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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

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.

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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.

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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.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #agh sorry for the incoming reblog but i'd like this to work

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likelightningafterthethunder · 3 years

Text

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter Three: Message from the Shadows

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

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–

As the reunion approached, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that everything was fine.

Katsuki had been added back to the group text with Eijirou, Mina, and Hanta; he wasn’t sure if Eijirou had told them or if they had figured it out on their own, but almost all of the pictures sent after he was added back in lacked a certain pair of amber eyes. He appreciated their attempt to make things less stressful for him, but it just made him think about how the rest of the class might not share the same sentiment and that there was a non-zero chance of having to see those eyes― or worse, that damned smile― during the reunion. He didn’t say anything about it, of course, but the idea of suddenly canceling and saying he was sick was looking more and more tempting.

Ochako and Katsuki had met up a few more times at Takeshi’s, but to Katsuki’s frustration, their sparring sessions seemed to do little to help prevent his mind from wandering off to that damned smile and digging its claws in. The most recent session, his guard had slipped enough that Ochako even dared to repeat his own words against him, even if the threat of him wasting her time was empty. Despite that, she still didn’t ask what was keeping him up at night, a small blessing Katsuki was thankful for.

Work was the one aspect of his life where he had a bit of normalcy, and no one could ask about the telltale sign of sleepless nights when his mask was on to hide them. He didn’t interact with anyone else at the agency often enough for them to note any potential changes in his behavior caused by the recent hauntings and there certainly wasn’t enough time for his mind to wander off in the middle of a battle with higher stakes than an ongoing scoreboard and bragging rights. His work didn’t suffer so he was certain that he would be able to get through this… thing, without anyone at work noticing, and if he was lucky, maybe the big red bow his mind needed to finally tie the memory up and shelve it away was the upcoming reunion and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone noticing, period.

Except his boss knew about what happened too.

It was hard for her not to know. Shion had been there that day, and while she hadn’t arrived early enough to stop Katsuki’s anger from kicking in, she had definitely seen the toll the fight had taken on the surrounding area. She had definitely seen the still smoking singes of clothing, seen the furniture and paperwork that were strewn across the room, heard the cackling of flames, of his palms, of the remnant electricity in the air, seen the―

Katsuki inhaled sharply, shaking the memory from his mind.

He’d like to assume that the main reason why Shion offered him a position at her agency was his hard work both at UA and on the field. He’d like to say that maybe it was because she saw a similarity between his explosive fighting style and her own, or maybe she noticed the quick calculations hidden behind seemingly impulsive actions. Hell, Katsuki would even be willing to say that she found some sort of sick twisted pleasure in watching his fuse burn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe it was out of pity.

That maybe all she saw when she looked at him was the teenage boy from that day ten years ago. That maybe he was some sort of passion project, an attempt to see if she could “fix” him. That maybe she thought that one day, Katsuki might break, and that it was best if she was nearby to take care of it.

That maybe, just maybe, Katsuki was stuck standing in that damned shadow.

Katsuki could normally easily avoid Shion asking him about his life outside of work. She only ever seemed interested in forcing him into having a life outside of work, but always left the details of what that entailed up to him and rarely pried past ensuring that Katsuki hadn’t secretly been doing paperwork or something when he was supposed to have the day off. She seemed to do the same to everyone else who worked at the agency though, so there was very little room to complain― though that didn’t stop him from taking every inch he got when he found the chance. (Not that it seemed to stop her either, especially when everyone else was more than happy to talk about their personal lives.)

But, between her knowing about Katsuki’s past and about the upcoming reunion, Katsuki was not surprised when Shion started being curious about his personal life “out of nowhere.” She asked if the reunion had some sort of plus one system and if so, if there was a lucky person Katsuki would be taking with him to formally introduce them to his former classmates; if there was a lucky person, how come she didn’t know of them yet; if Katsuki would introduce her to them so that she could get them on “Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation”; maybe if he took a vacation there would actually be a lucky someone; and a seemingly endless list of other questions every single time he saw Shion, even if it was in passing and there was no time to respond to it before they were out of earshot from each other.

He knew the worst of it was coming when he saw that he was scheduled to patrol with her in the afternoon. She left him alone during the morning― a small but welcomed blessing― and unlike every other time they had been scheduled to patrol together, she wasn’t waiting for him after his lunch break either. Katsuki wondered if maybe she was trying to give him space before she brought up the inevitable, or if maybe he had misread the schedule and he was going on patrol alone.

When he saw her in the agency lobby, standing at his approach, he held back a curse.

The walk exiting the building was uncharacteristically quiet, the only noises between them being the sound of Katsuki’s footsteps and Shion’s skates. Katsuki wasn’t sure what he dreaded more― the idea of a silent Shion for the entirety of patrol or the fact that when she did start speaking, it would immediately be about his personal life.

Thankfully (or not?) after a failed attempt at getting Katsuki to let her hook onto his arm and make him do the “hard work” of walking (“Fuck off, you’ve got legs,” “You walk too fast, I should be saving my energy for fighting villains, not trying to keep up with your rocket legs,” “Sucks to be you then,”), Shion started talking. It started off normally enough― Shion mentioned some workplace gossip that Katsuki didn’t particularly care about, some information about a new sponsor that was supposed to reach out later that week, how her roller derby match had gone the past weekend― but even though he was expecting something different, it didn’t prepare him for what she said next.

“The Commission’s looking into the Acolyte.”

Katsuki stopped in his tracks, Shion rolling to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Katsuki felt his throat tighten, like there was something trying to suffocate him from the inside out, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back something between a laugh of desperation and a scream of frustration.

The Acolyte. The fucking Acolyte.

For once, Shion didn’t speak. Katsuki wished she would, even if it was an insult, even if she picked away at his shell and attacked the part of him that was still just a scared, lost teenage boy that was in over his head, anything so he didn’t have to deal with the deafening silence. Anything to jump in and distract him from the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts rushing at him, to redirect his thoughts away from the dark corner of his memory, to keep him here, in that moment, in reality.

He let out a shaky exhale as he forced the uneasy feeling back down, trying to shake it off. “Thought the Acolyte was taken care of.”

“I thought so too,” Shion paused, giving Katsuki a look over that he knew could see right through him. He forced himself to hold his resolve, waiting for her to continue. “Rumor is that someone on the outside has been in contact with Mother and is trying to prepare for her return. Recruit new members, spread their message, and find someone called the Son,”

Katsuki scoffed. “The bastards at the prison aren’t doing their job if the bitch managed to make contact with the outside,”

Shion laughed, moving closer to give him a playful slap on the arm, “I knew you’d see it my way. That’s what I said at the Commission meeting― well, in a more poetic way, of course. Those Commission workers wanted none of it though, even though it’s obvious that heroes aren’t to blame for this particular mess up. Now, come on, let’s keep walking while we talk,”

He hesitated briefly, brows furrowed as Shion started to skate ahead. Were they really going to continue patrol while talking about something like this? “Shouldn’t we be discussing this back at the agency?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Shion waved a hand dismissively as Katsuki caught up to her, ignoring the glare sent her way at her phrasing. “Besides, the agency is full of gossips,”

“You’re the biggest gossip there.”

“How do you think I know?” She gave Katsuki a wink and a nudge in his side, laughing when it was met with a scowl. “It’s fine. That was the most confidential part of the conversation I had to tell you.”

“Why did you tell me, anyway?”

Shion looked up at him, amused. “I’ve been asked to help find someone for their task force. You’re on the short list, Katsuki. Well, correction, you are the short list. Though, you do have the right to decline, in which case you and Hibiki will be in charge of keeping the agency in one piece whenever the Commission drags me away. Or, you know, as close to one piece as possible, so our public relations people don’t try to have our heads on a platter.” If she noticed the hesitance in Katsuki’s face, she didn’t comment on it. “You don’t have to give me your answer now. In fact, I encourage you to take your time― since the Commission’s being so rude about who’s to blame for this whole ordeal, I say we let them wait a few days before I tell them which one of us will be working with them. They have other things to do while they wait for my decision anyway― like actually finding the prison leak and getting information that heroes can actually act on, instead of acting like we’re all Divine Prophet and can find people in the blink of an eye. You know, kind of surprising that they haven’t dragged Divine Prophet into this yet either actually. They weren’t at the meeting and no one mentioned them, so I guess they’re busy doing something else for the Commission or something.”

Katsuki let her ramble on for a while longer, thinking back to the Acolyte. He had hoped he had heard the last of them, years ago when a raid on an Acolyte base resulted in Mother’s capture and the destruction of their intel. Some members had died but enough had lived and been captured that through the combined work of the police force, heroes, and the Commission, every Acolyte member had been imprisoned.

Almost, Katsuki corrected. Someone must’ve slipped past and hid until they could get a message to Mother. He could only hope that the leak had been found early enough before Mother could weave another web of misery.

Even if the Acolyte hadn’t gotten the chance to rebuild itself back up, helping take it back down would be a pretty important achievement to put on Katsuki’s hero resume. The original downfall of the Acolyte and capture of their information had resulted in the downfall of several smaller villain groups and prevented some large scale villain attacks from occurring, so while it was unlikely that whatever the Commission wanted the task force to do would be flashy and public, it was also likely the Commission would take the potential damage prevented into account when calculating the next Billboards rankings.

Yet…

Katsuki was dragged out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his arm, his hand already gripped tight around Shion’s wrist before he realized it was her and let go.

She smiled softly, giving Katsuki a moment to reorient himself. “Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to say yes, but I know you’re the right man for the job.”

“Of fucking course I am,”

“Glad to know that you know. Anyway, let’s talk about that reunion of yours! You never did answer me about if you were bringing a special someone.”

Katsuki groaned.

Katsuki was half considering taking the last week before the reunion off just to avoid Shion’s questions by the time he finally made it back home. While the questions about the reunion had helped keep his mind off of the Acolyte shit, it took maybe half an hour before Katsuki was wishing they were talking about the Acolyte instead. There was only so long that Katsuki could deal with questions about his supposed love life (both present day and anything that might have happened back in high school) and the type of clothes he planned on wearing to show off his “post graduation glow up”, whatever the fuck that meant.

He cursed under his breath when his phone started going off while he was preparing dinner, not really feeling like talking to anyone. He let it keep ringing, focusing on chopping the vegetables instead and sighing in relief when the ringing finally stopped― until it started back up. He ignored it one more time, only giving in and checking his phone after he heard a few text ringtones.

Shitty Hair

Missed Call (2)

Well shit. Probably shouldn’t ignore him if it was important enough to call instead of text.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki!!!

Shitty Hair: Are you free bro??

Shitty Hair: I need your help for this project

Shitty Hair: I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong and I don’t know how to put it into words so I can ask the internet

Katsuki: If you can’t put it into words, how the fuck am I supposed to help?

Katsuki: I’m cooking right now but I’m free otherwise.

Shitty Hair: Can you video call??? I’ll just show it to you

Katsuki: Sure.

Katsuki propped his phone up on the counter, making sure that it wouldn’t get in the way of his cooking and that he’d still be in frame when the call connected. He scowled a little when the call connected and the only thing he could see was Eijirou’s eyes and forehead.

“Back the fuck up from the camera, Shitty Hair, I can’t see anything. Unless you’re calling to see if there’s an eyelash in your eye, then the answer is no.”

“Just give me a sec! I dropped my phone while it was ringing.” Katsuki waited as Eijirou readjusted himself and propped the phone up. “Okay, it’s not great, but ta-da! Not bad for an amateur, huh?”

“Are you knitting?”

“Yeah!” Eijirou grinned brightly. “There’s this group near my work that’s doing like, an auction of knitted and crocheted and other handmade things for charity, and I asked if I could try making some stuff for the auction. I’m not great at it but I figure some people would love to buy something that a hero made, and the money’s going to a good cause, so why not? And I thought, maybe I could knit on the train over to Musutafu, except it’s doing this twisty thing around my needles and I don’t know why, and I need to know what’s going wrong so I know if I have to buy new yarn before the reunion or if this is salvageable,”

Katsuki paused. “What makes you think I know what the fuck is going on with your knitting?”

“Dude, I know you’re the one who knits all of the knitted gifts you’ve given me, Mina, and Hanta. I figured it out years ago.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me that you knew?”

Eijirou shrugged. “You never said it yourself so I figured you were just waiting for the right moment to tell us or something,”

Katsuki huffed and shrugged it off. Eijirou wasn’t completely wrong, after all. “It’s salvageable. Look up ‘frogging’ to undo everything. Make sure the row’s straight on the needle before you start and that you’re not accidentally holding it in a way that makes it twist on the needle either.”

“Cool, cool. And what about these random holes, like this one?”

“Probably wrapped the yarn an extra time before you made a new stitch. Count your stitches, I bet you’ve got more than you started off with.”

“Thanks Kats! Mind if we stay on the call while I try to figure out this whole knitting thing?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Eijirou laughed and started talking about his day while he worked on his knitting, stopping here and there to ask Katsuki to see if he was doing things right. After he was done with his update, he asked Katsuki how his day had gone.

“Shitty,” Katsuki grumbled. “Damned Four Eyes kept asking me shit about the reunion, the entire fucking afternoon. While we were on patrol! I fucking swear, she enjoys pushing my buttons.”

“Oh come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Katsuki paused cooking to stare at his phone camera directly, silently daring Eijirou to contradict him again.

“Okaaaaay maybe it was. Do you think maybe she’ll leave you alone about getting your ‘special someone’ to join the ‘Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation’ team if I officially joined the team?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Katsuki pointed his knife at the camera, ignoring the laughter that came from the other end. “It’ll probably plant the wrong fucking idea in her head and make all this shit worse.”

“Okay okay, I won’t join behind your back or anything, but if you skip out on Hanta, Mina, and me for the reunion or the squad hangout the day after, not only will I join the team, but I will get Hanta and Mina to join too. Maybe even Midoriya and Uraraka.”

“I already said I’m going, you damned Shitty Hair! Back the fuck off already.”

“Just checking! Are we still good for rooming together?”

“Yeah. Cheeky and I should be arriving in Musutafu around one, unless shit runs late.”

“All right, I should be there around eleven, so I’ll go ahead and check in first and text you the room number―” Katsuki barely caught Eijirou’s hand suddenly reaching out towards the screen, knocking the phone over onto the ground. He heard the sounds of Eijirou fumbling with something off screen before a faint voice that sounded like a news reporter came on.

“What the fuck, Shitty Hair?”

Katsuki briefly got a screenful of Eijirou’s eyebrows again as picked the phone up, frowning when he noticed the panic in Eijirou’s eyes. “Look,” was all he said before the camera flipped to show his TV screen, turning up the volume.

It was a live broadcast, with the banner indicating that the reporter was standing in Miyazaki. In the background, dozens of police cars and firetrucks surrounded a tall fence, officers and firefighters rushing in towards what looked like a large hole in the side of a building. A few of the heroes stationed in Miyazaki were rushing in as well, all of them escorted by people who looked like―

Prison guards.

Katsuki put down his cooking utensils, hands moving to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turned white in an attempt to ground himself. He could almost feel the thick tar build in the back of his throat and it took all his self control to force his breathing to steady. He could barely focus on what the reporter was saying, nearly missing Eijirou’s hesitant, quiet voice.

“Isn’t that…”

“...Yeah.”

“Shit.”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kaminari denki #bakukami #kamibaku #katsuki bakugou #denki kaminari #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #story #from the creator

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politicalmamaduck · 5 years

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Reylo Fic Recs: Modern AU

The Other Promise by @kuresoto

Rey knows she's not normal. Why else would she be subjected to four foster families before she aged out of the system and took life into her own hands? It could have (definitely does) something to do with the fact that she can see how long people have to live.It doesn't bother her (much) anymore, and with her being--well, her--she's resigned herself to working in a morgue for the rest of her life where the only people who keep her company besides her boss, are the dead. No friends, no family. No one.But everything starts to unravel when a new neighbor moves in next door. The walls she's built come crumbling down for the uniquely handsome man who always wears a three-piece suit, complete with a pair of leather gloves, regardless of how hot it is.The chance encounter turns into frequent run-ins, with the single most important factor that had ruined any relationship she ever tried having in the past being absent. He has no life timer.

Where No Thing Gleams by @maq-moon

An online DNA test sends Rey on a whirlwind journey across Europe. When she hits a roadblock in her travels, the enigmatic Kylo Ren offers to solve all of her problems. The catch? She must simply go on one date with him.Or so she thought.

The Skeptic and the Medium by @shelikespretties

Rey Niima fought for a logical, no-nonsense life as a scientist and skeptic of all things that go bump in the night. Kylo Ren is a famous medium for whom bumps in the night show off. So of course they have to make a Netflix special together.

Dear Mr. President by @shmisolo

Dr. Dameron shifts and slides a manilla folder across the desk to her. “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d let you keep the folder. I hope you’ll understand why I can’t do that this time around.” She opens it and stares.She stares and stares and stares.Dr. Dameron has to be kidding. There have to be hidden cameras here, this has to be some elaborate prank. That’s why it’s him here and not Dr. Wexley—that was his name. Dr. Wexley. But instead of getting to her feet and tossing her hair and saying he was cruel for playing with her heart like this, all she does is ask, blankly, “So...Ben Solo is my soulmate? Our new president is my…” She swallows.And Dr. Dameron nods.

Carry In My Core (That Voice I Adore) by @shmisolo

Starring in her first opera would be stressful as is, but Rey, always one to outdo herself, just had to go and make things even more complicated with Kylo Ren. It’s hard enough looking him in the eye, much less pretending to be in love with him. She can make it through this. She has made it through worse. She can make it through this.

the star to every wandering bark by @abstractragedy

There is something else as well, an instinctual drive that’s making him go, almost calling Ben to Takodana; much like an idea for a novel, a terribly persistent and gnawing thought at the back of his mind that will not go away until he does something about it.A change of scenery is always good for one’s mind. By alternating one’s perspective the reality might change as well.--When Ben Solo travels to Takodana in the name of his second novel, meeting an impossibly intriguing woman named Rey wasn't exactly what he envisioned. But the universe has a funny way of working things out.

Yichud by @shmisolo

Mazal Tov - The expression comes from the Mishnaic Hebrew mazzāl, meaning "constellation" or "destiny". Borrowed from Yiddish מזל־טובֿ (mazl tov), from Hebrew מַזָּל (mazál, “star, constellation; fate, luck”), from Akkadian (manzaltu [UD.DA]) + Hebrew טוֹב (tov, “good”); literally “good stars, good luck.”

crossfade (cursed and blessed) by @shmisolo

The Talmud states that on Purim one is to drink to the point of not knowing the difference between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordechai.” In other words, you’re supposed to get so blitzed you can’t tell your friends from your enemies. Rey and Ben might be taking this a little too literally at Leia’s annual Purim Party.

Convergence by @kuresoto

Other, also known as ‘soulmate’ for people who wanted to believe. Not everyone had an Other, and the only way to find your Other was by saying their name. When that happened, memories of their life, where they grew up and the steps that led them to you, would be condensed into a single flashback that passed in a blink of an eye. The fact that someone had said Rey’s name and didn’t bother approaching her hurt, especially since she had a good idea why. Her parents tossed her aside when she was barely five, so she shouldn’t be surprised that her soulmate had done the same.

Siman tov u’mazal tov by @shmisolo

“I didn’t get to have a big wedding,” his mother had told him when they’d finally spoken about it. “I was pregnant and it was a lot and your dad and I just got married. It’s my time. I’m having a big wedding.” She sounded nervous, almost defensive, as though a woman who is nearly sixty doesn’t have a right to want a big wedding. She wasn’t no young blushing bride. She has a thirty-year-old son for god’s sake.But his mom was going to have a big wedding.And Ben had taken a deep breath before saying what he’s sure Leia was even more nervous about hearing.“I’m not sure I’m coming.”

How Our Song Goes by @lariren-shadow

Rey is a struggling student who would love to have at least some money to save rather then just paying her debts. Kylo Ren would love to get his trust fund, the only problem is there's a clause in it that states if he wants it now he has to get married.Rey is willing to be Kylo's bride to her own cut. The only problem is that they'll have to make their relationship look real to everyone else.

Puppies by @lariren-shadow

On a crisp autumn day Rey and Ben meet in the park while walking their dogs. Things don't exactly go smoothly.

burn sky until you see lines by @solikerez

He writes a letter for every time he feels like the world is shattering around him, and it is still not enough.

306.73 or: How to Woo a Librarian by @reylotrashcompactor

She was back again. Ben called her The Scavenger in his head because she liked to pick collections dry. (Though he knew from her library card that her name was Rey. Pretty.) There wasn’t a pattern to her hauls, only that she’d take almost an entire shelf with her in that ratty little messenger bag and leave him to pick up her mess. But, Ben didn’t suppose he was fooling anyone but himself: he had it bad for the Scavenger and she was back. He’d talk to her tonight. He would.

What you don't know by @thewayofthetrashcompactor

Rey wants to see the local haunted house and drags her reluctant boyfriend and friends along with her. It's not quite what she expects.

Between Sky and Sea by @moonshotsandarchimedeslevers

When Rey finally set out to find her parents in the innumerable islands of the Jakku Archipelago, the last thing she expected was a mysterious stranger to drop out of the sky with his story of hidden treasures and secret wonders.

Blades Crossed by @the-reylo-void

Notorious figure skater Kylo Ren has had a rough few years; once a decorated competitor, now it's hard to say what he's losing faster, sponsors or partners. With Nationals just six months out and no qualified partner on the horizon, Kylo finds himself begrudgingly skating with college hockey phenom Rey Kenobi, a scrappy forward coming off injured reserve who doesn't know a lutz from an axel. It's only for six months, but family drama, a twisted coach, and a budding closeness to his new partner ensure that this will be the most eventful competition season of Kylo's career.

it's you and me (i know it's our destiny) by @shmisolo

It’s just a kid’s game, he thinks when jealousy pangs in his heart. But it’s more than just a kid’s game.It’s Pokémon. It’s the only good thing in his life.

happy cockus day by trasharama

She prefers the nip of New Hampshire winters, heavy winds blowing in her hair, being bundled up in three layers with pens whose ink freeze fast and thaw slow. She loves warm buildings, and Christmas breaks, and slurping down huge bowls of ramen in the evenings, but being on the ground, a clipboard in her hand, boots on a voter’s doorstep? That’s where she knows she belongs.So there are a lot of things going against Rey Johnson’s introduction to Ben Solo, his moody personality probably the least of her worries, since he’s the reason she’s not outside, making some sort of tangible effort to get his mother elected as president.

A More Perfect Union by fangirl_outlet

Rey, new to DC, tags along to a stuffy networking event with her friend -- they're both poor and, hell, there's free booze. Ben, a recruiter for the lobbyist firm he works for, finds the intern with the soft voice and angry eyes a fun challenge -- especially when he finds out she works for his estranged mother Senator Leia Organa.

Spending Valentine's Day Solo by @jyn-z-solo

She places his scent—woodsy and warm, like sandalwood and ginger—before she recognizes the large, gloved hand outreached to steady her or the sleeves of his black wool coat. “Rey,” he blurts out—is the pink on his cheeks from the chill outside, or is he blushing? “Ben! Hi!” She’s trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but at the rate her eyebrows continue to rise, they may end up past her hairline. “Wha… What are you doing here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

Unshakeable by @shmisolo

Rey is performing in another fucking musical and Ben goes to see it.

My own modern AU fics:

what is past is prologue: Reylo in Washington, DC

A collection of my Tumblr-based Reylo fics set in Washington, DC. Prompts and prompter will be in chapter titles.

My other fic rec lists:

#reylo #rffa writers #fic recs #modern au #fan fiction #my writing

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years

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Fraxus week eve: First meeting

Gonna tag @fuckyeahfraxus for the whole week bc tumblr is a bit funky

Having Wendy Marvell as a little sister was a genuine blessing. The six year old girl is bubbly and cheerful, but had never managed to get on his nerves, unlike his adopted bunch of brothers. That's the reason why he didn't take any of them with him when moving out of 'Makarov's home for severely unruly children who will bite anything and anyone'. To be honest, the only reason he visits his old home so much, is so the squirt can see her other older brothers (or at least that's what he tells himself).

Rest of the fic under the cut!

The point is, that his normally well behaved little sister is nowhere to be found. As he speedwalks through the mall, he inwardly curses the whole fairy-princess 'expedition' that they had decided to attend. The event was a group event, but apparently they weren't responsible enough to watch Wendy for a minute while he specifically asked them to (he couldn't really take her to the restroom with him. No one should be subjected to the horror and stench that is the men's restroom).

Skidding to another isle, he calls out her name a few times, attracting the attention of quite a few costumers. Seeing as they've got the time to gape at him as though he's a stupid oaf, he decides that they also have the time to help him out. "Hey you!" he barks, perhaps a bit too aggresively, at a nearby mom, who immediately shoves her child behind her back. Rolling his eyes, Laxus gives her a description of his little sister, demanding to know whether she's seen the child or not. She hadn't. With a suspicious squint, Laxus decided to let her off the hook. "If ya do happen upon the squirt, accompany her back to the puri-puri-pretty princess fine favourable fairy exciting expedition on the floor above."

"Is that a Wish item or an actual event? And can you please repeat the name?"

"Wendy", he grunts before realising that the woman probably meant the name of the expedition. Not willing to lose his dignity, he decides to ignore it. Should she find Wendy, then there was no way that she wouldn't be able to find the expedition. The whole team looked like they got barfed on by a toddler coming straight from a fair that had a little too much sugar for their own good. Deciding that he has spent too much time idling around, he turns back to take the escalator to the level beneath.

Once again, he finds no trace of the girl and blind panic is starting to make a mess out of his already muddled thoughts. Glancing frantically around he lays eyes upon the mall's speaker system and then, a moment of clarity hits him. Wishing he would've thought about it sooner, he turns to the map of the mall to find the nearest info point, so they can call her over the speakers. It's a good idea, but it's a shame that he has no sense of direction at all and consequently doesn't know how he should get to the info center.

Right as all hope of ever finding Wendy again is leaving his body, he hears a cheerful voice calling out his name. For a moment he wonders if he's hallucinating, but judging by the stares of the people around him, he isn't. He also wonders why his baby sister is dragging a man along and why the man himself is letting himself be dragged around by a tiny child.

At first, Laxus had thought that the stranger had been trying to kidnap Wendy, but apparently it's the other way around. "Wendy", he carefully asks, "Who is that?"

Wendy looks totally unperturbed. "I found the prince!" she cheerfully explains and Laxus can feel the other man's confusion reflected on his own face. To Wendy's credit, the man does look gorgeous. Upon inspecting him closer, Laxus can see why a stunning, nicely dressed man with long flowing hair would equate to a prince in the young girl's mind. However, it doesn't explain why she felt the need to bring him to Laxus.

"Oh", is what he says in retaliation and the other man snorts, professionally hiding his laugh behind his hand as Wendy gives him a curious glance. Then her expression turns adorably pouty and she pokes Laxus' leg. "Were you not listening again? The goal of the puri-puri-pretty princess fine favourable fairy exciting expedition was to find the prince and I won", she explains, pride shining through her words. Pointing at the man, she repeats: "I found the prince."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong person, young Madame", the other man gently says to her. Despite the fact that he wasn't unkind, she still gets a bit teary-eyed with disappointment. Crouching down in front of her, the man puts his fingers to his lips, making a sushing motion. "I'm not a prince, I am a secret knight. You mustn't tell a soul, okay? My cover can absolutely not be blown."

Immediately, the tears and sniffles are gone, replaced by grim determination. "I understand", she says gravely and Laxus turns his head to not openly laugh at her way too serious expression. It becomes especially hard when Wendy gives the man a solemn salute and he returns it right back at her.

"Hey squirt", he says and scoops Wendy right up. She squeals and fusses a bit until she's comfortably arranged in his arms. "Let's not bother Mister knight anymore alright, he's got a job to do. We'll go home, since you've been on enough adventures for today."

"Hmm", Wendy hums before turning to the other man with a shrewd look in her eyes. "Knights protect people, right? I am a future queen and my brother's a lord (Laxus protests at his rank but Wendy willfully ignores him), so you should protect us. It's your duty", she says adamantly and her 'knight' gives her a slight bow. "But of course, future queen", he answers and accompanies them.

Wendy falls asleep not even two minutes later and Laxus turns to the man. "My name is Laxus Dreyar, this little pest is my younger sister Wendy Marvell. You don't really need to walk us home, you know."

The man hums in return. "The name's Freed Justine and by ensuring the both of you get home safely, I am merely returning a favour." He smiles softly and gestures in Wendy's direction. "I was on a less than ideal date and your little sister locked unto my arm as though she was a professional wrestler. She gave me a very convenient way out." He shoots a grin at Laxus that makes his heart skip a beat. "And I got to meet her handsome older brother. So Lord Dreyar, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself?"

#fraxus #fraxusweek #fraxus week 2020 #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Wendy Marvell #TheFairyWrites

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thedevilinherself · 6 years

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Somewhere In Mexico Ch. 1

So this is me breaking down and posting my stories here again. I have quite a few followers here who don’t use Ao3 and I want to make sure everyone who follows me is able to get to my work. Also, Tumblr seems to have fixed their tag system, at least made it less broken then it was. So here you go. I am full force in the Red Dead fandom and loving writing for these cowboys so you can expect more in the future. Hope ya’ll like it! (Oh, and small Spoilers for chapter three. But it’s nothing big and or seriously plot related.)

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4

The rides back to camp always felt like they took too long. Especially after a bad heist. The stage coach that had been rumored to be transporting treasure had been nothing but a woman their informant had a grudge against. All that trouble for a few dollars and some jewelry had the boys in a sour mood.

The only consolation was the good company. Javier enjoyed Arthur and Charles’ banter. They were good men. Well, bad men, but good friends. He trusted them to have his back. And besides that, they were generally pleasant to be around.

“It just feels like everyone is getting restless. I reckon we need to make some good money. And quick. Then head west before the law gets wise.” Arthur grumbled, rocking with his horse’s movements as they meandered down the dirt path, the small but persistent hope lingering that a good heist would just cross their path.

“You don’t have to convince me. But Dutch thinks there’s money to be had with these two families. And he’s dead set on finding it.” Charles agreed, gaze lulling in the other two’s direction.

“Just going to get us in deeper.”

“Hey.” Pulling back on the reins, Charles nodded towards a clearing just off to the right. Among the flowers and tall grass stood a group of deer. Three or four of them. “We should at least bring back some food. Pearson has been on me about needing meat.” With a nod, Arthur and Javier reached for their rifles. “Not the guns. I ran into O'Driscolls around these parts the other day. A lot of them. Think they have a camp around here. Arthur, you still have that bow.”

Not needing further instruction, the blond took out the bow, readying a few arrows as he encouraged his horse forward enough to shoot around the others. With slow movements, he pulled back the string, taking aim before letting an arrow loose.

The cry of the deer would have been alarming if it wasn’t his millionth time hearing it. With it, one deer fell the ground, thrashing for a moment before stilling. The others wasted no time dashing off, running across the path ahead in their escape towards the woods. Feeling confident, Arthur again drew the bow, loosing another arrow in the direction of the fleeing dear. Again they heard the cry, the last deer falling to the ground. But this one managed back to its feet, disappearing down the path ahead and out of sight.

“Nice. I see you’ve improved.” Charles smiled, pleased with his friend’s shots. “You go get the fallen one. I’ll track the injured one. It can’t get too far.”

“Shoah.” Turning his horse in the direction of the field, Arthur seemed pleased with this turn of events.

“I’ll help. You have no room on the back of your horse anyway.” Javier offered, following his friend.

With that the men went their separate ways. The shot had been clean and the deer a nice catch. It was easy enough to load onto the back of Javier’s horse. Quickly lashed down and ready for the road.

“Alright, let’s meet up with Charles. If this area is as full of O'Driscolls as he says, we better not leave him alone too long.” Javier nodded, following the other as they started back down the road.

It didn’t take them long to find their companion. As they crested the hill, they saw him just down the road, deer already lashed to the back of his horse. Sitting tall on his horse, the man’s attention was taken by two figures that stood on the side of the road. Even from the distance, it was clear that it was a woman and a small child.

“Leave him alone for five minutes and he starts chatting up some woman. And here I thought you were the smooth talking one.” Arthur chuckled, giving his dark skinned friend a good natured smirk.

“We’ll see if he can keep her attention. Just make sure you don’t scare her off.”

With a laugh, Arthur rode ahead, followed behind by the other as they went to rejoin their friend. As they neared, they were able to pick up what was being said.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s not safe out here. There are dangerous men out. And don’t take offense, but you don’t look prepared for a fight.”

“We don’t have much of a choice.”

“My companions are just over the hill a ways. We could give you a ride to the nearest town if you need.”

“Really? Bless you, sir. Bless you.”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Coming on the scene, Arthur came to a halt behind Charles, lazily sizing up the situation.

“This woman’s horse just got caught in a trap. She had to shoot it and was needing help finding the nearest town. I think it’d be best if we took them there. We have the time anyway and we could pick up supplies.” Charles expounded on the situation, looking between the two men who nodded before returning his gaze to the travelers.

But he was lost to you. The whole world fell away, lungs emptied, and heart clenched as your eyes locked on Javier. And as his eyes met your gaze, his expression fell, lips parting for the words that failed him. Your face, your hair, your eyes. Those eyes that saw through him, leaving him hollow.

“y/n” He breathed your name. The only thing he could bring utterance to as a thousand thoughts flashed through his head in a jumble of indecipherable emotion.

“Javier.” You answered on instinct, mind blank.

“What are you doing here?” He managed, the only thought he could work out enough to be cohesive.

Your hand tightened around your son’s causing him to jump before addressing you.

“Mamá?” Your son’s voice seemed the push you needed to get your wits about you. Pulling him close, you wrapped your arm around him, pinning the boy to your leg.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You asserted deffensively, gaze as cold as your heart.

“It’s not safe here.” Javier asserted, numb to your sharp tone. “At least let us help you-“

“Not from the likes of you.” Spitting venom, you pushed your son behind you, “We’ll find the way ourselves.” Turning, you hurried your son away, shushing his questioning as you quickly put distance between you and the men.

“What? Are you serious?” he exclaimed, stunned at your toxic response.

“Espero que un pollo te pique la polla!” You called back to him, never looking back as you rushed over the next hill and out of sight.

“What the hell was that about?” Baffled, Arthur looked from Javier to Charles, hoping the other had some clue as to what was going on.

“You know her?” Charles asked.

Face glowing red, the Mexican’s breathing was reduced to short, forced intakes of air, face contorted in rage. Both men were startled at the sight, the pure murderous fury that burned in his eyes unmatched by any experience they had with the man.

“We can’t let them go.” He growled, eyes still trained on the spot you had last been. “Arthur. Grab the boy.”

“What?” Alarmed, Arthur barely managed out the question as Javier began to spur his horse on.

“Just do it!” Racing off, there was no arguing with the man as he charged after you.

“Who the hell is she?” Arthur called after him, kicking into his horse’s side in an attempt to keep up.

“My fucking wife.” The men weren’t sure they heard him right as he shouted back to them. But there wasn’t time for questions.

As they overcame the hill, the two men were just in time to see Javier leaning off the side of his horse, scooping you up in his arm as you were wrenched away from your son. In any other circumstance, they would have been impressed just how gracefully the man scooped you up onto his horse. But in light of the impromptu kidnapping, the skill was secondary to the issue.

“Mamá!” The boy cried, suddenly alone in the street.

“Put me down you hijo de puta!” Claws and fist flying, Javier struggled to keep his horse straight on the path as you assaulted him.

Not brave enough to try the same stunt, Arthur slowed to a trot, grabbing a fist full of the boy’s collar to haul him onto his horse. Afraid to fall, the boy clung to Arthur, wailing hysterically as they raced off after you and your captor.

“It’s ok, boy. We’re just taking you somewhere safe.” He reassured, spurring his horse on till he was close on Javier’s tail. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t touch my son!” You screamed, shoving at Javier’s face as you attempted to grab at the reins.

With one hand, Javier was able to secure your wrists, pinning you to his chest as he did his best to ignore the stream of Spanish curses you hurled at him.

“Keep it down. With all this noise we’re bound to attract some unwanted attention.”

As if hearing their cue, the sound of hooves rolled in like thunder, from all sides.

“Get ‘em, boys!” The first two shots whizzed over your heads, but the third was too close for Arthur’s comfort.

“Shit! You done it now!”

“Split up! We’ll meet back at the camp. Arthur, I’ll help you guard the kid. Javier, see if you can give them the slip.” With no time to confirm as the numbers overwhelmed them, the men split off, disappearing into the woods as Javier continued down the dirt path, horse panting as if possessed.

“My son! Where are they taking my boy?” You flailed wildly in Javier’s arms, neck craning to try to catch sight of your son as a handful of men followed them into the trees.

“He’ll be fine. Arthur won’t let anything happen to him.” He reassured, ducking off the trail as bullets rained down on the two of you.

“Take me back. Take me to my son.”

“We have more pressing matters!” He asserted, leaning you forward as his horse jumped a fence. “You could help you know!” Releasing your hands to take a firm grip on the reins, Javier wasn’t sure giving you a gun was the best idea, but between you and the O'Driscolls, he trusted you a little bit more.

Pulling his gun from its leather, he could see the momentary flash in your eyes as the thought crossed your mind. But as another bullet came dangerously close, you thought better of it. Pressing against Javier, your arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed against his ear as you aimed the weapon at the closest man in pursuit.

A shot rang out, the gun bucking up in your hand from the recoil. The man ducked away, but was unharmed. Pulling the hammer back, you fired off again. And again. And again. You managed to pick off three of the men, whether fatally or just wounded you weren’t sure. But it was good enough at the moment.

“How many are there?”

“Five. I need to reload.”

“My satchel!” He called back, leaning into you as he took a sharp right turn to avoid a rock.

“Four.” You called out as one of the men crashed their horse into the rock Javier had dodged. Reaching into his satchel, you pulled out the box you needed quickly picking out six bullets before securing the box in the front of your shirt. Hugging against him to steady your hands, you hurriedly slipped the bullets into their slots.

“The boy. Is he…” Javier let his sentence trail off as a rider came up to his side, pointing a gun at the two of you. With a jerk of the reins, he rammed into the man, fist flying out to land a solid blow on the O'Driscolls’ face. The man tumbled off to be dragged by his horse as it veered away.

“He’s not yours, if that’s what you’re asking!” You shouted back, bitterness heavy in your voice.

Two more shots rang out and another man was down.

“You didn’t wait long.” Javier shot back, arm wrapped around you to secure you as he took another sharp turn.

“Longer than you deserved.” Another shot and another man. Now there was only one, slow and lagging behind. “Go faster, we’ve almost lost him.”

A few more sharp turns and the man was out of sight. Yet still, Javier did not slow. Through fields and forests and trails he rode on, maneuvering as if still under a barrage of bullets.

“Hey, stop. Stop!” Grabbing at the reins, you pulled back hard, almost causing the horse to rear back as it came to a sudden stop. “They’re gone. What the hell are you doing?”

“I had to make sure we weren’t being followed.”

“Well we’re not. Now take me back to my son.” Pointing the gun at his chest, your eyes filled his heart with ice and sent fire through his veins. In one quick move, he wrenched the gun from you, free hand grabbing a fist full of your hair to yank your head back. A small mewl of pain escaped you as Javier glared at you from under heavy lids.

“Point a gun at me again and I’ll break your hand.” Your breathing was heavy with anger, but you did not protest. Releasing you, the outlaw returned his gun to its holster before fixing you with a stony stare. You glared back, unwilling to give ground as you leaned as far from the man as your position would allow.

“Where is my son?”

“Back at camp. He’ll be safe there.”

“Take me to him. Now.”

“Fine.” His tone was gruff, but he obliged nonetheless. Pulling the reins, he started up a steady pace as the two of you made your way back to camp.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two of you. Neither willing to say any of the things that flooded your minds. The landscape was unfamiliar as he carried you on, but you did you best to remember it, not wanting to be left at the mercy of his compassion once you were reunited with your son. After a long stretch of road had been traveled, Javier broke the silence.

“What are you doing this far north? I thought you said you’d never leave Mexico.”

“I already told you, it’s none of your business.”

“Did you come here with the boy’s father?”

“None of you-“

“Who my wife sleeps with is my damn business.” He retorted, voice a warning as his hands clenched around the leather and his handsome visage was shaped by his furrowing brow.

“Well I’m hardly your wife anymore.” You snorted averting your eyes.

“How come when we were together you always told me you didn’t want kids. Didn’t want to raise them in a world like this. But as soon as I’m gone you get knocked up by whatever man will warm your bed.” You startled a few birds with the loud sound of your hand on his cheek, holding back none of your strength as you expressed your displeasure.

Javier was stunned for a moment, his face stinging as you glared daggers at him, cheeks red and expression indignant. You knew he would retaliate, but you hadn’t expected his tongue to force its way down your throat, nor his hand at the back of your neck, forcing the kiss deeper still.

With a strong shove you had him off you, spitting and cursing as you wiped at your mouth, cheeks furiously red. You couldn’t read his expression, or his eyes. Something so familiar yet so foreign in the way his eyes lingered on you.

“It’s getting dark.” He finally spoke, as if nothing had happened. “We better get back to camp.” Eyes returning to the road, he didn’t speak another word, stoically silent as he wound his way through the growing darkness.

Wandering into another lining of trees, you were startled when a voice called out in the dark.

“Who goes there?”

“It’s me, Karen.” Javier answered back, never slowing his horse.

“Javier? Is everything alright? Arthur said y’all ran into trouble.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Well good.” As the voice again replied, the lights of a fire caught your eye, the trees thinning to reveal a clearing on the water’s edge.

When Javier had said camp, you had pictured a small cluster of tents the three men occupied. But this was a whole operation. Everywhere you looked there were people and horses and tents. It might as well have been a small town. Leading his horse up to a hitching post, Javier was quick to dismount, offering you a hand that you shrewdly refused.

“Javier. My boy. You’ve returned safe at last.” A deep voice boomed over the camp, a well dressed man approaching the two of you with open arms. “And you’ve brought a guest. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dutch Van Der Linde. Welcome Madam.” Taking your hand, the man lay a kiss to soft flesh, making you flush as he spared you a devilish grin. So distracted were you with the man’s greeting, that you missed the way Javier watched you from the corner of his eyes as he unloaded the deer from the back of his horse.

“Mamá!” Your heart leapt into your throat as you heard your son’s squeal. Looking over in the direction of a large campfire, you saw your boy sprinting towards you, lips split into a huge smile as his arms reached for you.

“Mi hijo!” Rushing to him, you scooped him up in your arms, his joyous giggling putting your heart at ease. “Are you well? Did they hurt you?”

“No, Mamá. We played games. They have a dog. And I made a friend.”

“Did you now? And here I’ve been worrying about you. And you’re off playing games.” You smiled, kissing his forehead as you did.

“It was fun, Mamá.”

“He’s a good kid.” A large, dark skinned man stepped forward. You recognized him as one of the men who had accompanied Javier. You spared him a nod, grateful that they had kept your son safe, but still distrustful.

“Thank you. But we must be going now.” With a grunt, Javier shouldered the deer, carrying it past Dutch as he leaned in close to mutter.

“Don’t let her leave.”

“Madam. I know your means of arrival were less than hospitable. But please, let us make it up to you. Stay. At least for the night.” Dutch again interjected, motioning towards the fire.

“We really should be going. I’d like to make it to the next town before morning.”

“Now, I’m sure you’re a capable young woman. But it’s a dangerous country out there. Full of delinquents and thugs. And with it being dark, well, I just wouldn’t feel right letting a pretty young thing and her son go out alone. Please, stay the night. We can prepare you a tent and I’m sure you need a warm meal.”

“Mamá, I’m hungry.” Your son chimed in, clearly enjoying his time here and wanting to stay.

“I’m not so sure.” Your eyes tracked Javier as he placed the deer at the butcher’s table. Dutch observed this, stepping in closer to steal back your attention.

“Madam. I give you my word, ALL my associates will be on their best behavior while you are here.”

“Please, Mamá. Please.” Your son chimed in. You couldn’t deny, you were hungry and tired. And the thought of the long walk to whatever town was near put an ache in your feet. Reluctantly, you agreed, assuring yourself that the camp was big enough for you to avoid Javier.

“Wonderful.” Dutch exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Mrs. Grimshaw! Please, help our guest get settled in. And see to it that she gets a warm meal.”

An older looking woman fussed over, barking orders at two of the other women to prepare a tent for you before leading you to the fire. You soon had a warm bowl of stew in hand. The flavor was lacking, but as hungry as you were, food was food. It didn’t take long for your son to scarf down his meal, fleeing to run around the camp with another small child that appeared a bit younger than him.

Every now and again your eyes would wander to Javier, comforted by the fact that he occupied a table on the other side of camp. As a few of the women joined you around the fire, you soon slipped into conversation with them, enjoying the company of other females. Something you had been lacking for the last few month.

Javier sipped on his beer, stewing in the emotions he hid beneath his indifferent facade as he watched you titter with the women. Too many memories and questions occupied his thoughts. And the beer wasn’t nearly strong enough to drown them.

“I’ve never seen a man sulking about, pining over his own wife before.” Javier spared his friend an unamused glance as Arthur sat down at the table, a pleased smile on the cowboys' lips.

“I’m not pining.”

“But you are sulking.” Arthur pointed out, leaning heavily on the table, beer in hand. “What even happened between the two of you? I’ve never heard you mention you’re married. Let alone had a son.”

“I’d rather not talk about it. And he’s not mine.” Despite his usual cool demeanor, Arthur could see that your appearance had shaken up something in the man.

“Oh, so it’s like that.”

“It’s not ‘like’ anything. Just leave it alone.” He shot his friend a warning look, but Arthur just smirked back.

“You can’t tell me that. I was there. I saw how you lost your head over her. That stunt you pulled I would have expected from Marston, but you?”

“Mr. Arthur! Mr. Arthur! Can I draw some more in your journal?” The men were interrupted as your son ran up, tugging on Arthur’s arm to gain his attention.

Both men turned to regard the child, Javier’s lips pursing as he studied the boy’s tan skin and dark hair. Feeling his gaze, the boy looked up at the other man and started. Ducking behind Arthur, he peered out at Javier from under the cowboy’s arm.

“You’re that bad man that took Mamá.” Javier raised a brow at the boy’s statement, finding himself in no mood to deal with the child.

“Now, boy. He ain’t a bad man. Just an- an old friend of your mother's.” Arthur assured.

“Really?”

“Shoah. Ain’t ya, Javier.” The darker man shot the cowboy a annoyed glare, but couldn’t refuse Arthur’s expectant gaze.

“Yeah. Old friend.”

“Mamá never told me about you.”

“Well, your Mamá never told me about you either.”

“You must not be a good friend then.” Arthur didn’t even try to hold back his laughter, fist banging the table as he howled. Javier found his patience wearing thin, just wanting to shoo the kid off so he didn’t have to stare into those large eyes that were so much like yours.

“Do you have a name kid?” He asked, preparing some scolding to chase the kid off.

“Carlos,” he answered, “Carlos Escuella.”

Arthur's laughter stopped, his face falling as he looked down at the boy who had answered so honestly. Javier’s eyes were wide. For the second time that day, words failed him. But Arthur spoke up for him.

“Escuella? Tell me, kid. Where’d you get a name like that?”

“My dad. Mamá says it’s all he left me.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #javier escuella #arthur morgan #charles smith #javier escuella x reader #spoilers #spoiler #dutch van der linde #javier x reader #angst #drama #complicated relationship #my writing

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