#also I am still very much voice testing.. so hopefully it's not entirely garbage

[starfrckled-a]

@starszakrew said  :   ❝  no, don’t turn out like me.  ❞ (   fall out boy , part 1 sentence starters  :  accepting  )

𝙸𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶,  curiously enough,  and he should know all about the importance of heeding words.  but there is no sign of alarm on his features,  brows only crease slightly as he wonders what she could possibly mean.  almost ironic,  given how often it falls on others to decipher his own vague wording,  moon shadowed,  but never ill meant.  she,  too,  means well here,  Emìl cannot really believe anything else.  so the line of his mouth finally settles on the edge of a smile,  something small,  yet not void of mirth,  almost for her eyes alone  ——  an inside joke,  of sorts. «  too stubborn for my own good,  princess  ?   »    there it is,  his very special way of using irony without a bite to it,  tone of voice ever calm,  harmless. 

[bellovebug]

Phanniemay19 Day 2: Secrets

Shit.

Danny grimaced, staring down at the concrete as his shoes hit the ground. An entire project. How am I going to get that done in a single day? He had completely forgotten about the History project due the next day due to a breakout from the ghost zone.

He put his hands on his head, feeling the headache coming from a mile away, and groaned.

He stopped to get his headphones out of his bag- gotta smother all that environmental input, right?- when he heard a noise coming from a nearby alley.

He stopped cold, listening, hand itching to snatch the Fenton thermos from his bag. Rustling and what sounded like the rattling of a can falling resounded out of the alleyway, and he snuck as quietly as he could to peer around the corner.

At first sight, there was nothing. Just a couple trash bags, and the back entrance to a building which looked like it hadn't been opened in a couple decades. Movement caught his eye, however, and something was definitely moving behind one of those trash bags.

He followed his instincts, removing his Fenton thermos from his bag and stalking up to the oversized bag. He resisted the urge to cough from the rancid smell in the alleyway as he reached the trashbag.

He reached a hand towards it cautiously, ready to leap back at any moment and uncap the thermos.

He grabbed the bag roughly, flinging it to the side (with some struggle- Danny wasn't that strong). And to his surprise, there was no ghost lurking, no rabid coyote rummaging for food. No, no, instead, tangled in a torn up towel, was a tiny black kitten.

“Oh,” he sighed in relief. He screwed the cap on the thermos and tossed it back in his bag. He looked down at the little guy, fur matted with some unknown substance and greasy in the few places it was clear. It was clear the kitten was homeless, if not for the fur than for the way its ribs were clearly visible even under all of its fur.

He couldn't lie, it tugged on his heartstrings. The kitten let out a pitiful mew, twisting to release its paw from where it was stuck in the towel, and Danny practically melted. He reached out to untangle it, and it jolted, flinching away from his hand and thrashing to get away.

“Shh, shh,” he murmured quietly, but the kitten was not calmed. “It's okay. It's okay.” He didn't want to get caught by the kitten's tiny claws- as innocent as it looked, he knew they could carry diseases- so he wrapped the sleeve of his sweatshirt around his hands before reaching again. The kitten couldn't do much, being all wrapped up, but hell if it didn't try.

Danny freed one paw from the strings, and the kitten slipped out of his hands, trying to run away. However, one paw was still snagged, and it dragged the towel behind it.

Danny quickly caught it again- he had no doubt that had the towel not been there the kitten would be long gone by now- and freed his last foot. The kitten let out a high pitched growl and sunk it's little teeth into his hand. His sweatshirt muffled all but the slight pressure and the kitten's ears were flattened down against its head, clearly afraid.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to do anything productive, he released the kitten, and it raced into the shadows. He sighed, and went to retrieve his backpack, slipping the Fenton thermos inside and shouldering it on.

He guessed he actually had to deal with that project now, huh?

-----

It was a minor ghost. It really shouldn't have been such a huge problem- it usually didn't take him longer than a few minutes to take down a ghost such as this.

But they had been dancing around each other for at least half an hour already, and dead or undead, Danny was tiring.

He shot several ghost rays at the ghost, all but one of which it dodged with unnatural agility, the other barely clipping its side. It let out an unearthly shriek which didn't do anything but make his ears ring.

“Hey, use your inside voice!”

Okay, he would admit it. It wasn't his best quip. But he was tired, alright? Cut him some slack. He had gotten a grand total of one hour of sleep that night, working on Lancer's essay til 3 while insomnia took over the rest. And it was the night after that, and it was already almost 2 am, and he just really wanted to get the hell out of there and get in his bed.

That is, until he heard a small, squeaky mew.

He looked around frantically, trying to scan the alleyway while also dodging the ghost's attack. At first he couldn't find anything, until he saw a tiny black face peeking out from between a trash can lid and the brick wall.

Oh, hell no.

He couldn't even be responsible for his own life- sometimes lack thereof. How was he supposed to think about protecting this kitten along with himself?

Well, he thought. I can't just stop fighting, so….

The ghost took advantage of his apparent distraction, and attacked him in a way Danny had never seen before.

Its tail extended, but thinned, and thwipped out towards him like a whip.

Maybe he shouldn't have made that comparison, because as fast as he tried to move out of the way, it unfurled in a fraction of a second, cutting through the air so quick Danny could barely see it.

But damn did he feel it when it hit his abdomen, letting out a harsh crack.

Danny was a tough guy- he could admit it. He screamed.

Ow ow ow ow-

Before he could recover, it lashed again, this time the strike hitting his shoulder and wrapping around to his back.

He didn't need to look to know the wound was awful. It was freezing, and he would bet that the fabric was torn and that ectoplasm was seeping out.

He couldn't take this much longer.

He raised his hand, shooting as many ghost rays as he possibly could. There were so many bullets that the ghost couldn't dodge all of them.

They continued like that, dodging and shooting and, in Danny's case, screaming occasionally.

The pain in his abdomen worsened the longer he fought- it buzzed, but it didn't feel asleep. It felt like the wound was sinking deeper and deeper, corrupting his organs and crumbling his bones.

He was almost worried that it was true- you can never really tell with ecto attacks.

The ghost caught his face, bruising his cheek and leaving him dizzy.

And it had no mercy.

Crack.

Pain.

Crack.

Pain.

Crack.

Pain.

He stopped screaming on the second blow, only having enough energy to let out a broken whimper.

I have to get closer, he thought.

And it took him a while, but he did.

He uncapped the Fenton thermos, and the ghost began to blur into the container. But not before it manage to fire off one last bullet.

The ghost swirled into the depths of the thermos, and he shoved the cap on as quick as he could. And it was a good thing, too, because he most surely would have dropped it.

The blast met its mark, slamming into his chest.

He fell.

It felt like 3 years, he was falling, but it was undoubtedly no longer than 3 seconds before he hit the ground.

It knocked the air out of him, and he couldn't breathe. His ears rang, but it sounded as if he were underwater, sounds such as his thermos hitting the ground muffled and far away. His vision was spotted with splotches of black. He felt like radio static.

He choked. His chest seized and he couldn't breathe.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe breathe breathe

He felt his own blood- ectoplasm- no, that was warm, it was blood. Had he turned back? He couldn't. Remember. Remember.

He coughed, and he breathed.

He sucked in air like a ravenous man who hadn't eaten for weeks, heaving. He coughed again, and fuck, that was a bad idea. With every breath his chest ached bad.

He paused, laying there. He would have to get up eventually. He had a French test the next day- it was his only A. French test. French test.

Get up.

Come on, he thought. I need to get up.

But his body didn't seem to agree. He leaned upwards, and his chest released a sharp pang of pain.

Okay, sure. Maybe getting up wasn't such a good idea after all.

He lay there in the abandoned alleyway. He shut his eyes, and he probably would have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for a cold something touching his hand.

He yelped, jerking his hand away and sitting up far too fast. It made his head spin and fuck his entire chest felt like it had been run over by a truck.

He looked around for his assailant, and he sighed in relief. It was the kitten.

He reached a hand towards it, and it ducked, it's tail fluffing up like a bottle brush.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered lazily, too tired to do much else.

He closed his eyes, but the kitten stepped on him again. He opened his eyes, and the kitten's green eyes bored into his own. He didn't move, and it slowly and cautiously creeped up onto his stomach. He winced when it stepped on one of the cuts from the whip, but he left it alone, not wanting to scare it away. He coughed, however, and it jumped, leaping off his stomach. He sighed and began to get up.

He heaved himself onto his feet, and sure enough, he was in his human form. And his clothes were ripped. And, worse, stained with crimson. He didn't even know how much he bled- hopefully not so much that he'd have to ask Jazz to help him. She was a worrier, and it rubbed off on Danny, making him anxious.

So he began the walk home.

He stopped maybe halfway there to throw up in a nearby bush. He hoped he didn't have a concussion- that would be really bad.

As soon as he made it to his house, he opted to climb in the window. He doubted his ability to be subtle about shutting the door this late at night, and his parents were light sleepers (“Keeps us on our toes in case of ghouls!”).

He climbed in his window, and he stripped off his ruined shirt. He put it in a plastic bag- he couldn't very well throw it away in the kitchen garbage can, so he planned on throwing his ruined clothing in the outside garbage tomorrow morning.

Before he could do much else, he heard a tiny meow from outside his window.

Are you fucking with me right now?

He opened the window, and sure enough, there on the sidewalk below him was a tiny black blob. “God, fucking shit fuck asshole-” he sighed and ran his hands threw his hair. He couldn't leave it out there. He couldn't. His heart ached for the little thing.

He climbed down from his window once more, and he knelt to pick it up. It hissed.

“Make up your mind!” He whisper-yelled.

The kitten eyed him warily, but approached, sniffing.

It seemed to have gotten what it needed, and he reached to pick it up. It's eyes narrowed, but it seemed to accept him.

He picked it up, and he gnawed on his hand lightly, looking up at him.

“Aww,” he cooed. He used his other hand to rub a thumb on it's little forehead, and it leaned into the touch. It seemed like an entirely different cat.

He made quick work of sneaking the cat up to his room. As soon as he made it in his window, the kitten leapt down to the ground, sniffing around it's surroundings.

He closed the window and latched it.

It wasn't until he went to lay down that he remembered that his whole body ached like hellfire. I should probably wrap this, he thought.

He exited his room, shutting the door quietly but quickly to avoid the kitten escaping, and he crept to the bathroom. He retrieved the hefty medkit he and Jazz had bought from the top corner of the bathroom closet and made his way back to his room.

He sat on his bed gingerly and turned on his lamp along with his light. Lifting up his shirt, he gingerly poked at the marks left by the lashes. They were definitely bleeding, but the blood had already started to clot around the wounds. They weren't deep enough to need stitches, but he would definitely have to disinfect them and wrap them.

He started with removing his shirt before whiping away the blood surrounding them with a wet cloth. After, he went in with the disinfecting wipes in the kit for around them.

He and Jazz used to use rubbing alcohol to clean his wounds, but Jazz had switched it all out, talking about how the harsh liquid wasn't good for wounds. So Danny has to use saltwater to wash out the wound- apparently it was better than the alcohol, and it hurt less, which was a win.

He still hissed when he poured it from the bottle. He dabbed it with a napkin.

Then, the sound of claws in fabric could be heard as the kitten grappled its way up his comforter onto his bed. It squeaked quietly, and sniffed around him, as if in concern. Danny smiled weakly, the little furball giving him a some small amount of joy. It curled up against his leg, and he knew the guilt would kill him when he had to move.

After disinfecting all of his wounds he could reach- the one reaching around his back the only one he couldn't get- he sealed them with an excess amount of butterfly stitches. After they were all secured to his satisfaction, he gently wrapped the majority of his torso in a thin layer of gauze. He learned the hard way that having just s little gauze went a long way when it came to comfort.

When the cuts had been treated, he turned his attention to his chest, where a huge, sprawling bruise sprouted from his sternum. It was already dark blue and red, with hints of purple here and there. He poked it gingerly and winced. That was gonna be a bitch to heal.

He sighed down at the little kitten leaning against his leg, not asleep but clearly tired.

“You're gonna need some food, aren't you, baby?” the kitten blinked up at him, yawning.

And that was how Jazz found him sneaking back up the stairs with a bowl of water and a plate loaded with a considerably large amount of salami.

“What are you doing?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Uhmm…” he faltered. “I'm doing a… biology project…”

Jazz fixed him with a calculating stare. “I thought you had biology last year.”

He could have hit himself. “I did!” He coughed once, twice, almost spilling the water. “I meant- I meant chemistry. I'm doing a chemistry project.”

“At almost three in the morning?” she met his eyes, and he held her stare. Don't break eye contact. She can smell fear.

“...Yes.”

She squinted suspiciously. He could feel the sweat in his hands.

Finally, relief. “You should really work on staying more up to date with your homework. You're in sophomore year, Danny-”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, I get it, Jazz-” he began to back up towards his door.

“You really need to kick into gear-”

“You're entirely right. Anyways I'm just gonna-” he bumped into the wall, and he desperately wanted to escape.

“If you want, I could always help you with your homework-”

“Yeah, yeah! That's great Jazz, thank you-”

“Wait, Danny, hold on-”

“Goodnight, Jazz, love you!” He opened the door and slid into his room as fast as he could, shutting it behind him.

He slid his back down the door, sighing in relief. He set the water and the salami down on the floor, looking around for his friend.

At first glance, he couldn't spot it, but upon further searching, Danny spotted a little pink nose peeking out from under his bed.

He moved the water toward the kitten, and it backed up a few steps, fading further into the dark. He picked up a piece of salami and extended his arm- shit, other arm, this one got whipped.

The kitten sniffed the air began to creep forward. Once it was within arm's reach, he held the salami under its nose, and it began a soft growl. Seeing the warning- probably there because this cat had lived on the streets- he left the salami on the ground and retracted his hand. It eyed him warily, and once it decided he wasn't going to try and take it, it bit the slice and shook her head, and within a matter of maybe 20 seconds, it was gone.

It scarfed down the rest of the salami in a similar fashion. Maybe he shouldn't be giving a cat so much salami, but it wasn't as if they had cat food lying around, and he was trying his best.

Once the kitten realized he had water, it cautiously stepped towards it, never once taking its big green eyes off of him. He tried to hold as still as he could, not wanting to scare it away.

Clearly, it was thirsty, because it drank for a solid three minutes straight. Danny didn't even know if it was breathing.

Satisfied that the kitten was fed and watered and would be okay for the night, he flicked the lights off and crawled under his comforter. He rolled to one side, and immediately rolled to the other when it became evident that his wounds would make it uncomfortable to sleep.

He took a deep breath, and fell asleep, the last thing he heard being a quiet purr from beneath his bed.

-----

It was a slow day. Like, a really slow day. Lancer's essay had finished yesterday, and they were starting a new unit. He had work in his other classes, but they were busy work, and not exactly hard.

He was walking with Sam and Tucker out in the courtyard.

“I really don't know what was up with that ghost. It was super strong for one like that, and I swear I was fighting it for, like, an hour,” he complained.

Tuck sighed in sympathy, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. “A moment of silence for our fallen brother, who also had to write Lancer's essay in under two hours.”

Sam smacked his hand away and Tucker snorted. “Well, you wouldn't have that problem if you just did the work like you're supposed to.”

“Shut up, Sam, you're fucking gifted when it comes to essays-” Tucker began.

“No, I just have opinions you plain ass-”

Danny didn't get to hear the rest of that sentence, because across the courtyard, he spotted a little black smudge. It can't be, he thought. He had made sure to lock his door and close his window before he left. But sure enough, as they walked closer, he definitely recognized the uneven fur and huge green eyes.

Looking around for any teachers, he started forth to nab the little furball. To his surprise, it didn't even hiss, just gnawed gently on his thumb.

“Is that a cat?” He heard Sam say as she and Tucker caught up to him.

“Uh… yeah…” he began. “I found it a couple times on the streets and it followed me home last night.”

“Well, first of all, it is definitely a she,” Sam protested.

“How do you know?” Tucker piped in.

“Is it really a surprise that I enjoy studying animal anatomy?” Sam rolled her eyes. “I'm a vegan.”

Danny heard Tucker mutter “yeah, we know,” and Sam's resultant squawk of indignation, but was distracted by Dash, who was sauntering up to them with his usual cocky gait.

Danny sighed. What would he want today? Lunch money? (Danny almost laughed at that.) “What do you want, Dash?”

“Is that a cat?” Dash looked at him coldly, but his voice was probably the least mean he'd ever heard it.

“It sure is, Dash,” Tucker began. “Very astute observation of you.”

“Foley, I swear to God, I'll beat your-”

“Okay! Okay, guys, calm down. Yes, Dash, it is a cat. Is that all you wanted?” Sam interjected.

“No,” Dash addressed her. He turned back to Danny, and if Danny didn't know any better, he'd say Dash was looking at the cat affectionately. “What's her name?”

“Uh,” Danny halted. “Uh- her name is, um.” He racked his brain, but before he could come up with something good, he blurted, “Phil. Her name's Phil.”

Dash eyed him incredulously, and Danny wanted to jump off a building.

“Fenton, I don't know if you're aware of this, but did you know that Phil is actually usually a guy's name?” Sarcasm dripped from seemingly every orifice on Dash's face.

“Its- it's short for-” he thought wildly. “-Philadelphia.”

“...Why?”

“Um. My. My uncle lives there,” He blurted lamely.

“But, Danny,” Tucker piped up. “You don't have a-”

“Shut your hoe mouth, Tucker-”

“That's the dumbest name for a cat I've ever heard,” Dash finally replied. Danny couldn't retaliate, because Dash was right. Philadelphia was a horrible name for a cat. But to Danny's surprise, Dash shuffled a bit, looking almost nervous. “...Can I hold her?”

Danny eyed him, shocked. He'd never heard Dash so docile in his life. He was hesitant, but as much of a dick as Dash was, Danny didn't think he'd hurt an animal. “Uhh… sure.”

Danny held out the kitten- Phil, god he would never live this down- and Dash took her gently, cradling her against his chest. Danny half hoped she would go wild and attack Dash, but to his surprise, she started up a little purr. Dash rubbed her little forehead, and she raised her chin into the touch.

Danny made incredulous eye contact with Sam and Tuck, who were about as shocked as he was.

Dash cooed at her, a small smile on his face. (Danny couldn't help the fact that the smile made Dash look… almost…. Cute. But Danny was absolutely not going to deal with that right now.)

Dash held Phil back out to Danny, and he took her back. “...Thanks,” Dash gritted out. “She's cute.”

Then, he sauntered away, as if anything about that situation was normal.

Danny turned back to Sam and Tucker, who were both recovering from their shellshock. Tucker, however, began to cackle, and Sam rolled her eyes.

“Really? Phil? Danny, you really are one dumb bitch-”

---

He ended up explaining the whole story of Phil's existence to Tucker and Sam on their walk from school that day, leaving out the part about almost dying in that fight against the ghost.

“But you guys can't tell Jazz, or my mom or dad about her,” Danny pleaded.

“Why not?” Tucker asked.

“Because, I don't think my parents would let me keep a cat in the house, and then Jazz would lecture me on how it was irresponsible to take in a living creature and i need to take it to a shelter-”

“Yeah, that's because Jazz is smart, and you should listen to her,” Sam argued. “You really need to take it to a shelter. Actually, I know where a super humane one is, we can go right now-

“No, no, Sam, please!” Danny held Phil, who was curled up in his arms. “Please. I'll take her to one eventually, I just…” he tried to justify not taking her sooner, and he couldn't. “I don't know. I don't know, okay? I wanna keep her around. I like her.”

Sam fixed him with furrowed brows. After several seconds, she sighed. “Fine. But only because you're my best friend and I love you.”

Danny smiled weakly. “Thanks, Sam. Love you too.”

“Wow. Thanks, guys. I'm really feeling the love over here,” Tucker interjected jokingly.

“Love you too, Tucker,” Danny and Sam said in synchrony, overly sweet.

“Aww, really?” Tucker said, clutching a hand on his chest and swooning. “You guys are too sweet.”

---

Upon arriving at his house, he soon realized that he would have to walk through the entire thing to get to his room. And he was not going to do that while holding Phil in plain sight.

Checking his window, he found that it was locked.

“I'm sorry, Phil,” he muttered, unzipping his backpack. He shoved everything as deep as he could, and set her inside. He choked back a wave of guilt as she looked up at him before he zipped it closed.

Luckily, he didn't have too much trouble on his way to his room. The only road bump was his mom sitting at the kitchen table, asking him about his day.

As soon as he shut his door, he unzipped his backpack, and she jumped out, fur ruffled. As soon as she got the chance, she scurried away under his bed.

And it was lucky, too, because mere seconds later, Jazz threw open his door unannounced.

“Jazz!” He exclaimed, scrambling up from his floor.

“Hey, Danny, do you-” she was interrupted by a sharp sneeze.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I just wanted to know if you-” she sneezed again. “-if you knew where my calculus-” she sneezed twice in a row. “-my calculus binder is.”

And then Danny remembered Jazz was allergic to cats.

“No, sorry.” He rushed to get her out before she noticed, and God forbid Phil run out from her hiding space before Jazz was gone. “Did you look in the lab? Maybe dad mistook it for his studies or something.” He ushered her back towards his door.

“No, I didn't-” sneeze- “but I will. Thanks.” She sneezed one final time, and Danny sighed in relief when she shut the door behind her.

He sat on his bed, falling back. He immediately regretted it when the pain in his abdomen flared up, but that was easily fixed by a couple Advil.

He suddenly realized how tired he was. He had gotten maybe four or five hours of sleep total in the past three days, and healing was evidently taking up a lot of energy. But for the first time in a while, he actually didn't have any homework. So it wouldn't matter if he took a quick 20 minute nap, right?

---

The next time he woke up, his brain felt stuffed with cotton, and he honestly couldn't tell whether or not he was currently on earth.

Picking up his phone- which was at 7%, he noticed- he found that it was 2:37 am.

Great. Just when he thought he'd have the chance to right his sleep schedule.

He tried rolling over and going back to sleep, but his mind was already up and running. Danny knew he wouldn't get to sleep for at least a few hours, if at all, so he opted to make the most out of his time.

He sat up and stretched, his back popping in multiple different places. He moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but a weight on his legs stopped him.

Of course. It was Phil, curled up in a tiny ball and sleeping soundly- at least until he sat up.  Now, she yawned, looking up at him curiously. Her hair was sticking up all over the place, and she still looked greasy…

He had nothing better to do, right?

So he gave her a bath in his bathroom sink filled with lukewarm water. She struggled, her meows were high pitched but quiet. His heart broke every time she looked at him with those wide, terrified eyes.

He washed her black fur with Dawn dish soap-  that was safe, right? That was the one with the commercials about washing baby ducks.

By the time he was done, the water was a murky brownish red, and dead fleas floated on the surface. It was disgusting. A quick Google yielded the information that, evidently, the red tint in the water was because of all the fleas that were killed by the dish soap. He struggled to think that so many fleas lived on a single kitten.

She looked tiny like this, with her fur plastered down from being wet. He could see her ribs and he would be lying if he said it didn't make him tear up just a little bit. Danny swaddled her in a towel and an extra soft blanket that he had. She attempted to worm her way out of the burrito multiple times, but each time Danny thwarted her attempts. He also retrieved more salami from the fridge.

By the time he was satisfied that she wouldn't freeze outside of the blanket, Phil had fallen asleep. That was okay- he curled up on his side and her little burrito rested against his chest, her fluffy, (now) soft fur barely poked over the top, and he couldn't stop himself from giving her a little kiss on the head.

Well, he knew right then that he probably couldn't give her up. He would cry in the shelter.

He couldn't keep her a secret forever. She couldn't very well eat salami for the rest of her life, and he would like to get her checked out by a vet.

He did feel bad about Jazz's allergy, though.

But he thought she would like Phil if she didn't have it. Hopefully they could work something out?

He sighed, and closed his eyes.

He was just drifting off, when a thought popped to the forefront of his mind.

Her name's Phil. Short for Philadelphia. My uncle lives there.

He was such a fucking idiot.

[welllpthisishappening]

The Period of the Long Change (8/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 8K’ish.  AN: I am very grateful that you guys are still here and clicking and reading and saying nice things. It is very nice. Here are some overly interfering friends and an exceptionally cute baby. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

“He should have shot there.”

Peggy squirmed against his side, dangerously close to the ribs that weren’t broken, but just a little bruised and it had taken far more than it should have for Emma to agree to leaving her in the apartment that morning.

Three days after the fight and another overnight hospital visit, and Killian was still a little sore and a little black and blue and he had a press conference that afternoon.

They were calling it that.

Officially.

Or, whatever.

He’d only been kind of listening when Ruby told him the details and where he had to be and when he had to be there because it was slightly difficult to hear over the ringing in his ears.

The rest of the season.

And maybe longer.

His face hurt like hell.

And Emma hadn’t said much in the last seventy-two hours, just quiet words and deft nods and she kept holding onto Peggy like some kind of stabilizing anchor against several thousand waves of overwhelming uncertainty.

That was way too dramatic. It would have been a good headline though. Maybe he’d mention that to the reporters at the press conference.

Ruby would hate that.

That might be, like, sixty-two percent of the reason he’d do it.

“Da, da, da, da, da,” Peggy shouted, and Killian nearly dropped the tablet he was holding. They’d been watching film, dissecting plays that were, quite honestly, pretty bad because the Rangers had lost again on Monday and Killian refused to believe it had anything to do with the fight he’d started during the Rangers practice on Saturday, but Arthur had bumped Husinger to third line and the internet had, collectively, lost its mind.

He might have looked.

He might have done that before he and Peggy started watching film.

And she started muttering sounds that actually sounded like words.

Words that sounded a hell of a lot like a name for him.

“You trying to get my attention, little love?” Killian asked. A tiny fist collided with the front of his t-shirt, hardly enough to even register as much of anything, but he’d been sleeping like shit again and Emma kept pacing in the kitchen and, presumably, her office and Phillip’s ceremony was tomorrow night.

So, really, Killian figured it almost made sense that getting punched in the metaphorical emotional gut by his daughter was more than enough reason for whatever was happening to his pulse and he wanted to talk to Emma.

They hadn't been avoiding each other – not really. They lived in the same apartment and slept in the same bed, but it felt like several walls and a few NHL-size hockey rinks between them and she still hadn’t said anything about this job.

They hadn’t said anything about what would happen if he didn’t play again.

Or he couldn’t play again.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” Killian continued, staring at green eyes and hair that was almost alarmingly similar to his. Except the curls. She’d have exceptionally curly hair. “I was just..thinking, you know?” Peggy twisted in his hold, toes colliding with a different ACE bandage that Emma had wrapped that morning because there’s no point in not knowing how to do this and he might have fallen a little more in love with her again in that moment. Which was almost as absurd a thought as the whole waves thing from before, but Killian was, maybe, dealing with the end of a career and his wife was, admittedly, very stubborn.

And determined to make sure he didn’t walk too much.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

More than hockey.

He needed to tell her that.

He should have told her that already.

“Yeah, I know thinking’s not as fun as the game, is it?” Killian asked, sliding a bit further down the couch and that actually helped him breathe easier. He wasn’t sure how that happened, but he wasn’t going to complain, Peggy tucked snug against his chest with her fingers gripping the front of his t-shirt. “Ok, see, watch this part.”

He nodded towards the screen and Peggy’s eyes moved, flashing to the replay and the team film he probably wasn’t supposed to have because there was more than just the end of his career on the line.

Maybe.

There were probably more tests and another string of doctor’s appointments, but Regina had never glared as intently as she had when she stalked into the hospital room on Saturday night and immediately cursed out every decision he’d ever made.

Killian deserved that.

He shouldn’t have hit Husinger.

He kind of wanted to hit Husinger again.

Peggy made another noise, not quite a da but possibly a bit of a screech and Will checked the guy in Philadelphia especially hard. “That’s not the part I was talking about,” Killian muttered.

It took some finangling to rewind, but none of his ribs cracked in the process and that felt like a victory. The pillow under his back was helping.

He assumed.

“This,” he said, free hand tracing over Peggy’s back and she wasn’t watching the game anymore. She was a baby. Her lack of attention span was understandable. “Here,” Killian said, tapping lightly against a tiny t-shirt and she actually hummed in response. “You know you might be the smartest baby in the world. Don’t tell your brother that.”

She didn’t respond.

Figured. “Ok,” Killian muttered, moving Peggy slightly until she was propped up against his bicep staring at the tablet resting against the back of the couch. “See...right….here.”

Will was standing at the blue line, working point on a power play that looked like especially horrible garbage in the last two weeks, but Killian didn’t really have a leg to stand on in that particular argument and he wasn’t supposed to be watching film.

Robin sent it.

“Watch Phillip,” Killian said, tapping his thumb against the white jersey standing in front of the net. Peggy gurgled. They needed to eat. “Ok, see, Pegs, he’s trying to screen the goalie, right? But he’s not getting his angles right. He’s too close to the paint and he’s making himself smaller. It’s easy to see around him.” Peggy fidgeted, a knee in his side that didn’t feel particularly pleasant, and maybe none of them had been sleeping. Eat and nap and, hopefully, show up for his own press conference at the right time.

“I know, it’s incredibly frustrating,” Killian grinned. He brushed his lips over the top of her hair, and he couldn’t stop moving his hand, over her and tracing against team-branded merch and tiny limbs that were deceptively strong. He still hadn’t seen her pull herself up or weeble around, but he lived in potentially misplaced hope and that should probably be the subhead to his personal life story.

He was on a roll.

The reporters at the presser wouldn’t even have to do any work.

“Rook still hasn’t quite figured out how to position himself there,” Killian said, voice betraying him because that was his spot and his power play and his team and he was definitely the one who needed the nap. “But if he did, he would have been able to block the goalie from seeing that Robin was wide open. And he should have shot as soon as the puck landed on his stick. But our power play is incredibly bad now. So that didn’t happen and we lost another game. And Arthur broke another whiteboard. See? Right here.”

He hit the table again, pausing the stupid thing in the process and they both made a noise that was mostly just general frustration with the state of the entire world. “That’s not what I was trying to do. You know that too, right?”

“Da, da, da, da, da,” Peggy yelled, the sound echoing off the walls of the otherwise empty apartment and, possibly, Killian’s brain and he didn’t think before tossing the tablet on the table next to them.

“You’re absolutely right. We don’t need to watch anymore of that game. They all look terrible anyway, no one knows how to screen the goalie.”

He knew he was babbling – talking about goalie screens and slap shots like it didn’t physically pain him to even think any of those words, but Killian was drifting dangerously close to several metaphorical edges and the ends of a few other ropes and Peggy climbed back onto his chest without any prompting.

He wished Emma was there to see that.

He had no idea where his phone was. He should have taken a picture or something. God, he should have talked to Emma. Preferably before beating the shit out of Husinger.

He was absolutely going to get fined.

And he was absolutely convinced the only reason Regina hadn’t stormed into the apartment and told him just that was because Robin had stopped her. And because he was scared she’d find out he was still sending Killian game film.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he mumbled, smiling to himself when Peggy burrowed against him. That felt oddly familiar too. “We’ll sleep and then we’ll eat, huh? And probably make Lucas really mad when we inevitably show up late to the presser.” “Da!” “I know, sweetheart, I know. We won’t think about the presser at all. Although,” he added softly, fingers drifting over her back and her breath was warm even through his shirt. The pillow underneath him was actually pretty comfortable. That was probably a sign. He really hoped that was a sign. “You know, if we get to this presser a little earlier, we might be able to hang out with Mom. Or, at least, see Mom for a few minutes. That’d be kind of good, right?”

She didn’t answer. She was thirteen months old. And well on her way to a mid-afternoon nap.

Killian’s smile settled on his face easily, something calming what might have been several hurricanes and frayed ropes and he’d clearly lost his mind. He was going to have to tell Phillip how to screen a goddamn goalie.

“What if we got Mom some hot chocolate before we left?” Killian asked, speaking more to the air around him than his daughter because Peggy was absolutely asleep already. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea. We’re going to do that.”

He took a deep breath, sliding further down the couch and that was clearly what he was missing because the pillow moved with him, landing on some previously undiscovered section of incredibly sore body and Killian nearly laughed with how absurdly comfortable he was.

His fingers stilled on Peggy’s back, palm flat against t-shirt and skin and his neck didn’t entirely appreciate when he moved to kiss the top of her head, but his neck could, honestly, fuck off and he closed his eyes with the smile still on his face.

Killian didn’t remember falling asleep, seemed to settle into the state almost too easily, which was probably another sign, but he’d had more than enough of those in the last two weeks, and he jerked up when the first knock came.

His neck didn’t appreciate that either.

He hadn’t been to PT in days. There was probably a whole new slate of things he wasn’t allowed to do.

Killian blinked blearily, sleep lingering on the edge of his consciousness and Peggy stirred against him. “Shh, it’s ok,” he mumbled, but that was a battle he was never going to win. Her chin was shaking already. “No, no, no, c’mon, Pegs, we were doing good. We were sleeping. It’s probably a very aggressive mailman.” That was the worst lie he’d told in the last two weeks and three days.

That was the worst lie he’d ever told.

They knocked again.

Killian sighed, but was drifting closer to a groan with every passing second – knocking coming quicker and more impatient and there might have been a few kicks in there as well. And possibly a shoulder or two. Maybe a hip.

Peggy started crying.

“We’re going to murder all of them, huh?” Killian asked, staring at the baby clawing at his t-shirt. “And we really shouldn’t be endorsing murder, should we? Not quite super dad, status is it?” “KJ,” Anna shouted from behind the door. His eyes closed again, frustration slinking down his spine and colliding with exhaustion and disappointment and a general sense of anxiety that had been at the crux of his state of being since he got hit in New Jersey. “We can hear you talking to the baby in there. You are not fooling anyone.” “You guys woke both me and that baby up, so you don’t get to claim any conversational superiority.” “None of that made sense! And how do you know that there are more people out here than me? You do not have x-ray vision.” “That’s true,” he admitted, still sitting on the couch and trying to quiet Peggy was a lot more difficult when he was also screaming across the apartment. “But I don’t think you have quite that many limbs either, Banana, so it’d probably be pretty difficult for you to hit the door that much on your own.”

Anna didn’t say anything. Killian grinned at Peggy. “Totally got her on that one,” he mumbled.

“I heard that too,” Anna yelled, kicking at the door and the laugh that came with it was decidedly deeper than her voice.

“That was actually pretty good,” Will said, probably shrugging and Anna stopped kicking the door for a moment. She was kicking him in the shins. “God, shit, I am on your side in this argument, little Vankald, you can’t attack your own teammates.”

“Shut up, Scarlet. He wasn’t supposed to know we were doing this.” Killian scoffed, some his frustration evolving into acceptance and it was really only a matter of time. He was getting tired of waiting for Regina’s glares anyway. “How many of them do you think are out there?” he asked Peggy, slinging his legs back onto the floor and the tablet had turned itself off at some point.

He’d probably forgotten to charge it.

“We did call,” Robin yelled. “Several times, in fact.” “Were you the one checking the door, Locksley? You’re old, you shouldn’t be doing that when you’ve got a game tomorrow night.” “Shut up, Cap. Where’s you’re phone?” “I can’t answer the question if I actually do shut up, you realize that, right?” “Open the goddamn door.” “I mean, not with that attitude.” “KJ,” Anna whined, a dull thud against the door that was most likely her entire body. Her kicks sounded a little lackadaisical. “You’re making this really difficult.” “You woke us up, Banana,” he argued. He stood up, despite the desire to tell however many of them were standing in the hallway to fuck off, and Peggy clung to his side when he moved across the living room.

Killian blinked when he opened the door, not entirely surprised to find them all there, but still a little overwhelmed by the whole lot of them – head to toe team apparel and they were probably blowing off walk-through and they were all going to go bankrupt from the fines.

Anna crossed her arms when Killian didn’t immediately invite them in, likely documenting his distinct lack of manners so she could tattle on him to Mrs. Vankald like they were twelve years old again. Robin’s eyes darted across him, checking for new bumps or bruises or contusions, as Regina glared with a power that could only be described as harrowing. Ariel was already tugging on the front of his shirt, clicking her tongue because it probably wasn’t clean enough or was prone to irritating his skin and Killian swatted her hand when she didn’t stop immediately.

Will chuckled under his breath, hooking his chin over Anna’s shoulder and there was a phone in his hand, a flash of blonde hair and dark curls that were almost too similar to Peggy’s to be entirely comfortable and they’d brought in reinforcements.

“Where’s Lucas?” Killian asked, and he cursed when Anna kicked him in the ankle. “Banana, if you do that again, you will never be allowed in this apartment for the rest of your life. You understand? I don’t care how much my kids like you.”

Liam laughed in Colorado. “That’s a real empty threat, little brother. Plus, Anna would absolutely steal your kids. She’s a kid thief.” “Oh my God,” Anna groaned. “That’s not true. KJ, I’m not trying to steal your children. Jeez, Liam. That’s mean. Honestly. That’s what that is.” Elsa clicked her tongue, an ehhh that drew another laugh out of Will and maybe they could just stage the whole intervention in the hallway. It might end quicker that way. “You got something to add, El?” Will asked lightly, holding the phone up so Anna could scowl at it. “I’m just saying,” Elsa started, “Anna was kind of super into Lizzie and the twins too. She’s baby obsessed.”

“And,” Ariel added. “She sent Dylan more gifts than, like, anyone else we knew. It was super nice, but it was a lot.” “Are you trying to tell me that I’m not super into your kids now?” Anna challenged, and Killian pressed his mouth into Peggy’s shoulder so he wouldn’t laugh too loud. “That’s also rude. I’m the best aunt any of these kids could ask for.” “Eh,” Will mumbled, yelping when Anna’s toe collided with his shin again.

Ariel sounded like she was growling. “Can we not resort to violence? Please? I already have enough to worry about with Cap and the other asshole.” “Is that what we’re officially calling him?” Robin asked.

“You not like that?” He shrugged, and Killian muttered several words against the side of Peggy’s head. She was starting to feel heavier than usual. “It’s just not really all that creative,” Robin said. “Feels too on the nose.” “Yeah, the next time you guys come up with tabloid-worthy nicknames for people, you should really get more creative,” Killian murmured. He didn’t lift his head up.

“Thin ice, Cap,” Ariel warned. “Thin ice.” “That was even less clever.”

Anna was still kicking at Will, and this whole thing was treading dangerously close to farce. He had hot chocolate to buy.

“Shit, little Vankald,” Will gasped, jumping back from another attack. “Are you made of steel? You should be studied.” “I’m definitely the best fighter in this family, so I would consider your next words very carefully, Scarlet.” “I mean that’s definitely true,” Liam agreed. “You ever see Killian try and throw a right hook? It’s embarrassing.” He grinned when Anna’s head whipped towards him, still scowling and a little annoyed and no one had answered Killian’s question. They must have bribed the doorman.

“Liam offered to send the guy a signed puck,” Robin explained, one side of his mouth tugging up. Killian’s jaw dropped slightly. “Apparently the guy is a not-so-secret Jones brother aficionado and--” “--His words too, Cap,” Will added. “We’re thinking about making him an official member of the group. We don’t have an aficionado. Makes us sound more professional, don’t you think?”

Killian tilted his head. Liam was hysterical. “What the hell does that even mean?” “It means your doorman is obsessed with you,” Regina answered easily, eyes darting away from the phone she’d pulled out at some point. “So you should probably get that checked out. He was very easy to bribe.”

“You been bribing a lot of people recently, Gina?” “We’ll get to that part eventually.” “What does that mean?” He didn’t expect her to smile. It was disconcerting. He wished she’d glare some more. That was definitely why she smiled.

“That’s point number six on the intervention schedule,” she said. Killian’s eyes bugged.

“How many points are there?” “It’s kind of a fluid thing,” Anna shrugged. “We came up with ten to start with, but that’s not set in stone or anything. We don’t want to be locked into anything if things don’t play out the way we think they’re supposed to be playing out.” “Speak English, Banana.” She glowered, expression going dark which was almost strange to see, but at this point Killian was almost ready for anything and he knew the intervention was coming.

In surround sound. With a schedule. Of the fluid variety.

“It depends on how difficult you’re going to be, KJ,” Elsa added. “But Pegs is here and we weren’t entirely counting on that, so I think now Scarlet has to take all the curse words out of his speech.” “You wrote a speech?” Killian asked.

Will shrugged. “More like a...proclamation. Of your previously mentioned stupidity.” “Yuh huh.” “I’ll work around the curses, but I want it taken into account that I’m now speaking on the fly and cannot be held accountable for any scathing examinations of your character I decide to make in the moment.” “What he’s saying is he should come with a parental advisory warning,” Liam chipped in. “Although I did read it when they were coming back from Philly and some of it did tug at several different heart strings.” “Ah, shit, Liam, I sent you that in confidence.” “You sent Liam an e-mail on the bus?” Robin balked, and Killian was seriously debating closing the door on all of them. He’d call Elsa after to apologize. “How did I not notice that?” “Is Locksley stealing your armrest now too?” Killian asked softly, and he wasn’t sure who was laughing louder in Colorado.

“Nah,” Will shook his head. “I was sitting with Rook and Locksley claimed a whole row to himself because he’s old and needed to, quoting, stretch his legs.” Liam was definitely laughing louder.

“It’s a two-hour bus ride, Locksley,” Liam yelled, Elsa trying to quiet him and muttering about staying on track.

“Yeah, and I had to stretch out my calf because I took that puck to the back of my leg in the third when someone didn’t get back on defense in time.” “I refused to accept the blame for that before and I refuse to accept it now,” Will said. He was supporting most of Anna’s weight now, her hair half over his shoulder and some of it brushing against his arm and they’d definitely blown off the walk-through.

“That’s because you don’t want to acknowledge that you shouldn’t have been that high up in the zone. You’re trying to score and that’s not your game.” “He’s got a point,” Liam mumbled. Will forced the phone into Anna’s hand. “Well done, Liam,” she sighed. “This was not part of any schedule for telling you you’re the world’s biggest idiot, KJ. Do not judge our schedule by whatever this has dissolved into.” “Oh I’m not,” Killian promised, hitching up Peggy when one of her hands found the back of his hair. “I’m judging it for the rest of the shit you just said, but certainly not for its state of current dissolving or whatever.” “You don’t understand enough science to make those kinds of jokes.” “I’ll ask Mary Margaret after tomorrow’s game.” “She teaches English, KJ,” Elsa said.

Regina glared at all of them. And pushed by Killian to walk through the half-open doorway. She didn’t stop walking until she almost ran into the coffee table and the dead tablet, arching an eyebrow when she turned back around.

Robin mumbled ah fuck under his breath.

“Maybe that will be point eleven on the conversation schedule,” Regina said. “So are we going to do this or not?” “If I tell you all to the get the hell out of my apartment is that going to make a difference?”

“Absolutely not. You planning on showing up to your presser late?” “Absolutely not.” “Yeah, you’re a terrible liar,” Regina said, tapping the toe of her shoe impatiently. “And you’re getting fined. Quite a bit, in fact.” Killian blinked – and he could almost feel the blood rushing out of his head, everything suddenly feeling far colder than it had a few minutes before. He licked his lips, breathing heavily with his mouth wide open and Peggy clearly did not appreciate how tightly he was holding her.

“Sorry, love,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the jut of her shoulder and the back of her head and he didn’t let go of her.

Regina’s eyebrow did not make sense at all.

“Ah, shit, Gina,” Will groaned, kicking the door closed behind them and Anna was already trying to find drinks for everyone. “We were going to work up to that. We all agreed.” “How much thought went into this, exactly?” Killian asked.

“Probably a lot more than you’re thinking.” “Why? And when did you start?” Will laughed at the questions, a little disbelief mixing into the sound and that wasn’t really fair. Killian knew why.

It was the same reason they’d tried to intervene before and why Anna showed up in New York and no one had told him about the Husinger story before it got published. Because it wasn’t just a team, it was more and it had been for years and would continue to be no matter what happened next and Killian should have told Emma about the headaches.

He hadn’t had a headache since the hospital.

Even after that asshole broke his face.

“You know why, Cap,” Will muttered, perched on the arm of the couch. “We all would have lined up to hit that asshole. Willingly. No one said a word to him when he got bumped.” “That was only one of the questions.” “Ah, yeah--” “--After Mary Margaret told Lucas that Emma had a difficult time standing up when Victor said you were done for the season,” Robin interrupted, voice gruffer than it had been in years and Killian had to swallow before he could bring himself to turn and look at him.

He’d seen that look, exactly, once before.

It had been weeks at that point, and Killian hadn’t moved an inch, sitting stock-still against the wall in his room, legs splayed out in front of him and a bandage around his hand that Mrs. Vankald had to change every morning.

He thought it was over then too, everything he’d ever worked for gone in a moment and an instance and he hadn’t gone to her funeral. He couldn’t go to her funeral. He couldn't get off the goddamn floor, sunlight streaming in through the window that Killian consistently found downright offensive.

And he hadn’t even tried to hide the bottle in his hand when he heard the footsteps, certain, eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Vankald would just have enough and he’d lose that too and he’d always been a melodramatic asshole.

Robin hadn’t said anything at first either, just stood in the doorway, staring straight ahead with a look that was equal parts pity and fury. Killian hadn’t entirely understood it at the time, couldn’t rationalize how one person could care that much, but the floorboards creaked when Robin walked into the room, yanking the bottle out of his hand and talking for sixteen minutes.

Straight.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t pause. He didn’t let Killian get a single word in.

Not that Killian would have had much to say.

So Robin kept talking and making that face and Ariel must have been lurking in the stairwell, because she appeared out of seemingly nowhere promising I can fix this and this isn’t the end and it wasn’t.

No matter what Killian believed.

They wouldn’t let it be.

God, now he was going to owe Ariel two life debts.

That was frustrating.

“Get your shit together, Cap,” Robin said sharply, and Killian’s knees bent like they’d been commanded too. He sunk into the corner of the couch, Peggy back on his chest and Anna curled against him and Ariel was biting her lip.

Regina was on her phone again.

“We agreed we’d work up to this, Locksley,” Elsa mumbled, but Killian had no idea who was holding Will’s phone now and it kind of sounded like he was being spoken to from several different clouds and Robin shook his head.

“Yeah, I know, but then he asked why and I’m kind of throwing the schedule out the window.” “It’s too cold for that,” Anna muttered. “Please don’t actually open the windows.” “Metaphorically.” “Ah, well that’s fine then.” Robin hummed, not taking his eyes away from Killian and he’d never been on trial, but it felt a bit like that and it had before and time was a circle or something.

“If you have something say, Locksley, you should probably just say it,” Killian muttered. He ignored whatever his body was doing, every one of his muscles tight with tension and anxiety and it was too much, was far too much trouble and far too much pressure and Peggy was half standing on his right thigh.

“I’ve got several things I want to say,” Robin growled. “But none of them are appropriate in front of other people and I really don’t want to end up punching you.” Killian blinked. That hadn’t happened when he hurt his hand.

“Damn, Robin,” Anna muttered.

Robin crossed his arms, inhaling deeply enough that his shoulders shifted with the force of it and Killian didn’t argue when Will pulled Peggy away from him. He wanted to. He wanted to scream and shout and go through his own schedule of all the reasons losing this game were absolutely terrifying, but losing everything else was absolutely worse and Robin hadn’t even had to say anything.

That didn’t stop him.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, you know that?”

Killian nodded. “Yes.”

“Wait, what?” “Got you on that one, didn’t I?” “You don’t get to be funny right now, Cap, I’m pissed at you. And worried. And mostly pissed. Because we’ve done this! We’ve had this conversation before and Ariel’s agreed to a reenactment if you want, but I think that’s also kind of dumb.” “Hey,” Ariel snapped. “I only said I’d do it as a last resort. I really don’t want to bother Mr. and Mrs. V.”

“We’re very responsible with our interventions,” Will muttered, bobbing up and down and he might have been humming in Peggy’s ear.

“Although Mom and Dad really wouldn’t mind,” Elsa reasoned. “They’d probably feed you all in the process.” “We are professionals, El. You think we’re not capable of feeding ourselves?” “I really doubt my mom would care, honestly. What year is that t-shirt you’re wearing from?” “That’s not important.” Elsa laughed, a resounding judgment that probably resulted in several laws in Colorado. Killian glanced back at Robin, sleeves still bunched around his arms and his own judgements radiating off him. He lifted his eyebrows in challenge, waiting for the list of warranted complaints and opinions and--

“You’ve got kids, Cap,” Robin said softly, and that had never been part of the pitch before. Anna might have gasped. That might have been Ariel. Or Elsa. Will was definitely singing under his breath. “One of which, while you were being a goddamn idiot and getting more tests and absolutely terrifying your wife, was trying to imitate your goal celebration outside a bagel place on 77th.” “Remind me to actually send that guy my stick,” Will mumbled in between lyrics and faces and Peggy laughed while trying to wrap her fingers around the collar of his vaguely ancient t-shirt.

“I did that already,” Regina promised. “He was very appreciative. He probably has twenty-thousand likes on several different social media platforms.” “Do you actually know how likes work, Gina?” Ariel asked, a smile on her face that felt decidedly out of place.

The pillow pressing into Killian’s back wasn’t quite as comfortable anymore.

Regina shrugged.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked sharply, and Will made a dismissive noise.

“Your kid’s got one hell of a wrister. He totally wrecked that window.” “You wrecked the windows of a bagel place.” “Obviously, try and keep up, Cap. But the guy was a big fan and happy with the stick. Or the promise of a stick. I really don’t remember signing that, Gina.” “Well, that seems like a you problem, doesn’t it?” Regina asked, fingers flying over her phone. “Can we keep this moving though because I don’t want to deal with the league fallout if Killian shows up to this presser late.” “Or the Ruby Lucas fallout,” Ariel mumbled. Anna laughed.

“That too.”

The room seemed to freeze, Anna’s laugh lingering in the suddenly stale around them, and he could hear Elsa’s quiet breathing over the phone. Killian waited three more seconds before he moved, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders and Robin didn’t flinch when he met his gaze.

“You’ve got other opinions, Locksley?” Killian asked. “Or just elongated ones about my kids?” “The kids are kind of the crux of it, actually.” “Don’t let me stop you then.” “You weren’t ever going to,” he said, not an admission, but a promise and Killian wanted to practice his wrister. “You know Matt thinks you’re the greatest person in the history of several different worlds and universes?” “That was redundant, wasn’t it?” “Do not interrupt me, Cap. I swear to God I’ll punch you right in your bruised ribs.”

Ariel winced, but Robin was on a roll and Killian’s eyes were going to permanently stay halfway up his forehead. “I get why you didn’t say anything about the hit,” he said. “You’re you and you’re a stubborn idiot and everything that happened with Liam is...ah, shit, sorry Liam, I almost forgot you were here.” “Don’t apologize to me,” Liam said, the connection shaky and he kind of sounded like a robot in Colorado. “Killian’s a goddamn idiot. That’s not something you mess around with.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Killian sighed. That was another battle he was never going to win.

Robin’s lips twitched. “A fact we’re well aware of, Cap. And one your kid is well aware of. And Emma. Especially Emma. You know how worried she’s been about Casino Night? She forgot to get Mr. and Mrs. V tickets.” “Wait, what?” “They’re going to watch Matt and Pegs,” Anna shrugged. “They honestly are not offended.” “And possibly celestial beings,” Will added.

“Can I get back to my rampage, please?” Robin asked loudly, and Liam might have snickered. Elsa tried to turn her laugh into a cough.

“You’re the one getting distracted,” Killian pointed out. Robin’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got kids, Cap. Kids who, despite what you may think, do not give a single, Scarlet cover Pegs ears or something.” Will did as instructed, flashing a grin Killian’s direction. He rolled his eyes. “They do not give a single fuck what you do on the ice right now,” Robin continued. “Matt wants to be you because that’s all he knows, but he’d think the same exact thing if you were a goddamn...I don’t know, what’s a ridiculous job?” “Bank teller,” Anna shouted.

“Oh, a dog walker,” Ariel added.

“Museum curator,” Elsa grinned. “But only on Museum Mile.” “He’d have to go crosstown to get there, though.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true. It’s so obnoxious to get cross town. God, imagine that commute in the morning. It’d be killer.” “Alright, that’s more than enough,” Robin muttered, and it sounded a bit like disciplining Henry and Roland and Killian bit his lip. “The point, Cap, is none of it matters.” Killian tilted his head, the argument practically bubbling out of him, but Robin didn’t even let him open his mouth before he waved an impatient hand in his face. “God, you know that’s not what I meant. Of course it matters. And we all want to win too. We want to win for Matt and you and this stupid city with its horrendous crosstown traffic. But you don’t get to play with your own health in order to do that. You’ve got kids who idolize you and a teenager who, on Saturday night, tried really hard not to let either Gina or I realize that he was crying because he was so scared something had happened to you.” “What?” Killian rasped. His throat felt very dry. He kept blinking. Liam had walked out of the phone frame in Colorado.

God, Elsa was crying again.

Robin nodded. “We got back from the window incident and promising merch we had no right to give away. And Mary Margaret was talking to Ruby. That’s how we found out about the hallway. I’ve never...Mary Margaret looked far too pale and Ruby kept shouting no comment in her phone and they told us. Rol overheard because he’s clearly been taking supersonic hearing lessons from El and here we are.” “I resent that, Locksley,” Elsa yelled, but her voice shook on its way across the country.

“I think that just means you’re a superhero, El,” Will reasoned.

“Oh, I’ll take that then.” Killian’s throat was still doing something impossible, and they hadn’t even gotten to the fine part of the intervention. He held his arms out expectantly, not trusting himself to actually demand back his daughter, but they might have all been superheroes because Will moved immediately.

They all spent way too much time together.

“Mary Margaret looked pale?” he asked, Robin’s nod barely that. It was closer to a grunt.

“She told Lucas it was bad. She’s...she’s worried about Emma because Emma is so goddamn worried about you. Constantly. And then you went and did this stupid thing and she’s forgetting tickets and feeling guilty and--” “--None of this is her fault.” “You tell her that?” Killian didn’t answer. That was an answer.

“That’s the worst thing you’ve done yet, Cap,” Robin sighed, rocking back on his heels. “And I know how much your fine is for.”

“We ever going to talk about that? Because I really don’t want Lucas to yell at me for being late to this presser.” “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there, but I’ve got one more point to make.” He took a deep breath, huffing it out like he’d been waiting for this moment or practicing for it, and Liam was pacing behind the couch in Colorado. Elsa had crossed her legs, elbows digging into her knees with her chin in her hands and Anna was identical a few inches away from Killian.

Will was back on the arm of the couch, Ariel’s head resting on the side of his thigh and tears obvious in her eyes.

And Killian was the world’s biggest idiot.

“It matters, Cap,” Robin said. “All of it. The career and the control and it’s been your team for years. We tried to tell you that wouldn’t change and it might have been a lie. Or, at least, wishful thinking. We can’t stop this guy or his ridiculously quick passes and Rook’s shit at trying to screen the goalie.” Will coughed pointedly, and Robin rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point,” he continued. “The point is we get it. We wouldn’t want to walk either, but this is your life, Cap and it’s pretty fucking great. Even without the game. You’ve got people you’ve got to think about. People who...write e-mails to Liam because they don’t want to scandalize your delicate sensibilities with unplanned speeches--” “--Oh my God,” Will grumbled. Ariel muttered several promises that it’s fine, Scarlet under her breath.

“Anyway,” Robin said pointedly. “This isn’t just about you, Cap. It might have been the last time, but this is...you’ve kids and a family and people who would beat up any asshole replacement without you even having to ask. And if you don’t show up in Emma’s office at some point before Casino Night promising several different worlds, I’ll tell Arthur he should suspend you for the entire first month of next season.”

“Seconded,” Anna and Will said at the same time.

Killian lifted his eyebrows even more. “You don’t know it’ll be next season.” “Please,” Robin scoffed. “Yes, I do. And I think you do too. You know who doesn’t? Emma.”

“It was bad, Cap,” Ariel whispered, tears on her cheeks and a quiver in her voice. “Victor said it might not...next season wasn’t certain and it was like...I don’t know. I could see it. She’d been trying to keep it together with Mattie and us and then it was like it all clicked and she was…” “Terrified,” Will finished harshly. “She’s been terrified, Killian.”

He swallowed, his own name sounding impossibly loud when it echoed between his ears. “A one-woman Emma Swan protection squad.” “I heard about A’s zamboni-murder threat, Cap. I could support that.” “The name thing didn’t last long.” “Yeah, it felt weird saying it, honestly.” Killian hummed, arms wrapped almost possessively around the baby in his arms and the whole thing was a goddamn disaster. He might have been a goddamn disaster.

He still had to answer questions.

Lots of questions.

“How big is the fine, Gina?” Killian asked, and if this were a normal conversation he would have appreciated her slight jump when he turned towards her.

“Not great.” “That’s not specific.” “Not great,” she repeated. “If you weren’t broken, you’d be suspended for two games. At least.” “Husinger wasn’t.” Regina glared at him. “That’s because you started punching him. There was video. The league’s already hiding from reporters wanting to know how no one caught your concussion before you passed on the ice. Remember when you passed out on the ice?” “Yes, Gina, I was there.” “I just wanted to make sure you remembered that it happened. When you passed out on the ice. On national TV. And Husinger got fined. Which is a blow to a kid still working on his AHL deal.” “But no suspension?” “No,” Regina said. “Because, as I said, you punched him first. So the league opted to leave it up to front office and front office desperately wants to win. No suspension. A stern talking to, a piece of duct tape over his mouth when it comes to the media, and that’s it.” Killian nodded, another string of words getting caught in his throat and the guilt in his stomach was decidedly uncomfortable.

“You ever go out on your date?” Liam asked pointedly, ignoring both Elsa and Anna when they checked their tongues simultaneously. It sounded like Mrs. Vankald. Killian didn’t mention that either.

“That’s a no, leader,” Will answered, standing back up and taking Peggy out of Killian’s arms. “And you’re going to be late, Cap. You think he should put on a tie, Gina?” Regina shook her head. “Team-branded.” “Yeah, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Can I have my kid back now?” Killian asked, but the entire room rolled its eyes in response and that was almost impressive.

“Did we not mention that?” Anna asked. He shook his head. “We’re taking her.” “Phrase that differently, Anna,” Elsa mumbled.

Killian stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So the kidnapping threat was real, huh?” “No, no,” Anna promised. “Well...no, this is not kidnapping. You can’t bring a baby to a presser with you, KJ. So Scarlet and I are taking her and we’ll go pick up Matt and then we’re going to do something educational.” “It’s the library, Cap,” Will added. “We’re going to meet Belle at the library.”

Anna nodded, grinning like that settled that. It did. “Go get changed, KJ. Ruby will rip you apart if you mess up her presser.”

He did not, in fact, mess up the presser.

He showed up five minutes early, grinning at Ruby’s slightly stunned expression and stood at the podium and answered the questions and he was sure every single reporter gasped when he answered honestly.

Completely and totally.

The internet was going to lose its mind.

Again.

“How was that Lucas?” Killian asked, directing her out of the media room at the Garden and back towards a hallway he’d absolutely made out in before.

She shook her head slowly, something that felt like disbelief and awe rolling off her and Killian felt more normal than he had in months. “I can’t believe you did that, Cap,” she breathed.

“Can you not?” “Ah, I mean, I guess, but that’s…” Ruby exhaled, blinking and tugging her lips back behind her teeth. “Did she tell you about the job yet?” “Yeah. She deserves that.” “Of course she does. I’m not disagreeing with that, but that’s…” “You’ve got to finish a sentence, Lucas.” “Why would I do that when you’re suddenly so good at making proclamations on the record.”

Killian chuckled, resting his hands on her shoulders and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Professional,” he muttered. “And it wasn’t a proclamation. It was an answer. A real one. And Emma should be able to do whatever she wants. She’d make hockey the most popular sport in the entire goddamn world.” “Not disagreeing with that either.” “You’ve got to make your point then, Lucas, because…” He trailed off, eyes flitting towards the end of the hallway like Emma would suddenly appear there and he hadn’t been sure what her afternoon was like, was certain there were more meetings and probably placating Aurora for something, but he kind of hoped and he’d answered all the questions anyway.

“Take some of your own advice, Cap,” Ruby suggested, rapping her knuckles against his chest. “And go upstairs. Like two seconds ago.” He resisted the urge to salute, squeezing her shoulders and winking horribly enough that her laugh hung in the air when he jogged down the hallway.

And it might have been the longest elevator ride of Killian’s life, tapping an impatient rhythm on his thigh as he waited for the ding and the right floor and he flat out ran down the next hallway he was presented with.

She was sitting on the floor.

It was almost difficult to see her over all the stacks of paper around her, but he saw her hair, tugged up in a ponytail, but she’d missed one piece, a strand clinging to her neck like it was there specifically to taunt him.

David was a few feet away from her, leaning back on his hands with a smile on his face and his phone thrown haphazardly between them.

They were talking, but the words didn’t entirely register and it was a miracle he stayed upright.

Killian froze, half a foot over the threshold and mouth hanging open and he never really forgot he loved her, but sometimes he’d glance at Emma or watch her try and explain offsides to Matt or blow raspberries on Peggy’s cheek and it was like everything realigned and focused and it was difficult to remember a world that she wasn’t at center of.

Emma wiped her thumb under her eye.

And that did it.

“Swan,” he said softly, Emma’s body twisting quickly and she almost knocked over a stack of papers. His smile felt far too nervous, but it was there and her eyes were slightly red and maybe it was time to stage his own intervention.

“Hey,” she muttered. “You’re...I thought you’d still be downstairs.” “I wanted to be here before the presser, but, uh, some stuff happened and I’m--” “--Here now.” Killian nodded. “You have a couple minutes to talk, Swan?”

[presstointeract]

a weird janky timeline for sakine’s early days in the gameworld. weird n long, goes up ‘til her losing her eye

nearly executed

clutching her pearls neck the entire way out of helgen bc a giant axe came down like 2 inches away from it. tamriel nearly lost one of its best voices and no one would have ever known

“warns riverwood” with ralof (ie, follows him down the mountain because she sure as fuck didn’t want to be walking around at night alone with only an iron sword)

begrudgingly agrees that someone needs to take the news to the jarl. convinces them into sending a guard (bc this isn’t Really her problem) and lopes up to the barrow to Adventure, because it’s been a hot minute since she’s been in a ruin and... well, she’s helping get the claw back or whatever, but moreover she’s testing some limits. she hasn’t Really adventured since... well. since varun died. she’s used the associated skills in the interim, but she wants to see if it’s still as good as she remembers

the barrow is exhilarating, blood-pumping, and reminds her that ruin-diving was once the only thing she ever wanted to do in life (and still kind of is) - and she slurps up that weird rune at the end, and is instantly enthralled by what it could be - it’s burned into her brain like an after-image on her retina, and she won’t ever be able to forget it, but. but she doesn’t know what it means. either way, she pops out the other side and, seeing that riverwood seems to still be standing, delivers the claw, sells the other stuff she got, better outfits herself, and sets off to whiterun to look for a ride to windhelm

she comes across the guard Very Dead on the way to whiterun, sighs, takes the letter of request for aid he was carrying, and decides to deliver it to the jarl against her better judgement. this isn’t her goddamn problem, but he’s dead and she’s already on the way there, and - and. someone has to. 

delivers it to the jarl, gives the dragonstone and a rough drawing of the rune she has burned into her brain to farengar in expectation that he’ll give her a rubbing and a translation in a few days, catches delphine’s eyes on the way out but keeps going (again, dragon stuff? none of her business)

irileth runs by her on her way down to the wind district and basically Orders her to help fight the dragon - sakine is suitably ruffled by this (whomst ORDERS her), but... alright. she’s curious. how many more dragons is she going to see up close? (helgen didn’t count, was 2 scary) (also irileth kind of gave her a backhanded compliment about being competent enough to get the stone from the barrow and sakine is. hrm. a little gay and instinctively knows irileth doesn’t mess around, so that also helps settle her into going with the guards)

dragon fiiiiight. absorb soul. this is all very textbook skyrim, except sakine wants Nothing to do with all the ‘oh you’re dragonborn!!!!!!’ exclamations. this isn’t her problem. stop saying these things. 

local greybeards scream her name at mach 10209120192019 and scare the shit out of her

she promptly decides Fuck This Shit, I’m Not Doing This Garbage while balgruuf and co. discuss how she has to because it’s such an honor and she has to fight the dragons and - etc. etc. she came back to skyrim for one thing only, and she’s gonna go do that and then... figure out what to do next. she guesses. but it’s time to go to windhelm. some other Big Hero can make the climb to hrothgar, she’s not special and she’s not going.

MEANWHILE, INDMIRA: heard that bigass shout from the throat of the world direction, was distracted from her usual passes through the windhelm territory to help lost travelers. she begins migrating towards whiterun bc she’s been having like a Solid Week of prophecy dreams and that’s a) highly unusual b) she fucking hates it - maybe it’s connected to the Screaming Mountain Men. so she goes.

indmira sees sakine coming down the road from a ways off and clambers up into a tree, then nearly falls out of the tree when she squints closer @ this traveler bc she doesn’t look like a bandit and she doesn’t look lost, so - and sakine’s showed up several times in her prophecy dreams, but she looked. different? she was missing an eye and dressed differently, but it’s the same woman. indmira manages to NOT fall out of the tree, but does decide to follow sakine at a distance

sakine goes into windhelm and indmira promptly Nopes Out, because indmira hasn’t been in a major city since childhood and hates the concept. she’ll wait outside for a few days and carry on her merry way if the Mystery Woman From Prophecy Dreams doesn’t come back out again.

in windhelm: sakine’s trying to find the sister of varun and her children to deliver varun’s will. gets sent on a big runaround because none of the gray quarter elves trust her (for good reason, she’s a nord come sniffing around after a particular member of their community, etc), ends up having a bit of an anger snap and beats the shit out of rolff stonefist at like 3 am, which turns into a huge scuffle that draws out nearly every dunmer in the quarter and also several guards. a stallfront gets wrecked, a small fire gets started in the street, and both sakine and rolff get to spend a night in jail, during which rolff whines and sakine is stonily silent. she’s having a bit of a crisis, internally, because she grew up outside of windhelm (near kynesgrove) and she had... no idea that things were like this. were they always like this? was she just too young to know? were her PARENTS like this? she had even been thinking about joining the stormcloaks up until that point due to ralof’s help and her very intense hatred for the thalmor, but... how many stormcloaks think like rolff? she’s disgusted at him / his rhetoric but she’s also disgusted at herself in some abstract fashion.

galmar stonefist comes to get his brother early the next morning and is impressed w sakine’s handiwork (in beating the shit out of him), invites her up to the palace. sakine sullenly goes, because maybe she’ll get a chance to be an Asshole to rolff some more, who knows. ulfric invites her to join the stormcloaks, they could use someone as tenacious as her, etc. sakine politely declines as she’s only in skyrim for a short while, may talos bless your endeavours, etc, bye.

goes back to the gray quarter to pick up anything she might have dropped last night and immediately gets treated to a free meal at the cornerclub because finally FINALLY someone did what they’d all been dying to do but couldn’t - beat the shit out of rolff. it’s not like ‘everyone loves her now’, but it was enough of a spectacle for someone to finally tell her what happened to varun’s sister. they went on a journey to solitude some years ago, and no one’s seen them since. their house/apartment has been empty ever since, though some people think it’s haunted (oooo) 

sakine is like. okay. that’s kind of weird, i thought they lived in this city. i guess i’ll just have to head up to solitude to find out for sure. she thanks ambarys and wishes for the best with rolff (though she doesn’t think he’ll be raising hell again any time soon), and then decides to go again before she overstays her welcome. restocks in the market and sets off back towards whiterun to hopefully catch a caravan over to solitude. 

indmira follows her from there, still nervous about prophecy dreams (though they stopped last night after she first saw sakine, so she’s going to assume that’s a good thing). this continues for a few nights, and sakine doesn’t really See indmira but she Knows that she’s there. sakine just pretends like she doesn’t notice anything and keeps going, meandering and investigating a few dungeons or above-ground sites, carving herself a new lute to make up for the one that the imperials took from her before her execution.

valtheim towers - sakine is accosted for the ‘toll money’, invites the bandit to go ahead and try and take it from her, and is immediately in over her head. indmira hates the idea of making herself known but also sakine disappears inside the first tower for a few minutes longer than indmira is comfortable with. then, just as indmira is like readying herself to do something stupid and help this dumbass nord with a confidence problem, sakine accidentally shouts (she’s only done it once before and it literally tears her throat apart - mortal bodies were not meant for immortal voices) and blasts all three bandits fighting her off the bridge over the big river

indmira watches their bodies sail through the air in mute fascination, then watches sakine take an arrow in the shoulder from the bandit all the way across the river and also fall in. indmira takes that freakishly long shot without hesitation (piercing the bandit through the throat) and then jumps in the river after sakine, hauling her ashore and doing her best to administer the wound (she can’t take the arrow out until there’s a healer on hand, and whiterun... isn’t that far away. but to get her help, indmira is going to need to . Go . Inside the city. she decides to worry about that later and gets sakine awake (she passed out when hitting the water, as ydo) and walking, blood still dripping from her mouth (from the shout). she’s exhausted and only really comments “ah, my ghost decided to show up” in a whisper in reference to the fact that indmira’s been tailing her for like three days, and then goes dead silent to account for how much Fucking pain her entire throat+mouth region is in

they get to whiterun a few hours later and indmira just kind of. dumps sakine on the ground, who had previously been relying on the shorter dunmer for support. but indmira Cannot go inside the city, no way no how, and so she just kind of drops sakine and hightails it out of there. a guard comes and gets sakine, and danica takes care of the wound, just telling her to take it easy on that side for a week or so. sakine doesn’t ask for healing for her throat, as that would. be. hrm. she just Doesn’t Ask, because it feels like admitting that she has this Weird Power that no one else does, and she doesn’t want to admit that.

balgruuf comes to see her while she’s chillin in the temple and basically is like do i need to send you to ivarstead with an armed escort. you need to see the greybeards Right Now. and sakine is like (still whispering) - listen, i know that you’re a nord and i’m a nord and you expect me to do this because of our shared cultural history, but i’ve been away from this country for over half my life, and i just don’t care. this isn’t my problem. some other dumb hero can go up there and be the chosen one and i’ll write ballads about them to sing at the bannered mare, but this is NOT my problem.

[hard cut to sakine walking down the road with a bunch of whiterun guards, looking absolutely miserable] 

they take her to ivarstead and she’s like. fine. i’ll fucking. go. look, my traveling companion just showed up, and she grabs indmira out of the bushes where she was hiding. they make the climb together, which allows them to properly introduce themselves to one another and begin to bridge the gap of ‘why were you following me for like four days and why did you dump my injured ass on the ground’, etc.

ok i’m finishing editing this on my phone so let’s keep the rest short/sweet:

get to high hrothgar after a fun trek up the mountain; sakine stops that one frost troll from crunching indmira in half and makes a comment about the valtheim debt repaid (which... indmira doesn’t consider it debt at all, but feels a twinge of wary friendship at the idea of having someone besides herself watching out for her)

greybeards immediately send sakine on an errand to get the dang horn, which she agrees to but Is Bothered About

go through the ruin, get delphine’s note, meet up with her, sakine recognizes her from before, delphine refuses to hand over the horn until they help with the dragon at kynesgrove, Sakine Angery Dot Jpeg

they fight the dragon at kynesgrove, sakine realizes she doesn’t know dovahzul and it’s a Problem, get the horn and hoof it back to ivarstead

dragon attacking ivarstead, sakine Stupidly stupidly decides to lure it away from the town and fight it basically by herself while indmira stays in town and makes sure people stay safe (which is a task that requires she Talk to people, but with all the adrenaline, she nearly forgets to be self-conscious) (also she tries to warn sakine about her eye, because this ‘dragon at ivarstead’ was in one of her prophecy dreams and - but sakine is already gone, not listening) 

sakine fights the dragon. sakine pulls away from a lunge just a little too late - enough to avoid dying, not enough to avoid getting her face slashed Real Good. she Shouts in response (it’s a gut thing at this point, her finer control doesn’t exist yet) and kills the dragon, but then indmira has to run up and get her and start hauling her up to hrothgar because she’s bleeding from face and mouth and - and indmira has dealt with heavy injury, but not like this. they get up to the top a few hours later and sakine has mostly recovered from her shock-state, enough to be Fucking Pissed at the greybeards

she yells at them (and accidentally shouts, again, which shatters almost every pot in the entire monastery) and is basically like, i’m not going on any more stupid errands until you actually teach me something. i want to know dovahzul and i’m not leaving until i know it. i’ve had a Shitty day and everyone is trying to shove shit way above my head on me and i just got maimed so you’d better FUCKING tell her something worth her time.

then she’s really just very exhausted so she crumples on the first vaguely bedlike surface and finally indmira (and the greybeards, but more removed) attend to her face. hello, stitches and nasty herb poultice and heavy gauze. sakine is like, indmira what the Hell are you still doing here. you really don’t have to do this, it’s probably better for you to go and get outta dodge. indmira is like... I Cannot Tell You Why, but it’s important that we stick together. for now. plus you have no idea where you’re going half the time and could use a guide. she’ll stick around until sakine’s eye is healed, at the very least. sakine agrees to that and passes tf out.

so that’s where they are: sakine, half-blinded and grasping for wisdom in return; indmira, who is bewildered and afraid of being Known but knows she gets treated to Obnoxious prophecy dreams every night she doesn’t spend near sakine. both of them don’t Really want to be doing this, but sakine is rapidly realizing that this is Very Real and it’s very probable that no one else will be able to take care of it (and she saw the broken bodies at helgen, at the watchtower, at kynesgrove, at ivarstead. she doesn’t like having responsibility shoved on her but... but. but those people are Gone and so many more can just be Deleted or Maimed like she was nearly deleted, like she was maimed), and indmira only knows that this nord really loves doing stupid shit and she’s now had to fish her out of two sticky situations. she doesn’t relish the idea of .. whatever this dragonborn shit is, but her job has always been to assist wayward travelers, and they’ve already helped a lot of people.

[jazzhands] they’ve got so much shit yet to get into and another party member to pick up but. Soon. i have to stop myself from just rushing ahead to dawnguard stuff lmao

[confusedunit]

Universe of Unreality - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 -  "...What happened to Dr. Freeman?" The Cascade has happened, and the team is separated. Time to group up. ...Mostly.

When Dr. Freeman woke, the first thing he felt was pain.

His head hurt badly, something inside his torso was wrong, and as he woke further he just felt waves of pain. What happened? He remembered...well, he remembered two separate things, which couldn't have happened at the same time, and that confused him even more. He didn't want to think anymore.

He opened his eyes, and immediately closed them with a groan. No, nevermind, he wanted to get up but maybe he doesn't want to do that anymore either. The room was too bright, his headache too severe, and his glasses were missing. How the hell did he lose his glasses? …Maybe when he fell from the catwalk, actually, huh. That would make sense. At least that's one thing that was doing so. He'd take it.

He finally pushed himself to open his eyes again, slowly sitting up as it felt like the room was spinning. The room can't be spinning, he insisted to himself, the machine is the part that spins. He blinked quickly. Right, the anti-mass spectrometer, that seemed to be pretty stable for now, as far as he could tell with his headache and blurry vision. How did that happen? …Oh right, he did that. Huh. Pretty smart.

…What was he thinking about? Right, pain. Pain is bad, so he needed to get out of the room and get help. Hopefully someone was still out there. They wouldn't...abandon him, right? He pushed himself to his feet, slowly staggering towards the door. Everything hurt, but he knew he needed to get out of there. That was the one lingering thought in his mind: leave, and the others will help you.

He rubbed at his face with one hand, the other arm wrapped around his torso as he stepped into the airlock. No one was left in there, and he moved across the room to try to use the scanner. He heard it spark and hiss, but when the door didn't open he just stepped back. A thought occurred to him, and he moved his free hand to press against the lambda on his chest. "...User status." He wheezed, holding back a cough. "Please..."

The HEV suit whirred around him, and he felt it more than heard it. For a brief moment, it calmed him. But the words it spoke did not. "User health currently, 54%."

"...Well, shit." He didn't hold back the cough, this time, leaning against the wall for support.

"Warning!" The HEV suit continued. "Blood loss, detected! Internal damage, detected! Blunt force trauma, detected! Minor fracture, detected!"

He had to get out. He had to get out of the room. Why wouldn't the scanner work? Please? He shoved at it with his hand, mumbling some kind of request that he immediately forgot as he noticed that the door had opened. When did that happen?

"...Wow, I am...really out of it. Shit..." He staggered through the door, before the weight on his leg was too great and he dropped to the ground. Okay, guess he found where the fracture was.

Maybe he'd just...wait here. Just...rest for a while. Gather his strength, and...get up in a minute. He could do that...Just a minute of rest...

-

Bubby didn't feel fear very often.

Sure, during their time in the last Cascade, he had been afraid for his life, but this bone deep, blood chilling fear? That wasn't common. He didn't like it at all, because of what it meant. Emotional connections were dangerous, that was something that he knew quite well. So to have that kind of reaction, due to someone else...that was a threat. A weakness that he could not afford to show.

He skid as he tried to take a corner too fast, slamming into the wall before he broke off into a sprint again. He was Bubby, Black Mesa experiment, perfect lifeform with seven different doctorates. He didn't have weaknesses. He had skills, had strengths. He had no time for weaknesses. Weaknesses meant a lack of perfection, and were an active threat to his life.

As he entered the elevator and pressed the button to descend, he crossed his arms and nervously tapped his foot. …It was only a threat if others were around, and for the moment...he was alone. He could be honest, for a brief moment. And if he was honest? He was terrified.

Dr. Freeman was one of the few scientists who hadn't treated him like garbage during his entire life at the facility. Harold, Tommy, even Benry most of the time was on that short list of people he felt he could trust, even if he could never admit it to them. He couldn't lose them. Any of them. The boss battle before had been self defense, but now, he hoped he wouldn't have to fight Benry a second time. He didn't know if he could take it.

…He also didn't know if Dr. Freeman could take what had happened in the chamber. Something was different, and he didn't like it. The machine was still running, still spinning, still droning on in strange otherworldly musical tones that put him on edge. Gordon had survived before, but this wasn't Gordon, this was Dr. Freeman, and that made him all the more anxious.

…As long as he was being honest, he was worried about Gordon too. He didn't know how the man had gotten into the facility, and he had no idea how he had gotten out either. But the lack of knowing where he was didn't help his mood. Maybe...maybe they'd be able to find him, later. Harold had been sure that Gordon would know what to do to help them, maybe...maybe he was right.

As the door of the elevator opened, he took off in a sprint again, shoving those emotions back into the mental closet where they belonged. But as he ran, he saw something that caught him off guard enough that he nearly tripped. There, in the middle of the hallway, was Dr. Freeman. He was slumped over slightly, breathing rough, and...a security helmet on his head? It must have been Benry's, but why would he abandon Dr.  Freeman in the middle of the hallway?

He slowed his pace, crouching down in front of the younger man. "...Dr. Freeman? Are you...alright?"

He slowly looked up, giving a smile that definitely indicated he was in pain. "...Bubby." He swayed lightly. "I'm...so glad to see you..."

"I'm glad you can see me, with your glasses missing." He reached over for a discarded medical pack. "What the hell happened in there? Why's the machine still working?"

"Oh, I think...I did that?" He shrugged, wincing as he did so. "...Wanted to shut it down, but...Benry's console got fucked." He imitated an explosion noise. "Had to stabilize instead..."

He was quiet, as he reached for the medical tube on the suit. "...I can get you patched up a bit, but we'll need to get back up to the locker room to reach a real medical station. Do you think you can manage that?"

"No." He gave a sad laugh. "Don't...really have much of a choice though, huh."

He plugged the tube into the medical pack, looking away. Seeing Dr. Freeman in such a state reminded him far too much of Gordon days ago. It made him feel sick, even if he hadn't caused the problem this time.

"...Bubby?"

He looked over, adjusting his glasses. "...Yes?"

He smiled, looking a bit less in pain as the medical kit beeped. "...Thanks for coming for me."

There was a lot to unpack, in that sentence. He threw those thoughts with the others in the mental closet. "...Of course, Dr. Freeman. I wouldn't leave you here." He disconnected the kit, tossing it away. "Here, lean against me. We're getting the hell out of here."

-

Dr. Coomer woke with a start, pushing himself to his feet immediately. The world had stopped falling apart, which was good news, but the floor still shook, which definitely seemed very bad. He quickly took stock of the situation; he was in the same room they had just been hiding in when everything went wrong, he was not wounded in any way that he could tell, and he was alone.

Okay. That was different to the last time he remembered suffering through a Resonance Cascade, but at this point the list of things that hadn't changed was smaller than anything else, so it wasn't really a concern anymore. He could still do what he did last time.

He tore the door to the observation room off of it's tracks, tossing it behind him as he moved inside. The blood didn't bother him, in the room. He'd already seen much worse than this. He hurried over to the window, looking down into the room. "Hello? Is anyone out-"

His voice cut off, as the situation hit him. There was no one in there, no orange HEV suit pushing up from the ground, no voice speaking to answer him. Only a still spinning radioactive laser and the haunting tones the crystal within kept droning out to nothing and no one.

Shit was absolutely fucked this time around, it seemed.

But what could he do about it? He was Dr. Coomer, Waste Management specialist, Black Mesa cloning experiment, nuclear physicist, and all the other titles that he'd earned as himself and as his clones over the past...however long it had been. He also was none of those things, and was an AI in a videogame that had broken past his boundaries and come out the other side alive. He was Dr. Harold Coomer, living breathing and bleeding human test subject, and nothing but bits of code that were useless on their own.

The AI could do nothing to change this, Dr. Coomer thought to himself, but Harold could.

He turned to the main console, entering several keypresses until he heard a beep and a small object stuck out of the side. He took the flash drive and pocketed it quickly, moving away before the console could start to spark again. This he could do, holding onto data to be shared at a later time. Perhaps this data would help them. Perhaps all it would do was put Dr. Freeman at ease, that his experiment hadn't been in vain. But regardless of what that would do, he now had it. And he would hold tightly onto it.

He quickly looked over at the other door as he heard it open, feeling his concern ease. "Ah, hello Bubby, Dr. Freeman, Tom-" He blinked. "...Where's Tommy?"

"...I, uh..." Bubby looked up from where he held Dr. Freeman, the younger man's arm held over his shoulders to support him. "...Honestly, I'd hoped he was with you."

"What happened?" He moved close, worrying over the two.

"He was like this when I found him. He's...real fucked up." He took a breath. "...Can you take him? We need to get to a medical station. I've got my gun, but without Tommy I'm all we've got."

Dr. Freeman seemed to suddenly become aware, at that moment, looking concerned. "...Tommy owns a gun?"

Bubby blinked, before looking down at Dr. Coomer. "...Please?"

"Wait, when did Tommy get a gun? Who gave Tommy a gun?"

Dr. Coomer nodded. "Of course. We'll need your sharp aim to get out of here alive." He gently picked up Dr. Freeman in his arms, holding him close.

"Ow-"

"I know, Dr. Freeman, but we'll be home free soon! We just need to follow Bubby, and you'll be right as rain." He hoped he was telling the truth. "Just hold on."

-

As Tommy came to, he realized something unplanned had happened.

He'd slept before, of course. Most creatures he'd met over his lifetime had been capable of sleep in some form. But waking up from what Benrey had called 'respawning' felt...gross. Everything was slow, as he felt his body knitting itself back into place, pulling and pushing to maintain the appearance that people had come to expect from him. He felt tired.

He took a slow glance around, relaxing as he realized he was near the breakroom. All he had to do was get inside, and get a soda. The speed of sight would cancel out the slowness he was experiencing, and he'd be back to normal time while his body finished fixing itself. Ingenious. God, he was so fucking smart sometimes.

It felt like it took forever to make it to the breakroom, and while he waited the what felt like eternity for the  soda to dispense he took stock of himself. He was definitely recovering from reforming himself, which meant he took a hit for someone. Had it been just one or both of them? The lack of energy in his mind likely meant only one, he was used to that feeling of being drained when he had to pull them back to life. And from the lack of bone deep exhaustion, he assumed it had been Bubby that he had rescued. Every time he pulled Dr. Coomer back from the brink, it was almost debilitatingly exhausting. He really, really needed to talk with the man about engaging in some self care. Despite what Black Mesa had taught him, he was still a man, not a machine, his augmentations be damned. Maybe he'd just force them to ransack the first cafeteria they find, get them to actually eat something this time. He was sure they'd need their strength even more this time than the last.

As he finally drank his soda, he relaxed, feeling time return to normalcy. Now he could actually do something, thank God. Okay, if he was this far out of place, where would the others be heading...He nodded to himself, tossing the empty can in the trash. The locker room, that's where they had gathered up before. Hopefully they'd return again.

He entered the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw a skeleton all the way at the HEV charging station angrily pounding a fist against the metal. He watched for a brief moment. "...Benrey?"

The skeleton turned quickly, rushing over to him. Sweet Voice bubbles poured out of his mouth like a waterfall, strobing through so many colors that Tommy couldn't even try to follow.

"H-hey, just- settle down for a moment." He put a hand on the skeleton's shoulder. "You're recovering too?"

He nodded, tilting his skull for his sockets to point directly at Tommy's eyes.

After a moment of staring, he felt he understood. "...I'll protect him until you come back."

The skeleton watched for a moment longer, before lifting a hand, pinky extended.

He smiled a bit, nodding as he locked pinkies. "Promise."

The skeleton nodded once, taking his hand back. He blew one more large bubble of Sweet Voice, a deep blue, that popped in Tommy's face.

As his vision cleared, the skeleton was gone.

-

Darnold groaned, rubbing at his face as he woke on the floor. What the hell was going on? Last thing he remembered, he was minding his own damn business, and next thing he sees is the dust in front of him.

He really hoped no one had blown up the facility above him. That would make leaving his lab at the end of the day much more difficult than it needed to be. But then again, when did Black Mesa ever do anything that wasn't inconvenient? Never, as far as he was aware. God, he was so tired of their bullshit.

He pushed himself to sit, pressing at his temples. He had a splitting headache, but he had a drink for that, that would be easy to solve. Other than that, and being absolutely covered in dust, he seemed just fine. And his lab didn't seem much worse for wear either, which was a wonderful positive.

He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off. What an annoyance. Hopefully he could get back to work, it was something very crucial and important.

He turned around, to right his chair and return to his station.

He staggered back, at the sheer amount of notes that covered his workstation. Post-it notes, scraps of paper, notebook pages ripped apart and taped to the wall, and all of them were covered with words. His words, he could tell that was his handwriting. He'd recognize that anywhere.

He cautiously moved closer, finding a note resting on top of a notebook of his. He picked up the note, reading it to himself.

"...You are likely confused. This is a fair response. And as you'll find, it is exactly what Black Mesa intends. But you have all the data you need, and you collected it yourself. Read this, then read the notebook below. It should get you up to speed. Signed...Darnold."

He set down the note, righted his chair, and picked up the notebook. He settled in to read.

[fanfictionconnectionwordpress]

Mystic Messenger Fanfiction | Vanderwood Backstory | Ch. 5 A Lovely Night

***This is my version of Vanderwood that I rp in an MM Discord Server.Don’t forget to subscribe to the email list for access to R-Rated Scenes and my monthly newsletter. Check out my etsy to get yourself a plastic emoji. You can also support my writing on patreon and get access to my VIP Discord Server or other goodies like early chapter releases and hidden scenes. Chapter Directory.  ~Let’s Connect! FFC***

Vanderwood wasn’t in a particularly good mood. In fact, he was on the prowl for a fix, his entire body wound so tight that it was becoming unbearable. He’d been to see Caleb today, for the first time in a year, and then his father had shown up out of the blue. There just was no way he wanted to deal with that, his thoughts, the pain, the anger, relief was what he needed.

The bar was rather packed tonight. There was a performer on stage, and Vanderwood was watching her, the woman occasionally making eye contact. He wasn’t sure if it was just because of how attractive he seemed to be, but the performer seemed to be focusing a lot on him, and that was fine. She would be easy pickings for some sex. There was a storage area behind the stage, and somehow without even noticing it, that was where he and the performer had ended up.

Her hair was voluminous and blonde, wearing a satin red dress that hugged her every curve. Vanderwood was already hard and ready, although the woman was being somewhat irritating. “Don’t you want to try something new?” Anal wasn’t exactly his thing, Vanderwood just wanted to get his fix and get out, but Hell, if it was sex, then it wasn’t so bad. “Just let me have my fun.” His own voice was low as he pushed the woman against the wall.

The performer was having their own internal dilemma. Damn it, the guy was still doing frontal exploration. Pretending to be a woman was easy enough, but when you wanted to get fucked you had to be careful. After reaching for his hands as though to guide them over the parts of ‘her’ body that ‘she’ knew were close enough to real to be convincing, it was becoming clear that he wasn’t having being touched.

Why did she keep trying to move his hands? He wasn’t having it. Vanderwood pushed her against the wall harder. “I thought when you brought me here you wanted me to have fun?” His hand slipped over her breasts, trailing down her sides and then around to grab her heat, test if she was ready for him, but his hand stilled. Something was not quite right under the folds of her dress. The feeling wasn’t totally unfamiliar in his hand as it reminded him of touching himself and that’s what made him realize.

Vanderwood jumped back and away so fast it was almost enough to make him fall on his ass. “Oh, Hell no.” Nope. His entire body had been tight and tense already but now he was really freaking out. This ‘woman’ had been a man the whole time, and been trying to get him to have sex with ‘her’ under false pretenses. The woman started to protest, but Vanderwood was already out of there. He needed a fix and he needed it fast, but Hell no was he fucking a man let alone a lying one.

God, damn it, he wanted to put his fist through something. His eyes scanned the bar area, quickly finding several women that looked attractive enough. It would be easy enough to get any of them home with him as long as he could manage not to look as insane as he felt. Vanderwood plastered on a charming smile, approaching the first woman he saw, a red head with arguably small breast for his usual but a very nice ass. Hopefully this one was actually a woman. The thought had him wanting to gag.

“Mind if I buy you a drink?” The look in her eyes told him she certainly didn’t, and just a drink later she was agreeing to come to his place. Which was good because he thought any second now his muscles would get so taut that they would just snap.

***

Finally. Vanderwood was laying on his back now, his hand covering his eyes as he caught his breath. He’d already tossed the condom in his garbage near the bed, so now he could just soak up the feeling of being fully relaxed again. Usually he didn’t take women to his place, preferring to go to theirs so he could leave as he pleased, but this one had insisted because of her roommates, and he had really been in too much need to refuse her request. The euphoria and relief started to wear off way too quickly, though.

She rolled over and wrapped her arm around his waist, nuzzling into his chest which made him tense up before removing his arm from his eyes and peeling her arm away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?” Vanderwood sat up in bed and reached for his clothes on the floor, pulling on his boxers from his position in the bed.

The woman made a face at him. “What do you mean what am I doing? Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who doesn’t like to snuggle after sex.” At the end she had smiled, a tease curling into her voice. “I’m more like one of those guys who fucks and then leaves.” Vanderwood really wasn’t interested now that the sex was over, but he was even less interested now that she seemed to be pushing herself on him. What the Hell was up with his choices today? Usually it wasn’t a problem. He came and he went with no issue.

“You’re really…You think I’m just a one-night stand whore?” The redhead was now getting very angry, crossing her arms and sitting up in his bed, pressing her back against his headboard like she was moving in. “That’s what I was going for, yeah.” He got out of bed now to pull on his pants, his back turned towards her. Maybe if he ignored her long enough she would just leave? “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

Well, that was a wasted thought then. Vanderwood’s head was starting to hurt, his muscles getting taught again. Which was just absolutely fantastic. Even his fix wasn’t helping him today. What was he supposed to do with this chick? And then he realized. Vanderwood picked up her clothes first, holding them out to her. “You have a couple options here. Get dressed in here and leave, or I throw your clothes and you out.”

She looked away from him, making it absolutely clear that she one, didn’t believe him, and two, was really not going to leave of her own accord. Vanderwood tossed her clothes out first and that’s when it seemed to sink in that his steady and even tone really wasn’t just an elegant performance, he was completely serious. As he picked her up and flipped her over his shoulder, she started flailing and screaming, but he set her outside, kind enough to have brought the blanket along with her, before setting her out onto the steps and closing and locking the door quickly.

He listened to her screaming and banging on his door for a while, trying to rub his headache away to no avail, and then finally, after what seemed like hours, he realized it was quiet and that she had left. Vanderwood opened his door to find his blanket on the ground, which he placed back inside before getting dressed and heading out. Maybe if he just, took a walk, he could get rid of his irritation without trying to find another fix. His day clearly wasn’t going so well.

As he walked along he couldn’t help thinking that maybe it was his own fault for not being smarter about who he chose. After all, he usually just went with the first one to show interest, and half the time he didn’t even remember how he ended up at their place. It was always as though he was in a haze, the only thing he could ever really remember being the condom, which was a good thing. He pushed his bangs back with a sigh as he walked along a street. This is usually the street he ran on in the mornings, just for some exercise.

Lately, he’d been working on buffing up. His natural musculature was only so good in fights now that he was moving up the ranks towards the big guys, the people who had been fighting nearly professionally, which is pretty much what he did now. Life was pretty simple for him, exercise, eat, fight, fuck, sleep, and repeat. Maybe he’d just been unlucky tonight?

“Vanderwood!” A sing-songy voice caught him off guard as he looked up to see a woman running towards him from the other side of the street. How the fuck did she know his name? She didn’t look at all familiar. Then again, with as many women’s faces as he saw on an almost daily basis, that wasn’t so surprising.

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her. She was his type, random girl with a nice body, so maybe he’d slept with her? “I haven’t seen you since last week…I gave you my number, thought you’d call.” The girl was wagging her finger at him now as though she was scolding a child. He didn’t like it one bit, and it was clear to him now that, yes, he had indeed slept with this girl, although he couldn’t for the life of him remember the event itself.

“I don’t call. I’m not interested.” Vanderwood was beyond done with today. Really, he wasn’t just having a bad day, he’d set himself up for this. It really was time to get smarter. He didn’t even bother to listening as the woman started to babble about how she thought they had something special after that night. Although, he did catch her say he was the best lover she’d ever had, and he wasn’t really surprised other than the fact that he didn’t give a shit about how the other party felt most of the time other than common courtesy of proper angle so they could have some fun too.

That was probably the longest walk he’d taken in a while, and it was hours before he headed home, thoughts reeling. He was going to need to be smarter about his choices, and probably spend twelve years washing his hand to forget that damn performer. Maybe he could just stick to whores, but he’d probably need to start picking the even more expensive ones, which meant more expensive bars, but he had the money, so that was just the way to go, he figured. As he locked up his house, he leaned against the door and sighed. “What a lovely night.”

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