#I’ve never drawn a swan sleeping before… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frankiekatt · 3 years ago

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1-800-Miss-Ur-Guts

Characters: Dabi / Touya Todoroki

Notes: Loosely based off the song ‘1-800-miss-ur-guts’ by the Tramp Stamps! This is the first fic I’ve ever shared and I’m so excited to share it with you guys! Dabi is one of the loves of my life so I hope you all enjoy <3

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and emotional manipulation. Umm I think that’s it but if I missed anything please let me know!

Words: 10k

Synopsis: She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted. After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.

The air was stale and warm when Dabi first opened his eyes. It was dark, the room unfamiliar and the bed was uncomfortably hot and cramped due to the naked body that was sprawled out beside him.

Never like how mornings were with you.

With a deep groan, Dabi sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. 1:36pm.

He had slept way too fucking late.

Rising slowly from the bed so as not to wake the sleeping blonde beside him, Dabi began to slip his jeans and tattered t-shirt back onto his body despite the pain in his head flashing hard and hot. Once dressed, he quickly walked to the bathroom and softly closed the door behind him. Cobalt eyes stared back at him in the mirror, tired and spent. His black hair was messy, sticking out in all directions, and the skin underneath his eyes were stained purple and black from stress and from the alcohol he consumed the night before. There was a large, dark bruise on the side of his neck from where – Misa? Mila? – had sucked on the night before. Dabi Todoroki looked like a fucking disaster.

Looking away from his disheveled appearance, Dabi turned on the cold tap water and splashed his face in an attempt to soothe his gnarly headache. It works in just the slightest, as the cool water felt revivifying on his inked skin. Grabbing a small hand towel from underneath the hotel’s sink, Dabi wiped his face gingerly until all the water droplets were gone.

He needed to leave soon. To get ready. To see you.

“Hey, you alright in there?” a high-pitched voice asked from the other side of the bathroom door.

Shit. Dabi really did not feel like conversing with last night’s drunken hook-up. He could barely remember what she said to catch his attention in the small, dingy bar he frequented almost each night, or how they ended up in the equally small and dingy hotel where they had sloppy, unsatisfying sex. Dabi couldn’t even remember her name, and he didn’t exactly care.

Clearing his throat, Dabi grunted out a loud, “Yeah. M’fine.” Smoothing his hair back and glancing at himself in the mirror one last time, he reached for the door knob and pulled open the door.

He was greeted by the blonde women who wore a lopsided smile. She had thrown on her black cotton panties that seemed to be a size too small and the light pink tank top he vaguely remembered her wearing last night, minus a bra. Her short, blonde hair was stuck to the sides of her neck with sweat, reminding him just how utterly different she was from you. Your hair was longer, always brushed and either elegantly falling down your back or neatly put up.

“Mornin’, handsome,” she purred.

“Morning.”

“I was thinkin’ maybe you and I could go down the street, grab a coffee together, maybe beat this hangover,” she crooned, reaching out to run her fingers down Dabi’s chest.

Stepping to the side to avoid her touch, Dabi grabbed his black hoodie jacket off the floor and slipped it on.

“Nah, can’t. I have a thing today.”

The blonde’s face fell slightly before she covered it up with a sneer. “Thing? What kind of thing?”

With his back still turned to her as he slipped on his black sneakers, Dabi rolled his eyes. He had neither the time nor patience for this. “Uh,” he started, “a concert thing.”

The blonde girl hummed in excitement. “That’s cool! Maybe I could go with you and we could-”

“No,” Dabi snapped, “it’s not that kind of concert. Listen, I really need to get home, so, uh, see you around,” and with that, Dabi walked out of the room, leaving the nameless blonde women alone.

* * *

It was just after 2 o’clock by the time Dabi arrived at his apartment. He hurriedly walked up the steps to the second floor, dug his keys out of his pocket, and walked into his small living room. Everything was the same as he had left it the night before; empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, a couple articles of clothing strewn across the room, and all of the thick curtains closed over the large glass windows that looked out over the city. It was dark. And lonely.

Just like it had been since you left this apartment. Left him.

You and Dabi had officially met in your last year of high school. It was by accident really, but Dabi has always thanked the God that he didn’t believe in for putting you both in the same place at the same time.

There was a spot behind the stage in the school’s auditorium where Dabi liked to go during lunch period to smoke. ‘The Spot’ was a small corner in the postscenium behind stage, which was usually hidden behind old props and costume racks. It was cozy and secluded, and was Dabi’s favorite place to be at school. His secret spot.

That was until you found it.

It was a Thursday when you had stumbled upon Dabi hiding behind some of the props that were going to be used in this year’s production of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ When you caught him, he had the hood of his jacket pulled over the top of his head and a joint between his lips.

The sight of him had startled you a bit, because you thought you were alone. The auditorium was usually vacant during lunch period, which you thought would be the perfect time to practice the several short ballads you would be performing on your violin with the rest of the school’s orchestra on the opening night of the play.

“Oh my god,” you shrieked and stumbled backwards. Dabi’s head snapped up to survey your face, cobalt eyes wide, pupils expanded. “You scared the shit out of me,” you breathed softly, pressing two dainty hands over your racing heart.

Dabi blinked up at you with a blank expression before lowering the joint to his side and clearing his throat. “Sorry. No one usually comes back here this time of day.”

You recognized this boy. You both had English 6th period, but have never spoken to each other. He always sat at the very back and never raised his hand. Never participated in group projects. Never did anything, really.

“Yeah, um, I just came to practice a few pieces for the play. I needed to get a music rack,” you nodded toward the black iron stand perched to Dabi’s left, right behind a small, emerald green swan fainting sofa used for the production of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ two years ago.

“Ah. You in the orchestra?”

“Um, yeah, actually! First violin.”

Dabi didn’t know what “first violin” meant, but he kind of liked the way your face lit up when you said it. He hurriedly pushed himself off the floor and grabbed the music stand which was surprisingly light. “Here,” he offered.

You went to grab it, careful to avoid touching his hand, and let out a soft ‘thank you’ before walking out from backstage to the orchestra pit. Dabi watched your retreating form and silently hoped you wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing in there. He was already in enough trouble for skipping class so often, and didn’t need any more drawn-out lectures from his parents or more days added to his weekend detentions. Settling back down on the floor, he set the joint back in between his lips and dug his phone and earbuds out of his pocket. He had about 12 minutes left before he would be forced to go back to class. The moment he decided on a song to listen to, however, he was interrupted by the sound of a violin.

He wasn’t sure if he liked the sound at first. It was shrill and loud and unexpected. Then, the sound began to melt into a beautiful melody and the shrillness soon became a rich and elegant sound that danced in Dabi’s ears.

Now intrigued, Dabi screwed the end of his joint into the floor and tossed it into a nearby trash bin before he pushed himself off the floor and walked out from behind the stage, where he was was met by the sight of you, softly moving your bow up and down the strings of your violin. You were standing despite the fact that there was a chair planted behind you, and your head was moving slightly from side to side in tune to the soft melody. Dabi thought the sight of you was beautiful and alluring. He had seen you in class before and walked past you in the hallways, but he had never actually known you, never actually saw you quite this way.

Sweet. Elegant. Pretty. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember your name though.

The song you were playing was coming to an end, as was lunch period and Dabi wished he had just a little more time to listen to you play. To watch you play. But then the bell rang, and it was time for you both to head to class.

You lowered your violin from your neck to begin putting the instrument and sheet music away, when the boy with the ripped jeans and messy black hair caught your eye from up on the stage. He met your eyes, but said nothing, and neither did you. You weren’t sure what you should say or if you should even say anything. You had never spoken to this boy before, and now he had just listened to you play music and was currently staring at you.

“I liked that,” Dabi blurted, shattering the silence.

“Um thanks. It’s for the play tomorrow night.” You shifted from one foot to the other under Dabi’s fierce gaze and hoped that the darkness of the theater was hiding the faint blush that was scattered across your cheeks. Dabi Todoroki had just complimented you. And it felt nice.

You stared at each other for a bit longer before you finally broke your gaze and picked up your violin case. “I should probably head to class. Ms. Hatsu hates tardiness,” you said shyly.

Dabi cracked a small smile, which you found quite lovely. “Sure. I’ll see you in 6th period then.”

And he did see you in 6th period. Dabi had never paid much attention to his classmates before, but today was different. Today he wanted to see you sitting in the third seat in the second row. Four desks away from him. ‘Four desks too many,’ he thought. But as if the gods were listening to Dabi’s thoughts, Dabi’s literature teacher announced that today the class would be doing partner work. And without a second thought to consider his actions, Dabi rose from his seat and made his way over to you.

You were never fond of partner work. You preferred to keep to yourself, work alone, and avoid conversing with most people. You were shy in nature, so every announcement of partner work in any class was slightly stressful to you. Finding a partner was usually more work than it was worth. Today, however, there was no need to go search for a partner to work with. Someone had already chosen you, and was pulling up a chair to your desk.

“So,” Dabi drawled smoothly as he plopped down in his seat. “Where do you wanna start.”

“S-start?” This boy who you had only met 20 minutes ago, only exchanged a few words with, wanted to be your partner?

“Yeah. You wanna start with The Iliad or The Odyssey?” He pulled out a few slightly crumpled pages of notes from his school bag before meeting your eyes and raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

“Oh, um...let’s start with The Iliad.”

The rest of the hour was spent conversing with Dabi on how each ‘hero’ of the Trojan War was really just a villain, and through this conversation, you realized several things about Dabi. Firstly, he was funny. He cracked a few jokes here and there, which made you genuinely laugh with ease. It was a nice feeling for the both of you, how easily he could make you laugh. Secondly, he was smart. He was articulate and insightful, though you sensed he was just a lazy person when it came to school work. And lastly, you were pretty sure you were now crushing hard on Dabi Todoroki. His aloof personality you and the rest of the school had always been privy to seemed to be totally foreign as he dazzled with humor and charm in front of you.

And Dabi had finally learned your name. Y/N. He thought it was pretty.

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and Dabi slid away from your desk. “One more class of the day,” he sighed as he grabbed his bag off the floor. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled at him. You really hoped you would.

Dabi stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. It was 3:47pm. He had just over an hour until your recital began.

He swiped a hand over the foggy mirror and peered at himself once more. The skin beneath his eyes were still dark, but he looked a little more alive now that he had showered. He was nervous. There was a sharp pain in his lower stomach and Dabi didn’t know if it was from the anxiety, he felt knowing he would see your face tonight, or if it was from his hangover. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was just because he was scared. Scared to see you. Scared to talk to you. Scared that as soon as you spotted him in the crowd, you would dedicate the night to avoiding him and he wouldn't get to speak to you at all.

He really hoped he would get to talk to you. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long. It had been just over half a year since you two had gotten in that tense argument that had ultimately ended your relationship. In reality, your relationship had been over weeks before the fight, but neither of you were brave enough to admit it. Dabi, because he loved you and couldn't imagine living a life without you. You, because life with Dabi had become so natural that the thought of leaving terrified you. What if you regretted it? What if your life becomes directionless without him? You had spent nearly a year and a half of your life with him. He was your first love. First kiss. First everything since the opening night of your senior year high school play.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream was your favorite play. Shakespeare, in your opinion, was quite wordy, but you greatly admired the several love stories and humor weaved throughout the play, and tonight you would be a part of the orchestra playing for this production. You were beyond ecstatic to perform.

The first half of the play went smoothly, and you were filled with adrenaline. Something about playing your violin for a crowd of people filled you with your body with a euphoric feeling. Your chest was full, blood was rushing through your veins and your heart was pounding with pure excitement. This feeling was only magnified once you spotted a certain raven-haired boy sitting in the audience in the front row. The 30-minute intermission had just begun and Dabi Todoroki was making his way over to you as you gingerly tucked your instrument back into its case.

“Hey. You sound pretty awesome out there,” he praised.

“T-thanks,” you blushed. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight”

Dabi scratched the back of his head and looked away from you. “Yeah, well, I heard there was bestiality in this thing and I wanted to check it out.” That forced a small giggle out of you. Dabi liked that sound a lot. “Anyway, I, uh, wanted to ask you if you were thirsty. There’s a concession stand out in the hallway. Figured you and I could get a drink, maybe sit outside until the next part of the play starts?”

Your heartbeat began to quicken. Was he flirting with you? Surely not. Surely, he was just being friendly to you. Right?

“Yeah, sure! I’d love that actually.”

Dabi grinned at you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

The air was frigid and you had, unfortunately, worn a short sleeved black dress to opening night in an attempt to blend in with the darkness of the auditorium. When the chattering of your teeth became audible and your shivering was too severe to ignore, Dabi quickly slipped his jacket onto your shoulders. It smelled like nicotine and pine wood. Just like him.

“Thank you,” you lilted, and Dabi just hummed in response. “So, why did you really come tonight?” Dabi eyed you from his spot beside you as you both sat on the large brick steps in front of the school building. “You didn’t seem too interested in Homer the other day in class, so why would you want to see a Shakespearian play?”

Dabi clicked his tongue and averted his gaze. Why did he come tonight? “I dunno,” he started. “I guess I just wanted to see you again. Outside of school. And... I like the way you play your violin. It's… relaxing.”

Your face was burning at 100 degrees. You were sure of it. “Y-you wanted to see me? Why”

“Look, I just think you’re pretty, alright. And I like talking to you and shit.”

He thought you were what? He liked doing what? “I like talking to you too,” you breathed softly. You hadn’t meant to say it. You were embarrassed enough as it was, and the slip of your tongue only made the already high temperature of your cheeks rise.

Dabi turned to look at you then. He thought you looked ethereal in that moment. Wide eyes staring back at him, expectantly. Legs dressed in tight black pantyhose crossed and angled toward him. A bright pink blush dusting your cheeks. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.

So, he did.

He jerked forward and caught your lips by surprise, which forced you to emit a small noise from your throat. His lips were cold and smooth and unfamiliar and he tasted like smoke and mint flavored gum. His lips moved fervently, as if they were on a mission to prove something, until you moved your finger into his inky hair and pressed his face closer to yours. His lips slowed at that moment, and his movements became gentler. He wanted to tell you he liked you. He wanted to ask you out on a date. He wanted to take you to the movies or to dinner or to just drive you around in his car and talk to you. He wanted to touch you everywhere. Your face. Your chest. Your legs, your ass, your cunt. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body with his fingertips.

It was you who broke the kiss. The combination of Dabi’s lips against yours and the freezing air was making it difficult for you to breathe. You rested your forehead against Dabi’s and chuckled.

“Something funny?” he grunted and pulled away from you.

“No, no, not at all. I just never imagined that Dabi Todoroki would be kissing while we freeze our asses off.”

Dabi scoffed at that. “Yeah, well, it happened.” He leaned forward until his face was inches from yours. “And we should do it again. Tomorrow sound good?”

“Y-yeah! Tomorrow is perfect.”

Dabi’s cobalt blue eyes looked like they were glowing. You wanted to look at them longer. You wanted to watch as his eyes got closer and closer until they closed and exchanged themselves for his lips against yours. But your thirty minutes were almost up. The orchestra pit was waiting for you.

“I should get back inside. The second act is starting in a couple minutes.” You stood up then, wrapping Dabi’s jacket tightly around yourself

Dabi got to his feet alongside you and held out his hand, which you took. He led you back inside, back into the warmth, and into the auditorium where the crowd was ushering back to their seats. Dabi whispered a little ‘good luck,’ in your ear before taking his seat in the front row.

Although the orchestra pit was extremely warm due to the building’s heater, stage lights, and the amount of people that were crammed into the little space side by side, you couldn’t bring yourself to shed Dabi’s jacket until late that night when you were getting ready for bed. And even then, you used the soft red fabric as a pillow so you could keep his smell close to your heart.

Dabi was wearing a black suit. He hadn’t dressed up in months, so the stiff material felt completely alien on his skin. His jet-black vest was slightly wrinkled due to being stuffed in the back of his closet for months on end and his ‘dress shoes’ were really just his cleanest pair of black boots. Dabi had no doubt that he would look ratty and out of place among the well-dressed attendees at your orchestra’s recital this evening, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was used to looking like a second-rate citizen next to you anyway. You had always cared about your appearance to the next level; every article of clothing you owned was always ironed, every shoe polished, every piece of jewelry was sparkling - a complete contrast to Dabi. That was one of the things Dabi loved most about you - you had your shit together and it was always physically obvious. You were organized, driven, ambitious, clean. Everything that Dabi was not.

It was 4:23pm. Dabi had 37 minutes until the recital started, and he still needed a tie to wear. Dabi had only ever owned one tie in his entire life, and it was a tie made of deep red silk. You had told Dabi a couple days after he asked you to go with him to your senior prom that red was your favorite color on him, so he had decided to buy a red tie for your special night out.

The tie was placed in the very back of his sock drawer and was the only piece of cloth that was folded neatly. Dabi was hesitant to pull it out of the drawer. He had only ever worn it that one night. That one night where the only thing in his eyes, his nose, his head, was you. That one night where he dressed in a black fitting suit, dawning the red, silky tie you had picked out for him the week before. That one night where he felt like someone had punched him in the fucking stomach because breathing became an immense effort after you shyly walked out of your front door, dressed in a long, red satin dress, your mom following close behind with a big, flashy camera. That one night when you told him you loved him after your first dance in the decked-out school gymnasium. That one night where he convinced you to leave the school after half an hour so he could fuck you in his car. That one night where he convinced you to swallow those little blue pills he was always shoving down his throat. That one night where he whispered a barely audible ‘I love you’ into your hair as you dozed off in the passenger seat of his car, high out of your mind. Looking back, Dabi could see that, for you, prom night was the beginning of the end. Drugs and rough sex were things you just weren’t quite ready for. Prom night for him, however, was just the beginning of your relationship. He couldn't understand that the things he would do often, oxy, car sex, ditching school events, weren’t for you. In his own mind, Dabi was convinced he was showing you how to have fun. The 20 minutes he spent fucking you into the back seat of his black Camaro were heaven. You were warm and wet and your arms clinged to him as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat and he loved it. And for the next few months following that night, you thought you did too.

It was a 20-minute walk from Dabi’s downtown small apartment to The Bleu Theater. It would’ve been a measly 5-minute drive, if Dabi still had his Camaro. Dabi thinks maybe you would still be by his side if he had his Camaro.

Dabi was royally fucked. He had promised you right when he dropped you off at Micaretta College for your first orchestra rehearsal that he would only be out for a few hours with his brother, Natsuo. He promised he wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t smoke, wouldn’t do any type of narcotic today while he was driving himself around. He was lying, of course, but he thought he would be able to handle himself. He thought he was ‘perfectly fine, Natsuo, let it the hell go,’ after downing a shot of tequila or five. He thought his high was nothing serious, despite the fact that he swallowed 3 oxys when he and Natsuo parted ways outside of the bar.

But he was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

The silence on the other end of the phone as he made his one phone call to you, mumbling that he was in a holding cell for crashing his Camaro into a government postal box because he was drunk and high and he needed to pick you up, made him nervous. He knew you would be upset - maybe sad, worried, angry - but your silence was conveying another emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.

“Okay,” you said blankly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You showed up to the Tokyo police station ten minutes after your phone call just like you said you would - dressed in the same black and grey mini dress you were wearing this morning when he dropped you off. He had watched you dress yourself in the bedroom you two shared in your small but cozy apartment this morning from the queen-sized bed. Watching you with tired, lazy eyes, Dabi thought you looked so fucking cute. Your hair was still pulled up in a half-hearted pony-tail from when you washed your face minutes before, and your small, dainty hands were fiddling with the metal zipper on the back of your dress. He had cheekily told you ‘you're wasting your time zipping that up, princess. I’m just gonna rip it open when you get home tonight.’

Your cheeks had been coated with a light blush at that, and you let out a small giggle, glancing at him from the mirror with a shy smile on your face.

You had looked so happy this morning. Your smile was dazzling, eyes bright and lively.

You looked like the complete opposite now. A mere twelve hours later Dabi had managed to wipe that smile from your face, replacing it with a straight, thin line. The sparkle had been washed from your doe eyes, where only a blank, empty look now held its place.

He had really fucked up.

Signatures, paperwork, and a large down payment for the fine Dabi now had to pay took almost half an hour to complete before Dabi was allowed to walk free and was given a form that he was told to keep for his court date in 14 days. And then it was time to go home.

The 20-minute walk it took to get from the police department to your home was quiet and tense. You hadn’t spoken a word and Dabi hadn’t either. He was afraid of what you would say if he tried to speak to you. Would you yell at him? Would you cry? Tell him he was a failure, a fuck-up, that he wasn’t just ruining his own life, but yours too?

He already knew all of these things. His father reminded him every chance he got. He had barely managed to graduate high school, he never enrolled in college like you had, he was unemployed, paying his half of the rent with a monthly allowance he received along with the rest of his siblings from his grandmother. Each day was spent drinking, downing pills, inhaling blow, infiltrating his skin with needles, waiting for you to get home from school so he could kiss you, touch you, love you, and pretend he had a normal life - a normal, healthy relationship.

Just like you were.

“Guess we’re gonna have to use Uber from now on,” Dabi grunted, trying to slice through the tension that was strongly swimming in the air around the two of you.

“Guess so,” you said faintly.

Dabi’s eyes flash at your flat tone. “Look,” he said, teeth clenched. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I screwed up. You don’t need to make it worse.”

In an instant, your face morphed from blank and expressionless to white hot anger. “Me? You think I’m making things worse? I’m not the one who got shit faced in the middle of the day! I’m not the one who wrecked the fucking car into government property because you couldn’t see five feet in front of you!”

“I know that for Christ’s sake! Jesus fuck, I just spent two hours in jail for it! I. Fucked. Up! Get the fuck over it!”

You held his gaze for a few more moments before looking away. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you knew he needed to hear. But you were exhausted. You were so damn tired of fighting, of yelling, of constantly wondering if your life would always consist of picking up the pieces after Dabi shatters everything in his wake. You were tired of him.

“Okay,” you sighed dejectedly. “Let’s just go home. I have orchestra again tomorrow. We both need some sleep.”

Dabi didn’t say anything in response. What could he say? He could see the drained look in your eyes clear as day. He had pulled you out of your evening class to come bail him out of jail after totaling his car. He had promised you he wouldn’t drink while he was out. That he wouldn’t pop any pills while he was out. But he did.

The line to get into the theater wasn’t too long once he arrived at the front entrance of the large stone building. There were only about fifteen people waiting to hand in their tickets to get inside, and the process seemed like it was going fairly quickly. Dabi pulled the crumpled, grey admission ticket from his coat pocket and handed it to the usher. Watching the man dressed in a baby blue suit scan the barcode on his ticket felt like watching paint dry. He needed to get inside and sit down. His head was pounding from his hangover and his heart was racing from anxiety. He hadn't seen you in six months. Not in person, anyway. He spent plenty of time stalking your social media accounts, looking to see if you had started dating again, if school was going okay for you, if you were happy without him in your life. He didn’t find much over the past few months, much to Dabi’s dismay. The only relevant thing he was able to find out about you was that your college orchestra group was conducting a recital tonight at The Bleu Theater, and that you would have a violin solo. Dabi bought his $250 dollar ticket three months in advance the second he read the flyer you had posted on your Instagram account.

The inside of the theater was as Dabi had expected it to be. Lined with red carpet and donning two grand marble staircases The halls of the theater were littered with high society aristocrats dressed in suits and evening gowns. Although he had dressed in an evening suit, Dabi knew he looked like lower class beside these people. In that moment though, Dabi couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. The only thing lingering on his mind was you. What you might be wearing. What he might do if he snagged a chance to speak to you. What he would say if you decided to hear him out.

He didn’t have time to think about it though. The recital was starting, and Dabi needed to find his seat, which he knew was in the second row from the stage. All the seats in the very front had already been bought out by the time Dabi had purchased his ticket, so seat J in row B was the second-best option.

Hurrying down the aisle, Dabi found his seat in between two women dressed in both green and silver evening gowns. They were older women with hot pink lipstick coating their wrinkled lips who raised their brows at Dabi as he sat in between them. The MC began his little speech, thanking everyone for attending tonight and asking them to please silence their cellphones. He announced the first player of the night, a cellist who was dressed in a long, black, lacy dress. He hadn’t remembered to grab a program from the man handing them out beside the entrance of the auditorium, but the women in green to his right had one and was currently reading through it. He glanced to her side, hoping to catch a glimpse of your name so he could prepare himself to see you for the first time since your break-up.

And there it was. Act number two. Y/N L/N, violin solo.

You were next and Dabi felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He was sure everyone in the room could hear the thump thump thump of the organ in his chest despite the rich boom the cello filled the room with. The cellist was reaching the climax of the Cadenza piece. You would be walking out of stage soon. In just seconds, Dabi would have the chance to lock eyes with you. He hoped he would be able to convey the love he felt for you, his anguish at the fact that you left him all alone in a world he felt had never accepted him, his guilt at making your life a living hell because he was too selfish to let you go the second things began to deteriorate. Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed.

Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed. That anxious, petrifying feeling of knowing the only heaven he was convinced he would ever know would one day leave him shortly after you had started your first year of college. You had gotten into your dream college, while Dabi hadn’t bothered to apply anywhere. You were working three days a week at a music store, teaching children how to play the violin. Dabi was living off an allowance, popping pills all day. You had aspirations. You were working toward a future you desperately wanted - you wanted to become a violinist for The Halle, you wanted to move to the city - you wanted to be with Dabi. But Dabi didn’t have dreams like you did. His father had instilled in him since he could form coherent sentences that he was a failure. He was a disgrace. He wasn’t even his real son. He was a product of his mother’s extramarital indiscretion - a stain on the Todoroki name. A mistake.

Dabi believed all his life that all he would ever be was a let-down. The only good thing in his life was you. Dabi Todoroki had managed to fall in love with a quiet girl who was ambitious and smart and beautiful - and just like everything else he did in his life - he screwed it up.

“I need you to come home”

He shouldn’t be asking you that. Tonight was an important night for you - scouts for the Chordis Orchestra were in the audience tonight. Your school was putting on a production of Phantom of the Opera - your favorite musical - and you were lucky enough to be the first sophomore to play in the orchestra pit on opening night.

“What? Dabi - what’s going on?”

He felt like he was going crazy. Why were you asking so many questions? Why couldn’t you just come home? He needed you!

“Look,” he gulped as his knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. “I-my dad was here earlier and-”

“Your dad?” Dabi’s father, Enji, had never visited your home before. Dabi would never invite him and Enji would never lay out an offer. Dabi had told you a little about the issues he had with his father during late night talks where you and Dabi would lay naked in the back seat of his car, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“We got into a fight and I don’t even know what happened, I just opened my eyes and our window was busted and my knuckles were bleeding and dad was gone. I was so fucking pissed and I don’t even remember uncapping the fucking needle...but I think I took too much.”

Your blood ran cold. You hated when Dabi would use heroin. You had tried it once when the two of you first moved into your apartment together, and you never wanted that substance in your body again. You knew how Dabi could get when he took too much of one thing. He would get angry, paranoid, anxious and clingy. You were terrified one of these days you would come home and find him dead on the bathroom floor with a needle sticking out of his arm or pills lodged in his throat.

“Dabi what do you mean you took too much? D-do I need to call an ambulance!?”

“No! No, don’t call the fucking police. I’ll get charged with substance abuse. Fuck! Just come home!”

“Okay, okay, Dabi. I’m coming home, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You quickly packed up your instrument, sheet music, and informed the director you would not be able to perform tonight. It was a tense conversation, as Ms. Hatsuki had given you a big opportunity to play tonight. But Dabi wanted you home. And he was more important, right?

The bursting open of the wooden door startled Dabi. He had been staring blankly at the wall, scratching at the needle scars that were riddled along his left forearm. It felt like he had been waiting hours for you to get home to him, when only a mere 20 minutes had passed before you burst into the living room.

“Dabi,” you breathed, “are you okay? You look so pale.” You rushed over to the brown sofa where he was seated and took his hand in yours. His hand was coated in brown, dry blood and there was a small gash across his knuckles. It wasn’t too bad, but he would probably need a couple stitches.

“M’fine. I think...I’m just coming down really hard. My hand hurts, too.”

Coming down too hard? How many times have you been through this? There had been several occasions where Dabi had called you while you were in the middle of class, or in rehearsal, or out with friends or family, frantically begging you to come home. Each time he made one of those calls, he worried you sick. He never sounded like the Dabi you knew like the back of your hand. He was sacred and sounded like he was close to death every time. And every time you came running, he would lay his head in your lap, tell you he’s sorry, that he wants to do better for you, and then do it all over again the next week.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take. At first, it was small, tolerable things. Things you could look past because you loved him so much. In the beginning, when Dabi went past his limit, he would grow overly irritable, snapping at you out of nowhere. Then, that gradually turned into full blown meltdowns with Dabi shedding a few tears as he paced around the apartment, not sure if he was angry or scared, not knowing what he could possibly be angry at or scared of.

Then, that morphed into complete paranoia. Dabi always thought he would die when he would go past his limit, but he would never do anything to help his fears. He was always afraid you would leave him all by himself in this tiny apartment that only felt like home when you were there. He was afraid his father would finally cut him out of the family because he’s a bad influence on his little brother - because he’s a good-for-nothing junkie with no direction in life.

He was afraid of problems that only he was able to cause. Problems he couldn’t stop causing.

Your mouth set into a thin line, a sight Dabi wished he wasn’t so familiar with. “Dabi,” you started evenly. “I thought you were fucking dying. You made me leave the most important performance of my life - for what?”

Dabi’s puppy eyes quickly morphed into piercing cobalt as he scowled. “For what? Princess, I need you here. I felt like I was fucking dying, I need a little support here!”

“WHAT ABOUT ME!?” you screamed. It startled the both of you. The scream seemed to rip itself from your throat without permission. The shocked look on your boyfriend’s face almost made you back down. But you wouldn’t – couldn’t back down this time.

“What about supporting me, huh, Dabi? Week after week, I drop everything, my whole life, to come running back to you. To make sure you’re okay. You make promise after promise to stop this shit, to get clean, to get your life together so I CAN GET MINE TOGETHER! Fuck, it’s like I’m your mother instead of your girlfriend.”

Dabi watched you silently from his spot on the couch. He had never seen you so angry before, especially at him. The smack running through his veins urged him to yell back at you. To scream that you were selfish. That you can’t talk to him like that.

But he doesn’t. Because he knows you’re right.

Deep down, he knows he’s ruining your life. He knows he’s continually taking opportunity after opportunity from you - because he doesn’t want to be alone. He knows his drug induced moods are wearing on you. He knows he’s tearing your heart apart by worrying you, yelling at you, destroying you. He knows he does not deserve you. But even so, he hopes to God you won’t leave. He’s too selfish to let you go on his own - he would rather watch you crumble because of him than watch you flourish without him.

“Tonight was so important, Dabi. You know that.” Your eyes were filling with tears. Your heart felt like it was shattering within your chest. You didn’t want to. Or did you? You weren’t so sure what you wanted anymore. But you did know what you needed. “I-I can’t Dabi. I cannot do this with you anymore.”

“W-what? The fuck are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t stay in this relationship with you, Dabi! It's tearing me completely apart. It's tearing me apart because you’re tearing yourself apart. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t do it. I hit my limit months ago. This - us - it needs to end now.”

Neither of you said anything after that. It was strange, in a way. You expected your boyfriend - your ex-boyfriend, would beg you not to leave. Like he always did when he was paranoid and high.

Dabi, on the other hand, had always imagined, in his hazy, drunken paranoia, that he would rage if you ever tried to leave him like this. What was he supposed to do without you? He had nothing in life but you. Every day was about you; waiting for you to get home from school, cooking for you, fucking you, talking to you, living life through you. But he wasn’t angry. All he felt in those next few minutes as the two of you sat side by side on the couch for the very last time, was sorrow.

His father was right, as he always was. He destroyed everything he touched. One tiny brush of his fingertips set anything in his wake ablaze.

When you stood from the couch to go pack a bag, Dabi couldn't bring himself to look at you. He couldn’t force out a single syllable. All he could do was sit. Sit and listen as the girl he loved gathered every piece of herself and walked out of his life.

The next few weeks following the break up were the worst. You were ignoring Dabi’s texts and calls, and he didn’t even know where you were. He assumed you were staying with a friend or had moved back in with your mother - but he wished you would answer one of his texts so he could know for sure.

Dabi didn’t leave his apartment until a month after the two of you broke up. He honestly didn’t see a reason to. After he graduated high school and moved in with you, he only left the house to go grocery shopping, or buy you little gifts, or go on dates with you. Now that you were gone, what reason did he have to venture outside of his safe space?

Alcohol. Sex.

Two enticing reasons.

The first time Dabi had sex with another person after your break up, he felt like throwing up. Her voice was higher than yours, her nose was bigger than yours, the way she looked when she came on his cock was nowhere near as beautiful as yours was.

She was not you.

She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted.

After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.

It was scary seeing you for the first time in so long. You looked the same as you always had; beautiful, elegant, and perfect.

You were wearing a white, spaghetti sleeved dress that reached to the middle of your leg and your hair was curled delicately and was falling freely past your shoulders. Dabi had spent half a year without seeing you or hearing from you at all, and still, the first sight of you made him feel like he couldn’t fucking breath. Every little detail was special to him.

He could see the nervousness written all over your face. You were used to playing in an orchestra pit, away from everyone’s line of sight. You felt most comfortable hidden in the darkness, playing music that was meant to add character to a play, not right in the spotlight, playing raw music for everyone to judge you with. But Dabi also knew that this is what you always truly wanted. You wanted people to see you and hear you, no matter how terrifying it was.

You started off slow, moving your bow gently and fluidly across the strings of your violin. It was soft and melodic, and only Dabi knew that this was your signature build up - it was how you always liked to play music. Just as you were doing now, you had always preferred to start everything off slow and delicate - gradually and powerfully zipping your bow across the metal strings to create an earth-shattering sound that was somehow richer than the cello. Dabi had noticed this the very first time he ever heard you play in that empty auditorium in high school, and still now you were able to knock him out with your beautiful talent.

You were avoiding looking out into the crowd to evade stage fright. You knew that if you looked out into the human sea, you would face the possibility of choking. This was an incredibly important night. Your mom had joked before you left her house this morning that tonight would mark the beginning of your musical career. You could not afford to mess anything up.

But then you looked up. You tore your gaze from the floor and glanced out into the abyss and fount cobalt blue eyes staring intently back at you. His gaze was enough to almost make your left hand fingers falter over the notes, but you regained your composure almost as fast as you had lost it. Looking away from him seemed impossible right then. Here he was, Dabi, your ex-boyfriend, your first love, sitting in the audience, listening to you play your heart out. Why was he here? How did he even know you would be playing tonight?

A million and one questions swam through your mind. You were playing on autopilot now. You couldn’t focus on anything but him. His inky black hair was combed neatly, just as it was on prom night. He was wearing a suit and he looked completely dressed for the occasion. Your song was coming to an end and you needed to snap out of it. The ending deserved your attention. You owed it to yourself to forget Dabi, just for this second, to focus on what you had in front of you.

The floor wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Dabi was, but it was where you had to force yourself to look for the remainder of the song. It came to a finish 20 seconds later, and the applause was almost too loud for your ears. A proud grin spread across your face as you grabbed the neck of your instrument and bowed before walking back into the wings.

You weren’t sure why Dabi would come tonight. He had stopped trying to contact you three months ago after you ignored each and every one of his attempts. It was painful to even think about him after your break up. There were many times you felt as if you had made a mistake in leaving. Every memory of Dabi holding you to his chest when you would cry to try and comfort you, every memory of Dabi whispering out that he loved you late at night, every memory of Dabi kissing you goodbye as you left for class each morning, was almost enough to break you. But the fact was that you didn’t just leave for yourself. Dabi was too dependent on you. If you had continued to enable his drug habit, allowing him to think that he could be as destructive as he wanted and nothing would happen to him, he would end up killing himself. So, you stood your ground, and distanced yourself as far away from him as you could.

But he was here now. Dressed nicely, watching you on the most important night of your life. Did he want to talk? Or was he here for something else? There was only one way to find out.

Dabi had gotten up from his seat as soon as you exited the stage. He wasn’t too eager to listen to some guy play the piano for 2 minutes straight. He had only come here to see you. The air was warm and inviting outside as Dabi sat on the building’s steps and pulled out his e-cigarette. He wanted to go back in and find you, just as he planned when he first got here. Seeing you on stage tonight, however, made him think twice. You looked beautiful and vibrant. Despite the look of nervousness you wore tonight, he knew you were confident in what you could do. You smiled tonight. It didn’t look fake or forced, like it had months ago. It looked completely genuine and Dabi didn’t want to take that away from you.

You were happy without him. You were thriving without him. He needed to stay away from you.

“You’re missing the rest of the recital, you know.”

Your voice brought Dabi out of his head. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, it almost sounded alien to him.

You stood two steps above him, still wearing your white dress. Still just as beautiful as you were on stage.

Dabi was searching for the right words to say, but he was coming up perpetually blank. He wanted to say the right thing, but he never knew what the right thing to say was.

“I, uh, only came to see one act.” You smiled softly at that, and Dabi felt like someone had shot him. He missed you. He missed you so much and your smile only reminded him of what he inevitably pushed away 6 months ago.

“Well, mister Beethoven,” you joked, “how did I do?”

You were walking closer to him and Dabi wasn’t sure if he should move away or not. He was afraid that if you got too close, he might burn you. “God, it was awful. It sounded like a tortured cat.”

A laugh tore itself from your throat as you sat beside him on the steps. “Yeah, well. That was your fault. I didn’t expect to see you out there. Caught me off guard.”

“You were great.” Dabi wanted to smile back at you, but he couldn’t. “Felt like I was watching an actual angel perform.”

It was quiet for a moment after that. Neither of you knew what to say. Why were you out here with him? Why did he come to see you tonight?

“Why’d you come tonight, Dabi?”

“I dunno, really. I just - I knew you were playing tonight. I felt like I needed to see you. I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

The e-cigarette in your ex-boyfriend’s hand caught your attention. “Since when do you smoke water vapor? What happened to weed?”

Dabi looked down at his hands before replying. “I quit that shit a couple months ago,” he mumbled. “I didn’t like the way it made me feel anymore.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You stopped smoking pot? That’s great Dabi!”

“Thanks. I stopped with the pills and smack too.”

He what? “Wait, are you saying you got clean?”

He shrugged, not returning your gaze. “I guess. I stopped using four months ago. Fuyumi and my mom have gotten me into counseling. My therapist is helping me come up with ways to cope without drugs. The booze has been more difficult to quit though. I still drink pretty often. I’m...I’m working on being different. Like I always promised you I would. Except this time, I’m serious.”

The world halted for a moment for you. Dabi...was getting clean. He had promised you countless times in your relationship that he would try to stop. That he would be a better man for you. That he would stop using, get a job, go back to school. Each of those promises were empty, unfulfilled wishes.

But not anymore.

You threw your arms around Dabi, almost knocking him off the step. He stilled, not sure what to do. Should he hug you back? Push you off of him? He didn’t know, so he allowed you to continue to take the lead.

“I’m so happy for you Dabi. That is so amazing. I can’t believe it, I’m so proud.” There was a familiar warmth growing in your chest. The entire two years of your relationship, all you had wanted was for Dabi to get clean. The drugs, the directionlessness, it weighed on him. And, in turn, it began to weigh on you as well. “Have you thought about enrolling anywhere?”

You had pulled away from Dabi by now, but you were still sitting quite close to him, which made Dabi feel uneasy. He had wanted to be close to you like this for months, but now that it was happening, he felt anxious. What if after tonight, the two of you would go back to being strangers?

“I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve worked on a few applications already, but I haven’t sent anything in just yet.”

Hearing that Dabi was finally getting his shit together filled your heart with joy and hope. Dabi was trying to get sober. Dabi had come to see you tonight. And you still loved him after all this time. After everything, Dabi still owned your heart.

“I need to tell you I’m sorry.” He turned to look at you. He had been looking at everything but you this entire conversation, but he needed to look you in the eye as he said this. “I need to tell you I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I fucked up so many things for you because I was a piece of shit. I’m sorry for making you leave.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Dabi looked so different now. He looked the same as he always did, yet completely unfamiliar all at once. You had spent so many months seeing Dabi kill himself every day. His eyes were sunken in, dark circles painted onto his sickly pale skin. His lips were always chapped and split open, scratching your own lips whenever he grabbed your face to kiss you. Now, underneath the bright June moonlight, Dabi looked alive. His lips were no longer dehydrated and split. His eyes were still tired, but more alert, and his skin looked healthy.

“I left for a reason, Dabi. Not just because it was too much for me, but because I thought you needed to figure everything out on your own.”

He nodded slowly while keeping your gaze. “Is it possible to try again?”

Yes, you wanted to say, absolutely. You wanted to tell him you could pick up right where the two of you left off, but you couldn’t. Not after everything he put you through. Taking a deep breath and taking his hand in yours, you said, “how about you and I go for coffee tomorrow? We can talk things out more then.”

Dabi grinned and squeezed your hand. I have a shot. Being this close to you, knowing he would see you again tomorrow, really made him want to kiss you. Six months ago, he could grab your face whenever he wanted and capture your lips with his. But he couldn’t now. He needed to take his time with you, let you decide if he was what you wanted. He had put you through hell for so long, so he needed to let you take the lead this time.

“I’d really like that.”

To his surprise. you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his cheek, and then stood. “I need to get back inside, but...I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

Dabi nodded furiously. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow morning.”

You smiled softly once more, and then turned to head back into the building. Watching you leave the night the two of you broke up made him feel like everything around him was bleak and broken. This time, as he watched you slip through the doors of the theater, he felt light things were finally a little bit brighter.

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ginwhitlock · 3 years ago

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summary: JASPER/ BELLA. set in eclipse (but is so far from canon honestly all you need to know is that victoria is after bella). When Jasper snatches Bella away to Texas to escape a vampire’s hunt for the girl who killed her lover, Bella comes clean about her hearts unfaithfulness on an unsettling summer morning, in front of God and everybody.

fic type: oneshot, no explicit scenes

warnings: religious guilt, Bella’s weird brand of horny, cheating on Edward, oh and Alice just doesn’t exist— don’t think about it too hard

There was this openness in the air, something stirring from the west, saturating the cotton fields. A yellow eyed barn cat stood still in the morning light, it’s black coat shifting with the bite of ghostly mice. Whiskers twitching.

It was watching her, she was sure of it, like the pecan trees and the paddock mud and the mosquitoes. All beady-eyed and searching the brown haired girl, the one with crooked ankles and misaligned bangs that just barely kissed her cheeks in the late summer sun. She looked home grown. Wheat wild. A child of desert planes. And most importantly, she looked lost.

“I thought you’d still be sleeping by now.” A hushed baritone slipped from the screen door, it’s owner donned in dark royal denim and loose leather.

If it had been just months before, Bella would’ve rolled her eyes.

But she was different now. As different as Washington was to Texas. As different as evergreens were to red oak. She swore even the sweat didn’t smell right.

“Wanted to catch the sunrise.” There was a softness to her front teeth, the round of her molars quiet against one another. To whose ears she was catering to she didn’t know. And to be honest, she didn’t quite care anymore.

Bella made out a lazy nod from her peripheral, the shaggy haired man seemingly relaxed out here on the front porch of her judgement day, all tan and tall and scented like rolled tobacco.

Shut up, stupid girl.

Jasper murmured out a response, something about humans needing sleep and southern sunrises being worthy enough to diminish the former from its place on his immortal pedestal. There was a creak and a groan from the haint green floorboards underneath her before she found herself shoulder to shoulder with the two hundred year old soldier; a stray wind had blown through the shaved baby blond hair lining his chin in the slightest of ways. There was a caution light screaming out from his stature and the brunette girl had the painful urge to swallow it under her teeth and tongue. Soak it in holy water and hide it in her skin for him to find. Or rather, Him, if this stay was going to end like she thought it ought to.

He couldn’t feel that… could he? Stupid, stupid—

“The marigolds should be blooming about now, just west of the barn. They’re quite a bit prettier than Peter’s fields.” There was something off in the lit of his tongue, the way it flipped and rolled off his teeth. It came out… wrong. Forced. Like he was trying to be overtly kind. The way you talk to a frightened rabbit you clipped with the lawn mower.

Bella frowned something deep and turned nose at Jasper. “Why did you bring me here, Hale?”

With the question came a wince to his brow, a noticeable blow to his stature. He seemed to fold ever so slightly towards the young girl.

“Don’t— don’t call me that.”

Silence filled the unwalled prison of the porch like nothing else, the birds and wind seemingly gone to rest whenever the two entered into each other's space. Like worldly magnets, chess pieces that threw blows instead of diagonals. The quiet held them both. It held them together.

Bella Swan blinked slowly in an unknown apology before settling back on the blond with the stone facade. She waited for him to continue.

He sighed. “It’s safer here. Victoria wouldn’t come this far south without encountering things far worse than the likes of Emmett or Rose.”

“But this wasn’t Edward’s plan, was it?” Bella’s lashes were like rodeo announcers with their back and forth turns to the outlook of western Texas.

Jasper looked every bit of his one hundred fifty years as he laid a freezing hand on hers, their knuckles slotting together with unpracticed ease. “No. But it’s mine. And you’re gonna have to accept that.”

She refused to nod at the man with the thigh clenching, hard work mending, touch, for more than a second. She was far from the type of girl that would lay down and let the boys run out their wildest stupidities on her seemingly catastrophic life, but she felt almost resigned in Jasper's hands. There was a calmness between them she couldn’t place as artificial or not, the soft wool of contentedness slowly covering the surveyor-ship she felt stepping outside this morning. The stares of the flora and fauna turned internal. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach, on the nape of her neck, across the fragile skin of her cheeks where freckles started to show, and mostly, on the warming flesh of her hand where their hands met gently.

Maybe it was Edward looking onto them from a frozen forest hundreds of miles from here as he hunted a scarlet monster, discovering the hidden plumpness swirling around in his lover's chest for the brother he always worried about, but for all the wrong reasons.

Or maybe…

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

His eyes were like serpents, glowing yellow under the copper wind chimes above them.

“Whatever you wish, Isabella.”

Swallow. Breathe. “When you were human… did you believe in God?”

A pause sliced the air in two. The cotton plants seemed to stop swaying. The feline vanished. A golden eyebrow fell to his browbone.

“Yes, Isabella. Yes I did.” His face was drawn, distant, like an old time movie screen was playing out on his stone eyelids.

Bella’s lips pulled at themselves with her front teeth. “Do you think He’s vengeful?”

Their eye contact sealed itself, his hand moving on its own accord up her hand to her wrist, cradling the small, delicate bones that allowed her to touch him— but not now. Not ever again.

“When I was a boy, my mama took me to church every Sunday at seven A.M sharp, and sent me to Sunday school after the service. I was the oldest, even then, and I had more responsibilities than just listening to the preacher ramble on about divinity and charity and sacrifice.”

Jasper's face was taught with memory.

“I had two baby sisters by the time I turned seven and they were the number one priority, you have to understand, Isabella. Ada and Caroline couldn’t have been older than three when the Leroy boy died sitting in the pew behind us… poor child got heatstroke in his wool britches and after that I started dressing the girls in the lightest things I could find and never waited long after the sermon to get back.”

Bella turned stormy under the weight of the seemingly young man's words, her eyes dropping from his own to study the way his fingers wrapped around her skin like a life jacket, one part caregiver and one part destroyer. Jasper's own hands seemed to start to tremor just slightly under her stare, or maybe it was from the wash of his own words.

He took a breath he didn’t need. “But. I started listening when my mother got sick, before the girls finished schooling. Started praying. A part of me was guilty that I hadn’t started before I needed something, that the reason I spoke to Him was for a favor, and a big one at that. I was making up for lost time, I thought. I was begging on my knees for anything. And I didn’t get it.

“They buried an empty coffin with my name on it under a white wooden cross after the army said I went missing. Caroline would plant violets around it in the spring, weed out the planters and start again in the fall. She’d leave me communion wafers in our family pew and have Ada try to talk with me through the minister.”

“I’m so sorry.” A true sadness settled in her bones, her seemingly selfish desire to have the question answered sat like a heavy stone in the out of her stomach. Her heart held out a warm woolen space for him and she silently begged he would sit in it, for his own sake.

He waved her off and took on a slight smile, something she had never seen from Jasper. Not in any capacity before that very moment.

She decided she would try to see it every chance she got for as long as he’d let her.

“I wasn’t a man of religious structure, Isabella, but. I was a man of faith. The small times I was allowed to watch over my sisters only reminded me of that, no matter how far down to hell I had reached, I still had faith in redemption.”

His teeth clicked together not unpleasantly. “But I haven’t answered your question have I?” There was a knowing-ness in his voice box and Bella wanted to drink it down like communion wine. She smiled back slightly.

He was beautiful when he sighed.

“I’ve done horrible things. Killed innocent people. Slaughtered children and mothers and lambs of God. I have worn blood on my hands like a second skin and not once during any of it did I feel remorse. But darlin,” his lashes fluttered like leaves, “not once did I think God wanted me to hate myself for what I had done. I think… He forgave me a long time ago, before I ever forgave myself. So no. I don’t believe in my brother’s vengeful punisher. Not today. Not in this lifetime.“ She’d never hear the ‘not with you’ fragment he had stuck in his mind.

She had to step back from him then, the vampire who had become all consuming to her chest and her heart and her fingers. The air was warmer in the space behind him but it almost didn’t matter, the warmth layering her skin was enough to burn through an air conditioning unit anyway. Bella’s hands found clumsy solace in her back pockets as she stared ahead at the rows of painful cotton buds waiting to be harvested. The blood almost pulled to her fingertips.

Teeth and lips found each other. “I don’t think I’m not going to get punished for this.”

Her words were concrete. Cement. Blacktop on a Kansas back road. They could’ve cut glass if she wanted them to. They almost did as he looked at her.

“For what, Isabella?”

Knowing bastard. Always. Knowing.

No trembling allowed now.

“For wanting you when Edwards away. When he’s in the same room as us. When he’s hunting the woman who's trying to kill me and you’re just standing there telling me not to be afraid of my own horrible heart… for betraying everything I’ve begged for since me and your brother met. I deserve to get punished for this, don’t I? Don’t you think?”

She was sweating now, cold droplets running down her back to her the soft slope of her ass. Her knuckles were popping against each other like fireworks and she thought she might faint right then and there, MONSTER written across her forehead in a bruise from the impact.

A scarred hand felt itself into its place under Bella’s chin and forced her rocking skull to finally glimpse the face she had been thinking of every moment she pulled her eyes away. Jasper Hal— Whitlock? And his clear midnight pupils branding her soul in a sinner’s blush. His lips formed a wonderful crook as he slowly pushed her flat against the ancient siding of the old farmhouse belonging to his long standing brother who looked like everything Jasper was except for his spirit.

She could die this way and she would face God with a smile.

“What I feel for you deserves no punishment darlin, but if you insist, I think I’d rather do the punishing than any divine power.”

His lips were light rosy steel against Bella’s own as the clouds started to stretch out infinitely behind his back, unnoticed by the interlocked couple in their wake. A soft moan escaped as felt the soft chill of a crucifix digging into her neck.

Maybe God would forgive her for this. Just once.

#my fic #mine #twilight #thetwilightsaga #fic #twilight fics #my writing #jasper x bella #jasperella #writing #fanfiction #vampire #twilight fanfiction #oneshot

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elizabeethan · 3 years ago

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Watch the Sunlight Fade: 7 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: We’re getting there! In this chapter we have hints, friends. Let me know what you think!!

Rated M

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~~~~

Killian’s intention was not to sleep with Emma Swan. His intention was to lift her from the couch, gently and easily as he’s done before, and carry her to bed, leaving her to sleep peacefully. He intended to leave her in his room, tucked in and comfortable, and then sleep in his guestroom, listening for signs of nightmares.

He did not intend to sleep beside Emma Swan. When she clung to the collar of his shirt, sleeping as he carried her to bed, he intended to uncurl her fingers, perhaps place a gentle kiss to her forehead, and leave her in the privacy of his bedroom. He did not intend to let her look of sleepy desperation-- of a quiet, hopeless need to be held-- sway him when she pulled him close to her, refusing to let him leave. He did not intend to give in to her so easily, curling up behind her and letting her nestle herself against his front. He didn’t intend for her to fall asleep so effortlessly, and to sleep so soundly through the night as he held her close to him.

He didn’t intend for any of this to happen, but when he wakes with the sun and feels her warmth pressed against him, he can’t say he minds.

The battle that has plagued him internally since the moment he laid eyes on her rages on with her soft, contented sigh, and he wonders what she must be thinking. He wonders what the few moments of gentle peace before she wakes must be like for her. How it must feel to be tricked so easily into feelings of safety in the arms of another, only to wake and be faced with the painful reality that, to the man who is supposed to love her, she is nothing more than a means to an end. It kills him to not know what the end could be.

She stirs, and he knows that the bliss he felt when he first woke is set to fade as reality sets in for her. When she nuzzles her cheek against his bicep, the one attached to his tingling hand, he knows she must still be trapped in a dream, thinking herself cuddling closer to her doting boyfriend. He would give anything for that to be true for her.

With another gentle sigh, she wiggles a bit, her rear unfortunately enticing to his body despite his mind’s commands. “Good morning,” she says softly, her tone relaxed and, he thinks, almost playful.

He can’t help but to laugh just a bit, the sound forced out of his nostrils and blowing a lock of her hair off of her neck. “Good morning to you, too.”

She hums, making no moves to get up despite the morning sun rising higher in the sky. Their time together is running out; Neal is due to be home today, and if she isn’t home when he arrives, he’s certain there will be hell to pay.

“Feels weird,” she remarks suddenly, her voice still quiet but more serious.

“What’s that, love?”

“Being…” she shrugs. “Feeling comfortable, I guess. Safe. Even before all of this, I had to force myself to relax with Neal.”

“And now?” he asks, his hand inadvertently sliding up the curve of her hip over her soft t-shirt.

She’s quiet for a moment before speaking up again. “It’s easy,” she sighs. “I know my life is going to shit, but I’ve never… I’ve never felt this relaxed.”

He should’ve stopped himself from pressing a soft but firm kiss to the back of her neck, but he couldn’t if he tried. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he tries, but she shakes her head immediately. “No? Not even a happy childhood memory?”

She stays quiet for far too long, hinting to him that he’s said the wrong thing. He barely knows her; he certainly doesn’t know enough to make assumptions about her childhood. She confirms this when she finally murmurs, “I’m not sure you know who you’re talking to.” Her tone is light, as if she’s trying to make a joke of it, but he can hear the pain laced through her words.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he challenges boldly, voice strong and almost too powerful in the soft morning silence. “But I’d love to hear more about your beginnings.”

Her stillness makes the blood sing through his veins, hot and painful in response to his anxiety, until she rolls over onto her other side, sliding away from him just enough so that she can look into his eyes. “You really mean that,” she says. It isn’t a question, more like a clarification. A statement used to prove the thought to herself in her own mind. He nods, wanting to drop his hand onto her cheek but holding back.

“Of course.”

She closes her eyes, shying away from him, hiding the shining beams of light from his gaze for a moment before she opens them again and gives him a small smile. “I’m an orphan,” she whispers. Her wording takes him by surprise. She’s an adult, he overheard Neal telling Peter that she’s 25, but she still considers herself an orphan even now. “My parents… I don’t know. They abandoned me. I don’t know who they are. I spent years trying to find them and I never did.”

“So you…” He sighs, biting his lip without meaning to mirror her. His hand is twitching at his side to touch her, to reach out and comfort her. “You spent some time in foster care, then?”

“Care,” she scoffs. “I guess you can say that. I ran away a lot.”

“Aye,” he nods. “If not for Liam, I’m sure I would’ve as well.”

She looks at him so pleadingly, so deeply, her brows drawn tight together and her forest green eyes glowing in the light of the rising sun. “You were in foster care, too?”

“I was,” he whispers. This time, he can’t stop himself from letting his fingers slide along the soft skin of her temple, brushing her hair away. He feels her relaxing into his touch, leaning into his hand and letting her eyes slip shut. “For a brief time, before Liam found our father. He was here with Gold; died shortly after we found him, but Liam had turned 18 so we stuck around with the club.”

Her eyes snap open, something he’d said alerting her senses. “You’ve been with them for a while then?”

“About fifteen years now,” he confirms.

“So do you… I mean, they cared for you. You must have some kind of loyalty to them.”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Fifteen years is a long time. Long enough for me to see the violent corruption that Peter and Neal seem to thrive on. They learned it from Gold, they tried to teach it to me, but Liam taught me the importance of good form.”

Her movements are quick, and he can barely keep up as she scoots close to him and drops her head so that it’s resting against his chest, just below his chin. He doesn’t think before wrapping both arms around her, securing his hold on her and burying his head in her hair. It smells fruity and floral, and he doesn’t think he’ll get enough.

“I always thought I was good at reading people, with the exception of Neal,” she says, laughing softly. “And with you… I mean… I trust you, Killian.”

The relief that washes over him is nearly unbelievable, his desire to be here for her, to help her, too consuming. The confirmation that she trusts him steadies his heartbeat, calms his mind, soothes his soul.

“Emma,” he breathes, and at the sound of his voice, she pulls back and meets his eyes with her. “I promise I’ll get you out of this. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” she whispers. Her words wash warm air over his mouth and remind him just how close they are. He considers closing the gap between them when he sees her eyes fluttering, desperate to make her feel the same intensity that he feels. He craves the softness of her skin against his. He wants her. He thinks he may need her. Her eyes close and he watches her lips fall open just the slightest amount, her breathing evening out at the anticipation of his lips meeting hers.

But reality creeps back into the forefront of his mind, the danger that she’s in sure to increase if they should ever be found out. The half-confirmation that perhaps she wants him in the same way that he wants her is almost enough to hold him over. He’ll never put his own desires ahead of her safety, and he needs her to know that.

So he places his palm on her cheek and runs his thumb along the soft skin under her eye, thinking back to last night when her cheeks were tear and sweat stained after hours of emotional torment. “He’ll be back soon,” he finally whispers, and the way her face falls pains him. “I’m sorry,” he says, unsure why.

She opens her eyes and meets his gaze, seeming to understand as she takes a breath and nods. “Don’t be,” she smiles. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, unable to fathom what she could possibly be thanking him for. All he did was tell her of his past and nearly kiss her despite her being in a relationship.

“Everything,” she answers easily. “I’d be broken if you hadn’t come out and gotten me last night.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he vows, his palm cupping her cheek without having the excuse of moving her hair out of the way.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. Her voice is weak and small, barely audible over the sounds coming in from the open window. “When he gets home, he’s gonna want… I don’t want to…”

“Emma,” he breathes, shaking his head. He’s horrified that they even need to have this conversation, but at the same time, he isn’t surprised. Growing up beside Cassidy, only a few years older than him, he knows how he was raised. The man has expectations of her, and that was made clear to Killian the other day when he dropped everything and barely had her hesitant consent before dragging her back to his bed. It’s wrong for him to have to offer her a way out of sleeping with him. She should be able to say no, she’s not in the mood, and that should be enough. But he knows that isn’t the case; he knows what will happen if she refuses. “Perhaps if you say you’re sick,” he finally offers.

“Yeah,” she agrees, then smiles genuinely at him and says, “I mean, I did throw up last night. I guess I’m not totally lying.”

“Aye,” he grins, although it feels wrong to do so. “You’ll be alright. I’m not sure why, but for better or for worse, Neal needs you for something. He won’t harm you.”

She sighs and drops her head back onto his chest, the weight of it comforting with each rise and fall of his lungs. “I wish I knew why,” she says softly into his shirt. “I mean, I'm nothing special. Why would he want me, of all people, to be here?”

A twinge of anger sparks within him again at her words, at her genuine belief that she’s nothing special. It reaffirms for him that she’s grown up all her life alone, believing that no one could possibly want her. That she couldn’t possibly mean anything to anyone. That the only person she thinks she means something to is an abusive, manipulative monster. It can’t be true, he wants to tell her. It isn’t true. He wants to assure her that, despite hardly knowing her, she means the world to him. But the last thing he wants to do is to scare her off, the prospect of helping her out of this with her comfort and autonomy in tact too important to pass up. He can’t put his own feelings above her.

“I wish you didn’t think like that,” he finally says, letting his hand find the back of her hair again. “You are special. You just don’t deserve whatever it is he has planned for you. You deserve to be happy and safe.”

When she shakes her head again, he vows silently, daring not to scare her with his sincerity, that he’ll spend every day for the rest of his life proving to her that she means something.

~~~~

Emma finds herself being very meticulous about her position in the apartment in preparation for Neal’s return. Killian’s suggestion that she fake an ailment was a good one, but now she has to make it believable enough to turn him off.

She has whiplash from the last few weeks, but from the last day especially. She can hardly believe that she’s in this position in the first place, the fact that she’s found herself suddenly thrown into the role of a gang member’s girlfriend utterly fantastical. A part of her still thinks this is a dream, and if she pinches herself hard enough, she’ll wake up in the arms of her loving boyfriend once again.

Truthfully, she can’t believe that she never noticed. The fact that he was able to trick her so believably, that he got around her firm defenses and her lie detector well enough to sneak into her life, is almost too painful to consider. How could he manipulate her so easily? Is she really that weak? It’s easier to rely on the belief that this is a horrible nightmare and that she’ll soon wake up and her life will go back to normal. It’s not like her life was anything special before, but at least she was living in blissful ignorance to the horrors she now faces.

Neal is not the man she thought he was, that much is definitive by now. Finding out that he’s the brother of the leader of The Lost Boys was a blow so detrimental to her that she almost broke. If Killian wasn’t there to pick up the pieces and glue her back together, she’s certain that she would still be a crumbling mess on the hallway floor.

The helpfulness of his presence is something that she will never be able to put into words. The fact that he was there for her when she needed him, when she needed to be held together and soothed and cared for, the fact that he knew just what she needed in that moment, is something she can never hope to repay.

She feels silly thinking like this, when just the other day she was promising herself that she would try harder with Neal. It’s as if the second she found out about his nefarious intentions, she forgot about him. The way she feels when she’s with Killian makes her fear the way she felt when she was with Neal. Everytime she and Neal were together, she had to force herself to relax, to calm down enough to enjoy his presence. She told herself that it was normal for her to feel that way, that the way she was raised predisposed her to feelings of discomfort in the presence of others. But when she curled up in Killian’s arms last night, it was the most natural thing in the world. It was like there was nowhere else she was meant to be. Like being with him is exactly where she needed to be in that moment. Now, thinking back to the way it felt to be held by him, she wants nothing more than to be back in his arms.

The anxious nausea returns when she hears his keys jamming into the lock, turning it slowly as the sickening anticipation increases. She takes a deep breath, settling herself into the couch and easily putting on her best sick face as he pushes the door open. She’s met with a wide, leering smile that makes her stomach churn more.

“Hey, baby,” he calls as he shuts the door, dropping his bag to the floor in a way that makes her wonder if he expects her to unpack it. It’s as if her sudden realization of his true intentions was a bucket of cold water being thrown over her head, and now she can see him for who he truly is. Each of his actions are selfish, his expectations of her entirely misogynistic and manipulative.

“Hi,” she says with a purposely weakened smile, her voice small. “Good trip?”

“Pretty good,” he confirms, walking towards the kitchen and retrieving a beer despite it being before noon. “We’ll probably have to go out again soon, but I'll stick around for a while.”

“That’s good,” she agrees, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders and nestling into the couch cushions. Despite her stress, she found that she slept better than ever last night, so it’s more work than she expected to pull off a look of exhaustion. “What do you do when you go?” she asks, hoping to get a bit of information out of him.

“Oh, this and that. Nothing you need to worry about.” She fights off the temptation to roll her eyes as he sits on the couch, narrowly missing her feet and seeming not to notice. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs. “I don't feel that good,” she explains. “I’ve been nauseous since last night.”

“You have?” he asks, his interest seeming to be piqued.

“Yeah,” she nods weakly, shutting her eyes. “I even threw up last night.”

“Gross,” he says immediately, and her mind runs back to the image of Killian holding her hair for her. He cocks his head to the side in thought and says, “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, taking another draw from his can. “Just interesting, that’s all.”

She laughs, the sound likely not entirely believable. “Interesting or gross?”

Neal turns to her, his eyes suddenly dark and hooded, his grip on his can obviously tightening. He shifts in his seat, turning his body so that his shirt rides up slightly, exposing the handle of his gun to her line of sight. “Does it matter?”

“No,” she replies quietly, her eyes meeting his in undeniable terror. She doesn’t have to work at making her voice sound small and timid; it happens naturally. “Sorry,” she says without thinking.

She notices that, in the time that he was gone, she felt a sense of strength. Having Killian reiterate to her that what she’s experiencing isn’t normal, isn’t acceptable, has put her in the mindset that she’s strong enough to get out of this. But with a single motion, a few short words, she's back under Neal’s thumb with no chance of escape.

“Great,” he smiles, his demeanor shifting back as he leans back into the couch. “We’re going out tonight. The Rabbit Hole.”

She wants to argue, to remind him that she just told him she isn’t feeling well, but she fears his response and simply nods. “Okay,” she says softly, feeling like less than nothing to him. It isn’t the fact that she doesn’t feel well, because that’s not entirely true. Her nausea is a result of her stress. What bothers her is his willingness to ignore her claims. His ability to forget so easily.

She means nothing to him.

~~~~

The Rabbit Hole is busier than usual, and it occurs to Killian that Peter didn’t bother to enforce it’s closure this evening. The realization makes him wonder about the last time, the night that Emma was brought here and victimized for the first time. It makes him wonder about the disconnect in Peter’s mind that made him want to celebrate such an event.

Tonight, he sees several familiar faces. There’s Scarlett, who was drunk and tried to steal Rufio’s bike one night, earning himself an entirely unwanted role in the club working off his crime. There’s also Tink, Olivia, who got herself into a lifestyle in which she’s never been truly comfortable out of sheer desperation and poverty. There’s William Smee, who boasts an ability to allocate anything the club desires, if only to keep him safe from their rivals.

The bar is filled with people who are here because they have to be, having little choice in the matter. Each of them agreed to be here, agreed to Peter’s terms, but none of them have any way out.

There’s a pair of arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, pulling him into a hug, and he knows exactly who it is without having to turn. A smile creeps across his mouth when she squeezes more firmly and then spins his chair, turning him to face her and giving him a bright smile.

“Evening, love,” he mumbles softly, giving her a gentle smile.

“Evening, KJ,” she returns. Elsa moves beside him and takes the stool to his left, holding up a hand to signal to the bartender that she’s ready to order. “Having a good night?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, turning back to his drink.

With a snort, she shakes her head and shoves her shoulder against his. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“You’re brooding. More ferociously than usual.”

“I don’t brood,” he grumbles into his rum, taking a drag from it.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “and I’m a natural blonde. Is this about your girlfriend?”

He turns suddenly, staring her down and raising a brow. “I don’t have a bloody girlfriend.”

“Mhmm,” she hums sweetly. “A winter sangria, please,” she orders, and Killian rolls his eyes.

“It’s still summer, El.”

“I know what I like. Now, talk to me. Emma’s been staring at you all night.”

“No she hasn’t,” he argues into his glass. At least, he hopes she hasn’t. It wouldn’t be safe for her to be staring…

“Killian, please.”

“She’s--” he starts in a moment of boldness, wanting to retreat almost immediately as he realizes where he is. He leans a bit closer to Elsa and practically whispers, “I think she’s in danger.”

“Killian, they’re keeping her safe! As Neal’s girlfriend--”

“She’s in danger from Neal. She had no idea… Elsa, she found out last night that he’s Peter's brother. She thought he was some lackey until Gold told her otherwise.”

“Why would that mean she’s in danger?” she asks, accepting her drink before shifting back to her serious demeanor.

“Why would he lie? What could he want from her that he doesn’t think he could get if he were truthful?”

“KJ…”

“He told her they would leave. He said he would move them to Florida to live happily ever after. You know that’s not what that bastard has planned.”

“Watch your tongue. Are you sure you’re not just looking for another reason to hate him like you do everyone?”

“Who said I hate him?”

She lets out a groan, dramatically throwing her head back before taking a sip of her drink and then glaring at him. “I’m not sure what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but you’ve got to cut it out. For better or worse, Emma is Neal’s, and you know that he’ll make sure you know that. Him and his brother. They’re in charge; they keep us safe, and all we owe in return is our loyalty.”

She’s right, of course, although perhaps not in the way she means. They are mad enough to go to extremes for arguably unwarranted reasons. If Liam diplomatically disagreeing with them was cause enough for his death in their eyes, he doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if they found out about him and Emma.

Not that there’s anything going on between them, of course. Despite his feelings for her, he isn’t daft enough to think that they’re being reciprocated. She simply needed comfort and he was available and willing to give it. She needs someone to care for her, someone who understands her and what she’s going through, and when all of this is over and she’s away from this abuse, she can move on like none of this ever happened. It’ll be like they never met, and if that’s what’s best for her, then so be it.

Still, the fact that she slept in his bed, in his arms, just last night is dangerous. If that information were to reach the wrong set of ears, he knows it’ll mean bad news for Emma.

“Alright,” he finally grumbles. Although he trusts Elsa, knows that she wouldn’t do anything that would mean trouble for him, he suddenly gets the feeling that she doesn’t understand what he’s going through afterall. Her phrasing is startling, and he’s starting to realize that it’s not the first time she’s spoken like this. She doesn’t know the extent of what happened to Liam, but she’s aligned to the club very faithfully. He was certain that their shared experience, their shared loss, would mean her unconditional empathy, but he can see now that that isn’t necessarily the case.

He fears that he-- and as a result, Emma-- may be more alone than he originally thought.

~~~~

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

#Watch the Sunlight Fade #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #modern au #cs ff au #cs ff #cs modern au #sunlight ff #captain swan fluff #captain swan hurt comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #captain swan angst

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thejollyroger-writer · 3 years ago

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THE WASTELAND - HOME (15/15)

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

A/N: Can you believe it? This story is COMPLETE, which feels surreal and ethereal in unexplainable ways. I've literally been writing this story longer than it took me to write my masters' thesis -- though, needing to write my masters' thesis is most of the reason it has taken me this long. Thank you all for sticking around through it all, if you've been here since the beginning -- and if you've hopped on somewhere along the way, you're just as important to me. Thank you, all. Enjoy the last chapter.

Start from the Beginning // Also on AO3!

For a long, drawn-out moment, nothing happens. Emma can feel the beating of her heart in her stomach and fears that something has gone wrong, attempting to use her unhoned magic for too big a task too quickly.

And then, she feels her feet shift on uneven ground and she dares to open her eyes.

Sand.

They're on the shore. Everyone is on the shore, Belle still tending to Will's wounded shoulder and Mary Margaret comforting David, his pain obvious on his face. Killian releases her hand, rushing to the prince's side with his canteen at the ready. The water doesn't heal David as quickly as it did Killian, but as he swallows the few sips he was given, his expression grows relieved and the tendrils of poison retract across his exposed chest before disappearing from the site of the wound. It's not nearly as climactic as Killian's healing was (Emma refuses to think about why that might be) but she still feels a weight lifted from her chest as all traces of the poison disappear, leaving only a small cut on his side where the arrow nicked him.

Killian and Mary Margaret simultaneously sigh an audible breath of relief, her petite form almost comically small as she leans into Killian's shoulder.

"Let's get off this bloody island," Killian says, allowing only a moment's pause before he helps Dave to his feet — though his words are practically forgotten as the forest begins to groan and grumble, trees snapping, cracking, falling to the ground behind them.

And they watch as four, five, six boys move through the treeline, all dressed in rags and covered in dirt.

"The Lost Boys!" Wendy cries, rushing towards them.

"Please take us home with you, Wendy," the one who looks to be the oldest begs, terror obvious on his face, as on all of their faces.

She turns to look at David. "Without Pan's magic, the island will disappear, and the boys will die."

David shakes his head. "I have no argument."

"What about what Pan told your brothers? That only the amount who arrived can leave?" Regina's voice is heavy with worry. None of them want to leave the boys behind, but if it means that no one will make it home, it's a much heavier question.

But Belle is the one to answer. "With Pan defeated, the island holds no power. Even if it wanted to stop us from leaving, it is no longer able."

The oldest boy knits his eyebrows. "Does that mean—" he starts, but is silenced by a deafening thump as another large tree hits the ground, this one not far from the shore and sending a tremor under their feet.

"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," Killian says with a smile, gesturing for the boys to lead the way to the waterline and aboard the ship.

"Rufio, where's Felix?" Wendy asks, walking beside the oldest of the boys.

But the boy shakes his head. "He's always been the most dedicated to Pan and here longer than the rest of us, you know that. He said he would rather die here with Neverland than become a traitor."

"Oh, Felix," she breathes, but it does not keep her or the other boys from boarding.

As the rest of them move towards the ship, Emma moves to stand beside Killian, who is waiting to go last as the captain does. He pats Robin on the shoulder, the pain of losing Graham sinking in once more as his body is carried onto the ship. “Take him below decks. Merlin can show you where to find what you’ll need to wrap him.” Robin just nods.

"We did it, Swan," he breathes, reaching down to squeeze her hand. "How do you feel?"

"It's almost surreal," she replies, lifting his hand so she can look at his arm. She still barely believes it, would not have believed the way the water healed him if she hadn't seen it herself — and she still had trouble understanding how easily he was healed by her magic, even after learning of their connection, their destiny.

She still doesn't want to believe it, really. Everyone is so sure that it's about them, that they were prophesied ages ago to go on this journey, to save each other. She's not denying their connection, not anymore, but she still struggles to believe that they were destined to be together because some ancient seer decided it was supposed to be so.

"Let's go home," he says finally, gesturing for Emma to follow Robin and Regina onto the Jolly Roger.

Home. He's not even sure where home is anymore. For years, it was in the Northern Mountains, then with Dave and his band of followers after returning from Neverland. He's been ready for a new home for a while, he realizes, following Emma onto his ship. With her, he hopes. Hell, he's never wanted anything as much as he has wanted to be with her. They're destined to be together, but all he wants to do is kiss her, find all the things that make her happy and never stop giving them to her. He wants to wake up beside her, learn the way her golden waves look in the morning sun, the way she takes her coffee. If it means working beside her in the hospital, doing everything he can to help her while hopefully keeping them from harm — hell, he'll work in a maternity hospital. For her. He would do anything for her.

They leave the island behind quickly, the Lost Boys, Wendy, and a fully-healed Will watching it crumble, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and a cloud of dirt that covers the horizon.

Killian doesn't turn back. Some of the others peer over their shoulders but Killian seems to be the only one fully content leaving the island behind without a second thought — but, then again, he is the only one among them to have experienced it twice, to have it take multiple people he loves from him, even if it brought others together.

He thinks of Graham, being prepared belowdecks for burial at sea once they're out of the wretched Neverland waters; he thinks of Milah, who sacrificed so much, who hid her true identity from a world she felt so unsafe in, gone forever in the pile of rubble and debris.

Liam. He thinks of his brother, releasing the helm to feel the large ring hanging from his neck between his fingers. He left Liam behind in Neverland twice, never able to give him the burial at sea he always wanted. Well, he thinks, turning his head to glance behind him, if the entire island crumbles into the sea, then Liam is finally laid to rest as he would have wanted.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to look back," Merlin says from the spot he has found against the railing, only using the basest of his powers to move the ship along the waters until they take to the sky.

"I wasn't going to," he confesses, looking down at the ring once more. "But then I thought of Liam, and the burial at sea he deserved and never got."

"Well, the whole damned island got a burial at sea, and that sure as hell included him."

Killian nods, managing a smile. "That's what I thought, too."

They travel along the water for a few hours, pausing around dusk to bid their final farewells to Graham before taking to the sky. The sun sinks below the horizon, and Killian turns to the same star charts they used on the journey there to guide them home, though this time Emma takes part in all of it: helping Merlin and Belle fly the ship, learning the stars that they use to guide them back to the Northern Mountains. He has always felt at peace behind the helm of this ship, even when it was his brother's; having Emma beside him, his chest pressed against her back as he points over her shoulder towards the stars, is the most at home he has ever felt, and he wishes — on the stars that guide them home, on any good luck charm he has ever known, praying to the gods who have seemed to answer him a lot lately — that it's not a feeling that disappears.

The journey back isn’t as celebratory as expected from a group of people who have evaded what they all believed would be certain death. David and Mary Margaret spend most of the trip in the lieutenant’s quarters, Mary Margaret finding the sleep that evaded her the last few days, the two of them taking turns caring for the other. Merlin and Belle spend the return trip just as they did the journey there, guiding the ship through the air, though when Emma is feeling at her strongest, she attempts to assist them. (The rest of the crew does not fail to notice how Will spends much of his time sitting against the railing near wherever Belle has stationed herself, eating what seems to be a never ending supply of apples and chocolate and other types of random snacks and reading the books spread across his lap, even though he was never known to be a voracious reader before.) Similarly, after being comforted by her after Graham’s burial, Robin and Regina spend most of their time together, a pairing of sensible pantsuits and olive green attire that none of them saw coming.

Wendy and the Lost Boys spend most of their time gaping at the views over the railing, trying their hardest not to get airsick to avoid ridicule, filling their stomachs with each of Merlin and Belle’s smorgasbords as if they have never seen that much food in their life — Killian doesn’t let himself think about how long they may have been in Neverland, just how long it has been since their last decent meal, and he is happy to be the one to offer it to them.

"What are we going to do with them?" Mary Margaret asks Emma one night as she sits with her on the deck, picking at the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in her lap.

"With who?"

She points to the boys, throwing small rocks and food scraps off the deck of the ship and laughing as they disappear into the clouds below them.

"I guess we're going to—" she starts, but then realizes that she has no idea how to finish the sentence and leans closer to her friend. "What are we going to do with them?"

It's a thought that never even crossed her mind. She's been so worried about returning to the life she had, possibly even learning to include Killian in the chaos of running the hospital, that she never stopped to think about the people whose lives have been upended because of their trip. Who knows how long the boys have been stuck on Neverland, how long it has been since they were taken from their families — if they ever had them in the first place. Emma remembers the long nights on the streets of the Gale when she wished she were anywhere else,praying to whichever of the gods was listening to give her a place to belong. That's what Pan did for these boys in his own wretched way, she realizes.

“Who knows how long they were stuck on that island. I doubt many of them have thought about what they would do if they ever returned.”

But Emma shakes her head, remembering the nights she stared up at the stars and wondered what her life could be like if she were in any other situation. “I can assure you that some of them have thought about it.” She doesn’t mean for her voice to be that soft, to make the hurt so apparent in her words. She tries not to play the orphan card, especially around Mary Margaret, whose empathy is so strong Emma sometimes thinks she fully understands the heartbreak she tries her hardest to hide even though she only recently lost her father and sees her mother as often as her and David’s schedule allows.

Mary Margaret just nods, taking a bite of her sandwich. “I suppose we could start by talking to them.”

Emma can’t help but laugh, thinking of how she would have responded in their place — which, she supposes, is exactly what David did, granting her a new life in the infirmary. She wonders if any of them have discovered their powers, or if they would simply hide, dormant, for the years they spend without aging in Neverland. “We should wait until morning, though,” she comments, watching as one of the younger boys lets out a big yawn across the deck. When she turns back to Mary Margaret, she is stifling a yawn of her own. “Looks like it’s your bedtime, too,” she adds with a soft laugh.

“I’m just so tired all the time. Is this all that pregnancy is?”

“I have no firsthand experience to share, but from what I’ve heard, yeah, that’s a big part of it.”

“Someday, Emma,” Mary Margaret comments, and it’s a thought that hits her like a truck. Sure, she’s spent years in the maternity hospital, helping other women bring babies into this world, but having one of her own was never a thought that crossed her mind. Is that what she wants? Could she even bring a child into a world so full of violence and terror and the exact things they’ve been battling for the last few weeks, not to mention the War that has affected every facet of the world for longer than anyone can remember.

It’s at least not a thought that she needs to focus on right now.

“Hey, love,” Killian says, thankfully pulling her out of the depths of her own mind as he approaches them from across the deck. “We’re going to begin the descent back to the water soon. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks, Killian,” she replies, offering him a soft smile, which he answers with a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’m going to bed, then,” Mary Margaret says, one hand on her stomach as she reaches out to squeeze Emma’s hand with the other, then moves across the deck to the stairs.

“I can’t wait to be on the water again,” Killian says after a moment of silence, leaning back against the railing, and she steps into his arms.

“Why is that?”

“There’s just something calming about it, something that’s not there in the sky or even on the land. The moment the hull hits the water, I just feel… peace.” She hums, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s not just the ocean, either, though. Graham always laughed at me when I would go stand in the rain, or sometimes stay in the shower for longer than I meant to.”

Emma leans back to look up at him, gears turning in her head. Rain. Showers. The ocean. The way his body reacted to the pool on Dead Man’s Peak. Water. “Killian,” she whispers, then cups her hand between them, creating a small pool of water in her palm. “Can you… move this?”

He looks first at her, then at her hands, his dark brows furrowed low on his forehead. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, love.”

“Was your mother one of the merfolk?”

This makes his eyebrows jump towards his hairline, bright eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“Your mother,” she repeats. “I know she passed when you were young, but what do you know about her? Was she a mermaid?”

“No. No, that’s… that’s crazy,” he whispers, staring down at the water in her palm, slowly dripping through her fingers onto the deck between his worn boots.

“Can you just try? For me?” Remembering how her magic reacted to his touch, she reaches her free hand out and rests it on his hip.

He nods, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “What do I need to do?”

“Think about what you want it to do. Close your eyes. Feel it.”

“What do I want it to do?”

With a soft chuckle, she turns her eyes up to his, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just… anything.”

He nods, but stays silent, holding up his hand in the space between them as he squeezes his eyes shut. Somehow, Emma can feel what he’s thinking, imagines the small sphere of water rising above her hand before it happens — but then it’s there, right before her eyes, hovering above her palm.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles, his eyes darting to meet hers for a moment instead of staring at the sphere. "And you're… this isn't you?"

"No," she whispers, picturing it falling back to her hand just to make sure — but it stays there, hovering a few inches above her palm.

“Of the merfolk,” he whispers, the sphere splashing back down into Emma’s hands. “I never even imagined.”

“I’ve known for a very long time,” Merlin quips from behind them, his eyes closed but obviously paying attention to them.

“For real? And you never thought to tell me?”

He shrugs. “It was not my secret to share.”

“Why did I not learn about it sooner?”

Emma gasps, pulling Killian’s gaze back to her, and Merlin laughs, finally opening his eyes. “So you figured it out, then?”

“The Prophecy,” she whispers, barely believing the words as she says them. “Their strengths will finally be revealed. That’s the line, right?”

Merlin nods.

“Not just my strength, but both of ours. He needed… me. Us.”

It’s another piece of the puzzle that fits a little too well, that makes it hard to deny that they are the ones from the prophecy, brought together by destiny. A chill runs down her spine as Killian’s jaw drops, realizing exactly what her words meant.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles. “I need… sorry, love,” he mumbles, backing away from her to go and stand by himself, looking out over the moonlit water as the ship makes its descent.

Emma’s heart drops and she crosses her arms, leaning back until her hips hit the railing behind her. Is it too much for him, now? The man that confessed his love for her in a cave, who has believed in their connection since the first he heard of it? She understands needing space — she would be a hypocrite if she claimed she didn’t — but she still feels a heaviness in her chest, and icy pain in her heart as she thinks of the worst-case scenario: Killian turning away from her just as she realizes she is ready to be with him. When she feels her lip quiver, she pulls it up between her teeth, turning her back to where Killian is standing and taking a few steps away from him. Part of her wants to disappear belowdecks, curl up in her hammock and hide from her feelings, as alone as she has ever been. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to take herself somewhere else: counting the supplies in the basement of her hospital, walking along the well-known trails by her house — the very house that she dreamt of sharing with Killian not too long ago. She shakes that thought away and tries again, this time in the palace gardens where she learned most of what she knows about plants, about healing. Then she’s in the hallway, aiding David in a meeting with his advisors, focusing on the echoing of her boots on the stone floors and not the fears running through her mind.

Across the deck, Killian turns to look at her, trying to organize the thoughts jumbled in his brain. A merfolk. He has learned so much over the last few weeks, about the world, his friends, his enemies — himself, more than anything else. He has tasted death and felt true grief, witnessed unexplainable things, traveled to places he has spent more than a decade trying to forget. Every step was harder than the previous, pushing himself harder and farther than he thought he was capable — and for every step, she has been there, healing him inside and out, stitching together his wounds and piecing together the remains of his broken heart. Why is this so difficult for him to grasp, given all of the other impossible things he has witnessed since Emma Swan entered his life? Water has always calmed him, healed him, given him a sanctuary in times when he had no others, the same way Emma became his sanctuary.

He loves her, he realizes, not for the first time, though the thought still threatens to knock him off his feet. He loves her in ways he never knew were possible, more than he ever imagined being able to love someone, loves her in a way that fills the deepest parts of him, dark spaces that hold his regrets and his fears and the few things he has allowed himself to dream about. And there is nothing, no feeling that can compare to the warmth that washes over him when she holds his hand, when she smiles at him. His mind separated the two, his powers and his love for Emma, but he realizes now, in this moment, turning away from the water to find her, that they are not two separate things. His powers only exist because of his love for her, and though the time they have spent together is only the first drop in the ocean of the rest of their lives, he wants to look back on his life overwhelmed by the memories they create together, better because of the other.

Then, he notices the pain on her face, her eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and her arms wrapped around her knees as she sits alone by the railing — alone, exactly where he left her. He crosses quickly, his footsteps hard against the wooden planks, and kneels in front of her, carefully reaching out to brush his fingers against her hand.

“Emma?” he whispers, but it is not loud enough to break through the wall that has formed around her, protecting her from whatever kind of hurt she feared he was leaving her with. Leaving her, he realizes. That’s what she fears, more than anything else. Is that what she thinks he is doing? “Emma, love, I’m sorry.” This time, his voice is a bit louder, his fingers a bit firmer on her hand, and her eyes open, a runaway tear falling down her cheek.

“What?” She raises her hand to wipe her cheek, but Killian beats her to it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, covering her hand with his once more. “I shouldn’t have — walking away from you like that, it was unfair. I don’t want you to think…” he clears his throat, trying his best to smile at her through his stuttering before starting again. “I’m here, love. With you. That’s not going to change.”

“Promise?” she whispers, unable to control the quivering of her lip, and he learns more about her with that single word than the rest of their journey. The both have dark pasts, Emma’s even more than his own, and the traumas that they have endured have left pieces of them broken, pieces that may never be fixed, but pieces that perhaps can be soothed, especially when the darkness rears its head.

None of the words that come to mind are good enough. He nods. Laughs, thankfully answered with a smile of her own. And then leans into her, holding himself up against the railing to keep from crashing into her as he finds her lips with his own. It’s the best promise he can give her, and when she reaches up and slides her fingers through his hair, her other hand tightening around the collar of his jacket, he can’t help but laugh against her lips, mumbling the words that have been waiting on the tip of his tongue for the right moment.

“I love you, Emma,” he says, and she resituates them so they are laying beside each other on the deck, pulling herself into him in ways his previous wounds never would have allowed.

“I love you,” she repeats with a giggle of her own, her lips finding his again as the ship touches down on the water, lurching against the surface.

They’re back. The real world — Nephylisis, the Gale, the War. The Wasteland. But they have each other.

Anything is possible.

TAGS: @shireness-says @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiganasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @killian-whump @officerrogers @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @captainkillianswanjones – want to be added or removed? let me know!

#the wasteland #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cssns #cssns 2020 #my fic #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat ff #fantasy au #if you made it this far and found yourself in the tags please know there is a secret epilogue #but i'm not changing the chapter count #its already written in my head it just needs to come out

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captcas · 3 years ago

Text

Something to Hold Onto by captcas

Emma Swan has always had two superpowers. First, she can always tell when you’re lying. Second, she can retreat into the magical storybook she was found with to visit her fictional friend, Killian Jones. When Emma gives the book up, she wonders if she’ll ever see Killian again. read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

Pregnant?

Emma slides down the tile wall of the Shell bathroom. Usually she’d do everything in her power to avoid touching anything in a gas station restroom. Right now she can’t find it in herself to care about the amount of infectious diseases she’s being exposed to, her eyes fixed on the two pink lines that just threatened to change her entire life.

Threatened? More like promised.

She jumps when she hears a knock on the door, “Ems? You ok?”

It isn’t until she wipes the tears from her cheeks that she realizes she’s started to cry. Neal knocks again, “Ems! You good?”

Clearing her throat, she musters up the will to answer, “Yeah, uh, just a minute.”

She scrambles for her backpack, desperate for an escape she’s not entirely confident will be there.

It’s been too long.

When her fingers touch the cool leather of the mysterious book that has somehow woven its way into every important moment in her life, a sense of calm overwhelms her. She knows that avoiding her problem isn’t going to change anything, but right now, she couldn't care less. As she settles in her lap, the positive pregnancy test laying the floor in her periphery, she thinks back to the first time it allowed her to escape.

Des Moines, IA; 1989

Emma hears footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly pulls her blanket over her head. She hates the way it makes it hard to breathe but she also fears what’ll happen to her if she gets caught up past curfew again. She holds her breath as the door creaks open and doesn’t move again until the door shuts and the footsteps walk away. Coming out from under the covers, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. Once she’s sure no one else in her bunk is awake, Emma pulls the thick, leather book out from underneath her bed. This book is one of the only things her parents left her; a book, a blanket, and a name. Ever since she could read, and even before, if her foster parents were kind enough, she’s poured into these stories– escaping reality for ogres, pirates, princesses, and true love. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the stories almost seem ever changing and expanding. She never has to choose what to read, the book opening and picking a story for her– although she finds herself partial to the updates of the young Snow White.

Tonight she opens to a brand new story titled “The Brothers Jones”. She’s never heard of this fairytale, but that’s how most of these stories start out until they twist and turn into well-known characters from movies that the other kids watch to pass time. It seems rather short, but Emma doesn’t mind, especially seeing as it’s way past her dictated bedtime. She hunkers down into her pillow and begins…

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Liam, the eldest, was outgoing and mature, helping their parents around the house and picking up odd jobs around town to help with trips to the market. Killian, on the other hand, was quiet and kind. He often found himself staying home to take care of their mother. At ten years of age he was too young to get a real job, so their father, Brennan, and Liam took care of earning money in hopes to keep their mother alive.

One night, Killian’s mother took a turn for the worse, her breathing slowing until it stopped. The family gathered around, comforting one another over the loss of Alice.

The following days seemed like a blur for the family, preparations for her funeral taking up most of their time. When the day finally came, the Jones boys were distraught. Her burial became too much for young Killian so he took off to the one place which could calm his worries, Brennan and Liam calling after him as he ran. Liam wanted to go after his younger brother but Brennan stopped him, urging him to give Killian some space.

Emma pauses for a second, shining her flashlight over the picture of the two boys which accompanies the start of the story. Her finger traces over the face of the younger one, she thinks to herself that she wishes she could meet this Killian. She glances a moment longer and turns back to the story…

Killian ends up by the docks, his legs moving on their own accord. He finds an empty slip and decides to sit on the end of the pier, crying over the loss of his mother.

Emma suddenly feels as though she’s drifting to sleep. The words seem to be floating off the page and wrapping themselves around her. When a flash of light surrounds her, Emma is sure she’s dreaming. She shuts her eyes in fear, unsure of where this dream is taking her.

Suddenly, her bare feet hit cold ground. She shivers, still too scared to open her eyes, her hands acting as a makeshift blindfold. She hears what sounds like a seagull and smells what she can only imagine is the sea. It’s a comforting quiet disrupted by the soft sound of someone crying. In a quick bout of bravery, the young girl opens one eye. Gasping, she removes her other hand from her face and her eyes grow wide. Sitting in front of her is Killian Jones, the boy from the storybook. She hesitates, but slowly walks towards him. She now knows he’s the source of the quiet sniffling and pauses, unsure she should bother him. Before she can turn around and explore more of her dreamworld, Killian looks over his shoulder and wipes his runny nose on his hand. He looks at her intently, and Emma is drawn to the deep blue of his eyes which seem to shine brighter through his tears. His eyebrows curve in confusion and he speaks, “Who are you?”

His voice is the most beautiful thing Emma has ever heard. His accent is unlike anything she’s heard before, but it’s melodic and reminds her of her favorite song. She hesitates to respond, but somehow feels comforted by his presence. “I’m… I’m Emma. Are you… Killian?”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline but he gives her a soft smile, “Yes, miss. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you here before.” He scratches behind his ear as she struggles to explain where she came from.

She’s sure she can say anything, she’ll wake up in the morning and Killian Jones will remain the figment of imagination he is, so she’s honest. “Oh! I’m not from here. I’m from Iowa! Well, at least I’m from Iowa right now…”

“Iowa?” Killian questions her once again. “I’ve never heard of such a place. I don’t get to travel much. Is it close to here?”

Emma decides to sit down next to him, both of their legs swinging over the dark water. “I think I’m pretty far from home. One minute I was reading in my bed and the next I was standing behind you.” Emma flinches at her own honesty but reminds herself it can do no harm. She’s finding peace in this dreamworld, she almost feels as though she has a friend.

“Well, Emma, I don’t know how you’re here but I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad moment.” He hangs his head, fiddling with a hangnail on his left hand.

“Your mother…” Emma says it in barely a whisper but Killian hears it all the same. She clasps her hands over her mouth.

“How did you––” He looks afraid of her and she hates it.

“Killian, I––,” She reminds herself again he’s just a dream, “The book I was reading… you were–– are a character in it. That’s how I knew your name, and about your mom. I also know about your brother, Li––”

“Killian? Is that you? Killian!” Emma is cut off by who she can only assume is Liam looking for his little brother. She scoots a bit away from him and hides her face in embarrassment while he turns to talk to his brother. Confusion was etched across Killian’s face before they were interrupted.

“Aye, Liam. It’s me. I’m sorry for running, it’s just… mother… she––” Killian is practically toppled over by a hug from Liam.

“I understand, Killian.” Liam looks as though he’s been crying but smiles and rubs his brother’s head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It’s then that he notices Emma. “Brother, who is this?”

Killian’s neck heats up with blush and Emma has to suppress a giggle. “Liam, this is Emma of Iowa.”

Emma chuckles loudly this time and Liam looks a bit confused but brushes it off quickly, “Ah, hello Emma. I hope my little brother hasn’t burdened you with our troubles too much. Where is your family?”

Killian mumbles something that sounds like “younger brother” and Liam smirks slightly. She supposes it’s something between siblings and ignores the ache for a family that lives deep in her soul. Emma snaps out of her melancholy to answer, “Oh, um, they’re at home.” She shoots a look at Killian, urging him to help her keep her secret. She once again is warring with the part of her brain which says none of this is real but shoves it down in light of Liam’s stare. “I should be going.”

Killian looks like he’s about to say something when Liam speaks, “Ah, yes, well we should be getting back to our parents as well.” Liam’s voice cracks at the word parents, but he continues his strong facade in front of his brother. “Ready, Killian?”

“Aye, I’m right behind you, brother.” Liam hesitates but turns away to leave Emma and Killian to say goodbye.

Emma speaks first, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Killian.” She looks down at her hands, she’s never had parents, but she can imagine watching one die is not easy.

“It’s ok, Emma. Liam and I will manage.” Emma can tell he’s being brave for her but she lets him continue. “You go home now, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents, I’m an orphan.” It bursts out of her before she can stop herself, her innate need to be honest with Killian taking over. She’s scowling now, ready to spit back any pity he throws her way, but when she looks up, all she sees is understanding. He nods at her.

“Will I see you again, Emma? Friends are all too rare in my life.” She smiles softly, happy to have made a friend herself.

“I hope so, Killian.” They smile at one another and she hears Liam call him from a distance. Killian nods once more and runs to his brother, glancing back over his shoulder one last time. Emma smiles, and watches him fade from sight.

As quickly as Emma landed in this world, she is back in her bed. The book sits open on her side table. She grabs it, hoping to see more of Killian’s story to add fuel for the rest of the night’s dreams. Emma is shocked at what she sees. Side by side are the text of her encounter with Killian, and a perfect sketch of the two of them sitting on the edge of the pier. Emma expects to be scared, but instead she’s comforted by the drawing of her and her new friend. She closes her book, and places it in it’s hiding spot, easily drifting off to sleep with memories of ocean air and the sound of Killian’s voice.

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

She hasn’t visited him since Ingrid— it’s not fair that she uses him like this, but she needs him.

And he promised. They promised.

With a deep breath, she opens the book and thinks of her friend as the warm light surrounds her and takes her away...

Sea air fills her lungs as she finds her footing– the breeze a sure sign she’s landed wherever Killian finds himself these days. She orients herself by finding the water and spots a ship coming into land– Emma would know that ship anywhere. While she can tell it’s the Jewel, the vessel’s usually regal presence seems tarnished somehow. As it nears the shoreline, she sees Killian at the helm. A smile spreads across her face before she can stop it– he always looked so at home on the water. As he nears the beach, Emma senses something different about her old friend. He’s older, each of them learning long ago moves differently in their separate worlds– almost as they need it to rather than on any set timeline– but she can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than age.

Killian directs the crew effortlessly, not a single soul arguing with him. The ship hits land and Killian gazes over the side long enough for Emma to notice the heavy space beside him. Something’s missing– someone’s missing. It dawns on her as the ramp hits the sand… Liam.

Killian walks off the ship with a swagger she doesn’t recognize– a false confidence she’s positive only she would recognize as a front. Second guessing her decision– maybe she’d stayed away far too long– Emma reaches for the leather book. Selfishly, she takes one more look at her friend, or the man which used to be. He scans the beach with a stoic look that only falls away when he meets her gaze. A smile breaks out across her face as he runs towards her. She lets go of the book, anxious to learn more about where she is and what Kilian’s been up to. He barely says hello before she's wrapped in his arms choking up at the pure innocence of his laugh when he picks her up and twirls her around.

“Emma Swan!” Killian puts her down, swiping a soft curl from her cheek, “It’s been so long, love.”

Emma can’t speak, she’s changed since they last met, but not like him. Studying him, she releases him from her grasp and her hands trail down his arm, hesitating when her left one hits something foreign. Killian flinches and tucks it under his jacket. She’s still unable to put a finger on what’s different, but her old friend, always sure and steadfast, seems… lost. She can’t help but speak candidly, “Killian, where is Liam?”

He smirks, a mask unfamiliar to her aside from her brief glimpse of him exiting the ship, “Ah, yes, ‘fraid my brother was lost to the sea.” He gazes off before seemingly being startled into remembering her existence, “Emma! You can’t be here, it’s dangerous.”

Emma looks around for the first time since she arrived and realizes this place is unlike any portside town she’d landed in previously. “Where exactly is… here?”

If she didn’t know better– Killian Jones is not afraid of anything– she would’ve sworn she saw fear flicker across his eyes, “Best you not know. Why are you here? Is everything alright?”

His genuine concern reminds her of the pregnancy test she left in the Shell bathroom. Never one to mince words and never sure how long they truly have, Emma breaks the news abruptly, “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

Now she knows its fear– coupled with a brief flash of sadness that she doesn’t have the energy to dissect– that crosses his gaze, “Emma, ho–”

She cuts him off, she doesn’t want to answer the questions, doesn’t want to disappoint him, “It doesn’t matter. I will be ok, I just… needed to see you.”

He nods before turning to a small man in a red beanie who has hovered close by but out of earshot for the entirety of their conversation. “Smee, it will be dark soon. Gather supplies and take the crew aboard. I will return shortly.” The man nods before yelling a feeble attempt to wrangle up the rest of the crew while Killian leads Emma closer to the water’s edge. She knows there’s more to everything happening here than he’s letting on, but she also knows that if he’s not telling her, it’s with reason.

They find a small alcove, hidden from the ship, and Killian takes her in his arms swaying slowly. She can’t help but giggle, “Killian, what are you doing?”

“Just, I know you probably don’t have long, but please– before you go, just– one dance.” She nods, this tradition is one she should’ve seen coming. They danced the first time when Emma was nervous for her first homecoming dance– he taught her how to slow dance. Her next trip was to tell him she’d moved again and never gotten to go to the dance after all– so they swayed once more... that was the last time she’d visited.

As they settle into a comfortable stance, Emma feels something cold hit the small strip of skin exposed at her back. Logically she knows it should be his left hand, but the chill feels metallic. She stops herself from flinching, not at what must be a prosthetic, but at the temperature of the metal. Meeting his gaze, she can tell her lack of response comforts him briefly before the exhaustion and fear returns to his features. He forces a smile before pulling her closer— clearly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore than she wants to be home, so she dances. Killian hums quietly, a melody she’s heard many times before and often sings to herself when she needs the comfort of her friend. They don’t speak at first, the soft sound of his hum and the distant white noise of waves hitting the sand more than enough to fill the air around them.

Emma feels another wave of fear fall over her and breaks the silence, “I don’t really know how, Killian.”

He leans in closer, “It’s easy. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He winks at her and they feel like children again— twirling in fields of flowers and playing along the shoreline. For a moment, she forgets the monumental changes waiting for her at home and just tries to be happy. Killian spins her around, dipping her, and making her laugh like she hasn’t in what feels like her entire life. He slows and begins to hum a different shanty she doesn’t recognize but causes her to sway back and forth all the same. She has to stop herself from jumping when he speaks again, “I know you’re scared, Swan, but you can do this.”

Emma doesn’t tell him that she knows she can’t, that she knows Neal can’t– or that he won’t. Instead, she just savors the moment with her best friend.

Whether he’s real or fiction or an impossible dream stopped mattering long ago— Killian is always here, a constant in her inconsistent life, and that’s worth everything to Emma. She gazes into his eyes, as easy to lose herself in as the ocean, and he looks back. They’re practically nose to nose and Emma can see every scratch, bruise, and line of exhaustion that covers his face.

He’s still one of the most beautiful humans she’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s that realization that causes her to lean in ever so slightly. His eyebrow raises quickly before mimicking her movement. They have history, it’s patchy and incomplete, but it’s theirs and no matter what Emma always finds herself back in this fantasy’s arms.

He’s fiction, always has been, but he’s been an escape all the same. Emma doesn't second guess her decision to kiss him– no harm, no foul when this is all a dream anyway…

But it never comes.

Their moment is disrupted by a loud cawing noise. It almost sounds like a bird, but the way he flinches and the stoic fear that settles across Killian’s face hints that, whatever made that noise, is not to be messed with. His back stiffens beneath her hands before he moves in front of Emma. Using his left hand– no, hook– he pushes aside the tree blocking their view, “I’m sorry, Swan. You need to go. Now.” He turns back to her frantically, and with fear in his eyes growing, she has no choice but to believe him.

Her heart is beating loud enough that she's positive he can hear it too and she’s not sure if it’s the imminent danger or the fact she almost kissed him.

He’s not real, Emma.

Still, the look in his eyes fools her into playing along once again, rushing back towards his ship as darkness falls like a blanket across the beach. Emma stops him, selfishly pulling him behind a bush for just one more moment alone. “When will I see you again?” She isn’t sure why she’s asking when it’s always been up to her.

He smiles at her before pulling her tight, “Just hold onto this— to us and our parallel existences.” His right hand cups her cheek and she takes a moment to find comfort in his warmth, “You’re one of the only reasons I’m alive, Emma Swan. Let me be your something, as you are mine.”

Emma can feel herself crying now, the reality she’s returning to feeling scarier than whatever has Killian rushing her home, but he’s counting on her to survive, so she will. “I’ll see you soon, Killian.”

He smiles at her one more time, bright and hopeful, “Aye, Swan. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she feels the warmth bubble inside of her as the light surrounds her once again and takes her back. In no time at all she’s sitting again on the dingy tile floor of a gas station in Phoenix. She holds the book close once more before putting it back in her bag. She sighs, remembering Killian’s faith in her, as she grabs the pregnancy test and goes to break the news to Neal.

As she leaves the bathroom, she’s startled by two officers with their guns drawn. As she’s told to raise her hands up, the lifted watch Neal gave her for her birthday catches the harsh fluorescent light and the positive test falls from her hand clattering against the linoleum at her feet.

Phoenix, AZ; August, 2001

“Emma, are you sure?” The doctor questions her as he wraps her crying son in a towel.

She refuses to look, the tears and sweat stinging her eyes. Emma knows if she holds the small boy, she won’t be able to give him up. The doctor turns away, placing the small boy into a bassinet behind him and Emma feels a weight lifted from her. Being given up herself, Emma swore she’d never put a child in that position, but she also never thought she’d be giving birth in prison.

The recollection of her own upbringing sparks something inside of her, “Wait!” The doctor turns around, something like hope in his eyes. Emma knows he thinks she’s changed her mind, but in reality, her decision has only been further solidified by her choice not to send him off alone. “There’s a book. In my personal belongings. It’s leatherbound and full of fairy tales– please, send it with him.”

The doctor looks at the guard who nods before sending their partner to retrieve the storybook. She’ll feel safer knowing even a piece of her— and a larger piece of Killian– will be with her son no matter where he ends up. The book made her feel like her parents at least cared enough not to send her off alone, and she hopes it provides the same comfort for her son.

It can be his something to hold onto.

Slight melancholy aches through her at the realization she’s given up her right to visit Killian ever again. She thinks he’d understand– support her even. Still, Emma smiles softly as the book is placed next to the hospital crib before drifting off where memories of distant lands keep her fast asleep.

Boston, MA; October, 2011

“Another banner year.” Emma blows out the blue star candle, and makes the simplest of birthday wishes. As she begins to unwrap the cupcake there’s a knock at the door. Startled, but curious, she opens it to a young boy looking at her like she’s standing on her head.

“Can I help you?” Emma’s had a long night, and while she could really go for some girl scout cookies, she doubts the small boy outside her door at 8pm is here to sell her any.

“Are you Emma Swan?” He tilts his head as he asks, a simple movement that Emma almost finds endearing.

“Yeah. Who are you?” She’s trying not to be impatient, but she really needs to take a shower and wash off the scum from her skip earlier that evening.

“My name is Henry. I’m your son.”

Well she wasn’t expecting that .

Storybrook, ME; 2011

Henry’s adoptive mother is– something. Regina Mills is not who Emma expected when she spent late nights picturing Henry with a family, but he has a roof over his head and everything he could ever want. And the town, Storybrook, is quaint and safe. Henry seems healthy.

What more could she have wanted for her son?

Maybe to not have the gut feeling that something— no everything — is off in this town.

Regina (aggressively) asked her to leave after dropping Henry off, but she can’t find it in herself to head back to Boston just yet. She wanders into a small diner that touts an attached inn, and the warm atmosphere is beyond inviting. Against all previous plans, she settles herself onto a stool at the bar and orders herself some hot chocolate. As she sips her drink, she takes in the rest of the diner only to realize almost everyone is looking at her. Almost. There’s a dark haired man with his back to her sitting in one of the booths. Emma finds herself fixated on him, and the fact that, unlike everyone else in the diner, he couldn’t seem to care less that she’s here.

A waitress in a short red skirt drops off soup at his table before making her way back towards Emma. “Hey, new girl. You want some food?” Startled by her forwardness, Emma responds with a stutter, “I– uh– no– I’m not– uh.. Why is everyone staring at me?”

The girl– Ruby if her name tag is anything to go by– belly laughs before answering, “Girl, we haven’t had visitors to this town in ages .” Emma isn’t sure how to take that but Ruby doesn’t seem to mind as she keeps talking, “I mean, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a visitor in this diner. Strictly regulars. That’s why they’re staring, hun. Not to mention, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.” She shrugs her shoulder in Emma’s direction and winks with a wolf’s smile.

She’s spunky and Emma likes her, “Well, I’m happy to be your first. Do you have any rooms?”

Ruby scoffs again, “All of them– no visitors remember? Except room 9, Sailor Boy over there has taken up permanent residence in that one.” The waitress motions towards the man in the back booth before flagging down an older woman asking for a room key.

Emma glances again at the dark haired stranger, wanting to know more, but having no real reason to strike up a conversation. Before she can approach him, she’s being handed a key and ushered up the stairs to her room by a pushy old lady that everyone seems to affectionately call Granny. She settles in for the night, her curiosity about the town and its residents only growing the longer she stays.

When she wakes up, it’s to Henry knocking on her door again. She opens to find him practically vibrating, “You stayed?!”

She can’t help but smile at his excitement, finding it hard to tamper her own, “Yeah, kid, I did. Don’t you have school or something?”

Henry smiles, “Not for another hour, wanna grab some breakfast?”

Emma nods and follows her son– not sure she’ll ever get used to that– down the stairs to grab some breakfast from the diner. They order from the counter when all the booths are full, but decide to move when one opens as their food is ready. Emma thanks Ruby, grabbing their plates of waffles, before turning towards the booth just as someone walks behind her. The plates crash to the ground, both her and the man she bumped into bending down to help with clean up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, lass. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Emma knows that voice– would know it anywhere.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up at her, concern etched across the animated eyebrows she’s known for almost her entire life. If she wasn’t positive before, she is now, the blue eyes that haunted her dreams for years after giving up the book are staring directly back at her. “Killian?”

He looks stunned, but there’s no recognition in his eyes— eerily similar to their first night so many years ago on the docks. The warmth of his gaze, the excitement at meeting once again, and the hint of infatuation Emma always stopped herself from hoping for are gone without a trace. The unsettled feeling that’s sat in Emma’s stomach since the moment she and Henry crossed the town line the night before seems to boil over. All the air feels as though it’s escaped her lungs, suffocating her as she realizes the only person she’s ever come close to calling her best friend has no idea who she is. Her fear is solidified when he speaks again, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

@mariakov81 @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @nikkiemms

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #cs canon divergence #captain swan fanfiction #capthamm #bye capthamm #captcas

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vminity21 · 4 years ago

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Aplomb | kth

» Pairing: instructor!taehyung x blind!reader

» Word Count: 2,315

» Genre: vague angst/fluff/soft

» Warning(s): None; Rated: pg

» Summary: He always finds a way to bring the vision to you, even when you thought it could never be possible.

Credits to: @suhdays , the cover seriously embodies the aesthetic, thank you so much!

The rain is relentless causing clusters of cold, stringy grass to cling to your ankles while you amble past, palms palpating rough bark of tree trunks on either side, pushing your way through the mush, flinging dirt covers your shins, the scowl on your face must be ridiculous, but you're determined to find shelter regardless. A path ahead paves you through the woods, tangled brush mingles with fallen logs, decorating what you can imagine is the color green among the ground- your bare feet soaked along with your dress snug to your figure. The journey is long or appears that way, except when your eyes fall upon something peculiar in the distance.

Lily pads glide along the top of the water encircled by pickerels and horsetail plants, long blades of grass tickle each other in the wind, the rain ceasing especially when your gaze halts at the silhouette- his eyes are closed, hands crossed over his chest, merely floating letting the trivial splashes of the water drown his acoustic senses to nature. You're so intrigued by the scene, tiptoeing forward to see the subtle fall and rise of his chest- the water carrying him in a peaceful drift.

Bricks surround the pond holding in what it can, you nestle onto the ground, your eyes never moving from the sleeping frame. It's strange, everything around is simply what has been described to you, but something about him- something about him makes you feel as though you're not alone. You dip your feet into the water carefully, the mud washing away from your skin. When you inch closer, you peer at his face, what you imagine him to look like, a small freckle dotting his nose, pink lips resting in a content line, the curve of his jawline, and the beauty of what you imagine is soft brown eye-

Darkness is all you see when you jolt awake, panting at the realization that the man in your dream happened to open his eyes without your knowledge. Hence why your heart is thrumming beneath you, your hand hovering above your chest in order to remain calm. Though you can't see it, you can tell its daylight from the way your room feels, the heat soothing on the wooden floors the moment you maneuver your bare feet onto the ground. Palpating the covers of your bed, you search for your white cane that you typically leave leaning against the side of your bed frame; cautiously you arise when your fingers curl over the curved edge, slowly walking to your dresser to throw on whatever jeans and t-shirt you have clean.

You were five years old when you were pronounced blind. The sickness that overtook you robbed you of your sight, though years and years have passed, there are still things you don't necessarily remember, but your memory has reserved just enough for you to imagine. Tapping your cane along the floor, you pause, feeling for the denim in one drawer, then sliding open the next one and grabbing the first fabric you touch. Once dressed, you feel your way to the laundry basket, throwing your pajamas into it.

School for the blind. That's where you are because according to your parents there is always something to learn. Loneliness overwhelms you, especially when you wish your family would visit you, but in order to succeed, you must focus- according to your mother. If only she would understand how much strength it really takes for you to endure this then maybe she wouldn't be so distant. You prod to the bathroom, palms patting against the cool surface of the counter until you find your toothbrush, freshening up before retrieving your hairbrush, gently pulling it through your tousled strands, wincing at the pain when you hit scant knots. One thing you've missed out on that you wish you weren't forced to is what you've grown up to look like. You remember your hair color from when you were younger, the same as you remember the color of your eyes, yet the equivalent thought plagues you every day- how do you appear to other people?

"[Y/N]?" Taehyung, your instructor's, deep voice calls from your bedroom door, your head turning in that very direction. You tap your cane in front of you until your fingertips smooth along the top of a table, one that is set a foot away from your bedroom door.

"Good morning," you greet with a terse grin, your hearing is sensitive or has been nearly your whole life due to your condition since you hear Taehyung shifting fully away from the door and into your room.

"Good morning, [Y/N], are you ready for your review today?" his voice is soft- you hear the skid of him pulling a chair out, you brushing your hip along the rim of the table until you settle into the seat, the cushion comforting enough for you to feel at peace.

"I am," you reply, dropping your cane lightly on the ground as the sound of a heavy book is set in front of you.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it," you hear him taking a seat beside you- the flapping of book pages sinking the silence, "Alright," he clears his throat, "you may begin."

You raise your hand to find the book, sliding your fingertips along the page until you feel the familiar dots of braille. You murmur the letters to yourself until they form a word, "Cat," you say confidently, your fingers flying to the next word.

"Good job," Taehyung congratulates, and you feel the air from his palm gesturing you to continue. Though you can't see him, you always enjoy his company, his countenance brings a peace you wish you could feel when you're alone.

The single dot you feel, immediately you identify as 'a', your fingers pressing harder into the braille to figure the other letters, "Apple." You continue for another twenty minutes correctly reading words from left to right until you feel Taehyung moving the book away from you. "You know what I think?" he says leading to a drawn-out silence. You gulp, the pace of your heart slightly quickening as nervous jitters greet your stomach. You wait patiently for his response, imagining his fingers pinned to his lips in concentration. "I think it's time for sentences. A story if I want to be frank."

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, "A... story?"

"From what I've gathered, you already know braille inside and out. Have yet to make a mistake," his deep voice serenades you though you'll never admit it, just something so soothing about the way he enunciates his words and the encouragement brings a timid smile to your lips, "Why not read an entire story? Not from a teaching standpoint but an actual-"

"Book," you finish his sentence, "Like, a book book."

His chuckle reverberates in the room, and you imagine his smile inwardly wishing you could visually see it, "Exactly. Like a book book."

When you spread your fingers along the table, you happen to brush his, though unintentional, you freeze, his touch lingering before he clears his throat, closing the thicker book, and standing to his feet to retrieve what you assume is a story he has in mind for you.

"What- what is it about?" You question, turning your body to face the direction of his footsteps.

"That is something you will have to find out," and with that, he lays the book on the table in front of you, the slight touch of his arm against your shoulder giving you feelings you repudiate.

Swans swim across the glistening lake, their bright orange feet paddling beneath tinged green ripples. Tiger lilies bloom beside towering cattails giving ribbiting toads a place of refuge. Your heart swells at the scene, perfumes of cardinal flowers waft in your direction due to the subtle breeze. The sun rests directly between the sky and the hills ahead, its flames keeping the atmosphere warm, your feet kicking along the pavement while your hands remain on either side of the bench you are seated upon.

When darkness hovers over your eyes, you realize large palms are pressed against your eyelids, your heart hammering before turning to see his face. Bright teeth show below his squinting eyes, shoulders quaking from your ajar mouthed gape- he leans onto the back of the bench letting your humored eyes and shaking head deem his fate. Leading him to the edge of the stream like a character from a storybook, he's entranced by your seducing gaze, not prepared for the shove you give- him tumbling into the water backward, arms flailing producing droplets that nicker your cheeks.

Laughter from your lips is the music to his ears once he manages to stand to his feet- knee-deep and drenched- the swans fly off- their shadows hovering above- he reaches for you, lifting you by your waist, both of you plummeting simultaneously into the water. Your fingers grip his arms, him lifting you for air- the hilarity of the moment refusing to dispel. Automatically, your arms wrap around his shoulders, the warmth of his soaked chest allures you enough to where your eyes latch with his. You've read of a scenario similar to what you're fantasizing- the pause of realization when the characters hold their gaze, lips parting almost instinctively, tips of noses brushing yet you have no idea how to imagine the sensation of a kiss even with his breath swiping your chin. Desire to loom in every aspect, you move your fingertips to trace his face, letting his aura captivate-

"[Y/N]?"

Gasping, your shoulders tense, realization dawning that it's Taehyung, him appearing at your bedroom door in preparation for your next lesson. "I'm sorry, [Y/N], I didn't mean to frighten you. How has reading been going?" Taehyung's heart nearly melts when he sees your lips form the sweetest smile. You timorously face down, fidgeting your fingers, "I love it," you murmur, him settling in the chair beside you.

"In that case," though you can't see it, you can hear the smile in his voice, "how about we have our lesson outside, today?"

Worry clouds your expression at his proposal, "But- but I can't see it," your words are hardly above a whisper.

"Ah, but you can feel it,"

Taehyung remains by your side the entire walk outside of the school building, your cane tapping along in front of you though you trust that Taehyung will never let anything happen to you. Footsteps trample the pavement until they meet the quiet crunch of grass. Chirps of countless birds welcome you with the pooling sound of water- quacking ducks waddle along the edge- honking geese rattle off in the reserve.

"Where- where are we?" you stammer, your head poised as if you can see the Heavens. Taehyung's large hand slightly rests at the small of your back, leading you to a bench, helping you settle onto it, the metal warm from the sun rays that are evident.

"The lake," he answers once he sits next to you maintaining his distance, "It's too beautiful of a day to keep you cooped up in your room. I think you deserve a break." His words touch your heart a whole lot more than he knows. "Here," he says, his presence disappearing momentarily before you feel him relaxing into the seat beside you once again. Gesturing in your direction, you're uncertain of what he's doing- that's when soft fingers lead yours to feel the smoothness of something, the fragrance of it convivial to your nose, the leafy stem revealing it to be a flower.

"It feels," you breathe, "it feels beautiful."

"I knew you'd like it," you hear him sniff the floret, the urge you're fighting leaves you in defeat for you turn to face him, the curiosity imminent from every piece of your soul.

"Can I?" you pause, lifting your hand to level with where your shoulder is. Taehyung's eyes widen, swallowing the lump in his throat because the butterflies he's feeling reflect the thumping of your heart though neither of you voices it. With your fingertips, you find his chin, tracing tenderly along the edge of his jaw then moving toward his ear, tufts of hair tickle your fingers though you yearn to see the color of the soft strands. Sensibly your digits trail to find his eyebrows, discovering he's wearing a hat that covers the majority of his head- you then find his nose pausing over the spot you imagine a little freckle, soon brushing his lips, you unintentionally inch closer to him, his breath hitching though the burning crave between both of you is undeniably smothering.

"[Y/N], I-" Taehyung whispers.

"Please," you choke, your thumbs resting on the corners of his parted lips. You read in the story of how this feels, how the emotions between two people can be so strong- though the intent of the story was more to focus on nature- your heart mostly belonged to the love between the two characters. The love you long for with the man of your dreams. "Let me," your nose burns from the tears gathering in your eyes. When his large hands move to cup your face, you feel his forehead rest upon yours, his shaky breaths mirroring your own, giving you the permission you've so desperately longed for. Without further disinclination, you close the gap, his warm lips so soft you're nearly dizzy from the sensation; your face eases, your muscles relax as you melt into his kiss, you lean more into him, giving him a chance to embrace you completely.

You may not be able to see the world, in fact, you will never be able to envision it,

But you can feel it. Because right here in your arms, you have the world who's taught you the most.

The world who brings the vision to you.

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myfellowcandlesticks · 3 years ago

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Title: How Does a Moment Last Forever? Pairing: It’s about Found Family, but these pairings are mentioned: Lumiere/Plumette, Adam/Belle, Garderobe/Cadenza Word count: 945

I love this song, I love Maurice, I love them all 💞

Afternoon trickles through the curtains, and Maurice takes a moment to open the windows, to let in the sun. His atelier is a mess—that hasn’t changed—but it’s big now, huge, and brimming with knick-knacks of all sorts; curiosities he finds around the castle, or at the market, or in his travels.

He sits, and the chairs are more comfortable here, too. His back no longer aches after an evening at the easel. He picks up his pencil, touches it to the canvas; the scraping sound of it fills the room. Sometimes it’s the paintbrush, light and comfortable between his fingers, and when he dips it in color it’s like his arm is complete again.

The atelier seems to expand, then, and his memory fills pages and pages of sketchbooks, occupies canvas after canvas, until they line the walls.

He paints Mrs. Potts, a shawl over her shoulders, nose pressed to Chip’s cheek. The boy’s eyes are closed and he’s yawning, pink tongue against white teeth. Jean has been added to the picture, his face open and kind, his large hands resting on his wife’s shoulders. ‘Complete’, Maurice calls this painting.

There’s another one, of Chapeau alone by the door. His silhouette is framed by candlelight, his polished shoes gleaming as well. He is silent, even for a painting. A lock of dark hair escapes his wig; the shadow of a smile plays upon his lips. He stands still, happy in his solitude, and he’s not truly alone. He is surrounded by people who love him enough to listen to his silence.

Here are Garderobe and Cadenza, their hands raised above their heads in theatrical joy. Her dress is pooling at her feet, bright as a cresting wave. They are making music only for themselves, and for the artist who sits in the corner, spilling colors onto paper the way they spill song into the air.

Over a stack of books, there is a sketch of Cuisinier waving goodbye as he rides Philippe into town. In the corner, Maurice has scribbled a recipe, something nice and simple, for when I’m away. Don’t let Lumiere near my kitchen, I beg of you. The next time Cuisinier visits the village, Maurice goes with him.

He draws the Bimbettes, flushed and smiling, pulling ribbons out of their baskets to show to Lefou and Stanley, who try them on and smile too. He draws the Farmer and the Jam Maker, heads bent together over an old book while a schoolboy teaches them how to read. He draws Père Robert, laughing at his own joke. He draws the empty steps where Agathe used to sit.

Another painting shows Cogsworth, waiting at the entrance of the castle, his face drawn into a worried and slightly reprimanding frown. Maurice, old boy, you’re late. I was afraid you’d been eaten by wolves! Don’t frighten me like that again. Maurice calls this one ‘Care’.

By the window, there is a sketch of Lumiere and Plumette. They are leaning into each other, slow and mellow; no makeup, no wigs, noses unpowdered. Their mouths are curved into lazy smiles. Sunlight glints softly off their closed eyelids. Lumiere’s head is tilted towards Plumette, beseeching and perhaps a little vulnerable. Her lips are parted, forming the beginning of a comforting word. ‘Intimacy’.

Maurice also draws Belle and Adam. There they are, caught in the rain, running back towards the castle laughing, hand in hand. Barefoot, cloaks billowing out behind them. Heads thrown back, turned towards the weeping sky. They look happy, so happy, and Maurice imagines them bouncing off the paper, filling the room with their laughter.

He draws Belle. In the morning, half asleep at the breakfast table. Sitting by the window, her nose stuck in a book. Frowning over her newest invention, hands grimy and stained. Teaching the children in the library; eating a meringue; smiling, sleeping, dancing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maurice sees her walk into his atelier. He doesn’t look up from his work, not yet. He lets her walk across the room. She looks at all the different paintings and sketches, then finally reaches him, hugs him, bends to place a kiss on his forehead. That’s when he looks up, and she says, “You used to paint things from the past. Only things from the past. Maman, Paris, our crumbling attic of a house... or me as a child.”

He nods slowly. Belle looks around, once again, and beams. “Now... you paint what’s in front of you.”

Maurice smiles back. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but—” He takes the canvas from its easel, places it on the table, turns it towards her. It’s a painting of her mother, bright eyed and smiling.

Belle’s eyes soften. “Of course,” she says. “And yet—” Her fingers graze the drying paint, brushing over the brilliant brown of her mother’s eyes. He has painted a single dimple on her cheek, the way he remembers it. Then, like an afterthought, a streak of gray running through her hair. Belle’s hand pauses over it. “I’ve never seen you paint her like this before.”

Maurice looks at the lines and curves he has drawn. The delicate arc of a wrist, like a swan’s neck. The crease of a brow, wise with years. The wrinkle at the corner of an eye, or around the mouth; lines where many smiles have been.

“Yes,” he says, “you’re right. It’s as if...”

“As if she’s still here,” Belle whispers.

And they both know that she is. Here in this enchanted castle, among the people they love the most, the family they’ve found.

This is how a moment lasts forever.

{read more batb short stories on ao3 or on my blog}

#my writing #i have a lot of Feelings #beauty and the beast #batb #beauty and the beast 2017 #batb 2017 #maurice

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years ago

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A Story in the Life of Killian Jones and Emma Swan by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 2/2

Read on AO3: | Part 1 | Part 2

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Part 2:

Emma turned toward him, standing in front of his hotel room, an anxious look on her face. “I need to talk to you.”

“Are you crazy? What if Neal sees you?” He pushed open the door to his room and ushered the woman quickly inside.

“I’m sorry, I know this is insane, I shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right you shouldn’t be. Why are you here?”

The boy whined loudly in her arms. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere I can I lay him down, he hasn’t had his afternoon nap.” Without waiting for a response, she laid her son on the bed, talking to him quietly as she tucked the covers over his shoulders. He could barely take his eyes off her, watching as she ran her fingers through the boy’s hair.

She looked up at him and everything in his body threatened to shut down. “Emma, you really shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve been thinking…” She sighed. “My parents didn’t want me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My parent’s they abandoned me when I was a baby, I spent a lot of years in foster care, but no one ever really wanted me. When I was old enough I emancipated, moved out on my own. I’ve never really been afraid of being alone, of not being wanted…but Henry…” She looked at her son, sleeping in the bed. “I don’t want Henry to ever feel like his father abandoned him.”

“I already told you, lass, I’m not here to ruin your life. I most certainly have no intention of hurting your child’s chances either. I have no plans to reveal your secret to Neal. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I believe that, and that’s part of the reason I’m here.” She shook her head. “He deserves to know his father. His real father.”

“But that would mean…” He stepped away from her.

“It would mean that I need to talk to Neal.” She replied softly. “I know.”

“You can’t do that. It would destroy him.” A sick feeling was growing in his stomach. Neal would never forgive either of them.

“I can’t live with this guilt; I get a sick feeling in my stomach every time he looks at me.” Killian chuckled at the similarity of their feelings. “I didn’t do any of this to hurt him, I thought I was protecting him and Henry, but I have lied to him, and he deserves to know the truth.”

“You’re getting married tomorrow.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.” She said quietly. “But I can’t walk down that aisle and promise myself to be faithful and true to him if I don’t tell him the truth first.”

“So, you’re just going to tell him the truth, and then what? You walk down the aisle, and everyone is happy?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get that far in my thought process.” She laughed.

He watched the woman from his place in the room. He was still angry at her, even though he knew she had no way of finding him anymore than he did her after they separated that night. Neither knew the other’s name, they had no way of contacting each other. But he was still angry as he looked over at the young boy asleep in his bed. He had a son and he had already missed so much of his life.

Killian had been up all night on the balcony thinking about his life, the things he had screwed up, things he had done right. Killian had spent every moment thinking only about himself, making his mark on the world, he never once stopped to think about anyone else. Sure, he had his brother, and he would do anything for Liam or even Robin and Neal, but when it came down to it, he only ever took care of himself.

But now…knowing that he had a son, suddenly things felt different. It was like the entire game had changed.

“He has my eyes.” He finally responded. “But he has your nose.”

She laughed, and when he looked up he realized she had tears in her eyes. “Sometimes when he’s sleeping, he does that thing with his jaw that you do.”

“Pardon me?”

“He clenches a bit when he’s sleeping. I remembered you doing that too…” She stared off in the distance. “That night.”

“You watched me sleep?” His brow rose when she turned to look at him.

“A bit. I had a lot on my mind. Plus, you’re kind of easy on the eyes.” He chuckled softly. “Pretty sure he got his attitude from you, that was apparent last night.”

“Are you saying I had an attitude?”

“Actually, you were kind of a dick, but it was warranted, I’m sure it was a shock last night.”

They each smiled and Killian realized how easy it was to fall into a conversation with her, the back and forth, give and take, the same reason he felt drawn to her the night at the bar. He stepped forward and offered her his hand. “Hi, I’m Killian Jones.”

She shook her head with a gentle laugh and an unsure look on her face before shaking her hand with his. “Emma Swan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Emma.” He said with a nod.

“Can you ever forgive me?” She asked, biting her lip.

“There’s nothing to forgive, love.”

“I know this is going to be awkward and uncomfortable, and hell I have no idea how Neal is going to react, but I want you to get to know him. I want that for Henry. And for you.” Her eyes shimmered with wet tears. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know and if you had, I have a feeling that things might have turned out differently.”

“I probably would have done something ridiculously stupid.” He mumbled.

She laughed, “I want you to know something…about that night.”

“Love, there’s no need to…”

She cut him off. “Yes there is. Neal and I had been dating, not exclusively, but we had been dating for about three months when I went to the conference. He had asked me to move in with him and I wasn’t ready for a commitment like that.” He leaned back against the wall, watching her face as she spoke. “Then I met you.” She looked over at her son for a moment. “I didn’t sleep with you because I was confused about Neal.” She said firmly, turning her attention back to him. “My whole life I’ve always done what I wanted, I never had to worry about how it affected anyone else.”

She stepped closer to him, and he swallowed, trying not to choke on the pit that was forming in his throat. “That night, with you, I had never done that before. You need to know that I wasn’t the type of person to just jump in bed with a stranger.”

“I never assumed that love.”

“Good.” She said with a soft smile. “But after you fell asleep, I just laid there, thinking about what I had done.”

“You regretted it?” He responded with sadness.

“No, not a single minute.” Her hand slid against his arm, and she looked up into his eyes. “There isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t look into my son’s eyes and think of you. No matter what happened, you gave me Henry and being his mother is the single most important thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

He scanned her eyes, seeing the honesty of her words as she spoke. “If I had known about him, I swear to you I would have been there. I would have helped.”

“And that is why I want you to be a part of his life.”

He looked over at the boy sleeping peacefully in his bed and smiled. “I’d like that very much.” Turning back to her he sighed. “So, what will you do now?”

“I don’t know yet. I need to talk to Neal, try and explain all of this.”

“He won’t take this news lightly.” He warned. “I’ve known Neal all of my life. Are you sure you want to do this? We could find another way so that you didn’t need to expose yourself.”

“I won’t lie to him anymore and I can’t ask you to do it either.”

“I’d offer to assist, but I’m not certain my presence would make it better.”

She laughed again, a sound that soothed his beating heart. “This is something I need to do alone.” She walked over to her son, scooping his limp body into her arms, and depositing him into his stroller.

A look of worry washed over his face, he was certain Neal would react poorly to the news, he couldn’t blame him, if he put himself in the man’s place, he wasn’t sure he would remain calm either. “You can stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl.” She responded to his obvious concern.

“I don’t doubt that, however I would feel better if you could keep me apprised of the situation. I don’t want to walk into Neal’s fist without first knowing it’s coming.” He chuckled.

She rolled her eyes and held out her hand, when he gazed at her quizzically, she smiled. “Phone.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, handing it to her as she punched in her number and sent herself a text. When she was finished she passed it back to him. “I’ll let you know.”

He peered down at his phone and opened the text.

Killian: Hey it’s dark and stormy

He raised his brow and looked at her. “My drink order?”

“Your general attitude.” She teased, pushing the stroller past him, and reaching for the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Emma.” He watched her leaving, a nagging feeling telling him he needed to be honest with her as well. She may be marrying Neal, but she meant something to him, she always had. He reached out and gently tugged her by the arm. “That night changed me too. I may not have known about Henry but being with you that night…I thought about you often.”

“Killian…” she replied with a frown.

“Don’t fret lass, I’m not about to declare my undying love for you or anything, I just want you to know that it wasn’t just about sex for me, you were different, I never understood it, but you were. I tried to find you many times, at other conferences, on the faces of people I passed on the streets. I never stopped thinking about you, what could have been, I just…I wanted you to know that it meant something.”

“It meant something to me too.” She said with a sad smile, twisting the handle on the door and opening it.

“Hey Killian, you finally finish with that nap of…” Killian stared into the eyes of his best friend as he looked between his fiancé and himself. “Emma?”

“Neal…” Emma stepped toward him, and Neal pushed away from her.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Emma was just…” He started to explain, to come up with anything to make Neal stop glaring at him with the heat of thousand suns. Emma put her hand on his chest.

“Killian, don’t.”

“What the fuck.” Neal yelled. “Are you fucking my fiancé? You couldn’t wait to get one last jab in at your ole best friend, is that it?”

Killian swallowed. “Stop it Neal. That’s not what happened.”

“No? So, you’re just sneaking out of his hotel room, the day before our wedding because you were picking out bridal patterns?” He screamed.

“Mate, don’t shout at her.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” He yelled, stepping into Killian’s space.

“Everyone stop shouting.” Emma demanded, stepping between him and Neal.

“I can’t believe you would do this, Emma. You’ve known him a whole day.” He glared at him. “And you, you just couldn’t wait to use that Jones charm on her. Were you that jealous that I finally got a life that you wanted to ruin it for me?”

“I would never do that.” Killian argued. “I was happy, I am happy for you. You’re my best friend.”

“Bullshit. Friends don’t do this. Not this Killian.”

“Neal, if you would please let me explain.” Emma interrupted.

“Explain what? That the day before our wedding, you just had to have one more roll in the hay, before you got stuck with my dick forever, and of course to jab the knife in further you just had to pick him. Honestly Emma, I would have accepted it being anyone else, but him. Why him?”

“We weren’t sleeping together.” Emma closed her eyes as she spoke just as Robin approached the group.

“What’d I miss?” Robin asked anxiously.

“Just my best friend having a go at my fiancé, with my fucking kid in the room.”

“Um…What?” Robin turned toward him. “I thought we talked about this last night, you were going to walk away.”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “Last night? Jesus Christ, how quickly did the two of you fuck after meeting?”

“I didn’t have sex with her, Mate.” Killian said forcefully.

“So, you’re going to stand here and tell me that you’ve never had sex with Emma?”

Killian’s jaw tensed as he looked at Emma, his eyes gazing back to Neal. “Don’t do it, Killian.” Robin warned beside him, and Killian gritted his teeth. He couldn’t lie to Neal.

“I can’t do that.” He responded, just as the fist connected with his face and he crumpled against the wall.

“Jesus Neal.” He heard Emma yell as a pair of arms grabbed him around the elbow, pulling him back to his feet.

“Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on.” He heard his brother’s booming voice from the other end of the hall.

“Oh good, the gang’s all here.” Killian chuckled as he spit blood from his mouth onto the ground.

“Killian fucked Emma.” Neal growled and his brother turned a disappointed eye his direction. Killian shrugged his shoulders.

“It wasn’t recent.” He growled.

“What the hell does that mean?” Neal laughed.

“It was a long time ago.” Killian heard Emma’s voice behind Neal and Neal turned to face her, the change in his direction allowed him to see the woman, tears falling down her face. “I met him at that Vegas convention that we both went to.” Robin sighed beside him. “I never meant to hurt you; I didn’t know what I wanted then. You wanted to move in, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that kind of commitment.”

Neal’s shoulders sagged as he leaned against the wall. Emma pressed forward, taking his hand. “I came back to you, I decided I needed to grow up, to take a chance so I came home, and we moved in together.”

“So, to be fair, one could say that shagging me, pushed her to you.” Killian joked, something that no one witnessing the scene found funny.

“Shut the fuck up, Jones.” Neal spat and Robin shook his head disapprovingly as if to tell him now was not the time.

“I never told him my name and I didn’t know his.”

“And you never showed us a picture of the woman you were with; I had no way of knowing my dalliance in Vegas was in any way related to you. I didn’t even know where she lived, Mate. The first time I had seen her since then was last night, I swear.”

“I don’t even know how to process this.” Neal blew out a ragged breath. “I knew you weren’t sure about moving in with me, but when you got home, you just seemed different. I never questioned it.”

“I was sure.”

“Because you had sex with him, and then suddenly you could settle for a life with me?”

“No, I just, I couldn’t be that person, the one-night stand person, I needed to grow up.”

“So, you moved in with me so you could be a responsible adult?” He asked sarcastically. “Isn’t that romantic. Here I thought you did it because you loved me.”

“I did.” She argued. “I do. I just…”

“God, I don’t feel like I know you at all. Everything I thought about our life has been a lie.”

“That’s not true, Neal.” She pleaded.

“Would you have even stayed with me if you hadn’t gotten pregnant right after we…” He paused, his hand slowly covering his mouth as if the realization was taking over, the moment that Killian had been dreading the entire time. “Oh God.”

“Neal, can we please go and…”

“He’s not mine.” He whispered, staring at the floor. “Those goddamn blue eyes.” He muttered, an angry laugh following. “He’s not mine, is he?” He asked angrily as his eyes raged with fire.

Killian dropped his head to his chest, he felt Robin’s hand on his shoulder.

“No.” Emma cried, and Killian wanted more than anything to wrap her in his arms and hold her, to protect her, but he knew that it would only make matters worse. “I’m sorry Neal, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry brother.” Killian responded quietly.

“Don’t.” Neal pushed away from the wall. “I don’t want either of you talk to me. I can’t even look at you without wanting to vomit on the floor or punch you in the face.” He growled in his direction. He marched toward the other end of the hallway as Emma sunk to her knees crying next to the stroller. Killian looked toward his brother, sadness on his face.

“I’ll go talk to him.” He said with a nod. “Take care of them.” He said to Robin.

“Emma.” He walked toward her, and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“I’m fine. Please, don’t look at me like that, I’m fine. I deserved everything he said.”

“Aye, myself included, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Can Henry rest in your room? I just need to take a walk.” She said, standing and brushing herself off.

“Do you need company?” He asked sincerely.

“No. I need to believe alone, I just need to think.”

Robin nodded and Killian watched as she walked down the hallway, her arms wrapped around her waist.

~*~

Emma could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she knew the conversation with Neal was going to be difficult, but having him find her with Killian, having the truth come out the way it did was never something she anticipated.

She deserved his ire, she deserved the words he threw at her, yet it didn’t make it hurt less.

Emma knew that if she had never gotten pregnant, she may not have ever needed to bring up her indiscretion, but she could never say that she wished she hadn’t had Henry. She could live with her mistakes, she would own the consequences, but no matter what those ended up being, she would always have her son.

She loved Neal, but if he couldn’t forgive her, she could live with that as long as she had Henry.

No matter what Neal decided, she would be fine.

She walked around for what felt like hours until she wandered into the pool area. She sat down on one of the lounge chairs, staring at the water spilling over the small waterfall built into it.

“Hey Ems.” She looked up to see Neal walking slowly toward her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he looked around nervously.

“I’m so sorry.” She said softly as the tears threatened to fall again.

“I know.” He took a seat on the lounger and exhaled. They sat in silence for a moment, neither sure what to say. “Did you always know?” He turned toward her calmly. “That he wasn’t mine?”

Emma shook her head, the tears finally leaving her eyes. “Not at first, no. Honestly, it didn’t occur to me to think anything at all…” She shook her head. “But then he was born, and he had those beautiful blue eyes and that dark hair and…”

“I always knew Jones would make beautiful babies.”

“I hoped I was wrong, I really did. But when I realized the truth, I had no way of knowing who his father was, and I wanted him to have a father who would love him, and you did love him so much.” She cried.

“Answer me something, Em.” He took her hand and held it in his. “If you could have known sooner who he was, would you have still chosen me to be his father?”

“I…” She didn’t know how to answer that question. She realized last night that it would be wrong to keep Killian from knowing his son, that it would be unfair for Henry not to have the chance to know his father. “You don’t have to be his dad for him to love you like one.”

“But would you still choose me? You were so unsure about us moving in together. You ran, like you always did, and you ran into another man’s bed. Without Henry, would you and I still be together?” His voice was low, and calm.

“I do love you.” She replied, choking back her tears.

“I know that Em, but you didn’t answer the question.” He said with a laugh. “I think it’s because you already know the answer.”

“I came home to you, I didn’t know I was pregnant then, I still came home to be with you.” She sobbed.

“And how long would that have lasted? Vegas scared you. Being with Killian scared you, so you ran back to me, to safety.”

“No. I wasn’t scared, I realized I needed to take responsibility, be a grown up. That’s what being with Killian did for me.” He smiled, running his hand across her cheek.

“I don’t want you to be with me because it’s the right thing to do. I want you to be with me because there’s nothing else you want in the world except for me. To know that you can’t picture your life any other way.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. Losing you isn’t fair either.”

Emma choked back her tears. “What are you saying?”

“I love you, Ems, I’ll always love you, but…” She felt her heart crumble in her chest. “I don’t know if I’m a big enough man to look in that boy’s eyes and know he’s Killian’s every single day and not feel like I’m having a knife stabbed in my chest every time he stares back.”

“He can still be your son.”

“I’m not walking out of his life. I’ll always be there for Henry, and after I learn to be ok with this, I’ll be the best Uncle I can be, but I’m not there yet.”

“What about us? I swear to you, I never looked at another man once we moved in together.” She cried.

“I think we need some time...”

“I don’t want time, I want you.” She begged.

“And if you still feel that way after some time apart, then we’ll talk. But right now, I can’t be with you.” Emma’s tears pooled in her eyes, she felt heartbroken and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, we’ll talk alright. Whatever happens, you’re gonna be alright.” He stood up, looking at her one more time. “I’ll contact all the appropriate people and make the cancellations, just take care of Henry. I’m gonna stay at the office for a while, you take the apartment. I’ll come see you in a few weeks.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” She cried.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, don’t count yourself out yet.” He walked away, disappearing around the corner before Emma sunk down into the lounger, covering her face as she sobbed.

~*~

Killian watched the boy playing in his stroller, the way his lip turned up when he smiled, the sparkle of his blue eyes.

“How’s your eye?” Robin asked from the bed.

“I’ll live. He should have hit me harder.”

There was a knock on the door and Robin got up to open it. Liam walked through the door and nodded at Robin. When their eyes met, Killian looked at the ground. He was sure his brother had to be disappointed in him.

“He’s have a conversation with Emma now.” Liam announced. “Had to do a lot of talking to make that happen instead of what he wanted to do.”

“What’s that?” Killian asked.

“Kick your ass.” He laughed.

“You should have let him.” He exhaled.

“Cut the martyr shit. The way I see it you had sex with a woman at a convention center. Nothing villainous about that.”

“He’s been raising a kid that he thought was his for two years.”

“Which you knew nothing about, right?”

“I wouldn’t have lied to him about that for two bloody years.”

“Alright then, that’s the end of it.” His brother said matter-of-factly.

“Mama.” The boy babbled from his stroller. “Want mama.” He said with a frown, tears threatening in the angry corners of his eyes.

Killian looked at Robin and Liam for assistance. “He’s your kid.” Liam shrugged.

“I don’t know what to do with him, I’ve been a dad for all of 24 hours.”

“Then you better figure it out fast.” Liam said, raising his brow, a look that told Killian that Liam had expected that Killian would be taking his responsibilities seriously from now on.

Killian bent down, pulling the boy from the stroller. “Ok lad, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing here, so I’m gonna need you to work with me here.” He held the toddler against his chest.

“Mama.”

“I know, she’ll be back soon, right now you’re stuck with me.” He laughed.

“Maybe that’s the cause for his angst.” Robin joked and Liam gave him a disapproving nod.

“I’m Killian.” He announced to the boy. “You don’t know me yet, but I’m hoping we can be friends.” He spoke softly and the child stopped crying as if trying to hear his words. “I know I haven’t been around before, but I promise I’m not going anywhere.” His mouth was set in a frown, large beads of water sat on his chubby cheeks from the tears he had shed.

The boy reached out and put a hand on Killian’s cheek and he felt his heart stop.

There was a knock on the door and Liam stepped back to open it. Neal was standing on the other side of the door. Killian supposed it was a good thing he was holding Henry, at least this way he was certain Neal wouldn’t strike him while he was holding the lad. They made eye contact and Killian suddenly felt guilty for holding Henry, his heart broke at the way Neal seemed to shrink from the sight of seeing Killian holding the boy he had thought until today was his son.

“I think we need to talk.” He responded, and Killian nodded.

“Aye.”

“Let’s get something to eat.” Liam announced, smacking Robin lightly on the back. “No fighting.” He lectured them both as if they were children. When the door closed behind them, Killian walked over to the stroller and set Henry into his seat.

“You have no idea how much I looked forward to you meeting him, and now…” He sighed. “Now seeing you with him…”

“I’m sorry, Neal, I truly am.”

“All our lives you beat me in everything, you were the first to walk, said your first words earlier than me, took the prom queen to the dance…”

“None of that was a competition.”

“Maybe not to you, remember Sandy Griffins?” Killian shook his head that he didn’t. “Of course you don’t, because she didn’t mean anything to you, but she meant everything to me. She was the first woman I ever loved, I waited for her at the coffee shop every day for a year waiting to ask her out. And then out of nowhere, she shows up with you.”

“Ever think that maybe if you had spoken to her in that year instead of just watching her, you might have gotten to her first?”

“It never mattered, you were the one who could draw, you became the architect, and I was always just the other guy.”

“I wasn’t out to get you, Cassidy.”

“Maybe not, but this time, this time I won. I found the most amazing woman I had ever laid eyes on, and she was mine. And I made sure she stayed mine. I kept her away from you. And finally, I had the life, a woman I was going to marry, and a boy, a beautiful perfect baby boy who was all mine!” Killian sighed sadly. “And somehow you took all of that away from me again.”

“Why did you never talk to me about how you felt before? I’ve always loved you like a brother; I have never held ill will or malice toward you. But you have to know that if I had known that Emma was your girlfriend I never would have pursued her.”

“And yet here we are.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Leave. Go back to England and never come back. Stay away from Emma and Henry.” He spoke in an even but flat tone. Killian stared at his friend before looking down at the boy in the stroller.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Not even to save our relationship?” He asked.

“You’re my brother and I love you, and I’m sorry for what this has done to you, I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now, but I won’t abandon the boy. I may not have been there when he was born or been able to watch him grow like you have, but I am the boy’s father, and I would never walk away from that responsibility.” He paused. “Even for you.”

His jaw tensed and then he pushed away from the wall, causing his body to tense. “Good.” Killian shook his head in confusion. “You’re right, you haven’t been there. Did you know that Emma was in labor for 23 hours with him?” Killian gestured that he didn’t. “It was a hell of a pregnancy, she was sick most of the time, and when she went into labor she wasn’t even sure she could get through the ordeal. But Emma’s a strong woman and even after 23 hours she kept her strength and Henry was brought into the world at three o’clock in the morning. I took one look at him, and I knew I would protect him for the rest of my life.”

“I’m not trying to take your place.”

“I know. But he’s gonna need his father, and don’t you dare let anything, including me, ever get in the way of you being there for him.” He wrapped his arms around Neal’s back and embraced him. When they finally broke the hug, he looked at the man.

“So now what?”

“Now I go lick my wounds and figure out who I am.”

“What about Emma?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“She came home to you; she chose you to be Henry’s father.”

“I know, but there’s something I learned about Emma a long time ago. She has a fear of being abandoned, did you know her parents left her when she was a child, just tossed her out like she was trash. Emma would never want that for her son. She would have stayed with me even if it wasn’t her choice.”

“But you were her choice.”

“Yes, her only choice, because she couldn’t find you.”

“That’s not fair, we spent one night together, that doesn’t mean that my being in her life would have made a difference in whether she choose you or not.”

“Perhaps not, but a part of me will always wonder.”

“But you love her.” He argued.

“You know me, I’m a selfish prick, I love that woman, but if I have to wonder if she loves me as much as I love her, the moment I question that, it’s never going to be enough.”

“So, you’re just going to end things with her? Just like that, the day before your wedding?”

“Don’t get too excited, I’ll still kick your ass if you pursue her right now.” He said seriously.

“You really think that little of me?”

Neal sighed. “She’s an amazing woman, I wouldn’t blame you for going after her, I’m just asking that you don’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen between her and I, but I’d like to have the opportunity to figure that out. You’re Henry’s father, there’s nothing I can do about that, but until an hour ago, she was going to be my wife.”

“You have my word.”

“Now…” He said with a laugh. “I think I’m going to drown my sorrows in beer.”

“You want company.”

“Not tonight, maybe next time.” He said with a smile that told Killian that even though things felt awful now, eventually they would be ok.

He walked over to Henry’s stroller and ruffled the boy’s hair. “He really does look like you.” He smiled widely. “Poor kid.”

And with that, Neal walked out the door.

~*~

Emma wandered the grounds of the hotel for what felt like hours, she knew she needed to get back to her son, to go home and pick up the pieces from the explosion that was her life. She felt emotionally numb by the time she found herself standing in front of Killian’s hotel room. She knocked on the door and waited until she saw his face on the other side of the door.

“Are you alright, love?”

“I’m honestly not sure right now.” She laughed. “But I will be.”

She stepped into the room, seeing her son sitting on the floor surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. She caught his eye and laughed. “I wasn’t sure if it was safe for him to roam.”

She sat down in the middle of the pillow fort and covered her eyes. The little boy laughed and grabbed her hands away from her face. “Mama pee a boo.” She laughed, scooping the boy into her arms, and squeezed him tightly. “Too much.” He complained and Emma released him with a giggle.

“Sorry baby.”

“What will you do now?”

“Well, the wedding is off.” She sighed. “Not that I should have been surprised by that.”

“Aye, I heard. I’m sorry.” She stood up, looking at his face.

“Does it hurt?” She touched his eye and he winced.

“Just my pride.” He joked.

“So, when do you go back to London?”

“I have to do a presentation on Sunday for an important client, my flight leaves tomorrow morning.”

She shook her head and exhaled. “Well, I hope you’ll keep in touch. I did mean it; I want him to know his father.”

“Aye, I was going to talk to you about that.” He paused. “I do have to go home for a short time, but I would like to return, have an opportunity to get to know the lad. If you’ll permit it.”

“I would like that, but doesn’t your brother need you at home?”

“I think he can manage without my physical presence. I haven’t taken a vacation in years.”

“As long as you are sure, I don’t want to be the cause of any more problems for you.” She said seriously, not wanting to inconvenience the man’s life further after upending everything he knew in the span of 24 hours.

“You’ve given me the opportunity to get to know my son, you’re trusting me with something so precious to you, and I don’t intend to let you down.”

She felt the tears slide across her cheek, afraid that she was about to break down again, not wanting to show that kind of weakness in front of the man in the room. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to hold it together here.” She laughed, looking up to see him walking toward her. She tensed when he reached her.

“Even the strongest woman is allowed to fall apart now and then.” And without another word, he wrapped her in his arms and held her against his chest. For the first time that day, Emma let someone else be her strength as she released all of her weight against him, letting the tears fall freely. She allowed him to lead her to the corner of the bed, pulling her down on his lap as she released the remaining grief and anger of the last few hours, letting the stress fall free from her.

She didn’t know how long they sat like that, how long she allowed him to brush his fingers through her hair, to whisper reassurances against her scalp. She didn’t know why she even allowed a man she had barely known for more than a few days to see her so vulnerable; she only knew that she didn’t want to feel alone.

“Mama, up.” She turned her head to see her son pulling himself up to stand beside her. Emma simply reacted, lifting her son into her lap, and kissing the boy’s cheek. It was only then that she realized how ridiculous the moment was. Holding her son while she sat in Killian’s lap on his bed in the middle of his hotel room.

She looked up, meeting his eye as his dark orbs looked through her, his hand drawing lazy circles against her back. “I uh…”

He cleared his throat, moving his arm, giving her the opportunity to remove herself from his embrace. “Yeah, it’s getting late, I’m sure the lad is tired.”

He helped her put Henry’s things into the stroller and walked her to the door. Emma turned before she reached it. “Killian…” She paused when she realized how close he was to her. “I don’t know that I can give you anything more than the chance to know Henry. I mean, I just ruined one relationship before I could walk down the aisle, I’m not sure that I’m going to be ready for anything besides friendship.”

“I get that you find me devilishly handsome, striking one might say, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to control yourself around me, love.”

“Ok smartass.” She smirked, pulling the door open and pushing the stroller into the hall. “Don’t be a stranger.” She remarked before making her way back to her empty apartment.

~*~

A few years later

“Happy birthday to you.” A chorus of voices sang to the boy at the table.

“Make a wish baby.” Emma told her son and Killian watched him blow out the candles, his eyes squeezed shut. He could hardly believe the boy was turning four.

“What did you wish for, lad?” Killian asked the boy.

“I can’t tell you that, daddy.” The boy giggled when Killian lifted him out of his chair and blew kisses against his neck.

“Ok, put him down before he pukes up his pizza.” Emma swatted at Killian as she brought the plates to the table. “Do you want cake, Neal?”

“I’m watching my weight, Ems.” Neal joked as he pressed a hand to his stomach.

“Watching it go where?” Killian remarked with a wink.

“Bite me, Jones. I’m serious, I’ve been going to the gym five times a week lately. You might want to step inside one now and then, those jeans are looking a little tight.” Killian waited until Emma turned around before flipping Neal the bird.

“Would you two make yourself useful and deliver these to the backyard.” She passed a plate to each of them and pushed them out the backdoor.

“Women.” Neal remarked loudly before she shut the door behind them. “We’ve got cake.” Neal announced to the men in the backyard.

“Finally.” Robin took the plate from Killian’s hands and dug in immediately. “Did Em make this?” Killian rolled his eyes as the man spoke with his mouth full, sitting down in the seat across from his brother.

“Store bought, when do you think Ems would have time to bake?” Neal joked. “I swear she hasn’t stopped working for two months straight.”

“Someone should give her a day off.” Killian stated loudly as he popped the cap on his beer.

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” Liam responded. “She always cancels it.”

“Who needs a vacation when I have you guys.” Emma’s voice interrupted them, with Henry running through the backyard holding a small sailboat in his hand and a cowboy hat on his head.

“Look what dad got me.” Henry announced, holding the boat up proudly in his hands.

“That’s a pretty neat ship there, lad.” His brother inspected the small boat.

“Where’d you get the cool hat, son?”

“Uncle Neal.” He said loudly. “You wanna try it on?” He pushed the hat into his hands and Killian slipped it onto his head.

“You’re head’s too big, daddy.”

“You’re just not cool enough for the hat, Jones.” Neal teased, lifting Henry into his arms, and running through the yard with him.

“You want to go out tonight?” Robin asked when it was just he and Killian left at the table. Killian looked across the yard at Emma throwing away plates of food.

“I think I’m just gonna help clean up here and head back to the hotel. I have a couple projects I need to complete. Wouldn’t want the boss to fire me if I miss my deadline.”

“All work and no play, brother.” Liam said with a wink.

His eyes continued to follow Emma who was watching her son play with Neal with a soft smile on her face. Killian could hardly believe how much his life had changed since finding out Henry was his.

The first few months had been awkward and sometimes quite explosive. While Neal was accepting of his inclusion in Henry’s life, he wasn’t always accommodating. Killian had been true to his word, while he still lived in London, he made sure to visit the boy a few times a month. Flying back and forth was exhausting and after a few months he realized he couldn’t keep up at that pace.

He had begun spending every other month in the states, doing virtual presentations to complete his job tasks and then returning to London and keeping up with Zoom calls to Henry and Emma. It wasn’t always easy, but Killian was determined to make it work.

Spending time with the boy had been more rewarding than anything else he had ever done in his life. The first time he called him daddy, Killian thought his heart had stopped. It was the greatest day of his life.

Emma had been very helpful in learning the new role of being a father, she was always patient with him, always offering tips when Henry wasn’t looking to assist him in doing the right thing. He admired her for the way she was raising the boy on her own. Even if Neal and Killian were always around to take turns watching him when she had to work, or even just spending the day with him to allow her to sleep, Emma was always taking care of her boy.

He had been the one to suggest to his brother to hire Emma on as a designer for the firm. She was working day and night for half the pay at the company she was employed by, and Killian knew that working for his brother would allow her medical insurance and benefits for her and Henry. The move had paid off, Emma was a great asset to the company, she was very talented, though she said it had more to do with her adding a woman’s perspective to a company full of men.

Either way, Killian was happy to have her, even if it was not in the way he wanted to have her. Killian had made the promise to Neal not to pursue Emma while they were figuring out their relationship and he had kept his word. As far as he knew, Neal had begun dating other women, maintaining a relationship with Henry as “Favorite Uncle” just as he had promised.

Emma did not seem concerned with Neal’s dating, nor did she seem interested in dating anyone herself.

Killian had spent so much of his time focused on his son that women had become something of a non-issue to him. He had no time to focus on anything besides his son…and Emma. They had become good friends during the past few years, he had even spent the night at her new home on multiple occasions while visiting Henry. After many nights spent on her couch, the next visit he found a portable bed set up for him in the office.

They had flirted on occasion, usually after nights of having a couple of drinks after work, but never anything that crossed the line between them. Not that he hadn’t thought of it, he had on many occasions, but never acted on it for fear or ruining the peace they had found in their little family.

“You know, Neal is bringing a woman with him tonight. Tamra I think is her name.” His brother interrupted his thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ve heard her name before.”

“I met her last time we visited, but I think it might be serious this time.”

“Interesting, he never mentioned her.” Killian said with a shrug.

“Well, I think he’d like to sire his own children eventually without your assistance.” Robin joked and Killian laughed loudly. “You sure you haven’t been with a woman lately, perhaps he’d better show you a photo of his date before they take this any further.”

“Very funny, Mate.” Killian growled.

“My point has been lost.” Liam continued. “It appears that Neal has moved on, which leaves other options open to you.”

“Other options?” Killian asked with a raise of his brow.

“Perhaps with the boy’s mother?”

Killian frowned and turned his attention toward Emma. “I’m uncertain how to navigate through those dangerous waters.”

His brother stood, watching the scene in front of them. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

The rest of the evening his brother’s words resonated in his brain like a clock that wouldn’t stop ticking in his ear. He had a choice, do nothing, and let everything continue how it was, a peace between Emma, Neal, and himself. Or pursue an opportunity with Emma, and risk upending everything they had built.

He lifted the garbage bag out of the trash can, tying it off and walking it to the curb. When he returned to the house, Emma was standing at the sink washing dishes. “I think that’s all of it.” He announced and she turned toward him with a smile before returning to the task at hand.

“I just put Henry down if you want to catch him before he’s asleep.”

He nodded and walked to the back room, peeking into the room at his son. “Hey kiddo, did you have a great birthday?”

“The best.” He beamed happily. “Are you leaving?”

“Aye, as soon as the house is back in ship shape order.” The boy frowned. “But I’ll be back tomorrow before I leave for my flight.”

He sat up in his bed as Killian approached him. “Why don’t you live here?” Killian had always expected this conversation, though he wasn’t prepared with how he would respond.

“Well, my work is in London.” He sat down next to his son.

“But I’m here.” He said with a whine. “And mommy.”

“I know, and I’ll be back to see you next month.” He ran his hands through the boy’s hair, a frown forming on the child’s face.

“But I’ll miss you.”

Killian’s heart broke seeing his son upset, he would do anything in the world for the boy not to see him hurt. “I know Henry, perhaps I can convince your mother to take a vacation and you could come and visit me in London, would you like that?”

He smiled brightly, “Would I get to fly?”

“Absolutely.” He leaned over and kissed the boy on his head, laying him back against his pillow. “Now get some sleep, it was a busy day for you today.”

“I love you daddy.”

Killian smiled, kissing the boy’s forehead. “I love you too, my boy. Have pleasant dreams.”

He stepped out into the hall and found Emma standing against the wall. “Now he won’t stop talking about flying for a month.” She said with a smile.

“Sorry if I overstepped, but I would very much enjoy it if Henry came for a visit.”

“I think he would like that too.” She said, handing him a glass, he took a sip and smiled.

“Dark and stormy, haven’t had one of these in a while.” He followed her to the living room and took a seat next to her on the couch.

“I’ve been thinking…”

He narrowed his eyes. “I hope it didn’t hurt too much.”

She pushed her shoulder against his with a small laugh. “What if Henry and I came to stay with you next month?”

“You’re serious?”

“Liam has been bugging me about coming to visit headquarters, he has a few clients he wanted to get me in touch with over there, thought it might be a good time to do it.”

“So, you’re just coming for business purposes?”

“And so that Henry can visit you, unless you know of any other reason for me to visit?”

He swallowed, watching her eyes dance playfully as she stared at him. “Perhaps if you had a friend with knowledge of the town, he might give you a tour.”

“I have plenty of friends in London.” She said with a shrug.

“Maybe a friend with a bit more intimate knowledge of…” He leaned toward her.

“What if I was interested in something a little less friend and a little more intimate.” His eyes widened and a smirk grew on his face.

“That depends, love.” She frowned, glaring at him. “Do you intend to give the gent your name first?” She slapped him on the shoulder, shoving against him playfully, and his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her against him as his lips captured hers. Kissing her was different than he remembered, not the act itself, but the feeling that immediately overtook him when she returned the kiss with passion. It was like electricity attacking his spine, and the rate that his heart was pounding in his chest was faster than he remembered.

When they pulled apart, she kept eyes closed, her tongue gliding against her lips as if she were savoring his taste. When she finally opened her eyes, she was staring at him with uncertainty, as if she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say next.

“That was…” She blinked slowly as if caught in a trance.

“Worth the wait.” He finished. “Though I would have waited a lifetime if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why? All these years you never even attempted to hit on me.” She asked seriously.

“You’re the mother of my child, my best friend’s ex, a co-worker, and the love of my life. Do you have any idea how hard it is to navigate through that kind of storm?”

“I’m sorry, can you back up a minute, I’m what?”

“Mother of my child, my best friends…”

“Not that part!”

“You’re the love of my life.” He replied honestly. “I never wanted to push you in one direction or the other, I told you I would be here for you as a friend and I meant it, but that hasn’t stopped me from falling in love with you. You are incredibly talented, a hard worker, a beautiful woman. Believe me, I’ve tried not to develop feelings for you, but watching you each day with our son, the way you care for him, how deeply you love, I couldn’t stop myself.”

She launched herself into his arms, her lips attacking his mouth, his jaw, it was as if she were enveloping him in her embrace. Suddenly she pulled back, her eyes dark and wanting. “Hi.” She said softly and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Hey.”

“Not to sound too forward, but I find you very attractive, perhaps even striking, and the accent is sexy as hell. I was thinking maybe you’d want to spend the night with me?”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you, love?” She bit her lip. “However, while you are correct in your assumption, I was actually hoping it would be more than just the one night.”

“How long were you thinking?” She asked with a look of hope in her eyes.

“However long you’ll have me, Emma Swan.” He grinned.

“I’m thinking it might be a long time, Killian Jones.” She smirked.

“Aye, that it may.” Lifting her from the couch, he carried her to her room knowing that tomorrow she would wake in his arms, and they would start a new chapter. A chapter of family, a chapter of forgiveness, a chapter of love in the lives of Killian Jones and Emma Swan.

#stacy's fics #a story in the life #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan modern au #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au

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radramblog · 3 years ago

Text

Australian State Flags rated

Vexillology is a subject that, like many others, I have a passing interest in. Very passing. Look I occasionally browse r/vexillologycirclejerk, the One Good Subreddit, because they have some very fresh and funky memes.

One thing I do know about vexillology and flags in general is that nobody ever actually looks at state/provincial flags, and that as a result there’s a bunch of weird ones hanging about. I’m sure this is even more true of Australia, seeing as we have many less people to care about our many fewer state flags.

So for today, I’ve decided to shine a light on some state flags and see if they’re any good. Spoilers: they probably aren’t great? (Edit: they’re also largely very very similar, oops!)

New South Wales- in keeping with the name, New South Wales apparently has decided its flag should be fairly Welsh as well. Except not, because the image on that one is a cool dragon instead of this random lion, and the red cross is actually an English thing. This is extremely lame! The placement of the O R B is also pretty awkward and uneven, leaving a whole bunch of blank space that’s just. Blue. It’s centred if you just look at the right half, but it looks weird next to the Union Jack.

I don’t like the Union Jack. Get used to seeing the Union Jack a lot. 1/5.

Queensland- Okay, so, we took the NSW one, took the lion and the cross off it, and put a nice little crown on because, you know, Queen. While this is somewhat less ugly than the lion, it is also less cool, because fuck the royalty. Add in the cyan not contrasting well with the darker blue (imo) and you have a recipe for another not good flag. 1/5.

South Australia- Well now we’re getting somewhere. Take the previous two, get rid of the shit designs in the circles and replace them with an extremely good bird. Look at that plumage, that dramatic posing! What a good. That, and orange (its supposed to be gold I think, but come on) is a good colour to go next to navy. Unfortunately, it’s still sitting next to the fucking Union Jack, so it’s not going to be that good. Fuck colonialism, 3/5.

Tasmania- Wait ok so this is just a lion again, but if the lion was drawn by the same person that did the welsh dragon. It’s a lot less busy without some nonce cross in there (save Jack in the corner), which is great, but Bri’ish lion flag designs never look good to me. You want your iconography to be simple but striking, in my opinion, but whenever they put a lion on there it has to have too many details to communicate “lion” that it just looks super mid. 2/5.

Victoria- of the many, many places on this Earth named after Queen Victoria, this state sure is one of them. We’ve dropped the circle motif for this one, which is nice, but the crown is still fucking there. This is literally just, we took the country flag, and replaced that cool star with a lame crown. Somehow this is Dan Andrews’ fault. 2/5

Western Australia- I’m obviously biased, but it’s a very good little swan we have there. Black swans are iconic of Perth, there’s many, many of them on the Swan River (funnily enough), and they’re common enough that it’s not hard to spot one of them doing something gnarly and immediately ruin all majesty they ever had for you. In my case, it was when one of them looked like it was preening, or at least sleeping with its head tucked in its wing, for a few minutes before dropping a deuce and buggering off.

But I digress. It’s also on a gold background, representative of the intense sunlight that we live with in WA. It would be great if just the right half of this flag was the whole of it, but unfortunately, lmao Union Jack. 3/5.

Australian Capital Territory- What you thought we were done? Come on now. There’s like, 2 internal territories and 3 external ones still to go.

With the states behind us, we get to say goodbye to Jack as well. He shall not be missed. Uuuunfortunately, while we do get the classic Southern Cross, we also get this ridiculously busy design on the right. These swans are so mad, and why are they standing like that? Why is one of them white? Why is there a fucking castle here, we don’t have those? The mind boggles. 2/5.

Northern Territory- Oh, that’s much better. The southern cross ditches the bluey background for the much more accurate pitch black of space, which contrasts great against the ruddy brown of the desert the Territory largely is. The flower is simple, but elegant, and uses the same colours as the left third which I appreciate. This is just a good, solid flag. 4/5.

Christmas Island- For as much as Australia gets associated with the “green and gold”, I’m surprised it took this long for that colouration to actually show up on the livery. I’m not a huge fan of, just, the map of the place on the flag for the place, and Green/Gold and Blue/White aren’t a great colour combo. But there is a very good bird here. 3/5.

Cocos Islands- Yo that’s the crescent from the Malaysian flag, huh? Yeah so apparently the history of this place is kinda fucked (Australian history, bad? Nooooooo….), but the residents are largely Malay descendants, so fair enough. As far as the flag goes, it’s an interesting mix of iconography that is largely fine apart from the absolutely terrible looking palm tree on the left there. That’s some 2002 clip-art shit right there. I actually like the right 2/3rds of this, so just… remove the left third. Actually I think most of these flags would be significantly improved by the removal of the left bit. 3/5.

Norfolk Island- It’s just a tree, dude. 4/5.

Well that’s all of them. Ultimately, most of these were bad, and none of them were actually, like, great. That’s kind of just state flags for you, though. I’m no expert vexillologist, but there are only a couple flags that have truly caught my eye, and none of these fit that bill.

We have a lot of stinkers, and tragically, nothing nearly stands out like some other countries get their state flags to do. As a final note to leave this on, and to prove my point, I’m going to present the flag of the Isle of Man.

Fucking Brits actually have a good one. Can we get this instead of the Union Jack, please? Thanks.

#ramble #australia #vexillology #state flag #the indigenous one isnt on here because honestly it should just be in all of them in place of the UJ

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ella-animine · 4 years ago

Text

The Night We Met

The wind whistled through the trees like a heartbroken sigh. It cried out across the distance as though it could pierce through ones heart. Perhaps it could, if the heart it tried to pierce was not made of stone, that of a Witcher. Still, the sound reminded Geralt too much of the wails of monsters before dying. A swan song, of sorts; that of a creature mortally wounded.

It was wrong to have hurt him so on the mountain, wrong but necessary in the long run. It would do no good to have the bard follow him. Still, as much as he tried to forget, Geralt couldnt shake the memories and the feelings that Jaskier had drudged up. He had been his companion after all, one that Geralt had rather unfortunately cared for. But now, at what may be the end of all things, Geralt was alone, just as he was meant to be. No Mage or Bard to keep him company, Geralt took to The Path just as he always had.

There were flickers of him everywhere. The wind through the trees sounded like him; mournful. Every snapped twig drew Geralt’s attention. Worst yet, every town with a bard strumming in the ale house seemed to sing the same songs.

“I am not the only traveler,

Who has not repayed his debt”

He tried not to listen, but his ears often betrayed him and his head was filled with the lyrics. Sometimes his mind would wander to thinking of what Jaskier might be singing, what sort of scathing remarks he might have put to music in retaliation for Geralt’s actions.

Most nights Geralt had difficulty sleeping. This issue was only exacerbated by the lack of a calm heartbeat nearby to help him feel as though he were a little less alone in the world.

“I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again...”

Jaskier was well and truly lost in the world. He slowly bounced from town to village, drinking all the ale he could get his hands on and trying to scrape together enough meager coin to survive. His situation was hurt by the fact that lately he couldn’t bring himself to play the lively tunes or dramatic ballads that had won him fame and prestige. Rather he favored plucking slow and mournful notes from his lute, whispering and whimpering words that would sour even the worst drunkard’s fine mood.

He thought of where he was going in life. More directly, he thought often of where he should go more immediately. Perhaps Oxenfurt would permit him to return, although he wasn’t sure how useful he could make himself as a professor in such a sorry state. He would no doubt be unwelcome at his family table should he ever try to return home. His mother had made very clear what she thought of his chosen profession as well as his choice of company.

But he was without company anymore, and soon to be without a profession if he could not turn his life around.

Jaskier sighed to himself, rolling over in the hay that he had scraped together for a bed. He mumbled sorrowfully to himself

“Take me back to the night we met.”

Geralt tried various ways to take his mind off of the stupid bard and all of his tunes and lies. No matter how hard he threw himself into hunting, or how many prostitutes he paid, Geralt still found his thoughts drift. Jaskier had not been such a huge part of his life, or so he had thought, but the near constant stream of thoughts seemed determined to convince him otherwise.

As Geralt lay staring up at the ceiling after a rather athletic bout with another whore, he thought he may need to seek a mage or a healer to clear his head of the excess.

“Then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do...”

“And then I can tell myself,

Not to ride along with you...”

Jaskier sat curled up in the back of the cart a kind enough farmer had let him hitch a ride on for the next town. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and cradled his lute in his arms. He had not felt such low emotions like this in years, and although he detested to call them so, he could not escape the truth that he was experiencing the feelings of abandonment.

Jaskier stared into the distance, trying not to think of all the times he had walked these roads with Geralt over the years. He tried desperately not to think about all the times he had shared with the Witcher, that he would never be able to get back.

Time evidently wasted.

“I had all and most of you, some and now none of you”

Geralt huffed at the lyrics that he heard. For some damnable reason the new most popular song of the Continent was about lost love, and the lyrics drove him crazy. There was no escape from it, every bar or inn was taken over by one bard or another singing the tune. It floated on the wind and whispered between the trees even when Geralt chose to forgo a warm bed for the forest floor.

It was not that he drew parallels to his life, his own lost companionship and love, Geralt insisted that it was simply because all of the bards and poets were pure shit at performing it. He dared not acknowledge the following thought, that he knew of one such person who was not likely to disappoint. It had been almost months at this point, and Geralt still grit his teeth to think of how many innocuous things could force thoughts of Jaskier to overtake his mind. Whatever form of companionship the two had shared was surely not worth all of the trouble he was suffering for having ended things.

“I don’t know what supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you”

Jaskier felt a sharp pain in his chest. The indecent proposal of becoming another’s bedfellow should have excited him, and yet he could not shake the pervasive ache that such a proposal brought.

He found a sad smile to paste on for show and blamed his lack of interest on being weary from his travels. He left before he could hear another word of argument, favoring to retire to his sparse room for the night and make a valiant effort to not allow himself to weep.

Despite himself, Jaskier lay on the threadbare mattress staring at the ceiling; he felt tears spill over and run down his temple. He wept harder still.

“Take me back to the night we met...”

Geralt propped himself up under a tree. He had narrowly escaped a violent collision with a territorial griffin, and was rather worse for wear. He tore the stopper from a vial and drank down the potion, knowing it would not cure him instantly but would alleviate some of the pain. The combination of lost blood and the potion clouding his senses permitted thoughts Geralt had shoved away to come to the forefront of his mind now.

He rarely felt fear for himself, as it was his duty to die if a monster ever truly bested him. There were times, though, that Geralt had known fear. He would never allow anyone to know, but here in the hazy theater of his mind he was free to relive all of the negative feelings he had little control over.

“When the night was full of terrors”

Geralt had known fear but a few times since boyhood. Few things were quite as terrifying as the agony of the Trial of the Grasses, but still there were moments etched into his memory that he would never be able to forget.

One such prominent memory was the day he had watched a curse force blood to bubble up out of his companions sputtering mouth at the grim news that he was likely to die. Geralt had done his best to remain unaffected, but he knew the moment that that Jaskier looked at him he would never be able to forget that sinking feeling of helplessness.

There were so many things he had never said.

“And your eyes were filled with tears”

As he lay tossing and turning Jaskier permitted himself the small mercy of letting his mind wander to thoughts of comfort. How he enjoyed a good strong wine time and again, or the rumble of pride he felt at receiving an audience’s applause. He mused about soft sheets and a full belly. He thought of the simple pleasures of enjoying his favorite fruit during peak ripeness, feeling the juice spill over his lips and be caught by a quick tongue. He thought of the slide of tongue and mouth when kissing, how a lover might show another affection.

How Jaskier had drawn his own lips chastely over his companion’s not just once when he thought the other was sleeping too deeply to notice.

Those thoughts no longer brought him comfort.

“When you had not touched me yet...”

Geralt recalled in the gauzy haze between sleep and wake how he had been the recipient of Jaskier’s affections. Witchers were, by nature, extremely light sleepers and as such Geralt had been aware every time that Jaskier had chosen to bestow upon him a light kiss. It was never more than a soft press of lips, and Geralt never dared move or give any indication that he was conscious of what happened, lest Jaskier would wise up and stop permitting himself the indulgence.

Geralt had long avoided thinking of why he never spoke or acknowledged the action, thereby through his own inaction encouraging its continuation. Deep down he supposed he enjoyed it on some level. Acknowledging it would take away the only pure affection Geralt would allow himself receive, because he was not supposed to know about it. Now, as the potion pulled Geralt deeper into a healing slumber, he longed for the gentle press of lips to his own, and cursed himself both for the longing and for never pressing to see what other affections he may have received.

“Take me back to the night we met.”

For the first time in a long time Geralt allowed himself to seek a room at the inn. It was supposed to rain overnight and he reasoned that Roach deserved a dry stable to sleep in for all the trouble he had put her through lately. It was already well enough into the evening by the time he staggered inside, and Geralt was hardly willing to invest any unnecessary attention in the other patrons of the inn and ale house. He hardly registered that someone was singing until his ear caught the sound of it better through the general din of the crowd.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you”

Geralt felt his feet stop short at the words. His body turned without his consent and he listened closer to the song to be certain he was not being tricked or deceived.

“Take me back to the night we met”

There Jaskier practically moaned on a stool as he sang his latest hit. His eyes morosely scanned the patrons of the bar, looking perhaps for any kindred spirits of heartbreak and loneliness. There he found one with particularly rapt attention. A spectre from his past that Jaskier anticipated never to see again.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you”

Geralt felt his sad blue eyes from across the room. He was positive the bard had to feel the intensity of his own golden eyes taking him in. Time felt as if it were suspended, caught in those teary eyes, and the next words felt as if they were merely whispered.

“Take me back...”

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #fic #first new thing I’ve written in a while #I’ve listened to this song so many times #but all of a sudden it just made sense #I wrote this so fast lol #posting to ao3 tomorrow

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kaichan24 · 4 years ago

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Favorite Royalty AUs

1. Taking Back the Reigns. King Victor Nikiforov was King in name only. A puppet of Parliament - alone, orphaned, and ostrazcized, he floundered through life with no direction and no one to share it with.

With his country teetering on the brink of WWIII, Victor must shed his playboy image and battle a generations-old political party to seize his rightful power from a corrupt Parliament. Finding himself in a morass of treason, violence and dirty secrets,Victor comes to terms with the past and finds a way forward.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640674/chapters/36323028

2. The Dragon Prince and the Winter Swan. Yuuri Stark is a noble son of the north, returning to Winterfell in disgrace after the latest disappointment in his checkered tourney career. He hasn't given up his dream of becoming a knight, but maybe it's time to find himself a new path, settling down at home.

Prince Victor Targaryen is the greatest swordsman in Westeros, but he no longer finds joy in competition. Things are uneasy in King's Landing, where politics are shifting and dangerous, and he seizes the chance to escape north in search of the young man who came so close to beating him in a tourney last year — and was so beguiling at the banquet afterwards.

Together they begin a journey to the great tourney of Harrenhal, with intrigue, honor, friendship and love along the way...and inevitable political conflict ahead.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951052/chapters/27019995

3. Through the Eyes of a King. “He was the first Japanese man that I saw in my life. At first glance, he seemed ordinary in appearance, the kind of man one easily overlooked in a crowd. But in his eyes lay passion, and the force of an oncoming storm, revealing the force of nature that he was. A man not to mess with, but to admire.

”These words, written in the diary of the young man that would one day become king of Russia, had burnt their way into the hearts and memories of the people, Russian and Japanese alike. For Katsuki Yuuri had never thought that he would ever leave his home behind. Called to a foreign court to become the teacher of the crown prince, Yuuri soon finds himself in the midst of a world so very different from his own - and in it King Victor the Divine that tolerates no dissent.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791056/chapters/44583775

4. The Rules For Lovers. Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645131/chapters/21790376

5. when it lasts. It’s been three years since King Victor fell fast and hard for his Yuuri in the sleepy, seaside town of Hasetsu, and the time has finally come to pop that ever important question. However, asking Yuuri to marry him is easier said than done, especially when all the forces of the universe seem to be working against him. Will King Victor be able to overcome the obstacles in his way and make his beloved his betrothed, or will he be crushed by the powers that be?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707139/chapters/33987668

6. The Elusive Vermilion Rose. As the revolution builds in Larussia, a masked vigilante appears to whisk those destined for execution to safety. Not about to have his plans ruined, the king gives his two sons an offer they can’t refuse: discover this masked man’s identity if you wish to be heir to the throne.

The youngest prince knows this is his only chance at the throne, while the older prince, Victor, finds himself caught in the middle; as his curiosity about the elusive Eros dances ever closer to affection.

Meanwhile Yuuri Katsuki, a tailor from the neighboring country of Yamato, has been traveling back and forth more than usual... clearly because of the nobility clamoring to have the emperor’s own tailor make their clothes. And Yuuri and his three friends definitely don’t have anything to do with the so-called masked vigilantes in the Society of the Vermilion Rose. Nope, not at all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158239/chapters/37754681

7. Chrysanthemum Petals. Yuuri Katsuki woke up one day to receive a fancy letter to tea; from his absentee father. That one moment changed his life from just being Yuuri Katsuki, sleep deprived, awkward high school student to Yuuri, Crown Prince of Japan.

Hesitant to become Heir Apparent to the Chrysanthemum Throne, Yuuri will find reason to abandon all sensibilities in the most charming Duke of Kent.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453952/chapters/33389637

8. And A Shimmer Takes My Eye. Walking through the streets of New York, Yuuri balances the phone call on his bluetooth headphones alongside errands for his day off. “I don’t know, Chris—

“You’ve been alone too long, schatzi, his friend chides him. Chris met Yuuri when he was in the costume department at the Met, but since he got a coveted position at the Paris Opera, they can only FaceTime or cross an ocean for quality friend time. Orfeo closes soon, he’ll be in New York for business… at least enjoy a glass of something beautiful while exchanging a bit of small talk, yeah?

Yuuri enters the cake shop, walking past case after case of treats and pastries. A lovely cassis and white chocolate mousse cake catches his eye, and his conversation lags as he contemplates purchasing it as a gift to his cast mates for their final bow in a week. “Well. Before I grudgingly agree—

”That’s the spirit, Chris jokes.

“Is he at least… nice?” Yuuri asks.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991204/chapters/45095746

9. King in Disguise. Yuuri is a low-ranked Ability User with a useless power, considered one of the weakest in the Terra Stellata – the institute to unlock a User’s true potential. But what lies beneath his power was an unfathomable amount of strength unseen by the eyes of others. He dreamed to fight alongside his idol; Victor Nikiforov, one of the strongest Ability Users in existence. He finds Victor willing to protect him at whatever cost.

Will Yuuri ever discover the true worth hidden within him?

Yuuri -- "I've admired you since I was little. You are my hero and will always be." Victor -- "I will always protect you no matter what it takes. If you are my king - then I'll be your knight.

"In a world where demons freely roamed, humans were bestowed with powers beyond imagination - when things went out of control, destiny awaited for a slumbering king to claim his throne.

(Magical/Superpower Fantasy AU taking place in the modern times)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525623/chapters/31026489

10. moods, states of grace, & elegies. Victor Nikiforov has traveled far and wide in the company of trader Christophe Giacometti on the silk roads to arrive at Hasetsu, capital of the Great Nihon Empire. He expects to stay a winter, until the seasons change again, and fairer weather and the changing of seasons can return him to his wanderlust.He does not expect to fall in love with the Crown Prince.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632119/chapters/33817776#workskin

11. in my head, in my heart, in my soul. Drawn into a conflict outside of his responsibility, Victor Nikiforov, the greatest general of the age, appears to have met his match in the shy Prince of Japan who surrenders on the fields of Goryeo.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994100

12. Victor the Great. At the age of nine Victor became the Tsar of all the Russias with Lilia as regent. One day he will be the sole ruler of Russia, the man who makes all the decisions and gets to do what he wants, with one exception: he has to marry a woman from a Russian aristocratic family. Except that he falls in love with a boy who is a foreign commoner. Will he risk the throne to be able to marry the one he loves?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740541/chapters/29055912

13. Our Love will Always Prevail. Almost 10 years ago, Lord Yuuri of the house Katsuki was taken as a ward of the house Nikiforov. A romance blossomed between him and the eldest heir of the house, Viktor Nikiforov. But the path to happiness is not always an easy one, Yuuri and Viktor will have to fight hard to obtain the happy ending they both desperately wish.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636100/chapters/33828141

14. Chosen Path. To end a century long struggle between Rus and Nihon the two Imperial families have come to a possible treaty. The only catch, the Emperor of Nihon wants the oldest Son of Rus to marry one of his retinue when he comes to Rus to sign the papers. Victor as oldest of 11 is not looking forward to getting a wife. So together with his siblings, parents, and the help of all his cousins and Palace staff, he sets out to get the one from the retinue he wants. Katsuki Yuuri never thought he stood a chance.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161911/chapters/37763492

15. Le soleil est près de moi. The prince moves across the grounds in robes the same shades as sapphires. He walks astride the King, not behind, as he proudly conducts the tour of the incredible grounds with ease. An austere woman follows at a respectful pace in gray and violet. She and the prince both have wide fabric belts in contrasting colors tied at their waists, and the prince’s ebony hair is styled similarly to his companion’s, though hers is vastly more complex.

“He’s quite comely up close,” Christophe continues with a wicked grin. “Though he seems a touch aloof in humor. Perhaps if I treat him to a little wine, a little of my solitary attention—

“Victor gives him a startled look. “No,” he manages, his eyes immediately locking back onto the prince. “Not…not this one, Christophe.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486264

16. Serendipity. Yuuri never imagined himself to be anything other than ordinary, but a visit from his mysterious Aunt Minako leaves him dealing with his apparently royal destiny. With it comes many trials and tribulations, and love in the way Yuuri least expects it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212267/chapters/43084823

17. Fires. Victor and Yuuri are kings that govern Rossíya. They try to demonstrate, at the slightest opportunity, the love and devotion they feel for each other.

However, although almost the entire kingdom is happy and pleased by this marriage that ended with years of war against Hasetsu, Christophe, advisor of his majesty, doesn't welcome the constant trips the king makes to his homeland, for what is more than willing to discover what Yuuri hides behind them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826122/chapters/49507334

17. Interpersonal Diplomacy. For the sake of ending a centennial war and protecting the lives of his family and people, Prince Imperial Yuuri of Shanjia makes an unexpected sacrifice, placing his life in the hands of King Viktor of Nova. For the survival of their nations' fledgling peace, Yuuri must live on Novan soil alone, surrounded by people his nation just recently considered enemies, and tied to their monarch by the bonds of diplomacy.

However, Yuuri will also find allies, individuals willing to welcome the peace-loving regardless of past history. If Yuuri is to carve a home in this foreign nation, he must earn the trust of the war-weary Novan people.

And in time, Yuuri may find himself drawing closer to the sympathetic but enigmatic King Viktor.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16072742/chapters/37529747

18. Love Is Beautiful Fear. To become King, Prince Victor has to hold a Selection, to find a man or woman to marry. Yuuri is selected, but will his anxiety keep him from winning Victor's heart?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094546

19. love like fools. When Crown Prince Yuuri of Japan escapes his army of minders at his Saint Petersburg hotel, he thinks he’s found the opportunity to explore the city as a commoner.

When investigative journalist Viktor Nikiforov discovers the Crown Prince of Japan on a park bench in Saint Petersburg, he thinks that he’s found his ticket to redemption at the magazine he writes for.

But like the stories of those stranded during the White Nights after the bridges go up, neither of them had anticipated falling in love. (Roman Holiday AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039732/chapters/27258912

20. Like Magic Woven Through Me. Victor was quiet about it of course, but his love for the Prince had burned bright in his chest ever since he first met him, years before, when Yuuri was just twenty and Victor twenty-four. From the moment Victor had seen the Prince, he knew he was in trouble. Raven hair, big expressive eyes, smooth skin and cherry pink lips. But above all that was Yuuri’s unending kindness, how funny he could be when he let his guard down, his intelligent conversation, the way he used magic like he was dancing. How could Victor not love him?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977671

21. On My Life, Love. When Prince Yuuri and Prince Victor were children, they secretly got engaged. Alas, their friendship soon fell apart.

After 14 years of separation, Victor asks Yuuri for his hand in marriage, for it turns out that his childhood promise was a magically binding oath, and now his only options are to marry Yuuri or to remain unwed forever, lest he forfeit his life.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844423/chapters/26738385

22. if there's a will, there's a way. Two neighbouring countries in a state of tentative peace. Two royal families trying to protect their own people. And only one thing that can save them all from the war that is knocking on their door – a royal union that will cement loyalty, breed forgiveness and maybe somehow fix things.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506060/chapters/28473052

23. And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for. “The law clearly states that the regent shall have a mate. It is widely known that being mated keeps one’s head clearer, brings joy and strengthens relations, both in one’s professional and personal life. Since I do not have a mate, nor do I have anyone in my life as of right now that I would want to spend my life with in that way, I have chosen to evoke the ‘Catarina praxi. “Lilia will give out the specific details how it will be conducted, but it will be a nationwide search for a mate for me and will require scent samples. As those of you who are familiar with the praxi knows, this means that all omegas that fall into the chosen group are prohibited from entering a mateship until an engagement between me and a chosen omega has been announced. This results in that all unmated omegas from the age of eighteen to twenty eight are now legally arranged to be mated to me, until an official engagement has been made."

The Nicholai Hall explodes with questions from the reporters as Lilia steps up to the microphone, while Yuuri keeps completely still, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, heart pounding in his chest.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727131/chapters/46687906

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

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THE WASTELAND - Chapter One: THE HOSPITAL, Part 1

Header by the lovely @spartanguard -- check out her perfect (and bloody) art for this chpter here!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr

Chapter One on AO3

CHAPTER ONE: THE HOSPITAL, PART ONE

In all meanings of the word, Emma Swan is tired. First and foremost, she's emotionally exhausted, hasn't had a night of sleep without nightmares for months, even before the war started. She's tired of seeing families torn apart, or children born without knowing if they have a father or not. That's almost as bad as knowing. Almost.

Most of all, though, she's tired of war. That's why she's here in the first place, helping bring life into the world instead of seeing it slip from her grasp out on the battlefield, where she was trained to be. Sick of death, she says to herself for the hundredth time.

She inserts her key into the lock, shrugging when she finds it already open. Maybe one of the other nurses beat her here, she thinks, but the thought is gone as soon as she pushes the door open.

Blood.

There is blood everywhere.

Immediately, she goes on the defensive. This is what she trained for, yes, but it's not the life she leads anymore, hasn’t been for a while. (And a sight like this would never fail to catch someone off-guard, used to it or not.) She presses her thumb to the scanner on the lockbox next to the door, a worst-case-scenario precaution she hoped she never had to use, but when she feels the cool metal of the pistol in her fingers, the deafening pounding of her heart slows a tad, and a bit more when she turns back to the main room to find all the women still asleep in their beds. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t to one of her girls.

“Emma, thank God.” The voice from behind her startles her even though it is one that she would recognize anywhere, but that doesn’t stop her from whipping around with the pistol held out in front of her, ready to strike.

But, to her immense relief, it is exactly who she expects: Ruby, her head nurse and best friend.

“Ruby, what happened here?”

Running her fingers through her long, red-streaked hair, she begins to tell Emma as much as she knows. “I must have been asleep when he came in, though how he got through the door and past me is a mystery, and he couldn’t have been here long before the smell of his blood finally woke me up. No more than a few hours, if that. And all that I know is that he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Did you check on him at all? See what his wounds look like?”

With her eyes turned to the ground, Ruby shakes her head, almost ashamed. “I knew — I didn’t trust myself, what with the blood shortage and all, but he’s—” When she does lift her eyes to meet those of her friend, they’re wide with something that Emma can only define as fear. “I don’t know what he is, Em. I’ve never smelled anything like him before.”

“You did what you could, Ruby,” Emma assures her. “I’ll — let me go see what we’re dealing with.”

But Ruby stops her, a perfectly-manicured hand wrapped around her bicep. “Be careful, Emma. He could be dangerous.”

As silently as she can, and with Ruby’s last words echoing through her mind, she follows the trail of blood, large drops that turn to larger puddles as she gets closer to the door to the offices, ending as a large wiped smudge on the linoleum on the other side of the door, presumably where he — whoever he is — finally lost his footing.

But the streak leads right into her office, and she is slightly shocked to find the door closed.

Not as shocked as she is when she opens the door, though; because there, on the floor of her office, crumpled in a seated position against the front of her desk, is a man — a soldier, she assumes, though he is in jeans and a faded grey t-shirt instead of a traditional uniform. A very, very wounded soldier, every inch of him covered in blood and mud, with the former even dripping from him in some places. Instinctively, she takes a quick inventory of his visible wounds: a gash on his forehead, a long slice along his cheek, lines down his bare arms.

But the worst of it is his left arm, blunted halfway up his forearm and tied with a large, tight tourniquet, though not tight enough to completely stop the bleeding. Seeing the piles of it around the man's body, not to mention all he's lost on his way here, Emma questions for a moment how — if — he can even be alive, also questioning his age by his delicate features, by the dark hair that hangs down to his equally dark eyebrows. He can't be much older than she is, she thinks, hoping that he's more than just another loss of this terrible war.

And then he takes a long, hitching breath, letting out a low moan on the exhale.

Good Lord. He's alive.

Emma falls to her knees in front of him, not even caring about the bloodstains that ruin her pants the moment they touch the ground.

He's alive.

She reaches onto the shelf beside her, pulling one of the rags from it's pristine pile, using it to dab away some of the blood from his face.

“You're okay,” she says softly, searching the cups on her desk for a cup not stained with leftover coffee, which she finds on the third try, closing her eyes to focus on filling the cup with water to dip the rag in, hoping the moisture will aid in clearing the crust from around his eyes. “You're going to be okay, do you hear me?” She has no idea where the words come from, but they seem to help, and after a few more groans, the man in front of her opens his eyes with a short yelp.

Emma drops the rag, pressing her palms instead against his cheeks. In sharp contrast to his dirty skin, to his dark hair, dark clothes, his eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, and for a moment, staring into them pulls the breath from her lungs and makes it impossible for her to find it again for a drawn-out moment.

“Hello,” she says finally, hoping that her smile hides the terror that suddenly fills her heart. She has no idea who this man is, what he is capable of, which side of this war he is on — or, perhaps most importantly, what brought him to her hospital, of all places.

He has no answer for her, simply stares at her, bright eyes wide. Slowly, the smile fades from her face.

“You're going to be okay. I don't know what brought you here, but I'm going to do everything I can to take care of you.” The source of the words is still a mystery, but as she says them, she realizes that every single one of them is true, no matter who he is.

The corner of his lips ticks up into a momentary smile, though it quickly turns to a grimace when he realizes how much pain it causes him. He opens his mouth, Emma assumes to try to speak, but she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“No, please, don’t. You’re— you lost a lot of blood, I don’t even know how you made it here alive, but I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Again, he tries to smile, and gets a little closer before the muscles in his face fight against the movement. So, instead of talking, he tries to move — slowly, with Emma’s eyes finding every movement of his muscles — his hand pointing first to the mug of water in Emma’s hand, then — slowly, carefully — to his mouth, though the fact that the very movement causes him pain is written plainly across his features.

“Shit, yeah, okay,” she mumbles, pushing herself up off the floor. “Let me — let me find you a clean cup.”

If they weren’t in a time of war, she tells herself, her office would be more organized. Though whether that’s really true or not is something she may never know, since she has never known a world that is not suffering through war. She would like to believe that one day, maybe, the world can be bright and healthy and good, but for now, she’ll just live with her messy desk — especially in times like this, rare as they may be, when the mess actually helps her, God forbid. It took three tries to find the mug that she filled with water to wipe the man’s face, and it takes her another two to find one already filled with water, this time worrying more about gnats and dirt and floaters than leftover coffee stains, but as she holds the worn ceramic up to his lips and slowly dribbles some into his mouth, she has a feeling that finding a gnat would have made it very high on his list of problems.

Slowly, slowly, he swallows, once, twice, his eyes tightly shut with all the pain he must be in, and then backs his head away from the mug, making some of the contents dribble down his chin and onto his dirty grey shirt.

She cannot even begin to imagine the type of pain he must be in, between the gashes on his face, probably a broken rib or two (if not something more serious, like internal bleeding), not to mention his newly-blunted arm. But even the few drops of water must have felt like a godsend, and, with his head resting back against the front panel of her desk once more, he takes a slow, deep breath, not even seeming to mind his body’s reaction to it, and opens his eyes once more.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice cracked and hoarse, though better than Emma anticipated given his state.

Still: “Shh, shh, don’t talk,” she says as calmly as she can, running the wet rag along his jawline again. “You have so many injuries — though,” she tries her best to smile, managing to catch a flash of brightness in his already shining blue eyes, “I’m sure you already know that. I don’t know what brought you to my hospital, but I can assure you that I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on your feet, okay? My name is Emma, and I’m going to take care of you.”

He nods, slowly blinking his eyes, and Emma even dares to think she sees hope in them, a light that stays on his face even as he slips out of consciousness once more.

With the help of Ruby, they carefully move him to the cot in her office, trying their best not to reopen any of the wounds that have managed to close, removing his worn grey tee-shirt to see what they have to work with.

“Dear God.”

Emma doesn’t even know what to say, but Ruby’s whispered curse almost covers it.

It’s worse than she imagined. Much worse — and Ruby, not trained in field medicine like she is, has never seen anything like it (even during the time she spends in wolf form) and leaves the room with one of her hands covering her mouth.

Emma doesn’t blame her.

How he is still alive is a question that she seriously contemplates, carefully ghosting her fingers over the still-open wounds to make sure that it’s really real. She’s seen dark magic; she’s seen the damage that dark magic can inflict. But what she has never seen is dark magic that sticks around once the wielder is no longer inflicting, magic that shimmers and crackles like lightning across the skin.

What she has never seen… until now.

“What did they do to you?” she whispers, almost wishing she knew the answer, while at the same time thankful that she has never had to go through what this man has obviously been through. She dips her rag back into the new bucket of water, carefully dabbing the blood-covered skin of his chest, finding more small cuts and bruises with every new, clean inch, which she finds surprisingly easy to heal with her magic.

When she makes it to his left pec, though — the spot immediately over his heart — she feels the breath escape from her lungs and finds herself unable to replace it. Not only is it worse than she imagined, but it’s unlike anything Emma has ever seen before. It shocks her. Literally, the energy from the leftover magic reacts to hers and physically shocks her fingers. There’s a gash, a literal gash across his heart that’s large enough she would be able to see into it if it were clean.

What surprises her the most, though, is that it’s not bleeding. If it were bleeding, he would probably be dead, but this is somehow…

Worse?

It’s black. Shining, glimmering black, moving like the waves on the ocean. For a moment, Emma is entranced by the constant motion of it, and then it shocks her again, her magic crackling in response to it. She can’t imagine the type of pain he must be in, this dark magic gash so close to his heart. She can’t help herself and she stretches her fingers out to touch it, even through the crackling of her magic at the tips of her fingers, but when she comes in contact with it, it just feels like skin. As if there is nothing wrong with it at all.

She finds herself thinking about his status, since he is not wearing the uniform of either side of the war — but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an allegiance, she tells herself, carefully wiping away the dirt around the bleeding gash on his shoulder, a wound that barely missed the edge of an intricate ship’s helm and compass tattoo that runs to the end of his newly-blunted arm. Somehow, the wound that brought her the most surprise upon finding him seems to be the one that has started to heal the nicest, among those that respond to her magic instead of ignoring it entirely. Even so, a field amputation is not an injury to take lightly, magic or no, and Emma makes a mental note to find some stitches and a new tourniquet, just in case.

Which isn’t going to be easy, with the enemy breathing down her neck. She doesn’t really even have enough morphine to treat him, since they’re mostly given pills to give to at the beginning of labor, plus a small and dwindling supply of IV drip in case the women lose consciousness. Shit. She hadn’t even thought about that. She’s going to have to make due with what she has left of that and her supply of sleeping pills until she can figure out how to get another order so soon without raising eyebrows.

She’s going to have to contact David, though with the enemy lines shifting around her every day, whether it would even be feasible for him to come all the way out here is an entirely different problem.

Morphine, tourniquets, stitching thread.

She begins to make the list in her head, a sort of mantra as she continues to work her way across the cuts and gashes on his chest. She finds that many of them not only heal, but disappear without even a scar in a way that she has never seen before. She turns her attention to his face, specifically to the large cut that runs down his right cheek, but a low moan from the lips of the injured man stops her.

“David.”

“That’s—” she says out loud, realizing she is speaking to a room empty besides a man who needs to be unconscious, who she assumed was given his tightly-closed eyes. Impossible, she continues in her own head, going back to carefully wiping the blood and dirt from his impossibly-wounded chest.

It can’t be the Prince, she tells herself, tossing her soiled rag onto the floor and finding a new one from the shelf behind her. David is a common enough name, he must be speaking of someone other than the Prince, someone other than the man who is the closest thing to family that she has ever known. He has to be.

“David,” he groans again, this time followed by, “No, no, Liam, please,” and if she weren’t kneeling above him, didn’t already have her hands on his chest, he surely would have thrashed off the bed. In catching him, holding him down, her fingers are wound through a chain that holds a collection of rings, each one as beautiful and intricate as the last, obviously well taken care of, besides the same signs of hardship that cover the rest of this man’s body. For a moment, she finds herself really looking at him, at the ripples of muscle and dark hair that cover what she can see of his chest and stomach; at the collection of artistry she finds spread across his scarred skin; at his strong jawline and the long, dark eyelashes that rest against his cheeks — until he gasps, squeezing his eyes tight, and tries to thrash beneath her again.

With that, she reminds herself of her task at hand, that he is not here for her to marvel at (even being the most handsome man she has ever seen), and she stands once more, hoping that he doesn’t wound himself further in the minutes it will take her to gather more supplies from the stockroom.

Ariel, one of her nurses, is in the basement, restocking the shelves when she makes her way down the steps. “Emma!” she says, somehow always chipper, even in the middle of an ever-present crisis. “How is our newest patient? Is he going to be okay?”

All Emma can do is nod, finding the IV supplies she came down here for before adding a few coils of gauze to the pile in her arms.

“He’ll — he’ll live, at least,” she mutters, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering the secret room that she built off the back of the basement, dreading the day she needed to use it — a day that, thankfully, had never come.

Until now.

“Well, that’s good at least. Ruby told me that he’s in pretty bad shape, but hopefully nothing that we can’t fix before we have to send him away—”

Emma turns to her, her eyes suddenly snapping to attention. “Listen, you shouldn’t — you can’t mention him to anyone, or even around anyone. No one can know he’s here.”

The smile fades from the redhead’s face. She simply nods.

“Meanwhile,” Emma continues, turning back to the steel wall at the back of the hospital. “We have to move him down here, to the crisis room.”

“Who’s looking for him?”

Emma shakes her head. “I have no clue. But I do know that I’ve never seen dark magic like this, and that just makes me even more afraid. But until we figure it out, he’s not here, as far as anyone is aware.”

Ariel nods again.

“Would you be able to set up an IV for him? Make sure it’s clean enough for me to take care of him? I don’t want to move him again just yet, but I’m afraid this may be the only way to keep him safe.”

Emma pauses for a moment, wondering — wishing — there was another option besides the crisis room, hoping that maybe this is all a bad dream that she’ll wake up from any moment. But the blood she draws from inside her bottom lip tells another story, and she nods before turning away.

“Emma,” Ariel calls, and Emma has a feeling that she may have missed the first time. “I, uh, need you to open the room.”

Duh.

“Of course,” she says, the ghost of a smile passing across her lips. She forgot the built-in safeties of the safe room: the fact that only she can open the door, the magic-plus-biometric locks the best she could find when she was adding the room. “Right.”

They move him later that day, once he comes back to consciousness, his body propped carefully between Emma and Ariel’s shoulders, walking half-on his own and half-aided by both Emma and Ariel’s magic. By the time they get him down the steps and onto the hospital bed, he’s only torn two of the stitches in his side, which were Emma’s last resort to stop some of the bleeding in the first place.

Even with just the small amount of healing that Emma was able to do on her own, and the new morphine drip hooked up to his still-complete arm, he already seems to be in much better shape than before.

“Thank you, Ariel,” she says, hoping that her tone of finality is enough to get her point across. Now that he’s conscious, she needs to talk to him, needs to figure out what brought him to her hospital — and she needs to do it alone.

Ariel nods, either too exhausted to respond or picking up on Emma’s tone. “Let me know if I can help,” she says, leaving them behind without another word.

When the door closes behind her, Emma turns to her patient, noticing the way his long eyelashes rest on his cheeks with his eyes closed.

“Alright, listen,” she says, taking a seat in the chair set up next to the cot, and his eyes snap back open. “I need to — we need to talk about your situation here…” She wants to end the sentence with his name, hoping to make up for some of the bite behind her voice, but she realizes now that she’s never learned it.

His face becomes an emotionless mask, his back even seeming to straighten a bit at the authority in her voice. So she tries to tone it down a little, offering a soft smile when he does dare to meet her eyes.

“Can we start with your name?” she asks, trying to soften her voice. “Please?” Whether it works or not is unclear, but he seems to calm a bit either way.

“Killian,” he says, his voice hoarse, and when he coughs to clear it, the pain on his face is obvious. “Killian Jones.”

“Well, Killian Jones,” she says. “I’m Emma Swan.”

He breathes out a small laugh, his hand squeezing into a fist on his ribs with the movement.

“The morphine should kick in soon, and hopefully the pain will start to subside.”

“Thank you, love,” he says, his voice stronger than Emma’s heard it — and also the first time she's noticed his accent, resembling some from the northern mer-people, though his dark hair and tanned skin makes her question even that.

She gives him a moment like this, gathering his strength, before leaning closer to him, resting her forearms on her knees. “But now, can you — can you tell me what you remember about getting here?”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if trying to remember — which, Emma realizes, is exactly what he’s doing. After a moment, he starts: “Alright, I was… they were questioning me about the location of —" He stops for a moment, briefly meeting her eyes but focusing behind her instead before starting again. "They were looking for some intel that they thought I had. And then when the rain started, they gave up and left me outside, thinking I was too weak to get away, and they were half-right. But the water, it — Christ, Killian — I managed to get away. I had no idea where I was, where I was trying to go, so I just… picked a direction and took off. I really thought I was going to die out there somewhere, that I was finally going to succumb to my wounds, but then I saw this light and I really thought I was going to die, until I realized that it was — it was this hospital, and the door was unlocked even though everyone was asleep. I don’t… I really don’t remember anything after that, but somehow I guess I wound up in your office.”

"Who was questioning you?"

She recognizes the fear in his eyes the moment the question slips through her lips. Just as she does not know which side of the war he is on, he must constantly be asking himself the same question about her, especially now that she knows he is a soldier, even without a uniform. If he says the wrong thing, if he reveals that he is on the opposite side of the war as she is, it could prove futile: she could refuse him care, could turn him out of doors to die — or, worse, she could turn him back to the enemy that he narrowly escaped from.

But she’s not going to do either of those things. “Listen, Killian, this is a hospital. There are no sides to a war in a place like this. But, given your wounds and the obvious hardship you’ve experienced at the hands of your enemy, I fully understand your wariness towards sharing this with me, and I’m certainly not going to force you.”

A silent beat passes, the silence even deeper in the underground safe room, before she pushes herself off the chair.

“I’m working on gathering supplies for you, but I’m going to be honest, it’s not going to be easy. We’ve been under a regular watch from the enemy recently, what with the changing territories in this area, so I may not be able to get everything I need as fast as I’m hoping to, for your sake.”

“I’m just grateful that you’re willing to help me, love,” he says, and something in his voice lets her know that this is genuine.

She just wishes there was more she could do.

Morphine, tourniquets, stitching thread, blood, she says to herself as she leaves him alone to rest up some more. Hope, she adds, though she rolls her eyes at her own joke. He needs that more than anything else.

TAGS: @shireness-says @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiguanasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @teamhook @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones -- want to be added or removed? let me know!

#cssns #captain swan #dystopia #cs fics #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #ouat ff #war au #slow burn #like really slow

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bangtan-madi · 4 years ago

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Top Albums of 2020

I was tagged by the amazing @joonni to list my top nine twelve albums of 2020! This was honestly so hard, but so fun. I love any tags to do with music xD (Your music taste was amazing btw! Sorry I went a little crazy and did a few extra lol.) Thanks lovie 💓

I went with the albums that I loved as whole (aka I loved most, if not all, of the songs) and listened to the most this year. Some choices have deeper meanings, while others were just flat-out enjoyable. I also stuck with albums that came out this year only, but I wasn’t sure if that was inherently part of the challenge. I wasn’t too picky on the criteria, just went with the ones that made up the score for my 2020. All albums have Spotify links incase something catches your eye! (Apologies for my extra-ness; I added recommendations from each album and a brief...ish explanation as to why it made the list.)

Also, they’re in no particular order, because this was difficult enough...

Map of the Soul: 7 by BTS

Explanation — This album was my first comeback as part of the BTS Army. There are so many tracks that I adore, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I was so excited for music. It breathed life into my Spotify, it was the album I listened to the most this year, and Black Swan was my most listened song. The differing music genres that they played with, all the way from orchestral to trap to hip hop and synth pop, left me more and more excited as the songs progressed. If there was a #1 on this list, it would be MOTS:7.

Highlights — Interlude: Shadow, Black Swan, ON, We Are Bulletproof: The Eternal

Zero: Fever Part.1 by Ateez

Explanation — This was the soundtrack to my summer. I hadn’t heard much from Ateez, but what I had heard, I wasn’t a huge fan of? Maybe I hadn’t been grabbed yet, but oh boy. Zero: Fever definitely did that. Every track is such high energy and memorable, so it was so hard to pick favorites! I’ll always think back on this one for summer, and will be transported back to plenty of sunset commutes.

Highlights — Fever, Thanxx, One Day At A Time

The Dream Chapter: Eternity by Tomorrow x Together

Explanation — Until this mini album, I had only listened to TXT in passing. I liked their stuff, but I feel like this is where they really found their stride. TDC:E caught me totally off-guard, in the best way possible. To me at least, this one is a work of art. Each of the six tracks is so entrancing, and so different from each other while still working together as a cohesive story. And don’t even get me started on the MVs! This is an album that I listen to for feels and fun, which to me, TXT are just brilliant at.

Highlights — Fairy of Shampoo, Maze in the Mirror, Eternally

Dystopia: The Tree of Language by Dreamcatcher

Explanation — It took me forever to find a girl group that I could really stan, like hardcore. This comeback for Dreamcatcher was when I realized they were it for me. This album in particular is so diverse. Their voices are both haunting and beautiful, and the way they interweave rock/alternative elements into their music has always turned my ear. They are so different from so many other girl groups out there, from the sound to their stage presence to their aesthetic. I will never stop talking about them, and this album really shows the best of their work thus far.

Highlights — Red Sun, Sahara, Paradise

BE by BTS

Explanation — How could BE not be on this list? What a perfect end to a shitty year. There’s something so comforting yet uplifting about this one, and I will happily admit I cried when I first heard Blue & Grey. Who am I kidding, I still do. There’s only one other artist I have listed on here with two albums, so BTS is in good company. What more is there to say other than BE was the warm hug we all needed.

Highlights — Life Goes On, Blue & Grey, Dis-ease, Stay

Heng:garae by Seventeen

Explanation — This is another group that I hadn’t listened to much before this album. I was so surprised and excited. Every song that passed, I found myself smiling more. Their voices are astoundingly beautiful, and the songs are sickeningly catchy. Another album that I go to just to have fun. It’s one of my favorites to just put on when a day is good, but doesn’t Seventeen make it a little better regardless?

Highlights — Fearless, Kidult, I Wish, Together

The Untamed by various

Explanation — If you’ve seen the Chinese drama The Untamed, then you know exactly why this is on there. This album is a collection of songs that are themes for the characters in the show, most of which are sung by the actors themselves. Let me tell you; I don’t know a lick of Mandarin, but these are some of the most stunning songs I’ve ever heard. It’s one of the things that drew me to the drama to begin with; everything, including the music, is breathtaking. The classical Chinese sound plays so well with the character’s stories and singer’s vocals. They tell stories all on their own and give the drama so much depth. Even if you’re not a fan of the show or webtoon it’s based on, give this one a listen. You won’t be disappointed!

Highlights — [Wen Qing] woodland, [Wen Ning] Chi Ni, [Lan Xichen] Bu You, [Jiang Yanli & Jin Zixuan] Yong Ge, [Interlude] Yi Nan Ping, [Nie Minghao & Nie Huaisang] Qing He Ju

Humanity (Chapters I & II) by Thomas Bergersen

Explanation — If you know anything about me, you know how important orchestral music is to me. It’s been a huge part of my music journey ever since I was in middle school. Thomas Bergersen has been my favorite composer for years; the way he integrates the classical with the modern is just...there are no words. These two albums cannot be listed separately; they’re part of a seven-part project titled Humanity. Chapters I & II came out in 2020, and honestly, I have no words. The way he tells a story through almost entirely lyric-less work is just immaculate. I’ve never felt more powerful, emotional, or inspired than when listening to these two. I cried when I first heard Your Imagination and Materialize. No matter how I am feeling, whether I need inspiration or hope or just some peace of mind, I go here. I’ve never felt more healed than when listening to his work. If you take a chance to listen to anything on this list, PLEASE. Give these a try.

Highlights — We Are One, Wings, Humanity, Your Imagination, Materialize, Innocence, The Stars Are Coming Home

Brightest Blue by Ellie Goulding

Explanation — I don’t listen to a ton of western music that isn’t orchestral or lofi, but I used to adore Ellie Goulding. Halcyon was my entire teen-hood. When I saw she came out with a new album this year, I gave it a listen for sentimentality reasons. And boy, I still love her. Her voice is both angelic and haunting, and her sound is so unique. The messages given in these songs are powerful, potent, a tad bit bittersweet, and especially valid for young women navigating adult life. Also the instrumentals backing her vocals are often big and grand and symphonic, filled with piano and violin. That’s enough to get me to listen. And to top it all off, the collabs she has on this album are so fitting for each track, it’s absolutely beautiful.

Highlights — Start, Cyan, Ode To Myself, Woman, Flux, Overture, Slow Grenade, Hate Me

Beneath Your Waves by Sleepy Fish

Explanation — If there’s one kind of music that shuts off the little anxiety bug in my brain and gets me to work, one that isn’t as intense as orchestral music and that doesn’t put me into sensory overload like orchestral sometimes does, it’s lofi. And Sleepy Fish does it so freakin’ well. This album that came out this year is one of my most often repeated over and over. When I’m struggling with sensory issues at work, I put this one repeat and my mind just...goes...quiet. It’s like medicine. And the tunes are so catchy and sweet. I’m instantly transported to someplace magical, some seaside city straight out of a Ghibli film, and far away from the things that are troubling me. Then I can finally get some work done, get to sleep, or just quiet my mind. If you struggle with sensory issues or anxiety like I do, give this album a shot. Also, the album titled My Room Becomes The Sea from 2019 is excellent.

Highlights — Velocities, Sunbreak, Swimming, Nights Like These, Winter Winter

WOOPS! by Woodz

Explanation — Another mini album that is just a blast to listen to, but it also has such a soft side that hits me in the feels. I don’t see a lot of people talking about Woodz, but you all should give him a listen. He’s so talented, and his voice on this one is just *chef’s kiss* everything. The mixing is also impeccable and pairs so well with his vocals.

Highlights — Bump Bump, On my own, Sweater, Tide

D-2 by Agust D

Explanation — I mean, we all knew this one was gonna be dope. Yoongi did not disappoint. This mixtape is so different from most of the stuff I listen to, but I absolutely adored it. The truth and rhythm and pure talent in each and every verse stuns me still. I find myself especially drawn to this one when I’m frustrated (not exclusively, but often, ‘cause 2020.) Both his truth and sound give me a safe place to feel that frustration and anxiety and vent/work through it. I don’t know what it is about Yoongi, but to me, all of his work is like a comforting friend going, “Hey, you’re totally valid and okay for feeling this way...but it sucks, doesn’t it?”

Highlights — Daechwita, People, Dear my friend

Now, I’ll tag these lovely people! Only if you wanna :)

@kooala @cultleaderyoongi @yoontopia @hobicomeholla29 @helenazbmrskai @moon-write @dreamcatcherjiah @ditttiii

#tag #tagged #mutuals #get to know me

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years ago

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Blue Eyes Part 28

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 26: Mosley’s plan is unveiled and Tommy warns Ella and Alfie.

Ella wasn’t sure how long she waited, curled up on the grass. But she sat up eventually to decipher what was going on. She saw a figure approaching her, framed by the headlights.

“C’mon. We need you inside.” Tommy spoke steadily but urgently. He helped his sister up.

She was shaking and pressing a hand to her stomach, right over where her scar lingered. “What happened?”

“Pol shot Linda.” He answered and walked her inside.

Luckily, Linda was out cold by the time Ella came inside. “Can’t we just have one night without this shit?” She muttered under her breath. Standing in the doorway of the dining room, she watched Arthur sit beside his wife. He was shaking and almost in tears.

“Apparently not,” Tommy replied with a weary sigh.

“Did I hear a gunshot or is Swan Lake a bit more entertaining than I assumed?” Alfie came storming into Arrow House.

“It’s alright, it’s taken care of.” Ella touched his arm.

“Yeah, well, your guest of honor’s decided to take the stage, mate.” He told Tommy.

“Is he talking about the new party?” Tommy lit a cigarette.

“Fuck if I know, I didn’t want to listen to him.” Alfie crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s talking like some…fucking dictator or something. It really puts a damper on the party, but everyone else seems to agree with him.”

“I’m going to go back out.”

“I think Alfie and I are going to head home early.” Ella linked arms with her husband. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“El, it’s late. We said we’d stay at least until tomorrow morning.”

She frowned. “You want to stay?” She asked in disbelief. It had been like pulling teeth trying to get him to go to the party in the first place.

“Alfie and I have business to discuss later,” Tommy explained.

The night’s events were starting to wear on Ella. How foolish it was to think they could have a fun, festive night for Lizzie’s birthday. “That’s fantastic, I don’t care. You can discuss business during business hours. Because that’s how business works. It’s not about sneaking around in the shadows, always looking over your shoulder to see if anyone’s fucking listening or not.”

Alfie looked tired but resolved. There was no need to argue but he did need to speak to Tommy. “You can head to bed, Ella, that’s okay.”

“What are you going to talk about?” She inquired. “Can I sit in on your little chat?” Tommy and Alfie shared a look of discomfort and it was enough to set Ella off. “So, you’re both keeping secrets from me now? Of all the times, Alfie.”

“Love, it’s…” He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, I’m worried now!” She threw her hands up. “I’m done with this. You two have your conversations, I don’t care anymore.” She stalked off to find one of Tommy’s booze stashes.

~~~~~~~~

Tucked away in the big room, Ella pulled out a bottle of Irish Whiskey. Forgoing the glass, she drank straight from the crystal bottle. The number of people she was angry with had doubled in one night. It must’ve been a record. She didn’t appreciate her husband keeping secrets from her. Tommy, she could understand. He’d done it before and it was silly to think he wouldn’t do it again. But Alfie? It was like a kick in the gut. How many times had she told him he was the only person she trusted? The very last person left in the world that she relied on and trusted with her heart.

Stewing at her brother’s desk, she did not want to be interrupted. But nothing about the night was going as planned.

The door opened and Mosley entered as if he owned the place. Ella’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t say anything as he walked in and glanced at the bottles of liquor near the door. “You Shelbys throw quite the party.” He looked around, taking in the sights as if everything was amusing to him.

“I don’t recall welcoming you in.” She replied venomously. “This is my family’s house after all, not yours.”

“You hold a great deal of malice for me, Miss Shelby.” Mosley sat down across the desk from her, completely ignoring her jab.

“I’ve told you many times, it’s Mrs. Solomons. You can address by my married name or don’t address me at all.”

“Ah, yes your husband. Interesting man, isn’t he?” Mosley folded his hands over his lap.

Before he could continue, Ella interrupted him. She knew the games men like him played. He wanted to work her up, make her so angry that she’d let something slip. But she wasn’t about to let that happen. “My husband is my world. I would put my life on the line for him without hesitating for a second.” No matter how much it nauseated her, she kept her eyes on Mosley to make sure he took her seriously. “You will not bring harm to anyone in my family. I’ll make sure, don’t you worry yourself with how I do it. But if you ever so much as give my husband a fucking dirty look, I’ll have you rotting out in the middle of nowhere, your body riddled with fucking bullets. See that’s the thing about us gypsies, Mr. Mosley, we know the best places to bury a body. Somewhere it’ll never be found. We can throw elegant parties and play the part, but there are some things you can’t take out of us.”

The threat only seemed to amuse the man. “Do you think your husband would do the same for you? Lay his life down on the line?”

“Without a question.” Ella folded her arms over her chest. There was no doubt what Alfie would do for her.

“He’s loyal? Faithful?”

“Yes.”

Mosley pretended to be intrigued. “Then why would I have some intelligence of a young woman seen entering and leaving your husband’s place of business? At all hours may I add?” He studied her face, waiting for the reaction of disbelief or betrayal.

Instead, Ella just laughed. “Yes, Miss Davis. Is she on your payroll or are you simply using her?”

If Mosley was alarmed, he didn’t show it. “I don’t follow.”

“You can play dumb all you fucking want. But maybe next time you make sure your employee doesn’t carry around your card. Or it might end up in the wrong hands. You fucking keep her away from my husband or there’ll be hell to pay.” Ella stood up, done with the conversation. “I have no issue of doing away with her. I won’t lose sleep over it.”

“How do you know he’s being faithful to you, then?” He tried again even if his initial plan had apparently been foiled by a misplaced business card.

“Because my husband doesn’t enjoy the company of many people. There are a select few he loves deeply. Fortunately, I’m one of those people. I trust him more than I’ll ever trust anyone ever again. But I appreciate your attempt to drive a wedge between us. I wonder what Tommy will think of that.” She went to leave.

Mosley stood up suddenly and grabbed Ella’s wrist. He pulled her close. Anger began to seep through his expression for the first time that night. His true colors began to show. “I would urge you to reconsider your alliances.”

“Put your fucking hands on me again and I’ll have my husband remove them.” She spat and ripped her arm away from him. On her way out of the big room, she ran into her brother.

Tommy looked confused. “El…”

“Don’t you dare fucking speak to me.” She replied harshly and pushed past him.

“Your sister has quite the mouth, Mr. Shelby. Not very becoming of a lady.” Mosley regained his composure and sat down again.

“I don’t think she considers herself a lady,” Tommy replied and went to pour them both drinks. He looked for the Irish whiskey and was puzzled to find it already on his desk, the top opened. “Just a woman. She’s never one for social standing. I think she’s content with what she has now.”

“And are you content with that? Your family is an extension of yourself, after all. If you have unruly family members, your reputation is severely threatened.”

“She likes to stay out of the family business so that wouldn’t be an issue for me. She’s not a face of the company.”

“That doesn’t matter in the public arena. It’s best to squash a problem before it becomes too much to handle. Now, what I propose, and I suggest you take this advice, you would have her married off to someone of significant standing. It would boost your appeal and perhaps tame her at the same time.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “She’s married.”

“Ah, yes, the Jew.” Mosley swirled the whiskey around in the crystal tumbler. “Well, after you’ve heard me speak, I think it should be common knowledge that you won’t be able to have a Jew as your lawyer let alone your brother-in-law.”

Tommy’s blood went cold. He paused for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like you want me to break up my sister and Alfie.”

“I’ve already attempted to do so. But your sister proves to be more stubborn than I anticipated. It was foolish of me if she’s anything like you then she’s as stubborn as a mule.”

He swallowed and his eyes went to the door that his sister had just left. Tommy was sure that if she heard any of this conversation, she would have a go at the both of them. Guns would probably be drawn. “She would never leave him and vice versa. I’m not sure what else you would suggest.” Play the part, he had to play the part. Any slip would give his intentions away.

“Get rid of him or I’ll do it for you,” Mosley replied coolly. As if murder was no skin off his back. “I know you have a reputation for making people disappear. He could prove a challenge but I trust your expertise.” Then, like it was just a bullet point on his business list or things to do, he transitioned. “Also, our friend Jimmy McCavern has asked for control of the racetracks north of Wincanton.”

Tommy was in too much of a daze to really process what Mosley was saying. He simply nodded.

“And Shelby, drink less.” Mosley left his whiskey on the desk and took his leave.

Bothered by everything that happened that night, Tommy reached over and took a long drink of the whiskey that Ella had left out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“The nerve of that man. And the fact that Tommy’s even listening to him! That he’s fucking entertaining him!”

Alfie was tired of not only the night but the whole affair. He almost wished that he’d gone home earlier when Ella requested. “I don’t have any answers, love, I’m sorry.”

“The fact that he was trying to frame you. For cheating?” She scoffed. “Honestly!”

“C’mere,” He was proud that Ella trusted him. The thought of being unfaithful never crossed his mind even at their lowest point in the relationship. It was laughable, in fact.

Pouting, Ella walked over to him sitting on the bed. “I don’t want to deal with this anymore.”

“We don’t have to.” Alfie rested his hands on her hips. “I’ll talk to Tommy.”

Ella touched her forehead to his, her eyes closing. She felt like she needed to scrub away Mosley. Scrub away the looks he gave her and the way he grabbed her wrist. It made her feel grimy and unclean. “Alfie…”

“Yes, love?”

She shook her head. What was there to say? The world was crumbling to bits. She didn’t know which way was up anymore. The only constant was him. All she could do was draw his lips to hers and sink into a kiss. After everything, at least that was comforting and normal.

But it wasn’t long before there was a sharp knock at the door. Alfie drew away even though Ella tried to get him to ignore it.

“It’s probably your brother.” He explained and picked her up to set her on the bed beside him so he could stand up.

Ella crossed her arms over her chest, not in the mood to speak with Tommy at least for another week if she was lucky. But she wasn’t.

“Tommy, you’ve got more to talk about?” Alfie asked.

“Can I come in?”

“No.” Ella asserted from the bed.

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He replied.

Alfie stood back, letting the man into the room. “What is it?”

“I’ve just spoken to Mosley.” Tommy shut the door behind him, worried that the man could have ears anywhere even in his own goddamn house. It was wise not to take chances.

“That’s not news,” Ella muttered.

“The fascists have a very strong belief when it comes to…”

“Jews.” Alfie nodded gruffly. “I’m well aware.”

Ella’s eyes widened. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She knew Mosley had questioned her husband’s faith before but she thought it was because he was a special breed of asshole. She didn’t think the entire emerging party felt the same way.

“Should’ve heard him out in the tent, love,” Alfie said sarcastically. “Talks about putting the blame for everything on us Jewish rats. Innit that right, Tommy?”

Ella looked incredulous. “Thomas!” She snapped loudly.

Tommy looked at his wits end. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to handle it.” He told her. “The message dies with him. It dies with him, okay?”

“Well, we’re all waiting for your big plan! You know the one where you supposedly kill him? You’ve been talking about it for months but that fucker is still alive and walking around!”

Alfie leaned up against the armoire. He looked grim but didn’t seem to hold the same anger for Tommy as Ella did.

“Alfie, say something!” She urged.

“He’s gotten closer to the man than anyone else has. If anyone has a shot at defeating this party then…” He met his wife’s look of disbelief. “Well, fuck, I know that he’s mental, Ella, we both know that! But sometimes it takes crazy to beat crazy!”

“Exactly my point.” Tommy lit up a cigarette. It didn't matter if he was called crazy. As long as he was given the leeway to carry out his plan. In fact, he was banking on crazy to see it through. “There’s someone, once we get him, this will all be over within a week or two.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed at him. “Who?”

“An old friend.”

“Who?!” She wasn’t about to let him run around her with secrets.

“A member of the 107th. Best sniper I've ever known. He’s locked up in an asylum right now but once we break him loose, we…”

“An asylum?” Ella threw her hands up and wondered if she had been caught in a nightmare. “A fucking asylum, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What’s your plan?” Alfie asked.

“Oh my God. Alfie, please don’t entertain him, he’s probably all doped up!”

“Hey! You wanted a plan; I’m trying my best to get everyone out of this!” Tommy’s defenses went up when she mentioned his drug use.

“I wanted a plan, not a crapshoot!” Ella stood up from the bed and took a few threatening steps toward her brother.

“Hey, hey, c’mon now.” Alfie got between them before their showdown attracted the entire house’s attention and woke Linda from her sedated state.

“At a rally, I’ll have a bullet put through his fucking head. That’s the best chance we’ve got.” He continued. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

“What about our safety?”

Tommy’s face fell a little. “I think it would be best if you and Alfie made yourself scarce until I’ve sorted everything.”

Alfie frowned. “That wasn’t what we spoke about.”

“I know. But what he said to me tonight…I’m very concerned about the safety of both of you.” His voice quieted.

Ella was breathing heavily, anger built up so much that it was spilling over. “What did he say? Verbatim, Tom. I want to know what he said, word for word.” She hissed through gritted teeth.

Tommy took a deep breath. Either way, he would incur the wrath of his sister so he decided to at least be truthful. “He said I needed to deal with Alfie or he would do it for me.”

“Deal with him. Like kill him? That man is going to kill my husband?” She pushed away from Alfie and went to get her gun tucked away in her purse.

“El, Ella!” Alfie grabbed her before she got the chance to load her pistol. “No, no, no, put that down right now.” He wrenched the gun away from her shaking hands.

“I’m going to fucking kill him; I swear to God.”

“No, you’re not,” Tommy replied firmly. “We’re doing it my way because it’s the only way this family makes it out unscathed. Nothing is traced back to us, we smother the message. That’s how we’re going to do it.” He spoke firmly.

Alfie wrapped his arms around Ella who was shaking so badly she could hardly stand up straight, even her vision was blurred with rage. “Are you happy with yourself?” She questioned fiercely. Huh? Are you fucking happy?!”

“Ella…”

“What do we do, Tom?” Alfie tried to keep the siblings from escalating even more. He had to keep a level head. Yes, there was a man not too far away that wanted him dead just because of his religion. But if that man was murdered in Arrow House, the Shelbys’ lives would be on full display to the public. It could land them all in prison, or maybe on a trip to the gallows. It would be difficult for Tommy to wrangle everyone out of a situation like that.

“We have allies in Wales. The Youngs and Lees. The further west you are might be best. I’d keep you away from the north and away from London.” Tommy’s voice evened out again.

“They found the Golds. We’re not safe out there.” Ella argued.

“They won’t know you’ve gone out that way. I’ll send them information saying you’ve traveled east.”

Ella looked indignant. Alfie looked disturbed. “I ain’t leaving my business alone.”

“We’ll be able to take care of everything for you.”

“No, no, that’s not happening, mate.” Alfie shook his head. “I’ll be running business as usual, I ain’t afraid of some fucking fascist. And I certainly ain’t gonna go live out in the middle of fucking nowhere in a caravan.”

“He intends to kill you, Alfie.” Tommy reminded him as if the man misheard him.

“Yeah, lotsa men have intended on killing me. Guess where they are now? Rotting at the bottom of the canal.”

Tommy finished his cigarette and sighed deeply. “I suppose I can’t force you to do anything. But I would warn against staying in London.”

“Yeah, well, fuck your warning. Not running off to Wales with me tails between me legs.”

Ella’s stomach flipped and she ripped away from Alfie’s arms to rush to the bathroom. She became physically ill, the anxiety overwhelming her senses. They were all fucked.

Tommy locked up Ella’s gun for the night and advised Alfie to keep an eye on her. Mosley would walk out of Arrow House alive. But his days were numbered.

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rebelbyrdie · 4 years ago

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Swan Queen Fic: The Looking Glass (1 of 3)

This is a story that I’ve had in my head for years. I have no time to fully flesh it out. I still think I would like to share it though. I lovingly call this bullshit writing because I do it between major projects to keep my brain going but it usually doesn’t amount to much.

So this is a combination of several concepts, inspirations and tropes. It is Parallel Universe time! This is pretty raw writing. No editing. No beta.

The Looking Glass (Part 1 of 3)

Once Upon a Time, an Evil Queen was prepared to cast the darkest curse ever created. She had the spell in her hands and revenge in her heart. All magic comes with a price, though. For this queen and this curse, the price was too high. She could not cast her curse. She was not the only one who had desired the curse, though. The Dark One became enraged at her decision and betrayed his former apprentice to her greatest enemies.

“Regina.” Snow White stared at the chained and bound woman. “Your father and others-” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, as if she hated even thinking about the people she spoke about. “-have begged for mercy on your behalf.”

Regina, disgraced queen and sorceress, was gagged but she held her head high, her shoulders were squared and her eyes were hot and angry. She met Snow’s eyes without flinching, daring her to do her worst. Gag or not, she would never beg.

“I will show you exactly the same amount of mercy that you showed my father and my people.” Snow White steepled her fingers under her chin. “Which is none.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Lord Henry, a rotund and care-worn man, tried to pull away from the knights that held him in place. “We will go home, never to return. As royalty banishment is the traditional penalty for-”

“Silence!” Snow White cut him off. Her words were ice cold and her mouth was set in a hard line. “Your groveling is pointless. My decision has been made.” She looked around the throne room, at the gathered crowd. “The Evil Queen’s punishment is not to die.”

Henry breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to reach for his daughter.

“Regina’s punishment is far worse then death. She shall live, forever-”

Regina’s head jerked back and her dark eyes went wide.

“-in the Eternal Tower.”

Henry went white. “No. Your Majesty, no!”

Snow smiled. It was wide, bright and predatory. “Take her to the mirror.”

The four knights who held Regina’s chains pulled her away. She didn’t fight them or shed a tear. She walked tall and proud, to her inescapable fate.

The Eternal Tower was a magical place, a magical spire from a dead kingdom. There were no doors and the single window had been bricked up. The only way in or out was via a magic mirror. She was dragged to the highest room of the castles tallest tower where that mirror waited for her.

The Dark One waited at the mirror, a smile on his glittering face.

“Hello Dearie.” He smirked. “So nice to see you again.”

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand over the mirror’s shining surface and it rippled like a quicksilver pool.

“The Eternal Tower is magical. While you are there you will not hunger, thirst or require sleep. It’s magics are ancient, arcane and far more powerful than yours. You won’t be able to cast the smallest spell there. You will be alone.”

He leaned closer and his smile widened grotesquely. It twisted his face and made him appear more monstrous than ever. “Forever.”

The knights unshackled her hands, feet and waist and pushed her into the mirror, hard. She fell through the portal and onto the hard stone floor of the Eternal Tower. She scrambled to her feet and ripped the gag out of her mouth. Regina glared at the Dark One.

“I’ll destroy you for this, Imp.”

“Shut up!” One of the armored men hit the mirror with his fist. “Or we’ll cover the damn mirror.” He held up a heavy damask clothe. The mirror, or more accurately the window that it was pointed at, was the only source of light in her prison. If the mirror was covered she would be cast into permanent darkness.

Regina stepped back from the mirror and looked around her new abode. She ignored the men as they left the room on the other side of the mirror and when she was alone, she finally screamed.

***

In a world with no Dark Curse, Princess Emma grew up in a glorious castle with two loving parents and was beloved by the kingdom. She was fair, intelligent and could wield true love magic. She grew in grace, strength and beauty every day.

The morning of her twentieth birthday dawned bright and early. Emma was already out of bed and sneaking out the window long before the servants awoke. She made her way across the castle’s roof and swung into the narrow window of a lesser used corridor.

She was sick and tired of being a princess. She hated the politics, etiquette and endless expectations. She wasn’t what her mother wanted her to be. She never would be. Her mother, Queen Snow, wanted a perfect princess. Emma was anything but. She was more comfortable in breeches and on horseback then she was in a dress and on the throne.

Not to mention the Balls. She hated the over-the-top Balls. She would be shown off like a horse at an auction for princes and kings to gawk at. Her parents had married for True Love. She had to marry to fill up the kingdom’s coffers.

She wandered the North wing’s long and empty corridors and started climbing a steep and narrow set of stairs. She didn’t recognize the tower, but the early morning light and shadows might be playing tricks on her. After what seemed like a million steps, Emma found herself at a door that she didn’t recognize.

“Unusual.” She muttered to herself. Even more unusual was that the door was locked with three huge iron padlocks.

Now Emma had to know what was behind the door. She leaned out the landing’s single window and smirked. There was another window less than three feet away, on the other side of the door. It was all to easy to pop out one window and into another, especially since her magic would protect her from any fall.

The room on the other side of the door was small and empty except for a tall gilded mirror.

“Lame.”

She was about to leave when something caught her eye. She did not see her reflection in the glass. She saw someone else. Somewhere else.

“What the hell?”

She walked closer to the glass.

“Who are you?”

The woman on the other side of the mirror jumped. She twisted around, away from her loom and stared right at Emma. Her dark eyes were wide and her lush mouth, accented by a scar, dropped open.

“Wh-” Her voice was raspy, like a door hinge that had rusted shut a long time ago finally moving again. “Who are you?”

***

“So it is Midwinter.” Emma sat in front of the mirror with her legs folded over each other. She was comfortable on the floor, inches away from the glass.

Regina sat on her side with her knees drawn to her chest. She was braiding her long dark hair with fast and agile fingers. She loved listening to Emma. Not just because she was the only voice she’d heard in years either. The blonde was smart, funny, irreverent and she made Regina smile. She didn’t judge her as the Evil Queen or a prisoner. They were friends.

“And there is about four feet of snow on the ground.

“You should be wearing a cloak. That tower room must be freezing.” Regina was always worried about her. Emma was careless with her own safety, so bold and brazen. Too caught up in the moment to think ahead.

“I’m fine. I want to see your progress!”

Regina smiled and shook her head, amused. “Of course.” She stood and turned her mirror around a bit so Emma could see her loom.

The loom had been one of the only things in her prison. It was left over from the tower’s last resident. She had never learned how to weave as a child, as it had not been something that a queen needed to know. Since she’d had nothing but time, she had taught herself. It had been the one thing that kept her from going mad.

She spent endless hours weaving. She didn’t always know what the pattern was as she worked. The images often surprised her. Emma praised her work, and swore that it was the best she’d ever seen.

“I don’t know what it is yet. I’ve never seen anything like it. A town, I think. With a strange tower.”

She pulled the completed length up so Emma could see it.

“Wow! It is amazing! You’re amazing, Regina!”

No. Emma was the amazing one. Regina sat the almost-finished tapestry back to the side and went back to the mirror.

“If you could have anything for a Midwinter gift, what would it be?”

Regina raised a brow. Emma was already the best gift she’d ever received. She was sunshine personified. She reminded Regina of Daniel. When she was with Emma she could feel her long dead heart stir in her chest.

She didn’t dare say any of that, though. It was pointless, a fever dream. They could never be together, no matter how much she wanted to reach out and touch Emma. To hold her hand. To kiss her.

“An apple. My father planted a tree when I was born. I tended it for my entire life until-” She shook her head. “I want to taste an apple again.”

Emma nodded. “I want the tapestry you did last Spring. The one of the horses and sheep in the field. It reminds me of summer when I was a child. I like to think that the little girl and man are my father and me. Like you were standing right there painting a portrait.”

If she could give it to her, Regina would. She’d give anything and everything she wanted.

“Well, actually, that is just an excuse. To get the tapestry, I would have to meet you and that would be the real gift.”

Emma pressed her hand against the mirror. “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me.”

Regina pressed her hand to the mirror too and wished she could feel the heat of Emma’s palm against her own.

“You are the only person who sees me.”

Emma’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That makes me the luckiest woman in the world.”

Years past. Emma spent every minute she could with Regina. She ignored suitors and skipped out of Balls. She fought in tournaments, but never wore a token. She always fought for Regina, even if she couldn’t say so. When she was days away from turning twenty-five, everything changed.

Emma showed up for dinner, almost on time. There were various dignitaries in attendance tonight. She never paid attention to who. The faces changed but the boring political stuff always stayed the same. She sat down on her mother’s left, beside Red.

“And here is my daughter, Princess Emma.”

Snow’s voice sounded strained, angry. Emma knew that she had broken countless rules. She was late. She was wearing breeches. She had her sword on her belt. Her hair was tied in a sloppy braid. There was dust smeared on her shirt. Basically she was not fit for a royal dinner table.

“Your Highness.”

A guy, expensive clothes, an unfamiliar accent and gold circlet told Emma everything she needed to know. He was yet another prince trying to buy her hand in marriage. Great.

“I am Prince Killian of the Kingdom of-”

Emma drifted off, uninterested. She had heard it all before. He would go through his entire family history, and all his so-called achievements. Like all that was supposed to impress her.

She missed Regina. She would never bore her at dinner. She would also never try to buy her. Regina had been there and done that and it had destroyed her. She constantly worried about Emma being betrothed against her will.

It was hard to imagine Regina being here. Sitting as a Queen dealing with politics and stuff. Forced to sit and pretend she cared. Worse, forced to pretend to be happy as a forced-wife and faux-mother. Then again, compared to the tower, dinner didn’t seem so bad.

Red’s elbow dug into her ribs and Emma jerked her attention back to the Prince.

“Welcome, Prince Killian. I am pleased to meet you.”

She wasn’t.

“The pleasure is all mine. Our betrothal is a blessing on both us and our kingdoms.”

Wait. Emma’s head snapped to the side to look at her mother. What!

Snow nodded. “It is a wonderful match, dear. You will love Killian and live Happily Ever After.”

No.

Emma’s entire body burned fire hot and went ice cold simultaneously. She could feel screams coiling up in her chest. This could not happen.

“The wedding will be on your birthday. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wonderful? Emma would rather die.

Red put a hand on her leg under the table. To comfort her? To hold her in place? To warn her to behave? Emma didn’t know. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think anything other than no.

She sat, silent, and somehow got through the dinner. Killian asked for a walk through the garden (escorted by their parents of course) but Emma declined. She was far too weary to walk. Her mother frowned but allowed it. Probably a reward for not flipping out at the table.

Emma ran right to Regina. She poured out her fears and wept her tears to the woman in the mirror. Regina pressed close to the glass. Her hands and cheek were flat against it.

“Don’t give in Emma.” Regina’s voice was sad and soft. It carried the weight of her past and experiences. Her regrets. Her love. “But don’t fight either. Run. Leave. Go. Leave Snow to her Empire. There are other kingdoms, other worlds. I’ve seen them. Weaved them into my tapestries. You can still have a life, happiness.”

Emma looked up and pressed her face against the mirror. “Not without you.” She smacked the glass between them. “How can I be happy without you?”

Regina touched the glass where Emma rested. She traced the lines of her cheeks and forehead. “You will be happy, My Love.” She smiled despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. “We are together, you know. In one of those other worlds, there is a you and a me that are happy and free together.”

“I would give anything to be with you.” Emma was crying now too. “Anything.”

Regina shook her head. “I would never curse you like this. To this tower.”

Emma sighed. “Sometimes I wish you had cast that damn curse. Anything, anywhere, has to be better then this.”

They lay on either side of their mirror, together but forever apart. They would have stayed that way all night. Forever if they could.

Emma jerked up. “Someones coming!” She could hear the heavy locks being turned. There was no time to escape. The tower’s door swung open, rusted hinges squeaked and groaned from years of neglect.

“Emma!” Snow White stood at the door. Rumplestiltskin stood at her right shoulder. Prince Killian at her left.

“Mom!”

Snow looked at the mirror. “Regina!”

Both Emma and Regina got to their feet.

“How could you do this?” Snow glared at the mirror. “When Rumplestiltskin told me I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t! You’ve corrupted my daughter! Right under my nose!”

Emma launched at her mother, fists swinging.

“Don’t you dare!”

Her father came in and grabbed Emma, held her back.

“She hasn’t corrupted me!” Emma jutted her chin out. “I love her! I will not marry him.” She pointed at Killian. “Or any man you sell me to. I love her!”

Snow looked from her daughter to the mirror.

The reflection showed Regina, The Evil Queen, on her knees.

“Please. Snow. Please. Don’t do this to her. It will destroy her. Don’t do to Emma what my mother did to me. Don’t make her marry. Let her love. You got your Charming. Let her find love.”

“You? You think this is your escape? Your great revenge? No! I won’t let you destroy Emma like you did my father and our kingdom.” She turned to one of the guards.

“Break it.”

Emma screamed and fought, she was too late, though. By the time she escaped her father’s grasp, the magic mirror lay shattered on the stone floor and Regina was cast into eternal darkness.

#fanfic #wip #swanqueen

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