#I mean it was part of her kind of getting over her depression like momentarily at least

[clarabowmp3]

She kissed jp girl noooooo

[thousand-winters]

Darius for the ask thing.

Hey there!!! 💖

How I feel about this character

I LOVE HIM SO DAMN MUCH. HE'S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND THE LIGHT OF MY DAYS. HE SINGLE HANDEDLY HEALED MY DEPRESSION AND-

Okay, that's not it but I truly get such fuzzy feelings whenever I see art of him, I adore him.

He's SUCH a good character with SO much potential and I think it's a huge shame that most of that was left implied and couldn't be explored in the show itself. On the other hand, the fact they actually implied it and we're left with a lot of implications about who he is and his past makes him particularly interesting and fun to delve into because while part of it has to be speculation, there IS basis for it! Which is my favorite way to speculate, when I have basis for it, and as such, Darius is a gold mine.

His design is 10/10, he was catching eyes as soon as he appeared and I love that for him. His voice? Excellent, I love how he's lowkey bitchy half the time, he's everything in this world. And gods, he truly is such a "wants to pretend he doesn't give a damn but unfortunately for him, he gives so many damns" kind of character, they made him in a lab for people with good taste to obsess over /lh

I feel like I could talk hours about him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I don't really ship him with anybody, honestly. I tend to find some posts with him and Alador sort of funny but I think the situation there with their strained and broken friendship is far more complicated than people give it credit for, plus a lot of people just treat Darius in that ship as the arm candy Alador gains by realizing his mistakes which is... oof.

I don't actively ship it but I think Dariraine and Dariraeda is quite sweet. I find too that people who ship those tend to care more about Darius as a character and not as just a trophy so I like those far more. Darimila is similarly cute, though since that one is a lot of the time motivated by the idea of making Luz and Hunter siblings, I'm more meh about it.

One thing about me is I'm not immune to cute fanart but I don't necessarily ship the stuff in question akshfjkdsg

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Oh, this one is hard because I like his dynamic with SO many characters. The familiar relationship with Hunter is great and at this point it's probably too obvious what my stance is on that. Now... HE'S SO FUN WITH RAINE. And there's SO much in his dynamic with Eberwolf as well.

But then we can start tapping into other potential dynamics and... Eda? They're both cut from the same cloth, they're so interesting together. Lilith! Now that one is more complicated since they evidently weren't close at all through all of those coven years but I like to think about them. Favorite bias.

I think to give a non too vague answer, I would go with the Rebel Trio because they're so good. Post HM fics were peak with the three of them + Hunter, SO much fun.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Technically not unpopular around the circles that actually care about him as a character instead of talking shit about him because it's easy, but since the hate for him hasn't stopped even now...

I think one of his main character traits is that he's caring. You can see how driven by emotions he is; I'll never tire of pointing out how he loses it when he thinks Eberwolf and Hunter are in danger, and those are two separate scenes despite how little screentime he gets. He cares SO much and it can momentarily put his logic out of commission. He's not cold or abusive or mean for no reason. He picks up Luz nonchalantly and makes a little snippy comment but he doesn't throw her around or anything, he sets her down gently. He rescues the Emerald Entrails when he doesn't even know them and could perfectly turn a blind eye to that. He's a rebel, for gods' sake. He wouldn't be if he didn't care about others, and it's not only his loved ones.

This is a terribly kind man. That he's not super open and claiming out loud how much he cares doesn't mean he isn't, it just means people have failed at media literacy.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Oh, my gods. So. Much.

I wish he had more screentime, for one. I wish we'd had his relationship with Hunter develop onscreen rather than through little hints, because while that work, so many people like to pretend that didn't happen. I WISH we'd had more Rebel Trio screentime because that would have been so fun. I wish we had seen more about his grief about his mentor, because Any Sport in a Storm alone shows you just how much he hasn't gotten over that and it's been more than 10 years since his death??? My man is Not Looking at his grief. He's not acknowledging it. Darius, please...

In general, more screentime would have been so good for people to stop misunderstanding him so badly, or at the very least it would make easier to say to prove them wrong without them being "well, the characters didn't look at the screen and spelled it out for me, so it didn't happen 🙄"

From this ask game

[aiyexayen]

So uh that essay about how Wei Ying takes after Yu Ziyuan? I am LISTENING

There were two things that really made me start to think about this, one was this tweet which says, "You know what we don't talk about? Wei Wuxian getting his cry-laughing from Madam Yu" and this incredible ChengXian video which sets their relationship to the tune of When Doves Cry and wrecks me every time I watch it (I just watched it now when I went to get the link and I'm whimpering).

As to the first matter:

seems fairly conclusive.

The second matter:

maybe I'm just like my father, too bold maybe you're just like my mother-- she's never satisfied

Was there this much meta thought put into one line of lyrics in a video set to When Doves Cry? Hard to say. There is now, though! Because dang, what a line. Essay under the cut.

There's a (valid) tendency to pull out the ways Jiang Cheng is more like his mother, and the ways Wei Wuxian is more like Jiang Fengmian, especially where their relationship is concerned.

Jiang Cheng wants proof of care through passion, through a willingness to fight. He will provoke and poke at things better left lying, with no shame and no regard to who else is around, dredge up old hurts and old grudges and old matters even if they're long buried or long forgiven, so long as he thinks it will get him the reaction he's looking for.

He wants Wei Wuxian to fix things by rising to the bait, rising to the challenge, giving him pushback when he says blatant lies, showing him that his shige still thinks he's worth it.

This is terribly unhealthy, of course, don't do this at home kids, but it's one of my core Jiang Cheng Truths.

Jiang Cheng shows that he cares in turn by being willing to fight, by pouring his emotion out even if those often end up as negative expressions. He's messy and unrestrained when he feels things, not all of which is from his mother--a lot of that is just Jiang Cheng--however, you can see the way he tries to rein in his emotions when he's embarrassed about caring or is trying to pretend that he doesn't care. Whether it's pretending to shrug off Wei Wuxian and walk away when they have a problem, or trying to rein in his temper at Lan Wangji on Dafan Mountain. Because from his mother, he's internalised the message that to engage in the fight is proof of care, so the opposite is also true.

And oh, when he hurts, he seeks to hurt back. That's very Yu Ziyuan of him.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, frequently defaults to calming and placating with Jiang Cheng. Not as much as Jiang Yanli does--but more on her, momentarily. We see Wei Wuxian complain at Jiang Cheng to not get riled up, tell him he's being stubborn and just to accept the peace offering, etc. The difference is that, at first, with Jiang Cheng, a lot of that is just general pouty childishness and Wei Ying-ing, general sibling shit.

Plus, he was still willing to fight/express himself fully. They fought a lot. He always ran after Jiang Cheng, always roped him into expressing himself, always let Jiang Cheng fight it out. He understood, at least intuitively, and he didn't back down. The benefits of having grown up together, and of being an older one/middle sibling in the dynamic.

But when things really started to break down between him and Jiang Cheng, when the conflict was much bigger, much more grown up, much more real, Wei Wuxian started modeling his behaviour even more on Jiang Fengmian in regards to Jiang Cheng, possibly seeing more of Yu-furen in Jiang Cheng and responding the way that felt natural.

(Also, a lot of his own guilt and depression/apathy/intent to die and assorted other issues came into play at roughly the same time.)

Thus, we see Wei Wuxian start to turn down Jiang Cheng more often, and back off. He shrugs it off or rejects it when Jiang Cheng reaches out, and he stops reaching out himself. He tries to placate Jiang Cheng, tries to defuse him, tries to send him away. Some of this is because he cares and is trying to show he cares by taking himself out of the situation; some because he's trying to maintain his lies; some because he just doesn't have the energy to deal with this anymore.

After Wei Wuxian is resurrected, by which point he's done what he perceives as the worst things to Jiang Cheng, this intensifies. Jiang Cheng provokes him beyond reason, lashes out, starts fights, sneers, and Wei Wuxian almost rises to the bait but he stops himself. He lets Jiang Cheng be angry and he shrinks himself down, he backs away, he disengages. A decent portion of this is Wei Wuxian himself, and his faulty perspective on the situation and on Jiang Cheng's anger and complexity of emotion and intent. Some of it is lingering relationship modeling off of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen's relationship. Either way, he's definitely "being the Jiang Fengmian" in the situation.

Additionally, Wei Wuxian tries quite actively to model himself off of Jiang-shushu's good qualities, which is understandable given that this was his primary benevolent adult figure and liked him quite a lot. We see it in the way Wei Wuxian teaches, the way he instructs with archery, the fact he prioritises archery to begin with, the way he expresses kindness the way it was expressed to him, through encouragement or noticing people who are down and out. Things that Wei Wuxian, at least, attributes to Jiang Fengmian's character (I'm trying so hard not to make this a Jiang Fengmian salt post) even if a lot of that is just his own outlook on life at the end of the day.

But all of these kids were around both of these parental figures/people of authority. This is most clear in Jiang Yanli. We see the way she's become a mediator figure between her parents when they're upset with each other and understands them both.

She takes all the kind intent and patience and willingness to placate and calm from her father, and adds in the knowledge and understanding needed to actually use it interpersonally. She's more open with communication, can identify the heart of an issue, and effectively diffuse a lot of tension. She has middling success with this with regards to her parents, but a lot more success with her brothers. It helps her see eye to eye with Wei Wuxian, and share that spark of playfulness between them too. It helps her understand why Jiang Cheng says things the way he does, and what he means.

We also see Jiang Yanli reveal herself to be the steely, fiery daughter of Zi Zhizhu when someone attacks what is hers. She is just as much her mother's child.

So, too, Jiang Cheng is his father's son. I think this is true much more when he grows up and inherits the sect and has held it for some time in the wake of tragedy. We see evidence that he's become a well-regarded leader, and for all we see cool, flashing, calculating glares and bitten-back sneers, we see worried disciples fussing over his health. We see a mild manner that was learned, and an authority that has accrued with time, and a self-assuredness when dealing with his peers that seems more modeled off what we see of Jiang Fengmian than of Yu Ziyuan.

Jiang Cheng is a match for Zidian, through and through, but he is also steady and determined and bold, good at making and keeping allies, or else how could he have achieved the impossible in rebuilding his sect? He learned to take some of his mother, some of his father, find something left over of himself out of the wreckage of his life, and meld it all together.

That brings us to Wei Wuxian. I had, at the time of first seeing that tweet, showed it to a friend who said:

Are we gonna talk about how Wei Ying gets his cry-laugh from her? Are we gonna talk about how he learned that intense glare from her, too? Or his tendency to act swiftly and decisively even when it might not be the actual best course of action? Or his violent protectiveness of his siblings?

Inspired. And yes, we are.

Yu-furen was a figure of absolute strength in Wei Wuxian's life. Uncompromising, unyielding, impressive as hell. She had the capacity to inspire deep loyalty and was fiercely protective over things that were hers. Her son, her daughter, her family's reputation, her sect, her home, her disciple. (Yes, even Wei Wuxian was hers, too, she made quite the point about that.)

Wei Wuxian is very easygoing. But when he decides something is his, whether that's a duty or a person or whatever, it's his to protect, it's his to do anything for, even cause a scene, even start a war, even lose allies or his own life. It's one surefire way to get him to fight no matter what headspace he's in.

You can see Jiang Cheng realise/remember this in real time in the Ancestral Hall, when he can't get a rise out of Wei Wuxian by talking about himself and his family, and that stings, but he's desperate to get a rise out of him somehow, and immediately he sets in on Lan Wangji. And it fucking works. That's what gets Wei Wuxian to almost fight him. If he'd posed a real threat, and if a whole bunch of other complicated psychological shit wasn't part of the mix for everyone involved, there would absolutely have been a fight.

Wei Wuxian latched onto the Wens, yes, and they were his, too, but they weren't the only ones. Lotus Pier was his, as was Jiang Cheng. Yunmeng Shuangjie was not just a pipe dream, and Wei Wuxian's loyalty was not simply easy to sway. Yunmeng Jiang's strength, their reputation, their future, and Jiang Cheng's along with it were always on his mind.

He lied, and fought, and even left and took himself out of the picture to that end. For Jiang Cheng, and for his ability to carry on. In so many ways, Wei Wuxian absolutely took so much of his perspectives on that from Yu Ziyuan, for better or worse.

Uncompromising, unyielding, even when turned on himself. Never satisfied, always pushing for more, for answers, for solutions, for the right path, even in his own frequently easygoing and curious ways. Unhesitating, across the board. Even if it meant his own life, or his core.

There is nothing wrong with hesitating. Hesitating, worrying, being uncertain, trying to think first, trying to find the right path, and then being able to find it, or choose it anyway, is such an act of courage. That's a quality Jiang Cheng has in droves. He hesitated, when he saw the Wen soldiers coming for Wei Wuxian. And then he chose to sacrifice himself. For Wei Wuxian, there was no hesitation whatsoever. No forethought. No choice, really. Just go. I think that's very Yu Ziyuan of him.

I had to go digging to find that message my friend sent me, and I'll conclude with my response:

If we're going to talk about how Wei Wuxian is like Yu-furen, then we'll have to talk about how Yu-furen knew that. Or at least, the only parts that she ever had cause to see in him while she still lived. How he was hers even if he wasn't her son. How Fengmian's lazy favouritism was intolerable in this way, too, in the way it sowed discord where there didn't need to be any, and was a barrier between her and the things that should have been more fully hers. How the farewell at Lotus Pier was more of a betrayal than she intended. How she thought she and Wei Ying met over more even ground at that moment, because she knew he loved Jiang Cheng as much as she did, in the way she did. How she expected more from him than for him to give parts himself up in such a horrifying way. How she underestimated the actual damage that had been done. And if she'd survived to see it, she just might have been truly horrified.

[wizkiddx]

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

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

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months.  Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size  of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.” 

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you  to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you  yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically,  and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (5)

“What do you make of all this?” Toshinori asked, when they were finally alone. They’d momentarily parked the kid in the hallway with a cup of tea while the hero had followed Tsukauchi in his office as he took care of the last bureaucratic dregs of the questioning.

“As I see it, there are two major possibilities we ought to consider.” Tsukauchi said without taking his eyes off the monitor of his computer. “The first is that Midoriya’s quirk is just a mutation, and he is in no way related to All For One. His father is likely a government official whose position grants him knowledge of enough confidential files to make him fear negative repercussions in case his son’s quirk was publicly known, and has therefore enforced silence on the matter. We aren’t looking at any outstanding crimes here, although this man isn’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards any time soon.”

Toshinori grimaced. Wouldn’t that be nice? “And what are the odds of this being our case?”

“I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it, for sure.” Tsukauchi typed something on the keyboard, and checked his phone at the same time, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. “The other possibility is that Midoriya is indeed related to All For One, maybe even his son. He’s been fostered to a trusted associate of his and kept in the dark about everything.”

That option could be more statistically or genetically likely, but it still didn’t sit right with Toshinori. “That doesn’t sound like something All For One would do though. Why not raise him as a successor, or even just an underling? Surely another All For One wielder would have made for an important asset to his schemes.”

“You forget that Midoriya’s quirk manifested only two years ago. It is possible that All For One may have planned to do so, but lost interest when the child was deemed quirkless.” Tsukauchi scratched his head pensively. “As for why he didn’t keep the kid close since his birth… we can only assume it was out of caution. Fourteen years ago you had already put a significant dent in All For One’s syndicate and influence. Maybe he was already taking precautions against his own downfall, and didn’t want his potential successor to be involved in case things took a turn for the worse too quickly.”

“... I guess that makes sense.” Toshinori nodded. As per habit, he sent a quiet thanks to his lucky star for accidentally baring his secret to a damnably honest and capable member of the force such as Tsukauchi, God knew Toshinori himself wasn’t exactly cut out for fine deductive work. “In this case, the boy’s father…”

“...Is a former subordinate of All For One’s currently employed by the government, yes. Not a pleasant scenario to work with.” Tsukauchi waited for the printer to regurgitate a disproportionate stack of documents that made Toshinori instinctively recoil. The detective flipped through the paperwork quickly before sprinkling his signature on just about every odd sheet. “Regardless of which of the two hypotheses is true, I definitely want to look into this Hisashi Midoriya. He is by far the most suspicious aspect of the boy’s account.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t visit his family for a decade and a half, he doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t follow basic legal procedures, and you can tell he had more of an active role in encouraging Midoriya to hide the quirk than the kid lets on... It doesn’t exactly paint a reassuring picture.” Toshinori sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for the boy…”

“It never is, when a family member is involved in criminal activities. But the fact that their relationship seems rather distant may make things a little less traumatic for him.” Tsukauchi checked his watch as he tidied up some stationery and turned off his computer. “Well, I guess I’m not too unforgivably late for my other meeting since we don’t have to question Mrs. Midoriya.”

“...Sorry about that. And for springing this on you all of a sudden.” Toshinori said with an apologetic grimace and his utmost sincerity. “You’re a saint.”

Tsukauchi’s small smile implied that he was well aware of the fact. “I’ll drive Midoriya home while I’m on my way to the city hall. Do you need a lift? Or do you want me to let you on the rooftop for a smoke?” That bit of code speak would never not be tragically ironic, Toshinori thought.

“No, I’ve already finished my shift for the day.” All three, scant, scattered hours of it. Japan’s finest, most dependable hero, ladies and gentlemen.

“Then thank you for your hard work.” His friend gave him a quick look and a brief, firm squeeze to his shoulder before heading to the door. No pity, no unrequested sympathy, no disingenuous praise, just straightforward respect and understanding. He really was one of a kind.

Midoriya was exactly where they’d left him, busy fiddling with his phone. He perked up when he saw them return. “Uh, my mother just texted me back. She says she’ll be home in about an hour. If you still want to talk to her.”

Tsukauchi hesitated. “It’s a little too late for me, I’m afraid. I’m expected somewhere else, but…”

“I can wait.“ Toshinori immediately volunteered. “It won’t be as thorough or official as if you interviewed her yourself, but if it can lighten your workload just a little…”

“...Well, I don’t see why not. Hop in the car with us then.”

The return trip was silent. Toshinori glanced at Midoriya a couple of times from the rearview mirror, and he always caught him in an ill-concealed state of unrest. Fidgeting with his phone, picking at the seatbelt, gazing nervously out of both car windows. Toshinori didn’t like that. Why all that agitation, now that the worst of the ordeal was supposedly over?

The boy eventually locked eyes with him. “...Oh. Uhm.”

“Something on your mind?” Toshinori asked.

“Uh, well, I was wondering…” His gaze dropped to his knees. “Are you going to tell my mother about my quirk?”

“I’m afraid so. She is bound to find out anyway, eventually. The police will issue an update on your quirk registration, as per the norm in such cases.”

“...Ah.” Oh boy, now he looked like a kicked puppy. That was just depressing.

“I don’t necessarily have to be the one to break the news to her though. If it makes you feel any better, you can tell her about the incident in your own words.” Toshinori offered, hoping to soften the blow.

“I… I think I would prefer that. Thank you.” The boy quietly acquiesced.

Tsukauchi shot Toshinori a pointed look. All right, maybe that wasn’t the most proper way to go about it, maybe standard procedure demanded the officer in charge to keep mother and son separate during the questioning and explain things personally in the most objective possible terms. But Toshinori wasn’t an officer, he was a washed-up alter-ego of the Symbol of Peace acting in semi-official consulting capacity, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make things a little less humiliating for the forlorn child in the back. He condensed that whole argument into a meaningful glance of his own, that Tsukauchi couldn’t hold for more than two seconds lest he drove them all straight into the back of a truck. Toshinori took that as unspoken permission to proceed as he saw fit.

“I’ll be leaving this in your capable hands then.” Tsukauchi said as the two stepped out of the car. The man had a veritable talent for conveying irony while maintaining the straightest of faces and the driest of tones.

“Your trust is deeply appreciated. Drive safely!” Toshinori shut the door of the car decisively and waved him off with a dazzling smile.

“Uhm. Okay.” Midoriya said, his eyes darting between the hero and the speeding car with obvious perplexity. “Mom won’t be here for at least another forty minutes. I can fetch that photo you wanted in the meantime. I think I know where it is… probably...”

“I’ll take you up on that, thank you.” Toshinori followed him across the parking lot and up the stairs of the apartment complex. The boy’s eagerness to please was a sight for sore eyes in this cold, self-serving world. “You really did something commendable today, you know? Not many people would be so ready to relieve the pain of those who hurt them. That villain owes you more than he’ll ever know.”

“Oh…” The boy fiddled with his keys as a light redness tinged his cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. It isn’t my place to judge anyone... let alone steal from them. I just hope he’ll get better soon.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on his condition, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t need to! It’s fine!” Midoriya’s instinctual politeness clashed against Toshinori’s no-nonsense availability. It was a fierce battle, but one didn’t become the number one hero without developing a certain skill in staring people into reasonableness. Midoriya surrendered with a small smile. “...I-It would put my mind at ease though.”

“Then I shall.” Toshinori claimed with finality. “Honestly, I wish I could have done more today for you and Tsukauchi. You two took care of all the heavy lifting and data collecting while I just stood around doing nothing the whole time.”

“You did, didn't you…?” Toshinori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that candid a confirmation of his uselessness. Midoriya flinched and started flailing about in obvious distress as soon as he realized he’d voiced that thought aloud. “N-No! I mean- I don’t mean that you were- What I’m saying is that you didn’t really need to come. But you did anyway! F-For my sake, I get that. Because you promised you’d help me out, even if you surely have better things to do with your time, and… I truly appreciate it. Really.”

Toshinori laughed softly. Yes, ‘truly appreciative’ was indeed the boy’s default mood whenever he was graced with the barest amount of consideration, as far as the hero had witnessed in their short acquaintance. He didn’t think it was some sort of hero-worship-related response either, the kid just seemed that sensitive to it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” Midoriya finally opened the door and they stepped inside. He let out a small chuckle of his own as they removed their shoes. “I guess I have new insight to add to the online speculation about All Might’s decreasing workload. I guess it is to be expected if yo- if he’s taken  to follow up on all his cases so thoroughly.”

Toshinori had to fight back a traitorous cough. “W-well, there is really no need for me to overexert myself nowadays as I used to do in the past.“ He started, automatically supplying his PR-certified response to any inquiry on the topic. Goodness, people really did notice, didn’t they? It was hardly a new concern, but still… “The crime rate has been decreasing steadily, and the industry is so saturated with heroes that there’s someone ready to intervene almost at any place and at any given time. And those heroes could use the money and exposure way more than me…” Toshinori trailed off as they made their way to the living room. The boy was regarding him with unnerving attention, as if memorizing his speech word for word. “There are other reasons too, of course…”

Midoriya cocked his head to the side curiously, expecting further elaboration. Then it clicked, and he fleetingly glanced at the hero from head to toe with open contrition. “O-Oh! Of course! Your… Sorry, I forgot.”

That simple sentence confused Toshinori so much that he couldn’t help but gape back. The silence grew very awkward very quickly. “...Uhm. So, that photo of yours?”

“R-Right! I’ll go look for it! Make yourself comfortable! Be right back!” The boy bolted fast enough to leave metaphorical dust clouds behind him.

Toshinori wandered to the nearest chair with small steps. He forgot. That was quite the feat, while literally standing in front of the sad, wrecked husk that Toshinori had become. Or maybe the kid hadn’t realized that his appearance was a relatively recent development. That seemed more likely. Perhaps he had interpreted his vague answer about his quirk to mean that the number one hero had always been just that, a sickly, overachieving twig in a bodysuit keeping his own skeleton in the closet for nearly forty years.

Toshinori let out a sigh. Quite the uplifting impression he was leaving with this young one.

His circling thoughts were interrupted by a yelp, and the thundering noise of some heavy objects crashing just outside the living room.

“Midoriya?” Toshinori called, jumping to his feet. The second unanswered call had him by the source of the noise in a moment.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” Midoriya’s voice finally answered, from behind a half-closed door conspicuously marked as ‘Izuku’ by a familiar blond-banged nameplate. 

“What was that?”

“Just… some stuff that fell down...” Toshinori approached it and peeked inside. Even from his limited perspective, he could see the boy sitting on the floor and rubbing his forehead, next to a tipped-over chair.

“And did that stuff happen to include you?” Toshinori deadpanned, inviting himself in... and pausing on the threshold. Taking in the interior of the boy’s bedroom. Which wasn’t the priority right now. He willed himself to ignore the star-spangled elephant in the room assaulting his senses and knelt down beside Midoriya, gently peeling his hand away from the sore spot. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s just a bump.” 

“You should put some ice on it.” There were no cuts or outer signs or damage, which was a good start. Toshinori’s eyes fell on the bottom half of the toppled piece of furniture beside them. “...Did you seriously try to climb on a rolling chair?”

“I do that all the time. It’s steadier than it looks!” There was no appropriate reply to such a claim, but Toshinori’s judgemental glare was enough to make the boy squirm. “I’m fine, really-”

“Ice.” He pointed sternly at the corridor. Maybe there was still a minimal chance of preventing an oversized lump on Midoriya’s forehead from outing to Tsukauchi and other responsible adults the fact the boy had nearly cracked his skull within five minutes of being left in Toshinori’s charge.

“All right. Just a second.” Toshinori kept an eye on the kid, making sure he wasn’t struggling to keep his balance, as he made his way out of the room. Room that Toshinori was now free to observe in all its embarrassing magnificence.

A soft All Might carpet. All Might-themed bedding. Walls plastered with All Might posters. All Might-patterned curtains. Shelves and shelves and shelves of All Might action figures and books. 

It was always… humbling to be reminded of how much passion and care people from so many different walks of life could put in something as trivial as collecting hero merchandise - his hero merchandise, more often than not. Popularity and revenue were Toshinori’s very last priorities when it came to his job, but, despite merchandising being exactly about those, he wasn’t opposed to the practice in principle. It did help cement the reassuring image of the Symbol of Peace in the collective mind, which was definitely one of his lifetime goals. It brought a sizable influx of wealth to the agency’s treasury, which he largely redirected to charity and assorted emergency relief funds. It did seem to spark genuine joy and entertainment in both children and adults. And, when none of these arguments were enough to wash away the vague sense of guilt that came with profiting off the love and admiration of Japan’s fine citizens, Toshinori reminded himself that there were much worse, self-destructive indulgences people could waste their savings on. Alcohol. Tobacco. Drugs. Troll 2 DVDs. The like.

Midoriya reappeared nursing an ice pack against his temple. “Sorry about that. The photo should be in one of those boxes.” He gestured towards the wardrobe that sported a brown cardboard box on the top, and then towards the floor, where its twin lay sideways after a presumably rough landing. They cut through the tape of the latter and, after Midoriya emphatically assured him that he didn’t mind him browsing through his personal belongings in the slightest, Toshinori joined the kid on the carpet in their quest for the photographic Holy Grail. 

“I probably slipped it inside one of these…” The boy said, pulling out small piles of notebooks and publications. Toshinori confined his perusal to dated magazines, comics and books that didn’t seem likely to invade Midoriya’s privacy. The first box yielded no result.

“Maybe it’s in that one. Let me get another chair- oh.” Toshinori only needed to raise his arms and strain slightly on his toes to comfortably reach the top of the wardrobe and retrieve the second- crap, that was heavy. How the kid planned to pull it down himself while standing on wheels was beyond him. “Thank you.”

Toshinori was sitting cross-legged and flipping through an old gossip magazine lavishing pages and pages of speculation on the meager information they had managed to scrape together on his association with Dave - ah, those were the days… - when Midoriya finally let out a triumphant Aha!

“Found it!” He regarded his prize with joy, but his expression quickly morphed into concentration and then confusion. Toshinori held out his hand expectantly, and the boy deposited the photo into it while indicating a specific spot. “It’s, uh… my father’s this one.”

Toshinori looked at the man in question.

And froze.

“He doesn’t…” He heard the boy say distantly, as if from kilometres away. “He looks… a bit different from the picture in the police file…”

Toshinori coughed. He was different, all right. Subtly, cunningly so. Both men had short, snow-white hair, both had relatively plain features and pale complexion, both had faintly-colored eyes that could pass as blue under the right light. They were similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another, when described verbally. But the man in Tsukauchi’s file was a stranger to Toshinori. The man in this photo wasn’t.

“This-” The hero managed, between small bursts of coughs that he couldn’t restrain. “This is the man that- told you to keep quiet about your quirk-”

“Y-Yes.” Midoriya was gawking at him with obvious concern, and it only got worse when the hero’s words sank in. “I-I mean, he didn’t- he just- we sort of agreed that-”

“And the-” Toshinori covered his mouth with his hand, already tasting iron on his tongue as he patted his trousers to find some tissues. “The last time you spoke to him was…?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

Something inside Toshinori just gave up on trying to hold it together. He erupted into a brutal fit, vicious enough to shake his whole body and squeeze his eyes shut. He heard the boy asking something in alarm, and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin before he finally got ahold of a handkerchief to press against his lips. He hacked and spluttered for an interminable minute, his throat and chest tight and sore from the effort. Eventually it died down, and he found himself hunched over and bracing himself against the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath as something shuffled beside him. He turned to check on the noise, and saw Midoriya tapping on his phone.

“Don’t.” Toshinori rasped, swallowing down the remaining blood coating his mouth and reaching out to gesture at him dismissively with his clean hand. “I’m fine.”

“N-no, you aren’t.” The kid looked on the verge of fainting himself. Toshinori followed his horrified gaze, only to notice he’d sprayed plenty of little crimson stains on both the photo and the carpet, not to mention his own clothes. Damn, that was a mess even by his standards. “B-But- it’s okay, I’ll call an-”

Toshinori unceremoniously plucked the phone from Midoriya’s grasp, made sure that he hadn’t dialed any number, and tossed it on his bed. No need to make the situation even more headache-inducing than it already was. “I mean it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

Toshinori cleared his throat as he contemplated the ruined piece of evidence anew. At least he hadn’t marred the spot containing ‘Hisashi Midoriya’. Despite the less than optimal angle, there could really be no doubt. There was no mistaking that face for anyone else’s, it had been seared in Toshinori’s mind by more than three decades of pain and regret.

...Shit.

Shit.

Toshinori collected the picture from the floor and stood up to drop it on the kid’s desk, where it sat innocently surrounded by dozens of pieces of licensed All Might memorabilia.

“...So this is your father, and he’s alive and well.” He stated it aloud and with scorn, because he felt it was important for the universe to hear that its sense of humor didn’t fly with everyone.

“Ehr. Yes. Do you-”

“All right. Okay. Fine.” Toshinori turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“...To your doctor?” Midoriya asked apprehensively, visibly starting to doubt the hero’s mental as well as physical well-being.

“No.” He almost stamped a huge, bloody handprint on his slacks before remembering that he still looked like he’d just slaughtered a pig and devoured it raw. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Second door on the left.” The boy muttered, too stunned by now to object to any of Toshinori’s tangents.

Toshinori washed his face, neck and hands, and rinsed his mouth. He decided he couldn’t bother to do anything about the state of his clothes. He took care of scrubbing the sink too once he was done, making sure he didn’t accidentally leave any red smears on it. He dried his hands and fetched his phone.

“Tsukauchi? Sorry, can you make it back to Midoriya’s house? Yes, as soon as you can. ...No, but we found that photo. You need to see it, it’s… it’s him.”

He closed the call and stared at his reflection on the mirror. His brain didn’t produce a single coherent thought. He walked back to the kid’s room.

Midoriya was peering at the picture intently, even though he hadn’t moved it from where Toshinori had left it. The man’s eyes fell on the scattered blots on the carpet. In his experience, there wasn’t much hope of removing them completely, but it seemed rude not to try, at least. “Got any cleaning supplies?”

Midoriya blinked at him owlishly. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.”

One short trip later, Toshinori was back with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. He waved the boy off when he made to kneel down beside him to help. He handed him the ice pack that lay forgotten on the floor, and the kid pressed it back on his forehead mechanically as he sat on his bed. Toshinori could benefit from only a couple of minutes of silence before Midoriya spoke.

“You know him.”

“...Yes.”

“You’re upset.” 

Toshinori wondered if it showed on his face, or if it was just an educated guess based on the half-baked spontaneous hemorrhage he’d just displayed. He didn’t reply, his attention ostensibly focused on dabbing lightly at each smudge.

“Why…” The boy’s voice faltered. “W-Why is there a photo of another man in the police records?”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a deep exhale. He wasn’t sure he was the most qualified person to have this conversation with the boy. He surely wasn’t the most eager to.

“All Might.” He felt compelled to raise his gaze. Midoriya was pale, his eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. His expression was heartbreakingly imploring. “Please.”

He was going to find out anyway, at least the bare bones of it. Kindness was one thing, cowardice was another. Denying him an answer at this point felt more like the latter.

“I know him because he is known to the police. He’s a villain.”

“...A villain…?” The information bounced right against Midoriya’s shock. Toshinori gave him a curt nod. “No… no, that’s… not…” 

Toshinori could track the gradual, painstaking process of acceptance the poor kid was going through from the aborted expressions quickly blurring into each other. Horror, fear, confusion, disbelief. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“A-Are you sure?”

Toshinori hesitated. Was there any other possibility they weren’t considering? “Are you absolutely certain that that’s the person you’ve been talking to?”

“I… I’ve never met him in person. B-But mom has, and she’s been talking to him too. She said it’s him.”

“...Then I’m afraid there can be no mistake.” It felt like dropping a boulder on the child’s chest, and the way Midoriya crumpled onto himself, cradling his head in both his hands, reinforced that gut-churning impression. Toshinori made no effort to conceal the sympathy in his whisper. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“H-He said…” The rest of that thought was swallowed into distraught silence.

“He told you he worked for the government?”

Midoriya took his time to answer, and he did so with a half-choked snort. “He… he never did, actually. I thought… He said things that… made me think…”

Toshinori grit his teeth. Figures. That silver-tongued demon wouldn’t spare even a child from his precious little mind games. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the boy’s quiet sniffles, and it was so long that Toshinori believed the kid to have exhausted his reserve of bravery for further questions. He’d resumed his ill-concealed procrastination via blood-cleaning when the next inquiry dropped.

“What did he do?”

Oh, man. What didn’t he do? “He’s been involved in a variety of criminal activities, both directly and indirectly. He’s… quite the nasty customer.”

“Since when? How long for?” Midoriya gripped his head even more tightly, his fingers digging deep among his curls. 

Toshinori had the distinct feeling that his well-meaning honesty was now trespassing into inadvertent cruelty. “We should wait for your mother before discussing this any-”

“Please.” Midoriya’s head snapped up, and the weight and emotion of those emerald eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Please, just tell me.”

Fourteen years of lies. Toshinori couldn’t bear to add even one more to the heap. “...Since long before you were born.”

Midoriya’s head dropped anew. Toshinori got back on his feet, unsure whether a kind word or a pat on the head could possibly ease that burden even slightly-

The ring of the doorbell made them both flinch, bursting that odd bubble of private desolation that had enveloped the boy’s room. They made their way out of the room, Midoriya quietly trailing behind the hero as the man opened the front door.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth to greet them, and froze. His eyes immediately homed in on the blood liberally splattered on Toshinori’s clothes, and on the melted ice pack Midoriya was still absently pressing to his temple. 

“...What happened?”

Inko Midoriya had the same dark green hair as her son, styled in a way that made something inside Toshinori’s chest ache with nostalgia and familiarity. She had the countenance of a demure, quiet, respectable housewife that valued stability and her loved ones’ well-being above all, and would never even conceive of starting a family with anyone any less sensible than she was.

That was why Toshinori was thrown for a loop when, upon being informed that her absentee husband was a criminal, she simply closed her eyes and bowed her head with a sigh and a resigned “...Yes, I am aware.”

Toshinori let Tsukauchi lead the questioning, as usual. Inko had met ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ (under a different alias, at the time) when she was twenty-six, working as a secretary at the main branch of Detnerat. The man had been introduced to her as a representative from another support item company doing some preliminary checks on Detnerat for a potential merger. 

This was unusual, but not exceedingly so. In the nearly thirty years he’d spent meticulously dismantling All For One’s organization, Toshinori had gathered evidence of him personally handling certain aspects of his schemes with surprising regularity, even relatively minor tasks or dirty deeds that could easily and safely be entrusted to his subordinates. He hardly ever found any specific reasons for All For One’s direct involvement. Toshinori strongly suspected that the bastard simply didn’t enjoy the lifestyle of the cooped-up, invisible puppeteer, and sometimes just felt like wrecking some havoc with his own diabolical hands. 

Inko had been charged with supplying him with quite a sizable amount of rather sensitive data, but since the CEO in person had given the authorization, she had performed her task diligently and unsuspectingly.

Now, Toshinori had been expecting the worst to emerge while questioning the circumstances that had led Inko Midoriya to her current marital status. Without exaggerating, the very worst. Any sort of revolting account of manipulation, coercion, even human experimentation, there was no low All For One wouldn’t stoop to. They had confined the boy to his room before starting for that exact reason. 

But apparently the universe wasn’t done throwing curve balls at Toshinori that day, and what they’d gotten instead was the succinct description of what seemed to be, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary and unassuming workplace romance. One instigated mainly by Inko herself, no less. Toshinori’s strained mind didn’t quite know what to make of that baffling information, so it promptly repressed it. 

“We didn’t keep seeing each other after he stopped coming to the company, but I did reach out to him when I found out I was pregnant. That was when I became aware that there was much I didn’t know about him.”

“How so?”

“He told me.” Inko replied simply. “He was... forward about it, in a way. He said that he couldn’t settle down in any given place, nor spare the time for being part of a family. He offered to let me join him in his activities, but… the way he worded it made it clear that he wasn’t talking of any sort of legal business.”

“Did he mention any details about what his ‘business’ entailed, in general or in that specific time frame?”

“No, not at all. But considering how we met, I assume he must be involved in industrial espionage.” Grief, brief but intense, shadowed on the woman’s features for a moment. “I… I resigned from Detnerat as soon as I found out. He had been asking rather sensitive questions about the inner workings of the company, and… even though I never technically shared confidential information, I felt like I had exposed it to too great a danger because of my irresponsible conduct. And, honestly… I was afraid of what could emerge if I kept working there in my condition.”

Toshinori rubbed his hands in his lap uncomfortably. No job, a son on the way, a presumably disreputable partner to deal with… What a wretched situation to find oneself in.

“You said he offered you to join him? In what way, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked from above the pages and pages of notes filling his notepad.

“...I am not sure. I didn’t ask, I had no intention of getting caught in that sort of environment. Nor did I want Izuku to grow up embroiled in dubious activities from an early age.” Inko’s brows furrowed, and her fist clenched slightly. “...I didn’t want him to feel abandoned either though. I didn’t want him to grow thinking his father had deserted him. I asked Hisashi to grant us that, at least. Financial support and the decency to call, once in a while.”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a sharp cough at that. Inko regarded him with a mix of concern and suspicion. 

He couldn’t blame her for it. He had accidentally caused her a fair share of grief when, her son having forgotten to warn her to expect guests upon her return, she’d opened the front door and found a freakishly tall, gaunt, haunted-looking, bloodied stranger looming in her hallway. Toshinori had waited in a conveniently secluded corner of the living room, trying to make himself look as small and non-threatening as possible, while Tsukauchi delivered the proper introductions and deflected the few concerned neighbors her terrified scream had attracted. Not exactly brilliant, as first impressions went.

“And he agreed to that?” Toshinori croaked.

“Yes. I was expecting some resistance, but… he agreed almost immediately.”

Toshinori gaped at the remissive-looking, soft-spoken woman who had once been capable of browbeating All For One into exercising a modicum of fatherly commitment. This whole Midoriya case was getting more and more unbelievable by the hour.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat pointedly. Toshinori scraped back together what little dignity he had left and tried to soldier on.

“Please continue, Mrs. Midoriya.” The detective encouraged.

“There isn’t much else to say, I think. I didn’t hear from him for months after that. I contacted him a few days after Izuku was born, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

Tsukauchi tapped his chin with his pen for a few moments, his expression deeply focussed. Then he looked Inko straight in the eye.

“You are being… unexpectedly forthcoming about all this, if I may.”

Inko let out a deep sigh. “I was never under the impression that we could escape the consequences of Hisashi’s actions forever. As soon as Izuku was born, I decided that I would never subject myself or my son to undue duresses just to keep my husband’s secrets. I told Hisashi as much as well.”

Toshinori had to stifle another wet cough with his handkerchief. How on earth was this woman still alive? 

“And he had no qualms about this declaration?”

“No. It rather amused him, actually. He said that any mother worth her salt would put her offspring’s safety above that of their parents. And… something about natural selection and survival of the fittest…” Inko’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, like those of a very normal wife exasperated by the very normal idiosyncrasies of her very normal husband. “He does go off on such tangents.”

“So you aren’t concerned about any possible retaliations on your husband’s part because of your cooperation with us?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, almost shocked by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I really don’t think he’d be capable of something like that.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. Toshinori frowned, admittedly perturbed by the level of trust All For One had managed to establish within the family without ever even deigning to step in their household. Precautions would have to be taken to protect the Midoriyas from the tragic fate that usually befell all those who were deemed traitors by the Symbol of Fear.

More and more questions followed. With his habitual thoroughness, Tsukauchi pursued a multitude of topics and leads that hadn’t even occurred to Toshinori, at least not so readily. Timing and means of communications, occasional postal deliveries to and from the family, details about the sums of money regularly deposited in the family’s account, and so forth. Toshinori was rather out of his depth here, but he tried his best to help Tsukauchi sort through the reams of documents, receipts, records, and diverse paperwork Inko produced at the detective’s request. By the time Tsukauchi declared to be satisfied with his preliminary inquiries, he had earned himself two plastic bags bursting with evidence, and Toshinori had developed a burgeoning migraine.

As they finally made their way to the entrance, Toshinori glanced at the door to Midoriya’s bedroom. Amidst that cascade of new revelations, they’d barely touched upon the topic of the villain attack and of Midoriya’s quirk with his mother. Toshinori felt genuinely sorry for the difficult conversations that were sure to follow between those two.

He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he stepped outside the Midoriyas’ apartment. Sunset had come and gone, and the lampposts and the bright squares of the neighbors’ windows were the only sources of light in the moonless night of that unassuming residential area. As the door closed behind his back, squeezing into nothingness the rectangular glow framing him and Tsukauchi, Toshinori felt the darkness weigh on his shoulders and seep in his bones almost physically. 

He felt, suddenly, extremely tired.

“I’ll drive you home.” Tsukauchi’s wasn’t an offer, so Toshinori didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

They walked to the car as his friend made a couple of quick calls to instruct some agents to watch the house until the next morning. The fresh night air would have felt like a small bliss to Toshinori on any other day, but in that moment it only rattled whatever unpleasant manifestation of his unease had lodged itself in his lung earlier that afternoon and hadn’t left since. He coughed a few times in his fist, then a few more on purpose to make sure he got most of the discomfort in his throat out of his system before he settled in the passenger’s seat.

The drive was quiet. Toshinori gazed absently out of the window, letting the new awareness sink in his mind like a stone in a pond. All For One was alive. All For One was still alive, somehow. Toshinori couldn’t fathom how. They had never retrieved the body, that was true, but there was precious little they had managed to retrieve from the location of their fight back then. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d found Toshinori himself quickly enough to lend medical assistance. The only reason why they’d been able to keep the public from learning of the accident was because it hadn’t happened on the mainland, and the tiny, uninhabited island that hosted it had all but been wiped from the maps. That his foe may have survived that disaster, considering the damage he’d sustained, was almost inconceivable. Toshinori was pretty sure he’d actually caught a glimpse of the man’s exposed brain after landing the last-

“Are you all right?” Tsukauchi asked quietly.

The corner of Toshinori’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m never going to defy New Year’s fortunes again. Moving away from Tokyo was a terrible idea.”

“This is a good thing. If you hadn’t, All For One would still be out there, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Hell. Five years. For five years they’d been none the wiser. How much strength had All For One regained in five years, while Toshinori’s own slowly went down the drain? How much of his criminal network had he managed to rebuild? How many unnoticed, unreported atrocities had he been plotting and executing, unbeknownst to all? The mere notion made Toshinori’s skin crawl.

But Tsukauchi had the right idea, there was no point in brooding over the current situation. Things could have turned out a lot worse. If Toshinori had already chosen a successor and exhausted One For All’s embers, by now he’d be powerless and useless, and the burden of facing his revived nemesis would have fallen entirely on the new, inexperienced wielder. That truly would have been a worst-case scenario. But as things stood, he could still rely on his quirk for a decent amount of time. He could still tie this dreadful loose end himself before passing the torch, and he’d spare no effort in the endeavor. He’d pursue the monster to the ends of the Earth if he had to, even if it meant wearing himself down to nothing for the rest of his life.

Or meeting his gruesome, bitter end in the process.

Toshinori shivered.

“So,” he heard himself say, “where do we go from here?”

Tsukauchi gave him a stern, silent scrutiny, then he told him.

[fairlyspnfanfic]

The Ties That Bind Us - Part Six

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail?  Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old.  The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do.  But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests.  I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2167

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, tears, anesthesia

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

Dean stood alone in the washroom; the mortar full of ingredients sitting scorched on the floor.  He swept his hands through his hair and walked over to the sink, quickly grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and beginning to work on cleaning up the paint from the trap on the floor. It took mere moments, but it felt like an eternity.  While he was tossing the remnants of his spell into the trash bin, a loud insistent knock was again rapping at the door.  

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Keep your shirt on.”

“Dean!” Sam was yelling outside the door, continuing to pound on the cheap, grey wood.  

Shit, Dean thought to himself as he rushed to finish the rest of his cleanup. Once the last of the traces of his work had been disposed of, he yanked the door open and breezed past his brother wordlessly.  

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam’s indignant voice trailed behind him.  “What did you do?”  

The accusation in his words was not unfounded, but still, it left Dean enraged. “What are you talking about, Sam?”  Dean’s voice was sharp and dismissive as he spat the words at him, his face scrunched up into a defensive glare.  

The youngest Winchester caught up with him within a few strides as he reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, forcing Dean to turn around and face him.  

“Don’t do that,” Sam pleaded.  “Just don’t.”  

“What, a guy can’t take a dump?”  

Sam glared at his brother, leaving the silence between them thick and expectant.  

“Come on Sam, we have to get back in there. Y/N’s depending on us.”  

Sam nodded his head, disappointment evident in his stance, as they both walked back towards the waiting room.  

Immediately, Dean began pacing between the aisles of seats, his long legs bowing out as he did so.  He was listless and his hands alternated between running through his hair and yanking on his own neck in a vain attempt to relax the beyond strained muscles.  

The doors to the surgical hallway flew open and the same doctor that had spoken with them before came rushing towards them, her eyes bulged out in surprise as she locked onto the boys.  

“Doc,” Dean’s voice was full of anguish as he strode up to her, meeting her just outside the rows of seats.  He remained silent, waiting for the update she undoubtedly was there to give him.  

"Tell me she’s alright,” Sam whispered, walking up next to Dean.  The doctor remained silent.  Dean let out a sigh, lowering his head over his crossed arms.  He was all stress, panic and anxiety in human form.

The doctor opened her mouth to start speaking but came up empty as her mouth closed again.  After several false starts without explanation, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  

“We’re going to need some sort of words here, doc.”  Dean’s jovial voice was hiding his tension and impatience, but he remained unsatisfied as the woman continued her silence.  

“She’s not,” Dean began, unwilling to finish the sentence.  “No,” he stuttered. “No, she can’t be.  She’s not gone.  Tell me she’s not gone.”  

Sam laid a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder and stepped in front of him. “Dean, it’s okay.”  He sniffed, unable to control the tears forming in his eyes as they began to fall.  

“No,” Dean began muttering to himself, his eyes wide and fixated on the floor. “No, she said...she was supposed to fix it.  We had a deal.”  His words strung together haphazardly.  Dean could hear his own heart pounding faster and faster.  “No,” he whispered.  

I opened my eyes violently; the dryness of them sending pain and discomfort through me.  I could feel my head pounding, but the pressure in my chest overrode all of it.  As much as I tried, I couldn’t take a breath.  My lungs felt as if they were solid bricks, useless in their emptiness.  I struggled against whatever was blocking them, attempting to take gasp after gasp of fresh air that wouldn’t come.  All I could feel was pain.  My pounding head, aching eyes, useless lungs, and beyond bruised body fought against every survival instinct I had.  

“Oh my God,” I heard a man’s voice yell out.  I lifted my hands to my face and began clawing at the foreign objects that seemed stuck inside of my mouth, arms and chest.  

“No, no, no!” Panicked voices surrounded me as blurred shadows began rushing around me, poking and prodding me at every juncture, as though my threshold for pain was exponentially larger than it actually was.  

“Calm down, Y/N.”  A soothing voice rang in my ear.  “We need to close you up now,” she sang.  “But to do that, you have to sleep.”  

I attempted to speak, wanting nothing more than to scream at the people around me, to tell them no, to make the torment stop, but words were beyond my reach.   “The machines are breathing for you, Y/N.  Don’t fight them.  A little more rest and you can wake back up.  But for now,” she crooned.  “You need to sleep.”  

I watched her fingers grabbing at a tube as another set of hands gave her a vial which she quickly depressed into the tubing between her fingers.  Within seconds, my eyelids drooped, and my head became heavy, my vision fuzzier than before.  And before I could protest, I had drifted into a dreamless, nightmarish sleep.  

The panic in Dean’s chest had begun to consume him as it seemed like the very ground beneath him had given way.  He sank to his knees, kneeling on the floor with his head cradled between his hands.  His cheeks were covered in the salty streaks of his own tears as he took deep breaths, attempting to find some hint that this was all an awful dream.  

Sam moved in front of him, his legs blocking Dean from view.  The doctor stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if she were in shock.  

“You need to say the words, Doc.”  Sam crossed his arms, swallowing the lump in his throat as the tears that his eyelids had been successfully keeping at bay finally fell.  “I need to hear the words, or I won’t believe it.”  He stressed each word, holding on to hope that all of their assumptions were wrong.  

He watched as the doctor finally raised her line of sight to meet his eyes and shook her head slightly as if bringing herself back to the present.  “She’s awake,” she said.  

Sam’s eyes lurched open as his arms fell to his sides.  “What?”  

The doctor shook her head again, confusion clearing as she did so.  “She woke up.  During surgery. She woke up momentarily.”  Her explanation did little to settle the worry that laid heavy throughout the room.  “We had to sedate her, but she did wake up for a moment.”  

Sam lifted his hand and pulled it down his face, grasping his chin as he did so.  “What does that mean?”  His question came out much calmer than he felt.  

“It’s a good sign,” the doctor began.  “Typically, with this kind of trauma, there wouldn’t be more than a ten percent chance of survival.”  Her words did little to provide any comfort.  “But we’ve repaired the damage and she’s in the recovery room now.  It’s going to take a while for her to wake up since we had to sedate her again, but it’s a good sign.”  

Sam took a deep breath, reaching down behind him to grab Dean’s arm.  He pulled him up and forced him to stand.  “Dean,” he said, smacking his hand against his brother’s chest and pointing towards the doctor.  

Dean looked up hesitantly as he made eye contact with the doctor again.  “She’s in the recovery room,” she explained again.  “It’ll be a couple of hours before she’ll be in her own room, but once she is, you’re welcome to see her.”  

“Her body, you mean.”  Dean’s words were painted with defeat.  

“No, Dean.”  Sam turned around, looking at his brother pointedly.  “She’s alive.”  Dean’s eyes flicked over to his brother’s as he let out a breath, allowing more tears to fall down his cheeks.  

My eyelids were so heavy.  Like steel doors that had been locked shut, and I was powerless to move them.  But I could feel the moisture of my own tears leaking through them as they dripped down my cheeks and across my lips.  All I could feel was pain.  The gravel in my chest that seemed to expand with each involuntary breath that I hadn’t initiated.  The sharp, shooting pain that was radiating out from my back.  The pounding in my head that felt as though my temples were trapped in a vice that was constantly being tightened.  It was unreal and I didn’t think I could, or that I’d want, to cope with it.  

Every part of me was scorching.  That same sort of burning feeling that only seemed to happen when you were too cold, freezing from the inside out.  I attempted to move, urging my knees to bend and scoot me away from the frozen fire that felt as though it were seconds away from consuming me.  My lazy, thick voice whined into the emptiness as I urged myself to plead for help.  The only sound that came out was muffled and nonsensical.  

But within seconds, I felt warm fingers snaking themselves around my hand, intertwining my fingers with them.  The warmth and comfort that originated there began to spread, and I poured all of my strength into flexing my fingers and squeezing the hand of my hero that had alleviated some of my agony.  

“Mom?” My voice was almost unrecognizable.  As though I was speaking through a thick layer of fabric that had been woven over my voice box.  

“Shhh,” a soothing voice rang out as another hand swept across my forehead.  “You’re going to be just fine, Y/N.”  I knew that voice.  I would recognize it even if I were dead.  And yet, I couldn’t identify it for the life of me.  

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”  Two lips pressed themselves gently to my forehead, leaving an aura of safety and respite from my aching body.  

“Dad?” I questioned.  

“Y/N?” Another voice called out to me, but from the other side of the room.  “We’re here, Y/N.  Sam and Dean,” it answered me.  “We’re right here.”  

I pursed my eyebrows together, still unable to open my eyes.  Sam and Dean were there.  I knew that their presence meant I was safe.  That the terror of not knowing where I was or why everything hurt so much should ebb away.  But every part of me wanted to scream at them.  To push them away for pulling me back from the perfect peace I had found with my parents.  I could still hear the waves crashing on the beach and remember the feel of my mother’s hand in mine.  But all the contentment and ease had gone and been replaced with suffering.  

“Hey, hey relax Y/N. It’s okay.” Dean’s voice attempted to soothe me as he pushed my hair behind my ear, gently cradling my face.  

“No,” I murmured.  “I want to go back.”  My words came out as whispers, but their intent was sincere.  

Dean relaxed his grip on my hand. “What?” he asked.  But no more words were able to push through my lips.  The tears that had been quietly dripping slowly from my eyes now became a deluge as my eyes and chest were wracked with sobs.  The pain that shot through me with each violent spasm was disorienting and overwhelming, but the tears wouldn’t stop, and my heaving breaths were undeterred.  

My fingers dug into Dean’s hand, desperate to keep him close to me as I pulled him towards the bed.  I was able to curl my legs up into myself, ignoring the pain shooting through my abdomen as I did so, as I pulled Dean’s hand ever closer to me.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice rang out like velvet.  “I’m here,” he said as I felt the bed depress next to me as his legs pressed against mine.  His arm wrapped around my shoulders as he slowly released my hand, holding me close to him and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.  

The sobs that had sped through me began to calm as I buried my face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of evergreen and freshly cut wood.  

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his arms keeping me enveloped into him.  

Deep breath after deep breath of his intoxicating musk had calmed my tears and slowed my breathing back to normal.  The sharp stabbing pain had localized and no longer radiated out to every molecule of my being.  Within minutes, I drifted off, terrified of any dream that I may have that could never compare to where I had just been.  

To be continued….

Part Seven

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy  @carissime72  @deans-baby-momma  @formulafun  @woodworthti666  @yetanotherreader  @crashlyrose  @hobby27  @gabby913  @jxackles  @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog  @fandomoverdose666  @deans-baby-momma  @deanwanddamons  @tazzi-baby  @acertainhero  @lilulo-12

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby

[cobaltusami]

Tropical Vacation pt. 1

Hey hi hello! So I'm going to be starting to post the 50 follower special over the course of this week, I have proof read 10,000 words worth of writing so hopefully by the time I have all the parts already written posted, I'll have the rest of it done or almost done!

There aren't any real tickles In this part because I was setting up for the rest of the story, but there's a close encounter near the end. Next part will have lots of tickles!

Characters In this part: Makoto, Leon, Mondo, Chihiro, Taka, Sakura, Hina, Hiro, Celeste, Kyoko

Words: 1,944

PT 1: [You are here.], PT 2: [Click here.]

It was a normal day In Hope’s peak academy-- If there was ever such a thing. The students were gathered In the dining hall eating breakfast as they normally do and chatting amongst themselves.

The energy was pretty calm today, Hiro cheerfully pointed out upon arriving, only to be told not to jinx them.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

“Hey, do you hear something?” Makoto asked hesitantly. Kyoko nodded and closed her eyes momentarily, focusing on the odd sound.

“It sounds like… Ocean waves.” She concluded, her lavender eyes scanning the room curiously.

“Ocean waves? Why would we be hearing the ocean?” Makoto pondered aloud.

“Hina, Is that not what It sounds like to you?” Kyoko asked the swimmer, who had perked up at the mention of the ocean.

“You’re totally right! I hear It too!” She agreed.

Leon looked to his left where a speaker was attached to a support beam. “It’s coming from over here. Don’t tell me, Monokuma…” he trailed off with a heavy sigh.

As if he were Beetlejuice and his name had been mentioned 3 times, a wild Monokuma appeared from out of seemingly nowhere. “I thought you students might benefit from a change in scenery! I wouldn’t want you getting TOO depressed, You might get too depressed to kill anyone!”

The whole room heaved a collective sigh. “For the last fuckin’ time, We aren’t going to kill one another! So you can go fuck yourself!” Mondo snapped.

“But Robots don’t have the right parts for that!” Monokuma retorted, looking dejected. “How could you be so cruel? Pointing out my insecurities like that…”

“Yeah yeah, This Is great banter and all but--” Leon wasn’t about to sit through another hour of Mondo and Monokuma going back and forth, not after the last time. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Change of scenery’?”

“Good question, Kirishima!” Monokuma responded. “Oh, Whoops, Wrong series!”

“Has Monokuma finally lost it?” Hiro whispered. “What’s he talking about? Series?”

“I dunno... Did Monokuma ever have It to begin with, Man?” Leon whispered back.

“Anyway!” Monokuma cleared his nonexistent throat. “I thought I would liven your surroundings up with some ambience for a while, What do you think? Pretty realistic huh? You can practically feel the ocean breeze right?”

Makoto exchanged glances with Kyoko, not trusting this little shit for a second. “That’s It?”

“What? Were you expecting more?” Monokuma asked, tilting his head.

“There’s not going to be like a shark In the pool or anything… Right? This is it?” Hina asked hesitantly.

“Don’t give him ideas.” Makoto said, exasperated.

“Eh? Why would I do that? I want you to kill each other, Not become shark bait!” The bear retorted. “If you don’t believe me, go check around the school. I don’t have time to explain my feng shui to you, I have places to be!”

As abruptly as he appeared, He disappeared In an annoyed huff. Leaving the dining hall confused.

“So, Does everyone else think he’s using paranoia as a motive again or Is It just me?” Leon asked in a deadpan tone, a few students nodded in agreement.

“I for one would welcome a change in pace! Perhaps he is legitimately concerned for our mental health!” Taka spoke up. “We should absolutely check out the school after breakfast to see what’s changed!”

“T-Taka… Bro…” Mondo sighed. “Monokuma don’t give a shit about us, This Is obviously a trick.”

“What did he mean by that?” Chihiro asked quietly. “He has places to be?”

“He was probably just bullshitting us as usual.” Leon replied.

Kyoko hummed quietly, skeptical. She had also caught that unusual dialog line.

“Let us finish breakfast and then go look around.” Celeste suggested, taking a sip of her tea.

Everyone agreed and the energy of the room returned to It’s previous lightheartedness.

Upon exiting the room afterwards, the students noticed inflatable palm trees and random piles of sand scattered across the common area.

Makoto stared at the ‘decor’ In awkward silence, there’s no way it could be this harmless… right?

“It appears as though Monokuma really did do some redecorating…” Kyoko hummed thoughtfully, though not fully convinced of the remodel either.

“It’s…” Hina trailed off, an inflatable Monokuma wearing a grass skirt catching her eye.

“Tacky?” Leon suggested, kicking one of the Monokuma decorations out of his way.

She eyed a giant inflatable flamingo as she replied. “Kind of cute? I mean, At least It’s different.”

“Different, It certainly Is…” Sakura mumbled, sticking by Hina’s side just in case any of these inflatable beach toys decided to spring to life like Monokuma and try to attack the Swimmer.

“I think It looks fuckin’ stupid!” Mondo scoffed.

“Not just that, Monokuma has completely made a mess with all of this sand everywhere!” Taka seemed more outraged about the mess than the ominous looming threat.

“Sakura-- Look at that!” Hina pointed excitedly at a massive flamingo floaty. You could literally fit multiple people on it. “It’s so cute! I’m so gonna put this in the pool!”

“Hina, What do you need an inflatable this large for?” Sakura sighed. “You don’t even use them.”

“So that we can both chill on it together and pretend we’re at the beach, Duh!” Hina giggled, The martial artist couldn’t help but smile and shake her head at that.

She was about to say something in response but felt something light land on her head, She instinctively grabbed it and inspected it. It was a pink lei. “What the… Where did this come from?”

“The fuck?” Mondo grabbed a blue lei off of his shoulder.

Hina perked up as a yellow lei landed in her hands. She looked up in the direction It came from to see Chihiro standing atop a massive duck floaty that was similar in size to the flamingo. In their hands they had several more lei’s.

“Chihiro, where did you find those? These are so cute!” Hina squealed, happily putting the lei on.

Chihiro giggled. “I found them sitting in a box next to the door.” They replied, smiling.

Sakura and Mondo both looked up at Chihiro in silence for a moment as they both processed what they were looking at. But once they did…

“CHI!” Mondo yelled, alarmed.

“Chihiro!” Sakura gasped.

“Y-Yeah?” Chihiro asked meekly, startled by the unusual reaction from their friends.

“What are you doing up there??”

“Get down from there right now before ya fall and hurt yourself!”

“What are they now, Chihiro’s parents?” Leon asked, exasperated.

“I mean, If I had to pick anyone here to be my parents, I’d pick these two.” Makoto chuckled quietly.

Chihiro frowned and went to climb off of the duck’s head but they stumbled and squeaked as they went crashing towards the floor.

Mondo dove for the small programmer but Sakura had already seen they were gonna fall so she had taken off in their direction.

Sakura managed to catch them in her arms but didn’t anticipate Mondo also diving for them, she figured Mondo would have seen she was already on it but evidently not.

Mondo ended up colliding with Sakura and the two went tumbling to the floor, luckily Chihiro hadn’t been collateral because Sakura had just put them down.

“OW FUCK!”

“Ugh…”

Leon and Hiro both cracked up laughing at the two, but quickly stopped when Taka and Hina sent them death glares.

Mondo laid there, winded. His upper half was draped across Sakura, She had tried to catch him to break his fall but underestimated how much momentum he’d built up and they both ended up hitting the floor a few times whilst they tumbled.

“Oh no! Are you guys okay?!” Chihiro gasped, rushing over to them with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would get hurt!”

“Hurt? Who says... we’re hurt?” Mondo tried to put the programmer at ease, mustering up a lopsided grin. “I’m fine, what about you Sakura?”

She was silent for a moment, Most likely also winded from hitting the floor so hard.

“Sakura?” Mondo repeated, pushing himself up off of her, his hand brushing against her side. Her eyes snapped open, suddenly very alert as she jerked upwards into a sitting position.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine too.” She blushed, her arms wrapping around herself self consciously.

Mondo made a confused face. “What’s wrong? Ya hit your head?”

“No, I… Nevermind.”

Chihiro’s face scrunched with confusion too as they replayed what had just happened in their head. Then they realized. “Ohh! I think I know!”

“What Is It?” The Biker asked, turning his head to look at the small student.

“I-It’s nothing. I suppose I’m just a little bit winded from you landing on me.” She said calmly, her face unreadable.

“Well… That could be too…” They mumbled, thinking over It more carefully.

Suddenly, Hina began laughing, as she had apparently figured out what happened. “Oh my god! Mondo! Dude she--”

“Hina!” Sakura interjected quickly, sensing danger. “Don’t even think about It!”

“Will someone just tell me what the fuck is going on!?” Mondo snapped.

“I can’t say It, Because Sakura might kill me If I do.” Hina snickered.

Chihiro sat down next to the Martial artist. “Are you hurt…?” they asked quietly, putting their hand carefully on her side.

She flinched visibly and looked at the small student, blushing. “N-No. I’m fine, Really.” she tried to reassure them. Because she was too busy worrying about Chihiro, she didn’t catch the look of realization across Mondo’s face. Ohhh and the evil grin that followed…

“Sakura, Don’t tell me…” Mondo grinned as the white haired student looked back at him. “Are you ticklish?”

She recognized the almost predatory look in his eyes, and quickly put distance between them by backing up then rising to her feet. “No.” she responded In a serious tone.

Mondo stood up and was slowly advancing towards the slightly nervous woman. “I think you’re lying~”

“Taka!” Sakura said suddenly. “I think Mondo’s bleeding.”

“What!?” Taka was quickly in front of his Kyoudai, checking him for injuries, also effectively standing in his way.

“Wh-what? No-- Taka I’m fine! She’s tricking you!” Mondo stammered, incredulous that Taka would fall for such an obvious trick.

“Trick or not, I need to make sure you’re okay!”

This gave Sakura a chance to get away from the biker, sneaking past back to the safety of her room.

Once Taka was sure that Mondo wasn’t bleeding, he backed off. “Ogami! This isn’t fuckin’ over!” He called down the hall in vain.

“I believe It Is!” She called back, Hina was nearly on the floor laughing her ass off.

“S-Sorry Kyoudai…” Taka meekly apologized.

Mondo sighed. “It’s fine. You were just worried.”

Taka was about to say something else but felt a lei being placed around his neck, he looked down at it in surprise. It was red to match his eyes. “Ch-Chihiro?” he stammered, turning around to face the Programmer.

“I saved the red one for you, there was only one in the box and I thought it would look the best on you.” They smiled.

Taka teared up at the kind gesture. “Th-Thank you! I shall treasure this for as long as I shall live!”

Chihiro giggled as they hugged the strict student, making him even more teary as he returned the hug.

“Using Taka against Mondo to escape Is really smart…” Leon said quietly to Makoto and Hiro.

“Yeah, How come we never thought of that?” Hiro replied.

“That would require you all to have a functioning brain in your heads.” Celeste smiled as they gave her pointed looks.

Kyoko smirked at this, apparently agreeing with Celeste’s sentiment.

[oliverwxod]

The hardest part is letting go (Part 2) - Geralt imagine

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex. 

Summary: Part 2 to this 

"Another day, another slay" Jaskier mumbled under his breath, strumming a small musical tune , "wait no... Another day... Another... Another..."

 "You okay?" Y/n chuckled to herself, throwing Jaskier a look. "You've been mumbling for the past 10 minutes"

 Jaskier looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a sigh. 

 "I need some inspiration" he huffed. 

 "Things got too boring for you?" Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow up at him. 

 "Oh- no - that's not what I meant I just-" y/n laugh at his stuttering. 

 "I'm not offended" she laughed "it's fine, I'm bored too".

"You should be glad" Geralts voice came from the trees, the two of them squinting to see him appear out of the mist that had not cleared due to the early morning sun that was still trying to rise and cut through the clouds so a new day could begin. 

 "Glad for what?" Y/n questioned, staring at the Witcher. He looked like he hadn't even slept last night. Y/n guessed that he didn't, not when he had paid to spend the night with a woman. 

 "That you're bored" he spoke, staring at her briefly before looking away. 

 "But being bored is so- boring" she complained, stretching her arms out and yawning just to make her point stronger. 

 Jaskier let out a laugh, Geralt once again hated how Jaskier was looking at Y/n. Like she had hung the moon and the stars, he'll even all the other planets that existed up their. Geralt scoffed under his breath.

 "Lets move" he grunted, swinging himself on to his horse with ease, whereas Y/n and Jaskier both struggled with theirs. 

 "Where to?" Jaskier spoke "another great Witcher adventure, maybe I'll get my inspiration" 

 "Why don't you write a song about me" Y/n spoke, a teasing gleam in her eyes that spoke trouble. She flashed a quick grin to Geralt who glared at her. 

 "What makes you think that I haven't already?" Jaskier teased back. He hadn't ever had the confidence to ever come up with a comeback to her teasing before. A spark lightening up in Y/n's eyes that had Geralt grunting again in distaste.

 "Can I hear it?" She asked, smirking at the bard. 

 "Nope". 

"What? Why not?" She whined "please Jaskier" 

 "I'm going to save it" he spoke proudly.

 "Save it for what?" She asked, confusion closing over her face and curiously running through her. She was eager to hear it, a song written about her by a bard. A talented one at that.

 "For when the times right for others to hear it, for they will all fall in love with the mighty Y/n once they do. And I don't think you're ready for all the people to love you" Y/n let out a laugh. 

"Well now I really want to hear it".

 "Would you two stop this wanton talk, " Geralt spoke harshly. He hated it. Couldn't deal with the bards constant talking and Y/n's teasingly. He knew she was only doing it because she was bored. 

 "Just because you barely speak doesn't mean we can't. It's just teasing Geralt" she spoke, her voice didn't hold any kind of annoyance though.

 "Watch it" he glared in response to her first comment. 

 "Oh mysterious Wicther, why do though not speak" y/n spoke exaggeratedly, calling out to the Forrest, arms spread open in exclamation. "Why does though not laugh or play" 

 Jaskier started to strum a tune making her laugh, before he carried on, turning her words into a song.

 "Very funny" Geralt huffed, glaring once again at the two of them who had both broken out into fits of giggles. "The two of you are children" he spoke gruffly, turning his nose up at them.

 Y/n rolled her eyes when she met Jaskiers eyes, the two of them sharing a smile as Geralt had ridden ahead, now leading them. 

 "Soooo" Jaskier spoke, it had been quiet for nearing an hour as they all rode, the pathways were widening suggesting they would probably be reaching a village soon. 

"Has anybody ever been in love?" Y/n coughed, a laugh spluttering from her lips at the question. 

 "Why does that amuse you dear Y/n?" Jaskier asked, smirking slightly at her .

 "Just wasn't expecting such an - outrageous question" 

 "You think love is outrageous?" Jaskier asked shocked. Geralt found himself actually listening to their conversation with interest this time. 

 "Of course it is" she spoke. 

 "What makes you say that?" The bard asked, slowing down. 

 "Because I imagine it to hurt, a lot" she said quietly. "Because there's going to be a point where the person you love is going to love someone else"

 "That's a depressing way to look at it" Jaskier stated. Silence falling over the trio. 

Geralt was a little shocked by her words, y/n seemed to be a joyful soul, much like Jaskier, he thought she would easily be the kind of person who believed in love, the kind of girl that would want to get married and have a family. The conversation died there, the only sounds being those of the silence in the forest and the chirping of birds and distant chatter from a nearby village.

 "There was once a man" y/n spoke gaining the attention of the two men and breaking the silence. "He wanted to prove his love to his wife. So he went on an adventure, He climbed the highest mountain, swam the deepest seas and slayed a silver dragon. Do you know what his wife did?" She left the question open, neither Geralt or Jaskier knowing but staring at her curiously. 

 "She left him" she said, her voice quietening "she left him because he was never there." 

 Geralt stared at her, figuring out what she was trying to say. The way her posture had changed and the way she had cowered in on herself allowed him to understand.

 "Your parents" he said out loud. Y/n's head whipped round to his direction, meeting his eyes. 

 "Yes. My mother left my god forsaken awful Father" she said "and me"

 "I'm sorry-" Jaskier started. "Don't be" she glared at him. 

"She was a coward and he was an asshole" Geralt was unsure for the first time ever what to say. He wasn't good with emotions especially other people's emotions. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and upset her. 

 "I met her" he spoke up. Y/n stared at him once again, speechless. "She paid me" 

 "For what? To kill a monster because once again she was too much of a coward?" Y/n spat a new spiteful side revealing itself. 

 "No. To take you away from there." He said plainly. This was the explanation y/n had been waiting for since she had been traveling with the Wicther after he turned up one day stating he had to protect her. 

 She had always assumed it was her Father who had given him the job of getting her out of the kingdom when the war started. Her father had said it was no place for a princess to be, one of the only good thing he had ever done was letting her leave win the Witcher. 

 She never knew it was because of her mother that the Witcher was actually there "Oh" she replied, in somewhat shock. 

 "She wanted you out of there, war or no war." Geralt said. 

"Wait, you're a princess?" Jaskier spoke in shock. Both Y/n and Geralt momentarily forgot he was there, turning to see Jaskier jaw dropped open in surprise. "I've been- I've been travelling with a princess- talking to a princess-"

 "Jaskier" Geralt spoke "not so loud out here in the open." Conscious of their surrounding he scanned the area briefly. 

 "Let's just keep moving" y/n spoke "we can talk about it later". 

 "So we established that Y/n will never fall in love but has the mighty Witcher or Rivia ever fallen in love" Jaskier asked changing the subject only a little. Geralt gave him a stern look before answering quickly and shortly. 

 "No" 

 "Not even once in your whole entire life time?" Jaskier asked. 

 "No" Geralt spoke again, clearly bored with the conversation. 

 "Witchers don't feel anything" y/n spoke. "Can confirm that" she whispered the last part under her breath but Gedalt still heard, but turned a blind eye to it.

 "Well if neither of you don't believe in love than you sound perfect for each other" Jaskier said, oblivious to the silence and roaming thoughts he had created inside both of their heads with his simple words. 

 The two of them dared not to look at each other, awkwardness falling upon them as they silently follow Jaskier. A cloud of thought running through Y/n's mind.

 Would she be sad if she ever had to leave Geralt? Yes. Would she be sad if Geralt fell in love with someone who was not herself? Yes. It was all starting to make sense. The way she felt under his stare, his brief touches. How she always felt queasy when Geralt spent the night with a woman in a inn room and she was left by herself. Shit. It was all falling into perfect sense. She liked him.

 She liked the Wicther who did not feel anything. The man who barely spoke to her. The person who never seemed to care. 

 Similar thoughts were going through Geralts mind. Why he always felt so angry when Jaskier would talk to y/n, taking all her attention with him. How he would always feel that little bit more protective over her when anything or anyone even came near her. If explained why his heart skipped every time she mentioned that she didn't want to be traveling around all her life, a hint at the fact she would have to leave at some point. Maybe even return to her kingdom if the war was won. 

 "A village" Jaskier spoke excitedly. Geralt looked up, briefly glancing at Y/n, seeing she was already looking at him in question. He looked away quickly before getting off his horse and walking further into the village. 

 People stared. Villagers stopped still, pointing, gossiping, watching them with caution and hostile glances. An inn was up ahead of them, not too far into the village. They could get some food and drink their, maybe even a bed each for the night.

 ----------------------------

  "Do you have three beds for the night?" Jaskier asked the inn keeper politely. "We've been travelling a while" The inn keeper stared at them before his eyes landed on Geralts, eyes narrowing slightly. 

 "Two" the inn keeper spoke cautiously. "We have two beds" 

 "That's fine"y/n spoke as Jaskier began to protest. 

"Thank you Sir" No one spoke about the bed situation, leaving it for a later problem. Instead they were all too focused on getting food, sitting in a corner of the inn waiting with baited breaths and silence. 

"So, Jaskier" y/n spoke. "Have you ever been in love?" She threw his question back at him, watching as the bard blushed. 

 "Uh- well" 

 "He falls in love every night he spends with a different woman" Geralt spoke. Y/n let out a laugh as Jaskier glared at the Witcher. 

 "I do not" he defended himself. He looked at the two of them seeing how neither of them seemed to believe him. "Okay, so maybe sometimes i do. But not all of them" he admitted. 

 "A bard that gets around. So how many?" Y/n asked in curiosity. She watched as he blushed once again. 

 "I'm not telling you that-" 

 "7" Geralt spoke. 

 "Actually it's 8 but- hey!" Jaskier said realising what just happened. 

"Okay mr Witcher what about you"

 "Too many to count Bard" he huffed, smirking at him. 

 "So like a hundred?" Jaskier asked, but only received a look. "More than that!" He exclaimed, his jaw dropping again. Y/n was silent hoping the question wouldn't turn to her.

 But of course Jaskier being the curious person he was asked her. 

 "What about you?" Jaskier said, meeting her eyes. She frowned at him, before looking to Geralt for help, but she found he was looking at her too, his stare intense. 

 "Well- I've lived in a castle, surrounded by guards for my whole life so that would be zero".

 "What!" Came Jaskiers reply first "you mean, you mean you've never?" She glared at him for bringing attention to it. Shaking her head through the blush that coated her cheeks, gaze flickering to stare at the table. She could feel his stare still on her, but she dared not to meet his eyes. 

 "Sorry y/n" Jaskier spoke "I shouldn't have asked you, I didn't mean to make you feel-" 

 "It's fine, I asked you first" she said. They were silent, no one knowing what to say. It was broken when the inn keeper came over, bring 3 bowls of hot stew and rolls of bread, the three of them thanking him gratefully. 

 They finished their food quickly, relishing in the warmth of the meal. It was only when they were finished that Y/n finally spared a look at Geralt, meeting his eyes and finding he was already watching her, his lip caught between his teeth. He didn't look away, not backing down from her gaze. 

 Y/n gave in, quickly looking away and engaging in conversation with Jaskier.

 "I'm going to sleep" Geralt spoke standing up. "Jaskier, you take the other room" he spoke chucking him the key on the table. “Y/n you share my room, I'll take the floor".   

"She can share mine-" Jaskier spoke. 

 "No" he said bluntly as he turned to leave. The two of them watched him retreat away to the door, silent for a quick moment before Jaskier turned to her with a shit eating grin.

 "You don't see the way he looks at you do you?" Jaskier asked. 

 "What do you mean by that?" Y/n replied, confused.

 "He wants you." he spoke, voice teasing him, y/n lightly hit his arm.

 "Stop playing" she said. 

 "I'm not. That man” he spoke gesturing to where Geralt had disappeared to “wants to fuck you" Jaskier smirked.

Y/n was staring at the door the Witcher had gone through just moments ago, Jaskiers words burning into her head. How was she meant to face him now?

TAGS: @sdavid09​ @c-s-stars @bitcheswithbrokenhearts​ @fandomhell97​ @flowercrownsandmetallicarms​ @tdntu0​ @soulmatelove96​ @saelwen-the-shy-elf​ @momc95​ @kingniazx​ @diab1a​ @whatanicepanohthatsjustme​ @marvels-gurl​

[hurricanery]

If You Went Away - pt. 1

A/N: This story is going to be multiple parts. Inspired by this prompt, this prompt & a couple other prompts requesting Amelink fighting & Scout kind of wrapped up in the middle of it. I’m getting a lot of requests for angst and I’m down with writing angst soooo here we go- I put my own twist on it for the purpose of making it multiple chapters and it kinda ended up more depressing than I intended yikesssss. But also, I promise it gets better/more positive. I made Scout a little older in this story (age 5).

_______

Listen here, listen close

You’re the one I love the most

And if you went away

I don’t know what I’d do

_______

(one year ago)

“You should go,” Amelia mumbles, as she lays in bed, facing Link.

Link raises his eyebrows, frowning slightly. “I don’t understand,” he speaks slowly. “What changed?”

Amelia furrows her brows, perplexed. “Well nothing changed, technically, I-”

“When I was first offered this job….before Scout was even born,” Link interrupts. “We decided, together, that there were more important things in our lives.”

“Yeah….” Amelia draws out her response. “And I agreed with you then, I guess. But,” she pauses, reaching over to give Link’s bicep a squeeze. “They offered it again. I….just feel like when an opportunity presents itself more than once….there’s more to consider. It has to mean something, right?”

Link just looks at her blankly. There’s a brief silence before Amelia speaks again.

“It’s the Seattle Mariners,” she smiles encouragingly, “It’s your dream job.”

Link nods in agreement. And Amelia tries to ignore what that does to her. Because, even though she’s being encouraging, she knows what underlying feelings are truly there. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, it’s her own guilt that’s causing her to feign encouragement right now. Her own guilt and fear that she’s trapped him here, in this relationship. In this city. In this job. That when she got pregnant in the first place, she’d rushed them into things and forced a relationship. Forced a lifestyle.

She quickly tries to shake her thoughts. Thinking of anything that will make her feel better about this. Anything that will feel like compromise. “It’s only temporary,” she decides. “It’s not like you’ll be gone forever.”

“Right,” Link agrees, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Amelia’s ear. “Temporary.”

_______

(6 months ago)

‘It’s not like you’ll be gone forever’

Amelia chuckles bitterly at the memory as she walks from her ER consult. It had been 6 months and Link was still away from them, completely consumed by his travel schedule as the Mariners’ team surgeon. He’d come home about once a month, on a weekend, and spend as much time with Amelia and Scout as he could. But, it never felt like enough. Both parents couldn’t ignore the way Scout’s face would fall each Sunday night. When the weekend would close in on them and the knowledge of Link’s early flight out the next day would settle in.

The weekends become less and less. Link’s time allotted to return home becomes more scarce as unforeseen injuries happen on the team. They both know the effect it’s having on Scout.

“Hey, Amelia!” Maggie’s voice interrupts her thoughts as she walks into the attending’s lounge. “I was just going to grab lunch, wanna join me?”

“I’m supposed to FaceTime with Link in a minute, actually…” She trails off as a text message comes in from Link, confirming the call they are about to have.

“Isn’t he coming home this weekend? For Scout’s birthday?”

“Yeah,” Amelia breathes, but she can’t help the worried feeling creeping into her chest. Something about Link’s text seems off. “Yeah, he’s supposed to be.”

Maggie frowns, clearly recognizing Amelia’s distress.

And Amelia forces a smile, sighing deeply. “Well, I’m going to go call him.”

_______

Her intuition was right.

She tries to suppress the anger and resent that threatens to take over as she stares at her phone screen, listening to the words coming out of Link’s mouth. She feels like she’s only gathering certain pieces.

Something about ‘emergency surgery’

And ‘missing his flight’

And ‘I’ll make it up to him I promise’

“We can’t keep doing this to him,” She interrupts Link in the middle of his detailed explanation.

“I know,” he sighs back, through the phone.

“It’s his birthday,” Amelia’s voice almost breaks on the word. “He’s been talking about you all week. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“That I’m sorry,” Link quickly responds. “And I love you guys. And I’ll be home as soon as I can.” He regrets his words the moment he sees Amelia’s face fall in disbelief. Clearly not the response she had wanted.

“Amelia,” He continues. “I did get some good news today.”

“What’s that?”

“I got the approval from my boss. To have Scout with me this summer. When school gets out he can come to all the away games….like we’d planned. What do you think?”

Amelia nods numbly. This was always a part of the plan. They’d promised Scout a summer full of away games when his school break came around. It was something for him to look forward to.

“And you too, obviously,” Link adds. “Whenever your work schedule allows, of course. Think about it! The three of us out here travelling, it’ll be perfect! Everything we’ve wanted!”

Silence falls between them and Amelia zones out momentarily, subconsciously picking at the loose fabric of the couch she’s sitting on in the attending’s lounge.

She doesn’t realize she’s said anything out loud until she feels the shakiness of her own voice.

“I think we should take a break.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think we should….separate. For a while.”

“Amelia…” Link frowns, trying to understand. “We are basically separate right now, we….we never see each other. Aren’t we already kind of-”

“Exactly,” she interrupts.

“I still don’t understand.”

“I think what you just said sums it up perfectly. We basically already are.”

“Yeah, but. This is temporary...I’m coming back. I’m-”

“I mean something a little more permanent.”

Link doesn’t say a word.

“I mean I don’t think I’ll be joining you guys this summer.”

_______

(summer - present day)

The door hesitates open and she’s glass before him. Hard, stoic, refusing to meet his eyes. She’s staring at his feet. Or maybe at the doormat, which ironically reads ‘welcome’ in all capital letters.

Link almost wants to laugh as he reads the word, glancing down at the ‘welcome’ mat, feeling anything but welcome. He almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.  And she’s clearly not in the mood to laugh either.

He can tell by the way that she’s not yet made eye contact that Amelia’s putting up a front. She’s glass. Detached and oh, so stoic.

She sniffs. And clears her throat. And Link reminds himself that glass is shatterable somewhere down the line.

“Hi Amelia,” he speaks. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

"Just fine. You?” Her voice sounds raspy as she answers him, like she hasn’t spoken properly in a while. Or maybe it’s been so long since he’s heard her voice, that Link doesn’t recognize it accurately. He quickly refutes that idea. Impossible.  

"Good.”

The eye contact they manage to hold is scarce, and Amelia darts her eyes away once again, clamping down on her bottom lip with a row of white teeth.

“So I, uh, I’ve packed up all of his things…” her sentence dwindles as she waits for a nod, or something, from Link.

“It’s all in the living room. There’s not much to do…..should be a quick exchange.” She mumbles, shuffling behind the door a little, an effort to let Link inside.

He takes a deep breath before he steps over the threshold.

Amelia clears her throat as she leads the way into the house. She nods toward the pile of Scout’s luggage in the corner. “Everything’s there,” she states plainly. She then turns the corner briefly, yelling up the stairs. “Scout! Come downstairs, your Dad’s here!”

Link watches curiously as he follows Amelia through to the kitchen. She reaches out for a jar of peanut butter and a spoon that’s already been sitting out, like she’d been snacking on it just before Link arrived.

“Really, Amelia?” Link chuckles, offering a small smile. “Peanut butter out of the jar? Is that your dinner?”

“I haven’t grocery shopped in while,” she mutters, mouth full. And Link picks up on a hint of a smile.

Silence fills the space between them as Link starts to gather up some of Scout’s belongings.

“I would’ve stopped and gotten pizza or something for you guys,” he offers, finally.

Amelia just frowns, shrugging off the idea.

“He’s going to get hungry during the car ride Ames-” he stutters on the nickname, then immediately corrects himself. “Amelia.”

He ignores whatever emotion waves across her features as a result of the nickname use. He thinks it might be shock. But then she’s speaking at him, her tone somewhere between disbelief and defensiveness.

“Why are you accusing me of….” She trails off briefly, frustrated at the direction of her thoughts. “Scout ate dinner an hour ago...you thought I just...wasn’t going to feed him? Or-”

“Can we not do this? Right now? Please?” Link cuts her off.

“Do what? I’m just saying-” She stops talking abruptly by the look on Link’s face. Clearly not in the mood to spend his time arguing.

“I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything,” he mutters calmly, hands raised in defense.

“Just pack up the car,” she whispers, suddenly entranced by the ingredients on the peanut butter packaging.

And Link does.

And Amelia busies herself with dishes as Link moves in and out of the house, loading luggage into his car.

_______

Link’s down to the last few items, heading to the front door, when Scout finally comes running down the stairs.

“Dad!” The 5-year-old yells excitedly.

He turns around just in time to witness his little man, having just jumped over the last few steps of the stairs, collapse against him, hugging himself to Link’s legs.

Link chuckles, setting down the stuff he was carrying. “Hey bud! I am so happy to see you! Look at you, you’re so big!”

Scout steps back, looking up at his Dad. “Mom said we get to go to baseball games all summer!”

“That’s true,” he ruffles Scout’s hair. “And…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You get to meet the baseball players, too.”

Scout opens his mouth wide in excitement. There’s practically a sparkle in the kid’s eye and Link loves the sight of it. He has his mother’s eyes, and Link loves the sight of that, too.

“Want to help me finish loading up the car, bud?”

Scout nods enthusiastically, following his Dad outside.

The house is quiet now, and Amelia listens from the kitchen to the distant sounds of her son babbling excitedly outside. An aching feeling rises in her chest and she tries her best to suppress it. She pulls herself together and makes her way toward the front hallway.  Link re-enters the house with Scout trailing behind him moments later.

“You all packed up?” Amelia tries to sound excited as she asks Scout, but her voice just sounds thin and strained.

“Yep!” Scout replies, his energy radiating in such a way that he can barely stand still in his position on the front porch.

“Okay, then. Guess it’s time to go,” Amelia mutters.

And with that Scout takes off, sprinting towards the car eagerly and yelling back at his Dad. “Dad, come on! Come on let’s go!”

“Wait Scout, get back here!” Link yells after him. “Come say goodbye to your Mom first.”

But Scout is already inside the car, climbing into the backseat and mumbling enthusiastically to himself.

“Scout did you hear me?!” Link is starting to sound a little exasperated.  

Still no compliance from the young boy.

“Scout!”

“He heard you, he heard you!” Amelia interrupts, forcing a tight smile. Link looks back at her. “It’s fine, really. We already said goodbye.”

Link frowns. “Okay, but still-”

“Dad!” Scout suddenly yells from the car, interrupting them. “Can we get pizza on the way?!”

Amelia sucks in a breath. But then immediately tries to hide her pain, because this whole interaction just stings.

“Uhhhh,” Link draws out his reaction. “I’ll think about it, buddy. I know you already ate. So we’ll see-”

“Can you just go, please?” Amelia interrupts harshly, her head hanging low, in an attempt to hide her face.

Link frowns, taking in Amelia’s demeanor. Her neck is flushed and she’s clearly upset. And clearly trying to hide it.

“Amelia, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for her wrist.

He doesn't know why he does it. Muscle memory maybe. An attempt to comfort the woman that looks so breakable before him.

She recoils from his touch, snatching her wrist out of his grasp faster than he’d expect from someone seemingly so apathetic.

She finally looks at Link, and it practically kills him. The way her face twists when she’s trying not to cry.

“Please,” she rasps. “Please just go.”

And Link complies. Amelia wraps her trembling fingers around the door knob as Link goes to leave.

He steps out onto the porch, turning to face Amelia. He wants to say something. And by the look in Amelia’s stinging eyes, he needs to say something. He goes to open his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out, when Amelia swiftly shuts the door.

He stands there, frozen.

Long enough to hear the broken sob from the other side of the door.

Long enough to feel his heart sink, and for an ache to develop in the back of his throat.

But he turns around. He forces a smile on his face and walks toward the car, locking eyes with his bright-eyed son in the back seat. He walks away from Amelia.

_______

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 2)

CHAPTER 1

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Y/N seemed to already have a spot in the house, and also a feverish feeling inside her heart. Totally unwavering and in distress. Geralt could feel it happening again as he could feel his heart soften at the woman who'd pop out of nowhere, thus; he doesn't know if her arrival has been a good thing or can be considered as ill-fate for him. 

Warnings: Modern references because reader lives in modern day era in earth. Geralt and Jaskier banters, non-stop. 😂 Just a filler chapter but also considered important because we can see how frustrated and scared the reader is and not being happy in an instant? 😂 Kinda fluff with Geralt and Y/N’s interaction? 

Words: 4,500+ (IT'S DAMN LONG. I'VE BEEN TOO HAPPY WRITING THEIR BANTERS 😂)

A/N: 2nd chapter for WITCHER OF THE NIGHT! 😊 This will prolly consist of 15-20 chapters or less! 😊 TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE IN THIS SERIES, POTATOES! 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS FIRST PART! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​ @nympeth​ 

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters and said monsters aren't from moi as well. (Gif down below is from witches-ground)

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots! 

You sat on the dusty, creaking wooden chair that they owned. Eyes studying your surroundings as Jaskier moved around to get a pale of water while Geralt stood a meter away from you; leaning on a wall with his muscular arms across his chest, silently watching you like a hawk.

The stares he have been giving you were completely tangible for the naked eye or it was probably because you were conscious of his incomprehensible gawking. You noticed their roof was also thatched. Adding a burning furnace which also utilizes as their stove and heat for the night.

Your face frown at the realization that they didn't have any refrigerator nor a stove but noticed two rooms sat together. You've heard ruffling from the far back and liquid being poured down the bucket as your eyes landed on the man watching you in silence. Abruptly, a soft, vindicated smile raised your lips as you leisurely shook your legs left to right to suppress the consternation tingling your nerves, "Thank you," a quiet, sincere whisper was all Geralt heard amongst the oak wood burning in the background.

No answer was given other than having to take a gander as you sat away from him; a little bit recherché with that look in his eyes, "Thank you for saving me, Geralt." you repeated to utter out a word from the man himself. From the moment you've heard his voice; surprisingly, it was rather soothing to your anxious nerves. Frightening thoughts run over cars after cars inside your brain as you didn't know what the future holds.

You didn't even know how to go home. They've been avoiding the question as to where you could find the airport.

Geralt's name that rolled off your tongue sounded unfamiliar and thoroughly anomalous. But, you would probably get used to it once the dream reaches an end.

Technically, that was the problem. You didn't know if it was entirely a dream because it felt so real.

Shifting were heard and you've come to realize that Geralt had lifted himself off the wall, taking heavy steps close as you guiltlessly gawked at him. He fairly lifted the hem of his black long-sleeved shirt, giving you a slight view of his jutting torso. You've anxiously cleared your throat and avoided his pretty glowing, golden eyes keeping under scrutiny.

God has been testing your forbearance since you've woken up in the forest. Adding more inclinations to probably torture you till you wake up from your utter deep sleep.

Much to your inattentive state and your eyes shutting tightly; asking the heavens to wake you up in that instance, Geralt stopped before you; giving much space for you to breathe and seeming to be standing on your side rather than in front because it would be a very nubile sight to be in face with his leather-clothed crotch.

Damn you and your short genes.

"You are awake," he suddenly distracted you from your distraught. You were completely engrossed on wishing out loud for whoever to just kick you on the bed so you could be awakened.

Geralt dangled a piece of cloth in front of your face. Minimal blood dots containing the cloth on his hands. So that's what he was doing when he'd tried to give you a sneak peak of his chiseled torso. He ripped the piece of a long white clothing used for his wounds that surrounded his body.

There was blood. It simply means he's really human and not anything part of a pack of wolves.

"What's this for?" you've observed the piece of clothing hanging in front of you. Brows in a tight twist as you winced from the itch on a part of your soot-filled face. Geralt left no reply and gathered his hand on yours, the sudden gesture making you jump in your seat because of the sudden touch. His hand giving you some kind of tepid, amiable warmth that made you believe that everything was real and true as you catch a sight of his passive expression.

You've felt a soft cloth fall on the soft center of your palm, "--For the grime scattered all over your face and body," As quick as he'd grabbed onto your hands, he was fast enough to leave them hanging in front of you as he turned his booted heel. The width of his abnormally burly shoulders giving you a view as he strolled around their cozy home, locking your gaze on his overwhelming presence.

"You don't have to...." a trail of thoughts protested out loud as he'd crouched before a leather bag, thus hearing a clothing being ripped after. There was a Lute sitting beside the bag and you've took notice of it and focused on the instrument instead, wondering if Geralt owns the string instrument. Geralt rose to his feet and situated himself in front of you again to dangle another set of torn, clean white cloth, "---and for your wounds,"

The smile you sent was thoroughly cordial and unnerving. Geralt was supposed to turn away and mind his own business until you've peered up at him like a cat asking for attention. The powerful looking man had to emit an evident sigh; cursing beneath his breath that questioned your sanity as to why he was already kneeling before you; eye to eye and probably trying to enchant you as it bear into your mind that magical things have been happening since the moment you've woken up.

Yes, you debated with yourself and believed in your hunches that his effect with you had something to do with casting a spell for you.

"Do...you have a name?" he grumbled with a slight drawl to his words. His unorthodox eyes were much clearer against the fire and thoroughly fetching. You've had to blink to ruin the spell he'd tried to cast upon you and took your time in understanding what he have asked.

"Ughm," you mumbled like an idiot and played with the cloth in your hand, gaze fixated on the ball of cloth scrunched on your palm, "Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,"

Geralt was attentive of your palpable and otherwordly scent. It was completely out of this world and he probably meant that literally because of how mystifying and strange you were around them. The latter could also hear the fast beating of your heart, taking to account that the effect of it was rather much a mental struggle he didn't know. Howbeit, the other half was another piece he wasn't familiar about.

He'd given you that captivating look as you continued to stare at your fidgeting fingers, "Are you a princess?" at that declaration and inquiry, your head snapped, fast enough to give you whiplash. A scrunch of your nose telling him that you've found his question rather uncanny, "What--as much as I'd want to be a princess, I think I'd rather suit to be a queen,"

You've bunched the cloth in your hand and restlessly cough onto it, looking anywhere except for that stare he was giving. What were you even saying? 'Where was Jaskier?' the voice inside your head spoke for your nerves.

A side of Geralt's lip involuntary lifted into a smirk, "You'd suit to be a midget," he paused, golden eyes glowing in amusement, "---A grimy, naive midget,"

His opinion suddenly struck a gut in you, snapping your head to meet his mischievous golden peepers, "EXCUSE ME?" you exclaimed, rather offended.

"Y/N of Novigrad? Vizima? Brokilon--" Geralt started telling peculiar names of places, and you were quick to object his options, "No! Y/N from State farm,"

There was a long minute of silence. His forehead creasing because of the bafflement that was accountable to your words. Geralt has never heard of that kingdom. If so, the kingdom had a bizarre name out of the ones he'd visited. State Farm didn't sound frightening to him if there were even beasts he could kill. Other than that, those beasts in State Farm rather had creatures like Hirikkas or Sylvans.

Entirely harmless for an unknown person like you, if you were still alive by now.

"Kingdom of State Farm," he lowly grumbled, keeping the name of the place in mind as a hum followed through, "Hmm,"

Your mouth momentarily went ajar as he nodded to himself, giving credence to the pun that was shared. The joke seeming to be rather irking than funny because of how convinced he appeared to look like.

"What do you mean hmm? It was a joke! You actually believed it--oh my! This is depressing!" you crowed with a finger to your temples, giving them a massage. Geralt guiltlessly cocked his head to the side, watching you rant and rave like you were close to having your patience blown.

He continued to stare you down with chaste; utterly childlike innocence, making you ogle back at him because he really had no idea what it was. Geralt seemed to wait for your vexation to stop and you couldn't help but bite the insides of your cheeks, feeling guilty for being frustrated when the man himself didn't actually know what it was.

"---I'm from...earth," your voice turned a volume lower, only for him to hear as you were close to melting from those blazing eyes.

You've raised a finger just before his chest, pointing your index at him as you couldn't help the tender beam growing on your face despite of how much problem you were experiencing.

"E.T vibes,"

Geralt eyed your finger in bewilderment. You high-spiritedly wiggled your finger for him to connect; a soft giggle baffling him to the extent as he watch you waggle your finger in front of him. Much to your disappointment, he distractedly grabbed onto your finger and shook your finger like he was shaking your hand.

Your giggle died down and so a disappointed frown was about to appear when the crash of a door opening resonated in the house. Jaskier tumbling in with a bucket of water as he gave off a set of exasperated breaths.

Geralt continued to shake your finger wrapped around his palm, never minding Jaskier who marched towards where you were and his gaze fixated on the connection at hand.

Jaskier dropped the pail of water beside you, breathing in a long breath before giving you both a double-take of his surprised expression, huffing out the rude awakening that startled out his breathing.

"What am I just witnessing?"

His Witcher of a friend instantly ceased from shaking your finger, dropping them like he'd been cauterized and languidly turned his head to peer up at Jaskier who has his eyebrow up in a sassy state.

"You treat her wounds, Geralt."

He gave the Bard a glare and a tight grimace.

They've continued their stare down contest and made you smile to yourself. Their friendship seemed to be pretty much earnest from how they playfully bantered at each other. More passionate than what you had back at home. Thus, you continued cleaning yourself; after saying your thanks to Jaskier and he seemed to smile a smug one at that before going back to narrow his eyes at the man before him.

"What? Don't you give me that scowl! I've already fetched a bucket of water for the grimy lady,"

"---You've also ruined my nap for this woman!" Jaskier retorted back even though he'd only gotten an unpleasant hum from the latter.

"Her name is Y/N Y/L/N," Geralt deeply chided as you continued wiping your filth-filled face and neck. Glad to know that he wasn't looking and gave his friend the attention he needed.

"Greetings, Y/N of Y/L/N." Jaskier started rather confidently, humbly and acknowledging you who sat in front of Geralt.

You've squeezed the cloth out from being drenched as you felt much squeaky clean than earlier. Once you've realized its done as you've essentially washed the dirt away from your wounds, you dropped the cloth Geralt has given you inside the bucket, fishing out the set of new clean cloth hidden under your leg, "My name is Y/N and Y/L/N is not a place--"

Your thoughts were ceased as Geralt pulled the long cloth out of your hands. The flat part of the bandage being wrapped around your wounded knee. Your heart was jumping in utter madness and you tried to softly pull it back, apprehensively looking into his eyes as he gazed at you in question. "I-I can do it on my own, Geralt. It's fine,"

He seemed to be reluctant at first, staring at you with no words said before humming to himself about his approval of leaving you to it as he stood on his soles.

The proximity was undeniably giving you an edge of one's seat. So, it was better to avoid the warmth at all cost until you haven't shaken up from your dream.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes on the cloth on your hands, seeming to recognize the bandage. His eyebrows raising in displeasure. "Is that..Is that a piece of my clean under-tunic?! You've ripped it off, didn't you?!" he snapped his head towards the Witcher and had his brows in a twist.

Geralt only gave him a small smirk as he brazenly stood tall before the bard, crossing his arms across his chest.

The bard started to reiterate again, jotting down points after points in bullet form as to how unreasonable it was to cut a piece of precious clothing just for it to be wrapped around for a wound, "I've bought it from a beautiful merchant named Albreda on a marketplace--"

"You've bed the fuck out of her in exchange for the Tunic, Jaskier."

The haughty tone in Geralt's voice made Jaskier groan; not because he was wrong but his friend was also right and he was frustrated because he was feeling guilty of nothing in particular, "Oh, gods! This is obnoxious! You're lucky I treat you as a friend!"

"Simmer down, you're going to wake Ciri." Geralt continued to grouch and nodded his head to the door beside his own bedroom.

"Oh, no you don't get to include Princess Cirilla in this defense of yours, Witcher!"

You were completely unaware of their banters. Though, you were certainly curious as to what has Jaskier been calling Geralt like it was established and a brand named for him. Your ears perked at the name been said.

"Witcher? You're a witch?"

Both men refrained themselves to continue their repartee. Eyes glued to each other before giving you a glimpse and saw the agog in your eyes, wishing for an explanation or answer.

You've scanned the whole house, searching for a cauldron and anything that could sense he was a witch, yet none. "Where's the cauldron where you cite spells or anything?"

Geralt subtly shook his head, "That's not my job,"

A wag of understanding was given; thinking that maybe you got it all wrong based on the video games you've managed to finish back at your home with your Playstation. Jaskier stepped a foot close, a cordial smile carving his lips, "That small rat, is a mage, a sorcerer or a wizard you are saying,"

He stepped another as he let you continue to wrap the wounds on your knees with his ripped clothing. The frustration suddenly thrown out in the sky as he cleared his throat, raising a hand to Geralt's chest to stop him from even saying anything, "Let me handle this Geralt, I'm downright absolute at this---"

His nose flared at where the topic was going, Geralt knew what was he pointing out and how his poetic wits could get him enthusiastic and utter clumsy, "Your endeavor makes my head hurt to its extent," he bleated with a deep groan sent to the latter.

"I can sing you a song to give you knowledge about Witchers--" he cut his friend off with a deep scold, "Jaskier,"

"What?! Every villager loved it! They've also learned to be accustomed by your presence whenever you're around!" he elaborated, straightening his back with a gesture of his hands as he twirled it around to prove his point.

"Well, your singing is like eating a pie and finding it has no filling,"

With that witty comeback, Jaskier dramatically clasp his hands on his hips, mouth forming an 'O' as he pointed at his friend like he has been deeply insulted below the belt; repeatedly shaking his head as he couldn't accept his opinions, "The audacity! Your character development is declining in such a repugnant way tonight, Geralt!"

Thus, all of a sudden; you've been included in their random retaliation as Jaskier pointed a finger at you, "This is her fault! She ruined your nap!"

Geralt gave out a fascinated hum, "You're just mad because you were frightened by an Alghoul,"

Jaskier shut his mouth at that, mouth hanging mid-way before closing like a gold fish. He cleared his throat for the second time around and nodded to you as you looked up at him after bandaging every wound you have that were sensitive and rather deep. A small smile at how satisfied you were with your work and at both of their foolishness.

Jaskier blinked as he saw you be all smiles despite of your problem at hand. Their banters surprisingly calmed your anxiety away for the moment and you couldn't help but be entertained by whatever they were talking about. He tightly shut his mouth before looking at Geralt and seeing him already taking a good look at your twinkling smile. He'd given you both a once over, a skeptical look flashing before his eyes and ignored the Witcher beside him and setting his bright blue eyes on you.

"You'll have your explanation of Witchers next time, small, adorable maiden. Geralt over here is just stingy about the whole ordeal because of certain pasts that he doesn't want to hear,"

Another exonerated beam was given to Jaskier which made him nod to himself because of how much radiance he had been receiving from your merry self; simultaneously followed by a nod of understanding that came from you.

"You need to sleep," Geralt gave away on the spur of the moment. Golden eyes still on you as you could feel the heat crawling on your skin for the third time this night.

Jaskier hummed a yes before responding and sublimely bummed to see that Geralt wasn't actually pertaining to him; but to you, "I know I do---" he shut his mouth before adding humiliation to the abrupt blissful feeling he'd felt after looking at you.

"---My bed is unattainable," the bard changed his sentence as he tried to read his mind. Nonetheless, he was contemplating that maybe Geralt would give his own bed to you or maybe not. "---Also, she needs to change into a much comfortable set of clothing," Jaskier stated the obvious as he took in your soiled clothes that you were wearing.

Geralt just gave him a look and with just one glance he was sure at what he wanted to say despite of not opening his mouth.

"You've already ripped a part of my under-Tunic, Geralt. I'm not having it,"

The Witcher cussed beneath his breath and gave him a glare. Jaskier's will unwavering, "Fuck," before strutting to his room and shutting the wooden door closed.

You and Jaskier looked at each other in utmost peculiarity; shrugging both of your shoulders at the sudden exit of the man himself. He was quick to come out of his room with a rather large looking black, thin, Tunic buttoned top which seemed to be fitted for him and rather short.

Geralt handed the shirt and you wholeheartedly accepted the clothing in a heart beat, "This is...Thanks," it was much better than having no clothing to change as you realized there was no shorts or underpants included with the simple long sleeved shirt, "Turn around, please."

Both of their foreheads creased with only Geralt having the desire question your point.

"Why?"

You raised a skeptical brow at him, standing on your seat with the single clothing you were holding, "Unless, you want to watch me get changed then..."

Jaskier scoffed at that, also hearing a perceptible snort as he gave his friend a look of mischief; with Geralt already having a tight scowl on his face, his friend wanting to add more tightness to that scowl he was having, "Maybe Geralt would want that based on how grouchy he is tonight! This Witcher needs to bed a woman after a month of great abstinence--Ow!"

The bard has been smacked on the head by the Witcher which made Jaskier stumble from the weight. Geralt snaked his heavy arm around his shoulder, never forgetting the nerving smile he has given you before turning them both around to give you your time to change.

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier gave him the stink eye, rubbing at his head because of how heavy and painful it was. His abilities could get Jaskier in bruises because of foul play.

You changed in haste, not wanting for them to see you in your unpatterned undergarments in the midst of it all because they were impatient enough and that you were taking too long.

"I can..take the chair and the table," you dubiously started to inform them that you were done. Geralt's shirt on you stopped just below your thighs, leaving your legs bare but enough to cover the decency you wanted because it was huge.

They both turned around and studied you from head to toe, a groan rumbling out of Geralt's chest as his eyebrows seemed to draw closer. The bard gave him an unimpressed tone of his voice, "That’s your kind of comfortable?"

“It’s kind of...freeing. Believe me,” 

They’ve shared another minute of death stares before you smiled to yourself. 

You shook your head to tell them that you were thankful of their help, giving them both another beam which reached from ear to ear as you pointed to their wooden table which seemed to be rather quite feeble as well as the chair that came with it. Four chairs surrounding the table that peaked your curiosity as to whom was living in the house aside from Jaskier and Geralt, "I can rest my head down on the table, I think it could suffice for now,"

"---Besides, I think I wouldn't stay long enough. I'll probably find a way to...an airport or something," you added, smile now wavering because you could feel your heart dropping because of the thought of never going back again.

Geralt stared you down with that subtle slant of his head, watching you speak, "As long as we're in earth," you tried to get an answer out of them, yet their silence says that they didn't know what you were really talking about, "---please do tell me we're in earth,"

Geralt exhaled a sigh, making your nerves stutter from the scary demeanor of his that was back again like the curtains has been opened. He didn't know what to say nor explain to you whatever it is that has teleported you in their dimension because he certainly had no idea that it was even possible from the start.

He was sure of the portals made by wizards and sorceress' that can only reach a certain depth of dimension, not thoroughly a dimension where their world couldn't seem to connect with each other. A portal only exists and can be opened through witchcraft and not having one partial entrance.

Though, why have you suddenly pop out of nowhere in middle of the far north forest of Kaedwan when you've originally lived on earth?

"Get some sleep, Midget." was the only answer as Geralt left without a smile, walking to his room and leaving your heart bothered at the fact that your questions were unanswerable by them and even you, yourself.

Jaskier have managed to rummaged a piece of clothing as a pillow for you to sleep on. Technically, he only has one and you've objected when he wanted to give it to you because you knew laying on the floor with a thin looking carpet seem to be uncomfortable in the eye and physically itself.

The cracking of wood was the only sound you've heard other than Jaskier's shifting on his side of the room. He was twisting and turning, completely distracted by your fourth attempt in sighing out loud as you've held onto your full battery phone that strangely didn't even had the clock on. It was simply four dashes which has been unable to tell the time back in your country.

You were staring on your phone, seeing the battery level go down to ninety-nine percent and you've decide to take the battery off, so you can use it for emergency purposes in the future.

The battery was off in just one lift of the recharge-able bank. Thus, in the middle of being eaten by your own pessimistic thoughts, Jaskier turned around as he laid on his bed, looking at your hunched form, your arms on the table and fingers holding your temple, "I...I....You seem to be in a distress," the latter stuttered, finding the correct words to comfort you.

He continued with a hushed timbre of his voice, "---I don't know what to say because this world is filled with magic and monsters," pause. "Geralt can only be the person to help you in going back home,"

You've taken a proper look at him, tears forming your eyes by how you were thinking that there was no going back. The knot in your throat making you swallow hard because you didn't want to cry in front of a stranger no matter how much of a softie you are. The fire emitting a rare sight of Jaskier's face glowing under the flames, "---That is if you really aren't from here and you've just hit your head on a rock or something,"

There it was, the tears starting to fall before you've immediately gathered those tears with the pad of your fingers. The utter hopelessness and sadness suddenly weighing on you like a boulder. Jaskier couldn't see you from his perspective, though he could hear the tiny sniffs coming from the other side of the house.

"---Maybe after getting some sleep, you'll get to go back home and magically pop back to where you came from, Y/N."

You've breathed out of your mouth and fumbled with the hem of the sleeves that covered your hands, solemnly looking at Tunic that the Witcher has let you use as your own. The cloth seeming to be wonderful for some snot and tear catching expeditions of yours.

There was no answer sent to the Bard as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He did eventually as you continued your weeping in the middle of the night, thinking that nobody will be able to hear it.

Though, you were wrong because you were unaware of Geralt's heightened senses as he sat on his bed and contemplated as to why your scent was indistinguishable from Yennefer. Entirely greater, stronger. Yet, with you; there was no magic involved.

Chapter 2 for WITCHER OF THE NIGHT is here now! PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE FEEDBACKS WHEN YOU DO LOVE IT! Thank you, tater tots!

[simplybakugou]

OKAY I JUST READ YOUR SHORT STORY ABOUT BAKUGO HAVING A QUIRKLESS KID AND CRAZY IDEA BUT WHAT IF MIDORIYA, WHO’S STILL IN TOUCH WITH BAKUGO, WAS LIKE A CLOSE FAMILY FRIEND OR SUM AND GOT ALONG GREAT W KATSUO. idkidk but im sure deku would truly understand how katsuo feels so he’d kinda take him under his wing and “guide” him as he grows up AND MAYBE ONE DAY PASSES ON ONE FOR ALL TO HIM ? CRAZY IDEA BUT IT JUST POPPED INTO MY HEAD WHILE READING IT.

⋆ PAIRING: dad!bakugou x female!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 6126

A/N: I was already planning on making a part 2 for this but you guys beat me to it! And this is so long, I didn’t mean for it to be so long but so many ideas kept coming to mind lol. This is also my way of contributing to Bakugou’s birthday because I’m too depressed and sad to do anything else for him :) Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy :)

Link to part 1 is here!

✐posted 04.20.2020✐

“You’re all done!” You exclaimed, patting one of your patient’s back as you wrapped up the bandage. “Remember to not put too much pressure or overwork your arm otherwise it won’t heal properly. Please contact the hospital if you have any other abnormal pains.”

The young woman smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Bakugou-san. No wonder you’re so famous!”

You smiled and thanked the woman as she exited the room. Your nursing assistance, Hana, walked into the room, holding her clipboard of all of your appointments in hand. “Hana, do I have any more appointments?”

Hana looked down at the clipboard, shaking her head. “No, you’re clear for the afternoon.”

You nodded, thanking her and pulled your phone out from your pocket as you walked out into the hallway. There were numerous missed calls from Aldera Junior High, Katsuo’s school. A sigh escaped your lips, already knowing that the meaning of the call couldn’t be good. You dialed the phone number and called back.

“Hello, this is the office of Aldera Junior High, how can I help you?” A man’s voice asked from the other line.

“Hi, my name is Bakugou Y/N and I was just calling back after receiving some missed calls from this number.”

“Oh, Bakugou-san! Let me redirect you to Principal Hirai. She will answer your call shortly.” The line was momentarily cut off until you were redirected to the principal’s phone.

“Hello, this Principal Hirai. Is this Bakugou-san?” 

“Yes, it is. Sorry about not answering your previous calls. I had a few appointments to take care of at the hospital here.” You took off your white lab coat and sat down in your office.

“No worries, I understand how busy and hard you work. I called because there was an… incident here.”

You furrowed your brows. “Incident? Is it about Katsuo? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine but he did get into a fight with another student here. His mother is here in my office now and I would like you to come as well. I tried calling your husband but he is currently on duty so that’s why I called you,” Principal Hirai said.

“I understand. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” You hung up, setting your phone down on the table. Your fingertips rubbed small circles into your temples as you could feel a migraine forming. Katsuo, despite being a carbon copy of his father, had your temperament, making him calmer and less aggressive than his father. That was why you were shocked to find out he had gotten into a fight, something that is not in his character. 

You grabbed your coat, phone, and bag, approaching the front desk of the hospital. “Hana, call me if I get any other appointments. I’m taking my lunch break early.”

Hana nodded, waving good-bye to you as you made your way to your car and Aldera Junior High.

***

The doors were light as you pushed open the doors to the main office of the school. A man, most likely the one who you were on the phone with, greeted you. “Bakugou-san? You can take a seat right there. Principal Hirai will be right with you.”

You nodded, looking over to where he was gesturing. In the seats was your son who had a tissue in his right nostril to stop the bleeding as well as a bruise on his right cheek. He looked up at you, his crimson eyes widening at the sight of you. “Mom!”

You sighed, walking over and sitting down next to him. You cupped his face in your hands, examining his face. “You don’t look too beaten up but that bruise will take a few days, maybe weeks, to heal.”

Katsuo looked at you with a puzzled expression. “So… you’re not upset?”

“Of course I’m upset!” You exclaimed. “Why would you get into a fight, Katsuo? It’s not like you to do something like this.”

Katsuo scoffed in a manner similar to Bakugou himself. “That bastard Watanabe is a piece of shit.”

You felt your eye twitch at the sound of your son cursing, normally reprimanding him for doing so but deciding not to now since he seemed so upset. “He was picking on a kid in class for not showing him the answers on the test so I just wanted to tell him off for picking on someone like that. But then he started getting all pissy, talking about me being shitty for not having a quirk and then he…”

Katsuo looked over at you, looking away after his eyes met yours. “Then he what, Suo?”

Katsuo sighed, looking down at his hands. “He started saying that I’m probably quirkless ‘cause ‘my bitch of a mother’s shit quirk was too weak to pass on’ and that it was ‘her fault for making such a fucked up kid.’”

Katsuo looked back up at you, holding your hands in his. “But your quirk is so cool, Mom! No one else thinks it’s shitty or anything! Everyone thinks that you’re amazing for protecting and saving so many people and they all admire you for it! I admire you for it! Even if you aren’t a pro, you’re my hero, Mom.”

You smiled at him, raising your hand up and caressing his blonde hair down. “When did I get such a sweet and caring son? You didn’t have to say anything, Suo, I’m proud of you for sticking up for your classmate.”

He smiled back at you, looking over to see the man at the front desk smiling at the sight of a mother comforting her son. Katsuo blushed, rubbing his neck. “I-It was nothing, Mom.”

The door labelled ‘PRINCIPAL’ in black, bold letters, opened up. Principal Hirai gestured at the two of you to come in and you both got up to enter her office. Inside was an older woman and a young boy, who was even more beat up than Katsuo with a large band aid covering the bridge of his nose as well as a black eye. It seemed like even quirkless Katsuo was capable of showing his strength and protecting himself. Katsuo sat down on the chair next to Watanabe and you sat beside your son.

Principal Hirari sighed, folding her hands together on the desk. “Thank you both for being able to come here today, especially you, Y/N, with your busy schedule.”

The mother scoffed, crossing her arms. “What? Being a little doctor means she gets more praise than me?”

“No, not at all, Aiko. But let me get to why I had you come here in the first place. From what I’ve heard from Mashiho, he was minding his business when Katsuo came over and kept initiating a fight. Then he punched his face, forcing Mashiho to have to fight back.”

Katsuo stood up from his seat, eyes widened and teeth clenched together in anger. “You liar! You threw the first punch! And you were the one who kept picking on Asahi!”

Watanabe rolled his eyes at him. “I didn’t do any of that, Principal Hirai. Who are you going to believe: the kid with respectable parents or the brat with a sad excuse of a father who uses his aggressive behavior to call himself a hero?”

Katsuo grabbed Watanabe by the collar, pulling him up to his feet. “I dare you to say that again, you fucking piece of shit.”

You stood up, pulling Katsuo back and making him sit back down. “That’s enough, boys. I’ve heard enough,” Principal Hirai said.

Aiko began comforting her son in her arms. “Oh, my poor baby! Hirai, as you can clearly see, that barbaric kid is the one responsible for all of this! But you can’t blame the kid for being like that, since his parents can barely take care of one kid, let alone two. I mean how many times has that behemoth of a hero caused damage to the press. He’s better off being a villain than a hero if you ask me.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “Good thing no one was asking you, ‘cause the next time you even think about insulting my son or my husband in front of me will be your last.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Principal Hirai commanded. “It’s clear to me what happened.”

“Good, so I’m glad that that brat will be taken care of,” Aiko huffed.

“No, the exact opposite will be happening,” Principal Hirai said, eyeing Aiko. She looked over at Katsuo, smiling. “Katsuo has never gotten into this kind of trouble. Nor have I ever gotten complaints about him from the teachers. In fact, they say that he will most likely be the valedictorian for this year’s class. I only expect good things from him and I can see that you and your husband have done an excellent job raising him and Suki, who also is doing well in her classes here. I also want to thank you and your husband for everything you do for the people and so selflessly as well.”

You smiled, bowing your head at her. “Thank you for your kind words and taking care of my kids, too.”

Principal Hirai nodded, her smile disappearing as she looked at Watanabe. “Mashiho, on the other hand has caused more trouble than any other child in this building. There have been numerous cases where he has bothered other students for his benefit. I’m sure that if Katsuo didn’t step up and defend his classmate, Watanabe would have continued this behavior. Therefore, I’ve decided to suspend Watanabe for three weeks.”

Aiko and Watanabe stared at Principal Hirai with wide eyes and they both jumped out of their chairs. “This is outrageous! Look at my baby, look at how beat up he is because of that little shit!”

Principal Hirai looked at Aiko with disgust. “I also advise you, Aiko, to learn some manners as well because I won’t allow any adult to address my students as ‘little shits.’ I won’t be changing my mind. Please leave my office and do not return.”

Aiko, who was enraged, got up and grabbed her purse in one hand and her son in the other as she stormed out the door, cursing as she did so. Katsuo snickered and you nudged his leg to make him stop. Principal Hirai sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I really do apologize for making you come all the way here for such a nuisance. I’m sorry to you, too, Katsuo for having to deal with this.”

Katsuo grinned at her. “It’s nothing. If I’m being honest, I only fought back ‘cause he talked shi– I mean bad about my mom.”

You ruffled his hair, bowing and thanking the principal. “Thank you so much. If it’s alright, I’d like to sign Katsuo out for the rest of the day.”

Principal Hirai nodded. “You can sign Suki out as well as my way of showing my thanks for everything you and Ground Zero do for the world.”

You and Katsuo thanked her once again, going out into the office and having the man at the desk call Suki’s teacher to have her come down. Suki was your daughter, two years younger than Katsuo. Unlike her older brother, she had inherited your healing quirk. The difference was that she inherited Bakugou’s special sweat where she is able to heal using her sweat. Although she still can’t use it to the best of her abilities, she does try and train it as best as she can.

As you signed your children out, Suki opened the doors with a large grin on her face, most likely due to the fact that she got to leave early which was practically every child’s dream. She made a face once she saw her brother’s bruises. “God, what happened to you?”

Katsuo rolled his eyes at his little sister. “I’ll tell you later.”

***

“And then, I used just one drop of my sweat and it healed her paper cut! Isn’t that great, Mom? I’m showing so much progress!” Suki said, her face lit up with excitement as she latched her arm around yours.

Katsuo scoffed. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to do more? You’re in sixth grade now and that’s all you can do?”

You nudged Katsuo’s side. “Progress is still progress. I’m proud of you, Suki.”

Suki grinned at you, sticking her tongue out at her brother. Katsuo flipped her off when you weren’t looking. It was bright outside, the sun beaming down on the three of you as you took your kids out. Although you didn’t want him to get into fights, you were proud of your son for sticking up for his classmate and defending himself even without a quirk. There was no doubt in your mind that he would become a great hero just like his father.

Katsuo extended his arm out in front of the two of you, causing you to stop walking. He pointed down the road. “There’s a bunch of reporters there. If we go down this way, they’ll just ambush us and ask a bunch of questions about Dad.”

You nodded, looking down the street that was a bit dimmer as it wasn’t exposed to the sun’s rays due to the ginormous trees on the sidewalks. “This road looks better. It’ll take us a bit longer to get back to the car but that’s fine.”

“Do you think we’ll run into Dad or another cool hero on the way?” Suki asked excitedly as the three of you began walking down the narrow, desolate road.

“It’s possible, but I’d rather not ‘cause heroes only show up in times of need and that would mean a villain would be here,” you said. 

“Do you think there are people out there that hate Dad?” Katsuo asked.

“I’m sure there are. Just as there are people who love and admire Dad for everything he’s done, there have to be people who despise him for getting in the way,” you stated. Your phone began buzzing in your pocket, looking at it to find an alert from a ‘villain movement app,’ one that notifies you when there is criminal activity in the area. WARNING: Level 5 villain, Gamma, is in the area. Be cautious.

“Gamma? Who’s that?” Suki asked.

“He was a villain that Dad and Uncle Deku faced a few years ago. He got away from police custody but no one’s heard from him since. We should get to the car as fast as we can before anything happens.”

“Too bad I got to you first,” a raspy voice called out from a few feet from behind you.

You felt like something was crawling under your skin as you clenched your hands around your kids’ forearms, turning around slowly to make eye contact with a pair of green beady eyes. 

“Mommy?” Suki called out to you softly. Gamma grinned menacingly at the three of you.

“Kids, run that way as fast as you can and get help from the first person you see,” you said in a low voice.

“What about you, Mom?” Katsuo asked, his voice trembling. Although he had never seen Gamma, obviously, he remembered watching the news feed of his father and Midoriya facing off against Gamma and it was difficult even with their combined strength. 

“Don’t worry about me, and go!” You said, your tone harshening in a way that Katsuo or Suki had never heard.

Suki grabbed her brother’s arm, running in the opposite direction. Katsuo looked behind him, your back faced him and he could see how you were shaking. Gamma took a step forward but you stopped him. “I’m your target, not them.”

Your quirk was in no way suited for combat but you knew you could distract him as much as you could just so that your kids could get away. Gamma grinned even wider. “You think I’ll let those little shits get away?”

Gamma used his quirk to create a solid wall in front of Suki and Katsuo’s path in a similar way that Cementoss’ quirk worked. “Your little husband and that All Might wannabe did this to me!” He pulled down his hood to reveal all of his hair singed off as well as burn markings all over his scalp. “I’m gonna make them feel every ounce of pain I felt.”

Suki began tearing up, clutching onto her older brother as Katsuo held her tightly against him. Gamma smirked. “I’m gonna kill all of you and make that explosion bastard feel so much agony he’s gonna beg me to kill him.”

Gamma moved his arm, his quirk activating to create a branch like substance, wrapping around Suki’s waist. Suki screamed as she was ripped from her brother’s grasp but Katsuo refused to let go of her, holding onto her arms. Although he didn’t have a quirk, he still trained with his father to maintain his physique. Due to Gamma’s strength to have been immensely depleted thanks to Midoriya and Bakugou, Katsuo managed to yank Suki from the cement branch.

Gamma grunted under his breath and you let out a sigh of relief. But it still was far from over. Gamma looked over to Katsuo, snarling at the sight of him. “You look just like him. I think I’ll play around with you until he gets here.”

Your eyes widened, looking back at Katsuo as another cement branch grabbed him this time. “Katsuo!” You and Suki called out in unison.

Suki attempted to pull her brother away like he had done for her but she wasn’t strong enough. The cement branch moved towards Gamma, holding Katsuo up in front of him. Gamma activated another cement branch, grabbing Suki and maneuvering it forward so it would grab you on the way. The substance felt like the side of the road was wrapping against your bare skin as the tiny rocks dug into you. You winced in pain and Suki began crying out.

Gamma laughed maniacally. “You all made it too easy! I expected it from the doctor but not from the brats! I expected at least one of you to have that bastard’s quirk!”

The crowd of reporters heard the commotion from the street over, moving to the source of the sound. With little time, the crowd continued growing as they all watched on, unable to do anything other than watch. 

The cement dug deeper as Gamma tightened its hold around all of you. The silent road was now filled with the sounds of the three of you screaming in agony. You gritted your teeth. “They’re just kids! It should be enough to take your anger out on me, not them! Let them go!”

Gamma shook his head. “I want him to feel as much pain as he can! I don’t give a fuck who gets hurt!” You continued baiting him, angering Gamma even further.

Katsuo grunted, trying to break his arms free or at least move them around. Think, Katsuo, think!

He remembered watching the video of Gamma fighting all those years ago and how he relied on the darkness when using his quirk. It was a long shot, but Katsuo knew he had to do something otherwise his family would be murdered. His fingers snuck into his pocket carefully, pulling out his phone and turning the flashlight on. He shined the light at Gamma’s eyes and Gamma screamed out, his eyes feeling like they were burning. His grip began to weaken and Katsuo broke free from his hold. He continued to shine the light at him as he went over to his mother and sister.

The only way to get them out would be to break the cement. Katsuo didn’t have any tools to do this, having to rely on his fists and the fact that Gamma was weakened by the light to break them free. So Katsuo began punching the cement, his knuckles cracking and bleeding as he pounded relentlessly. 

“Suo!” Suki cried out, tears streaming down her face.

With one final punch, Katsuo broke you and Suki free, falling to the floor. The crowd cheered for Katsuo as you grabbed your son and daughter and ran towards the crowd and away from Gamma. Katsuo continued to shine the light onto Gamma, sighing in relief as he thought they had gotten away.

“Not so fast, you shit!” Gamma yelled, releasing one more cement branch blindly, grabbing Katsuo. He dropped his phone, releasing Gamma from being burned by the light. You moved to grab your son, only to be stopped by the formation of a cement wall, one with numerous net-like holes so that everyone could see what he was about to do.

“All you bastards out there, feast your eyes!” Gamma called out to the crowd. He tightened his grip around Katsuo. Katsuo felt his ribs crack as he let out a blood curdling scream.

“Katsuo!” You called out, covering your mouth as you sobbed. 

Suki fell to the floor beside you, turning around at the crowd. “One of you fucking idiots call for help! He’s gonna kill my brother!”

The crowd flinched at the intensity and vigor of Suki’s voice. One of the reporters had gotten the attention of others around him, and the crowd managed to call over Midoriya who was initially informed about the situation, the perfect person for this. 

“Gamma!” Midoriya called down the road.

Gamma flinched at the sound. “That voice…”

Taking advantage of the diversion and Gamma’s lack of attention, Katsuo pushed his arms out, wriggling his body from Gamma’s clutches. He fell to the floor, groaning in pain. He was broken and bloodied. “Suo!” Suki called out.

Katsuo punched through the wall, managing to break free, falling in front of his mother and sister. He was panting, clutching his side in pain. 

“That damn hero…” Gamma grunted. 

Before Midoriya could make his way through the crowd, Gamma created another branch, one with deadly shards of cement that would surely impale you as he was trying to grab you this time. Katsuo saw this, grabbing his book bag that was strewn on the floor and flinging it at the branch. He threw his body in front of you and Suki.

“Don’t you fucking touch them!” Katsuo screamed, his voice cracking. 

Gamma smirked at him. “Look at you being all brave. Come to think of it, I did hear about Ground Zero having a quirkless son. And you think you can defeat me? You’re just a waste of space!”

“I know that I’m weak!” Katsuo yelled. “I’m quirkless, and I’ll never be as strong as my dad.”

“Suo…” You murmured, holding onto Suki. 

Katsuo looked at Gamma with an intensity in his eyes that matched that of Bakugou’s. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll just let you hurt the ones I love without a fight!”

Gamma scoffed, angered by the child’s tenacity. He created another branch, this time aiming for Katsuo. “It’s over for you, kid!”

“Not while I’m here!” Midoriya called out, finally breaking through the crowd and running full speed at Gamma. “You’ve hurt them enough!”

Gamma flinched as Midoriya used his quirk and landed a devastating punch to Gamma’s large body. His body cracked, weakening his powers immensely. He was already weak due to Midoriya and Bakugou’s efforts all those years ago. 

As Midoriya reprimanded Gamma, Katsuo collapsed to the floor, continuing to clutch his side. You moved to hold him in your arms. “Katsuo, don’t worry I’ll fix you up soon.”

***

“Will he really be okay?” Suki asked, sniffling as she continued to cry.

You smiled softly, caressing her hair. “He’s alright. He has a few broken ribs and broke a few fingers, too. But Katsuo’s the strongest kid I know.”

Suki’s fists shook in her lap as you two sat outside of Katsuo’s room in the hospital. “He’s such an idiot! He should know better than to hurt himself like that!”

You rubbed Suki’s back, leaning your head onto hers. You shivered at the mere thought of Gamma but was assured as the images of Katsuo’s bravery flooded your mind. You knew that he trained with Bakugou since he was a toddler but you had no idea he was so strong, especially without a quirk.

You were broken away from your thoughts as Midoriya walked down the hallway. He smiled as he saw you and Suki. “Are you guys okay?”

You nodded. “Thanks to you, I don’t know what would’ve happened without you, Deku.”

Midoriya smiled sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I was just doing my job! Your son was amazing out there! Speaking of, is he awake?”

You nodded. “Yeah, he wanted a few moments alone to breathe and process what happened so I’m just waiting for Katsuki here.”

“I see. Is it alright if I see him?”

“Go ahead!”

Midoriya smiled at the two of you as he slid the door open, closing it behind him. Katsuo sighed from his bed. “Mom, I said I wanted a few moments alo–”

Katsuo’s eyes widened at Midoriya by the door. “Oh, sorry! I can come back later if you want.”

“No! It’s okay, you can stay!” Katsuo sat up in his bed, wincing slightly. “I actually wanted to thank you for saving us back there.”

Midoriya shook his head, sitting down on the chair beside Katsuo’s bed. “You did so much for your mom and your little sister and I don’t think you understand how you literally saved them. I’m sure if you hadn’t done what you did and protected them in the way that you did, they would have been harmed severely. But you used your own body to protect them.”

Katsuo blushed. Although he was close with Midoriya due to his connection to his father, this was the first time someone other than his parents was commending him for his strength. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. They’re my family and I think that if I had just done nothing, even though I don’t have a quirk, I would have never forgiven myself if they got hurt.”

Midoriya smiled. “You remind me of myself when I was your age, you know.”

Katsuo’s eyes widened. “What? No way! You’re one of the top heroes, Uncle Deku! You’re as strong as Dad, there’s no way you were like a quirkless loser like me!”

“I was though.” Midoriya paused. “I was quirkless like you.”

Katsuo stared at Midoriya with genuine confusion. Midoriya raised his hands in front of him, showing the numerous scars on his hands. “I was born quirkless but I was given this quirk by someone else. It’s called One For All.”

“You were given your quirk? Is that even possible?”

“This is the only possible way. A long time ago, I met my hero, the past symbol of peace, All Might. He gave me this quirk.”

Katsuo got excited, his eyes shining with excitement. “All Might?! Dad always tells me stories about how cool he was back in the day! And he gave you his quirk? Was that why he retired?”

Midoriya shook his head. “No, you see, that’s not how it works. One For All can be passed down from one person to another and it has been for generations. All Might was given his power by his teacher, too.”

Midoriya looked down at his hands. “I was a quirkless kid just like you when I met him. I thought it was impossible for me to become a hero and so did All Might at first. But then, I tried to save your dad from a villain, even without a quirk, and All Might saw me do it. He saw my drive to save as many people as I could as the perfect thing for the next successor of One For All. So he passed his quirk to me.”

“Dad never told me about that… about the whole villain attacking him.”

Midoriya chuckled. “That sounds like Kacchan. It isn’t something he’s proud of, having to be saved by a quirkless kid. But seeing you throw yourself and do anything to save those that you love, it reminded me of exactly why I wanted to become a hero.”

Katsuo furrowed his brows in confusion at Midoriya. “I like hearing all these stories, but why’re you telling me all this? Isn’t this supposed to be a secret?”

“I’m telling you this because I want to pass down One For All to you.”

Katsuo stared at him with utter disbelief, not believing for a second that he was serious. “Uncle Deku, I really do respect you, but if this is a joke, I think you can stop now.”

Midoriya shook his head. “I’ve never been more serious, Katsuo. Kacchan and Y/N have been telling me how much you’ve wanted to be a hero and I’m sure a lot of people have told you that you wouldn’t be able to be a hero because you’re quirkless. But from one quirkless person to another: you too can become a hero.”

***

Bakugou’s feet moved at a pace that the rest of his body couldn’t keep up with. The moment he heard the news of Gamma attacking his family, he didn’t hesitate to drop everything to rush to your side and make sure all three of you were okay. Midoriya had texted him the location of the hospital and Bakugou cursed under his breath as he had decided to take the stairs to the fifth floor, which was where you were. He even used his quirk to move his body faster, finally reaching the fifth floor.

His crimson eyes scanned the halls and found Suki lying on two chairs outside of a room, you close beside her. You looked up, smiling after seeing your husband. “Katsuki!”

Bakugou didn’t hesitate to hold you in his arms, practically knocking the wind out of you. His calloused hands held you tightly, his head nuzzled into your neck. He was so glad to see that you were alright. Bakugou pulled away, examining your body once more for any external injuries. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Suki and I got away with a few scratches.”

Bakugou’s blonde brows furrowed in worry and concern. “And Suo? What about Katsuo?”

“He has a few broken ribs and fingers. He’ll be okay though.”

“What the fuck happened?”

You smiled at Bakugou. “Katsuo protected us from that villain, Katsu. He did whatever he could to protect us.”

Bakugou stared in silence and relief. He was concerned about his son, slightly aggravated with the fact that he had been so reckless, but he also knew that if Katsuo hadn’t stepped up, you and Suki would’ve been harmed to a degree that Bakugou didn’t even want to imagine.

“He’s in there with Deku if you want to see him.”

Bakugou nodded, moving over to Suki who was fast asleep. He sighed, knowing that she was okay before sliding the door open. Katsuo nor Midoriya heard the door open, Bakugou only seeing the sight of Katsuo in a state of utter shock.

“What the hell did you tell him, Deku?” Bakugou asked, closing the door and leaning against it.

Midoriya flinched at the sudden sound of his voice, turning around to face him. “Oh, Kacchan! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Midoriya looked back at Katsuo who was looking at his hands, both his hands bandaged up as the aftermath of the day’s events. “Dad, do you think I can be a hero?”

Bakugou sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think what you did today is enough proof that you’re better than half the pros out there. Some of them hesitate to even save people, valuing their life above everything else. But you didn’t even think about that, and even though it was reckless, you’re the reason why Mom and Suki were able to get out of that unscathed.”

Katsuo let out a breathless laugh, his eyes tearing up as he whispered out, “So you think I’m a hero, too?”

“From how shocked you are now, I’m gonna guess and say that this shithead wants to pass down his quirk to you.”

Midoriya and Katsuo looked at Bakugou with shock. “How’d you know, Kacchan?”

Bakugou scoffed. “I wasn’t born yesterday. The moment I heard what happened and how you were there at the last minute, you probably saw that my kid was just like you all those years ago with that fucking sludge monster. And seeing as you’re here and Suo looks like he’s gonna pass out, I figured that’s what you told him.”

Midoriya turned his body around to face Bakugou. “So what do you think?”

“I think that my opinion has nothing to do with this. This is your quirk and it’s your decision for who you want to pass it onto. And it’s up to Katsuo if he wants this.”

Midoriya smiled, looking over at Katsuo. “You see, Katsuo? There are only a few people in my life that know about One For All and All Might and your dad are included. It’s all up to you.”

Katsuo clenched the sheets in his hands. The minute Midoriya had explained his situation, he knew exactly what he wanted. “I’ll do it. I’ll take One For All.”

Midoriya grinned. “Awesome! I knew I could count on you. But, I will say that I can’t pass it onto you for now since I still have so much to do with this quirk. But, I will train you and help your body be prepared for this quirk. I had no muscle training until All Might came into my life but I can see that Kacchan has prepared you well.”

“I–”

The door slid open abruptly, almost making Bakugou fall backwards. You put your hand on his back, pushing him back up. The three boys stared at you in shock and you looked at them in confusion. “What? You guys look like I interrupted a classified meeting.”

Midoriya shook his head vigorously. “N-No! You didn’t interrupt anything!”

“O-kay?” You sighed. “Can you two get out for now? I need to examine Katsuo’s wounds a little more before we can call it a night.”

Midoriya nodded, getting up to leave and sit on the chairs outside of the room. You walked over to Katsuo, sitting on the chair that Midoriya was sitting on. Bakugou unfurled his arms from his chest to his sides. “I’m gonna go talk to Deku.” You nodded and he closed the door behind him.

Bakugou sat down beside Midoriya who seemed to be deep in thought. Bakugou looked over at him. “What, you regretting your decision already?”

Midoriya shook his head rapidly. “No, not at all! I have no doubt that I made the right decision. I’ve just been thinking about when All Might approached me the same way with this quirk.”

He looked down at his hands which had numerous scars. “I want to approach this the right way. All Might was running low on time with One For All and he prepared me as best as he could until the U.A. entrance exams. But I want to make sure that Katsuo’s body will be prepared to the fullest before taking this quirk. You’ve seen it’s backlashes and I don’t want him to have to experience that same pain.”

Bakugou looked over at his daughter, caressing her (H/C) hair. He smiled. “He’s stronger than he looks. He’s my kid after all.”

Midoriya smiled as well. “I figured that much. If he wasn’t strong, he probably wouldn’t have been able to fight Gamma and hold him off as much as he did.”

Bakugou sighed, looking in the opposite direction. “I’m gonna say this once so you better fucking listen up.”

Midoriya looked at him with curious eyes. “Thank you.”

Midoriya became flustered, expecting anything other than a ‘thanks’ from his hot-headed friend. “There’s nothing to thank me for! I didn’t really do anything.”

“You idiot, you’re giving him hope. No matter how strong a person can be, it’s difficult to become a hero without a quirk. I always told Suo that I believed in him and I still do, but I was always worried about what would happen once he faced off with an actual villain.”

Midoriya shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, I’m being honest. He’s always had hope. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did today. He believed in himself. Besides, I didn’t expect anything else from a Bakugou.”

Bakugou smirked. “Of course, where do you think he got it from?”

Midoriya smiled. “Kacchan, I’m going to make him become an even better hero than you and I. He’s going to be the best hero in existence.”

Bakugou looked over at him. “Damn right he will.”

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 10K — canon had to catch up, and stuff had to happen, and happily ever after requires some adjectives AN: Guys! This is a completed story! One I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of writing. For that am even more grateful than usual that you all clicked and read and said very nice things. It’s always an absolute joy to write about these two idiots falling in love. I hope your holidays were fantastic, and January is very kind to you, and I am taking suggestions as to what I should write in 2021. (Or: if I should just post a bunch of fic I’ve already written, there’s so much fic already written)

Ao3 links in the reblog, because Tumblr’s tagging system is something of a colossal joke. 

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

Especially impressive since they haven’t left the house yet, but the house is also fairly massive and there are a lot of people and some of them have magic, and most of them have weapons, and one of Emma’s knees cracks when she crouches in front of Hope.

Who is wearing pajamas that match Lucy’s, and holding a stuffed animal whose right arm appears to be holding on by a quite literal thread, and has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

It’s a strangely positive thing.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emma tells her daughter, which she hopes isn’t the lie it feels like. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’re just—we’ll be back soon, alright?” That’s not really a lie, either. Depending on how the next ten minutes or so, go. And part of Emma expects impatience — from the other adults nearby, magical or otherwise, but a quick glance over her shoulder only shows Mary Margaret wiping away tears, and Regina’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth, and the overall tightness of David’s jaw cannot possibly good for any of his teeth.

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

“For presents?” Hope asks, and it takes Emma a moment to understand the question. Nodding hurts her neck. And, like, her heart.

No one turns off their Christmas tree in this future, it seems. Colors splash across one of Hope’s cheeks, what feels like several thousand emotions and at least a dozen internal organs twisting in Emma’s center and she barely manages to rasp out, “yeah, of course,” before there’s moisture in her eyes and her vision is going blurry and at the very least it’s comforting to know that one of the steps in her parent’s house creaks too.

“Emma,” Regina murmurs, and she’s nodding again. Hair brushes the hand that’s landed on her shoulder, as warm as ever, but there’s tension in the move as well and Killian’s lips don’t shift when Emma tilts her head up.

Something’s going on. More than the obvious. And she wants to ask, she does — but the worry churning in her gut moves to the center of her throat, and makes it impossible to voice questions or demand anything more than what he’s already given, and they’ve got no idea how to get her back. Except for—

Killian’s eyebrows lift. Ever so slightly, barely enough movement that it should even count, but Emma’s become something of an expert on his face in the last few days, and she can’t blink away the tears fast enough. Mourning something that’s happened and hasn’t, and absolutely needs to.

She can’t ruin this.

Plastering a wholly unnatural smile on her face, Ruby lets out a huff of air as she marches forward and scoops Hope into her arms. “For presents,” she repeats, “Mom wouldn’t miss that, would she?” Emma shakes her head. Seriously, every inch of her aches. With those pesky emotions and magic, and she cannot fathom how she manages to stand back up without falling over, but then there are fingers tangled up with hers and she’s brushing strands of hair away from Hope’s eyes, and leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose and—

“I love you.”

Whispers flood her ears, soft enough that for a second Emma truly believes she imagines them, but none of this has been the dream she’d convinced herself it had to be, and the sound isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Is like the excitement borne of picturesque Christmas mornings, and a ridiculous number of cookies, and magically-maintained snowmen.

Killian’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Part two.

“Dor and I’ll stay here,” Ruby says, seemingly unconcerned with whatever’s happening between Emma’s ears, but Killian’s staring again and Emma’s barely breathing and she probably nods if the movement of her hair is any indication.

More instructions are doled out, plans Emma only half listens to while also trying to stay conscious and it’s only after the screen door slams behind them that she realize she doesn’t actually have a weapon. She’s fairly certain she won’t need it.

Because she’s absolutely positive this is going to work.

Well, she hopes at least.

“Don’t let go, ok?” she mumbles, mostly into Killian’s shirt and he kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s trying to reach a quota and that’s only kind of depressing, but then there’s magic stretching around them and inching up the back of Emma’s calves and she hopes she hears what she thinks she hears.

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

If there were any doubts that they were dealing with the disintegrating fabric of reality, they’re all immediately dismissed as soon as Emma opens her eyes. Trees bend in the middle of their trunks, broken branches littering the ground as what feels like genuine electricity crackles in the air, sending sparks that occasionally rain down like they believe they’re drops of water and allowed to do that.

Clouds that look suspiciously familiar, but lack that hint of magically-induced purple, blot out any sort of light in the sky. They’re puffier than they should be — the clouds, and also Emma’s eyes because she might be crying again, and she’s not particularly knowledgeable about meteorology. Still, she’s seen more than one curse broken and this isn’t quite the same. The lack of color dries out her mouth, although that may also be because she suddenly can’t catch her breath.

Magic tugs at her brain and her muscles, rising up in defense and something that isn’t really bravery. More like fear, at what the clouds can do and what they’ve already done, and the soft whoosh of Killian’s sword leaving its scabbard is far more comforting than it should be.

Wearing those pants with the sword belt is something Emma doesn’t want to forget. “Kinda looks like they’re eating everything in their way, doesn’t it?” she breathes. “Like, it’s—pulling everything up out of the ground, wrecking it at the foundation.”

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

“You’re making jokes.” “If I don’t know, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall over.”

Scoffing, Emma licks her lips, and that doesn’t do anything except momentarily wet her lips, but her heart’s also trying to explode and the pop of Regina’s teleporting ability is loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Oh shit,” Henry mutters, wielding his own sword. Both of those things are going to take Emma some time to get used to. Which she doesn’t have.

Not when tiny whirlwinds explode around her ankles, caking her jeans with leaves and dirt-filled snow, and she briefly wonders if that’s because of her or just bad timing on their arrival. Feels like an insult all the same.

“So, uh,” David says slowly, “what do we do about this, then?” Rolling her whole head seems like an entirely excessive response, but Emma supposes Regina’s never been one for subtlety and it is still kind of impressive when she does the flame thing. Fire jumps between her fingers, like one of those bouncing balls on sing-along VHS tapes, and really the answer is pretty simple. “Emma needs to leave. Weeks ago, if we’re being frank, but—” “—We’re not being frank, are we, Your Majesty?” Killian interrupts, low and a little more pirate than he’s been since Emma woke up here. Regina tilts her head. Her neck muscles don’t appear to be dealing with the same limitations Emma’s are.

“How do we do that, though?” Ella asks. “We’ve—I mean, we’ve tried just about everything haven’t we? Zelena’s spell didn’t work.” Regina hums. Looks a little smug, but with a hint of worry that’s also oddly comforting in a slightly vindictive way and there’s no warning before Tinker Bell appears in front of them. Smaller than usual, with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbirds and Emma’s eyes widen so quickly they manage to water even more and it’s easier to hear Killian’s soft laugh when he pulls her against his side.

What looks like sparkles, but may actually be pixie dust floats in the air, Regina’s sigh of impatience barely passing her lips before Tinker Bell is a full-sized person again and that full-sized person looks as terrified as the situation demands and— “Wonderland’s gone too,” she announces. “I only just got out.” Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her face. It will be gross and undoubtedly uncomfortable. “Out. What does—what does that mean, exactly?” “What it sounds like. It was—” Shuddering, Tinker Bell wraps both arms around her middle, as if she’s trying to ensure she doesn’t fall apart either, and guilt appears to be the prevailing emotion threatening to sever Emma’s spleen at the moment. She’s only partially confident as to where her spleen even is. “Those,” Tinker Bell continues, pointing up at the clouds advancing on them, “they’re…cannibalized versions of magic.” “Oh,” Henry says, “gross.” Mary Margaret sniffles before she kisses him on the cheek. He’s holding Ella’s hand very tightly.

“It is,” Tinker Bell agrees, “because it’s all wrong. Broken, even. The opposite of what you’ve created here. Anything unified is gone, shattered from the inside out and—” “—That won’t stop, will it?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. It’s been the same since the start, but it was so easy to fall into this start and live this life and she’s hardly noticed Regina. Lifting her hands towards the clouds like she could fight them, or stop them and her electricity metaphor had been almost accurate before.

Lightning explodes from Regina’s palms, feet a bit wider than usual while a muscle jumps in her temple, and the first brush of Killian’s thumb against Emma’s wrist makes her flinch again.

The clouds pause. For a moment.

Seem to shudder against the force of Regina’s power and strength, but there’s another crack and a branch that slams into the ground with an alarming speed, shaking the ground under yet a different pair of Emma’s boots, and, well—

That’s that, as they say.

Only they don’t ever mention the shadow-type vines that also explode from the ground. And for a breath, Emma’s not there. She’s sitting on different ground, in an entirely different realm, while her sword half hangs from the makeshift belt on her back and lights dance in front of her eyes. Blinking doesn’t do anything. Breathing heavily only makes the sound echo in her ears and air heave out of her lungs, and Emma can’t get her bearings. Is being twisted and torn until she’s certain she’ll be ripped apart. Right there, in the in-between, and—

No.

Giving in isn’t an option. She’s got people to save, and a kid to get back and a life to live. And the hand squeezing hers is tight enough to pull her back from a variety of edges. In any version of reality, she’s sure.

Head falling forward, Emma slams into something solid and that’s probably not another metaphor. Blades flash at the edge of her vision, both David and Henry moving quicker than she’s ever seen, while Mary Margaret slings arrow after arrow at something that isn’t entirely substantial and Killian’s hook moves under Emma’s chin.

At one point she might have thought that was a threat. She’s the world’s biggest idiot, obviously.

“No,” Tinker Bell replies, far later than is conversationally acceptable, honestly. “It won’t. Nothing will last if you don’t go back, Emma. It all hinges on you. That’s why Pan did this in the first place. He knew what you meant, to the whole world.” She groans. Like a goddamn hero.

“That might be a little heavy, Tink,” Killian mutters, and Emma makes another noise. Disbelief and charmed and wholly endeared, plus that other thing that she knows will make all the difference and at least eight of her knuckles crack. When she curls them into his shirt.

Patterned, naturally.

“Are you quoting things?” He nods. “You think it’s very cute.” “I’m not sure you could ever really be cute.”

“Is this honestly happening right now?” Regina snarls, sweat dotting her brow and Emma barely notices. Can’t really pull her eyes away from Killian when he’s smirking at her like that. “Flirting at the end of the world?” “Seems as good a time as any, doesn’t it?” Emma challenges. More pixie dust falls on the forest floor, shining brightly for a few prolonged seconds. That’s something of a confidence boost.

For Emma. And her feelings. And her plan, half-cocked as it may be.

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

Keeping her head lifted is one of Emma’s more major successes. At least recently, and while her muscles don’t entirely appreciate it, the jut of her chin makes it easier for Killian’s fingers to ghost over the edge of her mouth and push into her hair and—

“Your eyelashes are unnaturally long,” she says, and the grin widens. “It drives me nuts.” “Does it just?” “Yeah, from like—the get, really. At first I thought it was a fairytale thing, y’know…have to be painfully attractive to be part of the story, but—” “—You end up in the book eventually.”

Heart explosion is not nearly as painful as Emma assumed it would be. If anything, it just makes her feel like she’s floating a bit and her magic gives her a buoyancy that leaves her lighter and softer and she turns into the palm cupping her cheek. “Spoilers,” she chides. “What do you—what do you think happens?” “When you go back, you mean?” Emma nods. Doesn’t really want the answer. Might actually be terrified of the answer, because the timeline is as knotted as it’s ever been and time travel is way more trouble than it’s worth. She’ll probably kick Peter Pan too, just to cover all her bases. “Will you,” she whispers, and holding Killian’s gaze is something of a rather disappointing miracle, “will you all—” “—I don’t think so.” “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

One side of his mouth tilts up, eyeing her with passing amusement and that other emotion and his fingers trail towards the chain hanging around her neck. “Between the vaguely twisted compliments and the actual insults, I’m not entirely sure this is going to work, love.” “What isn’t going to work?” Henry asks sharply, swinging his sword through a shadow.

Grunting, one of Regina’s knees buckles as she continues to fight against the cloud and Ella’s back pressed against hers only just manages to keep her standing. “Get on with it, already,” she hisses. “Or at least try it.”

Nerves explode under Emma’s skin, racing up her arms and threatening to drown out the magic that’s as strong as it’s ever been because the magic is clearly smarter than her, and it’s unreasonable to think she’d be able to deal with that exact shade of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“You make sure I’m alright.”

He blinks. Fair, honestly. Words keep tumbling out of Emma without much thought, but she needs him to know this and this might be the crux of everything else and she’s nodding again. “Over and over,” she continues, “when we’re on the Jolly, and I’m—” “—In the crew’s quarters doing pull-ups.” “You remember that?”

“I’m rather attracted to you, you know that right?”

Laughing with tears in her eyes is as patently absurd as it is nice, and the shadows inch closer. “Could probably do with some reminding every now and then,” Emma admits, “but I, uh—that’s what happened before, too. Sitting outside the Echo Caves and you were supposed to be asleep. Showed up anyway, to make sure I was alright. You always do that.” “Something of a habit.” “So you’ve mentioned.” Humming, there’s not really any way for Killian to get closer to her, but he certainly tries and Emma hopes she doesn’t forget that either. She’s not entirely sure how her memories will deal with everything they’ve been through in the last few weeks. And, like—her life, but that sounds kind of melodramatic. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” Killian says softly, “but it’s—making sure you’re alright is like…making sure we’re following the right course.” “Am I the star in this analogy?” “Several times over,” he replies, “and it’s easy to follow.” “Oh, what was that about backhanded insults?”

Warm air brushes her face when he exhales, nosing at the tear stains her over-abundant emotions have left behind. “I have no idea what will happen,” Killian whispers, as if he’s speaking only for Emma and she supposes that’s at least partially true. “I doubt we’ll disappear, not when it appears time’s much less of a straight line than I originally anticipated, but Her Majesty was right. Nothing’s set in stone, love. That’s half the fun.” “Sounds like a hell of a gamble too.” “Aye, but you’ve also got a pirate who’s rather willing to cheat on your behalf.” “Did you use weighted dice?” He kisses her hair. The edges of her eyes. Down the bridge of her nose and just above her mouth, which is really a very cruel tease, but if they were running out of time earlier, then they’re operating on borrowed minutes now, and Emma’s calves almost audibly object when she pushes up on her toes.

“Just sleight of hand,” he says, “it’s very impressive, I know.” “Something like that, yeah.” “This wasn’t fair to you, Swan. To—to be thrown into this, and I can’t…”

Shaking her head, she’s never actually let go of his shirt, so Emma doesn’t have an excuse for how much her fingers tremble. “No, no, no, if you apologize I will step on your foot, I swear to any God you can come up with.” “Several, actually.” “Nerd,” she insults, and it’s as far away from that as it’s possible for a four-letter word to be. Killian’s eyes have gone glossy. “This wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Pan, I mean. He—he thought he’d take me off the board, keep me locked here because I’d be so tempted to stay and I—” A tree branch falls dangerously close to her right foot. “Well, obviously I was, but…” “But?” Emma presses her lips together. Ignores the ache in her legs and the area directly around her heart, taking more pleasure than she should in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes while her magic practically sings. Soars out of her, until the ends of her hair light and the shadows don’t retreat, but they freeze for a second and that’s all she really needs. “Seeing it all,” Emma starts, “living it, that’s why I can go back. Because I want to live it. No cheating, no advancing to Go. God, fuck—am I really making Monopoly jokes right now?”

He beams. Stares at her like she’s that star, and a few other constellations for good measure. Possibly the Sun too, but Emma’s the one who’s all too willing to orbit around the whole lot of them, and she kisses him before she can think better of it.

“You make sure I’m alright,” she repeats, “ten-thousand times over, until I end up here. And it’s just not better, babe, it’s—it’s a life, a real one. The kind I used to think was some great, big joke, but that house is so big and our kids are so good, and it’s—” Killian wipes away the tears. For the best, really. Since Emma isn’t entirely sure she can unclench her fingers. “I love it,” she breathes, “I love—”

In any other situation, she’d almost resent being interrupted. As it is, being interrupted with the press of Killian’s mouth against hers is one of the better things that’s happened to her. Like, ever. And she’s already pressed up on her toes, so really the whole thing is pretty practical.

Tilting her head, Emma’s grip threatens to rip his shirt and her spine isn’t all that pleased at the arch she’s put it in, but his hand is flat against her back, the kind of steady presence she’s sure she could build everything around. They’ve gotten better at this, she thinks — less frenzied than it was in Neverland, but somehow even better, like they’re sitting on simmer, a low heat that simply exists and isn’t as overwhelming. She’s not sweating, at least. She’s wrapped in cashmere blankets, and comfort and some other word that starts with ‘c’ because Emma’s ability to linger on the alliterative in times of heightened feeling is actually pretty impressive.

At least until Killian’s tongue swipes the seam of her mouth, and they drift a hint closer to frenzied, and somewhere in the realm of desperate and she genuinely does not notice the first band of light.

Or the second, quite frankly.

It isn’t until the colors arch over them, and several people gasp, that Emma realizes they’ve done something fairly tremendous. Beams of glistening magic curl around them, some hanging from the bend of Emma’s elbow and the curve of Killian’s hook, draping either one of their shoulders and falling off the sleeves of their respective leather jackets.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, fully expecting Killian’s smile and hoping for his laugh and she’s done more hoping now than she has in the first twenty-nine years of her life.

Henry clicks his tongue. “Oh you can say it, huh?” “I’m your mom, that’s how it works.” More laughter, as out of place as ever, but the light doesn’t disappear immediately and Killian’s jaw has gone slack. “Has that not happened before, then?” Emma asks him.

“You called me babe.” Regina groans again. Henry snickers, ducking his head into Ella’s shoulder, and Emma’s not sure what her parents do, but her mom is definitely crying and she’s crying and there’s something shimmering on the other side of Tinker Bell.

“Told you it’d work,” she says with a knowing smile. “She just needed to get there. And, y’know, be willing to walk away. Which doesn’t sound as romantic as it is, now that I think about it, but might be kind of in the spirit of Christmas.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “that’s—” She cuts herself off that time, Killian’s fingers lacing through hers so he can give her hand three quick squeezes and that number was probably random. Maybe. True Love’s goddamn Kiss.

“Falling in love with you probably isn’t very easy, is it?”

The tears fall. Drop from the corners of his eyes onto cheeks, one of which has a scar on it and Emma wants to know how that happened. Wants to learn every single thing about him, and them and collective pronouns don’t quite terrify her anymore.

“Not always,” Killian agrees, another strange way of doing it, “but I do always think it’s worth it. For everything we get.” “This?” He nods. “And then some. Because you’re the single most stubborn lass I know, and Pan’s an absolute fool.” “Call me lass again, and see if I kiss you anymore.” “I’m almost confident on that front.”

Smiling doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t affect the muscles in her face, or the overall state of her heart, and that may have something to do with its exploding tendencies from earlier, but Emma’s eyes keep flickering towards that portal and everything ahead of her, and the wave of determination that crests her consciousness doesn’t take her by surprise.

She’s going to get this all back.

Like a Christmas present, waiting under the tree to be opened, and another promise and Killian squeezes her hand again. Before kissing her once more, in a way that doesn’t feel like a farewell, but has a hint of promise and expectation and Emma hugs Henry. And her parents. Glances at Regina, and goddamn Tinker Bell, and hugging Henry again simply makes sense. “Come save me, huh?” he murmurs into her hair. “That’s the plan,” Emma promises. Twisting her neck, Killian’s not more than an inch behind her, but the shadows threaten again, making it difficult to see him and eventually she’ll argue that’s why she doesn’t entirely notice when his hand moves, darting towards her pocket and back so quickly it’s not much more than a blur, and her lips barely brush his before they’re pulling away from each other.

To get back to each other.

“I’m going to love you an absolutely ridiculous amount,” Emma promises, and Killian’s eyes brighten. Brand themselves on all those memories, and even more feelings. “More than I do now, even.” “I look forward to it.”

Bumping her chin against her chest when she nods, Emma’s next inhale is shaky at best, but her steps are sure and she doesn’t feel anything when she falls backwards, or notice the way Regina’s hand shifts ever so slightly.

Her feet slam into the ground. Ground that hasn’t exploded with glowing, vaguely evil plants yet and that’s all it takes to set her plan into motion. He hadn’t remembered, after all. And Emma can only sort of remember now.

Smoke on the water, her thoughts drift through a haze that’s far more metaphorical than she entirely appreciates, and she makes it all of eight larger-than-usual steps before those same feet land on boots and she barely stops herself before she collides with Killian.

A Killian who looks at her like he’s surprised to find her there, but not entirely opposed to it, and whatever thoughts continue to cling to the forefront of Emma’s brain know what else he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, and that’s not bad, might even be good and great and she can’t remember why her lips feel like they’re tingling. That’s—

Strange, that’s strange. As is the number of times she blinks, and his hook flies to her waist. To keep her steady. Or something. Magnets, maybe. “Swan, are you—” “—Fine, fine,” she breathes, only just able to keep from kissing him. Hard. His lips part slightly when she keeps staring at him, eyes tracing across his face like she’s recommitting it to memory, and she supposes she is, and he was coming to find her. All over again. “You’re here though, right? This isn’t…this is real?” Hair threatens to fall into his eyes, head at an angle that Emma is sure simply exists to torment her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “I—I don’t know,” she admits, and it only sort of sounds like a lie. Emma shakes her head. That doesn’t help, really. “Is my mom still ignoring my dad?” “Very much so. You shouldn’t be out here, you know.” “Neal’s not dead, though?” “No,” Killian says, lips forming a perfect circle on the second letter. Emma’s staring at his lips. Again, or always. Or whatever, honestly.

“Ok, ok, that’s—that’s good, well maybe not the ignoring part, but we’ll figure that out and we’re going to figure this out.” “Wasn’t a question.” “No it wasn’t.” His eyes narrow, neck remaining at that angle. “Good. It shouldn’t be.” “Awfully confident of you.” “No, no, I’m only confident in you, love.” Something flutters at the back of Emma’s brain — part memory and even more desire, and this feels like something they’ve done already, but that can’t possibly be true and those particular words in that particular order are as honest as Emma’s heard. She must have fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” Killian continues, hand reaching for hers and she doesn’t pull away. She lets his fingers tangle with hers, and every squeeze against her palm is enough to settle her pulse and her magic, and he doesn’t let go of her until they get back to camp. Neither one of them mention how she doesn’t pull away, either.

They plan. Plot, and discuss and Neal’s something of an issue — as is her mother’s pointed and unnecessary romantic advice, but Emma knows her objections fall on deaf ears, especially when that same mother keeps ignoring her father, and she’s not sure she’s ever known fear like she feels in Dark Hollow.

If asked — and Emma can’t imagine why she would be, but she’s at war with her own thoughts and some sadistic childlike-monster who’s already fucked with her more than he should be capable of — she’d argue it was because of what Killian tells her. When I win your heart plays on loop in Emma’s brain, but it’s also because, somehow, she knows he will and does, and fire bursts out of her in the middle of yet another shadow attack.

“How did you do that?” Neal asks, sounding far more surprised than he should and something in Emma’s center recoils at the tone. “Regina. She’s teaching me magic.” Not entirely a lie, not really. But Killian’s eyes snap towards her, and she’s apparently just as good at ignoring things as her mother. “She’s teaching you magic?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, gripping the coconut in her hand a little tighter. Six months ago, that would have felt like the most absurd sentence in the world. Now it just pisses her off. “I guess she is.”

There’s more, because of course there is. Wendy Darling and Neal are something of old friends, and she’s somehow an even worse liar than Emma, but the truth means Henry’s death and she can’t breathe. Can hardly stand, but is also standing closer to Killian and she keeps calling him Killian. In her head.

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian murmurs. Naturally, it’s not.

Watching Henry hand over his heart is a nightmare Emma will see for the rest of her life, wholly unprepared for the way her kid drops to the ground and the strength of her ensuing magic threatens to blind her.

Regina’s not much better, honestly. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then there’s magic and a wave of her hand, and—“He’s not dead yet,” she tells Emma, like that’s acceptable, but she’s got no idea what else to do and the growing feeling that she’s forgotten something very important.

Preservation spells are as freaky their name implies, it turns out.

Henry doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, but he also isn’t dead and Emma figures that’s at least one positive. While she’s attacked by a tree, and taunted by Pan and Regina’s admission leaves her reeling just a bit. That is until it turns out Peter Pan is also Gold’s father, and the absurdity of it all makes Emma want to scream and cry and they somehow save Henry’s heart.

In Pandora’s Box.

Really, the rest is a blur — adrenaline mixing with magic and an above-average amount of gasping, and Killian offers Henry the captain’s quarters. Emma doesn’t think before she walks, leading the pair of them towards the door, and there’s a shadow trapped in the sail and they’re on a flying pirate ship, so honestly her knowledge of that pirate ship’s layout should be the least of their worries, but something, something…open book.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Killian asks, finding Emma what feels like a lifetime later. Hours, actually. Most of which she’s spent leaning against the railing, while trying to breathe in as much salt air as possible and Regina’s still in the cabin with Henry.

“Aside from the obvious?” “Whatever’s got you staring so intently at the horizon.” “It’s calming,” Emma reasons, and there’s some truth to that as well. There’s also something in her back pocket, a piece of clothing that miraculously isn’t totally destroyed with mud and the after-effects of fighting for their collective lives.

“It often is, although you’re thinking so loudly, I can’t help but—” “—Do you think you’ll stay in Storybrooke?”

Killian tenses. He’s close enough that Emma can practically feel the way his muscles tighten, but there’s more to it than proximity, and it’s got to be nearly his turn at the helm. Neal can’t stay up there forever.

“If you think that would be a good idea.”

Rolling her eyes makes her head hurt. She might also be dehydrated. The knowledge that there’s a flask of rum stashed somewhere under the cot in Killian’s cabin is one of the few things keeping Emma conscious. Captain’s cabin. Semantics. She has no idea how she knows that. “That’s not really what I asked,” Emma argues. “Do you—is that something you’d like?”

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

The future is suddenly blurry, and not entirely uncertain, but she fought like hell for it and now there’s this growing sense of optimism taking root in her. Like it’s the foundation for everything else, strong and certain and that’s a rather daunting change of pace for her. The certainty, not the adjective choices. Gold made it so David could come home too. They all get to go home. So, Emma doesn’t move very quickly when she turns, just presses her lips together and—

Hopes.

Pixie dust requires a certain amount of belief to work, after all.

“I would,” Killian breathes. He leans forward, or Emma leans forward, and it genuinely does not matter because there are mouths and hands and it’s over before it really begins, the rail of a flying pirate ship threatening to dig into her back. She’s never been more comfortable. “Ok,” Emma says, footsteps coming towards them, “that’s good.”

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

“Certainly is,” Killian agrees, “and you had that in spades. I just—” He smirks. The bastard. “Telling you I knew you would makes me a bit of a cad, doesn’t it?” “More than a bit, maybe.” He chuckles, letting his head drop closer to hers. “Why’d you know where the blankets were in that cabin?” “Far too perceptive for your own good.” “I prefer to see it as an acute observation.” “And you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

“Sounds suspiciously like you think I’m pretty.”

“Occasionally,” Emma says, standing on wobbly knees again and they’re dancing without music. “I don’t know, really, but we’ll get there, I think.”

Leaning back, Killian’s eyebrows shift and his thoughts practically come with cymbals, but he doesn’t press her anymore and Emma doesn’t actually believe she fell asleep. Outside the Echo Caves, but all of those thoughts feel like dreams now, and Neal doesn’t ask any questions — which is either a victory or a crushing disappointment, depending on which way you look at it, but Emma can’t bring herself to leave the railing, even when the wind picks up and goosebumps prickle her arms and the something in her back pocket is a tiny slip of paper.

Torn at the edges, like the person who grabbed it was pressed for time and flush with determination and she’s never actually seen his handwriting before. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference. Swooping letters linger on the looseleaf, no matter how many times Emma blinks, the words the same and she tries very hard not to rip it. Holding it as tightly as she is makes that easier said than done.

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

As clear as the tears that return to her eyes will allow, and Emma’s not surprised to find him already looking in her direction. She smiles, and goes below deck.

They don’t make it very long before something else gets fucked up.

They barely make it like—two weeks. Pan isn’t dead, and Henry’s not Henry and the whole thing is a disaster that frequently ends with Emma slumped against the nearest wall she can find, the hand gripping hers squeezing at regular intervals, like Killian is trying to remind her of something, but she might just be hoarding every touch and every feeling and it figures.

Standing at the town line, Emma’s not sure how she’s going to get in that car and drive away from this town and these people and her mother kisses her forehead. Softly and almost reverently, and David’s hand finds the back of her head, holding her as tightly as he had in Neverland and Emma knows he’d like to do that forever, but that won’t be possible in five minutes and she’s not going to remember.

Any of them. At any point.

She’s still not sure why the timing of it all seems so important.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

Smiling is the only way she stops herself from kicking him, or possibly kissing him and she’s not prepared for what Killian says next. If she ever gets to remember this, that will seem vaguely ridiculous. All things considered.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” He means it. Emma knows that, too. As much as she knows she should have said something — a string of words that’s still a little overwhelming, but the sheet of paper basically lives in her jacket pocket now, and for someone who feels as if she keeps bouncing around time, or at least realms, she also continues to run out of it.

“Good,” she says, and one side of his mouth moves. Tugs up while he stares at her, and struggles to step back and everything disappears. Behind a cloud of purple smoke, and a line that’s brushed away as easily as if it had never been there at all, and Emma forgets.

Most of it, at least.

Some guy knocks on her door, knows her name, and immediately tries to kiss her. It’s not the strangest thing Emma’s ever encountered, but that’s because bail bond’s a weird gig, and he keeps showing up. Gives her a note with handwriting that looks suspiciously familiar, and proves even more than that and her hand shakes. While pulling a weather-stained piece of paper from the folds of her wallet, and she’s got no rational reason for keeping it. Not when she’s got no idea why she has it in the first place, but every time she considers throwing it away, something tugs between her ribs and flutters at the back of her brain and the swoop on the top of his ‘o’ is exactly the same.

She doesn’t mention that before she drinks the potion. And she only balks slightly at the word potion , so that’s another victory and— “Killian,” she breathes, memories flying back. Some arrive quicker than others, while a few hang in the shadows and she knows there’s more to the sheet of paper than she’s willing to admit. Magic fights with her, trying to piece together things that don’t entirely make sense, and she can remember things that don’t make sense. Pirate ships, and flashing swords, and a house with enough windows that it likely sets a record.

And a hand slipping a sheet of paper into her back pocket.

“Miss me?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, at that. Especially coupled with a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but Emma finds herself nodding all the same and he doesn’t stumble backwards when she launches herself at him, hugging as tightly as she can.

The paper goes back in her wallet before they leave for Storybrooke.

She’s going to leave. Get back in her car and go back to New York, and raise Henry like a normal kid, but Emma can’t shake the feeling that there’s something inherently wrong with that plan, and it doesn’t have anything to do with wicked witches or newborn brothers, but maybe deja vu for something she hasn’t lived yet, and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. When she does the unthinkable.

“Come with us, then.” “You’re not serious,” he challenges.

“Like a heart attack, maybe. I just…none of this is safe, and New York was, I mean…you could be part of—” “False memories, based on magical nonsense.”

Shoulders slumping, Emma can’t come up with an argument to that. Only kind of wants to, but she’s not in the book, and Henry doesn’t want to leave. The dreams she keeps having make sleep something of a pipe dream. And she’s something of a mess, but Killian’s a much better dancer than she expected him to be.

And she’s not surprised to find him rounding the corner of Regina’s dungeon, although it’s nice to be saved, even when she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. But then his arms threaten to crack several of her ribs ten minutes later, and Emma has a few theories about that. None of which she voices, far too busy memorizing the way his thumb feels when it brushes her cheek, and her mother’s not dead.

Doesn’t remember her, but time travel beggars can’t be choosers. Another burst of deja vu rattles through her, and there’s no magic to jump in her veins, but Killian glances her direction all the same and the wand is heavy in her hand. One that’s magical again, a portal home because it is home and you trade your ship for me isn’t much more than a whisper on warmer-than-usual wind. He doesn’t blink when he answers. She’ll think about that for quite some time.

After she stops thinking about how good they are at kissing, because they are exceptional at kissing and it’s very simple. To fall into this head first, the feeling and the emotion and Killian chuckles when Emma’s magic begins to thrum under her skin.

She tells her parents about Neal.

About what he did, and how he did it and their eyes widen so often she wonders if they’ll get stuck like that. Killian’s hand doesn’t leave her shoulder.

They announce the change two days later. Prince Neal is Prince Leo and he’s still as cute as ever, with a tendency to spit up on whoever holds him.

“Are you alright?” “You’ve asked me that like ten times.” Nodding, Killian doesn’t move and Emma can’t imagine what kind of damage this is doing to his knees, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stand up either and she’s finally starting to get some feeling back in her toes. Fingers, too. Which makes it easier to drag the tips of them over his cheek, and his eyelids fluttering shut is a jolt of confidence she’s going to cling to. “And yet,” he drawls, “I’m still very curious.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says, not for the first time and she knows it won’t be the last. He shifts the blanket draped across her legs, tucking it under her side like—“A mother hen pirate.” “That’s rude, love.” “You’re going to give yourself a coronary.” “I don’t know what that means.” Laughing softly, her lips are still a bit chilly when she presses them to Killian’s skin. Warm, like always. Some joke about her own personal sun, and something else about walls made of ice and she doesn’t think before she mumbles, “you want to lay down, or something?” “Your father might challenge me to a duel.” “Not confident in your own sword skills?” “I’m very confident in my skills, but—” “—C’mon,” Emma interrupts, ignoring Killian’s protest when she pulls her arms out of the mountain of fabric covering her, “you’re warm, anyway.”

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

Well before, honestly. And she wonders why that feels inevitable, almost like it’s already happened, somehow but that’s—well, that’s impossible. She should rid that word from her vocabulary. And the inevitability of telling Killian everything she’s feeling isn’t totally surprising, either. Has been coming on so gradually that don’t you know, Emma, it’s you doesn’t knock her entirely off course. Might right her, actually. Direct her back towards some star or something else nautical and decidedly sentimental, and she cannot rationalize how quiet she is when he falls.

Dies, really.

This alternate version of him that still managed to rescue her, and she couldn’t save him and that’s not right. Two-way streets operate in both directions, but she didn’t tell him and everything feels like it stops. Not long enough. Time refuses to linger the way Emma needs it to, lungs threatening to disintegrate, and this isn’t real, can’t possibly be real and Henry’s pulling on her sleeve, telling her they have to go. He’s right. They’ve got to get out of here. Fix it, and give Emma more time, and she doesn’t spend any of it thinking before she rushes up the loft stairs and clings to him tightly enough that they fall over.

That will feel poetic later.

Standing in the center of Main Street, with a dagger in her hand and magic in the air and it’s familiar all over again, another burst of deja vu, and the exact opposite. Wrong, on a fundamental sort of level that she still can’t ignore and she closes her eyes. Thinks of what could be, or what she hopes will still happen, and then she tilts her head up and meets eyes that are far too blue to be fair and it’s easy to give voice to the words she hadn’t before.

That’s nice, she supposes.

Being as consistently confused by her own thoughts is one of Emma’s biggest pet peeves. “I love you.”

“Getting more and more difficult not to tell him. Isn’t it, dearie?” Sighing, Emma doesn’t bother glancing up from the half-finished dream catcher in her hands and Killian’s not going to be happy that he fell asleep. He likes to think he can protect her better while he’s conscious. As if he could protect her from her own mind.

“Do you even remember it?” Rumplestilskin continues, and it’s not really him. She has to keep reminding herself that. “Can see into your thoughts, y’know. And I don’t think you do.” “Shut up.” He doesn’t, of course. “The Queen did something. Changed something, somehow. Can feel the dregs of her magic, clinging to your memories and—” He leans forward. “—So can you, can’t you? Wonder why those scenes that appear behind your eyes every time you blink, feel so real. All that fairy tale fodder, and another thing you’ll miss out on. Strange how that version of your personal prince charming never mentioned what happens to you, isn’t it? Almost as if he’s keeping secrets. Maybe that’s a sign.” “Shut up.” She doesn’t mean to say anything. Responding only ever eggs the apparition on, and Emma’s head feels as if it will split in two. It might help if it did.

Every one of Rumplestilskin’s teeth is on display when he smiles. Like a goddamn crocodile.

“You could likely get your memories back. If you wanted. All that power surging through your veins. Or maybe,” he continues slowly, “part of what you’re feeling isn’t anything more than fate."

"No, that’s not true."

"Sure of that? Absolutely positive? Anything is possible, after all."

And the idea takes Emma by sudden and overwhelming surprise, part of her hating even the thought, but her feet are already moving and she might be running if the stretch of her legs is any sign, and Merlin doesn’t look up. When she slams open his door.

“You know, don’t you?” “Everything you’ve forgotten?” he asks lightly. “Yes, I do.” “What do I do about it?” “Would you like to do something about it?” “Did Regina do something to my memories?” Emma presses, leaning against the door as soon as it shuts behind her. One of his shoulders lifts. “He—the voice in my head…keeps taunting me about it, and I don’t—is any of that possible? That life?” Finally lifting his gaze, Merlin looks exactly as he did in that movie theater Emma only half believes she actually remembers, and time travel continues to be one of her least favorite things. “Depends,” he replies, “on you, and your next question.”

“I shouldn’t know. Right? Shouldn’t remember, I—he was looking at the house. The one I remember us living in sometimes, and I don’t…it’s impossible. To get back to that.” “He already told you it wasn’t,” Merlin argues.

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

Emma licks her lips. Coming up with anything else to say is difficult, and she’s still holding the goddamn dreamcatcher. That makes it easier. To give into instinct, and she’s broken. At her most basic level. Ripped apart and stitched back with pieces that don’t entirely belong to her, and remembering any of it feels like a cruel trick.

Lifting her arm, the whole thing only takes a few moments. Nothing more than a soft pull, and what feels like a soap bubble popping.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks, gaze dropping back to his table and his task and Emma nearly growls at him.

“What are you talking about?” “That’s what I thought. It won’t all disappear, though. Magic’s got a way of leaving a mark, especially magic like that.”

She leaves before he can make any other cryptic announcements, and Dark Ones don’t really need sleep. Emma sits on the bed for the rest of the night.

Dreams happen occasionally.

In the few days between — after the blade broke apart in her hand, and the decision that she won’t take this lying down, fuck whatever the world says about death and Dark Ones — visions start to creep into Emma’s subconscious. Sometimes they aren’t good, are a startling reminder of how it felt to fall to the ground, and the exact way dew soaked through her jeans, or how cold he was when his hand fell away from hers. And then sometimes they’re…not that.

They’re bright, and laughter rings out in the space Emma can’t quite define. Like it’s somewhere she’s been before, lived in even. Happily so. Scents hang in the air, a mix of salt and sweet and there’s almost always an arm curled around her waist, whispers in her ear and the steady press of kisses along her neck. Soft footsteps echo down carpeted hallways, and there’s garland wrapped around the staircase railing. Lining their ridiculous number of windows, and draped across branches of a tree.

For Christmas.

Emma isn’t sure how she knows that, but the snow outside is a good clue and it’s that — the growing desire to make this dream something closer to a reality, and no one questions her decision. To go to the Underworld. The same way she doesn’t second guess her steps as she races towards Killian, blood on his cheeks and nothing at the end of his left arm and he’s heavier than she remembered. Slumped against her chest with his breath in her ear, and it’s not quite the same as the dream, but they’ll get there.

They’ll get there.

Emma repeats the phrase — over and over, stumbling down a path she’s only passably confident will lead them outside, and he squeezes her hand. Three times.

Sometimes they dance.

In the kitchen. In the living room. She’s got this habit of hoarding records, and Killian’s far more interested in antiquing than he’d ever be willing to admit. Emma makes pirate jokes about it.

If only because it inevitably guarantees that spark in his eyes.

The one that makes her shiver, and reminds her of something she can’t quite remember and—she gasps, a hand spinning her on the kitchen floor. Away from the sink of dirty dishes and anything remotely responsible.

“I’m going to get your shirt all wet,” Emma grumbles, but that doesn’t appear to concern him very much. Or at all.

“Good.” “Good?” “Was that confusing?” Killian challenges, metal already working under the hem of her shirt. There are flowers on it.

“You think you’re very funny.” “I think I’ve got fantastic rhythm, and I can hear you thinking from across the room. What’s got your magic so loud?” Without stopping, Emma’s magic responds in kind — a symphony of possibility, and the growing sense of want that sits like a nearly-comfortable weight in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes she tells him. About the dreams, and the scenes that feel like she’s lived them before, and Killian never tells her she’s crazy. Even when Emma wonders if she might be. Instead, there’s simply this look of his own want, crinkling the skin near his eyes and she kisses away the pinch between his brow. Which makes it easier for her to ask— “Why this one?”

“Excuse me?” “This house,” Emma clarifies, and the conversation’s a little late. They’ve been here for years. Watched Henry grow up, and taught him how to use a sword, and watched movies until they could quote them back without a single mistake. So, really she should have figured it out before, but Emma’s had her suspicions. It’s only now that she’s greedy enough to ask about them.

“You know why.” “Would love to hear you say it.” “Pirate,” Killian accuses, without any insult and Emma giggles when he pulls her back to his chest. “And I—well, it’d be nice, don’t you think?” “Yeah, it would,” Emma says. The agreement tumbles out of her with ease, partially because of that aforementioned greed and the memories she can’t shake and Merlin said something to her. About magic’s tendency to leave something behind.

There’s a sheet of paper still hidden in her wallet.

“So,” she continues, “great big house, with lots of rooms and—” “—It’s your choice, Swan.” “That’s not how it works, and you know it. A combined team of planning and feeling and—” He dips her, she tries very hard not to giggle again. Fails miserably. “—Self-proclaimed rhythm. We just…this isn’t just about me, this is an us thing.” The music doesn’t stop. They only kind of do, Killian leaning back with a glint in his eyes that’s different than it normally is and Emma’s not sure when she started breathing through her mouth, but it’s drying out her lips and that’s not the first time she’s said that.

She doesn’t think so, at least.

“I’m a rather large fan of that string of words,” Killian says. “And you.” “Seems like a requirement of marriage.” “And parenting?” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

Kissing him is really the only reasonable option. And Emma considers herself fairly reasonable, although her magic nearly makes a light bulb explode a few hours later and it’s difficult to be annoyed by the smug look on Killian’s face when he’s not wearing any clothing.

“What about Regina?”

Half a dozen heads snap towards Emma, some of them sporting bemused expressions, while others wear flat out disbelief and she doesn’t blink. Her fingers tighten, under the table where she’s gripping Killian’s hand and she can’t seem to get comfortable.

There’s way more of her than she’s used to, and the books claim she’s in some stage called nesting. Which Killian uses as an excuse to make Swan jokes at every opportunity. It might be driving her insane.

So, Emma will use that as an excuse. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” Grumpy asks her, and Killian can’t quite mask his laugh. Even with his teeth pressed distractingly into his lower lip.

“I mean,” Emma starts, “that if we’re going to combine all the realms, maybe having Regina in charge might not be the worst idea. She’s got queenly experience.” “Wow,” Regina says slowly, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “No it is not!” “Top five, at least.” “You’re ruining this.”

Scrunching her nose is not a normal Regina reaction, but Emma figures it makes sense considering the circumstances and it’s a lot of responsibility. Uniting all the realms is a pretty daunting prospect, that will require enough of her own magic that Killian’s already freaking out just a bit, and somehow Emma can’t bring herself to be frustrated with that. Endeared, maybe.

And absolutely certain this will work.

She doesn’t know why. She looks at the slip of paper in her wallet, like four times a day.

“You’re sure?” Regina asks, Emma nods. “Alright, then I’d uh—it’d be my honor.”

They buy too many gifts. Hope is a baby. One who won’t have any memory of her first Christmas in this absolutely massive house, with a tree that Anton gave them a discount on.

“For milestones,” he reasoned, and Emma resolutely refuses to admit that she cried. But Killian brings it up more than once, and that gets her to roll her eyes and smile against his mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her and Snow White went above and beyond this year. Decorations line Main Street, cookies shared from every business and every person and all those people keep smiling. At her, and them and their kid is way cuter than her brother was.

Emma doesn’t mention that.

Killian does, at least when he whispers it to her while Leo tears apart another paper-covered box, and Hope gurgles in the crook of his arm. And Emma figures this is as good a time as any. To tug the folded envelope out of her pocket, flipping her wrist at the expectant and slightly confused look on Killian’s face. “What’s this?” “A gift,” Emma snarks, barely twisting out of the way to avoid him nipping at her nose. Like some twisted and very attractive Jack Frost. There’s some silver in his hair now.

He uses his hook to open it.

Emma clicks her tongue. So as not to push into his mouth. That might scar the kid.

“I don’t—” Killian says, pulling the scrap of paper out of. He holds it like it’s precious, and it is for Emma, but she also doesn’t entirely understand it and it’s kind of a selfish gift. “This is my hand writing. Why…I don’t remember writing this.” “And I don’t know when I got it. But I have it.” “I can see that.” “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s—I’ve had that for as long as I can remember. Since before New York, at least.” Killian’s eyes flash. To her and possibly through her, and Emma’s shrug is half-hearted at best. “Memories don’t always stick in this town,” he reasons, but it sounds like an excuse. For something she still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been there. Was in my wallet, and I had it in Camelot, babe. Used to pull it out sometimes, when you were—” “—Dead?” “God bless us, every one.” His laugh lacks any real amusement. It’s not very festive. “I’m going to ask you something,” Emma says, fully prepared for the way his lips curl.

“Eventually you’ll bypass the proclamations, Your Highness.” “Why do you squeeze my hand? You do it all the time.” “Do I?” Blotches of pink appear on his cheeks and he might want to lie, but his ears can’t and that’s not as weird a sentence as it should be. “Only three times, you realize?” “Don’t insult me like that.” That laugh is better. Purer, more like him and Emma’s magic flickers when he kisses her cheek. He’s constantly kissing her cheek. And her hair. Temple. Anywhere he can reach, like he’s always looking for a reminder and proof, until Emma knows she depends on it just as much as he does.

“Made it easier,” he says, “saying it without actually using words.” “And the words were…” He doesn’t really glare — that’s against the rules at Christmas, Emma’s sure, but his head lolls and his lips quirk and magic jumps. In her. To him. Whatever, really. “I love you,” Killian says, easy as some other cliche and Hope squirms between them. When they start kissing.

To suggest that what happens next happens suddenly, also makes it seem like Emma is paying attention to anything outside the little bubble of family and feeling, and neither one of those things is true. So she can’t say that. Her mother can.

Gasping and yelping, and there’s color everywhere — rivaling the lights that hang all over, because no one does holidays and milestones better than Her Royal Highness Snow White of Storybrooke. Emma curses.

Like a goddamn princess.

Remembering something that hasn’t technically happened yet threatens to make Emma topple over, but she’s really good at standing now and Killian’s arm is around her anyway. That helps. Perpetually.

“What the hell was that?” David demands, with as little grace as any of them can exude.

Emma shakes her head, refusing to blink. Despite the moisture there, and the feelings and she remembers. Has this whole time, kind of. The semantics probably aren’t important, at least not as much as the light is and was and will be.

Perpetually.

She doesn’t answer. Not her dad, anyway.

“I love you,” Emma tells Killian instead, and it takes some time to explain it all later. True Love and its somewhat inconsistent if not equally wonderful tendencies, and while that future in the past may not happen exactly as it had, this is somehow better and Emma was right.

They got here, eventually.

[dickspeightjrs]

Dean still thanked Bobby every day for giving him a job at his store. Bobby would only respond with ‘shut up and stop thanking me ya idjit!’

But still, Dean was grateful. With Sam in his first year of college (Stanford Smart-Ass), even with a hefty scholarship, affording to live is still a bitch – especially in one of the most expensive states in the country.

So, on top of his job during the week as a TA at the local university, Dean picks up a couple shifts over the weekend at his Uncle Bobby’s vintage antique store.

Now, while Dean was extremely grateful, the gratefulness didn’t stop the fact that the job was boring as hell.

If you asked Dean, half the stuff in the store looked like it should be donated to Goodwill not be in a vintage store on sale for hundreds of dollars.

(It’s not that Dean didn’t understand the appeal of vintage items. He could appreciate a vintage beauty. His car was a prime example of that. However, despite what the price tags may say, none of this junk held a candle to his beautiful 67 Chevy Impala.)

The place was hardly heaving, even on weekends. And when customers did come in each interaction went one of two ways:

People brought in their old junk in an attempt to pass it off as some rare artefact. Trying to convince those people that what they thought was a valuable medal, passed down through generations may as well have come out of a Happy Meal was not Dean’s favourite way to spend his Saturday.

The second, and perhaps the worst, type of customer would be the rich, entitled people who come into the shop wanting to expand their collection of antiques (which Dean knew without having to visit their homes that they only purchase to show off their wealth and don’t particularly care where they come from). They could be buying a Victorian butt plug to display on their mantelpiece but wouldn’t care as long as it’s as old and expensive as possible.

Dean had a customer just last week who took hours trying to haggle on the price of an antique brooch, despite clearly being about to afford it at full price. If Dean didn’t need the job to support Sam he would have told the woman exactly what he thought of her. (Even Bobby had rules when it came to professionalism). Regardless, she was a total –

“I need a ring!”

Dean was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a man entering the store looking pretty flustered – emphasis on the pretty.

The man made quick strides of the distance between the door and the counter where Dean was still stood – transfixed by the frankly beautiful man coming towards him.

The man stopped and let out a deep and calming sigh.

“I need a ring.” He repeated more smoothly.

Regardless of how he feels about the customers, no one could say Dean wasn’t awesome at his job. So he put on his best customer service smile, tried to ignore the things this man was making his body feel and silently thanked Bobby once again for this.

“Of course, Sir. Was there anything in particular you had in mind?”

The man frowned.

“Please. There’s no need to call me ‘Sir’. Just call me Castiel.”

Castiel. Angelic

Go figure.

“Okay, Castiel. Are you looking for any kind of ring in particular?”

As he spoke, Dean started to move towards the key box that held the key to unlock the glass cabinet, which housed all of their rings.

“Your most expensive if possible, please.”

Dean stopped in his tracks and looked momentarily at Castiel with wide eyes.

Not only is this dude hot as fuck, he’s rich as fuck too?

Dean was used to asshole rich people throwing their money around but even they had a limit. Coming in and asking for the most expensive ring before even seeing it? Dean didn’t care how gorgeous this guy was, or how blue his eyes were, or how rough his voice sounded, or how sharp his jawbone looked, or –

Anyway! This dude was clearly a douchebag so Dean wasn’t interested.

He opened the glass case and lifted out the most expensive ring, placing it delicately on a black cloth for Castiel to look at.

Castiel picked it up between his finger and thumb – inspecting carefully.

He seemed so quiet and unassuming – nothing like the normal wealthy douchebags Dean encountered. Maybe he got him wrong. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“Yes, I think she’ll like that one.”

Ah. So not a douchebag but definitely not single.

Dean sighed internally. That put an end to that before it even began.

Castiel dropped the ring back onto the surface and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Dean picked up the ring and carefully placed it inside the matching box. He was painfully aware that ring was worth more than he could earn in almost a year. Even if Castiel was single, Dean would never keep up with that amount of wealth.

He tried not to let the disappointment of Castiel’s impending engagement affect him – he was still just a stranger after all (a beautiful one at that his brain unhelpfully supplied). Dean plastered on his customer service smile.

“Would you like our complimentary cleaning cloth to help maintain its colour? We recommend cleaning it properly every week or so with this cloth as it is one of the older items in our collection.”

Castiel thought for barely a moment, “Sure.”

Gee, for a guy about to spend the rest of his life with the love of his life, he sure seemed uninterested in a pretty essential part of the process. This was just getting more and more depressing – and confusing.

Dean rushed to finish the transaction so he could get back to the normal status quo of the regular two types of customers and not a third who comes barreling in and turns his system upside down.

He finished the payment – Castiel barely flinched when Dean told him the price – and packed the ring carefully with the cleaning cloth into a gift bag.

“Thank you and I hope you and your soon-to-be fiancée have a wonderful life together.”

It pained Dean to say as he looked into Castiel’s eyes. Bobby should give him a raise just for the smile he was fighting to keep on his face.

As if Dean couldn’t take anymore, Castiel tilted his head and squinted his eyes making himself look adorable as hell.

“I’m not getting engaged.”

What?!

“What?”

“I’m not getting engaged.”

“B-but you just bought a really fucking expensive engagement ring!”

The confused part of Dean’s brain was overpowering the other part screaming ‘He’s not getting engaged – he might be single!’

“It’s for my mother.”

“Okay dude, you’re gonna have to walk me through this one. I mean, I love my mom but who drops that much on a ring for their mom?”

“My mother loves material things and good reputations – perhaps more than her own children. She has been rather angry with me for a few days so in order to ‘get back in her good books’ I needed to get the most expensive and oldest piece of jewellery I could. I see her tonight, hence why I was so flustered when I came in.”

Dean chose to ignore how adorable Castiel looked doing air quotes – his bran was about to explode.

“Ouch. What did you do to make her angry enough to need something as pricey as this?” Dean indicated to the bag he realised he was still holding out.

“My brother accidentally told her I’m gay.”

At this point, the other side of Dean’s brain finally took over.

DUDE HE’S NOT GETTING ENGAGED. HE’S PROBABLY SINGLE. AND HE’S INTO DUDES! ASK! HIM! OUT!

After a few prolonged seconds of Dean having an internal breakdown, Castiel started to look uneasy. Dean immediately recognised that uneasiness and managed to spit out a sentence that actually made sense.

“She’s angry at you for being gay? Sounds like a complete bitch to me.”

Dean realised what he’d said and instantly went to take it back but was stopped by the smirk on Castiel’s face.

“Oh don’t worry. She is. But as I said, she puts good reputations before her children and that means she’s paying for my law school. Well, what she thinks is law school.” There was that smirk again. Dean might just die. “I’m actually getting a degree in Education and Psychology. But I’ve got a year left so I need her to keep paying for my tuition. The day I graduate is the day I walk away from that family for good.”

Castiel held his head a little higher at that and Dean couldn’t help but admire the guy. Sucking up to a homophobic mom while tricking her into paying for the degree he wants? Frickin’ badass!

“Dude, I don’t know you from Adam, but, going on that ring alone, are you sure you could give up all that money?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve never been interested in it. I suppose that made me a bit of a black sheep. Add in the fact I’m gay, it pushed my mother over the edge. Hence the much too expensive ring.”

Wow. Was this guy for real?

Dean stood up from where he’d been leaning on the counter, listening with rapt attention. He put his hands in his pockets, looked down at a scratch in the counter top and looked up again slowly meeting Castiel’s eyes.

“So you’re not getting engaged?”

“Nope. Far from it, in fact.”

“You’re giving up the family money to live your own independent life?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re definitely into guys?”

Castiel smirked. “Yes. Very much so.”

“So… would you wanna go out some time? I promise it’ll probably be the cheapest date you’ve ever been on – I’m not exactly loaded myself.”

Dean avoided Castiel’s gaze, picking at the scratch on the counter.

A finger came out and lifted his chin, forcing him to meet Castiel’s eyes again.

“That sounds perfect. I’d love to go out with you but I do have one condition.”

Dean’s heart soared. He was starting to wonder where this guy had been all his life.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me your name.”

Dean threw his head back as a sharp, loud laugh burst through him.

The one day he forgot to wear his name tag. (He could hear Bobby’s ‘idjit’ ringing in his head.)

“It’s Dean.”

“Okay Dean, I’ll be out of town for a few days – to deliver the ring and reassure my mother that my brother was wrong, that her law school son is just looking for the right woman to settle down with.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “But when I get back I’d love to get burgers and see a movie or something?”

Dean’s smile could outshine the sun.

“Sounds awesome.”

*   *   *

A year later, they were all gathered in Dean’s garden celebrating Castiel’s graduation.

Since they met, Dean’s family had slowly started becoming Castiel’s too.

Now, Castiel was free from his biological family and was surrounded by his found family.

Dean was telling his Aunt Ellen the story of how they’d met but Castiel had zoned it out, focused only on looking at the beautiful man he got to call his.

“What a bitch!”

Castiel was drawn back into the conversation by Dean’s ‘cousin’ Jo’s outburst. Ah. They’re up to that point in the story.

Everyone in the group was looking at Castiel with sympathy and anger in their eyes.

Castiel shrugged.

“It’s fine. I used the family credit card to pay for the ring anyway. Plus I left with the most priceless item in that store anyway.”

The small crowd aww’d as Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Castiel in for a kiss.

This was my first fic since 2016 so please forgive if it’s a bit naff! I’m still re-finding my feet. 

If you’d like to be tagged any of my future stuff just drop me a message and let me know. :) 

[bryte-eyed-athena]

Nnedi Okorafor and Africanfuturism

Nnedi Okorafor is a multi-talented and highly awarded Nigerian American author. She writes for both children and adults and is best known for her novels. Nnedi also coined the term “Africanfuturism” which she defines as distinct to Afro-futurism. On her personal blog she writes that she felt the need to coin the term because she thought that Afrofuturism had various definitions that did not fully fit her oeuvre of work. She also thought that this term was being assigned to her incorrectly and she wanted to regain control over how others defined her.

As Nnedi writes, “Africanfuturism is a sub-category of science fiction.” She also introduces the term Africanjujuism as a subcategory of fantasy that “respectfully acknowledges the seamless blend of true existing African spiritualities and cosmologies with the imaginative.”

Africanfuturism is similar to Afro-futurism in the sense that they both center black experiences and themes of science fiction. However, it is different in the sense that it takes place outside of the western perspective. African culture, history, and mythology are all salient in Africanfuturism. It’s vision of the future is also more interested in tech and is much more optimistic since it is focused more on the endless possibilities of the future. Themes of “what could have been” are a major part of Afrofuturism since there is a sense of stolen culture and identity for many African American people. Africanfuturism on the other hand acknowledges and accepts “what has been” and is more concerned with actively envisioning and shaping a better future.

In this piece I want to analyze Nnedi Okorafor’s short story “Spider the Artist'' and the way Africanfuturism makes the story distinct.

[Spoilers below the cut]

illustrations from the Finnish translation “Spider the Artist" published in the sf mag Tähtivaeltaja.

The story takes place in an alternate Nigeria where the country is being continuously depleted of its resources and the people are suffering as a direct result. Already we know this is an Africanfuturist story since it is set in Africa and is informed by Nigerian politics and legends. In this story, huge oil pipelines divide the land and they are guarded by dangerous android spiders referred to as “zombies.” They violently attack anyone who even comes in contact with the pipes. Eme lives here with her abusive husband with only her guitar as solace for her soul.

One day, as she is depressed and throwing caution to the wind, she sits near one of the pipes in her backyard and plays her guitar. The music draws a zombie to her who listens as she plays, initially with fear. The zombie does not harm her and often comes back to hear her play guitar. It even weaves its own instrument and plays along with her. Eme decides to name the zombie Udide Okwanka which means “Spider the artist.” The name comes from a Nigerian legend about the Supreme Artist, Udide, who takes fragments of things and transforms them into something new. As they bond over their shared love of music, Eme’s home life gets moderately better since her husband no longer beats her as a result of listening to the sweet music.

This small peace is disrupted when an oil pipeline bursts near the elementary school. It is an opportunity for the community to gather free fuel, especially since the zombies had yet to show up to repair the pipe. Eme’s husband rushes out to tell her the news and that is when he discovers her with Udide. He views this as her fraternizing with the enemy and leaves in disgust. Eme fears that the pipeline burst is a trap and goes to warn her husband. Dozens of people have gathered by the fountain of fuel and are taking as much fuel as they can when the zombies arrive. Eme tries to find Udide among them and she notices that two zombies are about to emit a spark to ignite the fuel. Eme is the sole survivor of the fire because Udide shielded her inside its force field. The story ends with Eme contemplating how she, Udide and her unborn daughter are now caught in the middle of a war between humans and zombies, and their only hope is that the zombies never learn how to cross oceans.

Even though the story is short it is packed with multiple themes to analyze. Right off the bat the audience is presented with domestic abuse and corruption of the Nigerian government. Okorafor made it a point to establish that the current resource crisis is a direct result of the government selling their oil to the big fuel companies like Shell and Chevron. They are responsible for the depletion of the forests and the pollution of their waterways as well as the creation of the zombies. These companies needed some way to protect their precious pipes from the people that they had impoverished. As a result, they created killing machines because they valued property and profit over human life. The response to this was a revolutionary movement called the Niger Delta People’s Movement, of which Eme’s husband is a member. They cut through the pipes and steal fuel as well as protest even though the government and companies are openly killing them off. These conditions are probably what lead Andrew, Eme’s husband, to abuse her. Domestic abuse happens to many different kinds of people in many different scenarios. A lot of the time abusers do not need a reason to be abusive, but the stressful environment depicted here is certainly not helping to make things better. It is shown that domestic abuse rises during times of great strain and it seems like in this community it is just a fact of life since Eme is not the only woman going through this.

In this environment of exploitation, of the land and the people, there are also moments of human connection. Eme recalls memories of her father who was able to unite people with his guitar playing and distract them momentarily from their plight. He taught her how to play guitar and she eventually surpassed his skills. The sharing of music created a bond between father and daughter as well as a healing salve to the rest of the community. When Eme plays the guitar her father gave her she feels herself start to heal. It is also this guitar that connects her to the zombie she later names Udide. Zombies seem to be sentient and they hate humans, but Udide can’t help but to be drawn to the music Eme creates. While the rest of Nigeria is engulfed in a Humans vs. Technology conflict, Eme and Udide are able to connect with each other due to their love of music. Udide’s relationship to Eme reminds me of Eme’s relationship to her father since they both found solace in the guitar and they were both able to surpass the skills of the person who introduced them to music. Here, music is portrayed as an escape either from a hatred of humans or from a bleak and draining existence. Music has the power to both heal and unite.

I think that is why I don’t think the ending is a tragic one even though it is a dramatic one. Okorafor leaves things open ended, but she doesn’t remove the possibility of hope. Udide was able to break away from the hatred of humans that was programmed into them thanks to its sentience and I think this provides hope that the conflict between humans and zombies could end. The zombies eventually collectively broke away from the purpose they were programmed with and stopped protecting the pipelines. If the zombies and humans realized they were both being exploited they could turn their efforts against their common enemy; the companies and government. Music was the bridge that united Eme and Udide. It formed a protective bond between them which means that it has the capacity to do the same for all the other zombies and humans. They have the ability to tug at the heartstrings of humans and zombies the same way they pluck their guitar strings. Even in the darkest of times people can always stop and listen to the music.

[merakiaes]

Unexpected, But Loved All The Same - James Conrad

Pairing: James Conrad x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: #7 from the angst-list.

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so apologies in advance for any possible mistakes. I hope you like it, let me know what you think.  

Wordcount: 1783

Summary: James comes home from Skull Island and is greeted with a surprise he was not expecting. 

Getting a man like James Conrad to settle down was not an easy task. Many women had tried, and failed miserably.

He was simply not the kind of guy to settle down. He never thought about marriage, or having a family. The only thing on his mind was following in his father’s footsteps, to serve as a soldier whether it was in a war or in more private affairs.

He never really returned from the war, even after he resigned, and no one had been able to change his goals in life, until you came along.

Your first meeting took place in Malaysia, at a bar. You were there with your best friend on vacation, and he was there on a mission – one that had gone terribly wrong.

Your friend had run off with some guy she barely even knew, leaving you to drink your depression away all by yourself, and he was shaken up and regretful about the failed mission.

In short, you were both in dire need of a warm body to hold, and you ended up spending the entire night with each other. You were both heavily intoxicated, but that didn’t make it any less meaningful – for the both of you.

You didn’t think much about it back then. Not at all, actually, as you simply slipped out of his room when he was sleeping early the next morning and he went about his life like nothing had happened.

But then you ran into each other again. Once again, after your friend had left you alone for a man on what was supposed to be a girl’s trip, and James had come back from a job.

You ended up spending another night together, this time in your room, and much to your surprise, he was still there when you woke up, lying beside you flat on his back and staring into the ceiling.

You didn’t really know how it happened, but you just… stuck together, getting married, rather spontaneously, during a trip to Las Vegas and moving in together and settling down.

He put his old life behind him and you dropped your so-called best friend, finally realizing how badly she had neglected you and what a bad person she was when she tried moving in on James, who sternly turned her down and came right to you despite her pleas not to tell you.

You lived a pretty basic life. You worked as a nurse at the local hospital and James kept taking on fairly safe jobs every once in a while to make it all go around.

You didn’t like it, not one bit, but you couldn’t control him, and at the end of the day, you knew he could hold his own, and he was only gone short periods of time at a time, so you were never too worried.

He always returned to you when he said he would. All of the times but this one, that is.

He had been gone for a job in Saigon for four weeks now and he was supposed to come home tonight, but when you were standing in the kitchen preparing dinner for his homecoming, you got a call from him, telling you that he had been offered a lot of money to go on another mission and that he would be gone three more weeks.

You would’ve been okay with it any other time, but not now. Not when you had found out that you were pregnant the day before, which you were planning to tell him over dinner.

Now you were forced to wait for three entire weeks to tell him, and while you wouldn’t have been too worried in any other case, you were worrying for two now.

You were worried that something was going to go wrong and that your unborn son or daughter would never get to meet their father, and also that you were going to be forced to raise him or her on your own.

You had no living family left and neither did he. Without him, you would be all on your own, and now that you were controlled by pregnancy hormones, that thought literally never left your mind.

The only thing that momentarily took your mind off of it was to distract yourself by preparing for the baby’s arrival, even though you had seven months left until your due date.

So soon enough, your entire house was littered with baby stuff. Clothes, toys, blankets, diapers, pacifiers, everything you would be needing.

You did a decent job putting it all away so that the house didn’t look like a pigsty, and also because a part of you feared that James would spot something upon arriving back home and that it would give it up.

You wanted to tell him yourself, face to face.

What you didn’t think about, however, was that the crib you had assembled in your bedroom was still on full display, obviously, as you weren’t able to hide it.

You were completely oblivious to it, carelessly humming along to the music playing from the record player in the living room where you were sitting on the bedroom floor, folding baby clothes into a drawer you had cleared out to make room.

You were so distracted that you completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing, and the volume of the music entirely drowned out the sound of your name being called from the hallway, too.

Not until James was standing right in the doorway, asking you: “Are you having a party?”, did you finally notice him, jumping with a surprised yell leaving your lips and whipping your head around to face him.

Your eyes met his and he pushed himself off the doorframe at that, chuckling in amusement as he approached you. 

“Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said, and you quickly scrambled to your feet, your foot discretely kicking the rest of the unfolded baby clothes under the drawer.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” You said and, again, he chuckled.

“Clearly.” He replied, finally reaching you and wasting no time in taking you into his arms. “Hi.” He mumbled as he looked down at you, and you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing your face close to his.

“Hi.” You whispered back, the two of you leaning in to kiss.

Before you could meet each other in the middle, however, he stopped himself, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something different about you.” He pointed out, and your heart instantly dropped in your chest, your mouth turning dry.

“Is there?” You asked, forcing yourself to smile and not make it too obvious that you were lying.

He hummed in return, inspecting your face. “Did you get a haircut?” He asked, and you wasted no time in nodding.

“I did, yeah.” You confirmed, the words slipping out easily as it was, in fact, the truth.

His lips pulled into a smile again at that. “Ah, well, that’s probably it, then.” He agreed, and moved in to kiss you again.

This time, you successfully met each other in the middle, your lips pressing together, and you smiled into it, your eyes fluttering shut.

James was about to close his eyes, as well, but just as they were shutting, he spotted something behind you; something that made him pull away quicker than you’d ever seen him move before.

You let out a small sound of surprise at the sudden movement, and your eyes opened wide when you saw his eyes, sparkling with disbelief, knowing already what they were looking at.

"There's a... crib." He struggled to get out, and you nodded, pulling a hand over your face.

"Yeah." You sighed, slowly stepping up to his side to watch it with him.

He took a moment to collect himself, his arms crossing over his chest and his hand moving up to his face, where he pulled it over his mouth and chin, taking a deep breath before asking, “How far along are you?”

You swallowed, averting your gaze as his eyes met yours for a brief moment. “Two months.” You replied quietly, and your words caused him to draw in another breath.

“So either you got together with someone else right after I left, or you-“

“James.” You quickly interrupted him with a glare, looking back up at him. “The baby. It’s yours.” You told him sternly and clearly, and watched as his head nodded and his jaw tensed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, and this time it was your turn to sigh.

“It didn’t seem like appropriate news to deliver over the phone.” You confessed. “And I didn’t want you to be distracted, because I know you would be.”

He pulled his hand over his mouth again, having to take another moment.

“Are you keeping it?” He asked after a moment of silence, and at that, you could only scoff and cross your arms over your chest, a glare once again rising to your face.

“Well, obviously.” You deadpanned, and his face instantly fell, his eyes becoming regretful.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.” You quickly answered, and he shook his head softly.

“No, I promise you, I didn’t.” He repeated, slowly stepping up to you and gingerly taking your upper arms in his hands.

You glanced down at his hands, your face softening as you looked back up at him. “So you’re not mad?” You mumbled, and again, he shook his head, his lips pulling into a gentle smile.

“No, this just wasn’t what I was expecting to be greeted with when coming back home. I’m a bit surprised, is all.” He told you.

“Are you sure that’s all?” You asked back, still doubtful, and he gave you a nod.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

This time, you took his word for it, lowering your gaze and slowly beginning to calm down, especially so when he brought his hand up to your face to catch your chin between his fingers and make you look at him again.

“I love you.” He told you sincerely, keeping one hand on your cheek and moving the other down to your stomach. “And I’m going to love him, too.”

At the sound of his words, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Him?” You asked, the corners of your lips twitching upward.

But he said nothing else, simply connecting his lips to yours and pulling you close, showing you that he had, truly, meant what he said.

All of it might have been unexpected, but you knew that the life you had created together would be loved all the same despite it.

(If you want to be tagged for James Conrad stories, let me know in a comment, ask or private message)

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part III

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful. 

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Did you forget about this series? I wouldn’t blame ya LOL Please drop a comment if you’d like to be part of the tag list! 😚 

PART I  || PART II 

PART III of X

Translations + Transliteration детская сестра/detskaya sestra - Baby sister

Count: 2528

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“You should eat.”

Wanda ignores you as she sits on the couch, looking at the wall. She knows she looks thin, Natasha often points it out along with her dark circles that have seemed to find a permanent home underneath her eyes. Your words seem to pass right through Wanda as she never acknowledges what you say. Even though she wants you to know she doesn’t want you here, she stays silent.

“Your body will become weak from the lack of nutrients, and if you grow weak, I doubt you’ll have the energy to tell me—”

“Stop!” Wanda angrily yells. It’s the most life she’s shown in the weeks.

You’re caught mid-sentence as you sit still next to her, biting your lip.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” you finally say, and Wanda has to screw her eyes shut.

Because she knows that you didn’t mean to. 

This ugly feeling that festers within her and poor behavior was something she would’ve never shown a year ago. 

But a year ago, everything was different.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Alone again, huh?”

Wanda looks up to see Pietro leaning against the tree as he peers over to her. Her fork stops mid-air to her mouth as she looks back at him.

“I’m not alone,” she grins, “you’re here.”

Pietro just laughs as he takes a seat next to her, stealing some of her food.

“Hey!” Wanda pouts but doesn’t stop her brother.

“You know everyone was scared of you at first, right?” Pietro says while chewing.

Wanda merely shrugs.

“I don’t mind.”

“You should, it can get pretty lonely,” Pietro leans back against the tree bark, absently thinking about how it scratches lightly against his back.

“It’s not lonely. I have you,” Wanda repeats, but Pietro just laughs and shakes his head. He turns to his younger twin, ruffling her hair while she scowls.

“I want you to surrounded by people, детская сестра,” Pietro tells her, and he can feel Wanda tense at the thought of having to go and meet people. “I’ll bring people to you, we can share our circle of friends.”

Wanda relaxes her shoulders and smiles at Pietro before going back to eat her food, but her brother pulls her cheek while she whines.

“We will always be family, so don’t ever say no to anyone’s kindness for me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Such a stupid memory.

But nonetheless, Wanda felt the burn.

“What do you want to know?” Wanda sighs, and you lick your lips. You pause momentarily because you’re not expecting it, but you resume getting the glass of water for Wanda. 

The floor feels cold as you slide your feet across the wooden tiles, absently feeling the dents and bumps that occasionally come across.

“Why do you want to die?”

The question comes abruptly, making Wanda tense. You hadn’t said a thing about that night until now, and Wanda doesn’t bring up why she was about to jump off the bridge.

But Wanda forces her shoulders to lower as you hand her the glass, Wanda looked over to the empty seat, and you take the gesture and sit down next to her.

The glass is cold, Wanda notices. It has ice in it just the way she likes, and she sighs.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was a celebratory party, might be one of the happiest nights of Wanda’s life. She had sold her first painting for twenty grand.

Everyone was gathered at her home.

Well, the people who mattered.

Pietro, Natasha, Steve, and Clint.

Everyone was pouring her drinks and clinking glasses with her. 

Wanda had worked so hard, holed up in her room slaving over her work of art, she didn’t even have time to see Pietro. 

So, it was nice to finally get to see everyone again. The night was coming to an end, and everyone left, leaving just the two siblings.

“Let’s go to the bridge,” Wanda says suddenly.

Pietro opens his tired but happy eyes.

“What? No way, it’s so late,” he says even though he grins.

“C’mon,” Wanda whines, “It’s been forever since we’ve been there. It’s basically tradition go there whenever anything happens.”

“Ugh, but I’m so tired,” Pietro whines back at her, slouching more into the couch. Wanda pushes him, and he laughs.

“Alright, alright, let’s go, детская сестра,” Pietro pulls himself up, stretching and groaning as he did. He grabs his leather jacket and winks at her.

The drive always feels a little far, but Wanda never minds because she uses the time to catch up with what’s been going on in Pietro’s life. 

To think her spunky brother grew up and went into marketing. Though, she supposed it fit him.

Pietro was telling her something about work. It was mundane but so exciting to him, and he was rambling. 

They’re crossing an intersection, and suddenly everything is spinning, and glass is shattering. She barely registers an arm over her, protecting her head.

Everything hurts.

She feels a hot liquid dripping down the side of her head. She barely opens her eyes to see everything is upside down, and there’s smoke. 

Then everything is black. 

When she wakes up, she’s in a hospital room, all patched up. The color of the white walls and blinding lights hurt her eyes. 

Natasha and Steve are beside her. Natasha, who never cries, is crying, and Steve can’t even look her in the eyes while his eyes are bloodshot.

And she learns that Pietro died before the ambulance arrived.

But all she can feel is the ghost of his hand protecting her head.

That’s where everything ended.

Wanda locks herself in her room, gripping Pietro’s jacket because that’s all she has left.

Clint helps take care of the funeral because Wanda can’t seem to get it together. 

There’s a repeating thought about how does everything end in one moment? One split second, and her whole crumbles underneath her feet, and she didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“Wanda, please, come out!” Steve shouts through the door, banging on it to try to get her to come out until Natasha touches his shoulder. He turns around to see that her eyes are still red, and he clenches his jaw. 

The two of them turn their back to the door, sliding to the ground, crying for Wanda on the other side.

“I’m sorry, Wanda,” Natasha says to the silence.

Wanda clenches her jaw because they don’t understand.

They don’t know how she begged and bothered Pietro to take her to the bridge.

If only she hadn’t asked.

If she hadn’t asked, then they wouldn’t have been out there. 

Pietro wouldn’t have been too tired to notice he was running a red light, and their car wouldn’t have been hit by a truck. 

And she wouldn’t be here, clutching his leather jacket and crying.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda stares at the ceiling, bitterly recalling the day everything changed for her. She’s gripping her glass of water so hard, her knuckles are turning white. You bite your lip because the tears won’t stop falling. 

You can’t think of anything to say except what you’re sure everyone else has already said to Wanda.

“It wasn’t your fau--”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Wanda cuts in, her grip tightening even more.

“Do you blame yourself?” You ask instead.

“Of course,” Wanda sneers, “if I hadn’t made him go, he’d...”

Wanda can’t even say it out loud.

“You can’t make Pietro do anything,” you say before adding, “from what it sounds like.”

Natasha and Steve spend time describing Pietro to you while avoiding why Wanda is cannot move on.

Wanda bites her tongue, but the grip on her glass stays in a vice.

“If Pietro was truly too tired to take you, then he should’ve stood his ground--”

And suddenly, Wanda stands and throws the glass cup across the room, shattering it against the wall as the tiny pieces fall to the ground, water staining the rug underneath. 

“Are you trying to say it’s his fault?!” She screams at you half in disbelief and half in anger.

“No,” you say after a moment of silence. “I want you to see that there’s no point in blaming yourself.”

“Why? Because you think my brother does whatever it wants without listening to others?” Wanda jeers, her eyes glaring at you.

“If you want to put it so simply, then sure,” you shrug as you stand to face her. 

“What would you know about him?” She scoffs. 

“Perhaps nothing,” you nod your head at her, “but here’s the harsh truth: you are alive.”

Tears immediately spring to Wanda’s eyes because she’s painfully aware of the fact that she’s alive, and Pietro is not.

“If you want to blame yourself, fine,” you relent, “but figure out how to forgive yourself and move on.”

“Fuck you!” Wanda screams at you. Your words are cutting, and Wanda doesn’t understand you at all. She chokes on a sob, and your face softens. You can see how the guilt is eating Wanda alive, and you pull her into your arms.

She’s fighting you immediately, pushing and struggling, but you hold on.

“Let go!”

Wanda is confused as to why you don’t listen. She doesn’t understand how your arms are so warm and the compassion you manage to convey.

“Stop!”

She doesn’t want this.

She doesn’t want forgiveness or compassion. She wants to be punished.

Wanda hisses, pushing more against you, fighting against the hug.

“If you can’t forgive yourself yet, then that’s okay too. But please stop hurting alone.”

Wanda’s crying and fisting your shirt. For a moment, you’re unsure if she’s going to rip your shirt and claw at your back to let go, but then you feel her hot tears soak your shoulders. Her palm spreads against your back, and she’s limp in your arms, shuddering when you tighten your embrace.

“Let me be here too,” you whisper in her ear.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Sorry about the glass.”

You hear the small apology as you’re picking up the pieces of glasses on the floor. You’re going to need to find a sweep. 

You turn to her and smile, “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Wanda watches from the couch, voicing a soft, “No.”

A part of her feels embarrassed for falling apart in your arms, but you don’t seem to think anything of it. 

She watches as you pause while cleaning.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asks, mildly concerned.

You don’t turn around immediately, but then you clear your throat and stand up with your hands casually in your pocket.

“Yeah, I just realize it’s probably better if I just sweep up the glass. You’ve got a broom in your kitchen closet, right? I’ll be right back.”

When you leave the room, Wanda gets up and walks over to the mess she’s made and sees just a tiny drop of blood on one of the broken pieces.

You were clearly hurt, so why would you lie about it to her? It’s normal for friends and family to lie about such things, but a stranger?

She stares at the broken glass piece, stained with your wound.

And something stirs within Wanda’s chest, uncomfortable and tight. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“This is really unnecessary.”

The two of you sit together at her dining table, with her at the head and you right next to her. You’ve reheated the food, the various dishes spread around as you stare at her.

“We can’t leave this table until you eat,” you say with no inflection in your voice.

“That seems rather forceful,” Wanda grumbles.

“It wouldn’t be if you just ate. C’mon, I had to go to four different groceries to get the stuff to make that dish,” you pout a little, and Wanda looks over to you.

She looks at your poorly bandaged hand and thought to earlier about how you merely waved her off, saying you nicked yourself cooking.

Another lie. 

And the familiar feeling of tightness in her chest comes with a new sense of gratitude.

The feeling is entirely small, but it’s still there.

Wanda glances at you and moves to scoop some food onto her spoon. The metal clanks clumsily against her teeth, the metal sliding against her tongue as she gets the initial taste of the food. It’s almost hard to swallow because there’s a warmth within her stomach, hitting her in the back of the throat. 

You smile, watching Wanda eat, repeated motions of scooping food on her spoon and putting it in her mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, looking at your own bowl.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You’re sitting on the couch, watching some TV show, and eating candy when Wanda appears with a First Aid kit.

“Did you disinfect it?” She asks as she sits down, pointing to your cut.

You look at your hand.

“Mm…I ran it under the water?” You tilt your head.

You hear Wanda huff a little, and you almost smile.

“Let me see it,” She huffs.

“It’s okay, reall—”

“Give. Me. Your. Hand.”

You pause momentarily before you offer the wounded appendage.

The cut is deep.

She carefully unwraps the bandage, frowning when she sees the cut. She opens the kit and grabs a Q-Tip and the disinfectant.

The first initial touch has you hissing and curling your fingers a little. Wanda doesn’t say anything and blows lightly. When she’s satisfied with her work, she starts to re-bandage it.

“What if you got tetanus? See how much time you wasted lying you weren’t hurt?” Wanda says, tone almost as if she were scolding you.

You laugh, “Well, I wouldn’t call it a waste. If I somehow got tetanus from glass, I’ll certainly have experienced something new.”

The words make Wanda’s jaw clench, the words ringing in her ears.

“Nothing is a waste of your time, Wanda. If anything, at least you’ve experienced something new.”

She finishes wrapping the bandage cleanly, clearly much better than you.

Wanda looks at you as you’re watching the TV again, not even aware how your words always seem to painfully ring in her ears.

“Nothing is a waste of your time, Wanda. If anything, at least you’ve experienced something new.”

It’s still a waste, isn’t it?

Why does she even need to experience something new?

You seem to notice Wanda staring and turn your head to her. Even though she’s been blatantly caught staring, Wanda doesn’t care. She watches your eyes travel down at the bag of candy you’re eating, making a momentary pout before offering her some. 

More stupid things that Pietro has said like, “You’re only you, and I’m only me. I’ll always be here for you, so don’t ever think twice about asking for help,” and “We will always be family, so don’t ever say no to anyone’s kindness for me.”

She thinks back to the funeral, where she was couched over her twin brother’s still body, crying and begging for help. Fingers digging into her own palm, ears ringing, and breath shaking, she asks you, “Why me? Why are you doing this?”

Still offering your candy, you tilt your head at Wanda.

“My kindness is the only thing I have to offer, so why not you?”

PART IV