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vvienne · 4 years ago

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XICHENG FIC RECS

hold my hands by Snooze (Chiruka)

Transplanting a core into a new person isn’t without repercussions. One year after the events at Guanyin Temple, Jiang Cheng found himself once again faced with the possibility of losing everything he had. Reconciling with his brother, learning to let Jin Ling go, and dealing with his blooming emotions toward the First Jade of Gusu — will Jiang Cheng accomplish what he wants before time runs out?

it all passes someday by screamlet

A week before the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death, there was a commotion outside Lan Wangji’s house.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji over the years.

The Unlikely Expression of Love by manamune

When everything has settled, when everyone else has moved on with their lives and their friends, Jiang Cheng has a realization which shouldn’t actually be a surprise:

He’s lonely.

Indigo, lavender, and violet (I don't wanna be red) by ohwhatevrewhatevr

It, in the pale colors of the late morning, is the closest to perfect Jiang Cheng will ever reach. He strokes Lan XiChen's hair and presses a light kiss to where his ribbon and hair meet. The sky is a pale blue, and the pastels of flowers and clouds are spread out through the window, a brilliant world waiting for them, them in the gentian house, safe from stronger breezes - there is the clutter of birds fluttering and chirping outside. It is a warm, perfect, spring morning.

Jiang Cheng and Lan XiChen have been together for an year. In which, no one ever really gets over things, Jiang Cheng has the misfortune of interacting with his brother, the juniors help out with the proposal, and there's a marriage.

Altitude by starknjarvis

When Jin Ling lures Jiang Cheng to the Cloud Recesses under false pretenses, he finds himself out of place among this new family Wei Wuxian has formed.

Lan Xichen, at least, seems pleased to have his company.

Perhaps there is still a chance for Jiang Cheng to make amends and move forward.

[Modao Zushi Online] GLITCH REPORT: My Brother Got Chased Down And %$@*$&@ By Gusu Dungeon Boss??? by oh_fudgecakes

Modao Zushi Online is a virtual reality MMORPG. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are top ranking players in its new server, currently tied with their arch-nemesis from their previous server, Wen Chao. In an attempt to defeat him, they take on the Gusu Dungeon Boss, Zewu-jun, to win the reward of a legendary weapon. Ever the cheat, Wei Wuxian tries to take advantage of a glitch to defeat the seemingly undefeatable boss. It backfires. Jiang Cheng gets fucked by a boss monster.

He can't get enough.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen, the unwitting staff member in charge of controlling Zewu-jun, absolutely did not sign up to be pulled into a secret virtual reality fling with a player. Mod Ji, who has to deal with Wei Wuxian's incessant glitch reporting of his brother's sex life, is long-suffering.

Mulberry by xxdz

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and pushes harder. He feels like torn silk, the embroidery needle sinking in again and again and again; patiently, desperately, endlessly trying to make something beautiful out of something broken.

Jiang Cheng builds his sect, learns embroidery, and raises his nephew.

we can raise a little family by lanyon

“Well, brother,” says Wei Wuxian, leaning against the outside of Jiang Cheng’s chambers. “I had heard that you and Xichen went on a night hunt and came back with a baby, which is not the order I’d choose to do things in…”

In which Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen acquire a baby of unknown origin, and are the very last to know what it means.

Beyond the Impossible by Silverine

Summoned by Lan Qiren, Jiang Wanyin goes to the Cloud Recesses to drop his nephew Jin Ling, expecting to discuss relevant matters with his old master. Instead, he's asked to take with him no other than Sect Leader Lan himself, all the way back to Lotus Pier. If the reason why he accepted such an outrageous task is indeed a mystery, he's about to be surprised by how this entire trip, their encounters, and his warm company, suddenly feel fated.

Incrementally by xxdz

Jiang Cheng is trapped in a day on repeat where he begins by waking in Zewu Jun’s bed at dawn and ends by dying painfully at dusk.

It’s getting very irritating, and he has the sneaking suspicion that his chances to solve his own murder are rapidly running out. Soon, his death will be much more permanent.

All in all, worst birthday ever.

Audience of One by WinterDreams

“Then let an established star go first,” Lan Xichen interrupts again before Lan Wangji can give a stubborn reply. Both men twist toward Lan Xichen, and he smiles at Wei Wuxian’s tilted head. “If I publicly date a man for awhile first, your engagement shouldn’t receive as much backlash.”

Or, that AU where everyone is famous in some way or another, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have been dating in private for years, and Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng pretend to date publicly for their brothers' sake.

A Bit of Ruthlessness by jirluvien

When Jiang Cheng hears that Lan Xichen went into seclusion following Jin Guangyao’s death, it’s almost as if he can see the grabby hands of a restless ghost, reaching out for something to keep him company. For something warm and living and devastated. And as history has proved time and time again, the Lans are perfect victims when it comes to giving in to ghosts.Yeah, no. Not on Jiang Cheng’s fucking watch.A story about grief, determination, unexpected friendships, abandoned watchtowers, and letters. So many letters.

All Tied Up In You by Clearpearls

Yet again, the night had come to this:

Jiang Cheng on the floor, kneeling, Zidian wrapped around his wrists.

Alone.

Thank You, and I'm Sorry by Hamliet

Jin GuangYao might be dead, but his story is not. Taking advantage of the chaos he instigated, someone makes an attempt on the life of the young new leader of the Jin Sect. When Jiang Cheng takes Jin Ling to the Cloud Recesses to have him study while he attempts to work with Wei WuXian and his husband Lan WangJi to eliminate the threat, he encounters a mourning Lan XiChen, lovestruck teenagers, and a persistent corpse--and both pairs of brothers find themselves struggling to move on.

saturn's rings (don't be a heartbreaker) by iskendaris

Set after the seige of burial mounds, Yunmeng rebuilds as they hold the first Discussion Conference at Lotus Pier. Sometimes the night is a gift, a refuge for loneliness. "So stern, Sect Leader Jiang," Lan Xichen murmured, "So glacial... What will it take to melt that icy exterior? What can I say?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can say or offer."

reciprocity by jukeboxhound

There’s a pause before Lan Xichen says, in a tone that’s a little more neutral, “I would like to paint on you.”

“…What?”

“Of course, if you say ‘yes’ but then change your mind at any point, for any reason, you need only say so and I will stop immediately,” he adds.

Well, silver lining: Jiang Cheng is feeling much more awake than he was a moment ago.

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities by oh_fudgecakes

Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.

As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.

Marginal Costs by ohwhatevrewhatevr

“You think you know what you want, Er-Ge,” A-Yao says. “But you should consider what you’re willing to give first,” he says wryly, taking Lan XiChen’s chess piece with slim, skilled fingers.

Lan XiChen looks up at A-Yao’s concentrated expression and the hint of contentment on his face that he is special enough to be allowed to see.

“It’s not just one decision, but the lead up to many more. One decision decides what else you’re going to have to pay, and each time you have to ask yourself, ignoring the sunk costs, if this time it’s worth it as well.”

When his sworn brother looks up at him with those clear, amber eyes, waiting, Lan XiChen feels the pull and gives in: he asks.

“Are you happy being in love?”

(First half is two sad sworn brothers talking, internally mourning how unfortunate their other sworn brother’s death was :/ and second half is when a mopey boy in blue meets an angsty boy in purple whilst chasing a demonic cultivator, and a lil bit of sexy dual cultivation happens.)

Somewhat Tender by theherocomplex

There is no defense against kindness; it has always undone him.

I didn't expect you to be lonely (too) by bettydice (BettyKnight)

Jiang Cheng's life is a mess, he's a mess, and he doesn't miss his brother at all. So when his sister gifts him ten sessions with a massage therapist, who turns out to be someone he was crushing on for a hot minute as a teenager and is still as hot as ever... yeah, that might as well happen. It won't have to mean anything.

This feels intimate to Jiang Cheng in a way that's probably very inappropriate and maybe even pathetic. Nobody touches him like this, right where he’s hurt the most. There's no one who handles him so gently, so carefully.

It's the gentleness that's his undoing, he thinks. He would be able to deal better with it if it was painful.

Life for Rent by yodasyoyo

“Yeah well. You’re not taking me seriously. This guy is my soulmate!”

“Soulmate.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Just because you don’t believe in them—”

“I believe in them!” Jiang Cheng says. “I’ve never denied they exist.”

“Just last week you said that it was an evolutionary quirk that had been used by greetings card companies, movie makers, and corporations to exploit lonely and vulnerable people.”

“And I stand by it! That doesn’t mean that soulmates aren’t real. Just incredibly unlikely and probably pointless.

Or:

Xicheng vs Soulmates. Fight!

Halfway Around the World by theherocomplex

Normally, Jiang Cheng would be seething, jaw clenched tight, if someone sounded like that while they were talking, but — Lan Xichen has the trick of always making you feel like you're in on the joke, whatever the joke is. That you're laughing together.

Whelmed by yodasyoyo

For months now Jiang Cheng’s been idly fantasizing about how it would be if something were to come between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. Mostly those daydreams have been simple enough — they break up (probably because Lan Zhan is boring or Wei Ying is annoying), Wei Ying is sad for a couple of days (Jiang Cheng’s willing to allow some space for feelings, he isn't a total monster), but then Wei Ying realizes he’s better off, he gets over it, and Jiang Cheng gets his brother back.

Unfortunately the fantasy version of events has only proven partially true, so far. They've broken up. Wei Ying has been sad.

Now weeks have passed, though — and Wei Ying is still sad, every. Single. Day.

It’s like Jiang Cheng's stuck in a looping GIF, and it’s driving him insane.

Or:

Jiang Cheng plots, Lan Huan pines, and, unfortunately for Lan Qiren, Wangxian are inevitable.

#xicheng #fic recs #mdzs #mdzs recs #jiang cheng #lan xichen #obvs these reflect my personal preferences etc etc

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despairingly-hopeful-imagines · 4 years ago

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So for my request, can you write a one-shot that features Yasuhiro hagakure practicing self bondage please? The fic would involve him stripping naked, shackling and gagging himself, and trying to orgasm. What do you think?

I haven't done a n*fw request yet so I hope I wrote this well, please enjoy and the fic will be under the cut! My rules are also updated so please check them out!

-Mod Kiibo

It was late at night, another night of killing and executions. Yasuhiro was stressed, anyone would be if you were put into that situation. While being an adult he decided to take up on the only way that would free his stress.

Doing his best to hide what he was going to do Yasuhiro quickly moved to the storage room to grab the items he needed. On the top shelf he found exactly what he came for, Ribbons.

He grabbed the said item and stuffed it into his pocket, making his way out of the closet without trying to draw suspicion. Yasuhiro made it to his room after what felt like hours of walking and hiding, sighing in relief he closed and locked the door.

Already feeling hot and heavy from the idea of being found out, Yasuhiro tied his hair up and began to shed his clothes, throwing it into the corner not caring about how messy it would be later.

Yasuhiro started off by tying a ribbon around a rubber ball he found and continued to gag himself with it barely fitting into his mouth.

He got excited as he continued to tie himself up purposely making it hard to move and thinking of how sweet his release would be afterwards.

Now shackled to his bed, Yasuhiro was fully exposed, tears welding up in his eyes due to the gags' effect on him. He couldn't tell but he was sure his face was red in embarrassment and a bit of shame, but that didn't matter to him at the moment.

Moving his hips against the bed he felt a wave of pleasure creep through him and a shudder ran down his spine. Yasuhiro continued his actions, grinding against the bed continuing to pick up his pace chasing his orgasm. Moans spilled out of his mouth as more pleasure came to him, loud ones nonetheless.

Shamelessly grinding and squeezing his legs together, Yasuhiro felt a knot in his stomach finally forming. Picking up his pace he moved his hips even faster finally releasing all over his sheets making a mess that he was sure he had to clean up soon.

Coming down from his high, Yasuhiro released himself from his shackles and gag and looked at the mess of his room. Now embarrassed but relieved, he got up to clean both himself and his room up with shaky legs. Yasuhiro finally fell asleep for the first night of the killing game not fearing anything.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the morning came, Yasuhiro was sitting at the breakfast table with a glow around him until the dreaded body announcement discovery came on. Rushing over to see who died he noticed a very familiar red ribbon at the scene of the crime scene.

This was going to be very awkward to explain.

#Mod Kiibo #danganronpa imagine #n*fw #dr1 #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #THH #yasuhiro #danganronpa hagakure #yasuhiro hagakure #danganronpa #danganronpa oneshot

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interactive-watchers · 4 years ago

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A Silver Apology

Notes: Me and Mod Salem wrote this drabble together! Amaris POV is mine and Salem POV is theirs, this is in the DSMP by the way

The young nymph entered the small forge just by the back side of her cottage slipping on her apron, and tying up her chestnut colored hair with a white ribbon. She threw the ores into the furnace, feeling the hot air of the furnace be released into the air, letting the iron smelt into ingots. A comfortable familiar feeling seeped into her as the heat sent sweat gliding down her face. She allowed the ingots to cool down,eventually becoming more solid, the newly cooled metal showing the reflection of the girl’s slightly soot covered face. A pang of guilt hits her when she remembers why she's doing this, but she shuts the thought down, she doesn’t have the right to pity herself when she made them both feel so much worse. She puts her focus back onto the task at hand and places the iron into the melting pot, letting the iron become liquid. She quietly pours the searingly hot liquid into the sheet mold to let it cool, leaving her a moment to herself. She silently stares at the iron as it solidifies, dozens of thoughts racing behind those hazel eyes. She lets out a deep sigh as she returns back to her work putting the sheet metal onto her anvil to begin hammering it into shape. The metal gleamed a bright orange from the heat as she banged her hammer onto it with strong yet calculated swings. Regret still lingered in the back of her consciousness while her hands worked. Having forged so many times before her body continued reflectively as she got lost in her thoughts.

She should have stayed, or at the very least waited a little longer. Now she was reunited with them both, but their relationships still felt strained. She still remembers that conversation with Salem when they saw each other here for the first time. Though he tried not to show it, Amaris knew Salem too well to not notice they were hurt. Amaris knew he had issues with being abandoned, yet she left anyway. She really was stupid enough to think that a small goodbye would be enough to erase a millena of anxieties and fears. And Aurora, one of the few people patient and kind enough to help her through her issues, all for her to leave her behind. She’s one of her few constants in her life and she couldn’t even return the favor. Gods, she is such a piece of shit. She felt her vision blur and a familiar wetness on her cheeks yet she continued to pound the metal as it began to resemble the head of a throwing axe and a dagger. Her arms begin to tremble, tears streaming down her cheeks now. Yet she continues pounding, putting all of her sadness, guilt, and regret into her work. The loud clanging of the hammer against the iron being the only thing keeping her grounded. As she pounds the metal slowly starts to take form, her breathing begins to even out and the tears begin to subside. Until finally the hammering is done. She silently lowers her hammer and stares at the weapons, her heart beating so loud in her ears as she shakily takes in deep breaths. She stands there in silence for what feels like hours, other than the crackling fire and noises of the forge she’s left alone with her own thoughts, though this silence feels more empty than usual.

Wiping her tears quickly she grabs her tongs and plucks the weapons off the anvil, both orange with heat, and dips them into the nearby water bucket leaving them cool to the touch. Picking up her rag she wipes away any soot or imperfections on the weapons, leaving them with a brighter metallic sheen. She gripped her bench grinder and began to run it down the sides of the dagger, repeating this until it was sharp enough for her standards. She then moved on to the axe head, scraping the bench grinder against the metal’s length. She thought she was making the right choice coming here. Everyone told her their disappearance was “normal” and “just Nare being Nare'' yet her instincts screamed at her something was wrong. That this time was different. Sure, turns out she was right, but the consequences of coming here were far worse than she expected. Now she’s stuck here as well until the gospel court manages to bring that sadistic bastard of a god to justice. She might as well not even be here with how much use she has. She continued to sharpen the axe head, with each stroke becoming stronger and stronger as she worked the metal. She finally held it up blowing off the dust, the cool metal contrasting her flushed skin. Her eyes puffy and her nose red, she rips her eyes away from her reflection. She began to carve details into the axe head, thoughts now pushed aside by her silent concentration. The minutes passed by like seconds as she gently yet firmly marked the axe with engravings, only stopping to wipe the sweat now running down her face. The axe head was almost completely covered in long, curbing lines that joined together near the face, the edges being the only spot untouched by her hand. With a metallic thunk she places the axe head onto the table, plucking a piece of wood from the table and getting to work on making the handle for the axe.

~*~

A traveler with a strange, moth like cloak strode through the woods on the way to the nymph’s cottage. “First My Claimed disappeared to this ‘ell ‘ole than my friends' damn.” They muttered under their breath. They had stopped in a place called ‘Snowchester’ during their travels, and their immortal heart almost stopped at the sight of their favorite claimed, a blonde avian hybrid named Theseus (affectionately called Tommy) with no memory of them and no wings. “Ayy Salem, gotta pull through” They muttered to themselves through gritted teeth. They checked their compass again. They were close to the coords that Amaris’ letter had told them to come too. Then in the distance, there it is, a simple cottage with a small forge on the side, surrounded by beautiful, vibrant wildflowers and a garden. (Salem would never admit it, but they always admired Amaris’ way to keep plants alive. They could only keep their associated plants alive) They pulled their hood down. Better see what they needed. (There couldn’t be any other reason Amaris would want them at her short-term home, they were proving themselves to be a horrid friend and patron. Really Salem, they obviously didn’t want you around. That’s why they left) They quickly pulled themselves out of their thoughts. They had a reputation as one of the two death gods that were actually happy, and they were just standing there, staring at their best friend's property. They briskly walked up the path to the home, and knocked three times (a habit they picked up from Kristen) on the rough-hewn door. Amaris opened the door. “Salem!! My friend!!!,” (She looked like she had been crying) “I didn’t think you’d come!!”

“Of ‘ourse I’d come! ya are my best friend!” Salem said back. (They wondered if she was crying because of them)

Amaris opened the door wider, ushering in her godly friend and leading them to the kitchen table. "Tea?"

“Of ‘ourse.” With that Amaris put a kettle to the stove and then turned to look at Salem. “So.. uh, The server is fucked right? It’s not just me?”

“No It ain’t just ya, I noticed it too. I saw ‘ommy on the way ‘ere, an’ ‘e dinae know who I was!”

Amaris hummed and turned to make the tea. “Uh. I did want to say I’m sorry Salem. You didn’t deserve to get left alone again, but I still left. And that was me being a horrible friend. I really am sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” Salem sat in silence (what does she mean that she’s the bad friend?) “See, I dinae know why yer ‘poloizing to me lass. I’m the bad friend for ‘ver reactin” Salem answered, rubbing at the back of their neck, fidgeting with the claps on their necklaces. “No Salem. I shouldn’t have left. A simple goodbye will not erase thousands of years of your anxiety.” Amaris sighed, handing the god their cup of tea. “‘anks” they muttered. Amaris sighed again. “OH! I have something for you!! Stay right here!” She ran into another room, letting Salem drink in silence again. She came back into the room, with a parcel, wrapped in simple black fabric. “Ay, wots ‘at now?” Salem laughed. The awkward tension seemed to be gone from the room. “A present!” Amaris answered happily, pushing the package into Salem’s lap. “Open it!” Salem laughed again, Quickly unwrapping the parcel, revealing a beautiful throwing axe, with intricate carvings on the handle, and wrought designs on the head of the axe itself. All in all, hand-made, probably from the forge right outside. “‘OLY SHITE AMA ‘IS IS AWESOME” Salem cackled happily. Amaris giggled. “I’m glad you like it, consider it an apology gift.”

“Well ‘en consider yaself forgiven.” Salem said, pulling Amaris into a hug, like they used too. (I wonder if they forgive me back?) “Soo.. now ‘at the sappy ‘art is over, wot are we gonna do ‘bout the total weirdness of ‘is server? I mean, ‘ommy’s been messed with, an’ Tech won’t talk to me; so Aurora is tryen’ to talk ‘ome sense inta ‘im.”

“I have a theory my friend, and it’s not great. But we will figure it out. I think some people know what is going on, and we are going to get to the bottom of it. Someone is behind this.”

#drabble #hurt to comfort #interactive watchers #comfort trio #Salem Breathnach #Aurora (Boreal)#Amaris Finwe

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 2/11

I should have mentioned that the last chapter was kind of just an intro and the chapters going forward will be much longer. Here Emma and Killian get to know each other, but fate also starts being a cruel mistress to our precious babies. I did say this has a lot of angst, right?

I also took off the major character death tag because the only deaths in this will be canonical deaths of secondary characters or deaths of original minor characters. In short, Emma and Killian will have tragic lives, just like in canon. So buckle your seat belts and grab your tissues, folks . . .

Major thanks once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for organizing the CSRT, and my crew of betas: @shippingtheswann, @optomisticgirl, and @distant-rose. This fic would be a mess without them. This chapter in particular owes massive thanks to @shippingtheswann . For those of you who read the original, there is more of Emma and Killian bonding as children thanks to her encouragement and input.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rated: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: 4k and some change in this chapter

**Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 10

The next morning Martha is beside herself with worry to find Lindsay gone. Emma lies and says she must have been asleep when the teenager left, and a lie has never made her feel so guilty. Children’s services are already there when the school bus comes for her and Tyler. Emma so badly wants to tell the social worker that it wasn’t Martha’s fault; that Martha is nice and she wants to stay here. But she’s too afraid of her lies to open her mouth.

At the end of the day, the school bus drops them off at Martha’s, and everything seems normal. Martha has even unpacked Emma’s suitcase. Inside the wardrobe are not only Emma’s meager shirts and jeans, but a couple of new outfits as well. There’s also a new pillow on the bed covered in bright flowers. A fluffy white bunny with a bright pink ribbon is propped up against the new pillow. Emma hugs it with delight.

She wants to tell Martha thank you for the things she got her when they gather around the dinner table, but for some reason the words won’t come.

Tonight, Emma’s Bible verse is “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”

Emma can’t sleep that night. All she can do is keep glancing at the wardrobe, wondering if it really opened last night, if the eyes were really there. Finally, Emma tells herself she’s being silly. She rolls away from the wardrobe, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She closes her eyes and wills herself to go to sleep. But then her heart stops. There it is. The creaking again. The sound is longer this time, as if the door is swinging open, and Emma gasps.

She whirls around and screams when she sees a dark shape through the half open wardrobe, blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as they gaze at her. The door flings open and Martha rushes in.

“Emma, sweetie, what is it?”

“There’s something in the wardrobe!” she cries, turning and pointing. But the door to the wardrobe is completely shut.

Martha chuckles as she brushes back Emma’s hair. “Oh, that’s just your imagination running away with you.” To prove her point, she goes to the wardrobe and flings it open. Emma yelps, expecting to see the blue-eyed monster standing there, but all she sees are her clothes lined up in a row.

Martha tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, but Emma knows the truth. Something is in that wardrobe, and tomorrow night, she won’t let it scare her.

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

The next morning, children’s services are there again, this time to pick up Tyler and take him to his aunt who lives in the next county. At dinner that night, Emma secretly loves that it’s just her and Martha. Her Bible verse reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”

After Martha tucks her in that night, Emma crawls out from under the covers and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes intently at the wardrobe. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she won’t hide in fear. Not tonight. She isn’t imagining things; and she’ll prove it.

Sure enough, just as she thinks she might nod off where she sits, the door of the wardrobe creaks slowly open. Through the half open door, she first sees those blue eyes, the bluest she’s ever seen. Then the dark shape is there. Emma’s heart is pounding, and her breaths come fast as she stares at the shadow. Part of her wants to duck under the covers, and hide, but instead she closes her eyes and counts to ten until her breathing evens out. When she opens her eyes, the shadow is still there. Maybe it’s just one of Emma’s shirts? Her eyes playing tricks on her, like Martha said? Emma eases to the end of the bed slowly on her hands and knees, and when she reaches the edge, right next to the wardrobe she can almost make out the shape . . .

But then those sparkling blue eyes widen in fear and the shape shuffles backwards quickly, slamming the door shut. Inside, Emma hears a thud followed by desperate shuffling and gasping. Then another thud followed by the sound of crying. Emma jumps from the high bed and pads the three steps across the cold wood floors to the door of the wardrobe. She reaches up for the handle, hesitating only a moment before slowly pulling it open.

All she can see at first are ten small toes peeking out from beneath the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Emma reaches up and pushes the clothes hangers aside. Now she can see a head of dark hair resting atop two skinny arms that are folded around two skinny legs. It’s just a little boy! A little boy curled up into a tight, frightened ball. His sniffling and crying echo in the small space.

“Who are you?” Emma asks.

The little boy lifts his head, revealing those blue eyes she has seen the last few nights, this time shining bright with tears. His dark brown hair is in need of a trim and falls across his forehead, hanging almost in front of his eyes. His thin face is sprinkled with freckles. He lifts his hand and rubs it across his nose.

“I’m Killian,” he tells her.

“I’m Emma.” She cocks her head as she studies him. “Why are you crying?”

He blushes at her question, and straightens up, pushing his legs forward. “I can’t get out the way I came,” he tells her simply.

Emma offers him her hand. He crawls forward, taking it, and she helps him hop down out of the wardrobe. He wears a nightshirt made of scratchy brown fabric that reaches his knees. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself.

“Come on, I’ll give you a blanket,” she tells him, hopping up on the bed. He follows her, and she wraps a giant patchwork quilt around the two of them.

“This is warm” Killian says, holding it close.

“Martha makes them for the children she takes care of,” Emma explains.

“Is she your grandmother?”

Emma shakes her head, “No. Just a lady who’s taking care of me. I never knew my mother.”

Killian’s head drops, “My mum died.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma frowns. “My parents left me when I was a baby.”

“My father left me,” Killian says, “that’s why I’m a slave now.”

“A slave!” Emma exclaims. Killian winces, and she feels bad. She hadn’t meant anything against him. “We learned in school that slavery ended,” she hastens to explain.

Killian shakes his head sadly. “Not where I come from.”

Emma worries that she really did hurt his feelings, especially when he keeps his eyes on the quilt and won’t look at her. Then the grumbling of his stomach breaks the silence.

“Are you hungry?”

He shrugs. “I’m always hungry.”

Emma understands that. This home and her last one had plenty of food, but there have been others . . .

“Come on,” she says, jumping up from the bed, “let’s get a snack.”

Killian keeps the quilt wrapped around himself when he slides off the bed to follow her. She slowly inches the door open and motions him to follow her as she tiptoes into the hallway. Emma pauses at Martha’s door; she can hear the elderly woman snoring on the other side.

“You know,” she whispers to Killian, “I think Martha would let you stay.”

“No!” he protests in a loud whisper, his eyes going wide.

“But then you wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. And she’s really nice.”

“I have a brother,” Killian says. “I can’t leave him.”

Emma’s face falls, but she understands. If she had any family, any at all, she would stay with them. She would never let them go. So instead of reaching for Martha’s doorknob, she grasps Killian’s hand through the quilt and tugs him down the hallway.

The linoleum is cold beneath Emma’s feet as they tiptoe into the empty kitchen. She reaches for the lightswitch, and when the fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, Killian gasps.

“What . . . what kind of magic are these lights?”

Emma giggles. “It isn’t magic. It’s lightbulbs, silly.”

“Oh,” Killian says in wonder, but he’s barely paying attention to her. The quilt slips from his shoulders and to the floor as he wanders around the room, wonder upon his face. “It’s all so clean . . . and shiny. This is your galley?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know what that is, but Martha does clean alot.”

Killian stops in front of the white refrigerator. He tentatively reaches out a hand and pulls the door open. The cold air causes him to startle back.

“It’s so cold!” he cries out.

“Shh!” Emma warns him.

“Sorry,” Killian whispers.

Emma tilts her head. “You’ve never seen lightbulbs or a fridge? Are you a time traveler or something? I saw that in a movie once.”

His brow furrows. “What’s a movie?”

“It’s . . . like a . . . pictures. That move . . . and talk.” She shrugs, not sure how else to describe a movie.

“I’ve never heard of magic like this,” Killian tells her in wonder. “I don’t know what time travel is, but this is definitely a different realm.”

Emma’s about to ask him what he means by realm, but then both their stomachs growl at the same time, and they both laugh. She grabs the carton of milk, closes the refrigerator, then carries it to the table.

“There’s glasses next to the sink,” she tells Killian, pointing. While he gets the glasses, she gets the Oreos out of the pantry. Martha had let her have two with a glass of milk when she did her homework. Something else Emma only thought happened on TV.

Emma doesn’t bother with plates, just sets the package of cookies in the middle of the table. Killian carefully pours the milk.

��I haven’t had milk since Papa left,” he tells her, “and never this cold.”

“You’re definitely a time traveler,” Emma states as she slides the plastic tray of cookies from the package. She takes out a cookie and hands it to Killian, then takes one for herself. “I’m gonna guess you never had an Oreo, then. People eat ‘em different ways, but I like to dunk em.”

She plunks her cookie in the milk, and Killian imitates her.

“I like to leave it in the milk for a bit so it gets real gooshy.”

Killian watches her intently, and she smiles. Then she pulls out her cookie and eats the half that’s soaked with milk. Killian follows suit, and his eyes brighten with delight.

“Mm, that’s good!” he turns the cookie and eats the rest without milk. “It’s good crunchy, too.”

Their only conversation for a few minutes is smiles and laughter as Emma teaches him all the ways to eat an Oreo: twisting it in half and licking the cream, taking bites followed by sips of milk, quick dunks. Then they both get a bit silly, crumbling the cookies in the milk and drinking it all up. Before they know it, the entire package is gone.

“Oh no!” Killian explains. “Will you get in trouble?”

Emma frowns as she brushes cookie crumbs from the table. “I don’t think so. I mean, Martha probably didn’t want me to eat the whole pack, but she’s too nice to hit me or anything.”

Killian nods, his shoulders relaxing. Emma props her chin on her hand and taps her lips as she studies him.

“This whole thing reminds me of a book I read,” she tells him. “These kids went through a wardrobe to a magic land with dwarves, a witch, and talking animals and stuff.”

Killian retrieves the quilt from the floor and wraps himself up in it again. “I’ve never seen any talking animals, but I’ve seen dwarves in the Misthaven port. And there’s a witch in the Glowerhaven port who sells potions and stuff.”

He says it so casually, and her jaw drops. “You live in a place that has magic?”

“Of course,” Killian says before finishing the last of his milk. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You do too. The lights, the magical cold box, and the pictures that move.”

Emma shakes her head. “That’s not magic, that’s . . . um, inventions or whatever. Like in school we learned about Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb.”

“Oh,” Killian said, “so people don’t cast spells or anything like that?”

“No.”

“And there are no dwarves or witches?”

“No. And if you told anyone you saw that stuff, they’d call you crazy!” Emma leaned forward eagerly. “What else magical have you seen?”

“Well, we see mermaids a lot -”

“Mermaids!”

“Uh huh, and Cook says he saw a kraken once.” Killan shudders. “I don’t ever want to see one of those monsters.”

“It sounds so exciting!”

“Not really,” Killian says, “most days at sea are long and boring.”

His eyes flutter and he shivers under the quilt, so Emma jumps up and grabs his hand again. She leads him back to her room where they climb back into the warm bed. It’s very late, and she knows they should probably try and sleep, but they keep finding things to talk about.

Suddenly, Emma’s eyes have drifted shut and her head has dropped to Killian’s shoulder, when a shaft of light falls across the bed. Emma and Killian turn their heads in surprise towards the wardrobe. The light is unusually bright as it falls through the open door.

“That’s weird,” Emma comments, her brow furrowing.

The two of them scramble down from the bed to peer inside the wardrobe.

“Woah,” Emma breathes, for no longer does she see her clothes or the back of the wardrobe. Instead, she sees a room of wood, rocking gently back and forth. Barrels and boxes fill the room, and men and boys sleep in hammocks hanging from the beams of the ceiling. Everything is damp, and Emma can smell salt and something musty. The air blowing through feels warm and wet against her face.

“That’s the hold of the ship,” Killian tells her.

He scrambles inside the wardrobe, but Emma grasps his arm, “Wait, you can’t go yet!”

He shakes his head, “My brother will worry. We’re all each other has.”

“Will you come back tomorrow night?” She asks, tentatively biting her lower lip.

Killian grins brightly. “Aye, lass.”

He turns to go, but then seems to hesitate. He spins back towards her, his face flaming red, and pecks a quick kiss against her cheek. Then the light is shining so bright in the wardrobe that it blinds Emma and she has to look away. Then Killian is gone, and Emma stands there with her hand to her cheek.

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

The next morning at breakfast, Martha seems different. Her eyes seem distant, and her words make no sense. Then half her smile falls down unnaturally, and she slumps against the table. Emma shouts her name, trembling all over, then dashes for the phone to call 911.

That evening, a social worker stands in Martha’s living room waiting for Emma to pack. Emma pulls her suitcase from the wonderful bed covered in Martha’s bright quilt. She grabs the bunny and buries her face in the soft fur. Her eyes catch the wardrobe, and she frowns. Killian won’t understand when she’s not here. She takes a deep breath and before she can change her mind, she dashes to the wardrobe and sets the little bunny inside.

When she walks out of the room, she can’t help giving the wardrobe one last look over her shoulder.

Killian: Age 10

Killian can scarcely believe that the fates have smiled upon him by sending him the wardrobe, nor that he’s had the honor of making a friend like Emma.

He also can’t believe he kissed her. He’s not even sure what came over him. His face had burned so that he feared his cheeks would be reddened permanently. Her cheek had been so soft, and her hair had tickled his nose. She was so pretty -

“Killian!” his brother hisses. Liam punctuates his reprimand by flicking Killian with the rag he’s using to swab the deck.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“What is with you, little brother? The captain will give you lashes again if he catches you mooning.”

“I’m not mooning,” Killian grumbles as he concentrates on scrubbing at the fish blood staining the slick boards.

The brothers fall silent as the ship’s captain and first mate walk past. Killian’s back throbs with pain, and he trembles from head to foot remembering the last time he’d been caught daydreaming. He stares at the stains upon the deck, scrubbing as if his life depends on it. The tension across his shoulder blades don’t lessen until the captain heads to his quarters to go over navigation with the first mate.

Killian glances up at his brother. Not only is Liam two years older, he’s taller, broader, and stronger. He also doesn’t go around daydreaming and earning himself lashes.

“Liam,” Killian finally dares ask, “have you . . . kissed many girls?”

Liam’s eyes widen as he lifts his gaze, then he arches his brow and seems to be holding back a teasing grin. Killian pretends to concentrate even harder at his menial task.

“Why, Killy? Has a mermaid flopped on deck lately?”

“We were just in port a month ago,” Killian grumbles.

“Aye,” his brother chuckles, “and you spent the entire time running around on the sand with the other village boys like the child you are.”

“It’s just a bloody question!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Liam capitulates. “Truth be told? No, I haven’t. I’ve seen just as many lasses as you have.”

“What about that one girl in Glowerhaven?”

“I . . . well . . . “

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh as his brother’s face turns red and he stumbles over his words.

“I was just leaning in when her father showed up and chased me off.”

Killian’s laughter rings louder, and he falls over, holding his middle. Liam scowls and flings his rag again with a snap. Killian frowns and rubs at the new welt on his arm.

“Guess you can’t help me then,” Killian snaps. He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help it - he sticks his tongue out at his brother.

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

Killian stands nervously in front of the wardrobe that night, smoothing his hair down. The bosun always greases his hair when he goes to court the farmer’s daughter in Arendelle, so Killian has swiped a little from his trunk. The bosun also likes to take his lass flowers, so Killian grips a handful of wilted buttercups in his hand. They had been fresh when they were picked days ago at port. He hopes the captain doesn’t notice them missing from the vase in his quarters - Killian only swiped three.

He’s also hoping to steal another kiss from Emma tonight, and this time he’ll aim for her lips instead of her cheek. Killian’s a little nervous that she’ll slap him, though. Emma seems like the type of girl who just might. It’s one of the things he likes about her, actually. He lets out a deep breath and opens the door of the wardrobe.

Killian cocks his head and frowns when he sees the fluffy white plaything sitting inside the wardrobe. He pulls it out - it’s a stuffed rabbit with the softest, whitest fur he’s ever seen. It’s glass eyes are so bright they shine. Around the toy’s neck is a silky pink ribbon. He sets the rabbit down and climbs into the wardrobe. He slowly opens the door.

“Emma?”

The room is eerily quiet and empty. Emma is nowhere to be seen. He crawls down out of the wardrobe and looks all around at the large, strange room. The quilt he and Emma had shivered under is folded on the bed, yet a foreboding wind seems to blow through the entire house.

“Emma?”

Killian walks around, looks under the bed, behind a dresser. He stops at the door to the room, tentatively reaching out to touch the door knob. He’s just about to open it when a shaft of light shines behind him from the wardrobe door. His heart ricochets wildly in his chest as he dashes back to the magical piece of furniture. He has no idea what might happen if he gets stuck in Emma’s world, nor can he bear the thought of being forever separated from his brother. He drops the buttercups as he dashes across the room, accidentally crushing them beneath his bare feet.

He scrambles back into the wardrobe, tucks the rabbit under the crook of his arm, and hops out of the door on the other side. As he lands back in the ship’s hold, a small rectangle of paper flutters to the floor. He picks it up and reads it, thankful for once that Liam had nagged him to continue his studies after mother had passed. Emma must have left the toy for him. Maybe the note is from her!

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”

Killian knows what a proverb is, but he’s never heard this one before. It must be common in Emma’s realm. His heart sinks that the words aren’t Emma’s own, but he takes comfort that she chose to leave her toy. He also hopes she meant that she was his friend and that she would never forget him.

After all, Liam is his brother, and he always comforts him. Just like the proverb said.

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

Killian jolts awake from a nightmare. He blinks his eyes to banish the images of blood splashing onto the deck, his brother crying, the fire across his back. His scars, though healed, still itch and pull at times. He reaches around to touch them gently, half expecting to find blood on his fingers. His body shakes as he releases a ragged breath. Just a dream.

He reaches beneath his itchy blanket and feels the soft toy Emma had given him a week ago. He pulls it out, holds it close, and breathes in the pleasant scent of it. Things in Emma’s realm are so clean and smell so lovely. How do they manage it? He tucks the plaything beneath his cheek, relishing the way it cools his skin. He hasn’t dared let anyone, even Liam, see the bunny. They would ridicule him for sure. He already receives more than his share of mockery for being the youngest on board; he certainly isn’t going to give the crew further reason to torment him.

Killian fingers the silky ribbon as more pleasant dreams fill his mind of comfortable beds, cozy quilts, and Emma’s smile. He’ll hide the bunny beneath his blankets before dawn, but for now, no one needs to know how he takes comfort from it.

Unfortunately, his nightmares have worn him out more than he had realized, and it’s long past sunrise when he blinks his eyes open again. He opens them to the sound of laughter.

“Look at the baby with his poppet!”

“What a pretty ribbon you have there, Killy-Cat.”

Killian shrinks in on himself at the nickname and the word “pretty.” The man adds kissing sounds to the insult, and fear swells in Killian’s chest that he might snatch him and drag him behind the supply barrels again.

A beefy hand reaches out, and Killian recoils. The sailor snatches the rabbit, thankfully, and not the boy. Killian’s relief is short-lived, however, when the men start tossing the rabbit to each other, mocking their little cabin boy with it.

“Stop!” Killian shouts, jumping from his hammock.

The sailors tease him, dangling the rabbit just out of his reach. He jumps up and races around, but he can never grab a hold of the toy. Panic grips him as he realizes how much he wants to hold onto his only tie to Emma. The wardrobe has disappeared again just as mysteriously as it had appeared, and that rabbit is all he has left of his only friend besides his brother.

One of the men grab Killian around the waist and toss him over his shoulder. Guffawing, they all head up the ladder out of the hold. Killian kicks at his captor, demanding he let him go. Where is Liam?

“Want your poppet, little girl?” Cook teases, dangling the rabbit over the railing.

“No, don’t!” Killian screams, which only make the men laugh harder.

“How bad do you want it?” the man who holds him asks, and before Killian can process what is happening, the brute of a man is dangling him over the railing. He holds Killian by the back of his nightshirt, and laughs as the boy kicks and flails.

“Let him go!”

Relief washes over Killian at the sound of his brother’s voice. But the huge sailor just knocks Liam aside as if he were no bigger than a gnat.

“What the bloody hell is this!” another voice thunders, and suddenly Kilian is being deposited with a thud back onto the deck. The crew scrambles to look more presentable as the captain marches forward, his face crooked and red with anger. “Ye scallywags have work to be doin’!”

“We was just teasin’ the cabin boy is all,” Cook explains.

“He got a poppet looks like, from the last port,” the bosun puts in. “It just tickled us, and I suppose we got carried away.”

“A poppet?” the Captain barks, and Liam steps in front of his little brother surreptitiously.

“See,” Cook says, tossing the toy to the Captain.

The Captain looks the white rabbit over, that permanent scowl that he always wears making it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “Cabin boy!” he barks.

On trembling legs, Killian steps forward, his head down.

“Where did you get this?”

“A - a friend gave it to me.”

Killian is shocked when the back of the Captain’s hand connects with his cheek. The force of it sends his head snapping to the side. He bites down on his lip to keep from crying.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. First of all, no one on my crew is to be pilfering anything when we make port. It only brings trouble down on us all.”

There is a long, heavy silence as the man steps closer to Killian. He grabs Killian roughly by the front of his nightshirt and hauls him up. He shakes Killian until the boy sees stars.

“And second, this ship is no place for babies or little girls. If that’s what you are, then perhaps I’ll just keep your brother and drop you at an orphanage in the nearest port.”

“No!” Liam cries. “Don’t separate us, please sir!”

The captain drops Killian back to the deck with a thud, then unceremoniously tosses the stuffed toy overboard. When he turns to head back to his quarters, he stops and spits on the Jones boys.

“Then tell your brother to grow up.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #someone to watch over me rewrite #captain swan au #neverland au #childhood sweethearts #angst #slow burn #little!emma #little!killian #loosely based on canon #soul mates #magic wardrobes #fate

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2uselessgays · 5 years ago

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Hanzo x Reader - Hanamura

This wretched place. This cursed castle. Two years of rich, livid history lived within these walls, the history of the Shimada clan.

The battle that changed everything emptied this place. The two brothers - Genji and Hanzo Shimada - It shook the entire district of Hanamura, and ended in one of the brothers, Genji’s demise.

So today, you had come here to pay your respects to him. A worthy friend. Your eyes gazed before the mural that centred the courtyard of the castle. A corner had been cut, saturated in dried blood, the legendary blood of Genji.

As you walk closer to the mural, you hear something… Soft, quiet footsteps, trying to mask themselves. Someone else was here. No, someone was creeping up behind you. You look behind you, but nothing was there. ‘’What was that?"’ You think to yourself, pondering who it could possibly have been. No-one should have returned here, not ever. This horrid place should have been rid of any living creature, not even the omnics dare to go near it - thinking the battle that went on still curses everything that goes near. It should have been burnt to a crisp years ago.

You walk into the courtyard, warm, salty tears trailing down your face because of what had happened. You peacefully sit down against a wall, you grab a canvas and a paint brush and start painting in the castle. Another annual tribute to Genji. You thought everything was fine, and that everything is safe.. Until another sound gets made… It sounds like.. Human footsteps? They really do not want to be noticed, weird. You brush it off as the wind, thinking it was too quiet.. But oh boy, you were wrong. You feel as if someone was watching you. And that’s when it happened - An arrow, it flew right besides your head, gracing your hair. You quickly try to get up, but something stops you. The intruder had grabbed you firmly by the shoulder.

You turn your head and then it happened. You were face to face with the legendary (not) brother, Hanzo. He had grown from his past image. He had a beard now, well kept, and he had a small put atop his head, a ribbon laced around it. You muster up the courage ask him, ‘’Wh-what do you want from me?’’ In a shaky voice, fear betraying your tone.

‘’Why are you here?’’ He asks, sternly. You’re absolutely terrified, shaken up by fear, too much to answer him, and try to run away, but it doesn’t work. His grip tightens, his voice gets more serious, his face angry. His gaze burns deeply into your eyes, wanting a direct and honest answer. He wasn’t going to let you go easily. You weren’t stupid. You finally replied with ‘’Why would you care..? You killed your own brother! Forsaken him, brought immense dishonour to your family, Hanzo. Do you feel no remorse? Why would you protect this place?’’ He sighs deeply. Not answering your question, not saying anything at all. He looks at you, deeply, trying to figure out your intent. ‘’Well? Tell me!’’ You shout. ‘Fuck, why did I say that?’ You thought to yourself.

Quite suddenly, his demeanour changes. His look changes to that of sorrow, his grip on you weakening. He let go of you, taking a moment to sit at the mural. You joined him, still cautious. “I come here annually to grieve the death of my brother. To reflect on the damage and dishonour I have brought. I did not expect to see anyone else here. Especially for the same reason as I. I will ask you again. Why are you here?”

You swallowed your bated breath, finally deciding to give an honest answer. He seemed genuine with you. You threw your head down, exhaling deeply. “I come here whenever I can to pay my respects to your brother, Genji. He was a dear friend to me. He was there for me when no-one else was. When I needed someone the most. That is why I can never let go of this place. You may see him as a playboy or a laid back fool, Hanzo, but he was far from that. He just didn’t want anything to do with the clan. Is that so wrong?” You say longingly, patiently waiting for an answer. “Answer me, Hanzo. Is that so wrong?” You say, raising your voice once more. You wanted to know so desperately why this man had killed your only and dearest friend.

Hanzo looked at you. With tears in his eyes and remorse in his voice, he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t control his sobs. ‘’I can only apologise, even though it may never change the past.. Killing my brother was my biggest mistake, my biggest regret, my biggest pain. It should have been me who passed away that night. It should have been me, it should have been me! I’m a mistake, I’m a disgrace, I’m a cold hearted murderer. Just because my brother wanted to live his own life away from our misdeeds.. Genji, forgive me..’’ Ending that sentence in tears all over.

You look at him, angrily, but forgivingly. You realise he truly regrets his misdeed. So you decide to comfort him. You hesitantly wrap your arms around him, gently squeezing, as he relaxes into you, tears staining your skin, saying, ‘’Hanzo, I know you regret your past. And what you did was truly unforgivable. But you have to accept what happened to truly accept yourself and make it onto the path of redemption. The bittersweet release of death will never make up for Genji’s passing. But you can make up by doing good, helping the ones who need help.’’

It was then, that everything started to make sense to Hanzo. He needed you, he could not bear to feel this emptying loneliness any longer. He had to forbid you from leaving him.This feeling was foreign to him. Hanzo did not confess, people confessed to him. It was a new feeling, one he could not cope with. He was too stubborn to admit this feeling would defeat him. You part ways before he could say anything else.

He sat in the bar, drowning his feelings in sake. It wasn’t strong enough to mute everything in his mind. But he could not stop thinking about you. No matter what he did, who he talked to. All that was on his mind was you. He had never felt like this ever before, so he had no idea what the hell to do or how to express these feelings. He’d see you around Hanamura, but did not know how to approach or strike up conversation. So, all he could think of... was going to the castle. Hoping and praying he would see you there again, so he could talk to you. But his attempt was hopeless. You never came, not a single time for 2 months. But he would not give up, he never would, remaining steadfast. Even after these 2 months it was only you that was in this mind. Despite all that, life still went on.

Another month passed.

Another two.

A year had gone by.

The day of Genji’s death had come once again, and he had firm hope you’d be at the castle to pay your respects to the younger Shimada. And there you were, finally after a year. He’d see you again. Except, you weren’t alone. You were with someone. You were holding hands. You embraced that person when you couldn’t hold back tears. He had almost given up completely… Until they left. You were all alone again, so you went back to the courtyard. Back to the exact spot where you met Hanzo. Back to the arrow that was still in the wall. You once again grabbed your unfinished painting from last year and your brushes.

As you sat down, you started painting the castle once again.. But something was different. There was no sound, not even the sound of wind. Nothing. You sighed very deeply, disappointed that you did not see him.. The one person you wanted to see all this time. When you finished the painting, you heard a voice. The voice said, ’’You have mastered a skillful art. Where did you learn to paint like that?’’ You recognise that voice. With a smile on your face you turn around to see him. He was standing right there. He hadn’t changed a bit. Like he hadn’t aged at all. ‘’I hoped I would see you here.’’ Hanzo said longingly, hoping for a reaction back. ‘’I… I waited a year for you, why did you never come…?’’ You say.

With a frown on his face he sat down next to you. As he explained everything to you, you got closer to him. To the point you were basically touching each other… Without thinking twice you wrap your arms around him once again, saying, ‘’I’m so sorry. I never knew you didn’t know how to tell me… I should have come to you, Hanzo. I saw you all over Hanamura, yet never thought once to approach, thinking you had better things to do. I regret my hesitation greatly. It’s all okay now, you’ve told me everything.’’

‘’Hanzo.. I know we don’t know each other at all. But I genuinely feel like… Like we have known each other for years.. And I just don’t want to leave you again. It hurt so much last time.. So, promise me.. You won’t leave me this time? Stay by my side, be happy with me…’’ You say with a concerned voice.

‘’I promise.’’ he mutters.

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

Hope you enjoyed! Part 2 coming soon.

Posted on Wattpad too.

Written collaboratively by ☆Mod Sakura and ♡Mod Noel

#hanzoshimada #hanzoxreader #hanzo #shimada #hanamura #overwatch #overwatch x reader #mywriting

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tempuraprops · 6 years ago

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Raphtalia Hair Accessories Tutorial

What I used:

Craft foam

X-acto knife

Gold Paint

Glue gun

Sponge cord (diameter 0.5cm)*

*This just happened to be something I had lying around. You could just cut some strips from craft foam to save buying another material. But from a quick search, the cord is pretty inexpensive (and I’ve used it in quite a few other projects because I like the rounded edge.)

This is a pretty simple project, so the explanation will be pretty short.

I started by deciding how long I wanted them to be. I used paper to pattern a rectangle. I estimated a width then rolled the paper to check I was happy with it. The dimensions I decided on were 3cm x 8cm

I used this as a stencil and cut two rectangles out of foam. I then glued them into tubes, by gluing along the shorter edge. Next, I cut the cord to the same width as the rectangle and glued it into a circle, then glued it to the foam tube (I glued it inside so you wouldn’t see messy lumps of glue on the viewable edges.) I repeated this for both ends of both tubes.

Then I just painted them by sponging on the gold paint. To finish them off I coated them in mod podge (but I’m not sure how necessary this step is).

Tips for keeping them on! :

When I wore them they would slide off from time to time, but my lovely mother came up with the idea of using some duct tape, folding it a few times, and tying a hair band around it, so it would bulk up the area and keep the hair accessory on. I’m sure you could use something else, so long as it’s somewhat bulky when folded, but can squeeze to fit over. I’m not sure I explained that very well, so here’s a photo to help illustrate tha0t:

Here’s a shot of them on:

(Yes, my ribbon is not tied in this photo 😭)

Thanks for reading, I hope this could be of use to some people!

I actually made these for a different cosplay almost a year ago, but because someone complimented them on my Raphtalia cosplay I decided to make this tutorial!

#cosplay tutorial #foam props #cosplay help #simple prop making #cheap prop #cheap cosplay #raphtalia #rising of the shield hero #tate no yuusha #tate no yuusha no nariagari #the rising of the shield hero #shield hero

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ultimateclownimagines · 6 years ago

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Ultimate Spy

This was on my original DR blog, but I’ve moved it here! I don’t own anything canon of Danganronpa, but there are original OCs here that are mine! Hope you all like it!

- Mod Chiaki

I never quite thought about what my actions would do to people in the long run. I never quite thought about the effects that happen after I drop into a new mission sight. My policy is just to get into places and get out with all the information I can. This case was supposed to be the same as any other: get inside unnoticed, find the information, and then get out once said information was acquired, but I didn’t realize that this was a trap that I actually walked into. Not set up by the people who hired me, mind you, but by people who most definitely were not expecting me.

I guess I should start at the beginning… My name is Chia Fumei and I am known as the Ultimate Spy… I’m a student at the renowned school known as Hope’s Peak Academy and this is my story of encountering the Ultimate Despair sisters as well as the Ultimate Hope. Except, I didn’t always know him as the Ultimate Hope, at one time, he was just my friend… Hajime Hinata… A Reserve Course student at Hope’s Peak, but that’s not important now.

About three years ago, I was scouted by Hope’s Peak Academy as their Ultimate Spy and I was dropped into Class 77-B; my first day at the school could’ve been classified as ordinary, but that would mean my teacher was sober enough to stop the rest of the students leaving the classroom. I guess it would’ve been smart of me to stay too, but usually people don’t notice an ordinary girl like me. I’m plain as day type of Jane… If that makes sense. I wandered the halls until I decided that what would really test my ultimate ability is if I could find the secrets of Hope’s Peak out. The system the school held must have been massive and the bubbling sensation of excitement boiled in me as I ran to the library and began my research on Hope’s Peak.

That’s what happened for the first month of the term; every day I would do more and more research about Hope’s Peak, but I would always hit a wall when I was getting to the good stuff. Sighing for the upteenth time, I shut the, what seemed like, four hundredth book and leaned against one of the many dusty bookshelves and stared up at the ceiling. Unlike a detective type of person, I hated secrets, I hated mysteries, all I ever wanted was answers.

“Hello there, Chia!” A very obnoxious, perky voice filled my ears as I looked over. A orange haired… maid(?) was waving at me with a few of my classmates behind her. I tilted my head in confusion, who was this woman? “I knew I would find you here! I was telling your classmates that an Ultimate Spy could be anywhere, but I had a feeling that you would want to look more into Hope’s Peak! Especially a foreigner like you!” What? What is this lady talking about? “So, I said to the others, I bet she’s researching! Ultimate Spies like to have every last detail on display or they can’t do their jobs and here you are!”

“...Um… Yeah, I would agree with that, but I’m not a foreigner” I informed her, standing up, “I’m Japanese and I’m originally from Shibuya.”

“Oh, dear… I’m so sorry! I thought your hair meant you were a foreigner!” She bows to me, maintaining that comforting smile she aimed specifically at me.

“I… Dye my hair peach…” I sigh gently tugging at the hair, “My literal sister has this beautiful peach hair, but mine is naturally just dark… I thought that while I was in school, I would change it up a bit, you see… I don’t like looking so… plain…”

“Well, I don’t think you look so plain, but your appearance is what makes such a great Ultimate Spy!” The woman encouraged me, holding out her hand, “I’m your new teacher, call Miss Yukizome! I’m here to bring you back to class, so you can strengthen your bonds with your classmates!” She smiles brightly at me. Without a second thought, I just agreed to along with her and we rounded up the rest of our classmates as well as dropping off Kazuichi at the Nurse’s Office with Mikan because, by some miracle, he survived being hit by a bus.

I can’t say that my time with my classmates was horrible; I quite enjoyed being around them. All the laughter, all the dreams, all of the bonding, it was all amazing, but I couldn’t help but feel like there was a piece of the puzzle missing. Something about Hope’s Peak made me feel uneasy, like there was something much worse going on behind the scenes.

It was confirmed to me when Miss Yukizome showed up at my house one night. She was in her usual blue blazer outfit and her hair was tied up in that white ribbon, but she wasn’t wearing her usual apron, “Miss Yukizome? How may I help you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Chia, but may I come inside? I have something important to talk to you and your parents about.” She smiles at me as I move to let her inside my home. A two bedroom, one bathroom apartment with ugly mustard colored walls and dark brown carpeting. This was my home… My home with my little sister, Yukue.

“I’m sorry, Miss Yukizome, but my parents aren’t here.”

“Oh?” She tilts her head at me as I lead her to the conjoined kitchen and living room, “Where are they? Will they be back soon?”

“No, they died,” I stated plainly, walking into the kitchen to start making tea, “Is green tea alright? We don’t have much else than that, but I’m sure Yukue could run to the store.”

“No, no, please don’t go to any trouble because of me,” Miss Yukizome smiled at me with that same comforting smile she always has, “If your parents have passed, how are you and your sister living here?”

“My paternal uncle pays for this apartment for us and gives us enough money to serve on a month to month basis,” I stated, starting to boil water on the stove inside a chipped white tea pot. I made my way back over to the dining table where Miss Yukizome sat. The black poker table and the uncomfortable black chairs weren’t much, but it was home to us.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry about your parents,” She gave me a small bow of her head.

“You don’t seem too surprised about it. Get a good look at my profile?” I teased her a little, already knowing she’s looked into me. Who wouldn’t? As a teacher, she already seems to want to do everything for my classmates and myself.

“You could say that,” She laughs lightly, tracking me with her eyes while I got back to go into the kitchen. The screeching sound of the pot had just began, hissing steam out of the spot like I was in a sauna, “So, what really brings you here?” I ask her, pouring the teach into two cups and walking back over to her with her, probably very bad, tea. Miss Yukizome gratefully took the cup and placed manila envelope in front of me.

“What’s this?” I questioned her, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve done more than just looked into your immediate background,” She sets her tea down, and bows deeply to me, “You see, I also looked into all the assignments you’ve taken and I think your more than qualified to help me.” She sits back up, looking me in the eyes earnestly.

“Help you?” I quirked a dark eyebrow at her, “With what?”

“I didn’t come to Hope’s Peak to be your teacher. I mean, that’s partially why I came here, but the real reason I came here was because Hope’s Peak is working on something terrible.”

“Terrible? Terrible how?”

“Well,” she hesitates, “I don’t know everything fully. I need your help to get some more information,” She sighs, looking dejected, “I’m afraid I need you to come with me to the Reserve Course.” My eyes didn’t really weaver, but I’m sure my face contorted into something that was another version of amused and confused.

“Why the reserve course?” I asked, tilting my head. I know Miss Yukizome had been demoted because of the whole Nagito and the bomb business, but why do I need to come along?

“I’ve heard there are students who are just up and disappearing without a trace. That’s where you come in. I need your help,” She places her hands together in a form of begging, “Please?”

“Well, I’m not just going to agree right off the bat,” I informed her, going into full on business mode, “I don’t do favors. I do business. If you want something, you have to offer something up in return,” I gently sip my tea, trying to make myself seem intimidating, but the moment the awful tea hit my tongue, I started sputtering and choking. Damn… I quickly stood up and walked into the kitchen after snatching Miss Yukizome’s tea. I could hear her giggle softly and the blush began to form on the back of my neck, all the way over my dark cheeks.

“And what would get you to agree?” She continued to giggle, I let out a small whine and a pout as I made my way back over to my seat.

“Why did the school bury the Kuzuryu murder and the Sato murder?” I asked her, cupping my hands in front of my face, elbows on the table, “Doesn’t that make it much worse than how it started?” Miss Yukizome’s eyes feel as she let out a small sigh.

“I don’t know why they covered it up. I do know that that isn’t the only shady business the school is involved in. We… We need new management Chia, Hope’s Peak is not the school it was and we have to stop anymore trepederity that will follow.” She looks at me, with genuine concern in her eyes. She truly does care for this academy… Or is it for somebody else?

“I can’t do my job without all of the factors on the table,” I told her, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, “But if you can figure out a good excuse to make absence not suspicious as well as getting me into the reserve course without the principal knowing, I’ll help you.” I nod my head in finality, “But that means that you cannot contact me in school unless its an emergency. I’ll have to change my appearance and I can’t let you know who I am. It’s my policy to have total anonymity.”

“My, you’re so formal,” She laughs a bit, “You’re so different when you’re working than when you’re in class.”

“In class, I can be myself without any worries, but when I’m working, I have to become somebody else.” Miss Yukizome held out her hand to me.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll come to you with any information I have and you will help me unearth the activities the school is doing. Do we have a deal?” Hesitantly, I took her hand, shaking it. I sealed my fate.

Within a week, my transfer was handled by one, Kyosuke Munakata, who paid my way into the Reserve Course as Ainu Nakano. A girl who was the cousin of Kyosuke and had everything she could ever want when it comes to money. Her father is a top notch human rights lawyer here in Tokyo and her mother was a beautiful aristocrat who thrived on the praise and appeals from others. Ainu would be blonde with long wavy hair, with foundation as light as I could get it, I made sure her face and hands were a peachy pale. The leggings should cover my dark legs and the contacts make my brown eyes now a bright blue. I made sure that the fake teeth were sparking white and that my nails were done in a cheerleader pink. This is who I am for the next bit of time, Ainu Nakano. When I was sure every nook and cranny of myself looked different, I set out for Hope’s Peak like normal, only today, I was going to join the Reserve Course.

It was unusual for me to feel nervous during a job, but I seemed to be realizing that, if I’m caught, I won’t be the only one in trouble. Not only will Miss Yukizome be caught, but this Kyosuke guy is her leader or something and that means things will be even worse. I’m they have other eyes and ears around this whole school too, so it is imperative that I stay focused and do my job correctly. Feeling the light sweat boil up on my neck, I walk into the classroom with the stiff professor ahead of me. He wasn’t very friendly which tells me nobody quite likes this program that we’ve got going on here.

“Listen up, ya buncha brats,” The teacher clamored, slapping the board with all of his strength, making me flinch. The entire class turned towards him with bored expressions on their faces, “We’ve, unfortunately, got a new student. Treat her well, show her the ropes, blah, blah, blah,” He huffs, collapsing in his chair, “Nobody wake me. Even if somebody is dying.” And with that he was out. Leaving me to stand at the front of the room feeling very uneasy. Oh yeah, I am definitely in enemy territory. What have I gotten myself into?

“Hey,” A female voice called to me and, as I looked up, I saw a girl with with bushy blue hair. She looked kind of fed up with her whole situation, but she continued speaking, “What’s your name?”

“Um… Ainu Nakano,” I murmured, bowing slightly. Play up the shy girl act as best as you can, Chia, “It’s a pleasure…”

“You better sit down, Ainu,” She informs me once more, pointing to the empty desk next to hers, “Attendance is mandatory and if you’re caught out of your seat, you’re reported as absent for the day and will get class detention.” Yikes… This school is super strict. Quickly and quietly, I shuffled my feet to the desk next to hers. The girl cracked a grin at me, “I’m Sachiko, but my friends call me Sachi. Let’s be friends, okay?” I smile at her and nod my head. Okay, looks like nobody noticed anything. I looked around the classroom and noticed three more desks were open.

“Why are there so many people missing class?” I asked, tilting my head at Sachiko. Her eyes darkened a bit before she smiled and waved off my question, “Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it.” She points to the board, “We have to get our work done before Mr. Kinjin wakes up, ya got it? He’ll have your ass if he thinks you’ve been slacking.”

That’s strange… A slacker teacher punishes slackers? Such a hypocrite. I opened the textbook that was neatly placed in my desk and I began my busy work. Looks like things won’t be easy here.

I spent the next month in this school trying to dig up as much information as I could find. The teachers and students don’t know their butts from their elbows here. Even though they paid thousands of yen to get into this school, they still have no idea what is going on here. It wasn’t until one day, as I was working in the library, did I hear two boys talking,

“Man, I wonder what Hajime did to get expelled,” Sighed the brown haired boy two tables in front of me.

“I dunno, dude, but I heard he hasn’t been home in weeks,” Piped the black haired boy next to him.

“Really? You think it has to do with that guy who’s been abducting kids?”

“What!? There’s a guy like that!?”

“Nah, I just wanted to see how you would react,” The brown haired boy cackled as the black haired one held his heart. Bingo. A boy named Hajime has been expelled and missing, huh? I typed out a text Miss Yukizome.

‘What do you know about a Reserve Course student named Hajime?’ And send… Okay, now to pack up my things and wait for a reply. It didn’t take long for a response.

‘He’s a friend of Chiaki’s. I heard he was expelled. Why?’

‘Do you know why he was expelled?’ I started looking through the shelves of the library for a student registry. There has to be one here somewhere… As I continued to scavenge through the shelves, I felt my phone vibrate in my hand.

‘I couldn’t find out anything when I was looking… What’re you getting at?’

‘I think he is connected to the missing students. In fact, I think he is missing himself.’ The next response was faster than the rest.

‘I need you to do an infiltration tonight. I found a lead.’ I sent an affirmative response before pulling out the student registry booklet. As I searched through the pictures of students from previous years, I came across one Hajime Hinata. A handsome looking boy with weird spiky hair… So he was definitely a Reserve Course student, although that was easily deduced earlier… He’s about my age… And the teacher put down that he was in love with Hope’s Peak Academy’s Ultimate course… And that’s all the seemed relevant… Sighing, I walked out of the library with the page from the registry in my hand, the registry back on the shelf. Guess I’ll find out what’s going on later.

That night, when I realized Miss Yukizome wanted me to infiltrate the main building of Hope’s Peak, I thought she was nuts. I mean, sure, I can get in and out, but that isn’t exactly what I was expecting. I haven’t done a mission like this since the Prime Minister asked my bug his wife’s bathroom… Why me?

Miss Yukizome told me to find out all I could about the Izuru Kamakura Project… Can’t be that hard, right? Wrong. Dead wrong. 100% wrong. This school has so much security, they could tell you the last person who sneezed, but here I am, dressed up like a teacher, walking the halls like I belong here. I’m not even getting paid for this. This sucks!

As I make my way into the data center, I took out my little virus system and plugged it into the USB drive. I watched as all the monitors in the school began to glitch out except for the one I’m using. Confirming that there was nobody around and everybody was headed to the main control center to fix the bug in the security room, I got to work. I used every password known to man that the Headmaster could’ve used. Good thing he’s such a dad, I smirked to myself as I typed in ‘Kyoko Kirigiri’ and with a validated big, the computer opened up to me.

Bingo. I used everything I knew to get into the strongest locks of the computer and pulled up information on the Izuru Kamakura Project, but what I thought I could have been prepared for was way more out of left field than I realized. Human… experimentation…? No way! As I tried to get more and more information, I quickly figured out that no matter what I trick I could think of, I couldn’t get access to at least eighty five percent of the rest of the documents… Damn… Sighing, I looked at what else I could get my hands on and that was a list of the people who were being experimented on, but there was only one person who survived so far… Hajime Hinata.

When the footsteps of the guards began resounding outside my door, I made a quick attempt to get out of the computer and sneak my way through the air vents. Looks to me I’ll be visiting the Hope’s Peak medical center after all and I’ll have to meet up with my Ultimate Forensic Analysis herself later on… If Miss Yukizome will let me get in contact with her. Still, the most important part before I find Hosei is getting inside the medical center and finding this Hajime. If he can give me the answers I’m looking for, I’m sure this will help the rest of the students who lost their lives. Steeling my resolve, I made my way home as quietly as possible.

The next evening was my next phase, infiltrating the medical center. This is more my style because I don’t actually have to hack into stuff and I can just hang out in the background of scenes. Going in through the back door, I stole a doctor’s badge (female, of course) and made my way through the halls. Thank god these aren’t photo IDs or else I’d be in deep trouble. I passed one doctor after another, making sure to smile and nod at them, trying to keep the suspicion off of me at all costs. Gently, I grabbed a medical kit with a bunch of needles inside of it. Weird, why would they need so many needles for one kid…? On second thought, we don’t need to answer that yet.

As I was walking the halls, I spotted a man that I did not expect to see this very night: Jin Kirigiri. The Headmaster of Hope’s Peak… Somebody that all the students trusted… So he knew about the human experimentation after all? What kind of man would allow his own students to be experimented on!? Trying to keep control of my emotions, I stealthily started to follow Kirigiri, but I never did truly realize he knew I was following him until much, much later. Kirigiri went into a room for a while, and then left while giving a small chuckle.

“Get some rest, Hajime,” He calls into the room, “You have another surgery tomorrow.”

“Yes sir!” The voice called back as Kirigiri made his way back down the hallways, passing me while I hid in a deserted hallway. Once I was sure he was gone, I snuck into Hajime’s room where I saw the boy I had been looking for… Only… Something seemed off about this boy as compared to the boy in the picture… This one seemed… Happier? Who would be happy about human experimentation!? This school is weird.

Hajime looked up at me in surprise, and then he tilts his head, “Do you… need more blood?” He asks nodding to the kit in my hands. Ooooh… These are for blood… That makes more sense… Jeez, needles make me so squeamish… I smile at him, walking over to him.

“This won’t take long, Mr. Hinata,” I informed him as I sat at the end of the bed. He rolls up his blue hospital sleeve and reaches his arm out to me.

“With how many tubes you have, I expect it to take at least ten minutes,” He jokes with me as I look around the kit. I should’ve asked somebody how you draw blood before I did this, but nobody told me I was going to have to take somebody's blood! I pull a need out and Hajime tilts his head at me, confused, “Don’t you need the blue elastic to wrap around my arm? So you can find a good vein?”

“Oh! Right, right!” Taking a breath, I pull out the blue elastic and start tying it to his arm.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” He smiles kindly at me and, without even thinking, I nodded my head. Hajime took the wrap off his arm, took mine, rolled up the doctor’s jacket I had swiped from the front, and then wrapped it around my arm, “You do it like this, and then you take this disinfectant,” He holds it up for me to see, “and rub it on the vein, and then you take that needle and poke it into the vein to retrieve the blood.” That makes sense… I nod my head, removing the elastic from my arm.

“Alright, I get,” I smile at him, “Thank you.” I wrap the elastic around his arm and do as he told me, but the moment of using the needle arrived and I had no idea what I was doing!

“...You’re not really a doctor, are you?” He asks me. Fuck, busted, “Are you… A student?” Double busted. I think he can read my soul! Or my face is just giving him all of the answers. Bad spy, bad spy! “What’s a student like you doing in here? I thought I was the only one.” If you don’t say anything, he call the guards, but if you say something, you’re totally breaking spy code. Whatever that is, I dunno, I’m panicking at this point! “Hey, you don’t need to worry,” He smiles at me again, “I won’t tell on you.”

I sigh, hanging my head, “Never failed a mission before and here I am… Failing one now…”

“So you are a student?”

“Yes… My name is… Chia.” I told him, removing the fake glasses from my eyes, “I was actually looking for you, Hajime,” I smile, trying to be as reassuring and friendly as possible. He eyes me with his brown irises and crosses his arms.

“Don’t tell me. You’re here to help escape, right? Well, jokes on you, I don’t want to leave.”

“No, no! It’s nothing like that,” I tell him, holding my hands up, “I’m just here to learn about the missing students. I just wanted to know what happened to them.” Okay, not fully truth, but not fully a lie, “I would like to get them back to their families.”

“Other students?” He tilts his head as if he was thinking hard, “The only person I know that is a student is Yusuke, but he’s the neurologist around here.” ...There’s such a thing as kid neurologist- Never mind, I’ve heard of stranger ultimate talents.

“So there aren’t any other students on this floor?”

“Well, you’re here, so that means you’re the only other one besides me and Yusuke.”

“...So what’re you doing here then?” I question with a tilt of my head.

“I’m achieving my dreams.” He replied simply laying back in the bed, “Anyway, shouldn’t you be getting out of here? Somebody will notice that kit is missing and they’ll start searching for you.”

“A blood kit can’t be that important,” I scrunch my eyebrows in a frown, “Plus I just got here! Why should I leave now-“

“Has anybody seen a petite girl running around here!?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“A really plain looking girl! About this tall! Short, brown hair! Brown eyes! She looks like something you’d see in a role play game!”

“What?” Shouts outside of Hajime’s door cause my eyes to shot up in surprise. I look at him while he sports a cheeky smirk, opening his window for me.

“This may be your cue to run.” He chuckles as I start climbing out the window.

“Fine, I’ll leave now, but I most certainly will be back later!” I huff as I watch wave me off.

“Just don’t get caught… Chia,” He grins at me, shutting the window after I started climbing down. This boy is going to make me lose my mind, I can already tell.

So, for the next half a year, I went to visit Hajime while he was having his procedures done until one day, when I went to see him, he was gone. After getting to know the boy who thought he was nothing without an Ultimate talent and to suddenly disappear… It was almost as if his disappearance was a bad omen because everything went to hell after that.

#danganronpa #danganronpa oc #super danganronpa two #danganronpa goodbye despair #hajime hinata #fanganronpa

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everlarkchristmasgifts · 6 years ago

Text

Thanks to all the mods putting this Holiday prompt page together! Thank you for all your hard work and contributions to the Tumblr everlark family now and in the past.

A/N: This is part one of a hasty, four-day attempt to multi-part a drabble set for @everlarkchristmasgifts ‘s prompts. It may not get done on time, but they say it’s good to believe in miracles at Christmas, lol.

This part rated G

Thanks to @alliswell21 for giving it a beta read on quick notice.

And… *deep inhale, because why on earth am I trying to butcher one of my favorite stand alone drabbles with a sequel???**… this follows on the events of Pasty White Raisin.

________________________________________________

“Shopping…”

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush. There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined. And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue. The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.

A friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment. Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic. Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…” He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office. “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp. She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature. Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise. He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast. They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together. By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press. The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television. Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway. He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t. He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.

#everlark #everlarkchristmasgifts #day one: christmas shopping #by dandeliononfire #fan fic #2018 #submission

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lotidge · 6 years ago

Text

Lotidge Playlist

Fickken Finally right guys? Did one of these for Shidge, so its only right that I do one for Lotidge!

- mod potential

1. If You Leave Me Now - Charlie Puth ft. Boyz II Men

He’s been hurt worse. He’s suffered wounds dealt to him by bigger and stronger opponents. But her? Lotor couldn’t even bear to label her as such. Even when she killed him like this.

2. Fire Meet Gasoline - Sia

That was the problem, Shiro mused. They were too much alike. They hurt the same way. Fought and killed similarly to. And when they met? On opposite sides of the war? How could their attraction not result in chaos?

3. Infected - Sidekick

It was their game. Catch him, catch her. Outsmart her, outsmart him. Over and over, such was the nature of this dangerous play of their’s. And Lotor relished the chase. Fangs flashing and claws sharpened. He loved it. And, deny it as she might, so did Pidge.

4. Morning Doves - Mikky Ekko

He was right there. Bleeding, weak, and defeated. It’d only take one shot, only one, and everything would be over. This war, this power struggle. All of it would be finished with a single mercy kill. But could Pidge bear to do it? When he looked at her, bleeding and broken and begging for it? I think you know the answer.

5. Take What I Can Get - Matthew Mayfield

There were moments when he was genuine. Where he was soft and boyish, and not at all this picture perfect Prince. Moments where he just sat back and relaxed, silver-white hair blowing all around him like ribbons. Moments where he simply laughed while sprinkling birdseed onto the ground. Naturally he never knew that Pidge had been witness to those moments, but she treasured them all the same.

6. Beautiful Girl - Broken Iris

In the void, Lotor knew only pain. Drawn-out, torturous pain. Pain that played with him. Chewed him up and spit him out. Even agony seemed unwilling to accept him. And whose form this this pain decide to take? Not Allura, she had all but died to him. No. It was someone different. Someone who had always been in the corner of his eye, and never fully in front of him. Someone with shining cold eyes and curling amber hair. Someone beautiful. Someone cruel.

7. Dark In My Imagination - of Verona

She knew that she should stop thinking about it. But Pidge couldn’t help it. He haunted her. She was losing even more of what little sleep she had. Lotor seemed to circle around her at night. She just...felt him. Hands cupping her neck from behind, claws cold and slicing against the soft skin. Velvety breath next to ear as he gasped her name like a tease. Gentle, silken tickles of his bright hair against her shoulder he leaned over and...Pidge shuddered. Willing her imagination to stop.

8. Hymn - Kesha

He had to wonder, would things have turned out different? If he had met her Voltron sooner? Would he have made the right choices then? The right friends? The right lover? The ‘what ifs’ hurt Lotor more than the ‘right nows’. Because he was stuck. Thrown away and forgotten all because no one thought of his worth. But maybe...What if...No. No. It hurt. It hurts. And no one can help him. Not now, not ever.

9. All Night - Beyonce

Pidge never thought they’d see each other again. She never thought that he’d look at her like that, Allura all but a blip on his radar. She never thought he’d touch her like that. So, so very gently. Like a promise. A terrifying promise he was scared of breaking. And she never thought her heart would hammer so loudly for him. For Lotor

10. Say Yes To Heaven - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

Shiro should’ve known, should’ve seen it sooner. Lotor was so gentle with Pidge now. The void had...changed him. Not just his personality but his priorities. He should’ve seen it sooner. But he didn’t.

11. Tell Me How To Feel - Maggie Eckford

Pidge couldn’t stop shacking for an entire varga after leaving the void. Everyone had written it off as stress from all the quintessence. But in her heart, she knew better. She had heard the name Lotor whispered after all that rage and fury and terror. And it haunted her. “Pidge”

12. Roses - Lana Del Ray (Unreleased)

Pidge knew something was off before she even arrived at her door. There was this...overwhelming sweetness in the air. Somehow, someway it made her heart pound. The closer Pidge came to the source of it, her room, the warmer her body became. Flushing as if she was embarrassed. Then she saw it, when the door to her room slid open. The entirety of it absolutely covered in blushing flowers. Every shade of red, pink, and orange covered every inch of her room. Pidge stumbled back. Into a pair of warm arms. Silver hair flowing in her the corner of her eyes as she heard him. Lotor’s voice nothing more than a purr. “Hello Pidge~”

13. Requiem For Blue Jeans - Bastille

She was smarter than this. She had hacked the government, brokered peace deals, and helped defeat an evil warlord. She was better than this. But then Lotor threw her that look again and there went her heart. Flying up to her throat as he cornered her. All but pressing her up into the wall with his mouth, fangs sharp against her tongue. She’s smarter than this, Pidge told herself. But then whispered her name in such a way that made her want for something really, really stupid.

14. Angel On Fire - Halsey

Ambition burned in the both of them. Crawled under their skin like a disease. I can do better, I can do more, I can raze heaven and hell and force them to their knees. They were so alike in that sense. So prone to crashing and burning that it should’ve seemed obvious how brilliantly they collided with one another. Too kindred for hatred, and too spitting for infatuation. But just right for blazing, burning, scorching passion.

15. Give Me Love - Ed Sheeran

Pidge could understand it, she supposed. The loneliness of misunderstanding. Of no one giving you anymore than a single glance, a fleeting thought. Of being seen as so small and pathetic that you’re entire worth as a person became nothing. She could understand something like that. So it hurt her, deeper than words could explain, to leave Lotor there, in that void. Screaming for someone, anyone to please for the love of all that’s good and pure in this world listen to him, understand him please.

16. Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

Lotor disliked gatherings like this. Women and pretty boys dancing on tables. The gag-worthy scents of smoke, booze, and other things he’d rather not name in the air. But this was where his informant wanted to meet, so the Prince relented. And then the imbecile didn’t show altogether. Gritting his fangs, Lotor was about to leave. Then he saw her. Hidden away and pressed onto the wall. A girl watching him. Those same lonely eyes reflecting back at him. Gilded and gold and unashamed. And, suddenly, Lotor found himself liking this place a lot more.

===

Feel free to add onto this or take any of these as writing prompts! Just be sure to tag ;)

#lotidge #lotor #pidge #lotidge angst #lotidge playlist #playlist #songs #Mod potential #halsey #bastille #lana del rey #the neigbourhood #ed sheeran #beyonce #kesha #sia

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literallykenmaandshoyo · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday

Zen x Gender Neutral! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Usage of 'fem' pet names ex: Beautiful, darling and calling the reader lovely looking

Summary: Going to the beach with Zen (Based on his 2021 birthday screen)

Author's note: A little something for Zen's birthday! I came up with this in April and never really had a chance to finish this in time. (Has anyone seen the birthday screen for him? God the art is so pretty)(Also little dialogue in this I'm sorry I got too into making it all aesthetic)

-Mod Kenma

You woke up with the sun rising. You went to bed earlier than Zen, who was focused on a new script. You sat up and stretched before turning to look at your white-haired boyfriend. He was sound asleep, an arm lazily draped over your waist. You smiled softly. It was a rare occurrence to wake up before him. He was always so busy. You checked your phone quickly before officially getting out of bed. One specific notification caught your eye. It was a calendar notification, stating it was Zen's birthday. You smiled widely before hopping out of bed. You quietly rushed to the kitchen, getting ready to make breakfast.

You made pancakes, trying your best to make them look as cute as possible. You decorated it with fruits and bacon pieces. "I hope he likes it," you muttered to yourself, getting the mugs for coffee ready. You hummed as you grabbed the creamer and silently waited. You grabbed the tray and plated all of the food. You walked into the room and gently placed the food on his nightstand. You bent down to kiss his cheek, playing with his hair. "Happy birthday~" You whispered, peppering kisses onto his face. He groaned, lazily rubbing his eyes. He rolled over to face you, yawning before officially looking at you. "Good morning, beautiful." You blushed. Even though you two had been together for a hot minute, it was still embarrassing to hear him call you beautiful when you still had bedhead and were in your pj's. "I made you breakfast." You said, sitting next to him and grabbed the tray.

You smiled as he took a photo of the breakfast, glad that he seemed to enjoy how cute it was. "Thank you, darling." You grabbed your cup of coffee and watched him dig in, sneaking bites here in there. You two shared a few pancakes and bacon, feeding each other fruit. You got up to open the blinds and checked your phone again. You were glad that it was early so you two could spend some time together. "What would you like to do today?" You asked, brushing some of your hair out of your face. Zen finished his coffee and left a coffee-laced kiss on your cheek. You watched as he stretched and got out of bed. "Anything with you." Zen took the tray and went to the kitchen, you trailing behind him. You offered to wash the dishes but your boyfriend refused to let you. You sat on a counter and watched Zen wash the dishes. You hummed a tune from one of his musicals and played with the ends of his hair.

After washing the dishes, Zen picked you up and took you to the bathroom. You two brushed your teeth and did your skincare routine in comfortable silence. "You never answered my question." You said, turning towards him. You stuck your tongue out playfully, smiling. "Ah! Well, we should go for a ride." Your eyes lit up, excitedly. You loved riding on Zen's motorcycle. It was such a thrilling thing to do. You went through your closet and picked out a comfortable outfit, preferring something lightweight and flowy over something fit and on the formal side of things. Zen followed your lead, putting on a plain white t-shirt and some ripped jeans. You matched your cardigan with your cream bottoms before grabbing your white shirt. You looked at yourself in the mirror before smiling.

"You look so lovely," Zen said, tugging on his leather jacket. You gave him a small twirl and laughed. His hair was decorated with a beautiful baby blue ribbon. He pulled another ribbon of the same color and tied it around your neck, like a choker. You blushed, finding the sensuality of the ribbon flattering. You looked back in the mirror before slipping on your shoes. Zen took your hand and led you out of the house. You grabbed the spare helmet from the garage (that Zen let you put stickers on) and put it on. You let Zen help you onto his bike and started his bike.

The ride has always been something you considered breathtaking. You enjoyed the wind hitting your skin. It felt freeing. You liked looking at the cars passing by and the slowly growing blue sky, notifying you that the two of you were now getting near the sea. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of Zen's back relax you.

When you two reached the sea, you were able to take off your helmet. You ran your fingers through your hair and returned to looking for a parking space with Zen. Once you two found one, you hopped off the bike and followed your lovely boyfriend to the pier. The weather was perfect. It was indeed a little windy but not enough to cause discomfort. And besides, it wasn't like you two were going to go in the water anyways.

You and Zen walked hand in hand, taking in the salty sea air. You two watched fishermen, talking to them and hearing their stories. You even had the opportunity to fish a little. Zen, of course, was able to catch one. "Of course you caught one. You're good at everything." You teased, watching Zen release the fish back into the sea. "Well someone as perfect as me has to be good at everything." He responded, just as playful. You two continued to walk down the pier, reaching the fish and chips shop at the end.

You ordered just regular fish while Zen ordered tilapia. You two sat and watched the sun dance on the waves, enjoying the sounds of nature. When your food got there, Zen made sure your order was correct. He always did this. His excuse was 'if you got something you didn't order, that wouldn't be fair. you should get what you wanted'. You always admired him for looking out for you. He was as selfless as he was talented. You both dug into your food, talking about how good it was and how this restaurant was a place you two just had to take Jaehee to.

After eating, you two decided to go to the shore and look for any interesting rocks or shells. There weren't as many as you would have hoped but you did find perfect skipping stones. You and Zen tried your best to skip said stones but the waves wouldn't let the two of you go far. A few shells were found but they looked to be old homes of crabs.

Soon, the sun started to set. You two were walking along the shoreline, shoes off, feet in the sand. The waves tickled your ankles, bringing you seaweed and other small goodies. "I'm glad we got to spend this time together." You whispered, leaning onto Zen. "We're always so busy, only having time to relax when we're either getting up or going to sleep. I like spending time with you like this." You said, smiling softly. Zen looked at you, his eyes full of love and admiration for you. "I like spending time like this too."

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #fanfiction #mystic messenger x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #zen mystic messenger #hyun ryu #dating simulator

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daddyzanchez · 7 years ago

Note

Let's test mod's writing

My first fic, yay! I hope my writing gets approved, I’d love feedback because I’ve never done a Rick and Morty fic.

1600 words - erotica - F/M - oral sex, rough sex, slight name calling and just smut without plot

Here is a link for the same story but on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13044258

Honey, I’m Home

You knew the sound of a portal opening in your sleep, could recognise it in a crowd and it made you giddy. Rick being home after a long adventure with Morty meant that he was short on a dose of you, making him a little rougher than usual, and you loved it. It had been a week, a damn week they had been gone and Beth had been complaining into a phone which Rick had provided so they could stay in touch in form of what you would characterise as a next level long-distance phone call. On top of it all, a week also meant that you were short on a dose of him, and you decided to do something special for him; so now you were kneeling on the concrete floor of the garage, waiting like a dog who had just heard the door in the main hall be opened.

It was cold on your skin as you had decided not to wear a thing for him, only one of his chokers from when he had been in that band. He never talked about it or played you any of their music but somehow, you could sense that he missed it and so a little reminder would not hurt. The choker suited you, you had to admit and you couldn’t wait to see his face when he would see you totally in the nude with only a 90s trend around your neck. On top of it, you had struggled for good ten minutes with tying your wrists together in front of your body, a red ribbon from Beth’s box of gift wrapping stuff cuffing your arms together.

With no one home, except Morty who had most likely locked himself in his room with his laptop, you had the whole house to yourself and that also meant that you could be a little louder than normally. It was the perfect opportunity for a “Welcome Home”-fuck.

Rick finally entered the garage and his reaction was absolutely perfect, just what you wanted; his jaw dropping so his mouth fell open. You tensed at his stare, smiling up at him after a moment of silence, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“D-d-don’t you look pretty?” Rick said as soon as he had collected himself again, and the praise sent a shiver down your spine, “Like a pre-present for me to unwrap.”

“Do you like the choker?” You asked.

“It suits you b-better than me,” Rick admitted, walking up to you to stick two fingers under it and turn the piece of fabric around your neck a few times.

“I disagree.”

“I thought you might.”

“I’ve missed you,” you smiled, licking your lips to signal exactly what you wanted, “Well, not you exactly but let’s say a certain part of you.”

“Cheeky,” he laughed quietly, gripping your chin, “Can’t keep that tongue of yours in your mouth, can you? Bet you wan-wanna use it.”

Without replying, you simply let your mouth fall open and on his face, a wide smirk spread. Rick let go of you to reach for his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his trousers to reveal his half-hard cock. He took hold of himself, helping you to guide the almost flaccid cock into your mouth, “You know what to do, honey. Get me hard.”

It was true, you knew exactly what to do, sucking his cock being one of your favourite things to do. Every little movement of your mouth and tongue weren’t coincidences; it was you knowing which buttons to push. As he guided the head of his cock past your lips, you ran the tip of your tongue around it in small and swift circles, going under the ridge of it as well as over the top. A hand slid into your hair and as you felt Rick swell in your mouth, you felt him push your head down further as well, forcing the shaft into your mouth till you let out a moan.

“Th-that’s it, get me ni-ni-nice and hard so I can fuck you,” Rick mumbled above you, fully hard by now as he watched you enthusiastically sucking him off. You bobbed your head, moving your body forward, whilst still making sure not to lose balance, so you could take him all the way into your mouth. He felt so good and heavy on your tongue, tasting like nothing but Rick and salty precome.

“Mhm,” you hummed in reply, the sounds from your voice sending sweet vibrations throughout his cock to the rest of his body and you finally got what you wanted. He took hold of your hair with both his hands, starting to thrust into your mouth, fucking your mouth as he would fuck you in a moment.

Your knees were absolutely killing you by now but you didn’t care, the mere fact that Rick was facefucking you, to use an honest term, was distracting you from the pain. Your stomach was doing flips instead, your pussy wetting at the thought of what was about to come and what was happening right now. He had you, was in control of you and you loved it.

“Get up,” Rick commanded suddenly and pulled his cock out of your mouth, pulling you by the shoulders to help you stand. You stumbled slightly, feeling a bit lightheaded as you had only been able to breathe through your nose for quite a while now, “Bend over my work bench.”

Excitement pooled in your lower stomach as you lay over the bench, not able to do anything else but press the side of your face into the metal surface with your arms underneath your body. Rick wasn’t doing anything yet, simply admiring your body and how invitingly wet you were.

In the next moment, you felt two fingers run through your wet folds, between the lips of your pussy and spreading you open, “Mine.”

The simply word meant so much and you clenched involuntarily at the hotness of it. You wanted to say something meaningful because you were truly his, every part of you, psychologically as well as physically was his, but nothing but a simple word could describe it better than anything else, “Yours.”

Slowly, you felt the fingers being removed and replaced with the tip of his cock. He ran it through the wetness that was seeping from you before planting a hand on the counter to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “Don’t hold back.”

“I-I wasn’t go-going to, darling,” he replied as he settled inside of you. It took both of you a moment to adjust, a week being quite a while for both of you when the two of you were practically rabbits normally.

Finally, you thought to yourself as Rick pulled back and then thrust into you again. It was a quickie without any romance, it was desperate and animalistic as he grabbed you by the hair and snapped his hips forwards again - and again and again and again. Both of you were moaning messes, and just for a moment, you send a thought of sympathy in Morty’s way who was probably traumatised by now. Not that you cared, it was a pity to stay quiet when one was feeling as good as you were right now. With every thrust, he became rougher and you became louder, the force of his hips slamming against your ass shoving you harder forwards on the table only to be pulled back again.

“Kinky little slut,” Rick smirked after a groan, nails scraping down your back until he could grip your hips to hold you still so the thrusting became more intense, “H-how long did you wa-wait for me on the floor?”

“Two hours,” you cried out, his cock angled perfectly to hit your g-spot.

“Where did I find such an amazing thing like you?” Rick mused as he picked up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin becoming more prominent in the room. You didn’t answer him but instead started pushing back against him as he fucked into you, desperately searching for more pleasure so you could finally get sweet release.

Fact was that you hadn’t even touched yourself all week, wanting to wait for him to make you come and it was soon, the familiar tightening in your lower stomach was building and would soon end it the climax you had dreamed about for days.

“I’m close,” you gasped, surprised that you hadn’t even needed a hand between your legs too.

“A-already? My God, you re-really have missed me, huh?” He sped up even further, fucking you till the point where it ached.

“Almost, oh God, Rick!” You squeezed your eyes shut, “I’m- oh.” The tightening released into sweet spasms, your orgasm washing over you like a wave and nearly making you tear up as Rick didn’t stop thrusting into you. It was perfect, intense and just what you needed.

Behind you, Rick was groaning loudly and you felt him spill into your pussy, hips stuttering as he came. Greedily, you swirled your hips to earn another moan from an over sensitive Rick. It was painful when he slipped out of you, leaving you empty and sore, “You’re making me ache.”

A hand slapped your behind, “You sound sur-surprised. Did I give a signal that that w-wasn’t my intention or?”

“Shut up,” you slowly straightening and felt your back crack as you turned to face him, “Oh jeez.”

Rick leaned down for a slow kiss, not too affectionate, “Honey, I’m home.”

“Oh, are you? I had no idea,” you teased. Fuck, you had missed him.

#rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez fanfiction #rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick x reader #my writing #ask #my posts

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years ago

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The Treasury

Joanie and Jamie come across the trunk of Claire’s gowns.

by Mod Bonnie

Thought of the Lallybroch attic always made Joan’s heart race wi’ panic, though she’d only set foot inside it the once.

She and Mam and Da and Marsali had all been over for supper shortly after the weddin’, months back, and the big folk had kept talkin’ and talkin’ so late into the night like they’d never stop! Finally, she and Marsali had gotten so bored, they’d crept off to explore the house wi’ some of the other children, finding themselves at last up in the attic. The place was ghostly and drafty in the candlelight, and some of the boys had started tellin’ tales of spooks and ghouls and nuckelavees, sendin’ shivers down Joanie’s back. She’d nearly wet herself wi’ relief when the group all ran back down the steps into safety, giggling from the excitement of it. She’d giggled too, but never had she ever been so scairt in all her life. It had woken her, sometimes, the nightmares of bein’ trapped up there alone in the creaky darkness.

Today, though, Da had held her hand as they went up the steps, and wi’ him beside her, the light of day shinin’ through the windows and cracks, Joan saw the place for what it was: a treasury, stacked all ‘round wi’ precious secret things just waitin’ to be discovered. She’d learnt that word in a book once, and always had loved the grand sound of it: the queen’s treasury.

He and Mam had had a fight, that mornin’, a great stramash that had made all the rooms of the house echo. Joan had run out into the dooryard wi’ her hands over her ears. She hated when they did that: yelled at one another so. It was like havin’ Simon back in the house again.

She bit her tongue the moment she’d thought such a thought, for Da wasna anything like Simon. Da never would beat them, and he was kind and funny— better than any man she’d ever met! Well....for her and Marsali, at least. Mam didna seem to like him verra much.

He’d stormed out of the door, startling her from where she sat. He’d gotten Baron saddled in a flash, and had just reined about to ride out to the road, when he’d spotted her. Though his face was red, still, from the yelling, he’d smiled at once, a real smile, and held out a hand. “Come wi’ me to Lallybroch, a leannan?”

After takin’ tea wi’ Auntie Jenny and Uncle Ian, Da had wandered about through the house. It seemed he wasna in any rush to get back to Balriggan or Mam. Joan wasna either, if she were bein’ truthful. They’d been in the library, Da showin’ her this book and that, but then he took a notion after a particular book that he couldna seem to find on the shelves. And so, the two of them had ended up in the attic, rummagin’ to find a box of things from when Da was at university in Paris.

“D’ye recall what sort of box it would be in, Da?” Joan asked, rubbing her nose, which was running from all the dust kicked up in the air.

She didna take much heed of his answer, for just at that moment, she’d caught sight of a lovely, big trunk over in the corner by the window in the eaves. She made for it eagerly, catchin’ open the clasps and flippin’ open the lid.

She gasped. TREASURE.

“Joan? Are ye alright?” came Da’s voice at once. “Joanie, did ye hurt your—”

“Da, LOOK!” she squealed as she lifted the item on the top: a gown as red and glistening as a jewel. The fabric was fine and rare, and Joanie knew for certain that this was the most grand thing she’d ever held in her two hands. She felt almost as though she were in kirk, such a thrill it brought over her.

“Dinna touch those!”

He was moving fast toward her and the look on his face made her spring up to her feet, jumping back. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, tears wellin’ up in her eyes at once. “I’m sorry, I willna touch it again— promise!”

He didna say anythin’. He was crouched at the trunk, his eyes movin’ over the stuff inside in a crazed sort of way, as though he were afraid it would catch fire. That seemed to go on for long, long time, and Joan had to clamp her hands over her mouth to keep from burstin’ out into sobs.

Please dinna hate me....

Then, he seemed to remember where he was. He looked up—were those tears in his eyes, too?— and his face went all soft, but sorry-like, as though he were ashamed. “Forgive me, Joanie,” he whispered, holding out his arms to her. “I shouldna have snapped at ye.”

All trembly, her gullet tight and burnin’ from tryin’ not to cry, she took his hand and let him pull her into a hug that brought happiness all the way down to her toes. “I hadna seen those things in many years, and they gave me quite a turn...” His voice was scratchy as he said it. “But truly,” he whispered, planting a kiss at the top of her cap, “I’m sorry, lass. Can ye forgive me for it?”

All felt right again as she nodded and hugged him back, sniffling into his shoulder and lettin’ herself be held, just for a while longer.

“Where did these come from, Da?” she asked a bit later as she turned back toward the chest, curiosity too strong to ignore. “All of these gowns and fine things!” At his nod of permission, she gingerly picked up a pair of gloves, embroidered with golden thread. “I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life! Did a queen live here, once, then?”

He laughed, and she gave him a stern “What?” for she hadn’t meant it as a jest.

“Aye...she was a queen, of sorts.” He reached out a hand and traced his fingers across the crimson fabric, just like Joan had herself. His voice was very low and verra sad. “A lady who was verra special indeed.” He gently moved the red gown to the side to show the one beneath, and Joan heard him breathe out a wee smilin’ sound.

“Why are they up here, though, Da?” she demanded, gingerly reachin’ out and strokin’ the lovely thing along wi’ him. It was greener than anythin’, even more than the grass in summer. “Why does nobody wear them?”

“Can ye imagine your Auntie Jenny milking the goats in such a gown, then?” he said, laughin’ and makin’ her giggle too. “Nay, they’re from a different time, lass, before the Rising. No one’s quite the need of such finery anymore; not here, anyway.”

“Oh.... that’s too bad.” Her heart was falling like stone. “They’re just so beautiful...”

She’d always hoped that when she grew up, there would be beautiful gowns and pretty things. They werena necessary, she supposed, and it wasna so much that she cared overmuch for them herself, as Marsali did. But the notion had always been a secret dream in her mind: that even if things since the Rising —since before she was born—had been naught but hard and sad, someday there would be beautiful things in her life too. Hearing it from Da, now, that there was no place for them—it made her want to crawl into the chest and nestle in amongst the gowns and fall asleep among their beauty. She thought that their wonder would seep into her skin, that way, and keep forever in her dreams, if there they must stay.

There was a tear on her cheek, then another, but Da was nudging her, eagerly. “Shall we see what they look like on another fine lady?”

Before she could answer, he was standing her on her feet and movin’ across the room, comin’ back wi’ a wee looking glass, which he propped up against the lid of the trunk.

“What, ME?” she squawked. “Try them ON?”

“And why not? It’s no’ as though I’m a lady, aye?”

She giggled.

“Here...”

Minutes later, she was sittin’ on Da’s lap, looking at her reflection and hardly believing her eyes. The golden gown was around her shoulders, puddled huge about her like a great pudding, a fine comb holding up her hair in place of the plain cap, and in her hand was the most beautiful fan she’d ever seen. It didna look like herself, in the glass.

“Da, I canna wear this,” she said uneasily, trying to stand up and remove the gown.

“But of course ye can,” he said at once, holding her firmly, and she could see his smile in the looking-glass as well as hear it in his voice.

“But Marsali says,” she insisted, “I canna ever wear yellow, because of my hair. Red-heided lasses canna wear gold or yellow or pink or—”

“Nonsense! They can wear whatever they like,” Da said.

“Aye? Truly?”

“I give ye my word upon it,” he said solemnly.

“Oh....well....that’s good then,” she said, still nervous that Marsali would barge in and tease her. She sighed. “I wish I had hair like Mam and Marsali.”

He snorted. “Well I dinna wish that.”

That surprised her. “Do ye no’ think their hair is bonny?”

“Oh, aye, it’s lovely... but red hair,” he said, runnin’ his fingers over the top of her head, “is my favorite.”

“‘Cause you have it too?” she said, grinning.

“Well, I’ve a longstanding personal partiality, to be sure,” he agreed with a grin as he let her tie a fine blue ribbon around his queue. “Besides,” he said, sounding dreamy as she finished the bow, “my own daug—”

He stopped.

“What, Da?”

He stared at her for a moment, and she thought she’d never seen anyone with eyes so blue. “Only that your red hair is one of the things about ye that makes me happy, Joanie.”

His voice was cracked and croakin’, and somethin’ in it made her lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. She felt his stubble tug against her lips as he smiled.

“Besides—” He pulled her back onto his lap and tweaked the mirror so she could see the both of them in the glass. “Can ye no’ see for yourself how beautiful ye are?”

And because he’d said it, she could.

“What was her name?” she asked, her voice sounding like one in a dream, full of mystery, like the music of a priest’s prayer.

“Her name?”

“The queen-lady,” Joanie insisted. She had the the gowns and the fine things treasured up into her memory, now. All she needed was a name to finish the story in her mind. “What was she called?”

“She...”

Joanie watched his face as he tried to remember the tale.

“Her name was Sorcha.”

#;mod Bonnie #one shot #show!verse

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unfolded73 · 7 years ago

Text

This Graceful Path (18/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapters 3, 9, and 16. Thanks to the CSBB mods ( @sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 18

The ribbons of black, swirling darkness in the sky over their heads could not be good, Emma thought.

“That’s the darkness,” Regina said, her eyes still trained on the sky. “Looks like there are some curses even true love can’t break.”

Killian put an arm on the railing and pulled himself to his feet. “What do you mean?” he asked. Emma reached for his hook, grasping it in her hand as she levered herself up to standing as well.

“I mean your kiss didn’t destroy the darkness, it released it. You’ve made everything unimaginably worse, but congratulations on your love,” Regina muttered sarcastically. As they watched, the swirling ribbons began to move in the direction of the center of town.

“Where is it going?”

“Toward the densest concentration of people.” Regina waved her hand, and Emma felt the almost-familiar tug of being transported by magic. When her vision cleared, she was looking around at the storefronts of downtown Storybrooke. The darkness, a pulsing, living mass, was swirling and breathing over their heads.

“If we don’t find a way to stop it, the darkness will destroy everyone we care about,” Regina continued. “It will eat and eat and eat, and when it’s consumed this town it will move on to the next.”

Emma felt Killian’s hook still gripped in her right hand, and she squeezed it as if he could feel the pressure. “So what do we do to stop it?”

“Emma!”

Turning, she saw Mary Margaret, David, and Henry running toward them.

“What are you doing, get him back inside!” Regina raged, her eyes flashing with terror.

David put a protective arm around Henry. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve managed to untether the darkness from Hook, and long story short, we’re all going to die,” Regina answered.

“Open the box, Regina,” Emma said. “You said if we could get the darkness untethered, we could draw it into Pandora’s box.”

“It’s risky,” Regina said, pulling the box out of her coat pocket. “I didn’t realize the darkness would be so… big.” Frustrated, Emma grabbed the box from Regina and started to press the button on top of it. “Be careful or you’ll get sucked in,” Regina grumbled, helping Emma to aim it at the sky. “Okay, now.”

Emma pressed the button. Nothing happened.

“It’s not working,” Killian said.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” said Regina. “It’s too far away, or too powerful. Or both.”

Other townspeople were starting to assemble, looking fearfully up at the swirling miasma in the sky. Belle and Ruby came out of the front door of the diner and joined the small gathering around Emma, Regina, and Killian in the street.

Killian drew the dagger out of his coat and held it up, and Emma could see the darkness convulse. “This will draw it closer,” Killian said.

“Yes, it will draw it right to you. It will consume you, and you’ll be lucky if all that happens is that you become the Dark One again!” Regina shouted over the rising wind as the darkness started to approach them.

“Killian, stop!” Emma cried.

“More likely it will carry you to the realm from which it originates,” Belle told him. “It may make you the Dark One again, yes, or it may destroy you utterly, wiping you out of existence.” Off everyone’s looks, she shrugged. “I’ve researched quite a lot about the darkness over the years. Rumple had an extensive library.”

“Will it save everyone else?” he asked, looking right at Belle.

She hesitated and then nodded. “It should. The darkness will be out of this realm, regardless.”

He raised his hand bearing the dagger higher. “Then I’m doing it.”

“Please, Killian, don’t,” Emma gasped, stepping in front of him. “We’ll find some other way.” One hand on his arm and the other pressed to his chest, she looked into his eyes. “I just got you back.”

“I know, love. And I’m sorry. But you have to let me do this. Let me die a hero. That’s the man I want you to remember, please.” He pressed his forehead against Emma’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she answered, her heart shattering for the second time that day.

Killian pushed her away, forcing her to stumble backward to maintain her balance. The darkness swirled around him, almost entirely enveloping his body. Emma felt her parents’ arms around her as she watched, horrified.

She was so focused on catching a glimpse of Killian within the ribbons of darkness closing around him that she didn’t notice Regina until the darkness started to drain away as if someone had pulled the plug in a bathtub. Looking around, Emma then saw Regina standing next to where Pandora’s box had been set on the ground, her hands splayed out and magic crackling from the tips of her fingers.

Emma pulled out of her parents’ embrace. “Regina, what are you doing?” she shouted over the rushing winds.

Regina’s arms shook with effort. “I can… use my magic… to channel it into the box.” And it looked like it was working; the darkness was starting to disappear inside the tiny ornate box, but then it pulsed as if it was fighting back. Regina’s teeth gritted as she redoubled her efforts.

“You’re not strong enough!” Emma shouted. The coils of darkness started to travel up the bolts of lightning that were springing from Regina’s fingers, wrapping around her wrists. “It’s going to kill you!”

“Mom, no!” Henry shouted from somewhere behind them.

Emma was never able to clearly explain what happened next. Without conscious thought, her own arms shot out — to help Regina, to ward off the darkness — she never knew for sure. White light came from her own hands, directed at the darkness, and she stared in mute shock as the light from her own fingers merged with Regina’s. The darkness retreated, no longer crawling up Regina’s arms. Emma’s arms shook, a feeling like an electric shock surging through them. The darkness got smaller and smaller as Pandora’s box continued to draw it in.

With an anticlimactic click, the box closed. The dagger, still clutched in Killian’s hand, dissolved to dust. Everything was silent.

“Mom!” Henry shouted, running up to them. “Moms! You both have magic. That is the coolest!”

Regina hugged Henry into her side. “Well, Miss Swan, this is a surprise.”

Emma reached out with a trembling hand and tousled Henry’s hair. “Not half as surprising for you as it is for me, believe me.”

“It’s because she’s the product of true love,” Mary Margaret said, her voice raspy with tears. “That was light magic.” Her parents approached, gathering Emma into their arms once more, this time with joy.

At the mention of true love, Emma’s eyes flicked over to Killian, where he still stood rooted in the street. He met her eyes briefly, then looked down at the small box which now contained all of the darkness that moments ago had been a part of him. Without another word, he turned and walked away. No one else noticed him leaving, and Emma’s voice caught in her throat as she started to call out. Maybe he needed some time to process everything. She knew she certainly did. Closing her mouth with a click of teeth, she hugged her parents tighter.

“You guys must be exhausted and starving,” Ruby said. “Why don’t you come into the diner and get some breakfast.”

“I need to find somewhere safe to store this,” Regina said, gingerly picking up Pandora’s box from the ground. “Perhaps I should lock it in my vault.” “Yeah, probably don’t want that box o’ evil falling into the wrong hands,” Emma remarked.

Regina’s lips quirked as if she almost found what Emma said to be funny.

“Thanks for your help, Emma,” she said before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“Are we sure we can trust her with that?” David asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Emma answered. “All I know is, she risked her life to contain the darkness when she could have let Killian die, so I’m inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

The group followed Ruby into Granny’s.

“No more Dark Ones, ever,” Mary Margaret said, shaking her head in amazement.

“You defeated the most powerful darkness in this or any realm,” David said, reaching out to pat Emma’s shoulder. “Pretty impressive work, Sheriff.”

Emma smiled faintly.

“So the spell Mom had been working on got the darkness out of Killian?” Henry asked.

Emma hesitated, then answered, “Yep. Worked like a charm.” She wasn’t ready to talk about what had really happened yet, not until she had a chance to turn the knowledge over in her mind first. Not until she had a chance to talk to Killian about it. For now, she held the memory of that kiss close to her heart.

“Well, I guess we have a lot to thank Regina for,” Mary Margaret said.

Emma looked at the pride on Henry’s face and nodded. Regardless of her little lie, that statement was true. “None of this would have happened without her help,” she said.

“Regina had a tough childhood, not… that that justifies the things she did,” Mary Margaret amended quickly before Emma could point out that her own childhood had been rough, and it hadn’t turned her into a villain. “Her mother Cora was a real piece of work: ruthless and cruel, and I think her father probably overcompensated by letting Regina get away with anything. So in some ways, he was no better a parent than Cora was. Watching her struggle to be good the last couple of months, I honestly believe that she can redeem herself. Today was just the start.”

“My wife, the eternal optimist,” David said, kissing Mary Margaret on the cheek.

Ruby brought over pancakes and eggs and bacon for everyone, with an unending supply of fresh coffee for the adults. “Granny says it’s on the house, seeing as how you saved the town from destruction,” she said. In between her trips to various tables, Ruby spent all of her spare time talking to Belle at the counter. The way they smiled at each other made something echo in Emma’s heart in bittersweet empathy.

He said he loves me, Emma thought, so why did he walk away?

Mary Margaret looked at her watch and jumped. “It’s time for me and Henry to get to school,” she said. “Are you going to be okay, Emma?”

Emma looked down at her mostly uneaten pancakes. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t get much sleep.”

Mary Margaret and Henry left the diner, while David regarded her across the booth. “I can take the first shift at the station and let you get some rest. Are you sure that’s all that’s wrong?”

Emma had to blink away tears; she felt so damned fragile right now, like her heart was a bird beating at her chest to try to escape its prison and fly away. “I’ll be fine, it was just a draining morning.”

Back at the loft, she spent close to an hour tossing and turning in her bed, replaying the events of the past few hours. The way the darkness had tried to kill her, and how Killian had fought it off, showing a strength that she bet he didn’t realize he possessed. The way he’d tried to get her to leave him for her own safety. The way he’d tried to sacrifice his life to save the town. The way he’d cried. The kiss they’d shared, and what that meant.

What did true love mean, anyway?

Finally giving up on sleep, Emma threw off the covers and left the apartment.

She gripped the steering wheel of the Bug in sweaty palms as she pulled up in front of Killian’s beachfront apartment. When there was no answer to her knock, she tried to the knob and found it unlocked.

Killian was sitting in a chair, facing the window that looked out over the ocean. He took a sip from a glass of rum, not looking up as she approached.

“The water calming you? Or the rum?” she asked.

“Both.”

“You aren’t the Dark One anymore, you know; you don’t have to hide from me.” His shoulders rose and fell once. “What?” she asked.

“I may not be the Dark One, but I’m still a pirate who spent hundreds of years on a quest for revenge. I’ve committed horrors you can’t imagine, Emma. Or perhaps you can; you saw what I did to Rumpelstiltskin. I’m a killer.”

Emma walked over to the window, leaning against it to look out at the ocean. The day was warm, but the wind off of the water made the glass feel cold to her fingers. “You were out of your mind when you did that, thanks to my magical curse-weakening abilities.”

“Perhaps, but trust me, the man capable of that murder is inside me. He’s the man who put on this hook all those years ago and swore never to rest until he’d had his vengeance for Milah’s death.”

Emma turned around to face him. “Yeah, but Rumple… Gold… whatever, was kind of the worst. And by killing him, and then defeating the darkness, you banished this big mega-evil from the world. Seems like a good deed, on balance.”

“I’m also the man who once killed a man on board my ship for stealing the captain’s wine.” He took another drink from his glass, grimacing.

“Okay, that sounds bad. You were a bad guy. I get it. But you’re also the man who lent Henry books, and cooked me dinner, and literally saved the whole town from destruction, like, two hours ago. If Regina can redeem herself, with all the evil stuff that she did, then you certainly can.”

He looked at her in amazement. “That’s an awful lot of faith you’re putting in me, Swan.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “But apparently we’ve got this true love thing between us, so—”

Killian laughed humorlessly and stood up, stepping into the kitchen and setting his glass down. “I’m not worthy of that. Not from you.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide,” Emma said as she followed him.

“Look at yourself, Emma. You’re the bloody Savior! You credit me with saving the town, but it was you, you and Regina, who put the darkness into that box. You, and the way you looked with that pure, white magic coming out of your hands…” He trailed off, lost in the memory of it. “You’re an angel, and I’m like the demon sent to drag you down into hell alongside me. I won’t do it. I won’t sully you that way.”

“Oh my God, you’re gonna have to get over yourself, Killian. We aren’t… we’re just people. We’re two flawed people who’ve made mistakes, and okay, it sounds like you’ve made a lot of them, but you’ve also lived a lot longer than I have, so… I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m really not cut out for these big, dramatic speeches.”

He smiled. “I thought you were doing all right.”

The abrupt mood shift made Emma laugh. She noticed for the first time that he was freshly showered, his hair damp and curling around his ears. Little tufts of hair stuck out at his neck, and something about it made her want to sink her teeth into him. She drifted closer, suddenly craving the smell of his skin, the way he would be warm and clean and male.

“I’ve missed you,” she said.

He seemed to thaw a little more at that, his eyes drifting down to her lips. “I’ve missed you too, love. More than you can imagine.”

Taking one more step, Emma closed the distance between their bodies. Just as she had earlier that morning, she put a hand over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He held himself very still, absorbing her touch.

“Emma, the things I said to you before, about how you were just a way to pass the time, that was the darkness trying to drive you away. It was a lie.”

“I know,” she said, but she was grateful for the confirmation.

“But even so, I don’t think I’m any good for you.”

A memory flashed in Emma’s mind, of telling Killian that she loved him when she thought he was about to die. Now, standing in this room, she couldn’t get the words to come out of her mouth. It was too terrifying, even having seen the proof of her feelings in the breaking of the Dark One’s curse. Instead of responding with words, she responded with actions, closing the distance and brushing her lips ever so gently against his.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of whether you’re good for me,” she whispered.

With a helpless moan choked off in the back of his throat, Killian swept in for another kiss. Both of them inhaled deeply at the same time as they wrapped their arms around each other, holding on tight as their open mouths fused together.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t to go far; Killian rested his forehead against hers, breathing into her mouth. Then he swayed, almost as if he was close to losing consciousness.

“Whoa,” Emma said, catching his arm. “I didn’t know I was so swoon-worthy.”

He chuckled weakly. “You are, but I’m… suddenly exhausted.”

“God, Killian, when was the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?”

“I don’t know. Months ago, I suppose.”

“Come on,” she grabbed his hand and pulled, tugging him toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you into bed before you collapse. I don’t wanna have to try to drag you across the floor of your apartment.”

He unfastened his hook, setting it on the nightstand, and dropped onto the bed, fully clothed, eyes already closing. “Will you stay for a bit?” he asked, his voice full of tenderness and vulnerability.

Emma was already pulling her boots off, and she grinned. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

He already looked to be half-asleep. “Stay forever,” he murmured. And then began to snore softly.

Taking off her jeans, she suppressed a giggle at his sleep-talking. It was certainly more pleasant than the last time he’d talked in his sleep in her presence. Getting under the covers next to where Killian had fallen on top of them, she curled up against his body and fell asleep within minutes.

~*~

Emma awoke, completely disoriented about where she was. She stared at the 2:27 on Killian’s digital alarm clock for several seconds, trying to figure out whether it was a.m. or p.m. The daylight outside finally clued her into the fact that it was p.m., and that she had slept for almost five hours. Turning to look at Killian, she saw that he was still out, in exactly the same position he’d fallen asleep in. Given what he’d been through, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for the rest of the day and all night.

Realizing that she needed to get to the sheriff’s station, Emma sent a quick text to Killian’s phone, telling him where she’d be if he woke up. Giving his sleeping form one last look, she silently let herself out of his apartment.

Emma made it through the rest of her work day in a haze, the sluggishness brought on by sleeping in the middle of the day weighing on her limbs like extra gravity. Her father took care of most everything, leaving her to sit at her desk and slowly work her way through a little bit of paperwork.

After work, she offered to drive Henry over to Regina’s, since it was Friday and the beginning of her week with him. Trudging up the walkway behind him, she almost tripped on a tiny crack in the sidewalk. She still felt like she could sleep for a year.

Regina answered the door to Henry with a warm smile, giving Emma an appraising glance as he trotted inside the house. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, midday naps don’t really agree with me.” Emma stuck her hands in her back pockets. “Look, thanks again for this morning. If you hadn’t been there… what?” Regina was continuing to scrutinize her, and it was unnerving.

“Why didn’t you tell your family about the kiss?” Regina asked. “Snow called me an hour ago, also to thank me, but among the things she was thanking me for was the spell that you told her had successfully untethered Hook from the darkness.”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of personal, and I don’t know what it means, and I don’t think I can deal with the added pressure of people knowing about it. They’ll have all these expectations.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself. More importantly, what are you going to do about your magic?”

“What do you mean? I have to do something?” Emma still sort of couldn’t believe that had happened. The whole thing felt like a dream.

“You’re powerful, Emma; I felt it. You have an enormous amount of latent magical ability. Don’t you want to learn to use it?”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, I could teach you.”

“Oh. You would do that? Why?” She couldn’t help but be skeptical of Regina’s motives.

“Selfishly, it would be useful to have another magic user around, in case I ever need help with a more powerful spell. But for your sake, going untrained could be dangerous. You acted on instinct today, and you generated enough power to literally kill someone. Do you really want to have that kind of power inside you with no idea how to use it? Honestly, you’re like a toddler with a loaded gun.”

“Thanks,” Emma muttered sarcastically.

“Sorry, but you are. Also, there are things you can do with light magic that I would never be able to do with my dark magic. Like heal someone. It would be idiotic not to learn to use that, especially when you consider our son’s penchant for running into traffic.”

Our son. Emma had never heard Regina use that phrase before, and although she tried not to show it, she was enormously moved by it. “Okay, you can train me. When do you want to start?”

Chapter 19

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan ff #this graceful path fic #my fic

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dustedmagazine · 7 years ago

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Jennifer Kelly: Riffing on the margins

Every year, picking favorites seems more like an exercise in futility. You listen to a small subset of the available music, because it’s what people send you, it’s what comes on when you tune into WFMU, it’s what your friends write about or post on Now Playing, etc. and no human being can listen to everything or even a good portion of it. Then because of the way you’re wired and what you eat and who you know and a thousand other essentially random factors, you like what you like out of that small subset. I, personally, have never felt more out of the mainstream or less influential than this year. (Not that I was ever very on the pulse of what’s popular, but still…)

So anyway, with that caveat, music was as important as ever in my life, and maybe more so, because of the continual flood of unbelievable, awful, comically evil events on the world stage. We somehow seem to have elected Voldemort as president, a sex-abusing, corrupt, traitorous idiot, who will not shut up even for an instant, despite having a vocabulary of approximately 20 words. So turn it up, drown it out, take it away…the music remained very good this year, even when nothing else did.

It was a year when Michael Chapman made one of his best records ever, 50 years into his career, and backed by a brash young collection of guitar slingers and new jack folk dudes – two of whom (Steve Gunn and James Elkington) came out with their own excellent records as well. It was a year when a fractious, not entirely comfortable collaboration between West African traditionalists and French punk rockers pretty much owned my stereo, when Mark Lanegan guested on a haunting album by Tinawaren and also turned in his own soul-stirring rock album. I might have listened to less straight up guitar banging this year than usual, but if you have to pick a couple, you could do a lot worse than Xeta’s Husker Du-ish The Tower or feedtime’s back-from-the-hiatus Gas. More fantastic albums from Protomartyr and the Sleaford Mods, not surprising, but welcome anyway, and the wonderfully mordant, rueful and very Irish outing from Seamus Fogarty, which no one else seemed to pick up on, but I loved.

My two favorite songs this year will not appear on anyone else’s songs of the year lists, but whatever, next time you’re feeling wistful, check out Jack Cooper’s “Memphis, Lancashire” or hone in on the mesmerizing instrumental break (that’s Chicago free-jazz cellist Tomeka Reid) on James Elkington’s “Wading the Vapors.” I could also listen to Lanegan’s “Emperor” any day, all day, despite or maybe because it kinda reminds of Iggy’s “The Passenger.”

Reissues feel a little like cheating, because who the hell would reissue them if they weren’t already great, but still, a few of them measurably enhanced my life. I spent months on Cherry Red’s Fall singles collection and another very happy week or so talking about them with my Dusted pals. And discovering Jackie Shane — both for the quality of the music and the amazing story of her life — was unquestionably a highlight of this fall.

So with that, and out of the three hundred or so new albums that I listened to this year at least a couple times, and the maybe 100 that I played on repeat enough to have much of an opinion, here are the ones that moved me the most.

Michael Chapman — 50 (Paradise of Bachelors)

50 by Michael Chapman

I said in Blurt: Now in his 70s, Chapman sings with some authority about all the things you give up for a life in music – a settled abode (“Sometimes You Just Drive”), a late-model vehicle (“Spanish Incident”), a working relationship (“Falling from Grace”) and cold hard wherewithal (“Money Troubles”). And yet, surrounded by younger and contemporary peers, in a translucent mesh of jangling, tangling guitar/bass/banjo tones, he makes a case for the difficult path he’s chosen. “You know I don’t scare easy… but I do get scared,” he rasps on the superlative “That Time of the Night” (last heard covered by Lucinda Williams on the Oh Michael What Have You Done? tribute album and before that on 2008’s Time Past and Passing). The lilt in the line pulls the tune out of the darkness, the massed guitars and hushed group vocals bring shivering into the light.

Group Doueh & Cheveu — Dakhla Sahara Session (Born Bad)

From my Dusted review: This is not the kind of collaboration where you have to untangle who does what. The focus shifts from one band to another within the space of the song, and each comes out of the fray more or less as he or she went in. Cheveu’s members make no attempt to bend to the West African aesthetic, and Group Doueh plays from their rep book right over whatever punk mayhem Cheveu has put on offer. There’s a great deal of tension in these tunes, as two very different sets of musicians block out space for themselves. And yet, it’s a wonderful thing, feistier and more belligerent than most cross-cultural meetings. “Tout Droit,” the CD’s most exhilarating cut, sets up a rousing, shout-chanted Cheveu chorus, punctuated by grunts and “huhs,” then cuts it to ribbons with ravaging flourishes of guitar, ebullient forays of singing. The two bands are doing entirely different things, at the same exact time, and it works like a motherfucker.

Mark Lanegan Band — Gargoyle (Heavenly)

I celebrated my long-term affair with Mark Lanegan’s voice in this review at Dusted: Mark Lanegan can sound like a voice from the crypt, his hollowed out, deep-black whisper almost too low to hear properly, a whisper like Leonard Cohen if he’d recently been to hell, a whisper that could frighten children into eating their vegetables. In Gargoyle, though, he uses this whisper sparingly; the hairs on my arm rise to it just once, during “Nocturne” and for the rest of the time, the one-time Screaming Trees’ front man sticks to melody. Gargoyle is a singing record, a tuneful record, a densely, headily arranged record that surrounds Lanegan’s gothic reveries in soft glowing light. There’s almost no negative space in these ten songs. All are filled, end to end, with enveloping textures and sustained sounds.

Xetas — The Tower (12XU)

The Tower by XETAS

Hail, hail, rock and roll, say I in Dusted. Xetas, out of Austin, make an unholy racket, a noisy, feedback blurred firehose spray of sound that does not quite obscure a tendency towards tunefulness. The hooks bristle with barbed wire abrasion, putting this band more in line with Hüsker Dü than the Wipers, but they’re in there, glinting out of a cyclone of broken glass and diesel smoke. So, also, a kind of positivity radiates intermittently through the rage and turmoil of this band’s attack. The Tower, Xetas’ second, vibrates with the brash, brave defiance of 99%-ers who have been beaten down, but aren’t quite finished yet.

Jack Cooper — Sandgrown (Trouble in Mind)

Sandgrown by Jack Cooper

Bill Meyer and I both wanted to cover this one, and then we each did a “no, you go ahead” kind of thing and neither one of us ended up reviewing it for Dusted, but I wrote about it for Blurt thusly: These shimmering songs are full of ellipses, the spaces between guitar notes clouded over with wistful nostalgia for Jack Cooper’s lost seaside childhood. Cooper has gotten a fair amount of ink lately for his quietly subversive, acoustic dueling guitar duo Ultimate Painting (with Veronica Falls’ James Hoare), also rather luminously introspective, but Sandgrown is more personal, with the smell of salt air, the sting of sea breezes, the sharp sense of loss and change running through every track.

Sleaford Mods — English Tapas (Rough Trade)

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Back into the Sleaford Mods fold with this one, the words again appearing in Dusted: Key Markets and the follow-up EP T.C.R., to me, sounded a little thin, as if the concept of Sleaford Mods, whatever it was, had already been fully explored, the meat pried out, the beginnings of self-parody creeping in. English Tapas reverses this trend. It returns to the sly humor, the hypnotic barking aggression, the occasional whiffs of wistful tune-ish-ness slipped in between robotic beats of Divide and Exit and maybe does it one better.

James Elkington—Wintres Woma (Paradise of Bachelors)

Wintres Woma by James Elkington

I listened between the lines at Dusted: James Elkington, once of Zincs and now the go-to guitar guy for any number of indie icons (but most prominently, Jeff Tweedy and Richard Thompson), has an effortless skill in this latest solo album, the kind of picking prowess that dissolves like smoke into mood and atmosphere. He is a very good player, a lovely relaxed singer (in the vein of Bert Jansch) and an eccentric writer, whose songs borrow liberally from British folk tradition, but veer into unexpected directions. But if you want to know what’s mesmerizing about this slow burning beauty of an album, listen to the intervals, where Elkington dreams jazz-inflected fever reveries with a set of musicians that includes bassist Nick Macri, drummer Tim Daisy, and, most remarkably, violinist Macie Stewart and improv-jazz cellist Tomeka Reid.

Seamus Fogarty—The Curious Hand (Domino)

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I fell in love with this album the first time I heard the line in “Mexico” about getting reamed out by the boss for a smoke break. I also reviewed an album that doesn’t really exist (it was revised between promo and release) at Dusted: Seamus Fogarty makes shaggy songs, rumpled as if they’d been slept in rough, and plaintive at their core but with a shrugging, wry, what-are-ya-gonna-do sense of humor. Though mostly acoustic, leaning heavily on strummed guitar with some lovely melancholy fiddle, viola and maybe cello for accents, his songs also incorporate electronics and evocative field recordings.

Protomartyr—Relatives in Descent (Domino)

Relatives In Descent by Protomartyr

Four great albums in a row, who else is doing this? My Dusted review: Protomartyr ruminates on the nature of knowing in its fourth full-length album, tangling knotty intellectual conundrums over an obliterating roar. Backed again by a Detroit post-punk freight-train clamor — Greg Ahee on guitar, drummer Alex Leonard, bassist Scott Davidson — Joe Casey, the band’s rumple-suited, bile-spitting nerve center, finds a free-associative space for rant-poems about consciousness, memory, free will and the refracted shards of current events.

Feedtime—Gas (In the Red)

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Naturally, I root for the old guys, again from Dusted: You might expect some throat clearing, some tentative beginnings, in a band that had taken off the previous generation, but no, from the opener, “Any Good Thing,” you hear the same noisy slide-bent guitar riffs, the same rough and furious rhythms, the same growling, monster-voiced vocal attack as ever. feedtime might have gone out for a pack of cigarettes, slipped back in casually and ramped up to eleven.

Loved these, too.

Julie Byrne—Not Even Happiness (BaDaBing)

Jaimie Branch — Fly or Die (International Anthem)

Joseph Childress—Rebirths (Empty Cellar)

Heron Oblivion—The Chapel (self-release)

Tinariwen—Elwan (Anti-)

Stef Chura — Messes (Urinal Cake)

Feral Ohms—S-T (Silver Current)

Pere Ubu—20 Years in a Montana Missile Silo (Cherry Red)

Upper Wilds—Upper Wilds (Thrill Jockey)

Melkbelly—Nothing Valley (Wax Nine)

Kelley Stoltz — Que Aura (Castle Face)

The Clientele—The Age of Miracles (Merge)

Algiers — The Underside of Power (Matador)

Avey Tare — Eucalyptus (Domino)

Golden Boys—Better than Good Times (12XU)

Gunn-Truscinski Duo—Bay Head (Three-Lobed)

Contributors—ST (Monofonus Press)

Mark Eitzel—Hey Mr. Ferryman (Merge)

Reissues/Comps

The Fall—A Sides and B Sides (Cherry Red)

Jackie Shane—Any Other Way (Numero Group)

V/A—Ote Maloya (Strut)

I really like books, too, so here are my favorite reads from last year as well.

George Saunders, Lincoln in the Bardo

Hamid Moshin, Exit West

The Sixth Extinction, Elizabeth Kolbert

Celeste Ng, Little Fires Everywhere

An American Sickness, Elizabeth Rosenthal

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City, Desmond Matthew

#yearend 2017 #jennifer kelly #michael chapman #group doueh #cheveu #mark lanegan #xetas #jack cooper #sleaford mods #james elkington #seamus fogarty #protomartyr #feedtime #the fall #jackie shane

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