. It may have been her mother? Or grandmother? I don’t know. She’s my friend Ruby’s biological grandmother but she fills the role for most people in town. Ruby’s mum split when she was six and Granny raised her. Me and Belle’s mum died when we were 13 and she kind of took it upon herself to mother us too.”

“I didn’t realize you lost your mother so young,” he said. “That must have been difficult.”

“Oh,” Lacey said with a shrug. “I mean sure, it sucked, but it is what it is, right? And we still have dad.”

The last was said with a little eye roll that belied her words. Rush could well understand complicated feelings about fathers.  

“And here we are,” Lacey said once they’d reached the end of the upstairs hallway, motioning at the door with a brass number 3 on it. Rush used his key to unlock the door, having to force it slightly with the side of his foot.

The room was small but clean, a little too floral for his tastes. There was a double bed in the middle of the room, a small antique desk beneath the window that looked out toward the forest, and an armchair in the corner next to a lace doily covered rickety side table with a rotary phone on top.

But the thing that most arrested Rush’s attention was the presence of a small duffle bag sitting in the middle of the bed.

“I think Granny gave me the wrong room,” he said, turning to Lacey as she followed him inside.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, stepping around him to throw herself bodily onto the bed, the springs creaking loudly beneath even her slight weight.

He motioned to the suitcase next to where Lacey was sprawled across the bed.

Lacey followed his gaze.

“Oh, that’s mine.”

Rush blinked.

“What?”

Lacey pushed herself up on the heels of her hands, giving him a look like he was somehow stupid. Rush was not stupid.

“It’s our room,” she said slowly.

“Why are we sharing a room?” he returned, just as slowly.

Lacey shrugged. “Because we’re dating, silly. It’d be weird if we didn’t sleep together.”

“I apologize,” Rush said with a little shake of his head. “But I’m a little confused. I assumed I was staying here at the inn because having a strange man in your home was an issue. Why are we both staying here?”

“Oh!” Lacey exclaimed, sitting forward. “Sorry. I figured you didn’t want to stay at my dad’s place. That’d be…awkward.”

“You don’t have your own place?” he asked, before realizing how that sounded. “Sorry, no judgment. I’ve heard it’s hard out there for…millenials.”

Lacey snorted a laugh and Rush winced at how terribly old he must sound. 

“No, I had my own apartment,” Lacey said with a nod. “But I’m back with my dad for a bit. Once Will left town I couldn’t afford rent by myself so…” she trailed off.

“You lived together?” he asked. It seemed every time he got more of a glimpse of Lacey’s previous relationship, the more involved it was.

“Yeah, well we were together almost four years. At some point you move in together or you split up.”

“F--four years?” he stuttered out. “You never told me that.”

Lacey blinked.

“Look, Lacey, I need to know what I’m getting into here. You and Will were together for four years? You lived together for some of that time? What, were you ever engaged?”

“No!” Lacey exclaimed. “It was never that serious.”

“Four years and a shared apartment isn’t serious?”

“We were never gonna get married,” she countered. “It was fun and easy, but not earth shattering. We were…glorified roommates. With benefits. Not even great benefits, in case you were wondering.”

He wasn’t.  

“Regardless,” Rush continued. “You were together a long time and now, only a few months after your split, you’re attending his wedding. Have you thought this through?”

“Yes!” Lacey exclaimed, hopping up from the bed, the creaky springs bouncing wildly. “Yes, we were together for a while. Yes, he dumped me. Yes, he’s getting married to someone else in an infuriatingly short time span. But I don’t love the guy, okay? If I ever did, those feelings ended long ago, before the relationship did. Right now what I need is a nice, stable boyfriend so I don’t look pathetic and Ana doesn’t get weirdly jealous and decide not to wear my dress last minute. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, well, you can go.”

She pointed to the door of the room, her chest heaving and blue eyes flashing.

“I just want to know what I’m getting into,” he repeated.

Lacey took a deep breath, her arm dropping to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a little nod. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so fucking tired of people asking me if I’m okay. I’m great.”

“Okay,” he said, unconvinced. He crossed the room to where a small wardrobe stood, and hung up his garment bag inside. “What now?”

Lacey gave him a big smile. “Free booze and crab cakes, baby. Who doesn’t love a wedding? We’re gonna have a blast.”

Rush just grunted in response. He’d never been keen on weddings, but at least there’d be an open bar.

“Oh shit,” Lacey said, glancing down at her watch. “I need to get dressed for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” Rush asked.

Lacey’s eyes widened.

“Did I forget to tell you? There’s a little party at the diner for the out of town guests.”

“You told me about the rehearsal dinner and you told me about the wedding, that’s all I packed for. I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” Rush said, glancing down at his jeans.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” Lacey assured him. “It’s just Granny’s. It’s a diner.”

“Then why are you changing?” he asked with a pointed look at her leggings and sweater.

“Because I’m a fashion designer,” Lacey crooned. “And people expect me to make a spectacle of myself. I’ll just be a minute!”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, heading into the en suite bathroom and Rush sat back against the rickety bed, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. He tested it a bit, bouncing himself up and down.

It was a good thing he and Lacey weren’t an actual couple. If they tried to get up to anything on this bed, the whole bloody town would know.

It took Lacey twenty minutes in the bathroom with her makeup bag to be ready for the evening’s events. Her dress was store bought, but heavily altered. A fitted black mini dress, she’d opened up the back, using ribbon to criss cross across her back and ending in a bow right above her backside. Paired with her signature heels, it was, perhaps, a little dressy for the gathering at Granny’s. But then again, Lacey had never shied from attention of any sort. Everyone would be looking at the happy couple in any case. 

Her stomach churned at the thought, and Lacey squashed down the feeling, smiling at herself in the bathroom mirror instead. There, that was almost how she usually looked. 

When she came back out to the bedroom, Rush was seated on the bed, scrolling on his phone. He’d changed his shirt, she noticed. The rumpled blue one he’d been wearing was replaced with a crisp white button down that stood out beautifully against his tanned skin. He looked up at her as she entered, stuffing his phone into his jeans pocket. 

“Wow,” he said, his eyes widening slightly. Lacey smiled, pleased by his reaction. 

“Not too much?” she asked, twirling to show off the back of the dress she’d worked so hard on. 

Rush stood up from the bed, grabbing the brown suede blazer beside him and shrugging it on. 

“You, um,” he cleared his throat. “You look nice.” 

“Oh Nick, you’ll make me blush,” she said with a wink at him. He shuffled awkwardly, glancing away from her, and Lacey took pity on him. 

“Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him out the door of their rented room. “Adventure awaits!” 

Granny’s Diner was, predictably, packed, and Lacey could feel Rush tense up beside her as she opened the door, laughter and the smell of sizzling meat spilling out into the chilly evening. She looped her arm through his, trying to feel confident enough for the both of them.

She whispered names and tidbits of information to Nick as they maneuvered their way through the crowd. 

“That tall one with the red streaks in her hair is Ruby,” she whispered into his ear while feigning a flirtatious moment. “Granny’s granddaughter and my oldest friend. The blonde next to her is Ashley. Don’t get stuck in a conversation with her unless you want to be bored to death.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” he mumbled back. 

“Oh, and here comes the bride,” she intoned, stepping back from Nick to welcome the approaching Anastasia. 

“Lacey!” Ana called, her voice a little too loud. There’d been a lot of that in the last week, smiles just a little too wide, excitement just a little on edge. Lacey could have excused it as pre wedding jitters if she didn’t know the truth. Ana was trying desperately to be okay with her presence.

“Hi, Ana,” she said, before being pulled into an awkward hug. She patted the taller woman’s back twice before stepping away. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Ana glanced down at her cream colored shift dress. It was chic and simple but rather than looking plain, Ana sparkled in comparison.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, grabbing hold of Lacey’s hand. Her eyes slid across to Nick and she gave him one of those overly sincere smiles. “And you must be the professor!”

“And you’re Mary Anne?” he joked. Lacey snorted.

Ana looked confused. “No, I’m Anastasia,” she said, pumping Nick’s hand for all he was worth. “The bride. I’m marrying Will, I believe you’ve met.”

She gestured over her shoulder to where Will was chatting with a few of his mates.

“Of course,” Nick said smoothly. “My apologies.”

“Oh no,” Ana said with a wave of her hand. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please come in, eat something, have a drink. This weekend is all about me, but tonight is about you, the guests!”

“Oh, thank you,” Nick said, looking slightly startled, as though he was staring into the sun and having a hard time not looking away.  

“Ana!” someone called from behind them and she grabbed both their hands. “Excuse me,” she said with a brilliant smile and then swanned away with a slight wave in their direction.

“Wow, she is…”

“Gorgeous?” Lacey interrupted, interpreting Nick’s thoughts. Every head in the room swiveled to follow Anastasia. She didn’t have to dress in over the top frocks or towering heels to get attention. She was one of those rare creatures who entered a room and immediately commanded it. Of course Nick had noticed. He wasn’t blind. She wasn’t sure why it annoyed her so much. 

Nick looked down at her. “I was going to say chipper,” Rush said with a wry twist of his lips. “Do you think if she keeps smiling like that her face will get stuck?” 

Lacey let out a startled laugh, squeezing Rush’s arm before steering him toward a friendlier face. 

Ruby was leaning back against the diner counter with a glass of champagne in one hand and a bored expression on her face that split into a relieved smile when she spotted Lacey. 

“Oh thank God you’re finally here,” Ruby said, pulling Lacey into a side hug. “I’m supposed to be a guest at this thing but Granny keeps making me hand out hors d'oeuvres. Let’s grab a bottle of champagne and split.” 

“No can do,” Lacey said, grabbing Rush’s hand and pulling him to her side. 

“Nick, this is my friend Ruby, Rubes, this is Dr. Nicholas Rush. My boyfriend.”

“Pleasure,” Ruby said, holding a red nailed hand to shake his. Her eyes cut across at Lacey, her eyebrows raised in a question.

“Nice to meet you, Ruby,” Rush said, drawing her attention back to him. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of Lacey’s friends yet.”

“Oh really?” Ruby asked. “I didn’t even realize Lacey was dating anyone.”

“It’s still a new thing,” Rush said with a shrug. “And you know Lacey, doesn’t want to make a big thing of it.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, unconvinced. “Lacey is so understated.” 

Lacey grinned widely, wrapping her arms around Rush and leaning her head against his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to keep him all to myself for a bit.” 

“Oh, hey, Lacey,” came a voice from beside them. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.” 

Lacey spun to see Ashley Boyd, holding a tray of beef and caramelized onion canapés. She grabbed one, stuffing it into her mouth and speaking around it. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Ashley’s eyes darted to where Will was standing and back to Lacey. 

“Well…” she began. 

“This is my boyfriend,” Lacey cut across her. “Nick Rush.” 

“Oh,” Ashley said, looking at Rush with startled blue eyes. “Hello.” 

Nick graciously shook her hand. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Ashley asked, setting the tray of canapés down on the counter next to Ruby.

“Nick works with Mr. Gold at the University,” Lacey supplied. “Gold and Belle set us up on a blind date about three months ago and, well, fireworks.” 

“Oh I don’t think there were any fireworks on your side, sweetheart,” Rush said self-deprecatingly. “But I was certainly awestruck to be on a date with you. Still not sure how I got so lucky.”

Lacey could feel herself blushing at the compliment and worked with it, giving him a soppy little smile.  

“That’s so sweet!” Ashley said, before Granny barked at her from behind the bar to pass the canapés again. 

“Excuse me, guys, work calls.” 

Ruby took a long sip of her champagne, her eyes never leaving Lacey as though she was trying to read her mind.  

“Hey, Lace, can I talk to you for a minute?” Ruby asked, her smile strained. “Alone? Excuse us, Dr. Nicholas Rush.” 

Ruby grabbed her hand, lugging her toward the back of the diner by the jukebox. 

 “What are you doing?” Lacey asked. 

“Who the hell is that guy?” Ruby returned, motioning toward Rush.

“Dr. Nicholas Rush,” Lacey said with a shrug. “My boyfriend.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes.

“You said you’ve been dating him for three months,” Ruby pointed out. “So how come I distinctly remember you telling me about a one night stand you had with some twenty-two year old three weeks ago?”

Lacey swallowed, buying herself a moment.

“We weren’t exclusive then,” she said.

“Oh bullshit,” Ruby cried. “Where did you find that guy?”

“I told you, he’s friends with Gold,” Lacey said truthfully. “Belle set us up.”

“You’ve never dated an older guy before.”

“Well I’m twenty-eight years old,” Lacey pointed out. “Maybe I’m sick of slumming it with pathetic boys. Maybe I want a real man for once. It seems to be working out for Belle.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “And the two of you have been known to want the same things,” she said, sarcastically.

At Lacey’s silence, Ruby gave an exaggerated huff.

“Fine. He’s your boyfriend,” she said, making air quotes around the word. “I’ll go along with it if it’s what you need right now. But you do owe me an explanation at some point.”  

“Can’t wait,” she deadpanned at Ruby’s retreating back. 

She stood there for a moment, feeling like she’d been knocked off her groove. She hadn’t expected anyone to see through her ruse quite so quickly. She knew Ruby wouldn’t tell anyone or try to embarrass her, but the more people who knew her secret, the higher the chance she’d end up looking like an idiot. 

At least Will and Ana didn’t seem to suspect anything. The bride-to-be was sipping a glass of white wine with a gaggle of adoring buffoons circled around her. Will was on the opposite side of the diner with his own crowd of well wishers. He looked happy. Happier than she’d seen him in a long time. 

She wished that didn’t make her want to shatter something. 

Instead she opted for a drink, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray at the bar and swallowing down half of it in one gulp. Then she stood up a little straighter and headed for Will's group. She needed to say hello at the very least. 

Rush was standing awkwardly next to Will, surrounded by a few of his friends. He had a beer clenched in his fist and looked at her rather hopelessly as she approached. 

"Lacey," he said, and she didn't think she imagined the relief in his voice. She wondered how he'd been drawn into conversation with Will in the first place. She could only hope he wasn't so annoyed with Will and his friends that he abandoned this whole scheme. 

“Dr. Rush was just telling us all about academic life,” Will said with a slight twist to his lips. “Never knew you to go for the brainy types, Lace.” 

“I didn’t go to college,” boomed Will’s friend John, a giant of a man they all had to crane their necks to see. “Yeah, just wasn’t for me.” 

“I think finishing high school is a prerequisite for getting into university, mate,” Will said, slapping his friend on the back. 

“Oh and where did you go to school?” Lacey cut across Will. “If I remember correctly, your Facebook profile says you attended the “School of Hard Knocks”. Where is that located? Seattle?”  

Will opened his mouth with an undoubtedly witless retort, but was saved the embarrassment by Rush. 

“Academia is just another job,” he said. “No better or worse than any other. My father was a dock worker in Glasgow and I did my fair share of manual labor in my youth. I’ve nothing but respect for honest work. Frequently it pays better than teaching too.” 

That earned a round of agreement from Will’s friends. 

“You know how much underwater welders rake in?” Will’s friend Robin asked. “A guy I used to work with went to diving school and now he’s making six figures.” 

The other men all gave suitably impressed grunts of approval and Lacey resisted rolling her eyes. 

“Thrilling conversation, lads,” she said, stifling a fake yawn. 

“Oh, I apologize,” Will said sarcastically. “Are we boring you?”

“You?” Lacey shot back. “Always.” 

Will snorted a laugh. “Well let's get some tequila in you and you can end the night giving half the diner a lap dance.” 

“That was one time, you asshole,” Lacey laughed, giving Will a playful shove at the memory of her 24th birthday. “And it wasn’t a lap dance, it was a table dance. Get it right. Granny had me banned for a full 6 weeks.”  

Will’s friends all laughed at the memory and for a split second, it felt like life had gone back to normal, to six months ago when everything still made sense. Until they were interrupted. 

“Hey, you, I thought I’d lost you,” Ana said, walking up and placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. 

“Never,” Will said with gusto, wrapping his arm around Ana’s slim waist and kissing her cheek.  

Lacey felt the smile on her face freezing like she was in rictus. 

“What’s so funny over here?” Ana asked, glancing around at them all. 

Will swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh nothing, just remembering a time Lacey made a fool of herself.”

Ana glanced at Lacey with raised eyebrows. 

“That’s me,” Lacey said, raising her champagne glass in salute. 

“Hmm,” Ana said, turning back to Will with a pretty little pout. “I’m heading back to the house. I have an early morning tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep.” 

“Aw, babe, it’s so early still,” Will groused. 

“I have yogalates at 6 and I will look dreadful if I don’t get seven hours sleep before then.” 

“Not possible for you to be anything but perfect,” Will said, nuzzling his nose against Ana’s. 

Lacey had to clamp her lips together to keep from chucking up her champagne and canapés. 

Ana let out a tinkling little laugh, pecking Will on the lips. 

“Oh, stop, darling,” she said, lightly slapping him on the chest. “You need to get your sleep too. The last thing we need is you showing up to the wedding completely sleep deprived because you’ve stayed up until the wee hours all weekend, you night owl. Lacey, I’m sure you remember what he’s like.”

Suddenly all eyes swiveled from the happy couple to Lacey. It was Ana’s first public acknowledgment of Lacey’s status as Will’s ex. 

“Um, yeah,” Lacey said, unsure of where the conversation was headed. 

“But of course that was ages ago. I’m sure his habits may have changed as he matured.” 

Next to Ana, Will’s eyes widened, his head dipping almost imperceptibly into a nod. A clear sign she was meant to agree with Ana’s misconception. 

“Ages,” she repeated flatly. 

Will gave her another little nod. 

So, he still wasn’t being honest with his fiance. Lacey felt a bubble of anger rising up in her stomach to be in this position yet again. But never mind all that. She just had to get through the next couple of days. Then she could never see Will or Ana again. Then she could forget this whole horrid thing and, hopefully, move on to bigger and better commissions. Enough to get her own place. Enough to leave Storybrooke entirely. 

“Not so sure about matured, though,” Lacey couldn’t help the barb. “There’s something to be said for experience, after all, and Will is certainly lacking in that regard.” 

She turned to Rush still standing silently at her side, cupping his cheek with her hand before pulling him down for a kiss. His beard was scratchy beneath her palm, his lips parting in shock as she dipped her tongue into his mouth. His hand came up to cradle her waist, giving her a firm squeeze that also served to push her away slightly. 

Lacey stepped back, breaking the kiss as the other assembled guests looked around awkwardly.

“Anyway,” Ana continued brightly, “beauty sleep and all that. I’ll see you tomorrow at the luncheon, Lacey?” 

“Of course,” Lacey said, still wrong-footed from Rush’s reaction to her kiss.

Ana gave them all one last brilliant smile as Will walked her to the door. 

“I think that’s our cue, too,” Lacey said, downing the remnants of her champagne. Rush was tense beside her, and she needed to free him from this charade as soon as possible before he blew their whole cover. “Goodnight, everyone.” 

Rush followed her silently out of the diner and back out into the chilly spring evening.  

Rush was quiet on the short walk back to the B&B and Lacey was desperate for something to say to break the tension. Rush had been selling their fake relationship so well up until the end when he’d almost physically recoiled from her. It couldn’t just be the kiss. She’d kissed him before and while surprised, he’d seemed to enjoy it. 

They trudged up the stairs and to their shared room at the inn and Lacey couldn’t stand the idea of spending the night with someone who wasn’t speaking to her. 

Rush’s shoulders were hunched, his hands buried in his jeans pockets, his face inscrutable. He looked like that miserable man she’d first met in the bar in Boston weeks ago. 

“What’s the matter?” she blurted out once they were in their room. “I get the feeling I did something to upset you and I’d rather just know what it is.” 

Rush half turned to glance at her, not giving her the benefit of looking her full in the face.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. 

“Please don’t do that,” Lacey said with a sigh. “Something you should know about me, I’m a frank person. I don’t play games and I don’t make you guess what I’m feeling. I’d prefer the same courtesy.” 

“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “You made me uncomfortable tonight, are you happy?” 

Lacey just blinked. 

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. 

Rush shook his head. “Look, I know it’s technically what I’m here for, but having you stuff your tongue down my throat to upset your ex boyfriend’s new fiance at her wedding party felt ever so slightly morally reprehensible.” 

“So this is about Ana,” Lacey said, crossing her arms against her chest. “I suppose she’s got you in her thrall too already. And you’ve only just met her. I suppose it’s no surprise Will is ready to marry her after only a few months.” 

“This isn’t about Ana,” Rush countered. “Though she seems like a perfectly nice person and I'm unsure what she’s done to piss you off so badly.” 

Lacey didn’t have an answer for that. It wasn’t Ana’s fault. She hadn’t known of Lacey’s existence when she met and fell for Will. She hadn’t even known they’d ever dated until recently and she still didn’t know the extent of their past relationship. None of this was Ana’s fault. But she was just so bloody perfect. Lacey was used to being desired, to men finding her attractive. She’d never felt ugly until she stood next to Anastasia. She’d never been a jealous person until that striking blonde had showed up. She was wildly jealous of Anastasia, for everything she was and everything Lacey wasn’t. 

“I dated Will for four years,” she said. “And he broke out in hives at the hint of any sort of commitment whatsoever. He didn’t even go to Belle and Gold’s wedding with me because he was so freaked out by marriage as an institution. But he’s willing to marry her? Some girl he barely knows?” 

“You wanted to marry him,” Rush accused.

“No!” Lacey shot back. “I never even thought about it. If he’d ever asked I’d have laughed in his face. But having someone so soundly reject you stings. Forgive me if I think I’m owed the right to be a little salty about all this.”  

Rush took a deep breath before nodding. 

“Could you just not spring any more surprise kisses on me?” he asked, tentatively. “We can hold hands and dance and flirt, but no more of that. You made me feel…” he trailed off, seemingly unable to find an appropriate word.  

Lacey felt suddenly small, like the tiniest most insignificant person in the world. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “No more kissing. I’ve got it.” 

Rush gave her another stiff nod before going to the wardrobe and shrugging off his blazer to hang it there. 

That was the end of that, then. No kissing. No rubbing her “relationship” in Will’s face. Suddenly the weekend didn’t seem so fun. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up and change into her pajamas, Lacey found herself lying in bed beside Rush, the awkwardness between them almost unbearable. She wasn’t sure how to approach him now. She’d played too fast and loose and made him uncomfortable. He was a good man doing her a massive favor and she’d alienated him after an afternoon. She was a completely shit person. 

“I’m sorry,” she said aloud, unsure if Rush was even still awake on the other side of the bed with his back to her. “I really am.”

“I know,” he returned, his voice sleepy. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t though. And she didn’t know how to make it so. 

“You’re an excellent kisser, by the way,” he said into the darkened room. “That’s not what this is about.” 

She stared at his back in the gloom, wondering where he was going with this.

“Thanks?” she said, her statement sounding like a question. 

Rush snorted a laugh. 

“I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continued. “Under other circumstances…” he trailed off, letting the statement hang in the air. 

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed. 

She rolled over on the creaky mattress, putting her back to Rush. Maybe if Gold had set them up when they’d had no ulterior motives. Maybe if she’d been a fully functioning adult. Maybe…

Lacey drifted off to sleep on the thoughts of what might have been. 

[thesakuragarnet]

Flecks of Gold (A DabiHawks oneshot/drabble for Hawks' Birthday 2023)

Summary: Dabi realizes he is falling in love with Hawks & Hawks realizes Dabi is teaching him to love himself.

THIS WORK HAS SOME (But not a lot) 18+ THEMES!

Non-Spicy Tags: DabiHawks, pining, fluff, soulmates (perhaps??), making out, first kiss, domestic fantasization, light angst, HPSC is the root of all evil, this might feel like two separate stories but anyway that's okay, swearing

Word Count: 1,433 words

Spicy Tags: enemies with benefits, mentions of/allusions to s3ggsual activity

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

Something was happening to Touya Todoroki...but he didn't know what. He didn't know why his mind was swimming and something that was long forgotten was thumping against his ribcage, almost like it was demanding to beat right out of his chest. He didn't know why he felt empty when a new presence slipped away into the night. He didn't know why the moment he saw this..."new presence" he felt as if his entire center of gravity had shifted.

The so-called "new presence" was none other than the Number Two Pro Hero of Japan...Hawks. Hawks was the League's mole. The one who was supposed to be infiltrating the heroes and providing insider information...though Dabi had his suspicions and wasn't supposed to get...attached. He was more than attached at this point.

Dabi found himself overanalyzing every aspect of Hawks down to the most minute of details...and he found that...he...he loved him. Truly, that's what this new feeling was. He loved the way he laughed after making the stupidest of jokes; the sound was full and hearty and titillating, kissing his ears. He loved the way that light reflected off of his crimson feathers, streams shining brightly through vanes. He loved the way that Hawks held himself with such confidence that it was borderline intimidating; he never wavered his posture, never backed down from a challenge, no matter if his foe was three times his size. He loved the way that the sun highlighted the flecks of gold in Hawks' honey-colored eyes, pools of glistening amber practically glowing. But most of all, he loved the way Hawks caressed him...made him feel...cherished unlike any other. He hadn't expected to feel anything...given his condition. Yet, somehow, Hawks made him feel so much...inside and out. He made stars dance across his vision. He made everything...make sense.

Dabi felt as if their souls were tied together in an inexplicable bond. It was impenetrable...inseverable...it was wrong...but oh so right. He knew it was different the moment their relationship moved...beyond professional.

...

...

"Well, are you gonna kiss me or not?"

The words rang around like alarm bells in Dabi's head as the Pro Hero wagged an eyebrow flirtatiously, egging him on. Dabi gulped, sweat beading on his brow as he found himself in quite a precarious situation. Here he was, trying to intimidate the Pro Hero, and now, he was speechless. He had Hawks pinned against the wall of the warehouse after a spat, black painted fingernails digging into the soft flight jacket, bunching it up on the Pro's shoulders; their faces were mere inches apart.

"Am I gonna have to make the first move? Really?" Hawks huffs, eyelids heavy and taunting, almost like he's unimpressed. Dabi's mouth is dry, and he starts stuttering, words falling from his lips before they can stop them.

"I-I'm sorry?" He blurts, unsure exactly what he's apologizing for or if he's just not sure what the Pro said. Hawks' gaze softens before slow realization spreads across his face.

"Oh...never kissed anyone before, have you?" Hawks muses, and Dabi's eyes stare at the floor, suddenly significantly more flustered. His breath catches in his throat, his heart stuttering when he feels a feather touch the tip of his nose, bringing him back to reality. Cerulean pools melt into flecks of gold.

"I'll lead then, firefly," Hawks whispers, the pet name sending shivers down Dabi's spine as the leather-gloved hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Dabi lets his eyes flutter shut, and he almost swoons when he feels Hawks kissing him, soft lips brushing against the unburned skin on his top lip where he hasn't lost all sensation.

The villain groans into the hero's mouth, completely succumbing to the throbbing sensation in his gut; he feels it boiling in his blood and pumping through his veins. He wants this fleeting feeling to last an eternity. He wants his sworn enemy to wrap him up in those strong arms and vast wings and hold him forever. Dabi melts into Hawks' grip, stoic facade crumbling into smoldering ash as he kisses him back. He sees white behind his closed eyelids, his heart pounding and his vision blurring as his mind fills with distorted illusions. Illusions of him being happy. Delusions of sharing a life with the Pro Hero. They all come slamming into him at once without warning, almost as if it's meant to be. Hawks coming home from his Pro Hero day-job to Dabi, who would've burned dinner twice already and had been in the middle of ordering take-out. Dabi wouldn't be such a hardened villain. It was such a silly concept...to think that with one kiss it was like his soul had been bonded forever. Maybe he'd drank more whiskey this morning than he thought.

Suddenly, the spell is broken as Hawks' lips slowly move away, but Dabi feels like the breath is being stolen from his lungs. He lurches forward, scarred palms caressing the side of the Pro's face, fingers brushing against stubble as he pulls him back in and kisses him passionately. Dabi doesn't want this moment to end. He wants to lose himself in this twisted heavenly game that he's found himself playing. Hawks smiles into the kiss, chuckling softly as the sounds muffle in his throat, and he slips his tongue into the villain's mouth. Dabi freezes, but allows it, pleasure building deep inside when he feels Hawks' tongue gliding against his own.

Dabi feels like he's drowning in the sweetest way possible. He craves more. He craves it forever. He craves Hawks forever.

After an eternity, the kiss ends, and Dabi finds himself staring into those gorgeous golden eyes once again. The eyes that captivated him. The eyes that ensnared him in this precarious situation in the first place. Dabi is speechless, staring open-mouthed as a shit-eating grin forms on the hero's lips.

"Am I that good of a kisser?" Hawks teases with a wink. Touya Todoroki watches the thick eyelashes flutter, almost in slow motion. He could swear even those had flecks of gold within them.

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

The words scroll across Hawks' brain, unable to find hold anywhere within the curves and folds. He simply didn't know how to respond. Suddenly, the suave, cunning persona the HPSC had been hammering into him was at a loss...and all because Dabi had asked a sarcastic question.

"What's your favorite color?"

Hawks racked his brain. Surely the Commission had an answer for such a juvenile question. Surely they would've given him an answer to say to such a basic quality. Surely they-

"Hawks?"

The hero blinks back to reality, sitting up straighter on the League's couch as Dabi idly lounges on the other end, his legs draping across the Pro's lap, boots idly hanging off the arm of the couch.

"Do you not have one?" Dabi snorts, only partially caring as he puts his arms behind his head.

"Don't know," Hawks mutters, and Dabi raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean you don't know?" The villain blurts, a little surprised. The hero clears his throat, feathers ruffling a little bit. He remains silent. The words sound wrong.

"I don't know," Hawks repeats, louder.

"Like you can't decide?" Dabi mumbles, and Hawks remains stock still.

"Does the Commission really control you that much, birdie?" Dabi snorts, half-joking, but the dark look that crosses Hawks' eyes gives confirmation.

"Well, is there a color that you like looking at?"

Hawks makes the connection much faster than he anticipated the moment his eyes find Dabi's. Those ocean-blue pools of cerulean seem to stare into his very soul. They stare right through him, stripping him bare, naked and exposed, mentally, emotionally, and physically. The eyes that shone in the moonlight...that incomparable cobalt that reflected the waters in the harbor by the warehouse. The way his azure flames flickered in those eyes. It was exhilarating. Truly, that was Hawks' favorite color. Nonetheless, all those explanations seem too convoluted in Hawks' mind for Dabi to understand, so he merely answers:

"Blue."

Dabi's suspicious gaze seems to melt, and Hawks feels that warmth blooming in his chest once again that he fought so hard to ignore. The indescribable feelings that the HPSC had fought so hard to stifle over the years. Hawks wasn't allowed to love...and yet...here he was. Opening himself up. In the beginning, he had just been seducing Dabi for information, but...now...it's different. This exchange seems so meaningless...but...to Hawks...it means everything. Someone is trying to get to know Keigo Takami...not Hawks.

Dabi breathes a whisper as he stares deeply into his lover's eyes:

"Mine is gold."

[where-fantasy-meets-reality]

“Reflections of a Distant Past” Chapter 2

Masterlist   Chapter 1 

Pairing: Ben Kenobi x Fem. Reader (second person)

W/C: 6.7 K

Warnings: Mentions of a past abusive relationship. Probably typos.

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome back! I am truly loving this story and creating this world and its characters have been so much fun. This most likely will be a slow burn and things are just getting underway with this story. Also, the name of the blue color that is named in the kitchen, is a real color that you can google to get a full image of the description in your mind's eye. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list and as always thank you all for your support. 

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

The mid-afternoon sun was streaming in through your store's large windows, surrounding the storefront in a warm glow.

Soon, the warmer weather would be replaced by the cool, crisp air of the fall. While the thought of big comfy sweaters, plaid shirts, and boots excited you, there was something about the end of summer that made you sad. Summer was your favorite season and every year you excitedly welcomed its arrival and marked its departure bittersweetly.

It had been a week since you met Ben that morning at the coffee shop…and every morning since you had hoped he would be there when you went to grab your caffeine. Yet, sadly to your dismay, he was not.

Ahsoka hadn’t mentioned anything about him or that morning so you, and out of fear of being embarrassed or suffering her wrath of never-ending teasing, you hadn’t brought it up either.

You sighed, putting thoughts of the changing seasons away as you turned to the stack of boxes behind the counter. A big shipment of several new books from various famous authors and big publishers had arrived this morning,  along with a general restocking of things the store had been out of had finally arrived. Along with books, you sold various book-related items like reading lights, fun bookmarks, and bookends for shelves.

Opening one of the boxes, you took a handful of books out and set them on the counter. It was the newest book in a best-selling young adult fantasy series. You had a few copies of the previous books in-store, and given that this was a very popular series, you had decided to make a display with the books in the series on the main display table in the center of the store.

Taking the small stacks of books with you, you walked to the table in the center of the room and began making the display with the new one as well as the various books in the series. The publishing house had sent various tabletop cutouts and decorations along with the books as a promotion for the store, so you were excited to put this display together; any chance to let some creativity out was an opportunity you relished.

Fiddling with the books and the decorations, you lost track of time and took advantage of the uninterrupted work time.

You were so engrossed in your work that you barely heard the bell that was on the door to the shop “ding” when someone opened it and entered the store.

“Hi! Welcome to Pageturners!!” You called casually over your shoulder. You hadn’t bothered to look away from your work as this display was near complete and coming along perfectly. It was probably some teenagers here for the new release, or maybe a mom with some kids. If they needed help they would let you know and then you’d be glad to assist, otherwise, you didn’t like to hover around guests.

“Hello.”

His cheery voice held that same unmistakable rumble and British accent that left you brainless at the coffee house last week.

And now vibrated off the walls of your shop.

Turning around, you were greeted by the man you expected (and was delighted)  to see.

Ben stood in front of the counter, leaning on it. His black jeans and a gray t-shirt only added to his relaxed appearance. His slightly messy hair wasn’t helping the situation at all….Did he always have to look so good in a t-shirt? You tried desperately not to let your stomach erupt into butterflies as you took him in.

He smiled bashfully at your awkwardness...almost as if he could sense your emotions or read your mind.

Clearing his throat, he straightened to his full height. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but we met at the coffee shop about a week or so ago.”

You smiled brightly…..As if you could forget him…..Fantastic, not only was he a lot of things but he was humble too. “Ben? Right?”

He smiled warmly at your remembrance of his name. “Correct….Emma.”  

You tried very hard to stop your insides from melting at the fact that he remembered your name. You ran a hand through your hair making it look like you were pushing it back but you were nonchalantly trying to wipe the nervous sweat off your brow.

“What brings you in?”

“Well, Ahsoka had mentioned you owned the town bookstore and it just so happens that I’m in the market to complete my Sherlock Holmes collection.”

Your eyes brightened. “Fantastic, I always keep a well-supplied stock of Mr.Holmes adventures...which one are you looking for?”

“The Hound of the Baskervilles.” He said matter-of-factly.

At his words, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull and your mouth dropped open. “You mean to tell me that you call yourself a fan and you don’t even own “The Hound of the Baskervilles?” You shrieked.

His cheeks flushed the color of his hair. “I confess I do not….I’ve been relying on library copies for a while and considering it’s the one I read most often… well...I figured it was time I did something about it…It will certainly make my life a lot easier…”

“Well,” you smiled warmly, “You’ve come to the right place. Hardcover or paperback?”  

He relaxed, no longer put off by your teasing. “Hardcover. Normally I don’t have a preference but I take particular pride in my Holmes collection.”

“I can’t blame you.” You called over your shoulder as you disappeared into a row of shelves. You didn’t have to pretend that you didn’t know where to look, you knew your store like the back of your own hand; especially this particular author's set of work.  

Finding your target, you bent down so that the books were at eye level.

“Okay,” You called out from the row of shelves. “I have two copies in hardcover. One that is an old-fashioned cloth-bound collector's edition, and one that is just a regular copy...Do you have a preference?”

“The cloth-bound one please.” He called back to you confidently.

You smiled slightly. This man was going to be the death of you. There weren’t many men who you knew that were willing to drop the money it cost for a cloth-bound copy of a Sherlock Holmes book…or even a collectors book in general...even if they did love the story or the author.

You came around the corner of the shelf and walked behind the counter holding the book as if it were a baby. “Here you are.”

He took the book into his hands, causing your fingers to brush momentarily with his.

Ben’s hands were rough and calloused but his skin was so warm. It was almost alarming at how warm it was...looking up at him, you were slightly confused. He didn’t look like he was uncomfortable or breaking a sweat at all for the amount of heat he was giving off. More mysterious questions….first Ahsoka’s comment about him being “dad” and now the fact that his body temp seemed to run very hot.

Nothing that could be considered overly odd...maybe you were looking too deep into it.

Yeah...that had to be it. At times you could have an imagination and right now you were letting it run away with this crush of yours that you were quickly developing on this man.

His sweet voice broke your inner spiraling.

“It’s perfect...thank you.” He ran his fingers over the thick cloth of the cover, allowing them to linger over the thick stitching of the letters.

“Will there be anything else?”

Tilting his head in thought, he paused. “Actually….you know there might be….now that I’m holding this one in my hands, I’m wondering do you have “A Study in Scarlet” in an edition like this? One that is cloth bound?”

“Hmmmph.” You wondered out loud….You were pretty aware of the stock in your store and you knew you didn’t see one when you were over by the shelves just now.

Yet, wanting to be sure and provide great customer service at the same time, you jumped on the old laptop that served as the store's computer and searched the inventory.

Gesturing toward the old dinosaur of a laptop, you shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, she’s a little slow but she’ll get there eventually.”

“A patient man never minds waiting on a good woman.” Ben winked.

Pursing your lips into an expression that was something like a smile and pressing them into a flat line. If this man wanted to, he could have you eating out of the palm of his hand. Thankfully, you were able to exert some form of self-control.

That and the computer had decided to save you from social humiliation by loading the search results. “Okay, here we go.” You drawled out as you leaned closer to the screen and squinted, reading the small print.

“Hmmm......No….I don’t believe I have a copy like that edition in stock….I’m sorry…”

Ben’s expression dropped and his eyes lost spunk. Now he just looked like a sad puppy dog, and no one wants a sad puppy.

“But, I can order one for you if you’d like?”

His eyes seemed to grow with excitement again. “Yes...I very much would like that...I don’t mind the cost, whatever it is...That particular story of Homles is sentimental to me and I’d like to have the special edition for my collection.”

Quickly typing some information in, you secured a few copies of the cloth-bound edition of the book; one for him and two for the store; just in case someone else wanted one. “Excellent. Well, a copy for you should arrive within the next two weeks. I can contact you when it comes in.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled.

“Would you prefer me to contact you via email or phone? Or if you like I can just let Ahsoka know….I’m in the coffee shop practically every day, so I can do that if you prefer.”

You remembered her comment about it possibly taking a hundred years to call and you wondered if maybe he had a thing against technology or maybe if he didn’t like cell phones?

“No, no...a phone call works fine. Do you have a pen?” His response to your question caused you to squeal internally. Now you would have his number.

Turning around to the other counter behind you, you grabbed a pen and pad. “Here you are.”

He scribbled down a set of numbers and his name...Ben Kenobi.

Taking back the pad and pen, you unabashedly examined his writings.

Scribbling was an understatement...the more you watched him fill out his information, you noticed how beautiful his handwriting was. Looking at it up close now, you were correct. It was very elegant and written in script. No one wrote like that anymore….or at least they didn’t unless it was an extremely formal occasion or they had been hired to do it for some kind of invitation or project.

Did they even teach script in schools anymore you wondered to yourself?

Regardless...his handwriting was as mesmerizing as he was…

“Your handwriting is so nice...and neat..” You awkwardly joked.

“Thank you.” He chuckled. “I had extremely strict teachers growing up and penmanship that was not only legible but elegant looking was a must.”

“Ah…That sounds like there are some stories there, strict teachers always give plenty of material for stories...” You joked as you closed out the open browser on the laptop.

“Oh, you have no idea.” He chuckled. “But they’re mostly boring….believe me.”

You noticed that he shifted uncomfortably after that comment as if he wanted to change the subject. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it? Or maybe they were “interesting” memories because they weren’t good ones. Thinking quickly, you decided to follow his lead and change the topic.

Allowing your bringing curiosity to take charge, you decided to just stop beating around the bush.

“So….Ahsoka calls you “dad” huh?”

A hearty laugh escaped him. “Yeah….she does that...Usually, it’s just to get a rise out of me...She’s a good kid so I don’t give her flack for it.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he spoke.

“Yeah, she is definitely a really good kid, we hit it off right away…and...wait…Then….You aren’t her dad?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times as his eyes seemed to dart everywhere but back to you.

“.....No….Not exactly….”

Seeing your expression, he somehow knew that you wanted to know the answer but that you didn’t want to press any more than you already had, as he was uncomfortable.

“It’s….complicated.” He shrugged.

Your eyebrows shot to your forehead. “That was the exact answer she gave me when I asked her why she called you that.” You chuckled.

He relaxed a bit. “.....My roommate and his wife...I’ve known them for years and we’ve always been close...The three of us met Ahsoka when she was very young….She was an orphan and living on her own….My roommate grew extremely attached to her very quickly and he wanted to adopt her….I certainly had no objections. The three of us practically raised her...We never made her call us those names but now that she is older….she calls my roommate and me “dad” and his wife “mom”... As I said earlier, it's more a joke than anything.”

You just stared at him. Never in a million years would have expected his story or her reason for such terms of endearment to be so sentimental…..He had adopted her…. Or, well they had adopted her…but that would have explained the awkward age gap.

Your insides churned. Witty, kind, caring….heck even good looking, like model good looking…book nerd….and now you find out that he and his friends adopted a child and raised her instead of spending their younger years partying, traveling, and having normal young adult experiences. No, instead, they had opted to be parental role models and mentors to a young girl.

“That’s…..That’s….Well….That's unbelievable.” You stammered.

He was blushing again. “Ah….trust me it was not a big deal. My roommate and his wife, Anakin, and Padme, they mostly stepped into the parenting roles. I’m just the old-man bachelor that never moved on and helped out when they needed me to, kind of like that show, “Full House”, where everyone helps raise the kids…” - he chuckled - “…..I was the date night babysitter.”

You gave him a look as you tilted your head in thought. “I very much doubt that. I saw the way she was teasing you. I may not know her as well as you do, but I know her enough to know that she wouldn't tease anyone that way unless she cared about them.”

He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck again. “You’re very observant…..and correct. Yes, we have a pretty close bond.”

He looked around the shop as if he was looking for a distraction to change the subject.

Ben’s mesmerizing cerulean eyes settled on a poster you had on the wall behind the counter of Jane Austin.

“.....So….Is the love for Austin because of your name or is there another reason?”

Your eyes grew three times their natural size and your smile widened. “WOW, YOU’RE GOOD!” You exclaimed. Now he was a Holmes lover and knowledgeable about Austin?!

What was next?

Confidence took over his expression as he puffed out his chest.

“My dear, I grew up reading Austin….”Emma” was always one of the more lively stories….and, let us connect the dots here…You own a bookstore, you have a poster of Jane Austen hanging on the wall, and you clearly love to read...I deduced it wasn’t much of a leap.”

“I see Mr. Holmes has taught you well.” You teased.

“...He certainly did….Although, unpopular opinion…I think I sometimes enjoy Pride and Prejudice more than I do The Hound of Baskervilles.”

Again, your mouth hung open. “...Wait…Seriously, you grew up reading Austin? That wasn’t just a joke?”

For some reason, now that the conversation was back on him and his personal life, he became uncomfortable as he had before. “Well….like I said….I had a very strict and specific upbringing, classical literature was unavoidable….but that’s in the past now…” He stammered.

Nervously, he looked at the clock on the wall, the one that was over your shoulder behind you. “Ah….how time flies; I had best be going.”

Running his hand through his hair and fixing it, he smiled at you. “Thank you for ordering “A Study in Scarlet” for me. I shall have this to keep me busy in the meantime.” He tapped the book that was on the counter lightly.

“Yes! I’ll give you a call when it comes in. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.”

“Hopefully not.” He gave you a wink as he walked to the door. His hand rested on the bar that ran across the glass pane. “It was nice seeing you again Emma and thank you for the lovely conversation.” He looked over his shoulder back at you.

“...Hey…” You called out to him as he was halfway out the door.

He stopped and turned around, his bright blue eyes easily finding you.

“Why “A Study in Scarlet?”.....What makes that one so sentimental to you?”

He gave you a smile that reached his eyes. “It was the first Holmes story I read. My brother and my sister loved it as well. We would pass the book around between the three of us and read it chapter by chapter. When we all caught up with one another, we would sit and hypothesize what was going to happen next. I also had a good friend who read it and we would talk about it for hours as well…..” Glancing to the floor, he looked suddenly remorseful. “....that book means a lot to me.”

You gave him a warm expression. “Then I will be sure to diligently call you when it arrives.” You gave him a head bow like the one he had given you back at the cafe.

Ben mimicked your gesture, “you will have my eternal thanks. Again, it was a pleasure seeing you.”

“Yes, it was...Now that you know where I work, don’t be a stranger….I promise I can guarantee better prices than the university bookstore.” You chuckled.

He smiled. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

With that, he pushed the door open and walked out into the fresh air of the summer day.

You just sat there staring at the door after he left, lost in your own thoughts.

Only having interacted with this man twice, you were completely certain that he was unlike anyone that you had ever met; if his interests in Holmes and Austin didn’t confirm that then….something else did.

He had this...air about him….it was a sense of self-confidence that most men didn’t have today. He was sure of himself and secure in himself, but not in an arrogant way. It was in a way that was as if he had nothing to prove to anyone.

At this point, you were trying not to admit to yourself that you had a serious crush on him because there is no way that anyone like him would ever have a crush on you back.

But….it had been a long time since you even entertained the idea of dating someone again. You had had a few boyfriends here and there and plenty of first dates, but nothing overly serious, especially as of late.

Your last relationship had ended three years ago and the two of you had dated for two years with the other person turning out to not only be a complete jerk; that was one relationship you weren’t sad to see the end of.

After your breakup with your ex, you decided to take some time for yourself. The relationship had become toxic towards the end and it left a sour taste in your mouth, so much so that you decided to take a break from the dating scene.

You had thrown yourself into your work and hobbies then; reconnected with old friends and made new ones, like Ahsoka at the coffee shop. You prioritized mental, emotional, and physical health.

You had gotten a kitten, a little grey and white one.....who had now turned into a large size, short-haired, lazy house cat. Coal, the name you had given him, was adopted from a shelter about three months into your breakup. As a kitten, he was friendly, and inquisitive, and followed you everywhere. Now, he was content to sleep either on your bed, the couch, or on his tower in your reading room. He was still playful and friendly but the inquisitiveness had ultimately worn off. These days you were lucky if he got up to greet you when you walked through the door. It seemed the only time he wanted your attention was when you were feeding him.

But Coal had been a great source of comfort, especially within that first year. Despite him being older and lazy, you two had a special bond that you were certain would always last. He was always somewhere in the room you were in if you were home. Sometimes he would sleep on your bed with you, other times he would sleep on a large, comfy chair you had in your room.

Eventually, you felt such a sense of liberation at being your own person again, able to enjoy yourself without having to please someone or pretend to be someone you weren’t to make someone else happy.

You hadn’t sworn off dating in a sense...but you weren’t exactly looking for someone at the moment either.

However, people always said that was always how it happened; when you were least expecting it. And, to be honest, you couldn’t have been expecting it to happen now at all.

It figures that the cliche would turn out to be true.

“Well,” You said to yourself as you leaned on the counter, still staring at the door he had just walked out of. “What have I got to lose?”

There was no denying that no one else since your ex, or even before him, had even come close to catching your attention the way Ben had. If he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, you would understand of course….You would never force someone to be with you. If that did happen, that he was not interested, then it would be fun to daydream until reality would shatter the illusions.

Maybe, just maybe there was the small possibility that he wouldn’t turn you down. After all, it had felt like he was flirting with you back at the cafe the first time you met. You two were certainly making eyes at each other that day and today for sure; unless you were completely crazy and way out of the loop when it came to the evolution of the dating game.

Leaning on the counter contemplatively, dreaming out possibilities of a relationship with Ben, the display that you had been building in the center of the store game into your line of view again.

“...Yeah…” You sighed, pushing yourself off of the counter, “...I should probably get back to that, the display isn’t going to build itself.”

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

1 Week later

Minus the beautiful melody of the birds chirping outside the window and the gentle hum of the air conditioning, the house was quiet. This was surprising to Obi-Wan as everyone was home, and with a house full of werewolves, things never stayed quiet for long.

It was a scorcher today, the weatherman said it would reach into the low 90s. Ben was grateful for central air conditioning on a day like today….he couldn’t even imagine dealing with this heat the way he did in his childhood….woolen suits and stiff collars….but, then again…He didn’t even live on this content when he was a child…and his childhood was over 150 years ago…

Sighing, he put the bookmark in the book and closed it. He ran his hand over the thickly embossed letters that read “Sherlock Holmes.”

His mind drifted to that day in the bookstore….to Emma.

She was beautiful, with her brown eyes and her golden brown hair. Kind, witty, humble….She was the first girl that had caught his eye since….well….

But that was over now, no use dwelling on the past.

Standing up, he picked up his glass from the table and walked over to the kitchen sink, and filled it up. As the glass slowly filled with water, he looked out the window that was above the kitchen sink. Padme’s rose bushes were looking especially lovely this year, all the different colors filled the garden breaking up the mundane green grass.

Turning and leaning his back against the counter, he sighed as he took a drink.

He had been dwelling on the past a lot lately, more so than usual, which wasn’t good for his mental health. It sturred up too much regret, too much self-hate.

As much as he loved it, he was wondering if he should put down Holmes for a little while and move on to something more…contemporary.

For him, the stories of Holmes would always represent everything that he had lost. The world he had lived in, the life he had lived....he walked, lived, breathed in the same London that Holmes had. 

In an effort to change his minds subject, he took a look around the kitchen. Padme and Anakin had just completed their latest wave of home renovations and as usual, they had done a splendid job.

Eternal life leads to boredom frequently, therefor they were always looking for hobbies or projects to indulge in. As a couple, Padme and Anakin loved to remodel. Every decade or so, if they stayed in one place that long, they would take great pleasure in gutting the place they were living in from top to bottom and completely remodeling it. Padme was the color coordinator and decorator and Anakin was her builder and handyman.

The kitchen had been their latest victim and Ben had been quite pleased with the way that it turned out, despite the pain that the renovations had been.

For this renovation’s theme, Padme had decided to the kitchen (and eventually the whole house) into a farmhouse theme.

Anakin had replaced the tacky tile flooring with a gorgeous light wood that he had refinished himself. All cabinets had been painted white, a large white farmhouse kitchen sink had been installed, and the exposed whitewashed brick had replaced an ugly mosaic. Wood countertops, the same color as the wood on the floor, lined the kitchen and were used on the island that divided the eating area where the table was and the kitchen space. Padme had decided to paint the large island a blue, “Van Deusen Blue” she called it, which in the afternoon sunlight almost looked gray. White shiplap panels made up the ceiling throughout the whole space painted white extended into the dining area.

The shiplap reminded him of his childhood home….The cook’s kitchen and pantry were entirely made of shiplap.

Sighing, he hung his head….Yeah, he was definitely going to have to stop reading Holmes for a bit.

Bringing his mind back to the kitchen, he thought pensively about how all the cooler colors in the kitchen would make the space feel cold if it wasn’t for Padme…and Ahsoka too. No one liked to get in Padme’s way, but she and Ahsoka had to be pulled out of the home stores or else they would just stay there forever; Ben remembered how he and Anakin had to practically drag them out of the hardware store when choosing a paint color.

Little touches like candles, plants, cookbooks, spice racks, cooper colored fixtures, and warm glowing Edison lightbulbs…. all made it quite charming and cozy, subtle but sophisticated.

The slider that led from the kitchen to the backyard opened, and Ben leaned forward to greet his housemate. He didn’t have to ask who it was, he could smell him coming before he even entered the yard.

“Hey Anakin, how was work?” He called out from the other side of the island.

The young man sighed. “Brutal, the garage was probably a one-hundred degree today and I had to entirely re-build an engine…”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Ooooff….my sympathies, definitely not the day for that…”

Grabbing his own glass out of one of the cabinets, Ben moved that so Anakin could fill it up. “Yeah well, I didn’t have a choice. Mr. Windu, the customer, is coming to pick it up on Tuesday and he’s a tough customer….so leaving it till Monday wasn’t an option…”

Before Ben could comment on how (unusually)  responsible that was of Anakin, Anakin had just kept talking.

“Hey, it’s a full moon tonight, are we still going out as a pack or separately?”

Ben tilted his head to the side, pursuing his lips into a line. “I had thought about that….I was going to propose we hunt as a pack, might be a good bonding experience for us, we haven’t had one of those in a while…. unless you Padme wanted to go out alone….”

“No, I wanna go out as a pack…I…ugh…I have a proposal though…” Anakin blushed.

Curiosity lit up Ben’s eyes. “Oh?”

“Well, you know how the deer and the little bunnies come in the backyard, I know Padme gets annoyed with it cuz they eat the vegetables and the roses but…I think they’re cute…”

“Oh good, cuz I was going to say I refuse to hunt baby bunnies…I’ll suck it up and hunt a dear if I have to, but I draw the line at cute bunnies.” Ben quibbled.

Anakin’s blue eyes shined golden as he looked up at Ben, those were the wolf’s eyes. “No, I wanna get that mountain lion that’s been harassing them…”

Ben bobbed his head back and forth, which sounded more like Anakin…  ”….Okay….I can do a mountain lion….not much of a challenge for four werewolves but we can run flank and let you have all the fun.”

“Whose having all the fun?” The sound of her heels clicking on the floor announced her arrival before she appeared. Again, not that they couldn’t smell her, but that was standard practice for a werewolf.

Padme came into the kitchen carrying an iced coffee and her purse on one arm. She stooped to kiss Anakin on the lips and she even gave Ben a kiss on the cheek.

“Ugh you stink Anakin, I could smell you from the driveway.” She groaned.

He smiled sarcastically. “Love you too dear.”

She walked around the large kitchen island and placed her purse on the kitchen table. As she did so, she noticed Ben’s books. “Hey, is this that new one, the one you ordered from that girl at the bookstore?”

Ben stiffened. “No, that’s the one I bought that day.”

Ever since he ran to Emma in the cafe in front of Ahsoka, whom had told Padme and Anakin…the three of them hadn’t stopped teasing him since.

“Has she called?” Anakin asked excitedly.

Throwing his head back, Ben groaned. “Ugh, not this again.”

Nudging him on the shoulder playfully, “Oh come on Ben….take your shot man! Ahsoka said she looked like she was into you, go for it!”

“Please Ben!” Padme exclaimed. “We need someone new around here and you deserve a chance to be happy.”

Placing his glass down on the counter, he pointed a finger at Padme. Despite his aggressive stance, his voice was playful with an unmistakable hint of seriousness “See, that’s what I mean, that’s the problem around here. A girl smiles at me, I think she’s lovely, and all of a sudden you two want to make her pack.”

Putting his hands up defensively, “Wow, wow, wow….Now hang on a second there boyo….I have known you for 112 years, and never, and I do mean never in 112 years, have I ever seen you even blush when you talk about a girl…and Ahsoka said that not only were you blushing you were FLIRTING!”

Before he could defend himself, the husband and wife started double-teaming him.

“OH MY GOD, HE FLIRTED!” Padme shrieked.

“I KNOW! I WISH AHSOKA HAD RECORDED IT OR SOMETHING!….112 years and this man hasn’t even so much as looked at a girl…”

“Then this one must be special…” Padme beamed.

Facepalming, Ben moved his hand so that he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look guys, it is not that simple and you all know it.....I am a monster and she is an innocent HUMAN….she doesn’t need to get tied up with a sorry old alpha werewolf and his pack…”

“Hey, first off speak for yourself because your pack is amazing….and you’re a catch and you know it.” Padme pointed her finger at him as she came to stand next to her husband.

Throwing an arm around her, Anakin changed the subject for his friend’s sake, they had teased him enough. “Speaking of catching, how does a Mountain lion sound for tonight’s hunt?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oooo not much of a challenge but maybe we can catch the one that’s stalking the rabbits in the backyard.”

Before Anakin could announce that this was why he loved his wife, because she was always on his same wavelength, the fourth and final member of the pack came bounding down the stairs.

“Nope….I’ve got a better idea…”

Ahsoka strode into the room, her usual sass and confidence on full display. She may be the youngest member of the pack, but she was by no means any less dominant. If Ahsoka wanted to (with a little more training), she could be a match for her brothers in a fight; Ben considered her to be his most feral fighter. However, she had no desire to be in charge and was much happier having the level of responsibility that a person would have at her age…well, the age she physically looked, at least.

Walking over to the kitchen island, she threw down the front page of the daily newspaper. In large bold letters, the headline read “KILLER AT LARGE! 10 BODIES IN 3 NIGHTS!”

The pack all leaned over the countertop and all read the headlines.

“Rival wolf pack?” Padme questioned as she analyzed the article.

Ahsoka’s eyes glowed yellow, her wolf shining through. She flashed her packmates a wide, toothy grin  “Nope….rouge vampire. Travels alone and has gone on a feeding frenzy these past few nights. I caught his scent in town the other night when I was walking home from Sabine’s house, so I followed it…”

Anakin growled lowly. “You know better than to follow a random vampire alone.” He was always very protective of her.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please... remember, I survived as a wolf for almost 20 years before I met you guys, a rouge murderous vampire wouldn’t be the first thing that “goes bump in the night” that I’ve followed when I was all alone…”

Before the two of them could start an argument, Ben interjected, “Get to the point Ahsoka.”

His order as Alpha quelled the rage in his two wolves, for as alpha, he could do that, and even if the two didn’t like it, they had to do it as Alpha’s orders were to be obeyed. There was a certain amount of pack magic that Ben could enforce that could make them do it, but as a leader, he was big on choices. Therefore, his pack members choose to follow his orders out of respect and duty.

“...I was trying to before I was rudely interrupted….” She shot a sarcastic expression in Anakin’s direction. “...anyway…trailed him about 35-40 miles into the deep woods on foot….I could have kept going, but I felt as if he was starting to smell me as there weren’t enough competing scents to camouflage me, so I turned back and headed to the city…walked around a bit in case he tailed me, which he didn’t before I headed home….But he needs to be stopped, he’s causing havoc in the city, and he’s bad for us, draws too many eyes to our territory….”

All of the supernatural and magical creatures that lived in the world weren’t out. The general public still considered beings such as vampires and werewolves to be the stuff of cheesy monster movies and fairytales. Therefore, they lived in secret and guarded their secrets with their lives. They knew that if the public ever found out what they were that being run out of town would be the least of their problems.

“How far in is he hiding out?” Ben asked as he stroked his beard.

“... As I said, I followed him 40 miles in…He can’t be denning much further than there, that’s pretty far from the city, even for a vampire…..”

Everyone knew Vampires were nocturnal beings. When they were away from their covens or lairs, wherever they set up residence was called “denning”.

Ben flashed a toothy smile…a wolf’s smile. “...Vampire hunting sounds like a much more intriguing way to spend the evening…”

As an alpha male wolf, Ben was responsible for the territory that he and his pack held. For him, it wasn’t so much about personal space (werewolves were very territorial creatures, but surprisingly, Obi-Wan wasn’t overly aggressive when it came to the physical ground. However, a threat was a threat. Obi-Wan considered all of the humans living in his territory his responsibility to keep safe from the supernatural community that wanted to do them harm.

If he was going to spend the rest of his life as a monster then he might as well spend it protecting what he once loved…his normal human life. This vampire was not only a threat to his pack but to the people in his city, and that put him at the top of Obi’s list.

Anakin groaned. “....ugh, and here I wanted to catch that mountain loin….still….a murdering vampire does sound fun…”

Padme kissed her husband on the cheek again. “It’s okay sweetie, I promise I’ll help you catch your mountain lion after we take down this filth.”

Turning, he kissed her on the forehead, and he smiled widely. “Thanks, babe.”

Ben shook his head back and forth with a warm smile as he stood up and pushed his seat in. “alright everyone….Rest up, it’s gonna be a long night and we need to eat and rest if we’re going to take on a hunt like this…”

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

5 AM

Ben stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waste. As he passed by the mirror, he looked at the black and blue on his shoulder than had already begun to heal.

Carelessly, he and Ashoka flanked the vampire on the wrong side, and instead of taking the move that instinct told him to take, he had misjudged his opening and acted hastily. The vampire had gotten the best of him as he knocked him back into a boulder with enough strength to crack the centuries-old rock.

While his arm and shoulder had been broken after he landed that hit, he was fine now. Being a werewolf had its perks, one of which was enhanced healing time, his personal favorite. As opposed to the months it would take for a human to heal from multiple broken bones, it only took him a few hours. By the time he went to work in a few hours, he would be completely healed with not even a scratch on him.

For the vampire, however,  that was about the only hit that the vampire had gotten on him, and in the end, the pack succeeded in their goal when they set off for their full moon hunt. The city was once again safe.

He walked into his bedroom, which was connected to his bathroom. Picking up his phone, he checked his texts and calls. Considering he lived with the only three people who would want to get into with him and that he wasn’t in the habit of making friends, he had his text notifications off. Which made the little red number “1” alarm him even more.

Listening to the voicemail that had been missed from the previous evening, he smiled widely, allowing himself a slight indulgence.

It was Emma.

His book was in.

@nanagoswife @transcending-time @sillynilly27 @thewhitedannimal @janebby @kirstenvldfan21 @the-clones-and-me @hugmekenobi​ @naughtyry​

[pleasantskulduggery]

2021 TAZ Candlenights Gift

I finally started doing fanfic writing again, and this felt like a really great way to get back into it! Thanks to my partner cryptid_bard on Twitter and @thecandlenightszone here for setting this up!

A (slightly unedited) account of Lup and Barry at the midsummer festival, a year after Story and Song. Hurt/comfort, carnival games, and a sweet ending. 

Happy Candlenights, and have a great new year!

“Babe, come on.”

“I don’t think I can do it.” 

“You can. I know you can. Just take a deep breath and go.”

“Lup, it’s impossible.”

“Babe, I love you.” Lup looked deep into his eyes, holding his hands. She squeezed them gently. “You know that. But if you don’t win me that owlbear, I will not share this fried unicorn horn.”

Barry sighed, pushing up his glasses and looking back at the lines of colorful cans. The ground in front of them, past the bench where the two of them stood, was covered in brightly colored beanbags. The string lights above them cast a bright light over the cans and the prizes, a dozen stuffed monsters, hung overhead. The carnival barker jeered good naturedly at them.

“Come on, sir! Just knock over the cans and win the prize! You want your lady to have one of these, don’t you?”

“I very much want the owlbear.” Lup agreed, pushing Barry towards the bench. She chose a beanbag for him, one that was blue and purple and matched her costume, and handed it to him. “That one there, okay, babe?”

“For the owlbear, you gotta knock down the center stack.” The barker said, pointing. 

Barry took the bag from her, grumbling just a little at how the stack was probably glued together. He brightened a little when she pressed a kiss into his cheek, and he took his stance at the bench. He’d dressed as Garfield the Deals Warlock tonight, and he pushed his hood back and rolled up his long purple sleeves. 

She stepped back, giving him space to throw, and smiled. It had been three months since the machine had given her a physical form back, and she’d had plenty of time to adjust to having a body again. It felt good to stand here, the night air warm against her skin, her face covered with sugar and shards of unicorn horn, her feet aching in her boots from standing all day. She’d regret it in the morning- she didn’t think that she’d go this long without sitting- but right now, she’d manage. The air was filled with music and the smell of fried foods, people laughing and games ringing. Everything was a whirl of colors and sounds, and she was so happy. 

“Okay, Barry.” Lup heard him mumble. “You can do this. It’s a simple game of Knock-The-Cans-Down-With-A-Beanbag. How hard can this be? You are Barry Bluejeans. You made a bell out of the Light of Creation. You survived the Hunger. You have the best wife out of all the worlds that have ever existed. You are going to win her that owlbear.”

A smile broke over her face, her cheeks reddening. Over a hundred years together, and he still made her blush. “You can do it, babe!” She cheered him on, taking a bite of unicorn horn. It crumbled into sticky sweet shards as she sank her teeth into it, settling over her own voidfish costume and adding to the sparkles already in the fabric.

Barry tossed the bag. It sailed through the air, across the gap, and connected solidly with the center of the cans with a light thwack. 

The cans did not budge.

“Hey!” Barry said, turning to the barker with indignation. Lup stepped up to the bench, eyeing the cans. She could see where they’d been knocked back slightly with the force of the blow, Barry had hit them dead center. But they were still standing, and that owlbear hung above her head, dangling tantalizingly. 

“Oh, tough break!” The barker laughed, flicking the beanbag off the back bench to the ground, where it landed lightly atop the massive pile of multicolored bags. “But I’ve got 'em stacked in a special way! My master stacked them this way and he was never defeated, and he trained me. You’ll never get that owlbear!”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Barry muttered.

“That’s right. He hit them right in the middle.” Lup said, pointing. “It’s almost.... like you glued the cans together.”

A grin spread over the barker’s face. He sauntered over to the center cans, looking at them both with a raised eyebrow. “Glued them together? Why, that’s an insult to the craft and skill required of setting up a game of Knock-The-Cans-Down-With-A-Beanbag! Just watch!”

He turned to the stack, grabbing the top can and lifting it from the others. 

Lup grabbed the owlbear.

“Babe, run!” 

She took off, hugging the toy tight to her chest, her costume streaming behind her. She could hear Barry just a few feet behind her, hear the barker screaming at them to come back. There was a sound of clattering cans, the barker cursing. He must have knocked all the rest of his stacks down while trying to chase after them. 

Lup dodged between a pair of chefs, around an iridescent butterfly sharing a lemonade with a very realistic Candlenights bush, and burst through a group of Merles, with Barry just a few steps behind her. The barker was quickly lost in the crowd of people. Her costume, all tulle and streamers and sequins, was surprisingly easy to run in. Her feet, with the burst of adrenaline, stopped hurting. Someone shouted at her as she passed, a compliment about her hat. She blew them a kiss and kept going. It felt so good to run. To move! There’d been too many years spent in that chamber, with only black curtains and still air, where she could barely move or else she’d…

She slowed. Stopped. She was having trouble catching her breath all of a sudden. 

Barry caught up with her, his hand on her shoulder. “Lup, that was…” He was laughing. “Did you see his face? Serves him right, rigging the game like that!”

She turned to look at him. His face was red from the sprint, redder from laughing. He loosened his collar, looking down at the stuffed owlbear in her arms. “I guess that’s one way to win at carnival games. We should probably keep moving though, in case he calls a guard on us. We don’t wanna stay too close to that booth.”

“Yeah…” She said, blinking hard. 

“Hey,” he said, moving to touch her cheek. “You okay?”

Her head ached. She held the owlbear to her chest, fingers sinking into the plush. The music was louder here, closer to the band, and it throbbed in her ears. Too many years spent in silence except for her own thoughts desperately trying…

Her costume felt like it was strangling her. Someone dressed as a witch walked by, looking at the two of them curiously, and the folds of black fabric caught her eye and she was struggling to breathe even more. The taste of fried unicorn horn was overpowering in her mouth. 

“Lup?” Barry was asking. He was holding her hand, pulling on her. 

She let him lead her, still trying to catch her breath. She kept seeing black fabric, that chamber, the room inside the umbrella. Around her the carnival kept going, so many sights and sounds and smells that had been so wonderful but now were making her so nauseous and panicked and out of control. She’d spent twelve years in a box. Outside of it now, it was all too much.

Barry stopped her, easing her into a seat. “Hey now,” he said, pushing her hair back. “What’s going on?”

She tried to tell him, but it came out in a mumbled mess of words. Her head pounded. His hands were wet, or maybe it was her cheeks. 

“Hold on, babe.” She heard him say, and then his hands pulled away. 

“Barry?” She mumbled, hugging the owlbear to her chest. She was alone again. She didn’t want to be alone again. It was all too much. She almost wanted to go back to that quiet room again, just to calm down from this overwhelming panic she was feeling. 

“Hey, I’m here.” She heard, and something cool pressed against the side of her face. Barry, with a cup of ice water. “Lup, babe, take a drink. What’s going on?””

“Too much.” She finally mumbled. Something else bubbled up under the panic, hot and almost as uncomfortable. Embarrassment, hot and bitter. Why was she crying like this now? She was Lup! She was phantasmal and resplendent and she still couldn’t quite catch her breath. 

Barry kissed her forehead, the gesture incredibly gentle. “It’s okay, you’ve had a long day. Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She nodded, and Barry took a deep breath with her, crouched in front of her and holding her hands around the ice water. 

“It’s okay everything’s a little too much right now.” He said, “It hasn’t been that long since you got a physical form back. Here, take a sip.”

“It’s just a carnival.” She muttered, but she let him lift the cup and help her take a drink. The cold washed out her mouth and cleared some of the fog in her head, and she took another breath. The thought of that black curtain lined room started to creep up again.

“It’s still a lot.” He said, kissing her forehead again, and she pushed the memory out of the way, focusing on her husband in front of her. “But you’ll get used to everything again. It’ll take some time, but just take a few steps at a time. If you get overwhelmed, you can take some ‘you’ time until you feel ready again.”

She nodded. He smiled at her, and pulled a handkerchief out of his jeans for her. 

Lu-lu!” She heard Taako shout. He rushed up to her, Barry half pushed out of the way, stopping abruptly when he saw her face. He was holding a piece of iridescent fabric, part of her costume. It must have torn off while she was running. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m okay,” she promised, squeezing the owlbear. “I guess I’m not too used to this much going on.”

He looked her up and down, then smiled. He gave her a hug, holding her tightly, before taking the piece of fabric and starting to inspect her costume. Her brother, with her now, was easing even more of the overwhelming feelings inside her. She kept her hand on the shoulder of his Magnus costume as he worked, taking a long, deep breath. 

“Honestly, Lu-lu, I spent such a long time on this costume, and you can’t keep it in one piece?”

“Well that’s because you didn’t sew it together strong enough!” She retorted, starting to smile. “You should have known my night would involve running from the barkers after stealing from them.”

He shook his head, waving his hand over her skirt, and the fabric stitched itself back together. “Fashion comes first. See if I ever make you a costume again.” He gave her a grin. “Alright, all fixed. We can’t have a voidfish without all its tendrils walking around, can we?”

She shook her head and stood. Barry took her hand, an eyebrow raised. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to go back out?” She nodded, squeezing his hand. She banished the last thoughts of silence and black velvet from her mind, with her husband and her brother on either side of her. She’d spent too long in that room, fighting to keep herself. Now that she was finally out, with the two most important people, she was ready to keep enjoying this life. 

They stepped back into the carnival. Lup held Barry and Taako’s hands, the owlbear tucked under her arm. The sights and sounds and smells all hit her at once again, loud and bright. She squeezed their hands, inhaling slowly. 

From a few stalls away from them, there was a shout. “Hey!” The barker from the Knock-The-Cans-Down-With-A-Beanbag stand yelled. He had a guard with him, and he was pointing directly at Lup. “There they are! They’re the cheaters!”

“Run!” Lup shouted in delight, and took off again, feeling just good to move again. 

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 7

SEVEN - SERENDIPITY

Trigger warning: Alcohol, food

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“Okay, that’s ridiculous!” Bucky mumbles around a spoonful of fruit loops.

“What is?”

“This,” he responds and points his now empty spoon accusingly at John Cusack. “This whole fate thing. The book, sure, might happen. But the dollar bill? Never!”

(Y/N) puts her empty bowl on the couch table, turning her body towards Bucky and sitting in a criss-cross style. “You telling me you don’t believe in fate and soulmates and that some people are destined to be together.”

“No,” Bucky retorts in a tone that implies it was a silly question to even ask him. “I am 106 years old. If those things were true you'd think I would've found my destined partner by now."

"Maybe you have" (Y/N) shrugs. "Maybe it's Leah. Have you called her anyway?"

Bucky looks down sheepishly into the colorful milk swirling through his bowl. "No."

“ What? Why not? “

“Because it hasn’t — oh I don't know. It just hasn’t felt right.”

He’d been debating on giving her a call many times, never actually going through with it. At first, it was for a fear of failure, rejection. Now though, Leah doesn’t cross his mind as much as before. His thoughts, he noticed recently, are occupied by another person. And it wouldn't be fair to Leah or himself to try and build something on shaky ground at best.

“ Dude, I’m educating you on romance and you are too afraid to call this girl? “

“ Educating me? You are forcing me to watch rom coms. “

“ Forcing you? “ (Y/N) gasps and dramatically slaps her hand to her chest right above where her heart is. “ Are you saying you’re not having fun? “

There’s a smirk on her face, tiny and barely there but he notices it anyway. He’s started noticing the small things. Like how her nose scrunches up when she smiles and how she twiddles with her fingers when she’s nervous.

“ If I didn’t have fun I wouldn’t be here. “ Bucky replies and bumps his leg against her knee. Truth be told, he’d be here anyway. Even if she’d make him watch the most boring movie in the entire world he’d stay right there with her. Sometimes the world doesn't seem so rough and ruthless when she’s there beside him. Sometimes he feels like he could genuinely be happy.

“ Good, “ (Y/N) responds and places a quick kiss on his cheek that very nearly gives him a heart attack. Soft touches are something she grants him every so often and while he is getting used to it, it’s still foreign. It’s something he enjoys quite a lot though.

“Anyway, soulmates finding their way back to each other despite all odds is such a rom-com stable. Like the kiss in the rain or the airport chase or the top-of-the-stairs-moment.”

“ The what ? “

(Y/N) scoffs at him as if she’s never been asked a more ridiculous question in her life.

“ The moment when the girl gets a makeover or she dresses up in some ballgown and her love interest waits at the bottom of the stairs for her and when he sees her he’s so enamored and enchanted by her and ideally there’s some cheesy 90s love song playing in the background. And she meets him at the bottom, walking in slow motion obviously, and they don’t kiss or anything but the looks they share are enough to let the audience know what they feel for one another.”

Her words are heavy with passion and longing and magic and for a second Bucky wishes, he could be the one to give her that moment.

“ But okay, grumpy. You go on not believing in soulmates. I’ll change your mind one day, trust me.”

He doesn’t doubt it for a second.

They sink back into their blissful calm as John Cusak and Kate Beckinsale reconnect on the ice rink in front of Rockefeller Center as an ocean of Christmas lights twinkles in the background.

“ I’ve never been ice skating there. Been living here for so many years now and that’s still something I’ve never done. “ (Y/N) pipes up, a longing swinging alone with her words. “ Have you? “

“ Mmmh. Used to take a lot of girls on dates there. “

“ Oh sorry, I forgot you were a big charmer back in the day. “

“ Saw the first-ever Christmas tree getting set up in 1933. '' he continues to say. Sometimes talking about the past makes him sad. It’s a time he will never be able to go back to. A man he will never be again.

But sometimes, like today, he’s able to recall little snippets of memories and remember how he felt in that exact moment. And those are worth all the pain that thinking about the future might bring.

“ That — is weird flex but actually really cool. “

Bucky doesn’t think of himself as cool. He’s a grumpy 106-year-old who is completely disillusioned with the world around him. If (Y/N) thinks so though, he’s not gonna try to change her mind.

She snuggles back into him, body leaning against the smooth vibranium arm. A part of him he never felt really belonged to himself. Something he had been given to kill, to defend, to fight. If something so dangerous can be a place of comfort to her, Maybe, he thinks, it’s not so bad after all. Maybe sometimes you just have to let go of the part and change your perspective of things.

For a while, they get lost in the movie, in the fictional love of two strangers. He remembers the romance novels his mothers used to read. The way she would get lost in them. Maybe to escape her own life for just a second and follow along with the stories and the people that seemed so much grander than her own existence as a housewife stuck in a life that seems too small to contain her in all her wonderful glory. His mother, Bucky always knew even at a young age, deserved more than she had been given. She was smart and funny and she loved her kids as much as a heart could love another. But her days were dull and her marriage was one of convenience more than anything. She had ideas, beautiful stories swirled around her head, and she’d tell them to him and his sister before she’d tuck them into bed. And yet that is where they stayed, in her mind and in her children's memories. She was never resentful though. She took things as they came and she made them beautiful.

He wonders sometimes, what would’ve come from her ideas if she had been given the chance to tell them to a bigger audience. She could’ve put those rom-coms to shame.

A knock on the front door startles (Y/N), making her get up from the couch and follow LAdy towards the entrance. There’s a definite lack of warmth where she used to be and Bucky feels himself missing her already.

“ It’s probably Robin, she left her favorite jacket here the other — mom? “

The air fills with a chaotic mix of several voices one speaking over the other while the charm on Lady’s collar underlines it all with a jingling sound like that of a small bell.

Before he can even think about how to react, (Y/N) steps back into the living room followed by two more people. A woman who looks like an older version of her and a man. They seem lost in conversation still, talking about their travel to NYC and the fact that the man, who Bucky assumes is (Y/N)’s father, refused to ask for directions.

That’s until their eyes fall on Bucky. The woman regards him with a gentle smile on her face, polite and warm as mothers usually are. The man though. There’s something in his eyes, in his demeanor, that changed once he set sight on Bucky and it doesn’t feel good. Bucky knows what it’s like to be recognized. People see him and then they see all the bodies left in his wake, all the blood on his hands, all the pain and the suffering and the —

“ Sergeant Barnes. “

They used to call him that in Wakanda, as a sign of respect, he believes. To make him realize that they do not see him as the thread he used to be but the man he once was. Other than that it’s been a long time since people referred to him as Sergeant Barnes. It’s a title he takes pride in, something he worked hard for. It also belongs to a man he isn’t anymore. Bucky isn’t sure he still earns it. Still owns it.

“ Uh — hello. “

“Dad, “ (Y/N) says and pushes past her parents to stand next to Bucky. Her hand rests on his arm as a sign of comfort and reassurance. He appreciates it very much. “ Mom. This is Bucky. “

“ I can’t believe it. “ her father exclaims, still not taking his eyes off of Bucky.

“ Dad. “

“ I can not believe it. I can’t believe you! “

There it is. Although Bucky has always been very aware that he wasn’t nearly worth (Y/N)’s time, having it thrown in his face hurts more than he likes to admit.

“ Dad … “

“ You know James Barnes, and you tell me nothing about it? (Y/N) I’ve — I’ve spent so much time researching this man revising all the information people before me have gathered and making sure his legacy and his place in Steve Rogers' life get acknowledged and now I’d have the chance to ask him personally and you — you keep it a secret from me? “

Wait … what ?

“ Bucky, “ (Y/N) says and looks up at him with her gorgeous eyes that never seem to fail at calming him down. “These are my parents and as you can tell, my dad’s a big fan of yours. “

The next few minutes are a chaos of handshakes and nice-to-meet-yous and hugs. Her mother hugs Bucky real tightly, the way mothers do when they know someone needs a hug. And she doesn’t flinch when she feels the metal arm. She just hugs him a little tighter.

“ Why are you guys here? “ (Y/N) asks as her father throws an arm around her shoulder

“ Well, you asked us to look after Lady while you’re gone. “ her mother replies as if it’s the obvious answer.

“ Yeah, but we don’t leave until Friday afternoon. It’s Thursday. “

“ That is truuuue. But dad and I thought we’d surprise you and take you out for a nice dinner since we won’t be spending Christmas together, we thought we could at least try to make up for it. “

(Y/N) shakes her head at her mother’s words. “ I told you guys, it’s not a big deal. You go enjoy your cruise. “

“ And we will but you’re our girl and we want to take you out for dinner. Give your old parents that much, will you” her father jokes and ruffles her hair as if she was just a little girl and maybe she is in that moment, wrapped in his arms.

“ I uh — Bucky and I had plans. “

“ What plans? “ her mother asks, eyebrows raised.

“ Watching movies. “

“ Oh, those aren’t plans. Go get dressed! “

“ And James will obviously come with us, “ her dad adds “ I am not done asking him questions. “

It’s not December yet but the restaurant is already decked out in Christmas lights and tastefully placed sparkly ornaments. The soft lull of Christmas carols being played on a piano flows through the room and Bucky is thankful to discover that while so much has changed, many of those songs have stayed the same. Maybe things aren’t all different right now. Maybe the fundamental things have stayed the same. Like the feeling of being with your family sitting by the tree, singing songs that have been passed down from your parents to you.

(Y/N) sits next to him, lips painted the exact same shade of red as her slouchy knit sweater. She looks so cozy and comfortable and soft and if he’s being really honest with himself, all he wants to do is hold her tight and get lost in her warmth. But this is good, as good as it can ever get, really. Sitting next to her, across from her parents who have been nothing but kind to him. They’re eating good food, drinking delicious drinks and her parents are sharing funny and slightly embarrassing stories about (Y/N). This is the first time he’s meeting anyone’s parents as the man he is now. And even back in the 40s things weren’t this calm and easy. If you went to meet a woman’s parents you better came prepared. This feels nice. Like he gets to be part of a family for just a teeny tiny moment.

“ So, how long have you guys been together? “ her mother asks around a fork of tiramisu. While Bucky only looks at her with wide eyes, (Y/N) almost chokes on her wine.

“ Mom, we’re — not. We’re friends. “

“ Oh,” her mother replies, looking unconvinced as her eyes move back and forth between (Y/N) and Bucky “ I guess I must’ve read that wrong. Shame, you would make adorable babies. “

“ Mom!”

Bucky’s sure his cheeks are the same color as her sweater and her lips and her fingernails. A beautiful bright red. Like a Santa’s hat.

“ I know, babe. You’re an independent woman who makes her own decisions and if you decide not to have babies that’s alright with us. As long as you are happy, so are we. Lady makes for a wonderful substitute grandchild. Just sayin’ if you were to have babies with Bucky they would turn out really cute. “

“ Okay, how about we stop talking about my imaginary potential future children, huh? You go tell me more about work, dad. How about that? “

As her dad starts talking about some history classes he teaches and the students, Bucky notices the change in (Y/N)’s demeanor. Her laid-back ease is gone. She keeps fidgeting with her hair and the rings on her hand. Without really thinking about it, like his body is working on autopilot, Bucky reaches out and grabs her hand under the table. It’s still weird, touching soft skin with his metal hand without the intention of inflicting pain. It’s nice though. It’s wonderful.

She doesn’t let go for a long time.

Restrooms in restaurants are places where time is slightly altered. You’re sheltered from the noises of the main room but they’re still faintly audible through the door. The clinking of glasses and cutlery, the laughter, and the voices as they flow together like waves in an ocean.

It feels like you get a break from the real world for just a moment. To catch yourself. To take a breath. To look at yourself in the mirror and decide your next steps as the music sounds from the overhead speakers in a duller version as if someone wrapped the lyrics in thick cotton padding.

(Y/N) washes her hands while looking at her reflection. Today’s a good day. It’s not going the way she has expected it but it’s a good day nonetheless. Bucky and her parents get along like a house on fire. It’s a nice feeling but it also makes her so acutely aware of all the what-ifs floating around her head and her heart. Would it feel like this if she and Bucky were more than friends? Would it feel this — right?

Before her mind can come up with an answer to her own question, the door to the restrooms swings open letting in a sliver of the noise outside. Her mother steps in and looks at her with that signature mom smile. Like she knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe that isn’t entirely wrong.

“ Your dad and I are going to take a cab to the hotel. We’ll come over to yours tomorrow before you leave. Is that okay? Bucky said he’d walk you home.”

Of course, he’d say that. He’s a gentleman. He’s Bucky.

“ Sure that’s fine. I’m glad you guys came a day early. I missed you. “

“ We missed you too, baby,” she responds and pulls (Y/N) into a hug.

“ Now tell me something,” she says and takes (Y/N)’s face in between her hands. “ You and Bucky. There’s something there. “

(Y/N) shakes free from her mother's touch and faces the mirror, leaning both hands against the marble sink. “ Mom, can you leave it. “

“ I see the way you guys look at each other. I — you haven’t been this happy in so long. He makes you happy. “

As she lifts her head and looks into her own eyes in the mirror, (Y/N) feels a flood of emotions wash over her. Emotions she’s tried so hard to suppress and others she wasn’t even aware were there in the first place. And it’s all comes crashing down pulling her under and spitting her back out.

“ So what if he makes me happy. We’re not gonna happen. I can not lose a friend and he can’t either. It would kill us both. “

“ Oh honey, “ she goes to pull (Y/N) into another hug but she just shakes her head in response.

“ No. No, mom. It’s okay. I’m okay with it being the way it is. “

“ Are you sure? “

Is she? (Y/N) looks back at herself. You think you know yourself and what you want and how you feel and then someone asks you, truthfully asks you if you’re sure. And you can only stare and wonder. Well, are you?

And sometimes it’s way easier to lie, to both the other person and yourself, than to really face your fears and your feelings and everything you do or don’t understand about yourself.

“ Yeah. I am sure. “

It’s true. New York City never seems to fully go to sleep. There’s always a light on somewhere, guiding you through the dark, guiding you home.

It doesn’t fully go to sleep but it slows down. The air gets heavier, the noise gets quieter.

(Y/N) and Bucky slowly make their way through the familiar streets of their neighborhood as the city lights and the stars fight over who gets to shine more brightly upon them.

It’s a chilly evening, winter is truly just around the corner, and the air feels pregnant with the promise of snow and yet (Y/N) feels a warmth course through her that is unlike any other. A warmth that can only be brought on by being with your loved ones.

“ It’s a lovely night,” she says as her heels create a clip-clap sound against the pavement.

Bucky has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket and his ever-present scowl decorates his face and yet, even Bucky can’t deny that it is a lovely night. One with so much potential. For — for lovers.

“ It really is.”

“ If life was a movie, “ (Y/N) says “ this would be when we realized that we're in love"

Bucky only raises his eyebrow at her, pushing her to elaborate. And maybe it’s a bit selfish. Maybe he just wants to hear her entertain the thought of them two as something more for just a little bit longer. Even if it’s just pretend.

“ We’d get a montage of some quirky dates that we didn’t realize were dates. Then the camera would pan down on us tonight, walking underneath the stars, the city lights glowing around us. There’d be some piano music in the background to set the mood. We’d have a deep talk about our fears or messed up childhoods or the meaning of life. And then you’d make me laugh and I’d accidentally hold your hand. You’d drop me off at my door, think about kissing my lips but then end up kissing my forehead. Once you leave I’d lean against my door, sink down to my floor, and grin like a fool because that’s the moment I realize I am in love with you and the audience would sigh in relief because they knew all along. “

“ That sounds nice,” Bucky replies, eyes staring into the distance as he tries to picture it all, safe it as a mental snapshot to go back to in quiet moments.

“ Yeah, well what a shame life is not a movie and we’re not in love. What a waste of a lovely night. “

“ Guess it’s perfect for a couple, huh? “ Bucky has to agree with her.

“ Mmmh. Or at least someone not in heels, “ (Y/N) jokes looking down at her shoes.

“ You want me to find a couple? Gift our night to them ? “ Bucky asks as they continue their journey down the Brooklyn streets.

“ Absolutely not, sir! “ (Y/N) responds and links her arm with his as she pulls him along. “ I like our night. I want to keep it for ourselves. “

And so they continue their walk home. Words that want to be said, that need to be said, hang heavy in the air, and yet they both decide to stay quiet and just enjoy the silence and comfort of their lovely little night.

The door feels like mocking her as it comes into view, cutting their moment short, putting an end to this blissful night.

She doesn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want to go inside and quite literally close the door to all the possibilities this night seems to hold out to her. If she was just brave enough to reach out and grab them.

(Y/N) unlock the door and turns back around to face Bucky. Something seems to hang in the air right between them and that feeling only gets stronger as their eyes lock. For a moment all there is, is silence and an abundance of unspoken words. And a fear that comes with speaking them. Of messing something up. Of being vulnerable.

Bucky smiles at her then. She loves his smile. It’s so rare but it’s so beautiful to look at. It gives you the feeling of having done something right.

“ Thanks for today, “ he says as if there’s anything to thank her for.

“ For what? “

“ Letting me be a part of your family. Thought maybe you didn’t want your parents to know about me. Thanks for — not being ashamed of me or anything. “

“ Oh Bucky, “ she says and grabs his hand, “ You are my friend and I love you. I’d never be ashamed of you. If anything I’m a little embarrassed by the way my dad kept pestering you with questions. Uh — why are you looking at me like that. “

“ You love me? “ his voice comes out but a mere whisper and his eyes are wide in shock.

“ Yes. You’re my friend, I love you. Bucky when — when was the last time someone told you they love you? “ (Y/N) asks as her hand softly strokes the side of his face.

“ 1942 “

“ Well, guess I’ll have to keep reminding you then, make up for lost time. I love you, Bucky Barnes. “

She can’t even blink before she’s wrapped up in his arms. Despite what one would think, Bucky is always warm. Even the vibranium arm. Everything radiates warmth and comfort. She could stay here forever.

Slowly he pulls away, looks deep into her eyes, lowers his head, and places his lips against her forehead. “ I love you too. “

He smiles at her once more then leaves. And while she won't admit it to anyone, ever, (Y/N) goes inside, leans against her door, sinks to the floor, and doesn't even try to suppress the foolish smile spreading on her lips.

Robin’s laughter fills the halls of the beautiful Inn where just tomorrow she’ll say I do.

“ This was your doing! You scheming little shit.” (Y/N) grumbles from the corner of her mouth as she slides up to Robin.

“ It wasn’t, “ the red-haired girl laughs “ but I wish it was. It’s hilarious.“

Redstone Lodge is a beautiful Inn located in upstate New York. It looks out onto a lake and is surrounded by lots and lots of Christmas trees all year round. It’s made of bricks and big wooden panels. Very rustic and yet cozy and elegant. In the yard, there’s a huge tent with a wooden floor and a see-through roof. That’s where the reception will be held tomorrow.

Redstone Lodge has 35 rooms all of which have been distributed to the various guests. They’re beautiful rooms with nice decor and comfortable beds. Well — a bed. One. Singular.

“ This is like some fanfiction trope, Robin. There is only one bed? “

“ Look," Robin says and pulls (Y/N) closer “ if you want to switch, find someone to switch with. I’m sure someone is willing to. But I’m just saying that if you two are friends, shouldn’t you be able to sleep in a bed together and not make it weird? “

She has a point and she knows it and she also knows that (Y/N) knows it.

Huffing a breath of annoyance (Y/N) grumbles an “okay fine” before letting Robin be taken hostage by yet another overly excited aunt and returns to Bucky’s side as he stands on the front steps looking out into the vast area. It really is a beautiful place to get married.

“ Hey so uh — bad news is that this is the only room they have so we’ll have to share a bed. Good news is they got some movies to take up to the room and I found some really dope rom-coms. “

“It's okay, don't worry. I promise I won't hog the blanket,” Bucky says and nods his head into the direction of the lake “ wanna take a walk? “

“ Sure. Yeah, why not. “

In all honesty (Y/N) isn’t the biggest fan of walking around the woods with no particular destination in mind and yet she can’t help but feel a sense of happiness fill her as she links her arm with Bucky’s once again.

She realized a while ago that she tends to gravitate towards his left side. It isn’t a conscious decision but maybe it’s a good one nonetheless.

Maybe it’ll show him that every part of him is worth loving, even the ones he doesn’t love himself.

“ When was the last time you did something crazy? “

He doesn’t like the way those words sound tumbling from her lips. He does, however, like very much how her eyes sparkle in the light of the setting sun. Their walk had turned into a bit of a hike and by the time they’ve finally made it back to the lake, the sun is about to set. Everyone seems to have retreated back into the lodge, maybe to sit by the big cozy fireplace or up to their room with their several beds. More than one. plural.

Bucky doesn’t want to let go of their time together though. Not yet. Just a little bit longer. And if that means agreeing to one of her weird ideas, so be it.

"Uh well, I fought aliens a few months ago."

"Huh … well see that's not an answer I was prepared for I mean more like, when did you last do something stupid but fun?"

“Like dancing in the middle of a street or having a cake fight in a parking lot?”

“Yeah …. like that.”

She looks at him again with that mischief and that softness. Like a mix of all things that make you feel alive shine back at him from her eyes.

“Wanna go swimming?” (Y/N) asks and smirks at him.

“Now? It’s freezing.”

“ I know,” she replies and shrugs her shoulders “ and I know it’s silly and dumb and we’ll probably get sick but I kinda wanna do it anyway. Wait … can you get sick?”

“Huh?”

“Because of the serum.”

“You know, they didn’t exactly give me a manual when they injected it so — guess we’ll have to find out.”

“So you’re in?”

Bucky only nods his head in agreement. She doesn’t need to know that he’d agree to anything she suggests. Any little thing.

The woods around them are dark and thick and where they probably should be scary they are comforting now. They’re a shelter from the eyes of onlookers. A safe roof and walls to keep their little bubble safe and hold their moment tight and safe.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” (Y/N) hisses through clenched teeth as the water reaches up to her shoulders, the straps of her yellow bra the only colors shining through the dark night.

Don’t think about it. He has to tell himself. Don’t think about the fact that she’s only in her underwear. Don’t think about her soft skin and her smile and what her body feels like against yours. Don’t!

He doesn’t have to scold himself for too long before a cold splash of water hits him right in the face.

“Oh, you made a mistake” Bucky calls out to a laughing (Y/N) who tries her best to tread water and get as far away from him as possible but fails to do so, being wrapped up in his arms only seconds later.

For the next few minutes, they splash around like children at the neighborhood pool.

The cold of the night and the lake rattle their bones but neither of them seems to care as a familiar warmth wraps itself around their hearts.

It’s really fascinating how the little moments can become so meaningful. How one person can mean so much so quickly. How drastically your life can change just because of one single person and their kindness and their love.

“Oh-oh!” (Y/N) exclaims excitedly and lays little enthusiastic slaps on Bucky’s shoulder “let’s do the dirty dancing lift. You can lift me, right?”

“I have a vibranium arm…”

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her a little closer, trying to ignore the incessant thumping of his heart that feels like it wants to break out of his chest. “Okay on 3.”

“One”

Her eyes look deep into his as if trying to search for something in them. Secrets. Hidden feelings. The truth.

“Two”

And when she smiles, almost shy, it seems for a second that she’s found whatever she’s been looking for. He hopes she likes the secret she uncovers. He hopes it doesn’t scare her off from loving him.

“Three”

In a swift motion, he lifts her up above his head, holding her strong and steady as drops of water, cold as ice, rain down on him while (Y/N) laughs and stretches out her arms.

“We did it! I’m flying, Jack!”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She retorts and lets out another laugh. Yeah, maybe he’s freezing his ass off but to hear her laugh like that, makes it all worth it.

He doesn’t let her fall over like they do in the movie, instead, he grips her waist tighter, slowly and gently lowers her back into the water. And when she’s back right in front of him, chest against his, he should be letting go of her, but he doesn’t.

While his head keeps screaming at him to just let go, his heart tells him otherwise, makes him stay right there.

(Y/N)’s arms move across his chest and gently wrap themselves around his neck before her fingers start to delicately play with his hair.

He wonders if any person has ever felt the way he does in that moment. He wonders if maybe a poet or a writer or a musician has and if maybe they wrote a poem or a book or a song about it. Maybe that would help him understand. Maybe he could read it or listen to it and keep this moment captured in that piece of art forever. Because he fears that no memory can ever do justice to the way he feels when she moves closer.

When her hand cups his face when her nose nuzzles against his so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll pull away any second.

It’s just them and their wildly beating hearts and the woods providing them shelter and the water setting the scene and the stars shining down upon them.

It’s just them — until it isn’t.

“(Y/N), Bucky? You guys out there?” Robin's voice calls out into the night as her silhouette appears against the light coming from the porch of the Inn.

“Yes, it’s us. We’ll be right in.” (Y/N) calls back, having moved away slightly. The spell is broken and Bucky lifts his hand off of her, immediately missing the contact.

“It’s freezing, we should probably go inside.” She says and grants him a smile, though it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes and he can faintly see her shivering.

“Yeah let’s go. Get you warmed up.”

They don’t talk about their moment as they head inside and get swallowed by the group of people all hyped up with excitement for the coming day.

Bucky is sure though that as long as there are stars in the sky, he will not forget this moment however fleeting and insignificant it might seem.

TAGLIST FORM (fill this out to be added)

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynyierulez - @je-like-you - @dracoxxyoflam - @jackiehollanderr - @majo240820 - @kay-gilles - @booksb4looksstuff - @jckie94 - @charmed-asylum - @shawnie--jo - @yllwtaxi - @tailsoflightning - @giuliarogers - @mangoogirl - @gerim-1995 - @elen-alambil - @threeminutesoflife - @writeroutoftime - @buckybarn3s - @rosaline-black - @kenziekugler22 - @vghz82 - @frnkensteingrl - @lovefreylove - @cherryofdeath - @bluemoon-icecream - @mariusprincess-blog -

[infinitegalahad]

CARRIE!!!!! HELLO MY FRIEND 💜💜💜 hope you're having a lovely day (or night) haha. Can I get "dance with me?" and "i think i might love you" with Eugene Roe of course 🥺🥺🥺

MOONLIGHT SERENADE

Prompts: "dance with me? & "i think i might love you"

Summary: You and Eugene are madly in love with each other but there’s one problem; the two of you don’t even realize it. Babe and Renee step in. 

Word-Count: 2.2k

Notes: KRYSTA!! I’m so sorry this is late ❣️ life has been crazy. I just got out of school and I’m bored as hell, so I’m doing some requests. I recommend listening to “Moonlight Serenade” By Frank Sinatra while reading. Hope you enjoy! 

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @cvrrahees-deactivated20210330 @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs @snafus-peckuh @contrabandhothead

Masterlist | Taglist | Send A Prompt! 

The pretty things in life never fitted into your schedule. Growing up, you were a tomboy by heart. Your appearance and boys never phased you a bit. The older you got, the less you cared. You wore pants, were “unattractive” to most men, but it didn’t matter to you. Love was simply not for you. After all, no man would want you, and you accepted that fact, closing your heart off.

Enlisting in the war as a Radioman, there was no time for being pretty. Showers were non-existent and you would go days with blood stains on your clothes and grim under your nails. Still, you were just fine with that.

But your best (and only female) friend Renee was simply not okay with that, especially when it came hours before the military ball in Austria. The sun was setting when the two of you sat in your conjoined room. Both of you were dressed in nothing but your underwear as Renee attempted to comb through your messed hair. She was determined to make sure you were a whole new person within the next few hours.

“Ow-your pulling so hard!” You complained as Renee tightly rolled your bangs onto your forehead, securing the hair with bobby pins.

Renee patted your shoulder, “Shush, you are just fine. Look at you!” She forced you to look at the mirror with your face patted with eyeshadow and mascara and your hair in a half up half down. “You look magnifique, ma chérie!”

You cringed at the shit. Despite smelling nice, it was an alien feeling for you to feel pretty.”Yeah, I just don’t feel so magnifique let’s just say..”

Looking down at your hands, you can see the once bloodied and chipped nails now equally filed, coated with a bright red to match your lipstick and dress. Renee placed her manicured hands on your bare shoulders and gave them a tight squeeze,

“Get rid of that nonsense. You’re going to be la belle du bal!” She encouraged me, which earned a smile. Giving a freidney peck on your check, she leads you to the closest, “We haven’t even got to the best parts!”

“Parts. Two things? Renee, this is worrisome.”

Opening the closest, she revealed a beautiful ball gown. It was a bright shade of red that reached to the ground. It had short sleeves and a low breast line. Next to the dress was a small box. You didn’t even have time to question it as Renee grabbed the dress and put you in it. Eugene was right; that woman had magical hands. After putting the dress on, you tried to go to the mirror, but she stopped you.

“Renee!” You begged, “I think you’ve done enough for me.”

She laughed, “Hold on! Being around men has changed you. Let me add the finishing touches.” Grabbing you back, she clipped a necklace and earrings onto you, before letting you stand in front of the mirror. You didn’t even recognize the person in front of it. The makeup, the dress that displayed your curves, the beautiful golden earrings and necklace. The necklace had to have been the most stunning piece. It was a pearl choker with a golden pendant of Saint Maria Goretti.

“Wow…I…” You were at a total loss for words. For the first time in a year, you actually looked like a girl-or should you say a woman with your golden jewelry and red satin dress. “Renee, thank you. I…did you get these all for me?”

Renee waved her hands, moving her fingers back and forth, “See, magic hands! No, I did not. Your secret admirer did.”

You quirked an eyebrow. Who could that be. You saw the devious smirk on the Belgian nurse’s face, so you decided to interrogate her, “Who? Come on. Tell me!”

“A secret is a secret, ma chérie!” Renee nudged your shoulder. As you were about to question her more, a sudden knock at the door caused you too to spin over. The sounds of a thick Cajun and Philly accent could be heard for a mile away. You could recognize those from anywhere.

You knew Renee’s little plan. Your hearts ripped as your cheeks turned to the color of your dress, “Renee!” You gave her a slap, “You did not.”

“I did!” A spin of blue could be seen as Renee walked towards the door, forcefully dragging you so, “It’s about time for you two to make a move. Everybody has been talking about it.”

“Rumors are rumors. We both know Eugene well. He would never-”

Stepping on your foot, Renee opened the door with a wild smile and loudly. “Eugene! Babe! You’re just on time!”

Once you saw Eugene and made eye contact, you wanted to die. Not in a bad way, but with his dress blues on and sharp jaw, it would be the death of you. Eugene normally was one for not making eye contact, since he saw it was unformatting. But when he laid eyes upon, he could not look away as his pink skin grew redder by the second.

“You two look incredible! Holy moley!” Babe happily exclaimed, “We’re gonna be the luckiest guys in the whole wide world.”

Babe and Renee started up a whole conversation. Awkwardly standing there, you fidgeted with the necklace that had been given to you. It looked expensive, and it made your heart flutter. What man would give such a nice gift to you? As you thought of a list in your head, you felt a small tap on your shoulder. Looking up, it was Eugene. You flashed a smile and titled your head, “Doc. Pleasure to see you.”

Eugene observed you and nodded his head with his hands behind his back, “You as well, miss y/n.” He leaned in close to your ear, enough for you to inhale his smokey cologne, “You look absolutely stunnin’ tonight.”

“Thank you. You boys cleaned up well tonight,” You responded back as you felt your arms go numb. His cajun voice was so husky and as a whisper-good lord. “I’m gonna suppose Renee asked you to come.”

Eugene turned to see Babe and Renee smiling and laughing before turning back to see. His eyes made eye contact with the choker before he met with your eyes. “She did. I’m not complain’. I like you being’ my company.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Babe called out. Renee looked back and gave you a quick wink as he held Babe’s arm. Eugene gave Babe a glare as he goofily smiled back, “Cmon-there servin’ beer. It’s a perk of civilization.”

“Last time you drank, it didn’t end well for you Babe. Guarno wants me to look out for you. Just to make sure you don’t end up with alcohol poisoning again,” You fired back with a little sass. Renee let out a laugh as Babe went red. Him and Renee walked forward, arm in arm. Babe looked flustered as he tried to defend himself to Renee, who simply was in a fit of giggles.

Eugene extended his arm out, nudging his head. “Shall we, miss y/n?”

You flashed a smile, melting your arm into his. One of your arms curved into his as your other rested in the center of his elbow, your fingernails gently tapping against me.

“Lead the way, Mister Roe.”

-----------

Placing the two drinks down, Babe let out a long sigh. Renee, with her chin resting in her palm, looked just as hopeless as Babe did.

“Nothing! Nada! Zilch.” Babe cried, running a hand over his forehead, “Did you tell y/n ‘bout the necklace?”

Renee slapped his shoulder, “I said a secret admirer. I mean, I thought she would know but...both of them are so stupid with love.”

Babe looked over at y/n and Roe. The two of you sat at the same table, awkwardly conversing with each other. The both of you were too shy to advance for something. Renee and Babe we're praying to their lucky stars for a miracle to happen.

“I mean-you see the way Gene looks at her. His eyes go all soft and he gets all smiley and shit. When we were in Paris, he just went on and on about her. After every beer, it was like...word vomit. Love vomit.”

Renee rolled her eyes, “Anything but that.”

“Hey! Let me tell my story. So, I gave him some advice. He saw that necklace and the pair of earrings, and told me that it would go well with Y/n’s skin. Told him to buy it. The poor man had nothing, but he’s willing to do anything for her. He’s just scared she’s too good for him.”

“That’s exactly what she thinks.” Renee saw y/n and Eugene smile at each other. Eugene stood up and gently brushed her shoulder and whispered in your ear. As he walked again, y/n turned over to look at him with awe in her eyes. It was obvious that y/n and Eugene were in love with each other, more than anything in the world. But even they, lovesick puppies, didn’t see their affection for each other.

As Eugene returned with his drinks, the lights in the room began to dim. Paratroopers and girls with pretty dresses began to pass him, hand in hand, into the middle of the ballroom floor. You looked up and saw them move. You looked down at your lap, unconfident. All these girls had a better chance then you with their natural femininity. You just never felt like a woman ever, and no matter what you did, you never were one. A true one, atleast.

Eugene saw your sadness and knew how to fix it. He tenderly tilted your chin up, moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You grew soft, your attention focused on him.

“Dance with me?” He quietly asked, holding out his calloused hands.

You took his hand with your manicured one as he closed your hand, tightly squeezing it.

“I’d loved too,” You replied kindly. Eugene nodded his head and led you to the dance floor. The familiar faces of men in the company struck you, with pretty girls in their arms. Stopping in the middle with the dimmed lights, Eugene snaked a hand onto the small of your back as you wrapped your arm around him, conjoining your free hands.

I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight. I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night. The roses are sighing a moonlight serenade.

The first minute of the dance was quiet, but tranquil. You felt calmed by Roe’s mere presence. He was naturally such a kind person, and every time you saw him, your heart would grow a million sizes. He held you with such care and treated you like you were a sweet creature. You moved closer, leaning into his chest, feeling comfortable with the energy.

“Your nails-” Eugene blurted. You looked over and saw your hands. They were smaller than his, with smooth (y/s/c) skin and long red nails, “They look nice. Your hands are pretty.”

“Thank you, Eugene. You’ve been so nice to me all night. I’m sorry...I just haven’t even been with someone who’s so kind to me.” You explained, “Now tell me, are you the so-called secret admirer that Renee was talking about?”

The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming. My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you and sing you a moonlight serenade.

Roe looked away for a second, like he was caught in the act, Biting his lip with rosy cheeks, he slowly nodded, “I do, ma’am.”

“Now, are you the southern gentleman who gifted me this fine necklace?”

Roe smiled and nodded, “Yes ma’am,” His hand moved lower on your body, playing with the fabric on the dress, “And the dress. I saw it and I didn’t care ‘about anything-I just’ thought you’d look prettier in it, ‘cause you already very pretty miss”

You froze and brought a hand to Eugene's face. You had a feeling in your gut it was him, but hearing his kind words made you melt. “Oh Gene, you’re too kind. Thank you for making me feel so pretty.”

“Of course, ma’am. I wanna see you happy and pretty.” Eugene bowed his head, “Can I also tell you somethin else?”

“Go on,” You advanced your head into his chest.

Let us stray till break of day In love's valley of dreams. Just you and I, a summer sky, A heavenly breeze kissing the trees

Pulling you close, he moved towards your cheek and once again whispered into your ear, “I think i might love you". He planted a trail of kisses from your ear to your cheek to your chin. Once he finished, you pulled away, holding his face in your hands.

“I think I love you,” You confessed as he leaned in your hold, which made you smile, “I wanna be with you for the rest of my days.”

“I do too, miss. Come home with me.” Eugene held your hands, with a begging look on your face, like a lovesick puppy.

Unable to say no, your lips curved into a faint smile.

“Of course, Eugene. Our home.”

So don't let me wait, come to me tenderly in the June night. I stand at your gate and I sing you a song in the moonlight, A love song, my darling, a moonlight serenade.

[so-writing]

Good Morning (2) - Matthew Tkachuk

master

“You remember me, though,” the smirk on his lips annoyed you but there was nothing you could do at the moment, “i’m going to take that as win.” 

“I wouldn’t if I were you. My memory of you isn’t exactly pleasant.”

“It’s not?”

You knew what was coming. He was going to throw the orgasm he’d given you in your face and you needed to make sure he didn’t get the best of you.

“It’s not, Matthew.”

“I’m pretty sure I got you off more than once, so I think you’re wrong. I think your memory of me is pretty fucking good.” 

“It’s not,” you repeated.

“Why?” 

It was the first time he was showing a tiny sliver of vulnerability. You could see it in his eyes but he was good, and he was more than able to keep both his composure and the shit eating smirk on his lips.

*

Anna come to your door crying her fucking eyes out and she wasn’t even fully into your apartment before breaking down. 

“He’s a fucking dick. He’s such a fucking asshole. I thought he was a good guy, but fuck, he’s the complete fucking opposite.”

“Babe,” you tried to calm your erratic roommate, “what happened?” 

“Matt fucking cheated.” 

*

You and Anna had lost touch months ago but her words were fresh in your mind.

Matt fucking cheated.

Anna was too caught up in her feelings for him to see what was really going on. Anna was too smitten to see what was in front of her when Matt’s cheating became public knowledge. Anna loved him so much that she would forgive anything he did because he was Matthew Tkachuk, and Matthew Tkachuk was the center of her world. 

Anna got her heart broken by the one person she loved the most because she trusted him, and he betrayed her trust more times than anyone could count.

You had no interest in becoming the next Anna.

*

“The name Anna rings a bell, right?”

The color drained from Matt’s face but he held eye contact with you. 

“Not sure if you’re aware, but we used to live together. I know all about you, Matthew Tkachuk. I know how you are and how you treat the women you spend your free time with. I’ve heard it all, when it comes to you. You’re a cheater and a liar and someone I wouldn’t turn my back on because you’re that untrustworthy.”

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His cheeks were a deep shade of red and a tiny part of you wanted to feel bad for him but the rest of you remembered the stories Anna had shared with you and that was enough to take control. 

“You didn’t deserve Anna, and you don’t deserve me, Matthew Tkachuk.”

[distilled-prose]

@Goneahead

I have two stories for you, but only time for one this morning. When my wife Debra and I were first dating we'd sometimes go to North Carolina to hunt for rubies. The natural occurrences have since mostly all played out, and the rubies were rarely gem grade. But it was fun being outdoors and with each other.

The place we'd stay there was a small Mom and Pop motel that catered to people like us. As such it had visitors from all over the country, actually from all over the world. The proprietors, Ken and Sara, were delightfully kind and so much fun to talk with. There was a retired couple there one weekend who were traveling the country. But their focus was collecting rocks. They described the Spokane Bar sapphire occurrences in Montana and offered to bring back a production run if everyone wanted to go in on the cost. We eagerly agreed. Ken and Sara notified us when the couple were expected back, early fall that same year, and we made plans to travel up there. The day turned up delightfully warm and clear. Ken had put together an 8' X 8' surface for us to work on. Sara, who was from South America, made several batches of sangria. We laughed and talked and sorted gravel the whole afternoon. Much to my wife's amusement, I saved all the gravel that had been ours to sort. She felt there was no way we could have missed anything. Me, having grown up in a family that never threw anything away before its time, I insisted. The five gallon bucket of gravel sat on our back porch for a couple of years. In the fall of '87 (it was the year before our oldest son was born) I started sorting the gravel for the second time. But this time I rinsed it REAL good and took only a small scoopful and put it on a plate, the white background offering a perfect contrast to the desired material. At first I was using our everyday china plates, much to Debra's dismay. She made me change to paper plates, which worked fine for an evening's worth of sorting (about an hour's worth). I would find a small sapphire almost every night. But they were barely cutable (facetable), and Debra was unimpressed. On Halloween night that year while we were giving out candy, I would scoop out a small amount of stones to sort at the kitchen table. The bell rang and Debra went to the door. Just as she was finishing, I hollered for her to come to the kitchen. sitting on top of a scoop of gravel I had just set out for sorting was a large bluish purple sapphire. It was a perfect hexagon and appeared to be very clean (no internal fractures or inclusions). It weighed out at about 4.5 carats and henceforth would be called the Halloween Sapphire. It actually has a slight color change quality to it, showing blue in natural light and a bluish purple in incandescent light. I later cut this stone and it finished out at over 1 carat. I then used it as a center stone in a necklace I made from 14kt gold wire and a dozen or so other, smaller Montana sapphires I would cut. The entire project wasn't finished until after our oldest was born. But the day I gave it to Debra, she didn't take it off, not even at bedtime. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited about anything I've given her. I've been to the Spokane Bar a couple of times since then, as well as Rock Creek. I've purchased large Montana sapphires from various vendors. But I've never been more excited or pleased with myself than when I found that Halloween Stone.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

kim taehyung / reader [f] 

genre: royal/fantasy au, arranged marriage au, serpent prince!taehyung, priestess!reader, very soft romance, slow burn

warning(s)!!: slow burn (there is a lot of backstory oof), insecurity, jealous taehyung (who isn’t completely aware he’s jealous), heartache (a lot i’m sorry), hurt/comfort, almost nudity or translucent wet clothes, attempt at picking a fight/no-good townsfolk, past kidnap attempts, very minor depictions of violence, very breif mention of death, taehyung cries oops, y/n loves so much it hurts, taehyung being the most devoted boy to ever devote, obvs. religious themes (i.e. prayers, worship, offerings etc.), the royal family isn’t toxic and is in fact very sweet, jungkook is featured as a monk who refuses to cut his hair

w.count: 16.6k

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble | [Rated: PG-15 ]

synopsis: When he was born, Prince Taehyung was marked as the Serpent King’s Descendant with the mark of scales on his chest to prove it. As he grew up, he was appointed a playmate who would soon be training in the royal shrine as a maiden because of her unusually large spiritual power. They were pronounced engaged when Taehyung was just shy of his teenage years by royal command and he did nothing to fight the arrangement.  Now, you’re a grown woman and head of the shrine as the Center Priestess and devotee to the shrine and royal family with a heart filled almost too full of love for your future husband-to-be. When the wedding is announced and a ball is held in an advanced celebration you wonder, does your fiancé really want to marry you? Or is he just following his father’s royal orders? You don’t know what your heart can't take more: the idea of being rejected and unloved, or never knowing the true feelings of Prince Taehyung’s heart. 

t.list bc @lysannnnaa​ & @bella-victoria002​ wanted to be notified when it was posted!

The Serpent King was an old mythical king of ages that had stories upon stories spun about him.  

He was a man given the powers of a great sea serpent and among his journey to harness his powers and grow as the future king he knew he was destined to become, he traveled far and wide until he came upon an island.  This island was completely devoid of creatures- be it human or animal- aside from a giant snake he had found lay sleeping in a cave by the sea.  The Serpent King decided to make this island his home- and began to craft and build his kingdom to which he would rule- the snake by his side. 

Years passed and soon there it was, the kingdom the Serpent King had dreamt of. However, before he could see it continue to grow and prosper, he fell ill and weak. Dying on his bed surrounded by his people and the snake that had accompanied him in his goals, he prayed that the power in which he possessed would one day be reborn inside a new future king. 

The mighty island was named by the late Serpent King as the Hissing Isle. When he passed, the kingdom took not to grieving, but to work and worship. They built a shrine alongside the castle he had crafted.  Created memorials to which townsfolk and the occasional visitor may visit and pray to. Monuments of him with a giant snake wound around his body. His people continued his kingdom and a new royal family was chosen and so the generations passed; everyone waiting until the next Serpent King would be born. 

His companion snake was never seen again, rumor spreading that it took the to seas to watch over the island because it’s master was in the sky among the heavens. 

Centuries later, the royal castle was in full bustle as the queen had gone into labor unexpectedly. Ushering her to a delivery room in the medical wing of the castle, the king not far behind as he left his work and notes in his study at the news of his wife. Servants very quickly scurried about in panic for the arrival of the new royal child. 

It was an agonizing five hours later when the new baby prince was born. However, among the servants and the spiritual monk with the king and queen, none spoke. The room was silent aside from the cries of the newborn baby- the same baby who had a mark on his chest. A mark that was small, just the size of his newborn fist and detailed so delicately as a patch of scales.  

The king shed a tear as he smiled at his wife, holding her hand to soothe and congratulate her on a well done delivery of her first child.  The baby was soon cleaned and swaddled in a bundle of the softest cloth before the queen was requesting to hold her son. As he was placed in the woman’s arms, she smiled down at him as he instantly calmed.  The king sat beside the two, his hand on his queen’s leg as they both looked at the mark on their son once more. 

The Serpent King had finally chosen a new spirit to gift power to. Reincarnated into this small, healthy baby prince hundreds upon hundreds of years into the future. Serpent Prince Kim Taehyung, that is his name. 

Two years after the young prince was born, another baby was born with special powers.  Born in a brilliant blue aura and a strong, healthy body, a shrine monk had been shocked speechless at the amount of rare spiritual energy the newborn infant possessed.  It was decided among the few hours after her birth, that this baby girl would grow to be a magnificent shrine priestess and when the time would call for it, her training to harness her abilities would begin. 

Both the serpent blooded prince and the infant priestess would soon grow into bodies that would learn many things and experience many occasions and emotions.  First, however, they would need to meet.

“Y/n, come here for a spell,” your mother called for your attention as you sat at a small open chest filled with small wooden toys and bells and ribbons you had been gifted.  It had been four years since you were born and to you, your life had just started as your memory finally started allowing you to retain information and people’s faces.  

Your mother stood at the door to your room in her dress of a distasteful shade of brown that laced around her stomach to shrink her waist and strapped over her shoulders. The dress trapped the off shoulder white blouse she wore over her torso as her hair was braided along the back of her head, pinned up and out of the way. 

You looked back over your small shoulder still dressed in your pale yellow nightgown that reached your ankles with sleeves that covered your entire hand to your fingertips when you stood.  Hair unkempt and unbrushed from sleep, as you had woken up and immediately took to your toy chest to occupy your time until you were fetched by your single parent. 

Standing, you abandoned your trinkets as you rushed to your mother’s side. Grabbing her skirt in your fists and pushing your face into the fabric of her dress, giggling at the warm embrace she gave you. Her hands pushed on your shoulders and back as she leaned to greet you a good morning.  

“Good morning, my dearest little girl,” your mother cooed as you lifted your face from her skirt and smiled up at her.  You were always a shy child, but she hoped now that you were more aware of your surroundings, you would grow out of your shyness.  She gently pushed you away just enough so she could kneel on the floor in front of you, brushing your messy hair out of your face with her fingers. “We have to get you dressed.  Today is a very big day,” she told you. 

“What does that mean, mommy?” You asked, your small voice pitched and as sweet as song bells to your mother’s ears.  How she loved the sound of your voice. 

“It means, dearest, that you’re going to meet someone who will become your friend today.” The woman watched your puffy child-fat-cheeks, extend in a pout as you frowned.  “Now,” she started, softly but sternly, “do not pout like that. It would make me very happy if you would play with another child.” 

“Well,” your small voice started as your pout lessened, “if mommy wants me to, I can try.” your mother smiled as she gently kissed your forehead. You were only four, but you were very kind and gentle, and smarter than you thought.  

“That’s my girl,” she encouraged as she backed you up into your room to ready you for the day.  Placing you in a dress the color of daffodils that reached just past your knee and the long sleeves open at the shoulders, your mother messed with your head.  

You admired your dress in the standing mirror in your room.  Ruffles of soft yellow running around your skirt and the white fabric on your chest dotted with small flowers. Hair now brushed and pinned only partially back with a flower clip, your mother was soon sliding flat, black shoes over your feet. “You look beautiful, dearest,” she cooed as she kissed your cheek. 

“Mommy’s way more pretty than me!” You cheered as she stood and you took her hand, letting her lead you out of your room.  

You had lived in the castle your entire life, but only recently did you start remembering the layout of the massive royal home. You often remembered going to the shrine more often than not, feeling so peaceful and calm inside the shrine’s walls. The fountain inside with a statue of a man and a snake always seemed warm to you. 

Your mother walked slowly at your side as you clung to her hand the entire journey from your room, down the halls, past servants and guards alike until she came to stand at a grand, red doorway. You gripped her hand tighter, nerves bubbling in your small stomach. 

She offered two easy knocks that reverberated through the halls, bouncing off the walls in echoes that seemed so loud you wanted to cover your ears. 

“Majesty, it is Lily of the Shrine Courts. I have brought my daughter as you have asked,” she announced to the closed door. You thought her crazy until a voice echoed from behind the doors offering her entrance into the room beyond the red entrance. She looked down at you before smiling. “Do not worry, I will be with you the whole time,” she assured as you nodded, unaware of who was going to be inside. 

She pushed the door open with loud, aching creaks as you followed her in. your young eyes were wide as you looked around the room you had entered with your mother.  Large, wide and open with a single red carpet with gold trim lining the floor from the door to a set of 5 steps with thrones sitting atop them. There were three, dark wooden thrones in your line of sight.

One on the far left was the biggest of the three. Glorious and plush with red cushions that looked like you could jump on and sink right into the cushion. Gold trim surrounded the cushions as golden tassels hung from the arm rests of the throne. 

The middle throne was much less extravagant and smaller in size, but still as beautiful as the one before. With A fanned, three curved humps at the top of the back and red cloth that hung from the cushion like a bed-skirt over a box spring. 

The third, was just about the same size as the middle one. Resembling both the first and second, it was like a hybridized fashion of the first two- a child of the two thrones so to speak. 

In two of those three thrones, sat two adults.  In the first, glorious throne was a man dressed in black, gold and purple with a fur lined robe over his shoulders. A golden, magnificent crown sat along his head.  Next to him was a woman, a small tiara sat atop her pinned and folded hair as her dress was a soft purple and flowed so elegantly you knew without touching it that the fabric would be soft. 

You knew without a doubt it was the king and queen of Hissing Isle. The royal family that lived in Serpent Castle. You had never truly met them face to face before, and you thought your legs were going to freeze then collapse. 

Your mother soon came to a respectful halt a fair distance in front of the steps leading up to the thrones before she lowered her chest in a deep bow.  In theory you would have copied your mother, but you simply couldn’t move due to the nerves rampaging through your body. 

The queen looked at you with a smile on her face as she soon rose from her throne and picked up the floor length gown as she revealed her jeweled heels as she stepped carefully down the steps and soon was approaching you both. You jolted as you felt your mother’s hand on the back of your head. 

The queen was soon kneeling in front of you, her graceful beauty within arms reach, but all you could do is stare in wide-eyed awe and anxiousness. 

“You have a lovely daughter, Lady Lily,” the queen's smooth, rich voice spoke to your mother even though she was looking at you.  She reached out her hand as she brushed the back of her finger across her cheek and through your freshly brushed hair as you gulped. “Hello, sweetheart,” she softly called. 

“Hello,” you croaked out as the hand of your mother’s brushed along the back of your head, soothing you. 

“Do you know why you’re here this morning, child?” You nodded your head at the queen’s question “There are many things you are destined for, small lady. First, my husband and I would like to introduce you to another child just a couple years older than you. We hope you both can become friends.” You silently nod once again, still gripping onto your mother’s dress like a lifeline. 

The queen stands back up and steps away from you as she exchanges words with your mother. You look around the throne room and back behind the curtains that drape behind the set of thrones you see a faint silhouette.  You shuddered, thinking it was one of those shadow monsters you see in the corner of your vision. 

You jolt when the shadow seems to have locked eye contact with you.  You tug on your mother’s dress and reach to grab her hand as you look up towards her. She’s soon looking down at you, her precious child with eyes that can see almost too well, before she is grabbing your hand back tightly in hers. 

“What is it, dearest?” You crush your face into the fabric of her dress as you feel her leg behind it.  “Y/n,” she cooed, trying to have you behave just a bit better in front of the royal family. 

“There’s a shadow in here,” you muttered as you felt her other hand on your head again, avoiding snagging her fingernails into your clipped hair. “Behind those big chairs, there’s a shadow,” you whine. Both your mother and the queen turn to look behind the set of glorious seats and the queen only smiles at the ‘shadow’ you had seen.  

“Oh my,” the queen breathed, “why are you hiding back there again, Taehyung,” the queen called.  You looked up from the fabric of your mother’s skirt as you peered around her to see the shadow move- making you jump.  Soon, a young boy was walking out of the shadows, dressed in a black shirt and pants with a golden vest of thick embroidered shoulders and hems on his small framed torso.  His blonde hair shining like a star. Your body relaxed- it wasn’t a shadow after all. 

“I apologize for her,” your mother addressed and you instantly felt guilty. Your mother was apologizing because you jumped to conclusions because you weren’t able to tell the shadows from people yet; these shadows only just started appearing in your vision recently and they scared you. “Her eyes can see more than what others can, so she hasn’t learned spirits from humans yet.” 

“I see the rumors about her abilities are true then,” from behind the queen, the king who had been sitting in silence had finally spoken.  “I can feel her spiritual pressure even from here, and she’s of such young age. You should be proud of your daughter, Lady Lily.” The king rose from his throne as he descended the steps and called the child boy over to his and the queen’s side. 

Soon, the king and queen stood in front of you as the young boy stood between them.  You didn’t need to be told that this was their child- the prince of whom you knew of but had also never met.  The look in his dark eyes made you shiver, like he wasn’t a happy child. But, the royal family was so kind and made you feel warm- why would his eyes look so grim then? 

The king soon placed a large hand on the prince’s small shoulder. 

“Young Y/n, as of today I would be honored if you would keep my son company.” You looked up at the king with a dropped jaw.  The prince was the new friend your mother had told you about? You looked back down at the prince- his expression unchanged as if he was unhappy about your newfound company. Maybe that is why his eyes looked that way, he didn’t want a playmate. “Is that alright?” The king asked as if your four year old little heart had the gall to say no the royalty. 

“Yes, sir,” you squeaked in shyness. “It’s alright,” you confirmed with your small, bell voice your mother always praised.  It made the queen and king smile as the queen wrapped her arm around her son's shoulders, kneeling to his level and gaining his attention. 

“Now, Taehyung,” she started softly, “Y/n is going to be your friend, so you treat her kindly, alright?” You jolted and sucked in a small breath when the prince looked back to you before returning his bland gaze to his mother. 

“Yes, mother,” he muttered. The queen brushed back Taehyung’s hair and sent him off, out of the throne room. Soon, your mother was advising you to follow after him. With a small head pat from your mother and a gulp of attempted bravery, you trotted after the six-year-old prince who didn’t seem very happy to have a new friend. 

It had been four days since you were assigned Prince Taehyung’s playmate and friend.  You often spent time in the library reading while he studied, or walking behind him as he roamed through the gardens before sitting on a bench with a book, you sitting on the opposite end of the same bench. 

Every night your mother would tuck you into bed and ask how your day with the prince was and you would always tell her the same thing. You were nothing but a duckling following around the royal prince as he never spoke to you even if you spoke to him. You feared he disliked you and you often sought your mother’s comfort as you would nearly cry at the thought of your first real friend hating you. 

Every morning you’d wake up and pick out the prettiest dress and most eye-catching hair pins and ribbons to try and attract the prince’s attention. Even when you tried wearing shoes that clack with each step, he never even spared you a glance. 

It was midday of the fifth day of being Taehyung’s new friend when you decided to try and be more aggressive with your mission you had dubbed: ‘make Prince Taehyung my friend’.  You both sat in the library as he was scribbling in a book with another book open next to him.  You had recognized the book he was studying today- a book of hymns from the past that are typically sung about or for the Serpent King’s spirit and the Sea Snake.  You were currently being taught those same hymns by the shrine maidens and monks during the time you weren’t trailing Taehyung. 

“Prince Taehyung,” you called softly, knowing he wouldn’t answer you. You swallowed your nervous breath as you pushed more words out instead of giving up instantly like the days prior. “Are you very interested in the Sea Snake and Serpent King hymns? If so, I can sing them for you,” you offered. You saw his fountain pen halt in his hand for just a moment before he resumed writing. 

You almost smiled, that was proof he was listening to you- just ignoring you. 

“You know,” you continued, stepped just ever so closer to the chair he sat in as his feet dangled, still far too short to reach the floor. “I’m being taught a lot of those from the shrine maidens.  They said I need to know them because I’m going to become a shrine maiden one day too. They told me I’m going to be a priestess and that the hymns would be very important to know when I’m all grown up.” 

He didn’t pay you any mind just as you were used to.  You wracked your young mind to think as to why he was so uninterested in you. You’ve always wanted a friend around your age, and he was only two years older than you.  He wasn’t so superior to you as a six-year-old that you had to be ignored.  Maybe he was just a snobby prince? But, that didn't seem to fit him. The aura he gave off felt sad and calm to you- like he wanted something he just wasn’t getting, but staying to himself about it.  

Then, you had a thought. 

Prince Taehyung is the Serpent King’s descendant- his reincarnation as you were told- who was blessed with the ancient king’s blood.  He would one day rule the kingdom and lead the Hissing Isle into a golden age- even more peaceful and prosperous than the Serpent Kingdom is right now. 

“Prince Taehyung,” you addressed him again. You had gotten beside him and gently grabbed the cloth of his shirt around his elbow between your fingers. “Are you sad about being born like the Serpent King?” For the first time the child prince stopped his scribbling and the air around you changed.  

It became tense and you felt like you were suffocating. Did you cross a line? Were you supposed to just keep your mouth shut and follow him like a little duckling for the rest of your childhood until he finally snapped and told you to leave him alone? You shivered. Would he snap now? Would he yell and tell you to be gone because you were prying into business that isn’t yours? 

“Am I sad about being born this way?” The first sentence ever spoken to you from the prince’s mouth and it felt sharp as it hit your heart. “Am I sad about being told who I am and who I’m supposed to be? Am I sad about being so different that people can’t even use my name? Am I sad that I’m just ‘Serpent Prince Taehyung’?” He finally turned to look at you, his dark eyes lined with frustrated tears. “Wouldn’t you be sad about that?” He softly choked.  

“Prince,” you called in a small breath, unable to recognize that the small prince had been carrying such a burden on his shoulders.  Was he really outcast like he claims? True, when you followed him around, all people did was bow their head and offer praises of the blood of the serpent king. 

“How are you okay with the shrine telling you who you’re destined to become?” He asked, turning away from the book full of hymns and swiveling to look at you standing next to him. 

“Because my mom said I’d grow up to be a great priestess one day,” you spoke in a heavily whispered answer.  “And my mom would never lie to me, so I believe her.” 

“She’s planning your life for you. Doesn’t that make you mad? Shouldn’t you have the freedom to choose what you want?” This was the most the prince had ever spoken in your presence. 

“I’m not mad,” you quickly deny. “I really like learning all the hymns and the dances the shrine is teaching me. I get to dance with bells and ribbons and sing songs that will help people when I grow up. I get scared of shadows and odd creatures I see, but the more I learn from the monks, the more I can face those scary things. I have so much fun with the shrine people, so I could never be mad about growing up like they say I will.” You let go of the prince's sleeves only to grab his hand hesitantly. 

His hand is relaxed in yours, not moving to pull away or to return the gesture.  You think you finally understand why the prince’s eyes are so sad.  He’s scared of his future and feels trapped.  You step closer to his chair, making him lean back as you got into his personal bubble that had never been popped before. 

“If you’re unhappy, the king and queen would surely listen to you!” You announced with a brow furrowed in determination.  “If you told you mom and dad, I’m sure they’d listen and accept whatever you said! My mom always tells me to tell her anything and as long as I’m honest, she’ll listen without anger. I’m sure your mom and dad think the same thing, Taehyung.” 

His eyes were wide as you quickly spoke- throwing out his title in the spur of the moment. Advising him to go talk to his parents about his woes? Addressing him so boldly in an attempt to cheer him up after all he’s been doing for as long as he could remember is brood in the idea of his set in stone future?  Could he really tell his parents that he was scared of letting them down?  He was just a child, a small little six-year-old who was scared of disappointing his parents.  

“I can’t tell them,” he whispered to himself more than you, trying to get the idea of speaking his mind out of his head.  He couldn’t be selfish, not when so many people expect so much from him. 

“Then, you can tell me and I’ll tell them for you!” You announced again. “You’re my friend, Taehyung, and if you can’t tell them, then I’ll do it for you.” The prince dropped his jaw as he looked into the total seriousness of your eyes.  You meant it; every word you’ve said you have meant.  You looked down at your hand when you felt the boy grip it back, holding your hand tightly. 

“You don’t think they’d be mad at me?” His true colors of youth finally broke through. You smiled brightly at him as you shook your head. “Then, I guess I can try… later, at dinner maybe.” you saw a small hue paint his cheeks as you giggled at the sudden cute turn his demeanor took.  “You said you knew some of these?” He asked, referring back to his book of hymns.  You nodded as he got up, let go of your hand and fetched a new chair for you, setting it beside him as he climbed back into his. “Then, could you sing one?” 

Your child-like voice of bells sang any hymn he could find you knew and he could feel the serpent blood in him react to it, reaching out to the songs it found so familiar. 

Two years passed, and Taehyung had finally started becoming a prince he could be proud of. He had apologized to you and your mother for being so rude for the first week of your friendship, but since then, you and he were inseparable.  He would often come to the shrine to see you practice your dances and listen to your songs. 

The prince was smiling more and enjoying his studies.  He often talked with his parents when he had troubles now, and he had accepted his role as the future king. He had thought he needed to be perfect in the past, and now he knew that as long as he did his best and never lied, it would all be alright.  Failure kept him humble, but it would never hold him back like it once did before. 

On your sixth birthday, your mother gifted you with your first shrine maiden robe. Of red and gold, it hung loosely around your shoulders and tied around your waist with a golden sash. A set of golden threads looped into small snakes on each lapel of your robe connected with a red thread across your chest. 

When you were dressed in it, you were eager to show Taehyung, but first wanted to learn a dance to properly show the robe off. It was your first ever maiden robe and you had been training in the shrine for as long as you could remember now.  

Your mother who was growing older every year laughed as you would occasionally stumble over the long robe’s fabric as you attempted to learn the way it moved with you. That evening, Taehyung had come to the shrine to see you, having not heard a word from you all day. 

When he arrived however, you were fast asleep on the marble floor, resting against the side of the fountain placed inside the shrine of the purest sea water. A pyramid of bells rolled out of your palm as you sat peacefully asleep in your new robe.  

“Good evening, Young Prince,” your mother greeted, making Taehyung jolt. “I’m sorry if you’ve come to see Y/n. My daughter practiced too hard it seems and fell asleep the moment she sat to rest.” Taehyung looked and watched you sleep against the fountain. 

Over the course of your training and aging, he had felt your spiritual power grow alongside the power he felt in himself. He still remembers the day you finally broke him of his shell when you told him how you would train to be the proud priestess your mother said you’d be one day.  

He smiled as he walked to you, lifting your lulled head up and placing it on his shoulder as he sat next to you on the shrine floor. He looked up at your mother who was stuck between telling the prince to not sit on the floor and to just wake you up. 

“Do you mind if I sit with her for a while?” He asked as she just smiled. 

“Stay as long as you’d like,” she told him before retreating back to the castle. She later returned with the queen by her side when dinner came around and the two just stifled laughs at the young prince’s head resting on yours, you both fast asleep.  

A year passed and Taehyung had finally grown his serpent scales and eyes that would stick with him the rest of his life.  Golden scales grew under his eyes as the dark shade of them brightened to a gold you found hypnotizing.  He had initially hid his face from the palace, unable to show his scales.  It took a whole afternoon of you sitting in his room with him to convince him that it was okay and that his new scales didn’t make him scary. 

Ever since his scales and eyes came in, he had been able to hear you sing from wherever you were.  You could be in the depths of the shrine and he could be on the opposite side of the castle and he could hear your songs and feel your messages.  He could tell when you were sad or happy or sick or in pain with each song he heard.  Able to convey your emotions through your songs, he wondered why it was he couldn’t hear any other people.  

When The monks chanted their mantras or the other maidens and priestess’ sung, he couldn’t hear them.  Only your voice was heard in his ears. 

He had often spoken to his father, the king, about it. The king was unsure as to the reason as well, but passed it off as a result of your spiritual power and your control over it. However, it wasn’t until one afternoon that Taehyung realized that he could not only hear your songs from anywhere, but he could find out where you were located if your situation grew dangerous or dire.  

You were in the palace gardens studying flowers and leaves as part of your training on what plants or herbs to dry and place as offerings to the Serpent King’s spirit. Placing herbs and flower petals inside of a clay bowl, you had heard someone approach you. Turning around, you saw two men dressed in foreign clothes you hadn’t seen before. 

“Hello,” you greeted weakly as you stood on shaking feet.  Your clay bowl in hand as they just look at each other.  “I’ve never seen you before in the castle, what are you doing here?” You had gotten braver each year and as a proud standing nine-year-old, you were determined to figure out if these were the king’s visitors or uninvited guests.  

“Little girl,” one of them spoke as it made your skin prick. “You are a priestess?” 

“Uh, yes,” you squeaked.  The moment one of them moved to reach behind into a pouch they kept on their hip, you panicked.  Throwing the bowl of herbs, you closed your fist, extended your two first fingers and chanted a small protective spell. The herbs that flew towards the intruders caught fire and gave you just enough time to turn and run into the maze of hedges to hide. 

Taking so many turns in the maze you had no idea the layout of, you were soon tucking yourself away in a corner, trying to hide in the shrubs as much as possible. With each rustle of the plants and wind you grew more and more tense.  

You suddenly remembered a certain song you were taught recently that was instructed by the king for you to learn.  It was a song of calling when in danger.  If ever there was a time to test it, now was that time. So, under your breath you whispered weakly the lines of hymns you were taught. 

Taehyung was in the study with his father when the air shifted outside.  Looking out the window, he stared out into the open gardens of trees, flowers and bushes.  Even further, he could see the open sea of his island kingdom.  He wondered why the air felt heavy so suddenly.  He felt suffocated and stuffy as he pulled at the collar of his turtleneck shirt. 

The king noticed his son’s discomfort. “What is it?” 

“It just got really stuffy in here,” the prince replied, “that’s all.” Yet as he returned to his lessons, the uneasiness in his chest didn’t stop. For minutes it lasted until your name flashed into his head like a siren as his skin pricked before he was hearing you sing again.  

Taehyung jumped from his chair, pushing it back with enough force to kick it back onto the floor, startling the king close to him.  Taehyung’s golden snake-like eyes were wide as they looked out the window beyond the palace walls. 

The king slowly stood, unable to determine his son’s sudden burst of haste. “Taehyung,” he tried, but the prince’s attention wasn’t drawn. 

“Y/n,” he whispered. He walked around the fallen chair and to the window, placing his palms on the glass panes as he looked down into the gardens.  Flashes of the shrub maze playing in his subconscious as he listened to your shaky, fearful song play in his mind. He saw the faces of two strangers, a bowl of clay, fire and then your back retreating into the maze before he started to panic.  “Father,” he called in haste as he turned to the king behind him. “There are intruders in the garden and they’re after Y/n.” 

The king was quick to act.  Immediately dispatching guards to the gardens to catch the uninvited guests before they caught you.  Taehyung couldn’t settle down, even with his father trying to convince him it would be okay and that help was coming to you.  It didn’t help calm his blood that screamed to find you first.  

His gaze stuck outside, your voice still echoing in his head, your song replaying over and over again as your fear pounded in the center of his chest.  He didn’t even register himself ripping his arms out of his father’s grasp as he ran out of the castle and into the gardens to find you himself, knowing exactly where you were. 

It was two hours later when the culprits of your attempted abduction were caught and imprisoned, followed by a party of castle guards finally locating your hiding spot.  Only, they were shocked to see that Taehyung had been crouched in front of you, holding your head on his chest as you cried before eventually falling asleep. 

It was hard to explain to his parents and your mother how he could hear your songs, and feel your emotions.  It was even harder to explain how he was able to know exactly where you were and know what had happened as if he had been there himself.  It was that very evening that the king had made a decision that would affect you both in the coming years. 

“Y/n,” Taehyung had called as you were knelt in the shrine, hands clasped together before you lowered your arms and looked over your shoulder to your prince.  You were ten-years-old now while Taehyung was nearly in his teenage years.  You both were nearly the same height as you stood to come to his call.  

You nearly felt your cheeks blush in the presence of your beloved prince.  Ever since you were nine and nearly kidnapped from the castle gardens, Taehyung had become increasingly more protective over you.  This in turn created a delusional crush you held for the royal heir.  You had to be careful of your songs so that he wouldn’t catch on to your feelings each morning and evening when you sang songs of greeting and farewell to the sun and sea. 

“Yes?” You waited as you came to stand in front of him. “Do you need something from me Taehyung? I thought you had archery this morning?” You tilted your head in curiosity as he quickly took your hand in his, something he started a year ago so that he could always feel you behind him. “Taehyung?” 

“Father and mother have called us to the audience chamber.” Your mouth opened in question as your mother came up behind you.  Taehyung was quick to greet her.  “Good morning, Lady Lily.” 

“A fine morning to you, young Prince.” Your mother soon placed her hand on your back, silently ushering you on. “You can finish your morning devotions after your audience with the king and queen. It is alright,” she smiled.  She seemed to know something you didn’t, like she knew what the call of presence was for.  Though, you couldn’t ask because of Taehyung quickly pulling you out of the shrine with him. 

“Your morning hymn was lovely,” he told you as he entered the castle’s second floor, taking your hands and helping you up the staircase so you wouldn’t trip on your long gown.  

“Do you think so?” You asked, wavering on how you sang this morning. “I had thought my sound wasn’t as clear as before.” 

“You improve everyday. Perhaps if you feel it needs improvement, sip water from the shrine’s fountain. That will certainly cleanse your throat and replenish any diminished power,” he advised.  Typically, one would not be allowed to access the sea water of the shrine’s fountain, however you were the exception to that rule.  

You never knew why, but the day Taehyung offered you a small sip of the fountain’s sea water to ease your aching throat, you were permitted exclusive access to the sea’s blessed water.  As, if you weren’t granted permission, that small sip of pure ocean water would have spread like poison and certainly taken your life. 

As Taehyung led you to the audience chamber, you grew nervous.  Just what could the monarchs of your Isle be calling you about? Were you not doing a good enough job as a training maiden? Were you lacking somehow? Or perhaps you were going to be told to stop hanging around Taehyung, the future king, as often because of his coming of age. The idea of being torn from Taehyung made your heart ache.  

“Do not be nervous,” he told you, squeezing your hand.  You swallowed the lump in your throat, only nodding before he knocked on the chamber door, announced himself and you, before walking inside with you in tow. 

The queen and her husband sat in the two tallest, iron chairs behind the long, table in the large room. They watched you both enter hand in hand, just as they had seen you do before.  As the heavy door shut behind your back, Taehyung led you to a chair across from his parents. Sitting you down first, he then takes his own seat beside you. His choice of opting to sit beside you instead of his parents confused you for a moment until he took your hand in his again beneath the iron table top.

“I apologize for interrupting your morning session, Y/n,” the queen softly called. Though aged from the first time you met her, she was still carrying herself with the same grace and beauty you had remembered all those years ago.

“It’s alright, Majesty. My mother is finishing up the offering with the monks and I can return to the shrine to finish my devotion before midday.” Your voice was rigid from you trying to keep your nervousness undetected.  You felt Taehyung’s hand tighten in your grip as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. You had to strain to hear the royal family’s words over the sound of your heart in your ears.

“We won’t keep you long,” the king announced.  He looked at you and then to his son before he closed his eyes.  His hands came up to rest in front of his mouth, fingers interlaced as his elbows rested on the iron table.  “Would you say you enjoy my son’s company, Y/n?” The king’s directness made you jolt. With the smallest pink tinted cheeks, you glanced at Taehyung, seeing him only looking at his father with inquisitive eyes.  

“I would. I greatly enjoy the Prince’s company.” You answered with a smile that spread unconsciously to the set of royal parents in front of you when you directed your gaze back to the pair.  

“As you know,” the queen started in place of her husband, “Taehyung is the heir to the Serpent King; however, as you may have noticed, our son has a special connection with you particularly.” You lifted your eyebrow at this.  Since when had the prince and you had a special connection?  In truth, Taehyung never told you that he could feel what you feel when you sing and can pinpoint your location as your voice carries to the sky like a beacon.  His grip in your hand falters.  

“Mother,” he warned. He didn’t want you to know in fear that you would find it invasive. What if you found out and you hated it and locked up your voice in retaliation?  He thought his heart would shrivel up and die if you stopped singing.  

“Our son is able to hear your songs from any location on the island, we believe that it’s due to not only your bond you’ve built over the years, but also your spiritual power.” You remained silent as you took in the information.  You had known Taehyung could hear you, but from such a wide scope? That shocked you.  “Taehyung and you share a special bond, that much we are certain, so my husband and I spoke with Lady Lily.”

Your back straightened as the mention of your mother. “You spoke with my mother? About what, might I ask?”

“It is our intent to have you both become engaged to marry.”

You felt your heart stop at the king’s declaration.  Engaged to marry? You and Taehyung?  Your heart began to speed up, doing somersaults in your chest as your grip on the prince’s hand slacked.  You turned to look at the preteen prince.

“Me, marry the-,” you cut yourself off, unable to speak the words.  Your young cheeks flushed hot when Taehyung turned to look at you, pulling your hand tighter against his under the table. Making up for the space you created when you pulled away.  His golden eyes burned into yours as he then turned back to his father.  

“I’m willing to go through with it,” the young prince announced, shocking you.  “That is,” he turned his sights back to you, a soft smile on his face replacing his previous look, “if Y/n agrees as well.” The queen had to hide a smile behind the back of her hand as your face wouldn’t cool down.  You looked down to the hand he held out of his parents’ sight before taking a breath.  

It wouldn’t be selfish to want this- you look back up at him with hopeful eyes- right? Smiling back after a heartbeat or two, you turned to his parents and lowered your head.

“I’m honored by the royal families decision.  If you’ll accept me, I agree to the arrangement as well.” A small talk about formalities and official announcements of the engagement later and you and Taehyung were dismissed back to your daily routine.  However, everything felt shifted now.  

As Taehyung led you back to the shrine, you stayed absolutely silent- something the prince noticed.  You were always talking to him about something, but now you were speechless and it made him nervous.  He wasn’t even holding your hand anymore, because the moment you both stood to leave the audience chamber, you had let him go. 

“I’ll properly thank your mother when I see her next,” he told you suddenly in the empty hall he walked with you down.  “Since I’m your fiance now, it’d be rude if I didn’t thank her for her permission to marry you.”

“Ah, right,” you made a small noise before acknowledging him.  He stopped in the hall and sighed, turning to you.  

“So, it is the engagement that’s making you so quiet.”  You shrunk, not wanting to be a problem.  “It’s okay. If you don’t want to agree to it, then-”

“No!” You screech, immediately covering your mouth.  You cleared your throat, looking around to see if anyone had seen your outburst and gathered your thoughts. Your heart wouldn’t stop beating and your stomach felt fuzzy from the speed of it all.  “It’s just happening so fast,” you breathed, “that’s all. Really, I don’t mind.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, I am.” It was an odd sensation when Taehyung pulled you into his chest to hug you.  He had held you before.  When you were lost in the maze, when you were sleepy during your lessons he attended with you out of curiosity, when you both hid from castle guards who were trying to coerce you both back inside.  This time was different though.

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to change,” he assured you.  As you lifted your arms to hug him back, you knew why it was so different and why any embrace from him would be different from now on.  

Because every time from this point on, forever, would be an embrace shared between betroths.  

You took a deep breath of the ocean air as the ship you were aboard grew closer to the docks of your beloved Isle.  You were returning home after a trip to the mainland to familiarize further with their culture and step closer to establishing a lasting treaty.  You weren’t exactly pleased forming relations with the world outside of your island home, but in the end it had to be done.  

On a positive note, you were returning with all sorts of new herbs and dried meat, roots and fruits that Hissing Isle didn’t have.  They would surely work well as offerings and if not, a fine snack for the castle. 

“Lady Y/n!” Someone called as you turned to look for the call.  A young man dressed in stained white and brown clothes and a bandanna around his waist had been the one calling.  “The ship will dock in just a little while.  Please prepare your things for departure. I’m sure the Prince is eagerly waiting for your return.”  The man offered you a polite, if not playful, wink before he was scampering off.  

A lot has happened since you had gotten engaged to the Serpent Prince twelve years ago.  Your twenty-second birthday had just passed as you stood on the side of the ship, your bag of belongings and mainland offers on your back. 

When you were twenty, you had surpassed your trainers and taken over the shrine as the Central Priestess.  Your abilities to harness and use your spiritual powers in both offensive and defensive strategies still awed some. In fact, you planned to use your power to enforce a barrier around the island as soon as you could. Bringing back a sacred dokkosho from the mainland, you planned to use it- combined with your powers- to protect the island from malicious intruders. 

However, years have not always been so kind to you.  Among those years, you still wish your young mother was around to see you flourish into the priestess she had known you to be.  She had fallen ill when you were eighteen and she did not last the year.  You still remember how your heart broke as Taehyung shushed and held you for days upon days, as you could do nothing but cry and mourn. You could not even sing her farewell through your tears.

As the sea breeze blew through your hair and whipped at the long, loose sleeves of your dress, you smiled as the sight of your home growing closer.  Your dress was off your shoulder, loose around your chest and tied with a brown sash around your waist as the skirt fell to your ankles.  It was a simple dress and not at all what you would typically wear when fulfilling your role as isle priestess, but it was yours.  

When the ship docked and your feet finally hit land again, you let out a breath of air.  It had only been a month, but you felt like you had been away for far too long now.  While you were gone, you had left the shrine in the hands of a monk who had come from the mainland years back.  His skills were exceptional, but his playful attitude always left you a bit nervous.  

“Lady Y/n!” The same man from before had called as you had stepped off port. You turned and quickly caught something he had tossed towards you.  Looking, it was a ripe apple. “Come travel with us again soon,” he offered as you smiled at him. 

“I’ll look forward to the next time then,” you bowed your head as you headed off. Heading through town, you were met with small smiles and children running to hold your hand and welcome you back home.  In your small kingdom, you were well known as the main priestess and many would come to you for advice.  Your position as Taehyung’s fiance added to the warmth of the island-folk.  

However, not all were as kind as most. 

A young girl hung off your arm as you humored her with your attention as a drunken man cut off your path. Your destination towards the castle temporarily halted.  Typically, you would brush past him, however the young girl at your side only shrunk away at the sight of his disheveled appearance.  

You knew this man, of course.  He often gave you a rough time, unable to swallow his bit-swollen pride and accept orders from a woman who technically wasn’t of royal blood. Spending all his time and money in taverns, you were certain if you wounded him, booze would pour out of his body instead of blood.  

“May I help you?” You sneered, tilting your chin and looking at him in a collected, calm warning.  

“It’s a shame the mainland princes’ didn’t want to keep you over there,” he slurred.  “Do us a lotta good if you stayed put on the other side of the sea.”  You remained calm as you took a breath.  You looked down to the young girl who clung to you.  This man was not only well known to you, but to the rest of the castle town.  He wasn’t exactly too well liked because of his attitude.  

When he saw the little girl staring at his stubble, unshaven face, he sneered.  “What are you looking at brat? Huh?!” The verbal attack to the youth was cut short when something was thrown at the drunkard’s head.  Stumbling back in an over-dramatic fit of drunken balance, he looked at the ground.  There lay a single, red apple.  

“Even among a basket of perfect fruit, there always has to be one bad apple it seems.”  Your arm was lifted, the only needed evidence the drunkard needed to know you had thrown the fruit at him.  “I suggest you direct your disgust elsewhere and not towards the Isle’s youth.  They will determine in the future to help or neglect you. You’d be wise to not mistreat them.” 

“Why you stuck up-” the man had stomped towards you, harshly pushing you back as he grabbed the front of your dress into his fist.  The child on your side was knocked away as she started to cry for the man to let you go as he just growled into your face.  His breath was horrid, teeth yellow and skin tinged sickly.  

“If you keep drinking, you’ll last no longer than the season,” you calmly told him even in the state you were being held in.  

“My lady!” the little girl cried, as a crowd started to gather in a murmur. You knew better than to fight back, it was against your views to harm your people- even if they act so grotesque towards you.  You would only tell yourself to grin and bear it.  

There was a sudden hush over the crowd before they could even begin to act on freeing you from the no-good drunkard, and it was without surprise as to why.  The man was grabbed by the back of his shirt collar as it was yanked back, the shirt riding up to his neck and thrusting him into cut-off, breathless panic.  

His grip on your dress released immediately as he was yanked backward until he fell over his feet onto his back on the stone roads. His eyes were squeezed shut and were only opened when the one who had pulled him back and off you squats to come closer to his face.  The man froze at the pair of golden eyes glaring down at him with brilliant matching scales under them. 

“I do believe I’ve told you before that the next time you harass my priestess, I wouldn’t let it slide,” Taehyung sneered as the little girl had rushed back to your side, hugging you around the waist as you placed your hand on her shoulders.  “Stay on the ground,” he demanded as the drunkard only nodded weakly as the prince stood back up and looked at you.  Your dress was stretched and messed up around your chest now.  

Yet, you smiled warmly to him nonetheless.  

“Welcome home, Y/n,” he greeted as he came to your side.  He smiled down to the child in front of you, petting her head. “How about I take her home from here?” He told the little girl as she ran off back to her home, leaving the crowd to disperse and the drunkard to be picked up off the road and taken back to the castle by a set of guards that were stationed in town.  “I’m sorry you had to deal with him first thing after returning.” 

“It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled,” you reassured, even if you had no intention of actually instigating a fight.  “What brought you into town? Running errands?” He smiled as he shook his head.  

“No. I felt your spiritual pressure when you landed. I simply couldn’t wait to see you after such a long time,” he told you.  Your heart squeezed in your chest as he then began to lead you back to the castle.  You asked about the shrine and how the offering and sessions were progressing.  Taehyung was curious as to what the mainland was like and you offered to show him the goodies you brought back with you once you reached the castle.  

All the while your heart pounded in your ears.  

The crush you had on your prince only kept expanding in size with each passing day since you were announced engaged.  You were sure if that had never happened, you would have grown out of it, however your love for him was deeper than the sea surrounded the island.  You were absolutely sure, however, that Taehyung would never truly love you back.  

He had always shown that you were his closest and deepest friend he had.  Loving you as his first and best friend and close companion that helped him grow.  However, you doubted he would ever be in love with you like you are with him, and the knowledge of your betrothal made such a bittersweet taste on your tongue.  

You had often attempted to talk to him about the arrangement of your marriage.  You wanted to give him the option now that he was a grown man and was able to understand what marrying you would mean.  You wanted to give him the option to choose if he wanted you to become his wife for the rest of his life or not.  And if he chose not to wed you, then you’d accept that, no matter how much it would break you.  

You never had the strength to bring it up though. Too scared of letting him go, when he truly wasn’t fully yours.  Unable to let go of the fantasy of marrying him, unable to let go of your selfishness.  

You let out a sigh as Taehyung had entered the castle with you.  He looked at you with furrowed brows and gold eyes.  

“That is the fifth sigh since town.  Are you unwell?” 

“What?” you were unaware of your unconscious sighs until he had said something.  “I’m fine. Just tired from the trip is all.  I think I just need to rest a bit before I return to my shrine duties.” 

“I’ll make sure to instruct Jungkook to keep watch over the shrine’s progression until tomorrow. Take a break until then. You’ve just returned from a long journey that I’m sure required a lot of strength.  Do not push yourself.” 

You nodded.  Jungkook was the monk in-charge of the shrine when you are absent or unable to manage it for a number of reasons.  He often watches it once a month when your body is in such pain that moving from your bed is a battle in itself.  

He was a stubborn monk, but he was well versed in his craft you had to admit.  He was different from the other monks you’ve grown up with.  For instance, he refused to cut his hair like the others who had clean heads without hair at all.  His long, brown locks curled around his ears and over his forehead, occasionally being tied back with a hair string for rituals. 

“Yes,” you agreed, “that would be nice.” 

You two had walked further into the castle when someone had rounded a further corner ahead and caught sight of you.  Speak of the devil. 

“Hey! Y/n!” Jungkook waved in his robes of black and purple, rushing towards you.  He was a friendly monk, child-like and free spirited and never addressed you properly by title.  You almost admire that about him.  He came to a stop in front of you and Taehyung as the prince suddenly drew quiet without you noticing. “Welcome back home,” he grinned down at you, standing a head taller.  

“Yes, it’s good to be back.” You smiled in greeting as you both conversed.  Taehyung watched you both talk so openly and comfortably. You often spoke without formality when you were with Jungkook. With himself though- even if you had known him since he was six- you still held a sense of formality.  He didn’t realize how much he missed your relaxed speech when you were young until he was watching you talk so comfortably with the long-haired monk. 

“I hope you won’t mind keeping charge of the shrine until tomorrow. I have to wait a bit longer for my powers to return to normal. The mainland pressure is far different than the island, so adjustment takes time.” 

“Leave it to me, it’s not so hard.” He shrugged smugly.  You rolled your eyes as Jungkook soon looked passed you to Taehyung who had been standing in silence.  He looked back down to you.  “The lovely couple off somewhere?” His chide was met with you snatching the staff he had at his side from his grasp and whacking him with it.  “Ow! What’s with the sudden aggression?” He whine sorely as he rubbed his back.  You gently handed the staff back to him as if you had done no wrong. 

“That’s your punishment for improper speech to the woman who is technically your superior,” you told him, but you both knew the real reason you whacked him.  Jungkook was the sole person you’ve confided in about your feelings for the serpent prince.  “Return to your shrine duties, I’ll be stopping by with new offerings later,” you told him as you started away.  

“Yes, yes. As you wish, My Lady,” he submitted as he watched you leave, Taehyung silently trailing behind you.  

It was silent again as Taehyung and you continued on your way to the throne room to greet the royal family and tell them of your return. They must already know you had come back since Taehyung had shown up so quickly as you landed, but it was still a requirement of the shrine’s center priestess to announce her departure and arrival.  

“You and that monk seem to get along well,” Taehyung spoke, bitterly refusing to use Jungkook's name. 

“Yes, well, he is two years younger than me.  It’s easy to speak naturally to him when he’s only just turned twenty.” 

The conversation was short lived as Taehyung didn’t speak after that and you didn’t either.  The silence was almost comfortable and before long, you were entering the throne room with Taehyung just as you had a million other times before now. 

As you grew closer, the queen sat higher in her chair. Her hair had faded to a shade of silver from age as the king’s black hair had begun to follow. “Ah, young Lady Y/n, I’m glad you’ve made it back safely. Did you enjoy your visit to the mainland?” 

“Not as much as I enjoy the feeling of being home, Majesty.” 

“Of course,” she mused.  “I’m glad you have returned. My husband and I would like to speak to you and Taehyung if you have a moment.” You looked at the man beside you as he looked at his parents with an indifferent gaze like something was weighing on his mind.  

“The wedding is next week?!” Jungkook screeched.  You had just returned to the shrine from the castle in which the royal family had decided that you and Taehyung would be married by next week's end.  “It’s so sudden,” the monk stated in a much milder tone.  

“Not really,” you told him as you removed the wrapped herbs and roots from your bag. “I’ve been engaged to him since I was young. It was bound to happen one day.” You kept replaying the conversation from earlier in your mind.  Just as it had been in the past, the moment his parents decided it, he just nodded and went along with their plans.  

The same feeling in your gut wrenched and twisted like a dying tree root. Was he just going along with his parent’s decision because he admired them so much? Was he just doing this for the sake of his people because you were the Isle’s priestess? Or, was he doing this because it was something decided so long ago and he felt like he had no way out now? 

As you set your items along the marble alter inside the shrine Jungkook watched you with soft, dewy eyes.  He knew how much your heart loved the prince and how much you kept breaking your own heart over and over again.  You never let yourself have the satisfaction of being with Taehyung all because you wouldn’t let yourself believe Taehyung would ever love you.  

“Y/n,” he gently called. “Why don’t you just talk to him? I’m sure if you told him how you felt, then-” 

“There would be no point in that,” you interrupted.  “If I told him how I felt, and he didn’t return those feelings, then the whole relationship we’ve built up our entire lives would be ruined. At least if we get married as childhood friends, I can keep a piece of my happiness when I wear a ring around my finger.” 

“But, if you just-” 

“Jungkook,” you cut him off again.  “Please, just drop it.  I’ve made up my mind, you can’t change it.”  The monk yielded as he just sighed and moved to stand beside you.  Looping his arm over your shoulders, he pulled you in for a side hug. 

“Just don’t get hurt,” he whispered. 

Three days later, a ball would be held in an advanced celebration for the prince’s wedding.  The event is grand, even invitations sent to the mainland were met with positive notes and promises to attend.  You grew more and more anxious as the ball grew closer, specifically because you were going to be in charge of the first song of the evening.  

A part of you thought it unfair.  You were in charge of singing the first song for the guests in attendance. Meaning you wouldn’t be able to participate in the first dance and even more sour tasting is that Taehyung had the option to dance with whomever he chose. It was your engagement ball too, but there was no way around it- since it was the priestess’s duty to sing after all.  

Jungkook offered to take your position and perform a hymn in your stead, but you simply told him not to worry about it. He wouldn’t be attending the ball- even if he was invited- simply because he had to watch the shrine while you would be preoccupied for the day.

Everyday prior to the ball you were cooped up in vocal training and hymn precision so as to not ruin the first dance.  The morning of the ball, you only practiced once and then saved your voice for the evening of the event.  

The castle was bustling with servants and guards running to and fro, along with the steady flow of mainland guests arriving in the town’s port.  You sat somewhere in the twists and turns of the hedge maze as you tried to steady your heart.  The wind blew softly, like a blanket of comfort before you were opening your eyes to see the prince in front of you.  

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said calmly in the wind.  

“Everything’s so busy, I guess I just wanted to escape the chaos for as long as possible,” you shrugged as he came closer to you.  You slid down the bench you sat on as he moved to sit beside you.  It was silent for a time before he spoke up again. 

“Do you remember the first time you came into this maze?” You looked at him.  “You were confronted by criminals who had sneaked into the castle grounds with the intent to kidnap you. You ran into this maze, crouched into a ball and sang. I still remember that day so vividly.”  

You looked away from him as you turned your sights to your lap.  Dressed in your common gown, your hands were folded on your legs.  

“Yes, I remember.  You came to save me that day.  I remember I was so scared, then you came running around the corner and I just started crying.” You laughed bitterly at the memory.  “Next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning in my bed like always.” You paused, contemplating on if you should speak more or let the silence envelope you both.  “I guess you were always saving me, even all the way back then.” 

Taehyung watched you as you kept an eye on your lap, fiddling with your hands in the warm breeze of spring.  Your hair dancing in small wisps, almost hypnotizing him.  

“Mother told me you’re performing the song for the first dance this evening,” he opened in a new conversation.  “Which hymn have you chosen?” He asked.  

“You don’t already know?” You looked at him.  His gold scales reflecting off the sunlight.  “I thought you always listened to my songs,” you teased with a lopsided smile.  He returned the gesture back to you. 

“I’ve been trying not to listen to your songs the past few days, as to not ruin the surprise.” 

“Then, I guess you have no reason to know what I’ll be singing.” You both sat comfortably for a while and you even started thinking about actually unloading your heart to him.  Jungkook’s constant push to tell Taehyung how you felt nagging at your mind as you sat with him so calmly in the garden.  Now would be the perfect time, but it seemed you spent too much time thinking it over, you overran your chance. 

“Lady Y/n!” You sighed as you heard someone call for you from afar. Taehyung straightened his back, narrowing his eyes to the distant voice who had disturbed the peaceful atmosphere.  He looked to you when you suddenly stood and called back to them. 

“I’m here!” You shouted as you stood and looked down to Taehyung.  You smiled at him, but his eyes widened when he saw a small touch of sadness on your lips.  “I look forward to seeing who you’ll choose to partner with during the first dance tonight.” 

“Wait-” he reached out to you as he had begun to stand from the bench but you had already moved away from him. Disappearing behind the shrubs and out of his sight before he heard you conversing with a servant who was probably going to rush you off into preparations for the ball. He listened to your voice grow distant as he looked at the open palm of his, not able to remember the last time he held your hand. In that moment, the spring air felt colder to him in the sunlit maze.  

You’ve never dreaded putting on a formal gown more than now, knowing that you’d be wearing it to your engagement ball.  The dress itself was beautiful.  White lace surrounded the breast and around your waist to wrap around your entire torso before the lace ended at your hips to let the red skirt fall to the floor where more white lace hemmed the end of the skirt.  Your arms were covered in open fingered gloves that extended just past the elbow as the dress had to straps and rested on your chest. 

Your hair was partially pulled back, the fronts of your locks pulled back behind your head and pinned into a knot with a white ribbon as the rest lay on your shoulders. A servant had come into the room as a lace was being wrapped around your neck when another necklace was presented.  A small, red gem in the shape of a teardrop- apparently a gift from Taehyung for you to wear. You wore it along with the lace choker.  You could already feel the beginning of an ache in your feet from the heels that encased your ankle and enclosed your toes. 

You stood outside the ballroom entrance door, trying to gather your breath. You would typically enter the ballroom with your guest, but Taehyung would be appearing later on with his father and mother- fashionably late as royalty demanded. 

The moment you entered the ballroom, all eyes were on you along with a small murmur followed by an applause at the arrival of the lady of the hour. You just waved them calm before you took to mingling like a proper lady should.  Speaking and greeting the visitors who took the time to come to your island home, you couldn't get your throat to unclog. 

The anxiousness of singing, the dread of possible mistakes, the sorrow of not being able to dance with the rest of the ladies during the first dance and the ugly jealousy of whoever would be lucky enough to dance with Taehyung first. All of it stuck in your throat like a toad.

You jump when you feel a hand rest on the small of your back, getting your attention. You whirl around, ready to scold who dared to touch you so familiarly, but stopped short when you look up to Taehyung’s snake eyes.  

“Prince,” you muttered. His hand that was on your back moved to rest on your waist in your hasty turn.  He was dressed in a golden vest that matched his hair and compliments his eyes and scales. His white dress shirt beneath his vest was wrinkle-free and his trousers hung off his waist in perfection as the toes of his boots reflected the ballroom’s light. A royal blazer with embroidered shoulders and decorated lapels. His hair was brushed and parted, as soft looking as ever. You noticed a golden teardrop necklace with the chain tucked under his dress shirt’s collar as the gem rested on his chest.  

“You look beautiful, Y/n,” he compliments.  Your face is the same shade of your dress as you fiddled with your skirt.  You took a breath and looked up to him with a smile. 

“You look as handsome as always,” you told him, sincerity dripping off your tongue.  You lifted your hand to toy with the necklace that was given to you. “Thank you for this,” you said. He in turn touched his own golden gem that was nearly identical to yours. You looked around, not seeing the king or queen in the ballroom yet. “Where are your parents?” You asked him as he just chuckled. 

“I came early. I wanted to see you before the event started.” 

“Oh,” was your instant reply to the soft smile on his face.  You cleared your throat as you gathered your thoughts and changed the topic. “So, have you decided on someone to dance with while I sing?” You ask as cheerfully as you could muster.  Your resolve faltered at the look the prince gave you without speaking. Maybe he hadn’t been asked yet? 

“I won’t be participating in the first dance,” he declared with a slightly dipped brow.  “Why would I, knowing that my fiance wouldn’t be my partner?” He grabbed your hand. “I will dance and mingle through the night just as I’m expected to, but if you cannot dance in the event’s opening, then neither will I.” 

Your face grew rosy.  His words were heavy on your heart and squeezed your chest like you were drowning.  Would he ever be aware of just how much his words mean to you? Would he realize one day that everything he tells you and every praise he sings made you want to crumble under the weight of your unspoken, suffocating feelings? 

Eventually, the elder royal couple of Serpent Castle had made their appearance and your presence was requested at the back of the room in preparation. As you spoke with the instrumentalists who would replace your voice through the remainder of the night after your song, you instructed them to stay silent and keep their instruments hushed until you were finished. 

As the opening was announced, partners were grabbed, the floor was scattered with pairs and Taehyung stood behind you, his hands tucked informally into the pockets of his trousers as he watched your back. Then, you sang.  

The hymn was something Taehyung hadn’t heard before.  He had heard you sing up close before, often coming by the shrine at early morning or late evenings just to hear it clearly rather than through his serpent’s blood.  He did not recognize this hymn, yet it resonated so clearly with his serpent counterpart as his blood felt like it was getting warmer behind his skin.  It raised goosebumps on his skin under his clothes and made the hair on the back of his neck stand. 

Whatever this new hymn was, it was immediately his favorite. The flutters it put in his chest made him remove his hand from his pocket just to push his palm against his breast. He felt his heart pound under his palm as he just stared at your back with wide eyes of awe. 

When the hymn was over and the first dance of the evening concluded, there was a round of applause for your unparalleled performance and then the instrumentalists finally took over.  

You felt a weight off your chest as you sighed in relief. You had performed well in your opinion. Not missing your notes or beat, but then again it would be harder to do an official hymn rather than the one you sung.  

“Y/n,” you heard Taehyung call behind you.  Turning, you saw his eyes shining brighter than usual- perhaps it was the ballrooms light gleaming in them. “That hymn, I hadn’t heard that before.” 

“Oh, well it’s because I composed that hymn myself.” You opened your hand and started counting on your fingers. “I suppose it was a few weeks ago, but I have begun writing my own hymns- just to see if perhaps they would be as effective as those written in our books.” You lowered your hand back to your side. “I hope it wasn’t distasteful to you,” 

“It was magnificent,” he breathed in truth. “I hope you sing it often so I may hear it.” 

“I-,” you stuttered at the compliments, “of course. If that’s what you wish, then it shall be my Prince.”  

Taehyung quickly reached for and took your hand, holding it tightly as he pulled you beside him. “Come,” he told you. Leading you out among the peoples in the rooms as they danced to the tunes played by the men who plucked strings and blew into flutes.  “Be my first dance,” he smiled.  “It may not be the first, but it shall be our first dance.” 

Taehyung’s hand re-positioned in yours as his other rested on your waist as you gripped his shoulder and your feet were soon slotted beside each other.  Your chest brushing against his as the next song had begun and your feet moved with the harp and flutes tune. 

Taehyung spoke as you danced, speaking of the upcoming wedding and it’s preparations.  The set up and guest attendance will be filled with all the people in the ballroom currently, leading to him telling you that they would all be staying on the island until the wedding had concluded.  The ceremony was hopefully going to be quick and not a drawn out afternoon, as you got choked up just thinking about it.  

Of course, the toughest part of it all would be vows.  

Your vows specifically.  You briefly wondered if in your vows that fateful day of union, you would admit to him finally that you had loved him for such a long time. Or, should you keep your secret locked up in your heart forever as to not ruin what could be a happy enough marriage. You shook your head, it was clearly Jungkook’s insistent pushing to make you confess getting to you.  You had already made your mind up, you couldn’t change it now. 

The song of harp and whistles ended and you almost immediately drew yourself away from your husband-to-be.  Before he could reach out and stop you from retreating he was flocked with all sorts of visitors.  Women asking to dance- to which he cannot refuse- and men wishing to converse of trade and business with him.  He watched over a sea of heads as you ran off until he couldn’t see you anymore. 

You had retreated to a wall hidden by a table with glass flutes of a sweet alcohol. Typically, you avoided the beverages, but just this once you decided to indulge just a little.  It was a white wine, clear as crystal but not as delightful to drink as the fountain's shrine water. 

“Good evening, My Lady,” a man addressed from beside you.  You were unaware of his approach and his opening startled you. Turning, you saw a man who was undoubtedly from somewhere far inland you imagined.  “I am Duke Lethan. I watch over a small country stead far from the coast of the mainland. I must say, your song earlier was beautiful.” 

His flattery felt nothing like Taehyung’s words.  His cheap words did not make your heart flutter or your stomach toss.  Though, he was being kind and so as to not ruin the merry mood of the ball, you humored him- as much as you wanted to be left alone.  

“Thank you very much, kind Duke.” You spent a small amount of energy carrying general conversation with the duke of the mainland as you kept your guard up. You never did trust the men from off the island, your recent visit abroad having one too many encounters with rude, entitled ones. 

You smiled when you were cued to smile, and you laughed at his small attempts at humble humor, but you just wished for the conversation to end and him to be on his way. Instead, he began to persist in the idea of a dance with you. 

Trying to politely decline the offer, he tried convincing you- obviously not taking no for an answer.  Ready to put your foot down, merrymaking be damned, you felt that familiar hand on your back before it slid around to encase your waist and rest just above your white laced stomach.  It was no surprise- or perhaps it was- to see Taehyung at your side as he held you to his chest. 

“I do believe she’s already refused a dance.  Go find a different partner if you would, Duke Lethan.” Not in a position of authority to begin to argue, the duke just lowered his head and went on his way into the crowd to find some other poor woman to give in to his pressure. “Y/n,” he called as you looked up at him from where you were once watching the duke retreat.  “Dance with me again just once more.” 

He had been watching you as soon as he could locate you after you left him after your dance.  When that duke approached you and started making you smile, something in his chest lurched.  He felt irked just knowing you were conversing so happily with a stranger and not with him.  He was distracted as he danced with a lady from the mainland and he quickly left her abandoned mid-song at the look of distress on your face when the duke wouldn’t depart from your presence.  

However, he would never disclose that to you. He didn’t even understand how he felt, all he knew was that he felt better when you were beside him like this.  

“I’d be honored to dance with you again, my Prince,” you agreed with a smile up at him and the pain in his chest soothed instantly.  You chalked it up to your imagination, but it felt like during this dance Taehyung held you tighter than before. 

As the evening finally started dwelling down, guests started dismissing themselves back to their temporary rooms in the castle or back into town where their room in a local Inn was waiting for them.  You were standing outside the ballroom, fiddling with your necklace. Exhausted from the evening of non-stop mingling and dancing.  

Taehyung had pulled you away from a handful of men who seemed a bit ‘too interested in his fiance’, he claimed.  You danced with him each time he did so. 

“Y/n,” Taehyung called behind you.  You startled, not expecting to be found in your little nook away from the dwindling down madness.  He came to stand beside you, his golden eyes and scales seemed to grow faintly in the dimly lit halls of his castle. “Are you well?” 

You felt a lot of things tonight.  The burning eyes of mainland damsels on your back when you danced with the prince they knew they couldn’t even begin to woo because he simply didn’t give them the time. The watching eyes of older couples of tradition who thought it unjust for a simple priestess to marry into royalty.  The sly eyes of men who wanted to dance to you and maybe catch a grip of something more- not that you’d allow that.  And the squeezing of your heart whenever Taehyung held you and danced. 

You sighed, making Taehyung take a step closer as he raised his arm to rest on your bicep, stroking it in comfort. 

“I just,” you cut yourself off with closed eyes and a breath. “I’m just overwhelming myself and thinking about something.” 

Taehyung moved to stand closer, grabbing your arm and hooking it around and under his own as his hip was next to you.  He smiled down at you as he started walking forward, pulling you with him lightly. 

“We’ll take a walk outside. Fresh air will help,” he told you in promise.  Maybe the moonlight would shed away your worries- you could only hope. You were hardly aware of where Taehyung was leading you as you were so lost in your head.  The fact that the man beside you was going to marry you in just a matter of days spiraled in your head like a hurricane. As did the doubt of if he even wanted to. 

When you finally noticed you had been walking with him in silence for a while, you clocked back into reality and realized he had taken you back to the garden maze.  This same maze is where you first truly realized you were in love with Taehyung and would be for the rest of your life- even if you were so young back then. 

When you were in danger, and you sang- it was him who came running. It was him who found you in the maze and it was him who held you as you cried yourself into unconsciousness.  

It was also this maze where you both sat just hours before that same day, talking in the sunlight that felt so comfortable.  The spot where you realized you were going to marry your childhood playmate. Your one and only love interest and also your kingdom’s precious prince who was filled with serpent blood.  It was this Taehyung who would be your husband and your feet stopped. 

You halted in his step as your arm slipped from around his where it rested and he jerked when he felt it fall and slip away from him.  He stood in front of you, half turned back to see your arm fall back to your side and your chin dipped.  

The way the moon cast a shadow over your body should have been a romanticized look of an ethereal priestess, but the way you stood and avoided eye contact only made it grim. The prince felt his stomach twist as he straightened his back as you lifted your head to look directly at him for the first true time tonight. 

His golden eyes widened a fraction at yours, seeing something in them waver and shake.  It pinned his feet in place. Stood frozen in a half turned state, facing you as your fists balls behind the skirt of your dress, wrinkling the palm of your gloves. 

“Be honest with me, Taehyung,” you called, foregoing his title and addressing him by name.  It made his hair stand.  “Are you going to be happy marrying me?” The prince parted his lips as he looked at you incredulously. Did you not want to marry him? Was that it? Was that what was weighing so heavily on your mind? 

Ever since he could remember, ever since he got engaged to you so long ago in youth, he had known this day would come. He knew a celebration would come and a wedding would soon follow. He knew you were going to become his wife and a princess along with your priestess role.  He had always known, and he had always been impatient waiting for all those moments to come. Now, they had and he was so caught up in himself and his own feelings- had he been wrong to think maybe you’d want to marry him too? 

“Do you regret agreeing to marry me, perhaps?” He asked in answer to your question, still not giving you a proper answer. Your fisted hands uncurled just enough to ensnare your skirt’s cloth as you squeezed them shut once again. 

“That isn’t it,” you harshly breathed.  Denying so strongly that, that isn’t how you felt.  “I’m- gods, I’m overjoyed that I get this chance. I am- just,” you took a calming breath. “I want to know if you’re doing this because you want to, or because your parents told you to.” You felt guilty, playing the card of his parents. He hadn’t often gone against their wishes because they were mostly reasonable people. You feared this engagement was just another order to him. 

“You mean,” he stuttered, finally turning fully around to face you. Still not daring to step closer yet in fear you’d turn and run from the tense air. “You don’t know?” You flinched under his words, thinking for a split moment he was reaffirming that this was because his parents thought it was for the best. “I never knew you thought I didn’t want this marriage to happen. I’ve always been under the impression we agreed to this because we both wanted it.” 

You looked at him with a twisted brow.  What? What does that mean? Before you could ask him, a tear slid down his cheek.  Falling over his golden scales from his equally as gold eyes.  You gasped, stepping closer to him and the moment your hand caressed his cheek and your thumb touched under his eyes, he felt like he could breathe again. 

“Why are you crying, my Prince? Don’t cry, please,” you pleaded.  “I apologize, I should have kept it to myself,” you tried to fix the situation, but the hiccup that leapt from his throat at your words only seemed to worsen it all. 

“Tell me,” he choked as he sniffed and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “How do you feel about me as a husband?” 

“I-,” you hesitated. You could lie, tell him a fib to appease him. Though, if you did- you’d just be biting into your very own poison apple. You wouldn’t lie anymore.  “I love you, and I do want to marry you. I have ever since we were little because I’ve always loved you, Taehyung.” The word vomit spilled out in quick sentences, thinking that the speed of the words would hurt less coming out.  

The prince crumbled, his knees weakening as he grabbed your hands and pushed them further against his face.  His palm covering the back of your hand as his crying grew louder.  You panicked. 

Taehyung fell to his perfectly ironed knees as he kept your hands on his face, weeping. You panicked above him as he reeled into his mind- coming to such sudden realizations. You had been the only constant in his life aside form his very own family. You were always beside him, helping him and learning with him.  You helped him when you were little and you were helping him even now.  

Since when did you really grow up? When did he fall in love with you? 

He was so ignorant of his feelings, he had pushed them off as- he didn’t even know what.  Perhaps, he’s always known- but was too cowardly to admit it to himself and confront that love.  All while he sat in his ignorance, you were withering in your admission and acceptance to how you felt.  For so long, you had been growing more tired and the ache in your chest just kept growing because of him. 

He cracked his eyes open from their squeezed state when he felt your hand move under his to wipe his tears. Your figure was blurry, blending in with the moonlight in the maze when he snatched your wrist and yanked you towards him.  

He sighed when you fell down against his chest.  His breath stuttered with his exhale as he started to finally calm down.  

“I promise to take better care of it,” he started in a stiff, nasally tone. “So, please, give your heart to me and I’ll give you mine in return.” When you stiffened in his hold, he tightened his arms around you, burying his face into your neck where you could feel the chill of his tears on your skin. “I love so much about you, I can’t think of where to begin. Let me be selfish one more time when I ask you to never stop loving me. Because, I don’t think I can stop loving you either.” 

You’re not sure when your tears started falling, but there they were. Trailing down your cheeks and dripping off your chin as you rested against the prince’s shoulder. You just nodded, not trusting your voice.  

The two of you sat, kneeling in the middle of this garden maze crying for what seemed like an eternity before you both finally were able to talk to each other without tears or hiccups.  At the end of the night, Taehyung felt it far too difficult to let go of your hand when he walked you back to your room. 

“Mother,” Taehyung rushed into his parents’ room where the queen was sat at the balcony window, a cup of tea in her hands raised to her lips. “Have you seen Y/n, this morning?” 

“My, you seem to be in a hurry. Did something happen?” His mother’s question made the prince’s cheeks bloom before she was setting her cup down on it’s saucer before replacing it on the windowsill.  “Did you finally admit that you loved the girl?” She chuckled as Taehyung’s chip dropped and his mouth opened.  

“You knew?” He asked, astonished.  

“Call it a mother’s instinct, darling.” She teased.  “Plus,” she chuckled at the state of her son, “your shirt is half tucked in and your cloak isn’t properly clipped.” She rose from her chair and strode to her son’s front, properly latching the golden string across his chest to let the royal violet cloak rest on his shoulders like it should. “Must have been in a rush to see her, huh?” 

“I suppose so,” he smiled down at the top of his mother’s head.  “I’ve been putting her through so much during our years of engagement, I don’t want to be away from her when I don’t need to be.” 

“That’s a big admission from the Serpent Prince, isn’t it,” she jokes as Taehyung smiled wider and shook his head.  He knew she didn’t just see him as the ‘serpent prince’, and neither did his father.  It was just a long running tease from when he confronted them about his ‘destiny’ when he was a kid- birthed from your young, innocent advice.  His smile softened, another realization that opened in his mind of you. “Y/n was called for an early singular devotion. The waves were rough, so she set out to pray in the fountain at dawn.” 

Taehyung stepped away from the queen, thanking her before kissing her cheek and rushing off.  She just chuckled as she readied a story to tell the king when he came out of his morning shower.  

The shrine was deathly quiet as he walked through the doors as quietly as possible.  For single devotions, it was required for the center priestess or priest at the time of management to be alone in the shrine for prayers. It would heighten concentration of spiritual power. 

As soon as he entered, he could feel your power flowing through the shrine's interior like ribbons. He was one of a small circle of people who could enter the shrine anytime without reason no matter the devotion or time- a perk of being the descent of the island god. He walked through to the center fountain and just as he figured, there you were.  

Your back was to him as you were knelt in the fountain water. Your hands were clasped in front of you as your head was dipped, eyes shut and lost in your conscience. He leaned against a pillar, silent as he watched you. It was absolutely silent as you prayed, but he could stand there and watch you do nothing all day and be content.  

He pushed off the pillar when you shivered and then gasped with a jolt.  Losing your sense of balance, you teetered to the side, splashing your hand into the fountain to stop yourself from falling in completely.  The water splashed up into your face and clung to your already soaked, white prayer robe.  

He stopped mid step when you turned to look over your shoulder, seeing him there.  He felt like he had just got caught in a crime, though he was technically not breaking any rules. He saw you exhale a breath, your rigid back deflating into a terrible sense of posture.  

“It was just you, my Prince,” you breathed.  You sat back up, moving to stand from your kneeling in the water as you turned to walk out of the fountain. Taehyung rushed to the fountain’s wall, offering you his hand as you took it and watched your feet as you stepped out.  

Water followed you in a small wave when you hopped over the fountain wall and the shrine’s marble floor became wet as your robe dripped more water along it.  Your robe was nearly translucent.  

Taehyung could see the pink of your thighs and stomach all the way up to your ribs and around your back and bum.  It was proper attire to only wear a single white robe and nothing more when in singular devotion- a reason as to why it had to be cleared of all others in the shrine was to keep the body of the priest or priestess hidden from other’s eyes.  

He quickly unclipped his royal robe from it’s golden string and slung it off and around his shoulders to quickly wrap it around your wet body instead.  You greatly accepted the cover, hiding your body and what could be seen behind it’s thick, warm fabric. 

“What brings you here this morning?” You ask up to him, drops of water falling from strands of your hair.  Taehyung smiled at you, lifting those wet strands and putting them over your shoulder before he leaned to quickly kiss you.  When he stood up, you just covered your lips with your fingertips and a flushed face.  

“I wanted to see you as soon as possible, that’s all.” He gently led you to sit on the fountain wall as he sat beside you and before you could call him cheeky, you both were conversing like before.  Or, perhaps it was easier than before- talking to each other. “We’re getting married soon,” he happily reminded you as if you didn’t already start counting the days. 

“I’m very aware,” you humor him as you pull the cloak further around your shoulders. Taehyung placed his head on your shoulder and days later, when the wedding was held he was anxious all day. 

Unable to see you until the ceremony, he was restless while you were being groomed up and down, while Jungkook stood back and laughed, watching it all happen.  The prince was able to breathe again when you stood beside him as vows were spoken and promises made with them. 

You walked out of the shrine a married woman that afternoon.  That evening, you slept beside your husband and you woke up, not only a priestess, but a princess too. 

- END - 

[aiikawarazu]

Hourglass Chapter #22

Title: Blue & Grey

Rated: M

Summary: Blue was the color of ocean. Grey was the color of sky in winter. In March of that year, before the cold winter melted into spring, these group of adolescents at the very center of this story experienced love, pain, heartbreak, and joy. Life was a series of choices, after all. And it was as mysterious as it could be.

FFNet here || AO3 here (AO3 is late update)

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

In March of that year, Armin found a ring.

Ymir lost her job, while Historia got a letter.

In March of that year, Ayako finally fell in love, while Mikasa fell into despair.

But for a short while, in March, they had all experienced happiness in various sorts of ways.

March was the moment which witnessed many strange happenings. Some bonds were broken, while others were strengthened. At the beginning, no one could have seen how these seemingly random events were all connected, but then again, perhaps none of them were a coincidence.

Even months, and years after that, Mikasa still sometimes thought to herself – what would happen if she had chosen to do things differently?

If she had given a different answer, would things turn out the way did?

Or, was everything a predetermined setup from the beginning, flowing in one direction towards the inevitable outcome?

If only she had the answer to that.

It was a tale in the strange city of Shiganshina – when the weather was about to turn from piercing cold to warm, when the icy winter was about to give away into spring. Along with the coming of spring, these adolescents in the very center of this story had also melted away their youths into maturity.

It had all started on one chilly winter afternoon, when Armin picked up a lost ring.

- Winter Flower: Daffodil -

At first, Armin wasn't really sure whose ring it was. As usual, he was on his way home from school to the train station. Eren and Mikasa were off somewhere together that afternoon. They had been together a lot as of lately and to be honest, Armin knew what's going on between them. There was such subtle openness in the way they were casually behaving in one another's presence now – as though it was just natural for one of them to be with the other, just like the waves and the sea being of one existence. It was as if they had known each other for all their lives, even those hellish months full of fights and misunderstandings in September last year up to this January now felt like something that had happened a long, long time ago, probably from another lifetime. Indeed, life was as mysterious as it could be – a lot of things were set in motion after he met Eren and Mikasa, and the rest was history.

If only Armin knew, that him walking these streets today was also history in the making. Life was a series of choices, after all.

He was walking in a hurry in an attempt to catch the next train in five minutes – when suddenly he felt his foot kick a peculiar object on the side of the pavement. The small sound of metal clink brought the object to his notice. The circular thing glistened a little under winter sunlight, rolled half a meter away before losing balance and fell sideways, circling a few times before it finally settled down on the ground. Armin frowned. Carefully, he made a few steps to approach the object and slowly picked it up, feeling curiosity rising inside him.

A ring.

He turned the object in his hands. It was a modest ring, made out of metal and silver. Judging from the color, it was certainly not a new one. It had been worn out due to age – but at the same time, this ring was beautifully polished, proof that the owner was taking a good care of it despite of its age. If it was such an important thing – the owner must be looking for it now.

Armin ran his fingers on the outer circle. The size was small, the owner was probably a woman. He tried to turn it around for more clues. Could this ring belong to someone in Shiganshina North? It could be. After all, all the students had to travel past this road if they wanted to reach the station. And Armin knew that for a fact, a lot of students went to school by train.

If this belongs to a student – I could easily give it at school, Armin thought. He tried to look for name engravings, and his eyes glistened in silent triumph when he finally found it. There, on the inside of the ring, was engraved the name of a person, most likely the owner of that ring, in cursive letters.

Annie L.

"Annie…" Armin brows furrowed at the name. He was plunged deep in thought for a few seconds. The name seemed to ring a strange bell in his brain – he had heard that name somewhere… only he couldn't remember it.

Was there a student named Annie in their school? He couldn't recall anyone in his year – but she could be a first or third year. He stood still for a moment, the mysterious ring still intertwined between his fingers. Annie… What if she wasn't a student in his school after all? Shouldn't he be turning this to the police as a lost item?

He tried hard to remember. Every time it seemed like he was so close to remembering, his memories went up and over like thin smokes. He gave out a sigh of frustration. He couldn't let it go.

At that moment, Armin didn't know why he did it. He could have made a detour to the police before resuming his walk to the train station. He could have turned the ring in as a lost item – it was the most sensible thing to do. Armin was usually a pretty sensible person. But this time – just this time, something stopped him from doing it. Probably because he wanted to know who Annie was. Probably because he wanted to find out why exactly she took a really good care of such a modest, old ring. Or probably – because the image of this ring itself had made him curious about the owner.

Whatever the reason was, he squeezed the item carefully inside his hand and slipped it in his pocket. Then, he continued his walk toward the station, as if nothing happened. He had chosen to keep that ring.

- Winter Flower: Plum Blossom -

It was a chilly afternoon indeed. Even though it was March, the temperature was still freezing. Not a weather Jean would have preferred for this activity he was about to carry, but still he couldn't have chosen any other day.

He washed his face with the freezing cold water, turned the tap shut, and faced his expression in the foggy bathroom mirror. He looked scared. Scared, but ready.

"You got this," he said to himself as he slapped both hands to either side of his face. It was an attempt to bring him down to reality, a slap of truth on the face that he needed to have to perform this action. Swiftly he walked out to the bathroom, past the corridors, ran down the stairs, and finally reached the central courtyard.

And there she was, sitting on a bench at the far end of that courtyard. She wasn't looking at him, instead, she was looking upward toward the sky – it was almost as if she was waiting for the skies to open, and snow to fall.

Without wasting any chance, Jean drew in a deep breath and called.

"Mikasa!"

The girl turned to him.

"Jean?" she said, sounding both surprised and confused. He knew why she was behaving that way, of course. He would have to explain it to her.

"Ishijima told me you'd be here."

"Ayako..?" for a moment Mikasa seemed to be processing the fact, until she connected the dots together, and a hint of understanding finally passed on her face.

"She set me up, didn't she?" Mikasa asked, and Jean nodded, looking a bit guilty. "Yeah… I kinda… asked her a favor," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry for that."

Mikasa drew a long sigh and shifted uncomfortably on the bench, deliberately not looking at the boy standing before him. This air, this awkwardness and tension between them… she knew where this was going and she didn't like it. Damn it, Ayako. Why would she set her up like this? She already knew what's going to happen anyway.

"I just… I have something to say to you," she heard Jean say, and suddenly, her chest seemed to weigh a ton. She drew in another long, deep sigh and closed her eyes.

This was exactly the roots of all trouble, the beginning of it all. All the hurricane that seemed to turn her school life upside down had started from here. It was so simple really, just one event, and one wrong decision from her side.

But that one decision had branched into another mistake, and then another one, and… soon it had developed into a web caused by her series of bad decisions that slowly entangled her and trapped her inside. If there was one thing she did not understand back then when she rejected Jean, it's the fact that what happened between two persons were never only about the two of them.

She had thought that what happened between her and Jean was a matter between them both – but it was a clear mistake. It was not, and it never was. There will always be something, someone else – be it Nanako or other people, who were just as interested, as invested emotionally as both of them –in that relationship. These people's feelings would then become intricated, tangled, and as a result – all the emotions came together to cause complications that happened down the road. She was never an expert in interpersonal relationship – she didn't quite know how to deal with human emotions. A single mistake could cause a whole lot of chain reaction, which triggered the other events. But deep down, she might have known that this was an event that was bound to happen. Sh was going to have to face this, no matter what road she chose.

Slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes again to look at Jean. It took almost all of her to not run away from the spot. Jean looked conflicted, there was a lot of emotions on his face that she couldn't name. For a while, she thought of a way she should end this, in the least painful way possible, but then there was something on his eyes that just left her in a quiet reservation.

His sharp golden eyes spoke neither of hope nor anticipation. Those eyes just spoke of sorrow. They spoke of defeat. Somehow, it was the only emotion that kept her grounded. And in the next moment, she regained her senses back.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?" she asked.

She knew what was coming, she knew she might make another mistake here – just as that time when she rejected Jean but said that they could still be friends, when she accepted his invite but stood him up on their dates, twice – and when she decided to tell Nanako that she knew her feelings for Jean. She knew, and she wanted to offer her support, but Nanako just so mercilessly slapped her hands away, before proceeding to shatter their friendship to pieces. She had made countless mistakes back then – what would happen this time if she made yet another bad decision? When the inevitable happens, what then?

"I want you to know that I've given up on you."

Jean's words prompted Mikasa to look at him in surprise. There was a long silence when she gathered her thoughts, but Jean didn't interrupt her. He was looking at her, but he didn't say anything.

"What?" she opened her mouth, but that was all she could say.

"I give up," Jean repeated. "I give up chasing you, on liking you. I give up trying to make you look at me. I realize… that I am mighty stubborn at times. But I really… I want you to know that… it all ends today. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable before. Sometimes… I just cannot help it. I couldn't control my feelings and I caused you trouble. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," she said before she could stop herself. "Jean, you're not at fault. I'm –"

"No, listen to me, Mikasa," he interrupted her gently, and she was silent, only her eyes imploring him to go on.

"I know I haven't got a fair chance on you. Even before Yeager came in… before all this shitstorm happened… I told you how I felt already but I got rejected. I should have given up then but I was too stubborn… I couldn't accept defeat, especially, my pride wouldn't allow me to give in. So… I kept going, over and over to chase you. I did like you but at some point…," he paused. "I realized, it might have been more about my pride than my feelings toward you."

His sorrow was replaced by something else now, a quiet, more subtle emotion. It was resignation.

"So… that's why I'm here today. To admit my defeat. Like I said… it all ends today."

"Jean…," she started, but then stopped. She didn't know what to say. She surely didn't expect any of this, but she was even more surprised that Jean would admit that the real reason he kept chasing her was because he didn't want to lose… because of his pride. For a while, she wanted to say sorry – sorry for all the things she did to him, for rejecting him and getting him entangled in her mess… It was almost at the tip of her tongue, but then, another word came up.

"Thank you, Jean," she said quietly. She could see his eyes widened in surprise. "For telling me this," she elaborated. "Thank you."

There was a speck of relief in his eyes. He was not sure how he expected her to take this – to be honest, he was actually prepared for feeling even worse, to admit a crushing defeat, but her words of gratitude set a huge burden off his chest.

"Well I guess…," he said to fill in the long stretch of uneasy silence between them, "I guess I should… thank you too." He shot her an awkward smile, which she returned just as nervously. Again, she heaved a deep sigh, and shot an upward glance.

"It's too cold here, we should –" but at that time, something caught her attention.

"It's blooming," she said almost in a whisper.

"Pardon?" asked Jean, clearly not following her. She pointed upwards, toward the tree branches that stretched above the park bench she had sat on earlier. "The flowers," she said. He followed her finger, and immediately understood what she meant.

When he found her earlier, she wasn't looking at the sky. She wasn't expecting the sky to open, or a heavy snowfall. She was probably looking upwards at these.

"Plum blossom," the said both in unison, and stared at each other in surprise.

"You didn't strike me as someone who knew about flowers," she commented, her surprised expression had changed into a somewhat soft smile.

"I guess… there are some things you might not know about me," Jean shrugged and answered rather bashfully. "I can see why you are excited, though," he shot an upwards glace again at the plum blossom buds, which had begun to blossom silently in the cold weather. "It takes a while for them to bloom this year."

"They bloom in the most adverse weather," he heard her say. "In the coldest winter climate – they survive and blossom. Don't you think it's amazing?" He stared at her face, which had softened considerably. She was still silently admiring the early blooms. He could sense a somewhat deeper meaning behind her words, but he couldn't dare to probe.

"I agree," he said finally. "People say flowers are weak because they live only for a short while, but for sure they're stronger than us. I mean… look at us now." He suddenly realized that he had been shivering. It was damn cold. "Listen, it's been a good talk, but we should probably go inside, yeah? Let's not catch cold."

Mikasa laughed. It was probably the first time ever that Jean was able to make her laugh, and he was taken aback.

"You were the one who asked to meet me here," she said. "Idiot."

Wow. That's two times she made him surprised today. The entire time he knew her, she never used any kind of bad words, even those that people normally considered as mild profanities.

"You have changed," he commented. Only after seeing her look of surprise did he realize that he had been saying it out loud… yet again. He covered his mouth in embarrassment. Him and his big mouth. One of these days, he should really learn to control it. But since he already said it anyway….

"Is it Yeager?" he asked. For a long while, Mikasa didn't speak. Her hand jumped to the red scarf she always had around her neck. It was just lately that she began wearing it, Jean had never seen her with it earlier, and yet, these days she was almost never seen without it. Mikasa tightened the scarf nervously, burying her lower face in it. Jean could still see her face glowing with hint of scarlet. Her reaction had said it all.

"Alright, I won't ask again," he said, sounding resigned. He was somewhat satisfied to have found his answer, though it did hurt a bit. But he had known this for a long while, so what difference did it make? He considered her again carefully, and speak, from the bottom of his heart this time.

"You look happier these days, Mikasa. I'm happy for you."

Beneath her scarf, Mikasa silently thanked him with a grateful smile.

***

"So? How did it go?" Jean just slipped his uniform open to change it with a T-shirt for a drama club practice, when a voice made him turn.

"Ishijima!" he yelled. "This is boys' locker room."

"You know no one cares about that rule," said Ayako, walking leisurely toward him and sitting on the bench nearby. "What did Mikasa say?"

"No – still, this is invasion of privacy, you know."

"What did Mikasa say?" Ayako asked again, more urge in her voice this time. Jean sighed.

"What else could she say? And just so you know, I did not confess. I went there to tell her that I'd give up on chasing her."

"Oh –" this came as a surprise to Ayako. Then, after a slight pause, "Jean… I'm so sorry."

"Don't be – it was my decision." He finished putting on a T-shirt and closed his locker with a clank. "And if anything… I was wrong about her." Ayako looked curious at this statement.

"About what?"

"Well," Jean sent her a sideways glance before continuing. "How should I say it… I think she's changed. The old Mikasa that I knew… she was beautiful but so cold, you know? It was like she never had life instilled in her. But these days, she's more… lively. I mean.. she called me an idiot for having her to meet me outside in the cold." Ayako burst out laughing.

"You probably deserved," she said. "Were you surprised?"

"Took the life out of me," Jean replied sarcastically. "It was Yeager after all… right?" he directed this question at Ayako, who only replied with a discreet smile.

"So you don't want to answer too? Damn it," Jean sighed. "Anyway, I'm over her now, I just wish her plenty of happiness." He shrugged, and began to walk toward the exit.

"You know, Jean..," he could hear Ayako call him from behind, but his words exploded before he could help it.

"I know… I sound like a loser, don't I?"

I wish you plenty of happiness was a bunch of bullshit. It took him a lot of courage to say that. To swallow his own pride, his own feelings for her, and to admit that he would bow out gracefully and declare defeat. It was a defining moment where he decided that he should never look at her again with a different feeling other than friends.

And still, in that damn little corner of his mind, there was a small voice that never wanted to shut up.

I wish you all the happiness. But when will I get my own happiness?

"Don't say that," said Ayako, rising up from the bench. She walked nearer to him, and sent a gentle squeeze on his arm. "How about… a consolation date?"

Jean turned, and regarded the brown-haired girl with a surprised look.

"What?"

"I'm free this Saturday," she said playfully. "So… let's have a date." Jean blinked a few times.

"Are you… are you joking, or…?"

"Really…. Are you seriously going to hurt a girl's feelings after I ask you out like this?" Ayako crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Are you free this Saturday, or not?"

"I –" It took a while for Jean to process her question. She really was serious.

"Of course. I'm free," he finally relented.

"Great!" she broke into a smile, and Jean was taken aback. For a split second, with smile lighting up her face, Ayako did look positively lovely. "Let's decide where to go later after practice then. See you!"

And with that, she trotted out of the locker room, leaving Jean in stunned silence.

- Winter Flower: Camellia -

"You can't do this," Ymir said, half in desperation, as she stared to the person standing in front of her – who returned her plea with a very cold expression.

"I'm sorry."

"No!" Ymir screamed. "What are you saying… you can't just – up and fire someone like that, you know? I'm – I'm the longest employed staff here, I never come late to work, never caused any trouble, why… why are you doing this?"

"Like I said," the staff who stood before her repeated with the same cold, bored expression. "This is boss's decision."

"Then let me talk to boss!"

"No use. That's why he wanted me to talk to you instead."

Ymir clenched her fists, her breath hitched up her throat in frustration. "I've got bills to pay, Takagi-san," she said, trying to keep her voice down, "You know I live alone, you know how my situation is, right? The boss knows too! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Business isn't exactly easy these days," Takagi replied with a sour smile.

"And so is my life!" Ymir's voice rose again. "If you fire me, I won't have any source of income, how… how am I supposed to live?" she clutched the front of her shirt, trying very hard to keep her emotions in check. "Are you telling me to go out there and die, Takagi-san?"

"Enough!" Takagi raised his voice too now. "The boss has already done enough for you, Ymir! Don't you realize it? We're employing an underage kid here, in a bar! We falsified your age and thanks to the boss, we never got discovered though we've come pretty close to it many, many times! Who do you think covered for your ass all those times?" Ymir looked away in guilt. It was true, the boss was the only one who took her in and employed her here despite her being underage after hearing about her situation. Thanks to that, she was able to cover for her rent, bills, and tuition for school. If not for the boss' kindness, she would be wasting away out there in the street since a long time ago.

"You should be in the social service, not here," Takagi told her, and Ymir eyed him with deep resentment. "I'm saying the truth," he said, not wavering under Ymir's look of profound distaste. You are underage, you are still in school. You shouldn't be working here. After shift is over today, pack your things." Ymir didn't say anything, she only looked down with her fists still clenched. Takagi sighed, then slowly put his arms on Ymir's shoulders.

"You need to be where you belong, Ymir."

She shook his hands away. "What do you know about where I belong?" She shot back sharply, her eyes glistened of fury, but also of tears. "In the end, you're just trying to make yourself feel good about this decision, aren't you? You kicked me out, and now I won't have money to survive! What a bunch of bullshit, saying you do this for my sake!" she shouted bitterly, and slammed her fist to her locker door in her anger outburst. She ignored Takagi's hurtful and surprised expression. Why was he the one acting like he's hurt – when clearly she was the one being kicked out here?

"If you want me out, fine! I don't need until the end of this shift. I'll get out now!" She grabbed her bag and her coat, and dashed to the exit, eyes blinded by tears. She felt angry, but more than that – she felt miserable. Once again, someone she thought she knew had betrayed her trust. Once again, she was left with no place in this world.

***

A sound of broken glass from her sister's room alarmed Frieda Reiss. She ran upstairs, and immediately knocked on her bedroom door.

"Historia?" she asked worriedly, "What happened? Are you alright?" after a few seconds of tense silence, she was relieved to finally hear her sister reply.

"Yes… I'm fine."

Her voice sounded a bit shaky and Frieda raised her eyebrows, looking unconvinced.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes… I'm sorry, I'm just a little bit tired. I knocked over the cup when I was moving some stuff," she answered again. Then, after a slight pause, "I'll clean this up immediately and go to sleep, I'm sorry…"

"That's fine," Frieda said. "Do you need any help?"

"No… I'm alright. Thank you," she said politely.

"If you say so," Frieda said, and she began to walk away from her sister's door. Inside, Historia waited until she heard her sister's footsteps going away down the stairs, then sighed in relief. Hurriedly, she gazed down to the letter in her hand. It looked like an ordinary, simple letter. The envelope had an ivory hue, the thickness indicated that it was of good quality. It might have passed for a wedding invitation, had it not been for the wax seal on the front of the envelope bearing an intricate capital letter 'R'. Once Historia saw the wax symbol, she knew who that letter was from, and that's practically why she dropped the cup she was holding on the other hand.

She glanced at the sender's name scribbled on the bottom right of the envelope, her heart racing when she saw the name.

Rod Reiss.

- Snow Flower -

Armin lay on his bed, his hair still damp from shower, carefully holding up the ring he just found back in the afternoon between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

Annie.

He knew he had heard that name somewhere. He tried racking his brain, tried searching the internet for it – for an Annie that lived in Shiganshina, but there were too many results that he couldn't possibly dig in one by one.

Was he behaving stupid right now? What if the owner was frantically searching for her lost ring? Why didn't he just turn it in to the police station?

Maybe tomorrow I should just wait for the owner to show up near the place I found this ring, Armin thought. She will show up, and I can tell her I found this yesterday and decided to keep it.

Armin didn't know when he fell asleep. He was pretty tired, he didn't even wake up when his grandfather knocked on his door, found his grandson fast asleep, then turned off the lamp. However, just a few hours after, he suddenly he found himself wide awake. He didn't know exactly what woke him up. Floating between his consciousness, he sent a quick glance at the bedside table, and found that it was past 2 in the morning. Armin lay back down and tried to go back to sleep, but suddenly, a strange voice was ringing on his ears.

Annie… what are you doing here?

Eren's voice. Where did he her it before?

Armin tried to focus. Then, the memories came to him all at once.

That breezy autumn day in October, when Eren had just moved to Shiganshina North High, Armin had walked to the school front gate and found a female student waiting for Eren. Blonde hair, icy blue eyes, pale face as pretty as an ocean in winter. She gave him chills when she spoke.

Her name was… Annie.

***

"No."

"Please, please please… can we just ride the Takabisha one more time?"

"Hell no! My life was flashing before my eyes during that ride, you know?"

"Exactly! That's why it's so fun, right?"

"Stop it."

"Oh come on… just once? After the steep drop it wasn't too bad."

Jean regarded the girl standing before him, who was practically bubbling with excitement, jumping up and down, trying to get him to ride the Takabisha one more time with her. He sighed, then sent a dark look over the towering figure of that coaster, which rose straight up toward the sky from the ground level to 43 meters in height. Why would anyone design something so incredibly evil, Jean would never know. Not only it was high, they had to drop the coaster from 42 meters high in a world-record steepest angle of 121 degrees, took them through multiple twists and turns, going from 0 to 100 km per hours in only 2 seconds, before finally stopping in the finish line. It was only roughly a minute ride, but it was enough to scar Jean for a lifetime. He could painfully feel all the regrets in life coming back to him during the ride – and couldn't be more relieved when it was over.

But Ayako seemed to think otherwise. When she said she wanted to go on the ride again, Jean was struck with horror.

"Must you really pick something so scary?" he asked miserably. "Why can't we… have some normal rides or just…"

"Then how about the Haunted House?" she asked, and Jean's heart sunk. This park's haunted house was famous as a labyrinth modelled after some old, abandoned asylum, in which the visitors were responsible to find their own way out, with no guarantee what kind of ghosts or terrors they would encounter on the way. It was a gigantic attraction, and some visitors even couldn't find the way out for hours.

Something about the combination of being stuck for hours in a dark, scary place, modelled after some abandoned mental hospital really didn't have Jean running enthusiastically for it. No, he didn't even want to go inside, if he could. He sighed.

"Why don't we… just sit here, okay? I'll buy us some coffee." He motioned to a bench near them, and was relieved when Ayako finally nodded okay. "Latte for me," she said, and Jean nodded, quickly making his way to the nearest coffee shop before she changed her mind again and try to get him on another scary ride.

He had known that Ayako was pretty energetic and all, she was always such a contrast to Mikasa's calm and collected demeanor. When she suggested they should have their date at an amusement park, he agreed, thinking that it was a mighty fitting place for her. What he didn't know was – how much she was into scary rides and horror stuff. She breezed through all the stuff like it was nothing, enjoying them even, while he could barely even stomach it. After a drop tower ride, a 360-degree vertical rotation, a pirate ship, and finally, the infamous Takabisha which gave his stomach a dangerous turn he was almost sure he'd throw up his lunch – Ayako asked him to get on the ride one more time with such glimmer in her eyes like she'd just experienced her dream of a lifetime coming true, while he felt like he was on the verge of death.

He couldn't believe her.

Thankfully she agreed on his idea to sit down over a cup of coffee. He would have to think what he'd say to her later when they started moving again, though. Why can't they ride something that will plant their feet on the ground, for once? Jean was determined to not go to another coaster or a haunted house.

"Thank you," she said enthusiastically, retrieving her cup of hot latte from Jean, who proceeded to sit beside her.

"This park is so fun!" she commented. "I'm glad you found it so," Jean muttered darkly. He gazed down at the cup of hot americano he held in his left hand, slightly slouching with both elbows resting on his thighs. His dark tone didn't escape her attention. She raised her eyebrows, then, after a few moments of studying the boy in silence, she spoke.

"You were really scared, weren't you?"

Jean turned to face her. She sounded curious, but he saw a look of genuine concern in her face. He had to turn away quickly then, for the sight of her bright hazel eyes and blossoming pink cheeks were suddenly too much for him to bear.

"I'm sorry. I got too overexcited."

He heard her speak, and he blinked. Ayako looked a bit sheepish. "I was so excited to finally come here – I wanted to try everything so I just dragged you without thinking. I'm sorry… I was inconsiderate."

"No, don't apologize," Jean cut in quickly, as he felt his guilt sank in. "I mean I – I should be the one to…" he stuttered out, feeling devastated at her words. He couldn't help but mentally slap himself. Damn it! What kind of guy was he? Why couldn't he have handled a few scary rides? She was having so much fun, and he completely ruined it for her.

"There's a reason I want to go here, you know," she said, playing with the latte cup in her hands. It's… um… but, promise you're not gonna be mad?" she eyed him with a look, and he, feeling curiosity had taken over him, simply nodded.

"It's that… extreme rides trigger an experience that releases adrenaline. And Adrenaline helps you forget the bad things easier," she said, and he frowned, not quite getting what she meant.

"Oh God, you are so slow," she laughed, half in desperation. "I want you to have a good time. I want you to make good memories. I thought after everything that's happened… you would need to unwind, relax, and release the tension. That's why… that's why I chose this place. But to be honest, I didn't know you would be scared instead," she twirled her brown locks in her hand, looking somewhat guilty. "Sorry."

"No," Jean started. He didn't know why she would say sorry – he should be sorry instead, for ruining the experience for her, after everything she did to cheer him up. He felt so stupid.

"It takes a while to get used to, these things," she said, and Jean blinked.

"Roller coasters?"

"No, you silly," she laughed. "Moving on from someone you loved."

Her words were met with a stunned silence. She gave out a sigh.

"It's not like it is something that can happen overnight," she said. "People talk as if it's an easy thing to do – but it's not. That's why you shouldn't worry. Just take your own pace, do one thing at a time. And slowly, slowly you will heal." She smiled. "You have to."

He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her. He'd had this thought a few times about Ayako, but it was always just a fleeting thought. After all, he was always too busy paying attention to Mikasa that he never had eyes for anything else. Despite being in the same club, Jean never even had a proper time to converse with her. It was as though this was the first time Jean had really ever seen her. He knew Ayako mostly from the school rumors, she was pretty, goes to blind-date a lot, easy to get laid with and would probably do it for money. She's an easy-win, that's how guys would often call her. There were still various other names that people used to describe her. But it never really captured the essence of her as a person, and this was the first time Jean realized that Ayako, despite everything else that people might call her, really could be considered quite mature and thoughtful for her age.

"It's nice," he said finally, with a relieved smile.

"What is?" she sent him a curious glance, looking at him through the brim of the latte cup, which she was drinking to fill in the empty silence.

"Discovering a new side of someone we thought we knew." This time it was her turn to not follow his words.

"Sorry?"

"I'm talking about you," he said quite humorously. "Ishijima."

"Oh, just drop the formalities," she said. "You can call me Ayako."

"Ayako," he liked the way that name rolled off his tongue.

"Jean," she replied. They looked at each other for a few stunned seconds, then, a hint of smile began to form at the corner of her lips. He didn't know why, but he suddenly found this hilarious also. As he mirrored her expression, his eyes lit up. And the next second, they both burst into laughter.

***

It's not here. It's not here. It's not here

Annie was searching frantically, retracing her steps back from yesterday, turning every stone, every nook and cranny, but still she couldn't find it.

Her ring was gone.

She clutched at her chest with devastation. She had always worn the ring every day, dangling it on a silver chain around her neck, but yesterday, the chain was broken, and she only realized she had lost her ring when she arrived home.

She couldn't sleep that night and couldn't pay attention at all to school the day after. When the fourth period bell rang, she slipped out of class and retraced her steps back, from the train station to the streets she walked to the places she visited, but none of them resulted in any good news. It was almost hopeless, she knew. But she couldn't give up.

She let fatigue overtake her when she finally rested a bit on the way uphill to Shiganshina North High. She was here yesterday, looking for Eren, but she couldn't meet him. She leaned back against the stone wall on the side of the street and slowly sank down, crouching. The cold of winter was biting her cheeks. She was exhausted. She covered her tired eyes with both her hands, sighing in frustration. What would happen if she didn't find that ring? She didn't want to think. She had to find it… she had to. It was the only memento she had left from her father, from their earlier years together.

From their happier years.

"Excuse me," a voice came up, and she burrowed her face deeper in her hands, hoping it would go away.

"Excuse me," the voice repeated, and she ignored it even further. This voice was quite persistent, so annoying….

"Annie," now the voice called her name, and she immediately looked up. A pair of big, blue orbs were staring back at her, those belonging to a boy of her age. Blonde hair was framing his face, and he looked concerned, but relieved. Annie frowned. She remembered him.

"You are Eren's friend," she said, almost matter-of-factly. "How did you know my name?"

"About that…," the boy reached out to his trousers' pocket, and brought out something inside his fist. Slowly, he opened his hand in front of Annie, revealing the object he was holding. The girl immediately let out a gasp, and covered her mouth.

"It's yours… right? I found it yesterday."

She stretched out her trembling hand to pick up her ring from Armin's hand, her breath seemed like it had stopped in her throat all the while. She had almost given up all hope to find it, but here it was now, by some kind of miracle, this boy had somehow returned this ring to her.

She clutched the ring tightly inside her hands and brought it in front of her chest, closing her eyelids so hard and drew in a deep breath to stop tears from pouring out.

"I thought… it might be an important thing for you. That's why I didn't give it to the police," she heard his soft voice, and she slowly looked up again. She was too relieved in finding her ring back, she'd forgotten to even thank him.

"Thank you," she said, genuinely. For a while, her never-ending cold expression was replaced with a smile, which Armin regarded with surprise. She looked completely different when she smiled. And if her frosty eyes were filled with some kind of cool animosity toward him before, now it was more of a quiet, yet still distant, acknowledgement of him.

"You are welcome," said Armin. He returned the girl's smile with a speck of relief. "I'm glad."

She looked surprised. "For what?" she asked.

"Ah, well… I'm just thinking….," Armin paused. Should he say it? But he's rarely ever going to see her anyway, so… might as well take his chance now.

"I just think… you look really nice when you smile."

She looked surprised, but, Armin noted in huge relief, not in a bad way. It seemed she was taken aback at his comment, but it's not in any way unwelcome for her. She stared at him for a few long seconds, before asking.

"What's your name?"

"Armin. Armin Arlelt."

She seemed to think for a while, then…

"If there is anything I can do to thank you, let me know. I'll do it if I can."

Armin hesitated for a while. "There is… one thing I would like to ask then," he said.

"Yes?"

"Do you mind… do you mind to give me your number?"

- Blue Side -

"An Instax?"

"This kind of thing is all over the social media lately. Gives you the kind of retro feels," Armin showed up his brand-new polaroid camera to Mikasa. He had got an Instax Mini 90, a nice and compact polaroid camera with well-polished black faux leather and silver metal body, which, like Armin said, completely gave Mikasa retro vibes.

"Can I try it? I promise not to waste any films," she asked, and he smiled.

"Don't have to worry about it," Armin handed the camera over to her, and she pointed the camera to his direction, capturing him in the viewfinder window.

"Okay, smile," she said. Armin gave her a huge grin, then she clicked.

The camera produced a whirring noise, then the film came out, still looking like a blank piece of paper.

"It's going to take a while to develop," Armin said and she nodded, setting it aside.

"Eren!" she called out to the other boy, now pointing the camera to him. "Look here."

"What?" Eren was laying on his back on a wide space near the window sill, playing with the basket ball that he had somehow snuck out from the sports warehouse. He threw the ball upwards into the air, and caught it as it came back down, sometimes twirling it on the tip of his index finger. He didn't seem to be paying attention to Mikasa or Armin.

"You're going to break something in this lab with that ball soon, I just know it," said Mikasa.

He grinned. "You wish," he said, and continued to bounce the ball upward and caught it mid-air.

"When that happens, I'm not gonna cover up for you, by the way."

"Me either," Armin chimed in.

"Well, why should we meet up in a science lab anyway?" he protested. "There are other safer places I'm sure. Somewhere we're not at risk of breaking things."

"We are not at any risk of breaking things, mind you."

"Yeah, only you are, Eren."

"Also, everywhere else is full. The third years are having their cram period before the exam so we can't use the classrooms. And the home economics lab is locked cause some students from first year blew up a fuse during their cooking practice today."

"Sounds lovely," Eren commented.

"Hold that pose," said Mikasa finally, when Eren just caught the ball for what must have been the hundredth time. He looked at her, questioning, but she already clicked the camera shutter quickly. She pulled out the polaroid film, and set it aside with Armin's, which had turned out nicely.

"Nice lighting," Armin commented. "Nice use of the window light there, Mikasa."

"I'm bored," Eren interjected, finally rising from his place. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"I don't know about you – but I'm broke," said Armin. "Spent all my allowance to buy this camera."

"I don't have that much too," Mikasa commented. "Have to last until the end of the week with what little I got left."

"How much does everyone have?" said Eren. "Let's put them together."

Armin and Mikasa sent a sideways look, but they grabbed their wallets anyway to pull out their remaining pocket money. They didn't have much indeed.

"We can't go very far with these," said Eren, thinking.

"Told you."

"How about just going to that convenience store down the road to grab some cup noodles and hot coffee?" Armin said, and Mikasa was about to agree with his idea, when Eren suddenly cut in.

"No wait… I got a better idea."

***

"Whose brilliant idea was this to go to the ocean in winter?" Mikasa protested through her chattering teeth.

"Shut up, you already agreed to it anyway, so don't protest!" Eren shot back, annoyed.

The three of them now stood on Shiganshina's open coast, having just exited the bus that took them to this place. The bus driver sent them a look as if they were crazy for going to the ocean in this weather, and Mikasa definitely had to agree.

They set out on the descending staircase that brought them all the way to the beach, the freezing wind blew mercilessly all the while, cutting through their skin, and sending chills all the way down to their bones. Mikasa's hair was blown away by the fearless wind, hopelessly tangled now in all direction. Half of her regretted going here, but she knew anyway Eren wouldn't have let her say no to his plans. She had no choice but to go along with him. Once they had descended all the way to the bottom, she began taking out her socks and shoes, while Eren and Armin sent her a look.

"Might as well," she tried to bite back the cold that seemed to seep through her bones. "Go all the way now that we're here."

She put away her bag, socks and shoes, then ran bare-footed toward the ocean to catch the waves. She winced when her toes came into contact with the waves.

"Cold!" she muttered. "Eren, Armin, come on," she waved at them. "Let's have a contest to see who can last longer in these cold waves!"

Eren already took off his shoes and socks and was now running to catch her. Armin was worried about catching a cold, although he couldn't help but follow in his friends' footsteps.

"Shoot! It's so damn cold!" Eren shivered as he stood now with his feet planted in the sand, waves sweeping freely at his feet. Mikasa, who noticed the close distance between them, quietly bent down, scooped a handful of water, and splashed it at him.

"Ouch! Hey, Mikasa? What the hell?"

"That's for making us going to the ocean in winter," she said, her eyes glinting humorously. Then, she ran away before Eren could have got back at her, smiling as she heard his frustrated groan. From the reverberating sounds of footsteps though, she knew that Eren was chasing after her. He could try – he'd run a marathon before she ever let him catch her. Knowing that it was futile, Eren soon stopped his attempt. He paused to catch his breath. Mikasa wasn't called the fastest runner in class for nothing, after all.

"Eren, Mikasa!" Armin called, waving his hand to both of them. He was standing a little way up, closer to the staircase, where waves wouldn't reach him. "Get here, I'm taking your picture." He had his polaroid camera ready in hand.

Mikasa came close, still slightly wary of Eren, wondering if the boy would somehow try to use this chance get back at her. Eren noticed her, then held up a 'peace' sign.

"Let's call it a truce," he said. She frowned. She couldn't trust him at all.

"Get closer!" Armin shouted over the sound of the wind and waves crashing, "You're not even on one frame!"

So – after sending quick glances toward one another, they began to walk closer, and stood side by side. Armin peeked through the viewfinder, and gave a frustrated groan.

"You guys look like an old married couple who's fighting and haven't said anything to each other in weeks," Armin said. "Can't you just be a little more… peaceful?"

At this, Mikasa felt Eren's right hand circled down her waist. Before she had a chance to react, he had jerked her closer, and now they stood side by side without distance, his chest to her back.

"Now?" he asked Armin, almost as calmly as if they were making a commemorative class photograph. Her breath seemed to have stopped in her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut in.

"Be quiet," he said, locking his eyes with hers with an obvious grin, "Or else I'll kiss."

She could feel the heat radiating from her face upon hearing those words. God – surely this was his way of getting back at her. Despite how they were behaving in private, he knew how reserved she was when they were in front of others – even if that someone other happened to be Armin. She couldn't find any retort to give him, so she just stayed silent and looked down, until Armin shouted at her to look at the camera.

"Much better," Armin grinned in satisfaction, when she finally did. He clicked the shutter before Mikasa could say anything else, and soon he had flicked the undeveloped film inside his hand. He felt rather amused. Just because he knew what's going on between them – didn't mean he shouldn't give them a tease.

He was about to go up to retrieve more polaroid films from his bag, when he suddenly heard a scream from behind him. Alarmed, he quickly looked back. Apparently, Eren had been successful in getting back at Mikasa by splashing her with a handful of cold, freezing water. And now he's got a very angry Mikasa chasing after him. Armin sighed, and continued his climb. He will not be responsible if both of them catch colds tomorrow.

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 10K — canon had to catch up, and stuff had to happen, and happily ever after requires some adjectives AN: Guys! This is a completed story! One I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of writing. For that am even more grateful than usual that you all clicked and read and said very nice things. It’s always an absolute joy to write about these two idiots falling in love. I hope your holidays were fantastic, and January is very kind to you, and I am taking suggestions as to what I should write in 2021. (Or: if I should just post a bunch of fic I’ve already written, there’s so much fic already written)

Ao3 links in the reblog, because Tumblr’s tagging system is something of a colossal joke. 

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

Especially impressive since they haven’t left the house yet, but the house is also fairly massive and there are a lot of people and some of them have magic, and most of them have weapons, and one of Emma’s knees cracks when she crouches in front of Hope.

Who is wearing pajamas that match Lucy’s, and holding a stuffed animal whose right arm appears to be holding on by a quite literal thread, and has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

It’s a strangely positive thing.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emma tells her daughter, which she hopes isn’t the lie it feels like. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’re just—we’ll be back soon, alright?” That’s not really a lie, either. Depending on how the next ten minutes or so, go. And part of Emma expects impatience — from the other adults nearby, magical or otherwise, but a quick glance over her shoulder only shows Mary Margaret wiping away tears, and Regina’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth, and the overall tightness of David’s jaw cannot possibly good for any of his teeth.

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

“For presents?” Hope asks, and it takes Emma a moment to understand the question. Nodding hurts her neck. And, like, her heart.

No one turns off their Christmas tree in this future, it seems. Colors splash across one of Hope’s cheeks, what feels like several thousand emotions and at least a dozen internal organs twisting in Emma’s center and she barely manages to rasp out, “yeah, of course,” before there’s moisture in her eyes and her vision is going blurry and at the very least it’s comforting to know that one of the steps in her parent’s house creaks too.

“Emma,” Regina murmurs, and she’s nodding again. Hair brushes the hand that’s landed on her shoulder, as warm as ever, but there’s tension in the move as well and Killian’s lips don’t shift when Emma tilts her head up.

Something’s going on. More than the obvious. And she wants to ask, she does — but the worry churning in her gut moves to the center of her throat, and makes it impossible to voice questions or demand anything more than what he’s already given, and they’ve got no idea how to get her back. Except for—

Killian’s eyebrows lift. Ever so slightly, barely enough movement that it should even count, but Emma’s become something of an expert on his face in the last few days, and she can’t blink away the tears fast enough. Mourning something that’s happened and hasn’t, and absolutely needs to.

She can’t ruin this.

Plastering a wholly unnatural smile on her face, Ruby lets out a huff of air as she marches forward and scoops Hope into her arms. “For presents,” she repeats, “Mom wouldn’t miss that, would she?” Emma shakes her head. Seriously, every inch of her aches. With those pesky emotions and magic, and she cannot fathom how she manages to stand back up without falling over, but then there are fingers tangled up with hers and she’s brushing strands of hair away from Hope’s eyes, and leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose and—

“I love you.”

Whispers flood her ears, soft enough that for a second Emma truly believes she imagines them, but none of this has been the dream she’d convinced herself it had to be, and the sound isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Is like the excitement borne of picturesque Christmas mornings, and a ridiculous number of cookies, and magically-maintained snowmen.

Killian’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Part two.

“Dor and I’ll stay here,” Ruby says, seemingly unconcerned with whatever’s happening between Emma’s ears, but Killian’s staring again and Emma’s barely breathing and she probably nods if the movement of her hair is any indication.

More instructions are doled out, plans Emma only half listens to while also trying to stay conscious and it’s only after the screen door slams behind them that she realize she doesn’t actually have a weapon. She’s fairly certain she won’t need it.

Because she’s absolutely positive this is going to work.

Well, she hopes at least.

“Don’t let go, ok?” she mumbles, mostly into Killian’s shirt and he kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s trying to reach a quota and that’s only kind of depressing, but then there’s magic stretching around them and inching up the back of Emma’s calves and she hopes she hears what she thinks she hears.

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

If there were any doubts that they were dealing with the disintegrating fabric of reality, they’re all immediately dismissed as soon as Emma opens her eyes. Trees bend in the middle of their trunks, broken branches littering the ground as what feels like genuine electricity crackles in the air, sending sparks that occasionally rain down like they believe they’re drops of water and allowed to do that.

Clouds that look suspiciously familiar, but lack that hint of magically-induced purple, blot out any sort of light in the sky. They’re puffier than they should be — the clouds, and also Emma’s eyes because she might be crying again, and she’s not particularly knowledgeable about meteorology. Still, she’s seen more than one curse broken and this isn’t quite the same. The lack of color dries out her mouth, although that may also be because she suddenly can’t catch her breath.

Magic tugs at her brain and her muscles, rising up in defense and something that isn’t really bravery. More like fear, at what the clouds can do and what they’ve already done, and the soft whoosh of Killian’s sword leaving its scabbard is far more comforting than it should be.

Wearing those pants with the sword belt is something Emma doesn’t want to forget. “Kinda looks like they’re eating everything in their way, doesn’t it?” she breathes. “Like, it’s—pulling everything up out of the ground, wrecking it at the foundation.”

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

“You’re making jokes.” “If I don’t know, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall over.”

Scoffing, Emma licks her lips, and that doesn’t do anything except momentarily wet her lips, but her heart’s also trying to explode and the pop of Regina’s teleporting ability is loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Oh shit,” Henry mutters, wielding his own sword. Both of those things are going to take Emma some time to get used to. Which she doesn’t have.

Not when tiny whirlwinds explode around her ankles, caking her jeans with leaves and dirt-filled snow, and she briefly wonders if that’s because of her or just bad timing on their arrival. Feels like an insult all the same.

“So, uh,” David says slowly, “what do we do about this, then?” Rolling her whole head seems like an entirely excessive response, but Emma supposes Regina’s never been one for subtlety and it is still kind of impressive when she does the flame thing. Fire jumps between her fingers, like one of those bouncing balls on sing-along VHS tapes, and really the answer is pretty simple. “Emma needs to leave. Weeks ago, if we’re being frank, but—” “—We’re not being frank, are we, Your Majesty?” Killian interrupts, low and a little more pirate than he’s been since Emma woke up here. Regina tilts her head. Her neck muscles don’t appear to be dealing with the same limitations Emma’s are.

“How do we do that, though?” Ella asks. “We’ve—I mean, we’ve tried just about everything haven’t we? Zelena’s spell didn’t work.” Regina hums. Looks a little smug, but with a hint of worry that’s also oddly comforting in a slightly vindictive way and there’s no warning before Tinker Bell appears in front of them. Smaller than usual, with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbirds and Emma’s eyes widen so quickly they manage to water even more and it’s easier to hear Killian’s soft laugh when he pulls her against his side.

What looks like sparkles, but may actually be pixie dust floats in the air, Regina’s sigh of impatience barely passing her lips before Tinker Bell is a full-sized person again and that full-sized person looks as terrified as the situation demands and— “Wonderland’s gone too,” she announces. “I only just got out.” Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her face. It will be gross and undoubtedly uncomfortable. “Out. What does—what does that mean, exactly?” “What it sounds like. It was—” Shuddering, Tinker Bell wraps both arms around her middle, as if she’s trying to ensure she doesn’t fall apart either, and guilt appears to be the prevailing emotion threatening to sever Emma’s spleen at the moment. She’s only partially confident as to where her spleen even is. “Those,” Tinker Bell continues, pointing up at the clouds advancing on them, “they’re…cannibalized versions of magic.” “Oh,” Henry says, “gross.” Mary Margaret sniffles before she kisses him on the cheek. He’s holding Ella’s hand very tightly.

“It is,” Tinker Bell agrees, “because it’s all wrong. Broken, even. The opposite of what you’ve created here. Anything unified is gone, shattered from the inside out and—” “—That won’t stop, will it?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. It’s been the same since the start, but it was so easy to fall into this start and live this life and she’s hardly noticed Regina. Lifting her hands towards the clouds like she could fight them, or stop them and her electricity metaphor had been almost accurate before.

Lightning explodes from Regina’s palms, feet a bit wider than usual while a muscle jumps in her temple, and the first brush of Killian’s thumb against Emma’s wrist makes her flinch again.

The clouds pause. For a moment.

Seem to shudder against the force of Regina’s power and strength, but there’s another crack and a branch that slams into the ground with an alarming speed, shaking the ground under yet a different pair of Emma’s boots, and, well—

That’s that, as they say.

Only they don’t ever mention the shadow-type vines that also explode from the ground. And for a breath, Emma’s not there. She’s sitting on different ground, in an entirely different realm, while her sword half hangs from the makeshift belt on her back and lights dance in front of her eyes. Blinking doesn’t do anything. Breathing heavily only makes the sound echo in her ears and air heave out of her lungs, and Emma can’t get her bearings. Is being twisted and torn until she’s certain she’ll be ripped apart. Right there, in the in-between, and—

No.

Giving in isn’t an option. She’s got people to save, and a kid to get back and a life to live. And the hand squeezing hers is tight enough to pull her back from a variety of edges. In any version of reality, she’s sure.

Head falling forward, Emma slams into something solid and that’s probably not another metaphor. Blades flash at the edge of her vision, both David and Henry moving quicker than she’s ever seen, while Mary Margaret slings arrow after arrow at something that isn’t entirely substantial and Killian’s hook moves under Emma’s chin.

At one point she might have thought that was a threat. She’s the world’s biggest idiot, obviously.

“No,” Tinker Bell replies, far later than is conversationally acceptable, honestly. “It won’t. Nothing will last if you don’t go back, Emma. It all hinges on you. That’s why Pan did this in the first place. He knew what you meant, to the whole world.” She groans. Like a goddamn hero.

“That might be a little heavy, Tink,” Killian mutters, and Emma makes another noise. Disbelief and charmed and wholly endeared, plus that other thing that she knows will make all the difference and at least eight of her knuckles crack. When she curls them into his shirt.

Patterned, naturally.

“Are you quoting things?” He nods. “You think it’s very cute.” “I’m not sure you could ever really be cute.”

“Is this honestly happening right now?” Regina snarls, sweat dotting her brow and Emma barely notices. Can’t really pull her eyes away from Killian when he’s smirking at her like that. “Flirting at the end of the world?” “Seems as good a time as any, doesn’t it?” Emma challenges. More pixie dust falls on the forest floor, shining brightly for a few prolonged seconds. That’s something of a confidence boost.

For Emma. And her feelings. And her plan, half-cocked as it may be.

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

Keeping her head lifted is one of Emma’s more major successes. At least recently, and while her muscles don’t entirely appreciate it, the jut of her chin makes it easier for Killian’s fingers to ghost over the edge of her mouth and push into her hair and—

“Your eyelashes are unnaturally long,” she says, and the grin widens. “It drives me nuts.” “Does it just?” “Yeah, from like—the get, really. At first I thought it was a fairytale thing, y’know…have to be painfully attractive to be part of the story, but—” “—You end up in the book eventually.”

Heart explosion is not nearly as painful as Emma assumed it would be. If anything, it just makes her feel like she’s floating a bit and her magic gives her a buoyancy that leaves her lighter and softer and she turns into the palm cupping her cheek. “Spoilers,” she chides. “What do you—what do you think happens?” “When you go back, you mean?” Emma nods. Doesn’t really want the answer. Might actually be terrified of the answer, because the timeline is as knotted as it’s ever been and time travel is way more trouble than it’s worth. She’ll probably kick Peter Pan too, just to cover all her bases. “Will you,” she whispers, and holding Killian’s gaze is something of a rather disappointing miracle, “will you all—” “—I don’t think so.” “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

One side of his mouth tilts up, eyeing her with passing amusement and that other emotion and his fingers trail towards the chain hanging around her neck. “Between the vaguely twisted compliments and the actual insults, I’m not entirely sure this is going to work, love.” “What isn’t going to work?” Henry asks sharply, swinging his sword through a shadow.

Grunting, one of Regina’s knees buckles as she continues to fight against the cloud and Ella’s back pressed against hers only just manages to keep her standing. “Get on with it, already,” she hisses. “Or at least try it.”

Nerves explode under Emma’s skin, racing up her arms and threatening to drown out the magic that’s as strong as it’s ever been because the magic is clearly smarter than her, and it’s unreasonable to think she’d be able to deal with that exact shade of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“You make sure I’m alright.”

He blinks. Fair, honestly. Words keep tumbling out of Emma without much thought, but she needs him to know this and this might be the crux of everything else and she’s nodding again. “Over and over,” she continues, “when we’re on the Jolly, and I’m—” “—In the crew’s quarters doing pull-ups.” “You remember that?”

“I’m rather attracted to you, you know that right?”

Laughing with tears in her eyes is as patently absurd as it is nice, and the shadows inch closer. “Could probably do with some reminding every now and then,” Emma admits, “but I, uh—that’s what happened before, too. Sitting outside the Echo Caves and you were supposed to be asleep. Showed up anyway, to make sure I was alright. You always do that.” “Something of a habit.” “So you’ve mentioned.” Humming, there’s not really any way for Killian to get closer to her, but he certainly tries and Emma hopes she doesn’t forget that either. She’s not entirely sure how her memories will deal with everything they’ve been through in the last few weeks. And, like—her life, but that sounds kind of melodramatic. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” Killian says softly, “but it’s—making sure you’re alright is like…making sure we’re following the right course.” “Am I the star in this analogy?” “Several times over,” he replies, “and it’s easy to follow.” “Oh, what was that about backhanded insults?”

Warm air brushes her face when he exhales, nosing at the tear stains her over-abundant emotions have left behind. “I have no idea what will happen,” Killian whispers, as if he’s speaking only for Emma and she supposes that’s at least partially true. “I doubt we’ll disappear, not when it appears time’s much less of a straight line than I originally anticipated, but Her Majesty was right. Nothing’s set in stone, love. That’s half the fun.” “Sounds like a hell of a gamble too.” “Aye, but you’ve also got a pirate who’s rather willing to cheat on your behalf.” “Did you use weighted dice?” He kisses her hair. The edges of her eyes. Down the bridge of her nose and just above her mouth, which is really a very cruel tease, but if they were running out of time earlier, then they’re operating on borrowed minutes now, and Emma’s calves almost audibly object when she pushes up on her toes.

“Just sleight of hand,” he says, “it’s very impressive, I know.” “Something like that, yeah.” “This wasn’t fair to you, Swan. To—to be thrown into this, and I can’t…”

Shaking her head, she’s never actually let go of his shirt, so Emma doesn’t have an excuse for how much her fingers tremble. “No, no, no, if you apologize I will step on your foot, I swear to any God you can come up with.” “Several, actually.” “Nerd,” she insults, and it’s as far away from that as it’s possible for a four-letter word to be. Killian’s eyes have gone glossy. “This wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Pan, I mean. He—he thought he’d take me off the board, keep me locked here because I’d be so tempted to stay and I—” A tree branch falls dangerously close to her right foot. “Well, obviously I was, but…” “But?” Emma presses her lips together. Ignores the ache in her legs and the area directly around her heart, taking more pleasure than she should in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes while her magic practically sings. Soars out of her, until the ends of her hair light and the shadows don’t retreat, but they freeze for a second and that’s all she really needs. “Seeing it all,” Emma starts, “living it, that’s why I can go back. Because I want to live it. No cheating, no advancing to Go. God, fuck—am I really making Monopoly jokes right now?”

He beams. Stares at her like she’s that star, and a few other constellations for good measure. Possibly the Sun too, but Emma’s the one who’s all too willing to orbit around the whole lot of them, and she kisses him before she can think better of it.

“You make sure I’m alright,” she repeats, “ten-thousand times over, until I end up here. And it’s just not better, babe, it’s—it’s a life, a real one. The kind I used to think was some great, big joke, but that house is so big and our kids are so good, and it’s—” Killian wipes away the tears. For the best, really. Since Emma isn’t entirely sure she can unclench her fingers. “I love it,” she breathes, “I love—”

In any other situation, she’d almost resent being interrupted. As it is, being interrupted with the press of Killian’s mouth against hers is one of the better things that’s happened to her. Like, ever. And she’s already pressed up on her toes, so really the whole thing is pretty practical.

Tilting her head, Emma’s grip threatens to rip his shirt and her spine isn’t all that pleased at the arch she’s put it in, but his hand is flat against her back, the kind of steady presence she’s sure she could build everything around. They’ve gotten better at this, she thinks — less frenzied than it was in Neverland, but somehow even better, like they’re sitting on simmer, a low heat that simply exists and isn’t as overwhelming. She’s not sweating, at least. She’s wrapped in cashmere blankets, and comfort and some other word that starts with ‘c’ because Emma’s ability to linger on the alliterative in times of heightened feeling is actually pretty impressive.

At least until Killian’s tongue swipes the seam of her mouth, and they drift a hint closer to frenzied, and somewhere in the realm of desperate and she genuinely does not notice the first band of light.

Or the second, quite frankly.

It isn’t until the colors arch over them, and several people gasp, that Emma realizes they’ve done something fairly tremendous. Beams of glistening magic curl around them, some hanging from the bend of Emma’s elbow and the curve of Killian’s hook, draping either one of their shoulders and falling off the sleeves of their respective leather jackets.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, fully expecting Killian’s smile and hoping for his laugh and she’s done more hoping now than she has in the first twenty-nine years of her life.

Henry clicks his tongue. “Oh you can say it, huh?” “I’m your mom, that’s how it works.” More laughter, as out of place as ever, but the light doesn’t disappear immediately and Killian’s jaw has gone slack. “Has that not happened before, then?” Emma asks him.

“You called me babe.” Regina groans again. Henry snickers, ducking his head into Ella’s shoulder, and Emma’s not sure what her parents do, but her mom is definitely crying and she’s crying and there’s something shimmering on the other side of Tinker Bell.

“Told you it’d work,” she says with a knowing smile. “She just needed to get there. And, y’know, be willing to walk away. Which doesn’t sound as romantic as it is, now that I think about it, but might be kind of in the spirit of Christmas.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “that’s—” She cuts herself off that time, Killian’s fingers lacing through hers so he can give her hand three quick squeezes and that number was probably random. Maybe. True Love’s goddamn Kiss.

“Falling in love with you probably isn’t very easy, is it?”

The tears fall. Drop from the corners of his eyes onto cheeks, one of which has a scar on it and Emma wants to know how that happened. Wants to learn every single thing about him, and them and collective pronouns don’t quite terrify her anymore.

“Not always,” Killian agrees, another strange way of doing it, “but I do always think it’s worth it. For everything we get.” “This?” He nods. “And then some. Because you’re the single most stubborn lass I know, and Pan’s an absolute fool.” “Call me lass again, and see if I kiss you anymore.” “I’m almost confident on that front.”

Smiling doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t affect the muscles in her face, or the overall state of her heart, and that may have something to do with its exploding tendencies from earlier, but Emma’s eyes keep flickering towards that portal and everything ahead of her, and the wave of determination that crests her consciousness doesn’t take her by surprise.

She’s going to get this all back.

Like a Christmas present, waiting under the tree to be opened, and another promise and Killian squeezes her hand again. Before kissing her once more, in a way that doesn’t feel like a farewell, but has a hint of promise and expectation and Emma hugs Henry. And her parents. Glances at Regina, and goddamn Tinker Bell, and hugging Henry again simply makes sense. “Come save me, huh?” he murmurs into her hair. “That’s the plan,” Emma promises. Twisting her neck, Killian’s not more than an inch behind her, but the shadows threaten again, making it difficult to see him and eventually she’ll argue that’s why she doesn’t entirely notice when his hand moves, darting towards her pocket and back so quickly it’s not much more than a blur, and her lips barely brush his before they’re pulling away from each other.

To get back to each other.

“I’m going to love you an absolutely ridiculous amount,” Emma promises, and Killian’s eyes brighten. Brand themselves on all those memories, and even more feelings. “More than I do now, even.” “I look forward to it.”

Bumping her chin against her chest when she nods, Emma’s next inhale is shaky at best, but her steps are sure and she doesn’t feel anything when she falls backwards, or notice the way Regina’s hand shifts ever so slightly.

Her feet slam into the ground. Ground that hasn’t exploded with glowing, vaguely evil plants yet and that’s all it takes to set her plan into motion. He hadn’t remembered, after all. And Emma can only sort of remember now.

Smoke on the water, her thoughts drift through a haze that’s far more metaphorical than she entirely appreciates, and she makes it all of eight larger-than-usual steps before those same feet land on boots and she barely stops herself before she collides with Killian.

A Killian who looks at her like he’s surprised to find her there, but not entirely opposed to it, and whatever thoughts continue to cling to the forefront of Emma’s brain know what else he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, and that’s not bad, might even be good and great and she can’t remember why her lips feel like they’re tingling. That’s—

Strange, that’s strange. As is the number of times she blinks, and his hook flies to her waist. To keep her steady. Or something. Magnets, maybe. “Swan, are you—” “—Fine, fine,” she breathes, only just able to keep from kissing him. Hard. His lips part slightly when she keeps staring at him, eyes tracing across his face like she’s recommitting it to memory, and she supposes she is, and he was coming to find her. All over again. “You’re here though, right? This isn’t…this is real?” Hair threatens to fall into his eyes, head at an angle that Emma is sure simply exists to torment her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “I—I don’t know,” she admits, and it only sort of sounds like a lie. Emma shakes her head. That doesn’t help, really. “Is my mom still ignoring my dad?” “Very much so. You shouldn’t be out here, you know.” “Neal’s not dead, though?” “No,” Killian says, lips forming a perfect circle on the second letter. Emma’s staring at his lips. Again, or always. Or whatever, honestly.

“Ok, ok, that’s—that’s good, well maybe not the ignoring part, but we’ll figure that out and we’re going to figure this out.” “Wasn’t a question.” “No it wasn’t.” His eyes narrow, neck remaining at that angle. “Good. It shouldn’t be.” “Awfully confident of you.” “No, no, I’m only confident in you, love.” Something flutters at the back of Emma’s brain — part memory and even more desire, and this feels like something they’ve done already, but that can’t possibly be true and those particular words in that particular order are as honest as Emma’s heard. She must have fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” Killian continues, hand reaching for hers and she doesn’t pull away. She lets his fingers tangle with hers, and every squeeze against her palm is enough to settle her pulse and her magic, and he doesn’t let go of her until they get back to camp. Neither one of them mention how she doesn’t pull away, either.

They plan. Plot, and discuss and Neal’s something of an issue — as is her mother’s pointed and unnecessary romantic advice, but Emma knows her objections fall on deaf ears, especially when that same mother keeps ignoring her father, and she’s not sure she’s ever known fear like she feels in Dark Hollow.

If asked — and Emma can’t imagine why she would be, but she’s at war with her own thoughts and some sadistic childlike-monster who’s already fucked with her more than he should be capable of — she’d argue it was because of what Killian tells her. When I win your heart plays on loop in Emma’s brain, but it’s also because, somehow, she knows he will and does, and fire bursts out of her in the middle of yet another shadow attack.

“How did you do that?” Neal asks, sounding far more surprised than he should and something in Emma’s center recoils at the tone. “Regina. She’s teaching me magic.” Not entirely a lie, not really. But Killian’s eyes snap towards her, and she’s apparently just as good at ignoring things as her mother. “She’s teaching you magic?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, gripping the coconut in her hand a little tighter. Six months ago, that would have felt like the most absurd sentence in the world. Now it just pisses her off. “I guess she is.”

There’s more, because of course there is. Wendy Darling and Neal are something of old friends, and she’s somehow an even worse liar than Emma, but the truth means Henry’s death and she can’t breathe. Can hardly stand, but is also standing closer to Killian and she keeps calling him Killian. In her head.

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian murmurs. Naturally, it’s not.

Watching Henry hand over his heart is a nightmare Emma will see for the rest of her life, wholly unprepared for the way her kid drops to the ground and the strength of her ensuing magic threatens to blind her.

Regina’s not much better, honestly. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then there’s magic and a wave of her hand, and—“He’s not dead yet,” she tells Emma, like that’s acceptable, but she’s got no idea what else to do and the growing feeling that she’s forgotten something very important.

Preservation spells are as freaky their name implies, it turns out.

Henry doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, but he also isn’t dead and Emma figures that’s at least one positive. While she’s attacked by a tree, and taunted by Pan and Regina’s admission leaves her reeling just a bit. That is until it turns out Peter Pan is also Gold’s father, and the absurdity of it all makes Emma want to scream and cry and they somehow save Henry’s heart.

In Pandora’s Box.

Really, the rest is a blur — adrenaline mixing with magic and an above-average amount of gasping, and Killian offers Henry the captain’s quarters. Emma doesn’t think before she walks, leading the pair of them towards the door, and there’s a shadow trapped in the sail and they’re on a flying pirate ship, so honestly her knowledge of that pirate ship’s layout should be the least of their worries, but something, something…open book.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Killian asks, finding Emma what feels like a lifetime later. Hours, actually. Most of which she’s spent leaning against the railing, while trying to breathe in as much salt air as possible and Regina’s still in the cabin with Henry.

“Aside from the obvious?” “Whatever’s got you staring so intently at the horizon.” “It’s calming,” Emma reasons, and there’s some truth to that as well. There’s also something in her back pocket, a piece of clothing that miraculously isn’t totally destroyed with mud and the after-effects of fighting for their collective lives.

“It often is, although you’re thinking so loudly, I can’t help but—” “—Do you think you’ll stay in Storybrooke?”

Killian tenses. He’s close enough that Emma can practically feel the way his muscles tighten, but there’s more to it than proximity, and it’s got to be nearly his turn at the helm. Neal can’t stay up there forever.

“If you think that would be a good idea.”

Rolling her eyes makes her head hurt. She might also be dehydrated. The knowledge that there’s a flask of rum stashed somewhere under the cot in Killian’s cabin is one of the few things keeping Emma conscious. Captain’s cabin. Semantics. She has no idea how she knows that. “That’s not really what I asked,” Emma argues. “Do you—is that something you’d like?”

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

The future is suddenly blurry, and not entirely uncertain, but she fought like hell for it and now there’s this growing sense of optimism taking root in her. Like it’s the foundation for everything else, strong and certain and that’s a rather daunting change of pace for her. The certainty, not the adjective choices. Gold made it so David could come home too. They all get to go home. So, Emma doesn’t move very quickly when she turns, just presses her lips together and—

Hopes.

Pixie dust requires a certain amount of belief to work, after all.

“I would,” Killian breathes. He leans forward, or Emma leans forward, and it genuinely does not matter because there are mouths and hands and it’s over before it really begins, the rail of a flying pirate ship threatening to dig into her back. She’s never been more comfortable. “Ok,” Emma says, footsteps coming towards them, “that’s good.”

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

“Certainly is,” Killian agrees, “and you had that in spades. I just—” He smirks. The bastard. “Telling you I knew you would makes me a bit of a cad, doesn’t it?” “More than a bit, maybe.” He chuckles, letting his head drop closer to hers. “Why’d you know where the blankets were in that cabin?” “Far too perceptive for your own good.” “I prefer to see it as an acute observation.” “And you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

“Sounds suspiciously like you think I’m pretty.”

“Occasionally,” Emma says, standing on wobbly knees again and they’re dancing without music. “I don’t know, really, but we’ll get there, I think.”

Leaning back, Killian’s eyebrows shift and his thoughts practically come with cymbals, but he doesn’t press her anymore and Emma doesn’t actually believe she fell asleep. Outside the Echo Caves, but all of those thoughts feel like dreams now, and Neal doesn’t ask any questions — which is either a victory or a crushing disappointment, depending on which way you look at it, but Emma can’t bring herself to leave the railing, even when the wind picks up and goosebumps prickle her arms and the something in her back pocket is a tiny slip of paper.

Torn at the edges, like the person who grabbed it was pressed for time and flush with determination and she’s never actually seen his handwriting before. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference. Swooping letters linger on the looseleaf, no matter how many times Emma blinks, the words the same and she tries very hard not to rip it. Holding it as tightly as she is makes that easier said than done.

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

As clear as the tears that return to her eyes will allow, and Emma’s not surprised to find him already looking in her direction. She smiles, and goes below deck.

They don’t make it very long before something else gets fucked up.

They barely make it like—two weeks. Pan isn’t dead, and Henry’s not Henry and the whole thing is a disaster that frequently ends with Emma slumped against the nearest wall she can find, the hand gripping hers squeezing at regular intervals, like Killian is trying to remind her of something, but she might just be hoarding every touch and every feeling and it figures.

Standing at the town line, Emma’s not sure how she’s going to get in that car and drive away from this town and these people and her mother kisses her forehead. Softly and almost reverently, and David’s hand finds the back of her head, holding her as tightly as he had in Neverland and Emma knows he’d like to do that forever, but that won’t be possible in five minutes and she’s not going to remember.

Any of them. At any point.

She’s still not sure why the timing of it all seems so important.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

Smiling is the only way she stops herself from kicking him, or possibly kissing him and she’s not prepared for what Killian says next. If she ever gets to remember this, that will seem vaguely ridiculous. All things considered.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” He means it. Emma knows that, too. As much as she knows she should have said something — a string of words that’s still a little overwhelming, but the sheet of paper basically lives in her jacket pocket now, and for someone who feels as if she keeps bouncing around time, or at least realms, she also continues to run out of it.

“Good,” she says, and one side of his mouth moves. Tugs up while he stares at her, and struggles to step back and everything disappears. Behind a cloud of purple smoke, and a line that’s brushed away as easily as if it had never been there at all, and Emma forgets.

Most of it, at least.

Some guy knocks on her door, knows her name, and immediately tries to kiss her. It’s not the strangest thing Emma’s ever encountered, but that’s because bail bond’s a weird gig, and he keeps showing up. Gives her a note with handwriting that looks suspiciously familiar, and proves even more than that and her hand shakes. While pulling a weather-stained piece of paper from the folds of her wallet, and she’s got no rational reason for keeping it. Not when she’s got no idea why she has it in the first place, but every time she considers throwing it away, something tugs between her ribs and flutters at the back of her brain and the swoop on the top of his ‘o’ is exactly the same.

She doesn’t mention that before she drinks the potion. And she only balks slightly at the word potion , so that’s another victory and— “Killian,” she breathes, memories flying back. Some arrive quicker than others, while a few hang in the shadows and she knows there’s more to the sheet of paper than she’s willing to admit. Magic fights with her, trying to piece together things that don’t entirely make sense, and she can remember things that don’t make sense. Pirate ships, and flashing swords, and a house with enough windows that it likely sets a record.

And a hand slipping a sheet of paper into her back pocket.

“Miss me?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, at that. Especially coupled with a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but Emma finds herself nodding all the same and he doesn’t stumble backwards when she launches herself at him, hugging as tightly as she can.

The paper goes back in her wallet before they leave for Storybrooke.

She’s going to leave. Get back in her car and go back to New York, and raise Henry like a normal kid, but Emma can’t shake the feeling that there’s something inherently wrong with that plan, and it doesn’t have anything to do with wicked witches or newborn brothers, but maybe deja vu for something she hasn’t lived yet, and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. When she does the unthinkable.

“Come with us, then.” “You’re not serious,” he challenges.

“Like a heart attack, maybe. I just…none of this is safe, and New York was, I mean…you could be part of—” “False memories, based on magical nonsense.”

Shoulders slumping, Emma can’t come up with an argument to that. Only kind of wants to, but she’s not in the book, and Henry doesn’t want to leave. The dreams she keeps having make sleep something of a pipe dream. And she’s something of a mess, but Killian’s a much better dancer than she expected him to be.

And she’s not surprised to find him rounding the corner of Regina’s dungeon, although it’s nice to be saved, even when she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. But then his arms threaten to crack several of her ribs ten minutes later, and Emma has a few theories about that. None of which she voices, far too busy memorizing the way his thumb feels when it brushes her cheek, and her mother’s not dead.

Doesn’t remember her, but time travel beggars can’t be choosers. Another burst of deja vu rattles through her, and there’s no magic to jump in her veins, but Killian glances her direction all the same and the wand is heavy in her hand. One that’s magical again, a portal home because it is home and you trade your ship for me isn’t much more than a whisper on warmer-than-usual wind. He doesn’t blink when he answers. She’ll think about that for quite some time.

After she stops thinking about how good they are at kissing, because they are exceptional at kissing and it’s very simple. To fall into this head first, the feeling and the emotion and Killian chuckles when Emma’s magic begins to thrum under her skin.

She tells her parents about Neal.

About what he did, and how he did it and their eyes widen so often she wonders if they’ll get stuck like that. Killian’s hand doesn’t leave her shoulder.

They announce the change two days later. Prince Neal is Prince Leo and he’s still as cute as ever, with a tendency to spit up on whoever holds him.

“Are you alright?” “You’ve asked me that like ten times.” Nodding, Killian doesn’t move and Emma can’t imagine what kind of damage this is doing to his knees, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stand up either and she’s finally starting to get some feeling back in her toes. Fingers, too. Which makes it easier to drag the tips of them over his cheek, and his eyelids fluttering shut is a jolt of confidence she’s going to cling to. “And yet,” he drawls, “I’m still very curious.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says, not for the first time and she knows it won’t be the last. He shifts the blanket draped across her legs, tucking it under her side like—“A mother hen pirate.” “That’s rude, love.” “You’re going to give yourself a coronary.” “I don’t know what that means.” Laughing softly, her lips are still a bit chilly when she presses them to Killian’s skin. Warm, like always. Some joke about her own personal sun, and something else about walls made of ice and she doesn’t think before she mumbles, “you want to lay down, or something?” “Your father might challenge me to a duel.” “Not confident in your own sword skills?” “I’m very confident in my skills, but—” “—C’mon,” Emma interrupts, ignoring Killian’s protest when she pulls her arms out of the mountain of fabric covering her, “you’re warm, anyway.”

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

Well before, honestly. And she wonders why that feels inevitable, almost like it’s already happened, somehow but that’s—well, that’s impossible. She should rid that word from her vocabulary. And the inevitability of telling Killian everything she’s feeling isn’t totally surprising, either. Has been coming on so gradually that don’t you know, Emma, it’s you doesn’t knock her entirely off course. Might right her, actually. Direct her back towards some star or something else nautical and decidedly sentimental, and she cannot rationalize how quiet she is when he falls.

Dies, really.

This alternate version of him that still managed to rescue her, and she couldn’t save him and that’s not right. Two-way streets operate in both directions, but she didn’t tell him and everything feels like it stops. Not long enough. Time refuses to linger the way Emma needs it to, lungs threatening to disintegrate, and this isn’t real, can’t possibly be real and Henry’s pulling on her sleeve, telling her they have to go. He’s right. They’ve got to get out of here. Fix it, and give Emma more time, and she doesn’t spend any of it thinking before she rushes up the loft stairs and clings to him tightly enough that they fall over.

That will feel poetic later.

Standing in the center of Main Street, with a dagger in her hand and magic in the air and it’s familiar all over again, another burst of deja vu, and the exact opposite. Wrong, on a fundamental sort of level that she still can’t ignore and she closes her eyes. Thinks of what could be, or what she hopes will still happen, and then she tilts her head up and meets eyes that are far too blue to be fair and it’s easy to give voice to the words she hadn’t before.

That’s nice, she supposes.

Being as consistently confused by her own thoughts is one of Emma’s biggest pet peeves. “I love you.”

“Getting more and more difficult not to tell him. Isn’t it, dearie?” Sighing, Emma doesn’t bother glancing up from the half-finished dream catcher in her hands and Killian’s not going to be happy that he fell asleep. He likes to think he can protect her better while he’s conscious. As if he could protect her from her own mind.

“Do you even remember it?” Rumplestilskin continues, and it’s not really him. She has to keep reminding herself that. “Can see into your thoughts, y’know. And I don’t think you do.” “Shut up.” He doesn’t, of course. “The Queen did something. Changed something, somehow. Can feel the dregs of her magic, clinging to your memories and—” He leans forward. “—So can you, can’t you? Wonder why those scenes that appear behind your eyes every time you blink, feel so real. All that fairy tale fodder, and another thing you’ll miss out on. Strange how that version of your personal prince charming never mentioned what happens to you, isn’t it? Almost as if he’s keeping secrets. Maybe that’s a sign.” “Shut up.” She doesn’t mean to say anything. Responding only ever eggs the apparition on, and Emma’s head feels as if it will split in two. It might help if it did.

Every one of Rumplestilskin’s teeth is on display when he smiles. Like a goddamn crocodile.

“You could likely get your memories back. If you wanted. All that power surging through your veins. Or maybe,” he continues slowly, “part of what you’re feeling isn’t anything more than fate."

"No, that’s not true."

"Sure of that? Absolutely positive? Anything is possible, after all."

And the idea takes Emma by sudden and overwhelming surprise, part of her hating even the thought, but her feet are already moving and she might be running if the stretch of her legs is any sign, and Merlin doesn’t look up. When she slams open his door.

“You know, don’t you?” “Everything you’ve forgotten?” he asks lightly. “Yes, I do.” “What do I do about it?” “Would you like to do something about it?” “Did Regina do something to my memories?” Emma presses, leaning against the door as soon as it shuts behind her. One of his shoulders lifts. “He—the voice in my head…keeps taunting me about it, and I don’t—is any of that possible? That life?” Finally lifting his gaze, Merlin looks exactly as he did in that movie theater Emma only half believes she actually remembers, and time travel continues to be one of her least favorite things. “Depends,” he replies, “on you, and your next question.”

“I shouldn’t know. Right? Shouldn’t remember, I—he was looking at the house. The one I remember us living in sometimes, and I don’t…it’s impossible. To get back to that.” “He already told you it wasn’t,” Merlin argues.

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

Emma licks her lips. Coming up with anything else to say is difficult, and she’s still holding the goddamn dreamcatcher. That makes it easier. To give into instinct, and she’s broken. At her most basic level. Ripped apart and stitched back with pieces that don’t entirely belong to her, and remembering any of it feels like a cruel trick.

Lifting her arm, the whole thing only takes a few moments. Nothing more than a soft pull, and what feels like a soap bubble popping.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks, gaze dropping back to his table and his task and Emma nearly growls at him.

“What are you talking about?” “That’s what I thought. It won’t all disappear, though. Magic’s got a way of leaving a mark, especially magic like that.”

She leaves before he can make any other cryptic announcements, and Dark Ones don’t really need sleep. Emma sits on the bed for the rest of the night.

Dreams happen occasionally.

In the few days between — after the blade broke apart in her hand, and the decision that she won’t take this lying down, fuck whatever the world says about death and Dark Ones — visions start to creep into Emma’s subconscious. Sometimes they aren’t good, are a startling reminder of how it felt to fall to the ground, and the exact way dew soaked through her jeans, or how cold he was when his hand fell away from hers. And then sometimes they’re…not that.

They’re bright, and laughter rings out in the space Emma can’t quite define. Like it’s somewhere she’s been before, lived in even. Happily so. Scents hang in the air, a mix of salt and sweet and there’s almost always an arm curled around her waist, whispers in her ear and the steady press of kisses along her neck. Soft footsteps echo down carpeted hallways, and there’s garland wrapped around the staircase railing. Lining their ridiculous number of windows, and draped across branches of a tree.

For Christmas.

Emma isn’t sure how she knows that, but the snow outside is a good clue and it’s that — the growing desire to make this dream something closer to a reality, and no one questions her decision. To go to the Underworld. The same way she doesn’t second guess her steps as she races towards Killian, blood on his cheeks and nothing at the end of his left arm and he’s heavier than she remembered. Slumped against her chest with his breath in her ear, and it’s not quite the same as the dream, but they’ll get there.

They’ll get there.

Emma repeats the phrase — over and over, stumbling down a path she’s only passably confident will lead them outside, and he squeezes her hand. Three times.

Sometimes they dance.

In the kitchen. In the living room. She’s got this habit of hoarding records, and Killian’s far more interested in antiquing than he’d ever be willing to admit. Emma makes pirate jokes about it.

If only because it inevitably guarantees that spark in his eyes.

The one that makes her shiver, and reminds her of something she can’t quite remember and—she gasps, a hand spinning her on the kitchen floor. Away from the sink of dirty dishes and anything remotely responsible.

“I’m going to get your shirt all wet,” Emma grumbles, but that doesn’t appear to concern him very much. Or at all.

“Good.” “Good?” “Was that confusing?” Killian challenges, metal already working under the hem of her shirt. There are flowers on it.

“You think you’re very funny.” “I think I’ve got fantastic rhythm, and I can hear you thinking from across the room. What’s got your magic so loud?” Without stopping, Emma’s magic responds in kind — a symphony of possibility, and the growing sense of want that sits like a nearly-comfortable weight in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes she tells him. About the dreams, and the scenes that feel like she’s lived them before, and Killian never tells her she’s crazy. Even when Emma wonders if she might be. Instead, there’s simply this look of his own want, crinkling the skin near his eyes and she kisses away the pinch between his brow. Which makes it easier for her to ask— “Why this one?”

“Excuse me?” “This house,” Emma clarifies, and the conversation’s a little late. They’ve been here for years. Watched Henry grow up, and taught him how to use a sword, and watched movies until they could quote them back without a single mistake. So, really she should have figured it out before, but Emma’s had her suspicions. It’s only now that she’s greedy enough to ask about them.

“You know why.” “Would love to hear you say it.” “Pirate,” Killian accuses, without any insult and Emma giggles when he pulls her back to his chest. “And I—well, it’d be nice, don’t you think?” “Yeah, it would,” Emma says. The agreement tumbles out of her with ease, partially because of that aforementioned greed and the memories she can’t shake and Merlin said something to her. About magic’s tendency to leave something behind.

There’s a sheet of paper still hidden in her wallet.

“So,” she continues, “great big house, with lots of rooms and—” “—It’s your choice, Swan.” “That’s not how it works, and you know it. A combined team of planning and feeling and—” He dips her, she tries very hard not to giggle again. Fails miserably. “—Self-proclaimed rhythm. We just…this isn’t just about me, this is an us thing.” The music doesn’t stop. They only kind of do, Killian leaning back with a glint in his eyes that’s different than it normally is and Emma’s not sure when she started breathing through her mouth, but it’s drying out her lips and that’s not the first time she’s said that.

She doesn’t think so, at least.

“I’m a rather large fan of that string of words,” Killian says. “And you.” “Seems like a requirement of marriage.” “And parenting?” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

Kissing him is really the only reasonable option. And Emma considers herself fairly reasonable, although her magic nearly makes a light bulb explode a few hours later and it’s difficult to be annoyed by the smug look on Killian’s face when he’s not wearing any clothing.

“What about Regina?”

Half a dozen heads snap towards Emma, some of them sporting bemused expressions, while others wear flat out disbelief and she doesn’t blink. Her fingers tighten, under the table where she’s gripping Killian’s hand and she can’t seem to get comfortable.

There’s way more of her than she’s used to, and the books claim she’s in some stage called nesting. Which Killian uses as an excuse to make Swan jokes at every opportunity. It might be driving her insane.

So, Emma will use that as an excuse. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” Grumpy asks her, and Killian can’t quite mask his laugh. Even with his teeth pressed distractingly into his lower lip.

“I mean,” Emma starts, “that if we’re going to combine all the realms, maybe having Regina in charge might not be the worst idea. She’s got queenly experience.” “Wow,” Regina says slowly, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “No it is not!” “Top five, at least.” “You’re ruining this.”

Scrunching her nose is not a normal Regina reaction, but Emma figures it makes sense considering the circumstances and it’s a lot of responsibility. Uniting all the realms is a pretty daunting prospect, that will require enough of her own magic that Killian’s already freaking out just a bit, and somehow Emma can’t bring herself to be frustrated with that. Endeared, maybe.

And absolutely certain this will work.

She doesn’t know why. She looks at the slip of paper in her wallet, like four times a day.

“You’re sure?” Regina asks, Emma nods. “Alright, then I’d uh—it’d be my honor.”

They buy too many gifts. Hope is a baby. One who won’t have any memory of her first Christmas in this absolutely massive house, with a tree that Anton gave them a discount on.

“For milestones,” he reasoned, and Emma resolutely refuses to admit that she cried. But Killian brings it up more than once, and that gets her to roll her eyes and smile against his mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her and Snow White went above and beyond this year. Decorations line Main Street, cookies shared from every business and every person and all those people keep smiling. At her, and them and their kid is way cuter than her brother was.

Emma doesn’t mention that.

Killian does, at least when he whispers it to her while Leo tears apart another paper-covered box, and Hope gurgles in the crook of his arm. And Emma figures this is as good a time as any. To tug the folded envelope out of her pocket, flipping her wrist at the expectant and slightly confused look on Killian’s face. “What’s this?” “A gift,” Emma snarks, barely twisting out of the way to avoid him nipping at her nose. Like some twisted and very attractive Jack Frost. There’s some silver in his hair now.

He uses his hook to open it.

Emma clicks her tongue. So as not to push into his mouth. That might scar the kid.

“I don’t—” Killian says, pulling the scrap of paper out of. He holds it like it’s precious, and it is for Emma, but she also doesn’t entirely understand it and it’s kind of a selfish gift. “This is my hand writing. Why…I don’t remember writing this.” “And I don’t know when I got it. But I have it.” “I can see that.” “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s—I’ve had that for as long as I can remember. Since before New York, at least.” Killian’s eyes flash. To her and possibly through her, and Emma’s shrug is half-hearted at best. “Memories don’t always stick in this town,” he reasons, but it sounds like an excuse. For something she still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been there. Was in my wallet, and I had it in Camelot, babe. Used to pull it out sometimes, when you were—” “—Dead?” “God bless us, every one.” His laugh lacks any real amusement. It’s not very festive. “I’m going to ask you something,” Emma says, fully prepared for the way his lips curl.

“Eventually you’ll bypass the proclamations, Your Highness.” “Why do you squeeze my hand? You do it all the time.” “Do I?” Blotches of pink appear on his cheeks and he might want to lie, but his ears can’t and that’s not as weird a sentence as it should be. “Only three times, you realize?” “Don’t insult me like that.” That laugh is better. Purer, more like him and Emma’s magic flickers when he kisses her cheek. He’s constantly kissing her cheek. And her hair. Temple. Anywhere he can reach, like he’s always looking for a reminder and proof, until Emma knows she depends on it just as much as he does.

“Made it easier,” he says, “saying it without actually using words.” “And the words were…” He doesn’t really glare — that’s against the rules at Christmas, Emma’s sure, but his head lolls and his lips quirk and magic jumps. In her. To him. Whatever, really. “I love you,” Killian says, easy as some other cliche and Hope squirms between them. When they start kissing.

To suggest that what happens next happens suddenly, also makes it seem like Emma is paying attention to anything outside the little bubble of family and feeling, and neither one of those things is true. So she can’t say that. Her mother can.

Gasping and yelping, and there’s color everywhere — rivaling the lights that hang all over, because no one does holidays and milestones better than Her Royal Highness Snow White of Storybrooke. Emma curses.

Like a goddamn princess.

Remembering something that hasn’t technically happened yet threatens to make Emma topple over, but she’s really good at standing now and Killian’s arm is around her anyway. That helps. Perpetually.

“What the hell was that?” David demands, with as little grace as any of them can exude.

Emma shakes her head, refusing to blink. Despite the moisture there, and the feelings and she remembers. Has this whole time, kind of. The semantics probably aren’t important, at least not as much as the light is and was and will be.

Perpetually.

She doesn’t answer. Not her dad, anyway.

“I love you,” Emma tells Killian instead, and it takes some time to explain it all later. True Love and its somewhat inconsistent if not equally wonderful tendencies, and while that future in the past may not happen exactly as it had, this is somehow better and Emma was right.

They got here, eventually.

[rockislandadultreads]

Black History Month: some reading to get you started

Celebrate Black excellence with these titles

A Black Women's History of the United States by Daina Ramey Berry, Kali Nicole Gross

A vibrant and empowering history that emphasizes the perspectives and stories of African American women to show how they are--and have always been--instrumental in shaping our country In centering Black women's stories, two award-winning historians seek both to empower African American women and to show their allies that Black women's unique ability to make their own communities while combatting centuries of oppression is an essential component in our continued resistance to systemic racism and sexism. Daina Ramey Berry and Kali Nicole Gross offer an examination and celebration of Black womanhood, beginning with the first African women who arrived in what became the United States to African American women of today. A Black Women's History of the United States reaches far beyond a single narrative to showcase Black women's lives in all their fraught complexities. Berry and Gross prioritize many voices: enslaved women, freedwomen, religious leaders, artists, queer women, activists, and women who lived outside the law. The result is a starting point for exploring Black women's history and a testament to the beauty, richness, rhythm, tragedy, heartbreak, rage, and enduring love that abounds in the spirit of Black women in communities throughout the nation.

Black Detroit: A People's History of Self-Determination by Herb Boyd

The author of Baldwin’s Harlem looks at the evolving culture, politics, economics, and spiritual life of Detroit—a blend of memoir, love letter, history, and clear-eyed reportage that explores the city’s past, present, and future and its significance to the African American legacy and the nation’s fabric. Herb Boyd moved to Detroit in 1943, as race riots were engulfing the city. Though he did not grasp their full significance at the time, this critical moment would be one of many he witnessed that would mold his political activism and exposed a city restless for change. In Black Detroit, he reflects on his life and this landmark place, in search of understanding why Detroit is a special place for black people. Boyd reveals how Black Detroiters were prominent in the city’s historic, groundbreaking union movement and—when given an opportunity—were among the tireless workers who made the automobile industry the center of American industry. Well paying jobs on assembly lines allowed working class Black Detroiters to ascend to the middle class and achieve financial stability, an accomplishment not often attainable in other industries. Boyd makes clear that while many of these middle-class jobs have disappeared, decimating the population and hitting blacks hardest, Detroit survives thanks to the emergence of companies such as Shinola—which represent the strength of the Motor City and and its continued importance to the country. He also brings into focus the major figures who have defined and shaped Detroit, including William Lambert, the great abolitionist, Berry Gordy, the founder of Motown, Coleman Young, the city’s first black mayor, diva songstress Aretha Franklin, Malcolm X, and Ralphe Bunche, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. With a stunning eye for detail and passion for Detroit, Boyd celebrates the music, manufacturing, politics, and culture that make it an American original.

Black Against Empire: The History and Politics of the Black Panther Party by Joshua Bloom, Waldo E. Martin Jr.

In Oakland, California, in 1966, community college students Bobby Seale and Huey Newton armed themselves, began patrolling the police, and promised to prevent police brutality. Unlike the Civil Rights Movement that called for full citizenship rights for blacks within the U.S., the Black Panther Party rejected the legitimacy of the U.S. government and positioned itself as part of a global struggle against American imperialism. In the face of intense repression, the Party flourished, becoming the center of a revolutionary movement with offices in 68 U.S. cities and powerful allies around the world. Black against Empire is the first comprehensive overview and analysis of the history and politics of the Black Panther Party. The authors analyze key political questions, such as why so many young black people across the country risked their lives for the revolution, why the Party grew most rapidly during the height of repression, and why allies abandoned the Party at its peak of influence. Bold, engrossing, and richly detailed, this book cuts through the mythology and obfuscation, revealing the political dynamics that drove the explosive growth of this revolutionary movement, and its disastrous unraveling. Informed by twelve years of meticulous archival research, as well as familiarity with most of the former Party leadership and many rank-and-file members, this book is the definitive history of one of the greatest challenges ever posed to American state power.

Satch, Dizzy, and Rapid Robert: The Wild Saga of Interracial Baseball Before Jackie Robinson by Timothy M. Gay

Before Jackie Robinson integrated major league baseball in 1947, black and white ballplayers had been playing against one another for decades--even, on rare occasions, playing with each other. Interracial contests took place during the off-season, when major leaguers and Negro Leaguers alike fattened their wallets by playing exhibitions in cities and towns across America. These barnstorming tours reached new heights, however, when Satchel Paige and other African- American stars took on white teams headlined by the irrepressible Dizzy Dean. Lippy and funny, a born showman, the native Arkansan saw no reason why he shouldn't pitch against Negro Leaguers. Paige, who feared no one and chased a buck harder than any player alive, instantly recognized the box-office appeal of competing against Dizzy Dean's "All-Stars." Paige and Dean both featured soaring leg kicks and loved to mimic each other's style to amuse fans. Skin color aside, the dirt-poor Southern pitchers had much in common. Historian Timothy M. Gay has unearthed long-forgotten exhibitions where Paige and Dean dueled, and he tells the story of their pioneering escapades in this engaging book. Long before they ever heard of Robinson or Larry Doby, baseball fans from Brooklyn to Enid, Oklahoma, watched black and white players battle on the same diamond. With such Hall of Fame teammates as Josh Gibson, Turkey Stearnes, Mule Suttles, Oscar Charleston, Cool Papa Bell, and Bullet Joe Rogan, Paige often had the upper hand against Diz. After arm troubles sidelined Dean, a new pitching phenom, Bob Feller--Rapid Robert--assembled his own teams to face Paige and other blackballers. By the time Paige became Feller's teammate on the Cleveland Indians in 1948, a rookie at age forty-two, Satch and Feller had barnstormed against each other for more than a decade. These often obscure contests helped hasten the end of Jim Crow baseball, paving the way for the game's integration. Satchel Paige, Dizzy Dean, and Bob Feller never set out to make social history--but that's precisely what happened. Tim Gay has brought this era to vivid and colorful life in a book that every baseball fan will embrace.

[coll2mitts]

#28 Hairspray (2007)

Welcome to Hairspray, where a well-intentioned, woke, white teenage girl singlehandedly ends segregation in 1960s Baltimore.

Y’know, after watching Cry-Baby, I wasn’t super keen on revisiting Hairspray, but I figured it deserved a fair shot.  I hadn’t seen the original since I was in high school, so I booted up HBO Max and settled in for a long night of old-timey dance moves and racial inequality.  Guys... the 1988 version of Hairspray is flippin’ great.

The cast is just to die for.  Ricki Lake, who I only knew as a talk show host in my childhood, is a great Tracy Turnblad.  My favorite devious sea witch Divine is her mother, and Jerry Stiller is her father.  Goddamn Debbie Harry and Sunny Bono are her rival’s parents, and Amber Von Tussle is motherfucking Colleen Fitzpatrick.  As someone who has a vested interest in all famous Colleens, I was stoked to see that Hairspray was Vitamin C’s first acting gig.

FUN FACT: According to Wikipedia (which is never wrong), Graduation (Friends Forever) charts on iTunes at the end of every school year.  Colleen is also the VP of music at Nickelodeon, so she’s doing just fine.

Anyway, the original Hairspray is campy, edgy and hilarious.  If I were Miss Soft Crab 1945, I too would bring it up every chance I got.  The story really boils down to two horny teenage girls trying to claw their way to the top, but the charm of Tracy is she’s trying to pull everyone else up with her.  The way they handle segregation and racial inequality is over-the-top ridiculous, but somehow more realistic than its updated counterpart (put a pin in this).  I mean, a racist white woman shoved a bomb in her hair to own the libs and it gloriously explodes on her head.  I haven’t seen the musical adaptation of Hairspray, so my opinions of how true it is to its source material won’t be explored here, but the 2007 movie adaptation, to me, left a lot to be desired.

Hairspray might be the most popular in a recent trend of non-musical movies being adapted for Broadway.  I remember back in the 90s when Beauty and the Beast hit the stage - it was so successful Disney now has the movie-to-Broadway pipeline on speed dial.  But now we’re getting a shitload of movies with no musical elements being fast tracked to Broadway, like Kinky Boots, Bend it Like Beckham, Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, Waitress, Legally Blonde, fucking Groundhog Day with music written by Tim Minchin, just, so goddamn many of them.  I love musicals, but to say I didn’t want to see The Heathers threaten Veronica in 3-part harmony would be an understatement, so I’m immediately skeptical to the quality of this content and hesitant to consume it.  Unfortunately for me, Hairspray is one of the few who had their *corny* musical adaptation also committed to film, and it is a neutered, earnest, high school choir translation of the original and it made my teeth hurt.

The two positives I’ll give the remake are the sets/costumes are great, and the cast serve their roles well, although I will never be OK with someone wearing a fat suit as a costume.  The songs are... fine.  Again, this era of music is not my favorite, so I’m never going to get excited over “It Takes Two” or “I Can Hear the Bells”.  It’s just the tone is so different from the original, and by the end of the movie I was exhausted and very glad it was over.  Writing about it now has required several breaks and side-tangents and I can’t even get to the fucking synopsis of the movie... ugh let’s just do this.

Tracy Turnblad is a “pleasantly plump” teenage girl living in 1960s Baltimore whose sunny disposition makes her oblivious to the reality of murky situation she is living in.  We’re quickly introduced to her obsession, “The Corny Collins Show”, which features a number of far-out teens that love to dance, including multi-year winner of Miss Teenage Hairspray and miss Pitch Perfect herself Amber Von Tussel.  Her mother, Velma, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, is the station manager at WYZT, and uses her power to keep Amber featured front and center.  

After a girl on the show gets knocked up, an audition is held to replace her.  While Tracy’s mother Edna, regrettably played by John Travolta in a fat suit, is afraid that Tracy’s weight will prevent her from landing the gig, her father, puzzlingly played by like a 60-something Christopher Walken, is generally supportive.  True to Edna’s feeling, Tracy is fat shamed by Amber and Velma and doesn’t make the cut.

After getting detention for skipping class for an audition that didn’t pan out, Tracy makes friends with a bunch of black students who are all excellent dancers.  Turns out her new friend Seaweed is the son of Motormouth Maybelle, the sometimes-host of "The Corny Collins Show”, played by Queen Latifah.  Velma, in addition to being a massive bitch, also segregates the station’s black talent from the main show, only to be featured one night a month on “Negro Day”.  While Tracy is boogying down, Link, Amber’s boyfriend and one of the stars of TCCS, peeps at her ass and tells her if she shook her rump in front of Corny at the Hop, he’d have no choice but to put her on the show.

In the original movie, Tracy Turnblad fucks.  She moves in on Link and devours him whole, with no mind given to her size.  She is a kind of bratty, confident young teenager that isn’t afraid to reach out and grab what she wants.  Tracy in the 2007 version is the most innocent cinnamon roll that has ever been baked.  Link gives her one compliment and she drifts into fantasies of marrying him.  Part of me is annoyed by this, but the other part of me appreciates misguided optimism played as humor.

At the Corny Collins hop, Tracy steals borrows Seaweed’s dance move and lands a place on TCCS council.  After declaring she wants every day to be Negro Day, the head of the station declares he wants that “chubby communist girl” off the show.  Corny, played by a dreamy James Marsden, sticks his neck out for Tracy and furthermore, says the show should be integrated.  As Tracy’s popularity skyrockets, the station shows more leeway to her size and her look, but to maintain some semblance of control, Velma works to completely edge out Negro Day.

Meanwhile, Link is clued into how fun it is in detention, and him, Tracy, and Penny all dance their way to Motormouth Maybelle’s record store for a potluck.  When Seaweed introduces his new white friends to his mother, Penny delivers my favorite line of the whole movie, “I’m very pleased and scared to be here.”  Amber rats out Tracy’s activities to her mother, and Edna arrives to Motormouth’s with the intention of dragging Tracy home until she realizes that black people are OK because they eat brisket.

After Edna shoves a bunch of food in her face, the gang finds out that Negro Day on “The Corny Collins Show” has been cancelled.  Tracy has the great idea to protest the television station, and all the black people are like, “Why didn’t we think of that?”  Link decides to bow out of the march because there’ll be talent agents at the Miss Hairspray Pageant, and he doesn’t want to give up his big shot at fame and glory to fight for a entire race of people’s basic rights.

The next day, Tracy and her mom are the only white people in a sea of black people to march to the station.  Queen Latifah sings a very earnest song about the resilience of her community, because this is the Serious Portion TM of the musical.  Tracy assaults a police officer without giving any mind to what it would do for all the black people she’s marching with, and runs away to let them handle the consequences.  The movie doesn’t show any police brutality because Reasons, and a bunch of protestors are arrested and immediately bailed out by Tracy’s Dad.  Tracy eventually ends up back at Motormouth Maybelle’s record shop so she can hide there without considering how dangerous it would be for Motormouth to harbor a fugitive of the law.  

The next day is the Miss Teen Hairspray competition broadcast at WYZT, and with Tracy being wanted by the police, they have to sneak her into the station.  She bum-rushes the set to sing a song with a now-enlightened Link about not stopping progress, while also inviting Motormouth Maybelle’s daughter, Little Inez, on stage to dance.  Everybody calls-in to vote for her because the only racist people in Baltimore run the television station, and Little Inez is crowned Miss Teen Hairspray.  Amber is like fine with it even though her mom isn’t, and everyone dances and sings to celebrate that “The Corny Collins” show is now integrated!  Meanwhile, I’m left wondering why Amanda Bynes was forced to wear a dress that she can’t move her legs in, even though they knew she would participate in the show’s closing dance number.  The end.

Oh, and there’s also a whole B plot where Velma tries to fuck Tracy’s dad and Tracy’s mom finds out and gets upset for like 30 seconds.  This is immediately resolved by a song and dance number among a bunch of laundry.

This movie is fine and competent or whatever, but for some reason it just rubs me the entirely wrong way.  Tracy constantly says that the 1960s are changing for people who are different, implying that an overweight white teen also knows what it’s like to be discriminated against in the same way black people are.  The movie does roll its eyes at some of her most tone-deaf “I’m an overenthusiastic ally” moments, like “I wish every day was Negro Day!” and “This is afro-tastic!”, but it also goes out of its way to talk about how much Tracy has helped the black community.  Like, by doing what?  Being fat and on TV?  That being said, she does use her privilege to feature black dancers on a major television broadcast, so by the end of the movie she becomes the person everyone says she is.  Also, I’m a dumb, overweight, white, middle-aged woman, so I’m not the right person to get all indignant about a well-intentioned feel-good Broadway musical.

Final thoughts: If you love bright colors, cheese, and sincere, glossy reflections of the 1960s civil rights movement written by a bunch of white dudes, this movie is for you.