#au: it came from outer space (and is kind of a jerk) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randombtsprincessa · 4 years

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Belladonna || 1

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader, Past Lovers! AU

Words: 3k

Genre: Heavy Angst, Smut

Rating: This chapter is General up to NC-17, rating might go up as story progresses.

Summary: Your life has finally settled into a routine; keeping you far away from your home, friends, family and the man who broke your heart. Coming back home means facing him again and maybe you’re not as over him as you’d like to believe.

Warnings: (in-chap) Heavy Angst, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The idol used as the Muse for the lead is not in anyway affiliated with the work. The characterisation is a work of mine. Any asks or accusations against the work on the grounds of inability to keep fact and fiction seperate on the part of the reader, will not be entertained.

A/N: Its’s rather sad that the disclaimer has to be added but eh, it’s a bad time for tumblr writing fandom and people are being very mean. Brush past that if you’re sane. Anyway, a very very huge hug to my best friends for screaming at me about this fic. A bunch of thanks to @softyoongiionly for hyping up the chapter! And a round of applause for @kithtaehyung for beta-ing the chappie!!

Happy Birthday Yoonfie baby!!

It was cold inside the cabin, the air conditioner turned extreme while the outer windows fogged with condensation. Your head leaned against the pane, the thudding and rolling of the train wheels under you jarring your brain in your skull as you watched the world outside flash speedily by.

Trees, small gravelly roads, sign boards, sparse traffic here and there…and then rolling grasslands before the pattern repeated itself…redundant, normal, and soothing.

You sighed, a puff of white exhale clouding around your mouth while your eyes drifted back to the interior of the cabin. This sight was a lot more different, with different people having different lives, problems, worries…

A woman tended to her sniffling child, holding a handkerchief up to the girl’s running nose…a man spoke into his phone; harried and rushed as he more likely than not slurred a few words together…

It was when your eyes caught a girl laying her head on the boy next to hers’ shoulder, smiling serenely when the boy ran a hand through her locks that you turned around again, eyes back to watching the redundant.

There was nothing soothing about people watching.

Or maybe there was and it required some form of inner peace to find the charm in it.

You didn’t have that sort of inner peace; neither did you have the patience for it.

People watching for people like you was anxiety inducing…and you really didn’t want that burden on your shoulders right now. There would be enough anxiety waiting for you when you set your foot home.

“____?”

You turned coffee worn, blue light sunken eyes towards your boss, standing over you with his files clutched to his chest nervously. The sight was enough to make you chuckle. For all his genius, Kim Namjoon was just a giant fumbling through life. It made him a stellar boss and manager, but it also made him a wonderful friend.

“Yes?”

“I just got your email for the leave application.”

You blinked up at your boss expectantly, face calm and relaxed. Of course, your brain had shot straight to overdrive, praying, wishing, and begging for a miracle that would allow your boss to refute the application.

A large red denied would do nothing to hamper your mood; at least it would stamp down the very intrusive tendril of panic that was already gripping around you.

You waited until Namjoon was done rustling inside of the folder in the crook of his arm. The white print out was placed in front of you, green letterings spelling ACCEPTED AND FORWARDED, scrawled on the top screaming obscenities at you.

You looked back at Namjoon.

“We don’t have a lot of work load right now plus you look dead on your feet. Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?”

You very nearly grimaced at his words.

He was sincere, of course he was. Namjoon didn’t have a conniving bone in his body, but right now, you couldn’t help but resent his kindness, his mushy brain that railed against exploiting his workers. You hated the fact that he looked into your eyes and saw past the stubborn energy and caught onto the exhausted person underneath.

So you offered him a tiny smile, just in case the flicker of your crushing despair was made clear onto your traitor face.

“Thank you, Namjoon.”

He placed a heavy, tight hand on your shoulder as he passed by.

“Have a nice vacation, ____.”

Usually, someone who was away from home, working their ass off, making something of themselves away from their family should ideally jump at the chance to take a vacation, to go home and see the family and friends they had.

Ideally…one should be happy at the prospect of going home.

So many times, however, situations were rarely ideal. Sometimes there were complications, convolutions, obstacles…

Sometimes people had no love in their hearts; sometimes there was nothing at all.

Sometimes, there was dread.

Right then, in the rattling carriage that carried you to the small town which had spawned your existence, you could sense the dread carving a pit into your stomach, roiling and curling like a wretched cat kept too long from sunshine.

There was no relief for the upcoming long sleepy times, no joy at the prospect of home food…of warm embraces…

There was just that god awful dread.

You hoped you wouldn’t throw up; though there was nothing in your stomach to hurl but for the coffee you’d pumped in you from the station café. You couldn’t keep anything else down.

You had upped and left your home right after the end of your college life. Many things had come to an end with that particular period in your life. You had scampered and scrapped together enough courage to exit the hole that still robbed you of breath sometimes when you twisted and turned in your bed – sleepless.

You had left shattered pieces of your heart in your whirling escape of the town, the space that you had now the only light that shone at the end of the tunnel back then. Your family and friends, as supportive as they were, had never truly understood why you had nearly clawed away from that world.

To them, it had been the job opportunity.

And it was understandable…

The town, as well-knit and seemingly lovable as it was, was used to being self sufficient. The people there didn’t ever need to leave, they knew everything, helped everyone, and any problem one of them had was a problem for them all.

You couldn’t fit yourself in that mold anymore.

You had left – knowingly cut yourself away from that community.

Your friends had remained; some spreading out of course but they were still as much a part of that bunch as they had been when born.

You didn’t expect anything from them.

Not when he was also still a part of that community.

Your mind jerked away moments before conjuring his likeness behind your eyes, the ticket collector bearing down to save you from the torture of it.

Your fingers fumbled with the pockets of your bag, slipping the stub into his patient hands as he clipped and handed it back to you.

You accepted it meekly, folding into yourself again, eyes drifting back out the window and firmly tugging your thoughts away from your past. You had to prepare for what was going to come now.

Nobody expected you to come, you knew. It was a surprise to you yourself that you had found enough guts in you to pull this off.

Namjoon’s words came back to you.

Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?

You weren’t going to hold out much hope for that.

You found a cab almost immediately out of the station, the many cruisers that stood to one side eager to free you of your luggage and take you off to your destination. You gave your address shakily, hoping this particular driver wasn’t one of the townspeople. Luckily, the man didn’t bat an eye, instead nodding and quietly switching on the radio for the drive over.

You leaned back into the seats, arms grasping the strap of your handbag tight as the moment to face your family and close ones drew closer.

Objectively, your little hometown was very pretty.

Trees lined the major roads, small clusters of buildings interjecting the greenery to spread business to the good people. And as tense as you were, your mind couldn’t help but pick out the differences.

Boutiques were newer and flashier, the diners you remembered now expanded to add cafes or banquets. The town hall was an imposing as ever, only a new marble fountain added to the square in front of it now.

By the time your cab entered the section of the suburbs where you had grown up; your back was straight, neatly aligned with the window. If you had been dreading the homecoming before, it was all gone; replaced with an odd form of resignation.

You lugged your bags out and paid the taxi driver with cold hands, winding bloodless fingers around the handles to pull them up the drive way towards your open door.

The house was full, open and bustling – a normal day for when your mother threw one of her success parties. She was one of the famous people in the town, her career as a landscaper and home decorator for big names making her in turn the man source of revenue and attraction for the town.

It had been both a source of pride and embarrassment to you in your teens. Mainly because your mother insisted on these parties each and every time one of her projects turned out well. But then, as you grew you realized that this is why your mother was important to the town.

She was more than half the money earned and the social events of the calendar.

Inside the house, small clusters of people gathered here and there, in the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. You stood at the door; feeling more exposed than you ever had here but moved in quickly, lest one of them notice you in the doorway and start blabbering about it.

Of course, the three big bags that you carried more than made up for it.

One of the groups of women nearest you turned their heads in synchrony, taking double looks as you passed by before the murmurs began.

How could you tell?

Well because, gossip usually lowers ones’ volume. And each group you passed stopped conversing before muttering arose in its place.

You cut across the living room to your father’s den. Here, there were all men, hands cupping your dad’s cut glasses of scotch but thankfully no one mentioned you dumping your bags right by the door and walking back out.

Your hands fiddled with your scarf, wondering where your family was in their own party but you were loathing asking one of the guests.

Even as you convinced yourself to walk over to one of the ladies by the window sofa, a figure walked past opposite you, a handful of trays of cocktail bites and glasses on them. You jumped, watching as the woman placed the trays on the coffee table, smiling at the people before she turned…and spotted you.

Your sister’s eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering before quick steps led her closer to you.

“____?” She asked, almost checking if it really was you.

You smiled wryly, hand still tangled with your scarf. “Hi Sana, yes it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” She threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck to draw you into a warm and nearly forgotten embrace. You stood in her hold for a few seconds, managing to pat her back before she was pulling away, eyes glistening at you.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” you whispered immediately.

“Shut up, these are happy tears; my little sister is home! Hang on; I’ll go get Mom and Dad.” She turned on her heel before you got another word out, mouth parted as she disappeared into the house.

You stood rooted to the spot, hoping against hope she brought your dad first. You just knew your mom would start bawling and then all the neighbors and her social circle would start hovering like the pack of vultures you had the low opinion of them as.

It was unfair and very rude of you, yes, but you couldn’t help but remember half the rumors and gossip that had come from none other than these same people when you had first left. Sympathy or well wishes from them now, would only make you more disgusted.

It had made you keep your own mother at a distance, seeing as she was probably the source of their information.

Thankfully, you knew you could always depend on your dad.

A no-nonsense and rational person, he was only guilty of being extremely in love with your mother. You knew he only bore these parties for her sake and of course your sister, Sana’s.

So when you saw Sana come back, with both your parents you still heaved a relived sigh.

“____, my god, you’re really here.” Your mother was the second to hug you, your father following.

“We didn’t think you would make it this year too.” Your dad said.

“Yeah, it’s been hectic…a lot…for the last couple years.” You repeated the same lies you’d been spouting for two years now. You had spoken the same lines into your phone, in your emails over months and it came much easier while speaking them to their faces.

“Very hectic for a well-established firm, ____, you could’ve asked for a leave, I’m sure office policy allows that.” Your dad said in that logical baritone that rendered most arguments moot.

“That is actually how I got away, Namjoon insisted.” You said; not completely untrue.

“Well, I for one am very happy my little girl is back to me. You’ll stay for a bit, won’t you?” Your mother stroked your hair back from your face.

You smiled tightly at her, thinking of the weeks Namjoon had generously piled on you out of respect for your relentless working for two years under him.

“Yes.”

You caught Sana try and push in, her eyes seeking yours even as your mother squealed in jubilation. “Perfect, we are going to have to throw you a coming home party.”

“Y/M/N,” Your father said lightly. “We are at a party now.”

“Yes, but ____ deserves her own night.” Sana put in before grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she dragged you away from your debating parents.

“Not a lot has changed I guess.” You spoke drily.

“Yeah, maybe, listen I think we need to –”

Sana was cut off by a gasp of your name, your head swiveling to see Park Jimin, one of your old friends gaping at you.

It was a whirlwind of reunions and emotions as people gathered around you, astonished that you’d come back without any mention of it.

“Yeah, I – I guess, it’s a surprise.” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, going over the faces of your childhood to college friends.

Many things had changed while you were gone, true – to the town, to the people and even to your friends but one thing you were glad to see…they hadn’t cut you away completely. Yes, your interaction with them had been reduced to the odd Facebook and Twitter chats and the occasional emails and texts here and there but they still looked…happy to see you.

Park Jimin and his twin, Jihyo had been the first ones to come to you, Jihyo hugging you tightly enough to make you wince. She had been your roommate in college; she probably knew you as well as Sana did – maybe even better. She had introduced you to Jimin and the three of you had been inseparable throughout your college life.

Jimin had apparently been friends with one of your childhood friends, Kim Taehyung.

You were not so shocked to know he was now married, living next door to you with his wife, Nayeon. Sweet and charming, she hugged you like her husband.

“It’s almost like I already know you,” she explained to your unsure smile, “they talk about you so much.”

“Ugh, I’m already worried.” You cringed.

“They were all nice things don’t worry. We had to put down a couple old gossips down here and there, though.” Jimin came to defend his friend.

You glanced at them curiously.

“Oh yeah, it was just old gossipy hags around the town, don’t worry about it. People moved on from you pretty soon to a Miss Mina. She’s a spinster, which apparently is a sin.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “She lives a few houses from us.”

“Also, I think your mom told that friend of hers, Dahyun to stop people gossiping about you. They were task-forcing the town. It was fun to watch.” Jimin added.

A sudden wave of affection for your mother rose up in you, before being quelled by the reminder that she must have done it to protect her own image.

You shrugged then, picking up a glass from one of the trays to take a sip of your mother’s homemade cocktail – fruity and simple on your tongue.

“Enough about me, what about you all?” you pointed at Tae and Nayeon, “Married with a house,” your finger moved to Jimin, “Sports coach,” then Jihyo, “Choreographer,” you stopped.

“What about the others, any news?”

“Not really, we are the ones who still live here you know. Plus, no offense to your mom, but I doubt folks would leave their city jobs to come to her parties.” Jihyo muttered; exchanging a glance of solidarity with you before her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

Her eyes quickly went to her brother, Jimin’s eyes a little more slow on the uptake but they widened too…before repeating the process – albeit comically – with Taehyung.

“What is wrong with you all?” You asked again.

“Um, ____, did Sana tell you -?”

Jimin paused nervously, refusing to look at you as he fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“Tell me what?”

He looked helplessly at his sister. Jihyo hesitated before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Listen, ____, while you were gone” -

She broke off, her eyes darting over your shoulder and stuttering to a stop.

In that moment of her silence, the conversation behind you was clearer.

Or rather, one particular voice was…

Low and deep – soft morning grumbles came back to you – muffled conversations from behind you made you turn around.

It was a voice you would know anywhere. It was one that haunted your dreams, one that crested the ache in your heart on particularly bad days…

It was one you would know beyond a void.

Min Yoongi stood directly across from you, in your home, undoing his coat and removing his scarf, conversing lowly with your sister.

Something she quickly muttered to him had him freezing, long nimble fingers stopping in the unknotting of his scarf.

And then as if he could feel your gaze, could feel your presence, the reason why you left everything behind looked straight up at you, eyes locking across a room…just like the day you had first seen him.

#ficswithluv #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #yoongi #bts #bts suga #suga #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bangtan

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kiri-ah · 3 years

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File: Sector 5

Part of the Action Figure Collab hosted by @go-shotaro

Pairing: Kim Jungwoo x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned for reader), low key Taeil x Sicheng if you squint

Themes: Dark Matter (TV Show) AU, Elite Dangerous (Video Game) AU, basically space stuff, gunfights, lasers, hackers, set in the future, spaceships, Star Wars is mentioned like twice, Sicheng is a jerk, Mark and Johnny are half-brothers

Warnings: Major character death, gunfights, blood, two swearwords, mentioned burials, mentioned black market

WC: 3.7k

Summary: In a galaxy divided into factions, war is rampant. The ship files that you’re searching for could solve all of your problems - if only you can get into the classified sector of the space station where they’re housed. With Jungwoo on one side and Taeil on the other, nothing can go wrong. Right?

Taglist: @allegxdly , @stayctday , @leelatte , @dundun-baby , @kunrengui

Author Note: Welcome to my first collab fic! This is also my first full-length fic on tumblr which is pretty cool. When I saw the concept for this collab I decided it was perfect for my first foray into working with other creators. In the process I made a lot of new friends and I had a lot of fun. Plus I’m pretty proud of this fic. Please enjoy File: Sector 5!

You walk as quickly as you can while still being discreet. There are a lot of people that you wouldn’t want to notice you here. Jungwoo and Taeil, following behind you, seem to have had the same thought. Taeil has a cap over his projector glasses, and Jungwoo has on a black too-big hoodie that hides his give-away physique. In your earpiece there’s silence, but that doesn’t bother you. Yangyang told you to reach out once you got to the section of the space station you need. You still have a few more obnoxiously crowded spaces to traverse before you arrive, so you focus on draining the urgency from your movements and walking like you belong here. Like you’re not about to break into a classified sector and commit a crime.

You make your way through the bar, the ship parts market, and the casino with minimal issues. You think you see a familiar face across the way in the market, but he turns away a second later and you breathe easy once again. If it was who you thought it was, you wouldn’t be alive anymore. Nakamoto Yuta is famed for his cruelty. You enter Sector 5 and speak quietly into your earpiece.

“Yang, we’re in sector five. Where do we go from here?”

“I’m getting your location still, hold on,” comes Yangyang’s voice into your ear.

“Take a left here, and then head down for a few hallways. This is one of the permanent sectors like ours, so you can use your gun now if need be and not worry about puncturing an outer wall.”

You take the left where he says to and continue down, checking to make sure that Jungwoo and Taeil are still behind you. They are, and so is another figure.

“Get over here,” you hiss, pulling them into a side hallway. The figure doesn’t appear to have seen you and passes by, turning down another hallway. You recognize the face of Xiao Dejun, an infamous criminal like yourself. You try not to think about what would have happened had he spotted you. You wouldn’t be dead, but you would probably wish you were.

“What happened?” asks Yangyang in your ear.

“Security,” you mutter.

“Oh.”

You pull Jungwoo and Taeil out and walk down the hallway until Yangyang tells you to stop by a door. “You guys will need to get through this door without my help,” he says. “Beyond it, I can only get high energy drain levels. Be careful.”

Taeil kneels by the card scanner and pulls out his tools. You and Jungwoo turn around, standing guard in case another member of security comes and you need to shoot them. Taeil carefully prys the backing panel off of the scanner and maneuvers until he can see the wires. He scoffs.

“For a high security organization, their security is terrible,” he mutters. He cuts the casing off of a wire and does something you can’t see with it, and the door slides open. You continue keeping watch as Taeil packs up his high-tech phillip’s head screwdriver and cleans up the casing. When you turn around, you’re speechless.

“We found the source of the energy drain,” Jungwoo says in a low voice. Before you is a room of lasers, the kind you thought only existed in old movies. They cross back and forth across the space like an absurd red spider web and fizzle oddly like Redstone in that old game Chenle likes. Minecraft, was it?

“What kind of black market did they get these on?”

Taeil shrugs and walks into the room. “Looks like we can get in,” he tells you. “The lasers are designed like shark teeth - easy to get in, not so easy to get out.” The analogy doesn’t help you feel any better about the situation, and you clutch at your gun.

“Can you turn them off?” Jungwoo asks Taeil, seemingly as nervous as you are.

“I can, but we don’t need to to get in. Let’s focus on that on our way out.”

You nod and walk in, spotting the pattern like Taeil did. “Maybe their security is just bad,” you say. “This is so easy.” You swing your right leg over the nearest laser and start your way across. You get a finger close to the laser and feel the heat emanating from it. You turn to warn Taeil and Jungwoo of this, only to find that they’re already in the maze themselves. You duck under the next beam of red and feel the heat on the back of your head from the proximity, then step easily over one that reminds you of a tripwire - right at ankle level. You hear Jungwoo and Taeil following behind you, Jungwoo struggling a bit because of his wide shoulders. At some points you have to turn around and help him since he can’t see where his biceps are about to brush one of the heated red lines. At least Sungchan isn’t on your team, he’s even larger than Jungwoo. Chenle and Hendery will have to help him or find another way in. You almost laugh at the thought before deciding that you rather like all of your teammates, actually, and you don’t like to think about them dying by heated laser. Each time you stop to help Jungwoo, Taeil reminds you that you need to hurry. You eventually just tell him to please be quiet, because some people are trying to focus here. He shuts up, thankfully.

When you reach the end of the room, you’re faced with another door. Taeil tampers with the wires and it too slides open. The hallway is paneled with light gray and the floor is tile reminiscent of a hotel lobby. Your guns are poised to fend off an attack as the door opens, but nobody is there. You lower them slowly and Jungwoo steps out into the hallway. There are footsteps fading away down to your right, but nobody is watching for you here. You look for the source of the footsteps and spot who you’re pretty sure are the team Johnny and Mark, orphan half-brothers notorious for their sudden team changes depending on the paycheck. They’re for sale to the highest bidder, and they don’t care who that is. Your guess is confirmed when the shorter man laughs - you’ve worked with Mark before, and that laugh is both contagious and unique.

When you refocus, Yangyang is back in your ear and instructing you to go the opposite way that the pair is walking. He says that the door at the end of this hallway is the one you want. Your shoes shuffle against the tile as you try to go quietly, with Jungwoo in front of you and Taeil nervously watching your backs. He isn’t as confident with a gun as you or Jungwoo, he prefers to work behind the scenes. The nature of this mission required a tech whiz on site, though, and he came reluctantly. He knows how important it is to steal the USB drive with ship plans on it. The newest fighter models will make or break the war for your faction, and you have reason to believe that those ships also have teleportation devices in the plans. Not just lightspeed travel, but all-out teleportation. You can only imagine that sort of power on your own ship, the Phoenix.

You walk all the way down the hallway and find the door that Yangyang has pointed out to you. Taeil once again gets down to open the wire panel and gasps in delight.

“Finally a good security system! Give me a moment.” His face disappears behind the stand housing the card reader and he hums as he fiddles with whatever has made him so happy. Even laying at an awkward angle, his voice is beautiful. You sometimes wonder why he became a technician for a faction like yours when he could be a singer for one of the more powerful factions that aren’t always at war. When confronted with this question, he would smile a little and tell whoever was asking that his one true love was testing security systems, no matter how much his voice delighted other people. He said with a dry laugh once that the selfishness of that reason made him perfect for the job. Part of you doubted that story, but everyone working for your faction had baggage. You didn’t need to pry into his.

Eventually there comes a pleased “aha!” from behind you, and Taeil reemerges. His face has a smudge on it that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Have fun?”

You ask the question sarcastically, but Taeil nods happily. “That’s what I like to do. The other systems were easier, I think this room must be important.”

“That’s what I said,” grumbles Yagyang in your ear.

The door slips open with some prodding and you walk into a lab with pristine white surfaces and surfaces that look as though they’ve never been used. In the middle is a silver table covered in instruments of some kind, although you don’t know what they would be used for. The walls are lined with diagnostic panels, and one is a window into a secret hangar you weren’t aware of. Inside is a ship that looks a lot like the X-Wings of the Star Wars franchise. The movies are still iconic today despite how obsolete they are, and everyone knows that the X-Wings were never recreated due to a problem with their size in relation to the way they were meant to work. It appears that whoever made this ship has been hiding their discovery.

“Y/N, focus,” Jungwoo whispers. You nod and turn away from the hangar, albeit reluctantly.

You look at the remaining two walls, both of which are shorter and lined with counters. Taeil is looking at one, and you walk over to the other. You find a monitor completely shut down and follow the cords down to discover that it isn’t plugged in. That’s a little strange. You look at the computer tower and find a USB drive, labeled “Schematics.” That’s even more strange. Why would they leave something so valuable lying around? Hiding in plain sight, perhaps? You plug the monitor in and turn it and the tower on, opening the USB files. You’re low on time, you know, but you have to make sure this is the right drive.

Once the files are loaded, you gasp. “You guys, look at this.” Jungwoo and Taeil stand and look over your shoulders as you scroll through page after page of exact instructions and diagrams for the X-Wing.

“They even stole the name from Star Wars,” Jungwoo scoffs. Taeil laughs lightly.

“These are the right files, we should get out of here.”

“Agreed,” you say. You pocket the USB drive and unplug the monitor again, making sure to leave minimal traces of your passing through. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang repeats the directions out of Sector 5, and you walk quickly. You make it to the laser room without incident and go back through the doorway. “Taeil,” you ask, “can we get out of here faster if you turn off the lasers, or if we just walk through like we did on the way on?”

“Definitely turning them off,” he assures you. “It’s too time consuming to worry about things like this when we need to be worrying about the USB being reported missing.” He settles down by a panel near the start of the lasers and peels off the cover where it looks like maintenance might be done. You only know this because he tells you happily that there might be an off switch.

“Aha! Found it!” he singsongs after a moment. The lasers go off a second later and you’re about to celebrate when a siren screeches from the ceiling.

“All units to Hall Sixteen!” A voice yells over an intercom that you hadn’t noticed. “Lasers have been disabled!”

“Shit,” Jungwoo and Taeil say in unison.

“Let’s go!” you yell. There’s no point in being quiet now. You hear the clomping of boots down the hall and yelling from both ends of the laser room. Hall Sixteen.

You run out towards the exit and find yourself facing Xiao Dejun and another man you don’t know. They both have guns and are shooting the moment you get within range. You shoot back, missing Dejun by inches.

“Sicheng?” cries Taeil from beside you. He lowers his gun slightly. “I thought you were dead!” He runs towards the man, completely ignoring the battle around him. Dejun shoots at him but misses. Jungwoo hits him in return, a nonlethal hit to the arm. It’s enough to make him take pause though, and long enough for you to see with crystal clarity as the other man - Sicheng - raises his gun and shoots Taeil in the chest. Taeil doesn’t even have his gun up, and the shot tears right through his body. He collapses into the fall, blood spouting from the wound. It looks like Sicheng hit his heart.

Someone is screaming, and you realize it’s you. You feel your nose start to burn and your eyes brim suddenly with tears. Not Taeil! you want to scream. Taeil can’t be dead! Your body reacts faster than your brain, and you shoot Sicheng in the gut as he stares at Taeil’s body, looking almost shocked. Then you rush forward and kick the wound, making sure it hurts.

“You asshole!” you cry. “You killed Taeil!” You dodge another bullet from Dejun (it hits Sicheng in the upper stomach, and you have just enough brain space left to be smug) and spot Johnny and Mark behind Jungwoo. You scream and point, not even having words. Thankfully Jungwoo understands and spins to meet them. You shoot at Dejun, wasting bullets. One hits his left shoulder, and another hits a rib. You hear it crack. He writhes out of the way of the rest. You kick his gun hand to disarm him and knee him in the balls, a simple solution to his frustrating ability to avoid bullets. Having properly taken care of him, you turn to face Johnny and Mark.

They have Jungwoo cornered, and he’s desperately dancing out of the way of more bullets. He already has red spreading across his right side. It looks like just a graze, but it could have easily been far worse. You pick up Dejun’s gun and use it to shoot the back of Johnny’s thigh. He crumbles to the floor, blood already gushing angrily out of the wound. Mark turns to him, worried, and somewhere in the back of your mind you realize that’s sort of sweet before you shoot Mark too. He doesn’t deserve to die any more than Taeil did, and you liked working with him, but he’s the enemy right now. He needs to go down. You take aim and shoot him in the side, which is the best place you can hit at this angle. He looks almost surprised at the intrusion. You turn away. Jungwoo runs up behind you.

“Taeil?” you ask, looking down at his body. “Are you in there?” You reach down to feel his pulse, except there isn’t one. His neck is already cooling where he lays, a surprised look still painted across his features.

“Y/N, we have to go,” Jungwoo says.

“We have to bury him!” you screech. You didn’t even know your voice could sound like this. You suppose you’ve never lost someone as important as Taeil before, though.

“We’ll come back for him as soon as we get the USB back to home base,” Jungwoo mutters. “Come on.” He tugs on your arm, and you follow him, letting the tears flow. Jonny shoots one last time at you, but misses. Of everyone who could have died, it had to be Taeil. Precious Taeil with his lovely voice and sweet temperament, the person everyone went to if they needed someone to chill with. He would never again hear you complain about uncertain futures or how you missed your home planet. He would never again hug you or make you smile or gift your ears with his sweet tunes.

“We’ll come back,” you repeat, nose stuffing up. “We’ll come back.”

You leave Sector 5, only meeting one more person. Jungwoo shoots whoever it is before you even register their presence. Thank goodness that one of you has their head still on right. Getting back inconspicuously is a little harder with bloodstains on Jungwoo’s side, but you somehow manage to avoid everyone you don’t want to see. You sneak in the back way to your building and get up to Doyoung’s office. He’s the leader of your little group, so he’s the one you take the info to.

When you knock, he invites you in, and you enter the room. You’re never quite sure if he’ll be happy to see you, so you walk in with some trepidation. Thankfully he has one of his beautiful smiles on and welcomes you in.

“What did you get?” he asks.

“A USB Drive, it has files for new ships,” you tell him. “ Exactly what we were looking for.”

“Where are Jung-”

Doyoung gets cut off by a voice coming through the radio on his desk. “Sir! Doyoung, sir?”

Doyoung holds up a finger to you and presses the talk button. “Yes Yangyang?”

“Is Y/N with you yet, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N,” Yangyang says, “he doesn’t know yet what happened.” Doyoung looks at you, eyes questioning.

“Okay Yang,” you say. “I’ll- I’ll tell him.”

“Okay. That’s all, sir.”

Doyoung looks at you across the desk and narrows his eyes. “What happened?”

“We got in without incident,” you say. “There was a laser maze, but we got through okay. We didn't get caught on the way in and found a lab. That’s where we found the drive. I made sure these were the right files, and then we left. Taeil-” You cut yourself off, tears threatening again.

“Taeil turned off the lasers so we could get out, but it activated some sort of security system. Some men came to kill us and Taeil recognized one. I think his name was ‘Sicheng.’ Taeil-” You take another deep breath. “He ran toward the man, gun down, like he thought the man wouldn’t hurt him. But Sicheng… He killed Taeil. Shot him in the heart.”

The tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and you make no move to get rid of them. Doyoung looks shaken for the first time since you’ve known him, and he stands up. He walks around the desk to hug you, mindless of the blood on your clothes.

“We’ll give him the hero’s burial he deserves,” he murmurs. “In the meantime, you should go and put the drive with our other ship plans.

You nod in the affirmative and leave his office. The file storage room is just down the hall. Your surroundings are a bit blurry from the tears in your eyes, but you make it fine. Yangyang is already there, and he pats you on the back as you plug the USB drive into its designated spot. It has a blood spot on the label and you sort of smile at the irony. You won, but at what cost?

A moment later the entire course lights up. “The Red Team wins!” proclaims a voice from the speakers. You feel the character you were playing melt off as your laser tag gun powers off. The dryness in your throat and the tears on your face fade away with the persona you became for the game. You high-five Yangyang and run to get Taeil from where he lays on the other side of the course, still playing dead. You run into Johnny on the way. “Good game,” he says, bumping your fist. “Hitting my thigh patch was a fantastic idea! You’re a really good shot.”

“Thank you. Your team owes us pizza,” you remind him smugly.

“I know.” He throws you a playful glare on the way past. “We’re going to the fifth floor dorms once everyone’s rounded up. I think Lucas and Jeno tied up Sungchan, Hendery, and Chenle, so I’m going to get them.”

“Sounds good. We’re gonna go get Taeil, Sicheng, and Xiaojun.”

“Okay. Meet you at the entrance!”

He walks off and Yangyang follows you to Sector 5.

“You did an amazing job acting!” he says. “It really helped me get into my role.”

“I thought I would actually cry when Taeil fake died,” you tell him. “He actually looked dead.”

“Well I couldn’t see, obviously, but after you guys left he just sat and hummed. It was hilarious. In one channel, you’re screaming your revenge and sobbing, and in the other, Taeil is humming Baekhyun-sunbaemin.”

Taeil meets you at the beginning of the laser hall. “That was so much fun,” he enthuses.

“Yeah it was,” you agree. “You did a great job with the puzzles!” You’re referring to the puzzles that kept Sector 5 locked. Supposedly they were hard enough to keep intruders out, but Taeil had gotten in pretty easily.

He smiles. “Thank you. You did a great job kneeing Xiaojun in the nuts, he was out for a solid minute.”

“ I didn’t hurt him too much, did I?”

“Nah, he’ll recover. He might want to punch you or something though, I don’t think he was acting with that part.”

“Oh.”

You walk back to the entrance with everyone in the group and do a quick headcount. Twenty-three men. Okay, you’re good to go.

You pile into multiple vans out front where their managers sit, bored. They congratulate the winning team and drive you to the dorms, where you all squeeze into the 5th floor apartment and Johnny orders pizza for everyone. You’re very glad that you don’t have to pay for all of the food for twenty-four people.

“We should do that again some time!” Mark suggests as you’re eating. There’s a resounding cry of agreement as everyone lifts their pizza slices to the idea.

You’re totally going to do that again.

End.

46 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

One Foot In (1/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

-----

Rating: Teen, but with eventually kissing and magic-type magic Word Count: 9.3K this chapter. AN: Approximately two years ago, seriously, I got a message asking if I would ever be interested in writing a Pushing Daises AU. I was! So I wrote a little blurb and some more very nice people were like this is good, you should write more. I did. And then did...nothing with it. Until now. I’ve been hoarding this for long enough and I’m actually pretty proud of it and it’s got a whole bunch of some of my favorite things. There will be a lot of banter and more kissing than you probably expect if you’ve seen the show, and a lot of magic and magical explanations. If I have any talent writing banter it comes directly from watching Pushing Daisies, so hopefully I’ve done them well here. Also shoutout to @distant-rose for the Fathership.

Updates every Wednesday going forward, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know: @shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-----

Emma Swan is nine years, six months, twelve days and, approximately, fifteen hours old when she realizes she is hopelessly, painfully, deliriously in love.

It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling.

Mostly because it happens suddenly, without much prompting and the object of her affection is currently spraying her in the face with the hose in his front yard.

She yelps, water catching on her eyelashes and strands of her hair, but he just grins at her, taking a step forward to make sure her clothes are drenched through. Ingrid is going to kill both of them. Emma can almost hear Liam laughing somewhere.

This, of course, is why she’s so frustrated by her sudden realization.

Emma has been standing on the Jones’ front lawn for as long as she can remember – directly opposite of her own front lawn and close enough that Ingrid can still yell for her to come home when dinner is ready. Or when there’s pie. There’s almost always pie.

Emma’s friendship with Killian Jones is not much more than happenstance and convenience. He lives across the street, with his brother in a great, big house with stained glass windows that paint the inside of the living room different colors when the sun sets. They met by mistake, Emma drawing with chalk at the end of the driveway and he was watering the lawn and dared to disturb her masterpiece.

She threw chalk at him.

It went from there. They talked and yelled and Emma may have stomped her foot more than once regarding the destroyed drawings, but Killian picks up the broken pieces of chalk and offers her one and they come up with a rather stunning visual of a futuristic outer space world with some kind of monorail system. The engineering is very impressive.

And they don’t ever really stop. They dart back and forth across the street for years, afternoons spent constructing spaceships out of cardboard boxes Liam brought home from work and evenings in the kitchen with Ingrid while she lets them test a new flavor of pie she’s experimenting with. They watch movies and celebrate birthdays and there’s a secret handshake because of course there’s a secret handshake, and Emma tells Killian she sometimes wonders what happened to her real parents and Killian tells Emma he’s scared Liam is going to disappear like his dad did.

She shouldn’t love him.

And yet, at nine years, six months, twelve days and, approximately, fifteen hours old, Killian Jones is quite possibly the most important person in Emma’s life.

Except Ingrid. Because she makes all that pie.

Killian is quiet – at least at first, soft-spoken words, but with a certainty that rings of clarity and confidence and it hadn’t taken long for him to grow a little bolder with Emma around. He laughs easier as the years go on, smile wide and, usually, only for her. His hair is almost always too long, dark strands that drift dangerously close to his eyebrows and a gaze that Emma also seems to covet.

She doesn’t realize that yet, because she’s nine and she doesn’t know what covet means, but, eventually, it will all make sense.

And eventually, she will regret not telling Killian Jones that he’s her best friend and she’s absolutely, positively in love with him.

But Emma is nine and she believes she’s got the rest of her life and the rest of Killian’s life and she hasn’t allowed a little thing like death to even begin to enter the back corners of her mind.

That will change soon.

“Killian Jones, I am going to murder you,” she shouts, lunging forward. He laughs even louder when her feet skid on the slick grass, a flash of blue eyes and that smile that, even then, Emma considers hers and hers alone.

“That’s not very nice, Swan. You’re the one who got in the way of all my work.” “Your work?” He nods seriously, as if he’s not directing the hose directly at her feet now and she’s going to have to throw these jeans away. They’ll never dry. “Did you not see that list of chores Liam left? Making sure the lawn wasn’t dry was one of them.” “It’s a lawn, how dry can it be?” “I didn’t ask.” “Didn’t you want to know?”

“Maybe,” Killian admits, flicking his wrist up to move the water so it hits Emma’s stomach and she gasps when some of the air gets knocked out of her. “But you came over here.” “And?” “And what? You’re here aren’t you?”

It’s impossible for Emma to realize what exactly that question means in the moment, but she’s also just realized she’s in love with Killian, so her heart does a fairly good job of attempting to beat its way out of her chest.

He drops the hose.

“You could have told me you had stuff to do.”

“But you were here,” he says again, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. It kind of is. She can’t remember a single time he told her to leave.

Even when she was the new kid in school – after she and Ingrid first moved to Storybrooke and Emma heard the whispers because she didn’t have real parents and no mom to make her lunch, but Killian just bumped his shoulder against hers and flashed her half a smile. He held her hand when they walked into school.

Killian never cared about cooties.

Or anything except Emma.

“Yeah,” Emma mumbles. She digs her toes into the mud under her, the soft squelch of it almost matching up with the erratic rhythm of her pulse. “Well…”

He practically beams.

And Emma isn’t sure what’s going to happen next because she’s never encountered a moment quite like this, but she can hear Liam’s footsteps and grumblings about the state of the lawn and— “Killian, if you’re just going to stand around all day...” he starts, but his eyes dart towards Emma as soon as she moves her foot again and the look on his face is unreadable. Particularly to a nine-year-old coming to terms with the idea of first love. “Oh,” Liam says. ��Hey, Emma, I didn’t know you were here.” She shrugs. “I was going to ride my bike, but then Killian thought he was funny.” Liam’s expression changes again, more emotions Emma is not nearly old enough to understand or deal with, but it will, eventually, be that kind of day. At the moment, however, it’s sunny and there are a few clouds in the sky. The perfect day to race down the hill on the other side of town.

“How many times in a row have you beat Killian?” Liam asks knowingly, and Emma laughs before she can continue to consider whatever he’s doing with his face.

“Forty seven.” “Oh, that’s not true, at all,” Killian shouts, ducking down to grab the hose again. Liam’s quicker than him, though grabbing him around the waist and pinning him against his chest. “God, Liam, let go of me!”

“Nah, little brother—” “—Younger brother!” “Semantics.” “Stop trying to show off!”

Emma is still laughing, her sides feeling as if they’ll split from the force of it. Killian scowls at her when she doesn’t come to his immediate aid, but her eyes dart back towards Liam. He nods. And it only takes a few moments for Killian to realize what’s going to happen, more flailing limbs and shouted protests.

“Swan, Swan, Swan,” he chants, a nickname that isn’t really a nickname, but might be his in the way the smile is hers and Emma shakes her head when she grabs the water hose. “Don’t do that, that’s not even fair!” “I know it’s not,” she says. “But you were being a great, big giant jerk before and Ingrid’s going to be mad my jeans are all muddy.” “You should have dodged better then!” “Ah, c’mon now, little brother,” Liam chastises, still holding him around the waist and he’s probably bruised from Killian’s elbows. “That’s not hospitable at all. Emma’s a guest in our front lawn and you went and ruined her whole outfit.” Killian groans, but the sound turns into a yelp as soon as the water hits his feet and he realizes how cold it is. Emma widens her eyes. “Swan is not a guest,” he argues.

Emma briefly wonders if her eyes can actually fall out of her face. It feels as if they’re about to, that particular proclamation ricocheting around her brain and her subconscious until she’s certain it’s the only words she’ll ever hear again.

Killian blinks when Emma doesn’t say anything – or move the hose away from his feet. “You haven’t beaten me down the hill forty-seven times,” he mutters. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

And sprays him directly in the chest.

There’s no way to really avoid Liam in this, but he doesn’t seem to mind, more laughter and tangled limbs, Killian’s hair sticking to his forehead and the shell of his left ear when Emma moves the water again. And for a few seconds Emma thinks she’s winning whatever unspoken battle they’ve staged here, but Killian’s always been a little shifty and and he turns quickly enough that he’s able to sneak out of Liam’s grasp.

He moves towards her quicker than she’s ready for, tugging the hose out of her hands with an almost triumphant noise.

“You’ve got to be faster than that, Swan,” Killian grins, waving the hose through the air until it feels as if Emma’s standing in a rainstorm.

“You are the worst!” “Tell the truth about the hill!” “I am,” Emma yells, sniffling when the water threatens to find its way up her nose. “Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” Killian shakes his head, dodging what Emma thought was a particularly well-placed kick at his ankles. “No, you’re not. You like me way too much to kill me.” “That’s not true.” The words feel heavy on her tongue, despite the laughter still clinging to Killian’s voice and Liam’s rather pitiful attempts to get back on his feet after falling in the mud. Emma swallows, desperate to understand what is happening in the pit of her stomach, but Killian doesn’t look away from her.

He keeps staring and the water keeps running, slowing slightly because they’re probably emptying the Storybrooke reservoir at this point.

“I don’t know about that, Swan,” Killian says, leaning towards her. Emma gets the distinct impression he doesn’t mean to do that.

“Liar, liar.” “I’m not the one lying. Forty seven? That’s impossible.” “If you think you’re winning, you should have been keeping better track.”

That catches him by surprise, a quick bark of laughter and water splashing on Emma’s shin when he jerks his hand to the side. “Sorry, sorry,” Killian mumbles when he notices the look on her face. “That one really wasn’t on purpose.” “Yuh huh.” “Swan.” Emma rolls her eyes, the sarcasm obvious in his voice and the half a smile on his face. Liam has finally stood up. “How many times do you think we’ve raced down the hill?” she presses, moving forward to push her finger into his water-soaked shirt.

That gets him to blink.

She takes that as another victory.

“Way more than forty seven,” Killian answers. “And I win most of the time.” Emma stamps her foot – which gives Killian just enough time to wrap his own fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away from him and pinning it against her side and the water is absolutely getting colder when he holds the hose directly above her head.

“Say it’s not forty seven,” he laughs. Emma shakes her head, pressing her lips together tightly as if she’s refusing to give federal testimony.

Liam appears to have given up on even trying to salvage the situation.

“It’s not forty seven, Swan,” Killian continues. “I’ll give you...maybe thirty two, tops.” “Nope.” “Thirty five?” “I have beaten you down that hill forty seven times Killian Jones and that’s only in the last year since I started keeping track.” “You’ve only been keeping track for the last year?” “You never kept track to begin with!” “She’s got a point, little brother,” Liam muses. He’s sitting on the far side of the lawn now, doing something that may actually be pulling weeds and no one could have taken better care of that house than Liam did.

“Oh, shut up,” Killian grumbles. He snaps his head back towards Emma, mouth twisted and eyes slightly narrowed. “Alright, so you started counting this year. I’ll give you that you’ve won most of the races, but I demand a recount for the rest of the summer.” Emma scoffs. “No way. You’re only mad because you didn’t know you were losing and—” “—And you were playing a game I didn’t know we were playing, Swan. So, either you agree to the terms or we keep up this...whatever we’re doing.” “You being a jerk,” she mumbles, and that time her kick lands on his ankle. Killian lets out a gasp of pain, expression shifting slightly and they’re both drenched, water falling from their clothes and their hair and everything feels slightly heavier than it had a few moments before.

It’s not a feeling that belongs in summer vacation.

Killian hums, the tips of his ears going red and Emma learned that particular tell when she was seven and he tried to tell Liam he hadn’t gotten in trouble for fighting with that kid on the playground. The kid on the playground had been making fun of Emma’s distinct lack of parents.

“Forty seven though?” he asks. “Really?” “Really, really,” Emma promises. “But I’m...we could start a new count. If you want.”

“Yeah?” “We’ve got all summer, right?” “And forever,” Killian says with a shrug, another string of words that seems to take up residence in every corner of Emma’s brain and she feels her lips part slightly. It’s her body’s natural reaction to try and keep breathing.

She’s stopped breathing at some point.

And someone else is calling her name.

“Emma Swan,” Ingrid yells, leaning out the front door of the house across the street and the smell of lemon meringue is already obvious. “If you are done destroying all your clothes, then I think it’s time for you to come back over here and eat some lunch!”

Emma’s shoulders sag with the weight of her disappointment – an overreaction in the moment, but eventually it will seem like the most reasonable thing she’s ever done. “Do I have to?” “In twenty-four seconds or less.” “Fine,” Emma sighs. She glances back at Killian before she turns towards home, the smile still on his face and a piece of hair seemingly stuck to his forehead. He waves a dismissive hand through the air at the interruption, as if they do have all the time in the world.

“I’ve got to help Liam anyway. But, uh...after? We could…” “There’s pie,” Emma finishes sharply. “I mean...it smells like pie? You could come over and then we could go.” “Ok.”

Liam makes a ridiculous noise a few feet away – disbelieving and adult and Emma ignores it because she’s nine and cutting into her twenty-four seconds of travel time across the street. “Emma,” Ingrid calls again. “Now!”

“Right, right, right, I’m coming. But…” She glances at Killian and she’s not sure why she feels like she has to make sure, but it feels important and—

“I’ll see you later, Swan,” he says. “I’m sorry about your jeans.”

“That’s ok.” Ingrid is shaking the screen door now. “Emma!”

“Ok, ok! I’ll see you later.”

Ingrid takes one look at the state of her as soon as she gets across the street, lets out a knowing laugh and mumbles something that sounds a lot like we should just buy new clothes every week under her breath. “Go upstairs and try and get some of the mud out of your toes before you drag it across the entire house, ok?” Emma nods, a blur of water-logged fabric and muddy footprints. She’s in the bathroom when she hears it, only a few moments later and nothing has really changed, but it suddenly feels as if everything has been flipped upside down, and Emma cannot possibly be expected to keep up with all of these emotions. Or sounds.

It’s a crash — loud and jarring and then absolute, overwhelming silence.

She freezes, heart sputtering in her chest and it’s impossible to know how she knows, but Emma knows and something is wrong.

She hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about her jeans, sprinting back down the stairs and skidding into the kitchen and Ingrid is lying on the tiled ground, the pie splayed out around her when she dropped it.

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers, knowing it’s pointless. She doesn’t know how she knows that either, but that appears to be the theme of the day and the step she takes forward is alarmingly shaky. “Ingrid,” she repeats. “Are you…”

She can’t bring herself to finish that sentence.

It’s obvious anyway.

Ingrid is dead.

Emma exhales, tears in her eyes and disbelief churning in the pit of her stomach where, just a few moments ago, there were butterflies and the certainty that everything was going to be alright forever and ever.

She tilts her head, as if that will change the scene in front of her and the combined scent of lemon and drying mud is particularly disgusting.

“Ingrid?” Emma repeats, moving towards her as if there are magnets and supernatural forces involved. There are. It’ll just take a moment for her to realize that.

Dropping to her knees, she ignores the pain that shoots up both her legs when she lands on the floor and Emma doesn’t ever actually cry. The tears are there, but they don’t spill over onto her cheeks. They stay in her eyes and, possibly, her soul and eventually that will feel like a very large sign.

With neon lights and sound effects.

In the moment though, it’s just another thing in an increasingly thing-filled situation and part of her wants to call for Killian. Most of her wants to call for Killian.

But Emma’s mouth doesn’t appear to be working anymore, breathing a very particular challenge and Ingrid isn’t her mom. Ingrid isn’t even her officially adopted mom yet, that’s a work in progress and Emma’s fairly certain Liam did something that may help and there were suits involved and Killian stayed at their house that day while Ingrid baked something.

Emma inhales sharply through her nose, Ingrid’s eyes already a little glazed over and staring at absolutely nothing and, if asked, she would have no idea why she does what she does next. Reaching out a finger, she pokes Ingrid in the shoulder, fingertip just barely skimming her skin.

Ingrid blinks, exactly, three times and sits up as normal as ever.

She’s very clearly breathing.

Emma might not be. And she’s worried about the state of her eyes again.

“Did you get mud in here?” Ingrid asks, like that’s an entirely reasonable question and Emma is still frozen. Her mind can’t keep up with the moment or the feelings coursing through her veins, a mix of terror and surprise and happiness, plus whatever she may still be feeling for Killian and she still wishes Killian were in the kitchen with her. “Must have slipped,” Ingrid continues. She shakes her head, clearly unaware of what just happened and Emma is still doing her best to keep breathing. The pain in her side makes it clear it’s not working very well.

“Emma,” Ingrid says lightly, leaning close enough that Emma jerks away out of instinct. That will eventually prove important. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong, sweetheart?” “Nothing,” Emma mumbles. The word comes out far too quickly though, less a word than just a jumble of syllables and—”I just...heard you fall.” “Because of the mud. Did you not even change your clothes yet?” Emma shakes her head. Her throat feels far too small and far too big, all at the same time. “No, I…” “Well, go back upstairs and make sure you wash behind your ears and—” Ingrid glances around, grabbing a handful of plastic bags and pushing them into Emma’s chest. Her fingers never touch Emma. “Just throw them in here. I think we’ve moved past salvageable on that front. I swear, the messes you and that Jones boy get into should be documented for—”

It annoys Emma that no one will finish their sentences.

But the timer on the oven dings, wholly unnecessary given the pie that’s still on the kitchen floor and Emma’s annoyance ebbs as soon as she hears the first shout. That’s not the right word. It’s less of a shout and more like absolute and complete anguish.

Her head snaps towards the open window, the same one that looks directly onto the Jones’ front lawn and she can barely make out the top of Killian’s hair. He’s kneeling on the ground, clearly not worried about the state of his jeans or the mud that’s likely working its way into the fibers, gripping something.

It takes Emma exactly two seconds, one gasp and three blinks to realize what he’s holding — Liam, dead.

The tears that land on her cheek feel like brands, hot and emotional and she’s moving before she realizes, dashing around Ingrid and across the street. A car honks at her when she runs in front of it, but Emma doesn’t slow down and Killian’s still yelling and Liam is very obviously dead.

He looks just like Ingrid.

Or just like Ingrid did before Emma touched her.

Because Emma touched Ingrid back to life.

“I don’t know what happened,” Killian stammers, eyes already rimmed red and the shake in his voice seems to rattle down Emma’s spine. “He was there and it was fine and then I...he wasn’t and he just...he fell over and it was…”

He lets out another choked sob, falling towards Emma’s shoulders like those pesky magnets are involved again and the only thought in her head is to hold onto him, like she’s trying to keep him there. Permanently.

She’s got no idea how long they stay there, and it’s impossible to tell Killian’s tears from the rest of the water in Emma’s shirt. She can hear Ingrid on the phone, quiet and slightly frantic and the ambulance arrives twenty minutes later.

There’s no explanation.

It makes no sense. Because Liam Jones was young and healthy and fully capable of keeping his brother pinned to his side so Emma could point the hose directly at his feet. A dead Liam Jones makes no sense.

And Emma doesn’t say much for the rest of the day, just keeps staring ahead and trying to breath, her fingers laced with Killian’s for however many hours it takes for his uncles to show up.

“Killian,” a man yells. He jogs up the front steps of the porch, an oversized coat hanging off his shoulders and something that may be several earrings glittering under the street lights.

Emma dimly remembers Ingrid tearing through Liam’s paperwork that afternoon, trying to find someone to come watch Killian — and the result is two uncles, one named Nemo and the other Shakespeare, who’d spent most of their lives as part of a traveling acting troupe. They’re eccentric in a way that's fascinating at any time, let alone one that includes a dead Liam Jones, but Killian rushes towards the man who called his name.

His whole body shakes with the force of his tears.

And, for the first time since she moved to Storybrooke, Emma feels out of place sitting on that side of the street, not sure she understands the weight of wrong that seems intent on dragging her into the Earth.

“It’s alright, my boy, it’s alright,” the man continues. He barely pays any attention to Emma when she moves, but the other one, wearing his own ridiculous coat that looks like it came directly from the Navy, casts her a speculative glance.

She tries to smile.

She does. But it’s been a seemingly endless day and they never rode their bikes down the hill.

Emma can’t believe she’s worried about riding her bike down the hill.

“I think it’s about time you got some rest, huh?” Ingrid asks. She’s standing in the doorframe, apron still tied around her waist from that afternoon, but it doesn’t smell like pie in the house.

It smells like mud and ending and Emma is tired. That must be it.

She nods, and for a few minutes it’s normal and almost good and the lingering taste of toothpaste in her mouth as she climbs into bed is almost comforting. But then it’s Ingrid stepping into her room and tugging the blankets up under her chin and the kiss she places on Emma’s forehead will linger for years.

It’s the last thing she ever does.

Ingrid kisses Emma and her whole body goes taut, eyes getting that same glazed look as she falls directly onto her back.

Emma doesn’t gasp.

She blinks, opening her mouth and leaning over the side of the bed like this is one, long practical joke. Ingrid doesn’t move. And Emma has had enough experience with dead bodies in the last twelve hours to realize she’s facing her third.

Or, well, second. Technically.

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers, not expecting an answer, but frustrated all the same. She reaches her hand out, pushing and prodding and touching and none of it works. She uses two fingers and three, tries punching Ingrid’s shoulder, but nothing happens.

Ingrid is dead.

And Emma runs – directly across the street.

The Navy man opens the door, a little starling with dark eyes and shaved head, but Emma can feel the tears on her cheeks again, shoulders shaking with the effort of running and figuring out what’s going on and he doesn’t object when she falls towards him. He wraps his arms around her middle and lets her cry.

The rest is a whirlwind of phone calls and suitcases and arrangements that Emma is not capable of making. The state, however, is more than happy to do just that – a car set to pick her up after the funeral that will bring her to a group home in a different state and promises that everything will be fine, but Emma doesn’t trust much of anything anymore, particularly after Ingrid was alive. Again.

And then dead. Again.

None of it makes sense.

But that’s for a different moment and a different day to understand and in this moment Emma can’t help but keep glancing across the cemetery towards Killian, fidgeting in a suit with splotchy cheeks and shoes she knows don’t fit.

He nods towards the patch of grass in between the two services, hand stuffed in his pocket. His tie is slightly off center.

The state had to buy Emma a black dress.

“You’re leaving,” Killian whispers, not a question, but a statement of fact and Emma’s neck aches when she nods in response.

“I’ll be back.” “I don’t want you to leave.” “I don’t want to either. I’m...I’m sorry.” Killian tilts his head, confusion settling into the space between his eyebrows. “Why?”

Emma doesn’t have an answer to that. She has suspicions. And she’ll figure them out later, but right then, nine years, six months, fifteen days and, approximately, ten hours old, Emma Swan only has the certainty that she loves Killian Jones more than anything in the world and she doesn’t want to walk away from him.

So she takes a step forward.

As first kisses go, it’s probably not the greatest. There are two funerals happening and those suspicions lingering in the back of Emma’s mind make the air around her feel heavy, but she’s only a little certain she won’t ever be back and the rest of the reasons don’t matter.

She tilts her head up, a quick brush of her lips over Killian’s. He doesn’t pull back, but it’s nothing more than that, until his thumb brushes over the curve of Emma’s cheek, catching a tear on the pad and the smile he gives her when she pulls back echoes in her memories for the next twenty years.

“Ms. Swan,” a state official says brusquely and it must be time.

She nods another, still shaky and uncomfortable, but that may just be the state of her lungs and the ability of either one of her legs to hold up her weight. Killian hasn’t moved his thumb. He doesn’t appear to want to.

“I’m going to see you again,” he says, a promise Emma tries desperately to believe. It doesn’t work, the guilt and the weight in the very center of her is too big and too much and nothing has made sense, so it only makes sense that she doesn’t respond.

She will, eventually, regret that.

Because Emma Swan doesn’t ever see Killian Jones again.

At least not while they’re both alive.

Emma wakes with a start, glancing around her room like she’ll see several different ghosts spying on her. It feels that way, has for the last three days when she first started having these dreams and really the whole thing can fuck right off.

It hasn’t happened in years – nightmares about that day and that night and how cold Ingrid looked when the EMTs carried her out of the house, the same ones who’d showed up for Liam.

The irony of that was not lost on a grown-up Emma.

Because a grown-up Emma was also a vaguely jaded Emma and she stopped having nightmares about Killian Jones and death years ago.

Her subconscious does not seem to care.

Her subconscious seems intent on driving her insane.

Emma never went back to Storybrooke. She left with that state worker, lips still tingling from a first kiss that in retrospect would have been adorable if there wasn’t so much goddamn death involved, but Emma barely had time to linger on that thought before she was shipped to the first of nearly a dozen group homes and foster homes and less-than-pleasant foster families.

It went on that way for years nothing permanent and everything disappointing and Emma has kept a fairly wide berth between herself and lingering human contact. Because, well, here’s the thing; Emma Swan is not exactly normal.

In that she’s decidedly unnormal.

As unnormal as it is possible to be.

Because Emma Swan can wake the dead.

And kill them again.

It takes Emma three houses and one birthday without anyone acknowledging it is her birthday to grow disillusioned enough that it somehow makes sense to start conducting a few macabre science experiments. She’d always had her suspicions after that night and things that timed up too well to be coincidence and Emma starts with a dead bird she finds on the side of the road.

It’s gross.

The whole thing is gross, but she can’t shake this feeling that something is wrong with her, some fundamental issue that makes her unlovable and unfixable and she’s got to do something or she’s positive she’s going to shake herself out of her own skin.

So she starts with the bird and it flies away and something else falls out of a tree and it might be a raccoon, but Emma’s never seen a raccoon. So, she doesn’t spend too long thinking about it before she runs away.

And the houses keep coming and the experiments keep being...gross and Emma realizes, when she’s twelve years, ten months, sixteen days and nine hours old, that there are some rules to all of this.

They’re relatively simple, but they’re unbreakable.

Touch a dead thing once, it comes back to life. Touch it again, dead, forever. Keep a dead thing alive for more than one minute and something else has to die in its place.

It’s then that twelve-year-old Emma realizes magic never comes for free. There’s always some kind of price. And she never looks for Killian Jones.

She never goes back home.

She moves – house to house and family to family, in name at least, until she ages out of the system and scrapes together enough money waitressing to pay the rent on the shoebox of an apartment she can live in. She moves out of that apartment eventually too.

The concept of roots kind of freaks Emma out.

Everything kind of freaks Emma out.

She assumes it’s because she’s wrong.

At, like, the most basic level.

She does a good job of hiding it. Most of the time. She’s grown up and the years have passed, as the years have a tendency to do, and she’d saved up enough from those first few waitressing jobs that it only makes sense to open up her own restaurant and Emma may hate roots, but she’s still kind of a sentimental loser and her restaurant is on the other side of the county from Storybrooke and only serves pie.

Damn good pie, but only pie.

It’s kitschy. It kind of balances out all the death in her life.

Emma shakes her head, still sitting upright in bed and she’d left the TV in the corner of the room the night before. The news is on now, some perfectly coiffed broadcaster talking about a murder victim and reward for any information and Emma mutters a curse under her breath because she knows it’s only a matter of time until—

Her ringtone is loud enough that she’s momentarily concerned about the effect it will have on her wallpaper.

Ruby is already talking by the time Emma swipes her thumb over the phone screen.

“Em, Em, Em, Em, where are you? Are you home? Are you at work? Are you on your way to your very short commute from your home to your work?” “Are you breathing?” “No, this is more important than breathing.”

Emma slumps into the small mound of pillows behind her. There is only one thing Ruby would consider more important than breathing – money.

The story of how Emma Swan meets Ruby Lucas is fraught with miscues and miscreants, but the important thing is that a perp Ruby was chasing over the goddamn top of buildings missed a step and suddenly fell directly into the alley behind Emma’s restaurant.

Where she was taking the garbage out.

He died rather instantly. And then...was less dead once he slammed his hand on Emma’s forearm. All of which Ruby saw.

Emma managed to swat at his head before he took off back down the block, but the damage was done as they say. Not Ruby. Obviously. She claims it was fate and meant to be and, well, it’s much easier for a private investigator to figure out who killed murder victims when she’s got a partner who can wake them up and ask them.

“What’s the gig?” Emma asks, mostly because sometimes she likes to use the wrong lingo on purpose if only to get Ruby to make that put-upon sigh. It works.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.” “Listen, Rubes, I’ve got, just like, a ton of mail order...orders waiting for me, so if this is going to take several thousand years then…” “Did you just call them mail order orders?” “That makes sense.” “Ehhhhh.” “Give me a break, I literally woke up five minutes before you called.” Ruby doesn’t sigh at that. She doesn’t say anything. That’s more concerning. “You just woke up?” she asks, a note of concern in her voice that probably shouldn’t feel as if it affects several of Emma’s internal organs. “Was...more weird dreams?” Emma makes a noncommittal noise – mostly to save face and partly because she’s been incredibly vague with Ruby about the dreams, only mentioning them when her partner pointed out how dead tired she looked during a trip to the morgue earlier this week. Ruby thought she was far funnier than she was.

“Emma,” Ruby chides, drawing out her name until it feels like a reprimand and punishment. “C’mon, seriously. What are you even dreaming about?” “Nothing.” “Is your eye twitching?” “Excuse me?” “Your eye twitches when you lie,” Ruby says. “Like every single time. It may be your most giving tell, honestly.” “How many tells do you think I have?” “I know you have, at least, five. The eye twitch is the most obvious, but sometimes you play with your hair and you scrunch your nose. Plus that foot bobbing thing and, uh...that’s four, right?” Emma makes another noise, eyes flitting back towards the TV and she can’t shake the feeling she should know something about whatever the story is. “Damn,” Ruby huffs. “I can’t think of the last one. You know what, it doesn’t matter. You’re trying to distract me and it’s not working.” “Did it not?” Emma laughs.

“No. Kind of. But no. Listen to me, do you want to get paid or not?” “I thought we already talked about all the mail order orders I have. There are just...a questionable number of rotten strawberries in my walk-in.” “It’s weird that you use rotten fruit.” Emma shrugs. And tugs her hair over her shoulder. “Cheaper that way,” she explains, not for the first time. “Plus, it’s not like I’m eating my own pie.” “Can’t have your pie and eat it too?”

“I don’t think that’s the colloquialism you were looking for. And you’re still getting sidetracked. Does this have something to do with the body they’re talking about on the news?”

“If the body on the news is offering a five-figure reward for any information regarding his untimely demise.” Emma doesn’t usually react to Ruby’s blunt viewpoint of the world and its numerous dead bodies, but she can’t suppress the shiver that moves her body when she hears his and something is wrong.

“His? And did you say five figures?”

Ruby hums, sounding as if she’s already decided what to do with her share. “His. I promise that is the least interesting part. The interesting part is that he was found out by the old quarry on the other side of the county, you know right near the bottom of the—”

“Hill,” Emma finishes. “The bottom of the hill. That’s…” Her vision swims, memories and moments attacking from every angle until she has to glance at her arms to make sure she’s not sporting inexplicable bruises from the past. She’s not.

Magic only goes so far, it seems.

“Yeah,” Ruby says, confusion obvious in all four letters. “That’s exactly right. They say it looked pretty bad. Some kind of something gone wrong, but the town isn’t happy about it and they don’t like the limelight and the allusions that they’re a hotbed for murder so I guess the mayor’s offered up a bunch of money and—” “—What was the guy’s name?” “What?” “The guy,” Emma repeats, and her voice scratches on the words. “You said it was a guy right? At the bottom of the hill? In Storybrooke?” Silence.

There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

And Emma’s head snaps back towards the TV when they finish their report because services for the deceased are being held tomorrow and— “His name’s, well, it was, I guess, his name was Killian Jones,” Ruby says, and Emma doesn’t really hear the rest of it.

She barely realizes she’s agreed to any of this until the local news ends, switches over to even crappier daytime programming and Emma has no idea how she gets through the day. She bakes. That’s kind of her thing.

She bakes and comes up with ridiculous recipes and flavor combinations and the customers are happy and Ruby announces I’ll see you tomorrow when she slams the door closed behind her nearly ten hours after it feels as if the world has ended.

Killian Jones is dead.

And Emma can’t seem to catch her breath.

Ruby’s standing outside her car the next morning, two cups of coffee in her hand and an expectant smile on her face. “Your eye is twitching,” she says conversationally, handing Emma what better be a latte. It’s not.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure I don’t. I’m just paid to observe and critique—” “—No one is paying you to critique.” “Whatever,” Ruby shrugs, swinging open the passenger side door of Emma’s car. “Why the face about this place?” “I will tell you it’s less threatening when you rhyme.” Ruby scowls. “That was not intentional and mostly the fault of the limits of the English language. You lived there at one point, didn’t you?”

“Were you looking me up last night?” Emma balks, and her hand is shaking so hard it’s difficult to move the gear shift.

“Please, don’t insult me like that. I looked you up as soon as I met you.” Emma jerks her head around, only to find Ruby grinning at her like several metaphorical cats. “Then why the third degree?” “There are no degrees here. There’s friendly curiosity, particularly when it comes to the state of your body and your ability to do what we’re going here to do.” “I’m fine.” The lie is honestly almost offensive. Emma made sixteen pies the day before. One had five different kinds of berries in it. She tested a new crust recipe she’s been thinking about for years.

Literally. Years.

She’s so stressed out she’s not sure she even shut her eyes the night before.

And that’s not the right word at all.

She’s goodman terrified.

She can’t believe Killian is dead.

Ruby throws her whole head back when she laughs, the sound filling the entire car and lingering on air molecules. “God, that was horrible,” she mutters. “Ok, let’s try it again. You know this guy?” “Small town.” “Not an answer.” “I knew him.” “In a personal sense?”

“Oh my God, Ruby,” Emma groans, and she can’t slump down in the seat while she’s driving. It’s definitely the most unfortunate thing that’s happened to her all day. She can’t imagine that will stay the same going forward. “I left Storybrooke when I was nine!”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh, yuh huh. Ok. So...what is it, childhood sweetheart?” “You know me better than that.” “I thought I did until I saw the explosion in your kitchen yesterday and now I’m starting to think you and our body were a little—” “—Can we not call him a body,” Emma snaps, knuckles going white when she grips the steering wheel too tight.

Ruby blinks. “Still sweet on him?”

“I was nine.” “That’s not an answer.” “No,” Emma says, and she doesn’t expect that to hurt nearly as much as it does. That’s insane. This whole thing is insane. She wrote down conversational ideas for her sixty seconds with Killian somewhere around four in the morning.

Every one was worse than the last.

“No?” Ruby echoes. “You should tell that to your right arm.” Emma groans, not taking her eyes off the road because she can feel her arm shaking against her side. Her elbow keeps digging into her rib. “This is going to be fine,” Emma mumbles. Ruby does not look convinced.

That’s probably for the best since Emma can’t control her limbs – or her mind.

And she might not be nine years old anymore, but she’s fairly certain part of her never really stopped loving Killian Jones and the rest of her never forgot Killian Jones and they don’t hit any traffic on their way to Storybrooke.

She figures that’s some kind of sign.

They come up with some excuse for the funeral director – a portly man Emma doesn’t recognize who doesn’t recognize Emma because she hasn’t been in Storybrooke in nearly twenty years – and he directs them towards the viewing parlor.

The whole thing is sterile and unfeeling and Emma keeps exhaling dramatically.

“They think he was into some shady stuff you know,” the man says, voice dropping low like he’s sharing secrets with them. Ruby arches an eyebrow.

“That so?” “Oh yeah, yeah, very messy crime scene. Guess he came out on the short end.” Emma's stomach turns, mouth dropping open. “And no one else was found there? Just Kill—Mr. Jones? He was the only victim?” “You think the police are hiding more dead bodies?” “That’s not what I said.” “What she means,” Ruby says, stepping in between the two of them before Emma can throw the first punch, “is that it seems strange that there would be a sign of struggle and nothing else. No other evidence of other people around?” The funeral director does not look impressed. “That’s not my area,” he shrugs. “All I know is there’s a reward and the mayor’s going crazy trying to keep the cameras out of here and the kid’s uncles are besides themselves.” Emma has to count to ten in her head to make sure her exhale doesn’t fly out of her. Ruby’s gaze flashes her direction. “Right,” she says. “Well, if you don’t mind…”

There are a few more words exchanged – and possibly a few well-placed bills, but Emma ignores all of that, taking in the scene and there’s an actual sign at the far end of the room.

In Loving Memory of Killian Jones.

Emma drags her hand over her face, blinking back whatever has suddenly appeared in her eyes and she resolutely refuses to believe they’re tears.

She can’t believe he’s dead.

“Em,” Ruby calls. “We’re uh...we’ve only got a couple minutes here.”

Emma nods brusquely, avoiding the slightly accusatory stare of the funeral director and—”What if I did this on my own?”

“What?” “My own. Just...there’s, you know, years and a familiarity there and he’s...well, it may be weird to wake him up and stun him like that.” Ruby’s eyebrows set several different records for height and movement. “You think we’re going to stun him? And did you say wake him up? He’s not asleep, Em.” “I know, I know, but...just...I think this is for the best.” “Yuh huh.” “You keep saying that.” “That’s because I can’t figure out another string of words to use in this situation. You know you can’t stay in there long.” “I know.” “You’ve got sixty seconds to figure out who killed this guy.”

Emma shivers. And Ruby notices. Always. Perpetually. Infuriatingly. “I know,” Emma says again. “Trust me, it’s...I’ll be in and out and we’ll be collecting money in no time.” “Announce that a little louder.” Emma sighs, Ruby staring at her like she’s taking stock or emotional inventory. It seems to last forever and Emma does her best to keep her breathing even when Ruby leans around her to open the viewing room door.

“Sixty seconds,” she repeats. “That’s it.” “Aye aye.”

The door sounds impossibly loud when it closes behind Emma, another sound that makes her jump and sigh and she’s an absolute disaster. Or at least she thought she was until she turned and saw the coffin and then it feels a little like melting and a bit like freezing and it’s a strange combination, particularly when she’s also fairly certain her lungs have disappeared entirely.

She squeezes her eyes closed, desperate for some trace of confidence or courage. It’s disappointing when she can’t find any.

“C’mon, Swan,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to the person on the other side of the room because that’s exactly what the person on the other side of the room would say to her.

Emma takes a step forward, wobbly at best and petrified at worst, lifting the coffin lid, and her lungs reappear in a miracle of modern science as soon as her eyes land on him.

“Oh,” Emma breathes, and that’s about all there is to it.

He’s wearing a suit, hair even longer than it was when he was ten years old. It curls slightly, just behind his ears, and there’s a dusting of scruff on his face. His hand is folded over his chest, only one hand, making his jacket twist slightly and Emma feels as if her throat is closing.

He’s got an earring in one ear.

It makes her laugh.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles. “You look like a pirate.”

She closes her eyes again when he doesn’t answer – she refuses to acknowledge why he doesn’t answer, but she’s got a job and justice needs to be served or something. Ruby probably has several dozen new pairs of shoes she’s already preordered.

Bobbing on her feet as soon as she’s within arms-length of the coffin, Emma shimmies her shoulders, like that will help shake free the nerves clinging to the base of her spine. Her lips feel far too dry, breathing far too erratic, but she’s on limited time and she’s got to touch him.

She’s got no idea where to touch him.

She scans his face, trying to find a spot that isn’t too forward or too weird and her eyes land on the scar on his cheek – a souvenir of a race down the hill and faulty brakes and Liam had been white as a sheet when they came home with Emma’s blood-stained sweatshirt pressed against Killian’s cheek.

“Ok,” she nods, and talking to herself is definitely a sign of impending insanity, but she kind of hopes she’s already gone insane and—

He moves far quicker than she expected.

Emma’s no more than brushed her fingertips over the curve of his cheek than he’s throwing his arm out in the minimal space between them, his wrist colliding painfully with her stomach. She stumbles backwards, barely keeping her balance and mumbling a string of curses under her breath and when she looks up he’s brandishing a chair at her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Killian shouts, and Emma does her best to quiet him without taking a rogue chair to the side of her legs.

“Listen, listen, listen. Do you remember when you were a kid there was a girl who lived across the street from you?” He doesn’t immediately put the chair down. He licks his lips instead. And the tips of his ears go red. “Swan?”

Emma nods, ignoring the lump of everything in the back of her throat at her sound of her own name. “Hi.” “Hi? Did you just say hi? What are you doing here?” “I’m uh...how much do you remember of, like, the last seventy-two hours?” Killian makes a face, an expression that does something particular to Emma’s heart and soul and whatever, tilting his head and his eyes widen when he notices the coffin he just leapt out of. “Oh, shit. Is that…” “Yeah,” Emma says. “So, uh. I don’t have a lot of time here.” “How much time is not a lot of time? God, are you some kind of angel? Is that what’s happening? Because if that’s what’s happening, then that’s a really twisted trick to show me you when I’m dead and—” “—No, no, I’m really here.” She ignores most of that sentence too. She’ll have the rest of her life to linger on what those words, maybe, mean. “But, um, we’re wasting time.” “To?” “Have you tell me who killed you.” Killian blinks – far too quickly to be anything except entirely distracting, and Emma wishes he wouldn’t because she’d really like to see his eyes and she’s almost pleased to realize her memories of his eyes have remained perfect for the last two decades. “Are you a cop?”

“No, but, Killian, you’re really cutting into your time here. It’s like...twenty seconds now.” “What?” “Killian!” His answering smile is blinding. That’s the only word Emma can come up with. It makes her breath catch and her shoulders sag, as if all the worries and fears and anxieties of the world have disappeared. At least for a moment.

“It’s really good to see you, Swan,” he says, taking a step towards her and Emma backs up on instinct. That gives him, visible, pause. “I don’t know who killed me.” “What?” “I have no idea who killed me. It was an arrangement and—that’s not important, but I don’t know how it happened. I think I had a dream about some kind of blade but—” He cuts himself off when he twists the wrong way, gritting his teeth when his gaze falls on the blunt end of his left arm. “Holy shit,” Killian mumbles. “That’s...shit did I bleed out somewhere?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admits. “That’s why I’m here.” “To find out why I died?” She nods. “And you’re not an angel?” She shakes her head. “Huh, well I’m sorry to disappoint, Swan, but I’ve got no idea. Does that send me directly to hell or something?” “I’m really not an angel.” Killian hums, rocking towards her and ignoring whatever Emma’s eyes do at that. “So, uh...what happens now? I was dead, wasn’t I?” “Yeah. Um...well, I have to touch you and you’ll be dead again.” “You have to touch me?” “Them’s the rules.” He chuckles, the smile on his face her smile and Emma’s a greedy jerk. She wrings her hands together. That’s probably the fifth tell. “You know,” she mutters. “When I was a kid...I was...you were my first kiss.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “You were my first kiss too,” Killian says. “And you’ve got to touch me so I die again?” “Please don’t say it like that.” There’s more laughter and they’re definitely in the final seconds and Emma tilts her head up as soon as Killian’s incredibly shiny dress shoes threaten to brush against her flats. “No better way to go out then to go out kissing, huh?” “Oh my God.” “Admit it, Swan, that was funny.” “It was not.” “You’re arguing with a dead man.” She rolls her eyes, but her stomach doesn’t get the memo about jokes and humor and Killian mumbles hey under his breath. “Missed the mark, didn’t I? You don’t…” His ears are still tinged red, a hand reaching behind his back to tug at the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s not a requirement, Swan. The kissing, I mean. Just felt...symmetrical.” “You were always way better at math than me.” Killian grins. “So?”

And for half a breath, Emma is going to do it. She’s going to kiss him and it’ll be something, in some kind of way that may result in a complete and total mental breakdown, because Killian’s already leaning towards her and she really can’t cope with the cut of that suit, but that seems a little morbid too and Emma pulls her lips back behind her teeth.

“Ah,” Killian says, a note of disappointment in his voice that does not make sense for a man who’s standing a few feet away from his own coffin. “That’s fine, Swan.”

He’s called her Swan more in the last forty-five seconds than he did in the last forty-five days they saw each other.

Emma’s not totally convinced he isn’t doing it on purpose.

“What if...you didn’t have to be dead?” Killian scoffs. “That’d be ideal, honestly. Is that an option?”

The objection sits heavy on Emma’s tongue, the certainty that the rules are the rules and there’s no way to break them, but he’s standing there and smiling at her and she takes a step back before she can consider anything except how much she wants Killian Jones to be alive.

With her.

Emma hears the timer on her phone go off. Her sixty seconds are up. And Killian Jones is still alive, smiling at her.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #captain swan ff #cs fic #one foot in #i did not remember this being so long #although humble brag #this may be some of the best banter i've written

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broken-clover · 4 years

Text

AU-gust Day 4- Angels & Demons

I was hoping I wouldn’t have any close calls with this prjoect, but apparently when you write too many words it takes a lot of time. Dunno why this one ended up on the longer end. Ah well.

I really liked this one! Both conceptually and coming up with a story. I also ended up learning a couple things. I never knew ‘cambion’ were a thing until I was researching supernatural crossbreeding.

This one’s Sin and Bedman, but it isn’t romantic (I’m saving that for later!)

When his father talked about heaven, he talked of glimmering monoliths and flowers that grew higher than the eye could see. Of massive floating continents carpeted in grass and an endless sky, so vast and hauntingly beautiful that even angels feared it, just a little.

When his mother talked about hell, she described endless winding, warm tunnels and gentle light. Walls embedded with shining ores and muted colors, eerie to some but comforting to others who dwelled in them.

Sin was pretty sure he preferred being on earth, though. It had a bit of both, scattered in places he didn’t always expect. The little flowers peeking out of cracks in the concrete instead of towering over him. The twinkle of rhinestones and tin cans and iridescent puddles on parking lot asphalt outside the grocery store. The slivers of a gorgeous blue sky between the trees in their backyard.

Ky and Dizzy still had times where they grew wistful of their old homes. Sin couldn’t help but feel ashamed whenever that happened. No matter how much they tried to assure him that he wasn’t at fault for anything, it felt like no matter what he did, he was just a constant reminder that he was the reason they had been banished to earth. Angels weren’t supposed to fraternize with demons, and demons weren’t supposed to pine for angels. And they definitely weren’t supposed to have a child together.

His left wing was his mother’s, slender and leathery, and the right was his father’s, fluffy and blue-white. His halo was visible only in the darkest rooms, and his horns had never grown past little bony nubbins that stayed hidden by his hair. His parents told him that they loved him no matter what, but it was little consolation for the fact that Sin simply didn’t know who or what he was supposed to be. Angels had taken human lovers in the past, and those children were called nephilim. Demons had done the same, and theirs were cambion. But there was no word for the offspring of an angel and a demon, because it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, or something anyone would have ever expected. Maybe it was fitting that they had called him ‘Sin.’ That’s what he was. Nothing more.

He had the impression that his parents didn’t have much of a clue, either. Though they didn’t know much about the concept, they had done their best to raise him as a human, without any of the expectations angels or demons had. There were still some things they just couldn’t ignore- his wings, which were the reason he had been homeschooled until he could learn the techniques to hide them from mortals, or his burgeoning magical abilities- but aside from that, he considered himself indistinguishable to the naked eye from any other human boy. He grew, he learned, he played, and he was very, very curious.

And that curiosity was the reason he was currently sitting on the roof at 10pm, staring up at the empty sky.

There was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and the concept utterly fascinated him. As a child, Sin had used to think that meteors and falling stars were made in heaven and dropped down to earth. Ky had chuckled at the idea. Heaven wasn’t really ‘above’ and hell wasn’t really ‘below,’ so to speak, and meteors came from outer space. Still, it apparently made for a beautiful sight, and he wanted to see it if it really was as breathtaking as everyone said it was.

His parents had foregone watching the shower in favor of visiting a friend’s house for dinner. They had invited him to come along, but Sin had been too enraptured by the idea of a meteor shower that he chose to stay home. He was old enough now that as long as he cleaned up after any messes and didn’t stay up all night, they were willing to let him be responsible for himself.

Sin tried to find a way to lie down and relax without pinching his wings. Ky didn’t like when he climbed on the roof, but it offered a lot better viewing than the tree-lined backyard. If it was his first shower, he wanted to be good.

It took a while of just lying there and staring up at the sky, but eventually, Sin started to see little streaks of light. It wasn’t the most jaw-dropping beauty he’d ever seen, but he could still feel his breath catch in his throat. Every minute or so, a new little smear began twinkling and painting a line across the dark night sky.

“Woah…” His wings flapped against his back. Did they have meteor showers in heaven or hell? For as much otherworldly beauty they seemed to have, Sin wondered if there were some sights that could only be found on earth.

Right before she had left, Dizzy had given him a kiss on the head and told him to make a wish on a falling star. Apparently, that was some kind of human custom. If you didn’t tell anybody what you wished for, then, hypothetically, it was supposed to come true.

It sounded like such a silly concept, but he was already watching, so what was the harm?

Sin shook his head at his own foolishness and sat up, pressing his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut as a golden comet began streaking across the sky. “Dear God, or whoever is in charge of stars. I wish for…”

What was it that he wanted? To be human? To be just an angel, or a demon? Both of his parents were important to him. He didn’t want to give that up. But it didn’t feel like anyone, human or otherwise, really ‘got’ him. Nobody knew about all his sides. Not even his...

Oh! That was a great idea! He closed his eyes again. “I want a friend. But not like the kids at school. I want a friend that really understands me. Somebody who can accept both halves of me. I want a friend that I don’t have to hide anything about myself when they’re around.”

He sat in silence for a moment, before he cracked and opened one eye. Absolutely nothing had changed. He was still sitting on the roof, alone, trying to pray on a meteor.

Sin let out a disappointed groan and flopped back onto the roof, glaring up at that golden meteor as it continued to fly. He didn’t even know why he was disappointed. What had he honestly expected? Of course nothing would happen. It was just a falling rock, after all.

A falling rock that, if he was looking at it right...almost looked like it was heading right towards him.

Before he could realize what was happening, the meteor arced down and slammed into the backyard right in front of him, hitting the dirt with an unexpectedly quiet ‘thump.’ Sin jumped back at the burst of light, but just as quickly scrambled to his feet, moving to peek off of the roof.

It was difficult to discern much of anything. He could see that a few tree branches had been snapped off, but most of the backyard was enveloped in a cloud of dust. Ky had said meteors made craters when they hit the ground, so maybe that was why.

He hopped off the roof, slowing his descent with a few careful flaps until his feet hit the ground. The dust had just begun settling, and he could make out the edge of a ragged hole where the flowerbeds used to be. Dizzy really wasn’t going to be happy about that. She really loved those magnolias. But at least it hadn’t been his fault.

The dirt underfoot began to shift and give as he approached the rim. Sin managed to flap and jump back before he could tumble into it. He watched the little crumbs of dirt roll down along the curved edges until they vanished into the dissipating dust.

Sin considered hopping in anyway, but he was interrupted by the appearance of the meteor as its outline slowly became more prominent and clear. He tried inching forward again, closer but not too close as to fall in. When he thought about it, he wasn’t really sure why he was unnerved. Meteors were rocks, weren’t they? Why would he have any reason to be afraid of a rock?

He leaned forward and squinted his eyes. Well, it had to be a strange one It didn’t look much like a rock. Actually, it really looked a lot more like a kid.

As soon as the thought hit him Sin jerked to attention again. He did a double-take, and began inching back towards the house. Unless it was a ridiculously realistic carving, it just had to be human-shaped. They didn’t have any statues or sculptures in the backyard, and even if they did, it probably would have been destroyed by the meteor...but then again, he couldn’t find anything that looked like a meteor anywhere in the massive dent. All of the dirt had parted around the strange, limp figure that was currently curled up in the bottom of it.

Could it really be a person? How had they managed to fall out of the sky? It just had to be a coincidence, right? Maybe they had climbed into the backyard to try and break into the house while his parents were gone, and just happened to have fallen in. Hesitantly, he reached for the porch broom his mother had left out, and hefted it like a makeshift polearm. Maybe he’d get lucky and they would run away as soon as they realized the house wasn’t abandoned.

He spread his wings and took off again, trying to find a place to land on the steep curves. Despite his best effort, his feet slid out from under him as soon as he landed, and he managed to fall over on his ass. The broom slipped out of his reach as he tried to catch his fall, and Sin watched in dismay as it rolled to a stop right by the center of the crater.

“Easy...easy…” He tried to coax himself, inching down with his hands and feet, breath catching every time he skidded. “Take it slow...don’t panic…”

As soon as he was close enough to the broom, he put his toe on the handle and dragged it up to where he could grab on with his hands. He sat there for a moment, in a confused little ball, holding a dirty broom in the bottom of a meteor crater in his backyard to defend himself from an unconscious person five feet away from him.

Yeah. Even by his standards, this was definitely weird.

When he was pretty well convinced they weren’t going to leap to life and begin clawing at his face, Sin reached over and prodded them in the shoulder with his broom. It didn’t get him any reaction. He let the end of it sit on their back, and he could see the small rise and fall of it. Okay, so they really were just unconscious and not dead. Sin lifted it back up and pulled it into his lap again.

There was something sooty caught up in the broom’s bristles. He moved to wipe it away, but his fingers slid against something soft, instead. When he plucked the odd bit of debris out and held it up to his face, he found that it wasn’t dirt, but a single ink-black feather.

Immediately curious, he let himself scoot closer. Though he hesitated at first, Sin managed to reach across the unconscious body and turn it. Yep, it was still warm, just in case the breathing had been a fluke. He didn’t care about that detail for long, though, because as soon as he rolled them over, he could see swathes of black feathers, arranged in messy lines, folded against their back like a pair of...wings?

No, that couldn’t be right. Ky had said angel’s wings were supposed to be pale, and Dizzy had said demon’s wings were supposed to be leathery. He’d never seen, or even heard of black-feathered wings before. Did that mean they had to be fake? He gave one of them a tug.

“A-agh, ow-”

Sin immediately pulled back once again, pressing himself against the dirt as the body suddenly began moving. At the last moment, he thought to grab the broom, just in time to be face-to-face with a pair of glowing yellow eyes when he faced them again.

He tried to think of something to say. Sin genuinely had no idea how to respond in this situation. Was there etiquette in talking to strange boys that fell out of the sky?

His palms were sweating. He readjusted the grip on his weapon. “I-I’m not looking for trouble.”

The stranger stared at him, silent but seemingly content. As soon as he began to speak, though, he mirrored Sin, throwing himself back against the side of the crater.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” He shouted, remarkably loud for someone his size. Sin was pretty big for his age, but the stranger seemed small even by normal human standards. At least it meant that if this did end up turning violent, he’d be at the advantage.

“Hey, hey, woah, hold up a second-” Sin raised his hands. “I just said, I’m not looking for trouble.”

That didn’t seem to help. “WHO ARE YOU?!” He screeched again.

“I’m- my name is Sin!” He tried, raising his own voice a little so he could be heard better. “My name is Sin, and you’re in my backyard.”

“WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?!”

“I didn’t! I was just watching the shooting stars fall, and then you fell out of the sky instead and landed in my backyard. I have no idea why you’re here. I don’t even have any idea who you are!”

He must have given the stranger what he wanted. Sin watched his muscles unclench. His jet-black wings began doing restless, useless little flaps, the same way his did when he was confused or distressed.

“...What are you?” Asked Sin. “I’ve never seen wings like yours before.”

“Wings?” He responded, though it wasn’t really a response. Sin watched him turn to look at his own black wings.

He nodded. “Yeah. They don’t look like either of mine.” His own wings extended until the other could see them. “You don’t look like a demon, but you don’t really look like an angel, either. Can you tell me what you are?”

“I...I’m…” The other boy still seemed baffled by the sight of his wings, and seemed more focused on them than what Sin was saying.

“You can’t be both, can you? ‘Cause then yours would look like mine. Are you something else? You came from the sky, does that mean you came from space? Are you an alien? Or like some weird, alien-angel-demon thing? If that’s even-”

“Do you babble this much around everyone?” The stranger cut him off with an irritated look.

Sin huffed. “Well, you’re not all that nice. Probably not an angel, then. Then again, dad did say not all angels are friendly…”

“-ngh!” Anything else he was going to say was cut off, as the stranger suddenly winced with a cry.

His eyes flew open with alarm. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

When he didn’t get a response, he tried to get a better look on his own. He brushed messy purple hair out of the boy’s eyes and tried to get his attention. “Hey. Let me see where it hurts.”

“S-stay back- !”

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sin spoke with calm confidence, trying his best to be reassuring. “I just want to see it.”

With enough coaxing, he finally caught sight of the trouble spot as a pale hand came away from his side, dirtied by...something.

“Huh? That looks awfully dirty, maybe it’d help to clean it first-”

As soon as he touched the other’s hand, a stinging pain shot up his arm. Sin yelped and pulled away. A bit of black stickiness clung to his fingertips, and the pain continued until he wiped it off on his hand.

“Ow, ow, ow-” He hissed, wincing at the angry red coloration that had overtaken his fingers. “What the hell…?”

What he’d thought was dirt was actually a strange, sludgy material that weeped from the slice in his side. “Is that...your blood?”

“Well, it has to be, doesn’t it?” The other replied, though he didn’t sound especially sure himself. “Why did you start shouting?”

Sin flexed his fingers tentatively, to make sure they still worked alright. “My hand started hurting as soon as I got it on me. Why would it do that?”

“I…” Maybe it had been dumb to ask, it seemed like neither of them had any idea what was going on.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go inside, we’ve got bandages in the bathroom.” It took him a minute to find his balance in the crater, but when he did, he helped the other up and pulled the two of them out, with a few dirty knuckles and pained whimpers, but otherwise nothing too serious. He threw the stranger’s arm around his shoulder and managed to find a way to support him without bending his wings or putting his hand right on the wound, for both of their sakes.

“We’ve got juice and stuff inside, too, if you want it.” Despite the situation, Sin was trying to remain upbeat. “I’m sure you’ll feel a whole lot better when you’re got something to drink…” He trailed off. “Um, sorry, what’d you say your name was?”

His companion was quiet, initially looking very confused before it slowly began morphing into fear. “What’s wrong?”

“N-no, that can’t be, I can’t- I can’t be-”

Sin stopped. “It doesn’t have to be everything all at once. I just don’t really know who or what you are.”

His expression finally crumpled into abject horror. “...neither do I.”

#AU-gust #writing #guilty gear #Sin Kiske #Bedman

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seizerofdarkness · 6 years

Text

Baby!Ben and Dad!Tetrax

I just had this AU idea some days ago and I felt like writing something out of it

Approaching the vehicle parked in the desert, the crystal-made Bounty Hunter knocked three times on the door. He waited a bit, wondering how he even ended up here in the first place.

He had pretended to be a Hunter for hire again, acted as if he was going to help the cyborg and Sotoraggian get the Omnitrix for Vilgax and now spent the afternoon alone chasing the car through the dunes of the empty desert.

Thankfully, it seemed the Omnitrix’s signal has been cut off, meaning whoever using it finally stopped tampering with the device. And since the vehicle seemed to be empty of whatever fuel it used, he could interrogate the current bearer of the Omnimatrix.

He had to wonder what kind of man Max Tennyson was, though. According to the reports he recently received, the old Plumber had found the Omnitrix and put an end to his retirement to fight off any incoming thief who had tried to steal the Omnitrix away.

But oddly enough, it seemed he didn’t use the Omnitrix that much for his bidding. He apparently ordered some Plumber weapons for self-defense, kept changing locations and witnesses said they didn’t ever see him with something remotely resembling the device in question.

It was impossible to take the Omnitrix off unless the user managed to unlock the codes for it or if the creator gave the user the code (and Azmuth would’ve told Tetrax if it was the case). Yet the signal was going strong almost every 20 minutes since he arrived on Earth, so either Max Tennyson solely used the Omnitrix for training and only started using it more frequently when Tetrax came.

Or there was something wrong with the signals.

He didn’t see another reason why everything seemed so... illogical with the data he gathered. A Magister (a retired one but still) should know the Omnitrix should be used cautiously, instead of using it over and over again like the madmen who wanted it for theirselves would probably do.

It was already tiring enough to get here. He wanted to fix his mistakes, to bring Vilgax down, to see Petropia again, to feel whole without the mess he made back then, but he knew it was impossible for now. This mission should be easy: check on the Omnitrix’s wearer, discuss with him on what to do with it and its inner functions, make a report and send it to Azmuth. Easy.

Sure, he hadn’t expected the man to trap him, Sixsix and Kraab in the mines after luring them with the signal, and he should’ve been more careful now that the man was fleeing. What reason did Max Tennyson have to run away from a fight anyway? He had the Omnitrix, Bounty Hunters (specifically an unwilling one and two incompetent ones) should’ve been no match for him.

He started getting impatient and knocked on the door again.

“Magister Tennyson, are you here? I’m Tetrax Shard, charged of guarding the Omnitrix. I know you’re here, I’ve been informed of you receiving it and must do a checkup on your use of it. Please open the door and cooperate.”

He kept waiting for the old man to open. Was he that wary of the Petrosapian? He hadn’t exactly been the most friendly back there either, attacking him as a cover so that the other two hunters wouldn’t suspect a thing. But now they were alone, and Tetrax revealing his identity should raise at least a few flags.

“Magister Tennyson, if you do not cooperate, I’ll have to enter by force.” he threatened.

Still no response. He took his gloves off but before he could send a hurricane of crystals onto the RV, the door finally opened, revealing a grey-haired old man in a red Hawaiian shirt.

“Yes, I am Max Tennyson, but you have the wrong idea.”

Tetrax lowered his arms down and analyzed the human in front of him. He didn’t look that much in shape to fight, and seemed a bit too old to fight without a good weapon. Good thing he received the Omnitrix. Speaking of which...

Where was the Omnitrix?

Tetrax’s eyes widened as he realized the human’s hands were bare from the Omnitrix, only having some bandages here and there. Did he take it off the bad way?

Why would he do that? Vilgax the Conqueror was chasing out whoever wore it, and it was already bad enough that the one responsible of getting the Omnitrix already had a bad history with him (like anyone who ever met Vilgax).

“What’s the meaning of this? Why aren’t you wearing the Omnitrix?”

Max sighed. “Come inside” he said, beckoning the alien to follow him. As he got in, he heard a cry and saw a green flash of light coming out of the bedroom, from what looked like a child playground. He saw something red crawling on the wall and yelped as the four-armed tiny creature jumped on his face.

He felt a dozen of tiny punches on his face, not enough to knock him out but still strong enough to prevent him from seeing AND it felt quite annoying. As he was about to pierce through the attacker with his crystal arm, Max took a hold of his hand and spoke out.

“Ben! Behave!”

“But Grandpa!” came a whiny voice from the red fiend on Tetrax’s face. He felt the thing coming off and, as he looked, there was a green-eyed infant Tetramand jumping into Max’s arms.

“A... Tetramand?”

“Ben, we have a guest, it’s not nice to attack people without knowing why they’re here.”

“But Grandpa! He tried to hurt you! And he scared Gwen! He’s a meanie!” the baby Tetramand pouted.

A little redheaded human girl with buck teeth, a pink dress and a yellow skirt came out of behind the curtains of one of the bed. She ran to Max and asked “Ben, is the big mean man gone?” She looked at Tetrax and immediately shouted, crying again and hiding behind Max “Waaaaahhhh! He’s still here! Ben make him go aaaahhhh!”

Max picked the little girl and pet her hair. “There, there. It’s okay, Gwen. He’s not going to hurt anyone. He’s a nice man.”

Tetrax stood speechless while Max took care of both kids. The Tetramand toddler wore a black and white shirt, with the Omnitrix symbol on his upper left arm.

No.

NO.

No!

This couldn’t be it. No way a baby was able to get the Omnitrix. This had to be an error, maybe there was a function that could make the wearer look younger and he wasn’t told. Anything but this, it was just plain unimaginable.

The Omnitrix beeped red and the young Tetramand soon turned into a young human toddler, wearing green overalls with white numbers saying "5 1/2" on a black square in front, a white shirt underneath it.

Tetrax blinked twice, before sighing and opening his helmet, making his face visible, to which both toddlers made impressed sounds.

“Would you mind explaining what’s going on?” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“...and now he’s wearing it and can’t take it off.” Tetrax pulled the largest sigh ever made in Earth’s records.

“You’re telling me, that you left your own grandson unsupervised and allowed him to get in the forest, where the Omnitrix landed and merged with his DNA?! What kind of sick joke is this?!”

“Look, I was busy taking care of Gwen at the time. The children’s parents wanted me to show them the country for summer vacation, before getting them in kindergarten at the beginning of October. Ben and Gwen are hard to manage together when you haven’t raised a baby in about 30 years. Ben sneaked off while I was cleaning up the mess he made. When he came back moments after, he was a Pyronite and almost burned the carpet.”

“How long did it take for you to find out he was gone?”

“The same amount of time it took him to find the Omnitrix. Babies are full of energy, especially Ben. I know it seems impossible, but I’m trying to teach him how to use it and not to show his powers in public.”

That was it, Tetrax’s patience had reached its limits. A toddler with the Omnitrix. What else did Max Tennyson have in mind?! Was his granddaughter an alien too?! He immediately stood back up from his seat and raised his voice.

“No, I don’t care what you’re trying to do, but this child isn’t keeping the Omnitrix. I’ll bring him over to its creator for its removal, I’ll notify you when I’ll bring him back.”

It didn’t take more than two seconds for Max to raise a protective hand towards his grandson.

“Don’t even think about it! Ben is my grandson and my son Carl counted on me to take care of him. My family needs me more than ever after my last slip-up and I won’t fail them even if the universe is at stakes!”

“You don’t understand, this is beyond your little family problems. Vilgax is hunting that kid down and he won’t give up until he gets what he wants. This is for his own safety as well as everyone else in this entire solar system. Give him to me.”

“Maybe he can go to outer space when he gets older, but now he’s still just a baby. Can’t Azmuth come by himself to take it off of Ben’s wrist?”

“This is plain ridiculous, you’re letting your-”

They were interrupted by another cry from the baby girl. Gwen was crying again. They were so busy arguing they didn’t notice the poor little girl tearing up at the conversation.

“Nooooo grandpaaaaaaa! I don’t want Ben to goooo wwwwaaaaahhhhhhh!” she screamed in an obnoxiously loud voice, probably loud enough to make a Sonorasian go home.

“There there, Gwen” said Max as he picked his granddaughter up, patting her back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Ben isn’t going anywhere. Not if I have something to say about it.”

Another green flash of green came from the playground, and a blue flash sped through before climbing on the window.

“You won’t kidnap me you big alien jerk if I’m XLR8!” he pouted, in Kineceleran form, before sprinting out of the RV.

Tetrax felt like he was about to lose his mind. His planet is destroyed, his current employer is a misanthrope, Vilgax and the other hunters were probably still out there, and now he had to get the Omnitrix back from a child, one that could probably hurt himself while doing so.

He picked up his hoverboard and came out of the RV, about to chase the young boy, but he stopped as soon as he set a foot outside the vehicle. Not only because Max held him back despite his injured hands, but also because Sixsix and Kraab were now standing in front of the door, their weapons aimed at both men. He growled in frustration.

This really wouldn't be easy, would it?

Heatblast threw fireballs at the nearby rocks, venting out his anger on the empty desert in front of him. It wasn't fair!

First, Gwen got the last cupcake, then the Sumo Slammers movie was canceled and he'd have to wait a week before seeing it, he was grounded for making Gwen cry with Ghostfreak and now one of the meanies who hurt his Grandpa wanted to take his toy away!

He'd have to look for Ben to do that, and no way Ben lets him take the...

How did the Diamondhead meanie call the watch? The Omnitrix? He wasn't sure and he didn't care, no one will steal his new toy. No one!

He started tiring after a few moments and, still angry at what Tetrax tried to do, he cried very hard. Heatblast didn't notice the fire on his body growing at every minute and, before he could realize it, the watch started beeping and he reverted back to Ben.

The transformation snapped him out of his crying mess and, as he tried to wipe his tears away, he saw what trouble he got himself into.

All around him there was glass. Millions of shards everywhere. He couldn't walk through them and the watch was red, which meant he couldn't use Stinkfly or Ghostfreak to fly away. Scared, he called out for help.

"Grandpa! Gwen! Mommy! Daddy!" he shouted, scared at the idea of staying stuck in this place. "Help! Heeeeeelp!"

Afraid of hurting himself, he tried to step back and took a glance behind him. Nope, there were too many shards, he'd end up like the poor creature his Grandpa usually gave him and Gwen for dinner if he took even one step forward.

He wanted to see his family again so bad now, he would do anything to get help now. He swore to be nicer. He promised himself, if he could get out of here, he'd let Gwen play with his toys, he'd clean his bed every morning and night, he'd give all his marbles back to JT even if they weren't friends anymore, he'd eat all the food his mommy and Grandpa gave him even if he didn't like it, he'd even-

He was interrupted from his promises by a voice.

"Kid, are you in here?" he recognized Tetrax's voice and pouted.

"NO!"

Tetrax was standing several feet away, his crystal-made body allowing him to walk on the now spiky ground without any visible pain. As he tried to get nearby, it seemed Ben was about to move, potentially injuring himself, prompting the Petrosapian to stay where he was.

"Don't you want to see your grandfather?"

That struck a nerve. Ben started to shout angrily at the alien. If he could, he'd become Wildmutt, bite this meanie in the back and pee on his car. Max told him not to do that, but his grandpa wasn't here for now and he could do what he wants.

“Go away!”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire! You’re a bad guy, you don’t help people, you hurt them!”

“I am a mercenary and a heroic warrior. You on the other hand, you don’t know how to use the Omnitrix. You could hurt someone with it, you trapped yourself in here, you tried to break my nose and now, you’re making your grandfather and sister worry.”

“Gwen is my cousin, not my sister! And you don’t know a thing about being a hero!”

“I don’t?” the Petrosapian teased.

“Yeah you don’t! You attacked my grandpa with those guys and you want to steal my watch. You’re wearing all dark clothes, that’s how bad guys dress! And then, you talk about helping, but you said you were a hunter! Hunters kill animals and that’s mean! You’re a bad guy!”

“Then if animals are bad, is it bad to get rid of them?”

“If they have a family to feed, yes! Grandpa taught me to be nice and I want to be a hero with the watch. You don’t have your grandpa with you, you don’t know how to be nice! So it makes you bad!” Ben stuck his tongue out.

“A family. Huh...” Tetrax looked down after the child’s argument had made its impact. “I haven’t seen my family in years now.” That startled Ben right away.

“What?! You don’t see your mommy and daddy anymore?”

“I... you’re right, I am a bad person.” Tetrax shook his head. ”I let everyone on my planet die because I didn’t want their help anymore, I wanted to do everything by myself and for myself, I didn’t think about anyone else.” Ben felt guilty about what he just told the alien. “I took this job as a way to be strong and before I knew it, I helped someone destroy everything I loved, everyone I used to care about.”

“I...I...I’m sorry, mister.”

“What for? You weren’t responsible for what happened.”

“No, but that’s sad. Nobody deserves to be alone. I ran away and made you go all the way here when you didn’t even have anyone to help. Well, except Grandpa, but you don’t know him. But why did you try to take my watch? Did it belong to you before I found it?”

“No, but I was asked to make sure if the person wearing it was a good one, if they could use the power responsibly to help people instead of harming them.” Tetrax decided baby talk could help. The kid was too young and had a good reason for being unable to understand some things. “Your grandpa told me about him teaching you how to fight villains. Doesn’t it bother you to do that all the time?”

“No, I love to help! I can save the world, stop bad guys, hang out with cool guys, have amazing stuff to thank me,” Tetrax winced at the last one “get stronger, have fun with my powers and the coolest thing is, I’m like a superhero!”

Tetrax couldn’t help but laugh a bit at what the child told him.

“What’s funny, mister?”

“Nothing, it’s just... I expected you to attack me more, I didn’t think we’d have a talk over this. You’re more smart than you let people think, I just hope it’s not too much for you, you might regret wearing the Omnitrix at some point.”

“Mister... I don’t want to give my watch, I like it, it’s so cool I wanna keep it! Pleeeeaaase?”

The Omnitrix’s Guardian thought it over.

Max told me he’d keep an eye on him. It’s too dangerous to leave at the hands of a toddler, but it could all work out. He doesn’t know what danger he’s exposing himself in, but maybe practice can make perfect in the situation. He could become a potential asset in case the universe gets in serious danger.

“Ben, I’m sorry. You can keep the watch now. I shouldn’t have attacked the Rustbucket (even though I didn’t really have a choice), I should’ve asked you nicely if you wanted to keep the watch. Instead I ran after you and tried to take you away. I’m sorry.”

Ben didn’t seem in a sour mood anymore and with a cheerful voice, he said “Don’t worry about me mister! I’m okay now! It’s okay! Hey, maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.”

Tetrax smiled at the remark and got closer to Ben. “Need any help?” he lent a hand, to which Ben pouted again (albeit with a more playful face).

“I’m a big boy now, I can do it on my own!”

“Oh really?” Tetrax teased.

“Yeah!” Ben said as he touched the now green Omnitrix’s dial. Before Tetrax could tell him to be careful, he slammed the dial and turned into, not an Ectonurite, not a Lepidotpterran, not even a Pyronite, but a young little Petrosapian.

“Woops! Well, I can now walk on my own!” he said as he started running before tripping on a rock and ending up covered in pieces of glass. At least it couldn’t pierce through his skin now, it was fine.

Tetrax stared at Diamondhead for a bit, definitely not expecting his species to be part of the ones available in the current roster the Omnitrix generated, much less expecting to see an infant creature from his planet after such a long time.

He walked over and picked the young boy up, putting him in his arms and gently patting his head. “Let’s get you home now.”

“I think I’ll join you” he declared.

“Huh?” Max raised a brow at what Tetrax told him.

“I said I will accompany you on your vacation to make sure Ben stays safe and uses the Omnitrix correctly.”

“What?!” asked Max, surprised at the reveal. “But don’t you need to make a report to Azmuth? How will he react if he doesn’t get it?”

“I already sent him a dozen of them, he didn’t respond even once.” he huffed “It will be much easier to take care of an alien child if there’s an alien nearby, once that actively interacts with other species and knows what they’re capable of.”

Max tried to argue but was interrupted by XLR8 running inside the RV. The blue speedster was immediately caught by Tetrax. “Got you, little speed demon” he smirked.

“Is it true?! You’re staying with us for the rest of the summer?! Is it true Grandpa?” asked XLR8 in a very excited voice.

Max looked at his bandages, recalling all the times Ben ‘went hero’ inside and pretty much damaged a good part of the furniture. Having a babysitter, one that wouldn’t contact the authorities as soon as his grandson turned into a living flamethrower, would be nice while he could focus on keeping Gwen safe from this entire mess.

“Fine, you can come with us for the road-trip. But don’t think I forgot about what happened earlier, you’ll have to do some chores around if you want to stay.”

“Hmm, I don’t mind.”

“YAY!” shouted XLR8 before reverting back to Ben, giving his new friend a hug.

“But Grandpa” asked Gwen “Isn’t the Rustbucket too small for all of us?”

“Don’t worry, there’s enough room for-”

“I CAN SHARE MY BED WITH HIM!” announced Ben. Everyone looked at him.

“But Ben” said Gwen in a worried voice “he’s too heavy, he’ll crush me if he breaks the top bunk.”

“You can sleep on the top bunk now, I’ll sleep on the bottom one with my new best friend!”

“Really?! Yaaaaaaay” said Gwen as she ran to bounce on the top bunk. Max quickly ran to prevent her from bouncing off and hurting herself.

“It looks like everyone already accepted you as part of the family.” said Max in a friendly way. Tetrax smiled.

Family.

It did feel good to be part of something like this.

Tetrax refrained himself from laughing as Ben kept moving in his spot, trying to find a right position to sleep.

“Told ya. Even without my armor, my skin is too tough to rest your head on.” He now wore a black tank and blue shorts with a material strong enough to not be cut by a diamond head. But now it seemed the metal armor was more comfortable than his bare skin.

Ben looked at Tetrax and blinked twice before getting an idea. “I know!” He slapped the Omnitrix, and turned into Diamondhead again. “There” he laid his head on the adult’s arm and, almost instantly, he fell into slumber.

Tetrax knew it would only be a matter of time before the Omnitrix timed out, but he decided to let the kid have his fair share of sleep. He brought Ben closer to his chest and, feeling the boy raise his arms in his sleep to hug him, he smiled before falling asleep too.

It felt nice to have someone to care for.

#Ben 10 #Ben Tennyson #Tetrax Shard #Max Tennyson #Gwen Tennyson #Baby!Ben #Baby!Gwen #Dad!Tetrax #just the beginning to a new au #Ben 10 AU #Tetrax hun #adopt this kid already #he's like you

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mousedetective · 6 years

Note

His old partner was pissed as hell. (for the prompts thing)

So this is the prompt I chose to start a new AU series for @strangelock221b‘s commissions of a ten fic series. It’s a modern setting AU, set in the world of private investigators and PIs. Some people have similar jobs, some don’t, but generally the Sherlock and Star Trek characters all know each other. And while it’s not evident, it’s set in the US. So please, Enjoy!

(Also, AO3 link and Series Page will be added tomorrow, when AO3 is back up)

Setting Up The Office (A “Bones McCoy, Private Investigator” Story) - Kirk has reservations about McCoy becoming a private investigator...as well as his choice in help.

Read @ AO3 | Series Page | Buy Me A Coffee? | Commission Me?

Kirk looked around the offices of Leonard McCoy, Private Investigator. “Are you sure about this? Like, really really sure?”

McCoy nodded, looking at the walls. It was kind of a moot point having an actual office when so much of what he did could be contracted for online. But there was just something...classic...about a private investigator having an office. Not that he would ever admit he read all that crime noir trashy lit, but there was that component in this equation. “Molly’s going to help.”

Kirk let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Holmes is going to kill you.”

“Holmes is a jerk,” McCoy said with a shrug. “And besides, he dumped her. Over cell phone, if I remember her drunken ramblings correctly.”

“Yeah, that didn’t go over well in the precinct, her going to your place after he sent her that text. But then he thought you two were screwing around anyway.”

“Like I’d cheat!” Molly yelled from the front office. “Hypocritical oaf of a man.”

“Holmes didn’t cheat on you!” McCoy called out to his best friend. The female one, because the male one was looking amused as hell.

“Not with a woman or a bloke, but with that promotion he did!” Molly huffed that out as she came into the office. “Used me to help him study and then he said he was too bloody busy.”

“Well, as a detective, he--” Kirk stopped talking when Molly glared at him and raised his hands. “Shutting up now.”

“Smart move, Jim,” she said. She crossed her arms. “And what does it matter to Sherlock what I do now? He’s written me off.”

“Because he’s still in love with you,” McCoy said, picking up his license from the box he’d carried into the office hours ago.

“Well, he can piss off because I am no longer in love with him.” She moved to the box and began rummaging around.

“Molly? Personal space?” Kirk asked.

“Bugger off. Leonard has all the nameplates in here,” she murmured. Finally, she pulled one out and her gaze softened. “Leonard, there’s a rose on it.”

“Just because it’s professional doesn’t mean it can’t be pretty. That’s why it’s on pink marble.”

“I swear, you are too good to me.” She leaned across the desk and grabbed the belt of his jeans, pulling him to the edge of the desk so she could kiss his cheek. Then she let go and made her way to the outer office.

“No, Holmes had no reason to think you were in love with his girlfriend,” Kirk deadpanned.

“I’ve known her longer, so we’re...close.” McCoy shrugged. “Remember, if we hadn’t decided to drop out of med school together, you wouldn’t know either of us.”

“When are you going to admit you’re head over heels for her?” Kirk asked, smirking.

“When you tell your partner you’re madly in love with him,” McCoy said, returning the smirk with his own and watching as it was Kirk’s turn to glare.

“Fuck off,” Kirk said. McCoy chuckled at the look on his face. His old partner was pissed as hell. “You said you wouldn’t mention it.”

“Around others, yeah,” McCoy said, Finally he set the license against the wall. “Looks good here, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” Kirk said, his glare fading into a pout.

“Whatever goes on between you and T’Gai is your business, unless you tell me, but then it stays between us,” McCoy said. “I know while the force is more open it’s weird for there to be gay partners.”

“I’m pan, thank you,” Kirk said. “Look...back to what we were talking about before, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, you won’t...freeze?”

“Look, I’m still seeing Ella on a weekly basis. That didn’t stop even though I was put out to pasture.”

“Medically retired,” Kirk said.

“Put out to pasture,” McCoy reiterated. “Anyway, point is, I plan on being careful. No situations where I get shot again. I even plan on going to the range with your dumb ass on a more regular basis.”

Kirk shook his head. “Yeah, but...Molly? I mean, if she’s still hung up on Holmes, things could get ugly. He’s the hotshot detective now and there’s times you’re going to cross paths. It could be bad news.”

“I’ll deal with it if it happens but thanks for worrying,” McCoy said before setting down his license and reaching over to clap Kirk on the shoulder. “Now. Make yourself useful and hand me a hammer and a nail?”

Kirk sighed and moved away, reaching for the hammer and the plastic case of nails. McCoy looked down at the license one more time. Come hell or high water, he was going to make this new avenue in his life work, damn it, if it was the last thing he did.

#star trek aos #sherlock #leonard mccoy #james kirk #molly hooper #fanfiction #fanfic #my stuff #my au: bones mccoy private investigator #answering asks!#mccoy x molly #strangelock221b #mizjoely

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eternalsterekrecs · 7 years

Note

hi!! i just watch guardians of the galaxy vol. 2 (so good) and i was wondering if there are fics based on that universe??? or maybe space fics :D thanks!!

Hey you! Sadly we never came across a Guardians of the Galaxy fusion fic. But we certainly have some Space AUs for you!

SPACE AU

Tore a Line in the Sun by stilinski

"If you're watching this, you're probably some kind of sentient life form responding to my distress call – well, it's not really an official distress call because, well, the hardware for that is kind of crushed, but I'm definitely in distress, so that should probably count for something."

The young man on the screen sighs and rubs his face, jerking his hand away with a hiss. He's bleeding, Derek realises: there's a gash across his brow and the knuckles of both hands are bruised and bloody, and that's only what he can make out between the cracks in the glass and the frame of the camera.

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me by primroseshows

Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he'll even settle for two of the three.

Only Human by Jenetica

"This is just what Derek doesn’t need right now. He has an omnipotent, omniscient being panting after him, while his sister and the rest of Starfleet Command are breathing down his neck, waiting for him to make a mistake. No. He can’t handle this, not right now. 'Just… no.'"

Stiles is a lovestruck Q, and Derek is the poor schmuck that caught his eye.

All The Movements Of The Stars by skoosiepants

Stiles says, “Derek,” and his voice is hoarse, like he’s still unsure how to use his vocal chords even after all this time. They have no idea how long Stiles was stuck as an otter, let alone trapped in that cage. According to Dr. Martin, Stiles doesn’t even know.

Derek doesn’t say anything.

After a few minutes, Stiles sighs and gets up. There’s a rustle of clothing, and Derek grits his teeth against the image of Stiles wearing his things, and Derek doesn’t relax until he hears the door open and close.

I Can Give You the Constellations by skoosiepants

“I’m just going to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m going to close my eyes, and when I open them again, I’ll be back on Atlantis, sleeping in my tiny bunk, eating reconstituted potatoes and putting googly eyes on rocks to freak out Jared.”

Or—

How Captain Derek Hale and Dr. Stiles Stilinski keep managing to save each other’s lives…in space!

Dead Space from the Helm of the Pop Rock by callunavulgari

Comfort’s the hum and vibration of a plasma-pulse F20 core engine in mid-hyperspace drive. Ease is the steady, oxygenated chill from the central air circulation vents on a tight and narrow sweep of the outer rim of the Tramontane galaxy. Reality is the taste of sparkling water and roasted almonds at moon-rise. He catches Derek’s eyes from across the bar and chuckles when the man raises an eyebrow, tapping his watch and holding up nine fingers.

Well, Stiles thinks, raising his glass in a sloppy salute. If he’s going to be stranded on a white-zoned planet with a penchant for bad music and the walking dead, at least he’s got a pretty face to look at.

A Wildness Warily Awakened by Etharei

Derek Hale and his Specialized Combat Agents Unit are assigned to B-CON Base, a research facility in the heart of the lone human settlement on planet Cali. Normally, such an isolated place would not warrant the presence of Specs - the Infection is raging across the known galaxy, after all, and zombies don’t kill themselves (unless there are no tastier alternatives at hand) - but Derek is on a private hunt for his sister. He soon discovers that the rest of his team have ties to the place as well.

It’s all just coincidence, of course. (No matter what Stiles bleats on about those.)

Also, zombies.

The Epic Space Opera of Stiles Stilinski and Sergeant Spacewolf by A_Diamond

Beacon Station is an extraplanetary center of research and exploration. Human scientist and minor disaster Stiles Stilinski lives there, as does the grumpiest alien ever: Derek Hale, the titular Sergeant Spacewolf himself. After a rocky start to their acquaintance, they’ve settled into sort of a love-hate relationship, wherein Stiles pines and provokes in approximately equal measure, and Derek grudgingly tolerates.

When a mechanical failure leaves them stranded together in the vacuum of space, the impending doom of almost certain death forces the truth of their feelings to the fore. Will our heroes finally get together? Will it even matter? Will they survive the danger?

(Yes, yes, and yes. There wouldn’t be a story to tell otherwise.)

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #fic rec #space au #au #asks #anonymous

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cryptidsncurios · 3 months

Text

@d4rksymphony continued from [ X ]

“Does it actually matter?”

The sultry, purposefully low response was shot back towards this gorgeous creature without hesitation--- unwaveringly seductive, practiced after decades of his existence.

“Let’s be honest, you don’t even want me to ask for yours---cuz I know that’s not what you want---am I right?”

The initial, teasing squeeze that he had previously delivered upon that tempting thigh became a rhythmic stroking along the flesh, moving in close to his prize---before sliding away, towards the knee, a hopefully maddening motion for his newest acquaintance.

At that point, the bartender rounded the corner with an attentive gaze, and Luxu immediately insisted, “Whatever you want, you got it.”

#d4rksymphony #ic: the fatal marksman #au: it came from outer space (and is kind of a jerk)

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thefatalmarksman · 3 years

Text

ffvii au starter for @piersings

By now, Luxu knows all their faces, whether or not they know his. Certainly his is the sort to be easily identified---the only issue is, they would have to see it first.

However, every so often, he slides from the shadows and alleyways into public view, enjoying the sharp bite of a glass of whiskey to engage his senses---to serve as a prelude to a nice, warm, filling meal.

Indeed, Luxu knows the people of the slums as well as the back of his hand---and this face, at a perfect profile, with delicate, intriguing features, is certainly one he’d not ever seen around here. In fact, it had captured his eye immediately upon his entry into the dimly-lit pub, pupil adjusting to the darkness within a matter of a single second. And he could feel it immediately---that burst of thirst in the back of his throat.

How excellent his meal had appeared to him so readily.

But he knows by now how to properly play this game---feel out the rest of the room, sit near enough to make his presence known, without being overt in his positioning. Pickup lines only work on the humorous or inebriated, and this person seems rather stoic and lacking in the telltale sway of too many drinks.

So, Luxu will rely, for now, on his mysterious aura---of the tall, dark and handsome; swathed in a cloak of black and a wide-brimmed hat to veil his features. Sidling up to a barstool, one away from his target of interest, and with a single order of whiskey, he remains quiet and unassuming, nursing his drink.

The silent predator, lying in wait for his prey to approach.

#piersings #rp #au: it came from outer space (and is kind of a jerk)#[[hehehe helluuuuu B) ]]

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catsend · 8 years

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i decided to infodump about my RWBY OCs, Team STAR under the cut!! they’re part of a conjoined alternate universe with my friends and we’re gonna have our own little story/AU and it’s gonna be awesome

this post is a Work In Progress because i don’t have the mental energy to come up with everyone’s backstory and semblance in one go. feel free to hmu with suggestions, thoughts, comments, ideas, whatever i love to communicate

(“Partnered with” refers to Beacon’s method of pairing up students and does not necessarily mean they are in a relationship)

Spica Viridian

She/her. Leader of Team STAR. Partnered with Arcturus.

Personality: Kind, enthusiastic, cheerful, warm, loving. She's shy around new people. She’s definitely the “team mom” type and works hard to keep everyone together. She can’t stand arguing mostly because she has a bit of a temper that can grab a hold of her and swallow her up, so she tends to fight back by appearing as mellow and soft as she can. Her biggest weakness is when things don’t go her way, she tends to spiral out of control pretty quickly.

Name significance: Spica is a star in the spring triangle. Viridian is a shade of green.

Likes: Flowers, nature, sunlight, adventure, fashion, Arcturus, fantasy, the sky, rabbits, peaches, strawberries

Weapon: Javelin/crossbow combination named Starose Blossom

Semblance: Sun’s out guns out Increases her physical strength, defense, and speed when the sun is high, especially outdoors. Decreases her physical strength, defense, and speed when the sun is not out. Fighting indoors is actually worse than fighting at night, as the moonlight is reflected sunlight so it makes her pretty much average strength. Her first strategy in any indoors fight is to blast a hole in the ceiling.

Backstory: Spica grew up in Mistral with her two siblings - an older sister and younger brother - and their mother. Her father died when she was younger. Her mother works as a botanist as well as growing medicinal herbs, so Spica grew up learning about and loving plants. Her older sister, Heather, decided to go to Haven to become a Huntress with the goal of travelling outside the kingdoms and studying the plant life and world outside the kingdoms for clues on how to better humanity, and perhaps find a way to expand civilization. Spica didn’t want to be left alone, and had an interest in Heather’s goals as well, but Heather insisted it was too dangerous for her to become a Huntress. So, unbeknownst to her family, Spica traveled off to Beacon to pursue becoming a Huntress herself.

Pinterest aesthetic/moodboard for Spica

_____

Leah Tearose

They/them or she/her. Partnered with Rebecca.

Personality: Fun, creative, playful, mischievous, loyal, clever. Leah hides behind a very silly persona but is actually highly perceptive and one of the most tricky and strategic members of Team STAR. Despite all they’ve been through, Leah is still able to genuinely smile and loves to be around other people, though with their friendliness comes a slight edge of caution. Leah is the type to see the good in everyone and believes people are mostly good. That being said, she loves animals even more, especially puppies. They’re an artist and paints a lot, often doesn’t bother to clean up and just walks around covered in paint.

Name significance: Leah was loosely taken from Denebola, a star in the spring triangle. (Leah is pronounced LAY-uh). Tea rose is a shade of pink.

Likes: Painting, red, hearts, puppies, other people, romantic comedies, cherries, shirley temples, roller coasters, high places, art, pop/electro music

Weapon: A lance that unfurls into a metallic whip. Can be loaded with different kinds of dust - Leah’s favorites are fire and ice. Named Denebolance.

Semblance: Denebola symbolizes misfortune and disgrace... I wanna do something with that. Ideas?

Backstory: Leah’s story is that of an inverted tragedy. She started with nothing and rose up from the ashes. Leah is a pillar of strength and resolution - they’ve been beaten down every step of their childhood but now they’re free and happy and surrounded by love and able to do the things they love. I haven’t worked out the specifics of Leah’s backstory yet.

Pinterest aesthetic/moodboard for Leah

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Arcturus White

He/him. Member of Team Star. Partnered with Spica.

Not pictured: black wolf tail because I decided to make him a wolf faunus.

Personality: Quiet, moodly, easily frustrated, temperamental, sensitive. Has a carefully cultivated facade. He basically is a “jerk with a heart of gold” but he doesn’t intend to be a jerk; he just has bad social skills and a rough past. Spica was the first person he really opened up to and he cares about her immensely. Just like Spica, he has quite the temper, but his is more slow burn while hers is more explosive and dies quickly. He has little interest in people outside the small group of people he cares about (all of Team STAR and a few others)

Name significance: Arcturus is a star in the spring triangle. White is a color.

Likes: Black cats, music, technology, stormy weather, outer space, science, science fiction, data and coding, the moon, abstract art, Spica

Weapon: Kusarigama. The sickle part is pretty big and the weight at the end is spiky. He has to quickly maneuver and jump around in his fighting style to use both the sickle and the weight effectively while avoiding and utilizing the chain that holds them together. The sickle has a pistol attached. Named Fenris Howler.

Semblance: He can blend in completely with the shadows - that is, wherever there are shadows, he can become temporarily invisible. It’s like he becomes one with them. Obviously, he prefers to fight in places with low light and lots of shadows. Bright lights and complete darkness are his enemies.

Backstory: Arcturus is from Menagerie. He was an orphan who fled from the orphanage and fell in with the wrong crowd - he actually spent some of his teenage years in a gang. After a falling out with the leader that led to someone’s death (I’m still thinking about this) he decided to run to Beacon, where he thought they wouldn’t follow him. Naturally an albino, he dyed his hair from white to dark purple as a semi-disguise, just in case. This is all really up in the air I just came up with this on the spot please help me

Pinterest aesthetic/moodboard for Arcturus

_____

Rebecca Regulus

She/her. Member of Team STAR. Partnered with Leah.

Personality: Vain, confident, intelligent, resourceful, and elegant. Has a royal air to her. Unlike many, her vanity is not at the expense of other people - she loves other people almost as much as she loves herself, and she’s rather kind. She’d rather build people up to be (almost) as glorious as her than tear them down. She has a knack for leadership and responsibility, and was surprised she wasn’t the leader of team STAR.

Name significance: The hex color #663399 is called Rebecca Purple. Regulus is a star in the spring triangle.

Likes: Girls (in a lesbian way), gold, leadership, history, architecture, deer, chess, beauty, lilies, culture / anthropology, learning, helping others find their own beauty, victory

Weapon: A golden broadsword. Not sure what other modifications? She’s the type to just use a regular sword and be badass with just that. Named Aurum Caliburn.

Semblance: Undecided. Thoughts/ideas?

Backstory: She was actually born pretty poor. Her parents “didn’t want her” so she was raised by her aunt. She lived on the poverty line for most of her life, but her sheer determination, hard work, and intelligence helped her become a perfect student and get her an entry to Beacon (also a full scholarship? Does Beacon cost money?) She’ll admit that she’s mostly here for the money, but not wholly for selfish reasons - she wants a better, more comfortable life for herself, her aunt, and her cousins. She’s made some money with her skills already and puts on a pretense of being already rich - it makes her feel more confident.

Pinterest aesthetic/moodboard for Rebecca

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Team Attacks & Relationships

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Arcturus x Spica

Combo name: Total Eclipse (using their semblances in combination), Nature’s Howl (using Arcturus’s chain and weight to swing Spica’s javelin?)

Interpersonal relationship: The two eventually end up dating. Spica is the first person Arcturus really trusts and opens up to. Spica is caring enough to see Arcturus has good intentions but doesn’t know how to deal with people, and Arcturus appreciates that someone actually cares enough to get to know them. They both have anger issues that manifest in different ways, but the two are able to calm each other down most of the time. Their relationship is healthy and built on mutual trust, kindness, and understanding.

___

Spica x Leah

Combo name: Painted Roses (some kind of combo with Spica’s javelin and Leah’s whip used in combination to corner the enemy)

Interpersonal relationship: Spica really takes a shine to Leah’s silliness and creativity, and Leah likes painting Spica’s flowers. The two get along very well and enjoy hanging out together. Common pastimes include going to see movies together and going to fairs/festivals and art shows. When Spica gets overwhelmed or upset, Leah tries to calm her down; at first, Leah became very afraid when Spica showed her not-so-pretty side, but over time as they grew closer Leah learned to trust Spica and that Spica would not do anything to hurt them.

___

Spica x Rebecca

Combo name: Royal Garden (gotta think of what they can do together)

Interpersonal relationship: Spica respects Rebecca’s intelligence and confidence. Rebecca holds respect for Spica as well, however, there was a bit of tension when Rebecca did not get the leadership position. Although Rebecca isn’t too self-important, she is vain and took the news kind of badly. She tried not to hold it against Spica and uplift it, but she found it hard to commit to that and had a bit of internal struggle. She still holds a ghost of a grudge though the two work together quite well. They’re friends, but not as close as the others on the team.

___

Leah x Arcturus

Combo name: Blood Moon (that’s a terrifying name but a blood moon is when the moon appears red and red is leah’s color and arcturus is a wolf so the moon so)

Interpersonal relationship: Arcturus finds Leah a bit childish at first, but admires their cheerfulness. Upon learning of Leah’s harsh past, Arcturus begins to truly respect how easygoing and bubbly Leah can be even after going through such hardship. They share details of their past and form a close friendship built on the fact that they’re both trying to move on from their respective pasts. Leah’s cheerfulness begins to rub off on Arcturus, who becomes more laidback and even a tiny bit goofier (though it manifests in the form of sarcasm, usually). They genuinely enjoy each others’ company.

___

Leah x Rebecca

Combo name: Queen of Hearts

Interpersonal relationship: Being partners, Leah and Rebecca have had a lot of time to work together and get to know each other. Their friendship got off to a rocky start - Rebecca got frustrated with Leah’s messing around and not quite being as serious. Eventually, after having a heart-to-heart about Rebecca’s past and how she needed to do well and how she grew up on the poverty line, Leah became more understanding and promised to be more serious during training. The two formed a friendship where opposites attract - Rebecca influences Leah to be more serious and work hard, while Leah helps Rebecca relax and just enjoy herself instead of being so uptight all the time. They have a mutual appreciation of art, and Rebecca is always happy to pose for Leah’s paintings.

___

Arcturus x Rebecca

Combo name: Purple Prose (Arcturus wanted something less pretentious but Rebecca insisted)

Interpersonal relationship: The two seemed to get along right off the bat. Arcturus is quiet and not good with people, but he can respect Rebecca’s methodical and commanding personality. He thinks her whole fancy/elegance thing is kinda dumb, and she thinks he’s too brooding and emo, but they do get along pretty nicely. They almost have something like a sibling relationship, and when they argue, it’s usually over something stupid like their attack name.

_____

Art

Arcturus sketch by @clokworke-arts

Arcturus, Spica, and 2 of my friend’s OCs by @truechastiefol

#rwby ocs #rwby oc #ocs #oc tag #team star #spica viridian #leah tearose #arcturus white #rebecca regulus

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tacticalgrandma · 8 years

Note

prompts for love and encouragement: lets be real, in the Batman au, the Manor makes for a great hiding place for Anxious People (cough cough, Alex and Francis) or competitive Hide and Seek people (cough cough, Alex and Francis). john doesn't even realize what goes down at the in-between hours of night watch and daylight. he thinks people are sleeping. or cleaning.

AO3

I see your anxiety and raise you anxiety AND abandonment issues:

Alex collapsed onto his bed in Laurens Manor. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and groped around in the early dawn light for his charger on the bedside table, plugged it in, and then stared at it suspiciously. It remained mercifully silent. Apparently there were no more surprise criminals out on Gotham’s battlefields that urgently required Alex to be at his battle station. That, or Peggy was taking care of them.

Or John’s dead. Alex shook his head irritably and rubbed at his eyes. John had been fine when he had gotten off the comms line with him. Peggy had eyes all over the city. John would be fine. Alex didn’t have to worry about being alone again. His brain supplied the counterpoint that actually, John didn’t reciprocate his feelings, so he kind of was alone, but Alex determined that he was too fucking tired to be depressed at the moment. He shucked off his shirt and jeans, threw them vaguely in the direction of the hamper, and bookmarked the insecurity for further fixation in the morning. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

He was jolted awake a few hours later, and lay in bed listening to his blaring alarm for a full minute before he fumbled around from his phone to turn it off. Right. He was still working.

He dressed haphazardly, in sweatpants and a PS 55 t shirt that his old principal had sent him when he got his scholarship to King’s. Frances would be content reading by herself for most of the morning, and John was too awkward around him to tease him anymore, he could afford to dress for a nap. He shuffled through the manor to the kitchen, turned the coffee machine on, and listened to the Keurig humming as it warmed up as he checked his phone. Two missed text messages from John were on his lock screen: 48 minutes ago, “I’m going to be late getting home,” 47 minutes ago, “I’m ok.” Alex shoved his phone back in his pocket and wound his way back to the suite of bedrooms, and knocked on the door next to his.

“Frances, it’s time to get up, kiddo.” There was no answer. Alex waited a few seconds and then opened the door and walked in.

Frances’s bedroom looked more like a hotel room than an eight year old’s bedroom, its neutral colored furniture a bit too tall, its angles a bit too sharp, the art on the walls a bit too drab. There were some crayon drawings tacked up around the room, making a valiant effort to rejuvenate the place, but the main indication of the room’s resident came from the comforter, a bright purple thing that looked like some CGI outer space scene.

Currently, however, the comforter was missing the resident herself.

“Frances?” Alex called. He looked around the corner. Her bathroom door hung upon, the light off. He opened the closet door, shoving clothes out of the way. “Frances!” She wasn’t there.

Alex felt his throat constrict and he looked around the room one last time, desperately, before propelling himself back out into the hallway. “FRANCES!” He looked to his left and right, at the half dozen odd rooms in this part of the house alone. Okay. She just woke up early, got bored, went exploring, and fell asleep somewhere. It was okay. She was okay. Just start checking rooms.

He worked his way done the hallway, and then back up it, calling her name. He stopped at the master bedroom. John had told her, as part of his attempt to keep his cover, that she was never to go in here, no matter what. Frances had looked so wide-eyed and afraid at that that Alex couldn’t imagine she would trespass there. And after everything that had happened, he felt a little weird going into John’s private quarters himself. He pivoted and headed downstairs.

“FRANCES?” His voice echoed off the marble tile and around the main foyer. Alex rubbed at his temples. Think. Frances’s favorite spots in the house were the window seat in John’s office— not there,— the beanbag chair that John had gamely put in the den— not there,— and the big plush couch in the media room— not there either. Alex made his way back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, breathing heavily. She was okay. She had to be okay. He couldn’t do much for John besides read off instructions for gear or coordinate with Peggy and Hercules or stitch up his wounds when he got back, but he could get Frances her breakfast and make her chicken soup when she got sick and read to her when she couldn’t sleep and tuck her in when she finally slept. He had tucked her in last night. Losing John always hovered as a distinct possibility, but Frances, Frances he could do so much for, that losing her had never even occurred to him and now that it had that made it all the more terrifying.

He took a deep shuddering breath, this side of a sob, and tried to focus on something else, anything else, the pattern of the marble counter, the sunspots dancing on the floor, the hum of the Keurig—

Alex jerked his head around. He had turned the machine on half an hour ago. It shouldn’t still be warming up. And it wasn’t, the “Ready To Brew” message was on the LED screen. He pushed himself away from the counter and began to move around the kitchen, listening closely, trying to figure out where the noise was loudest.

He moved towards the wine cellar door. Louder. He pressed his ear to the wood. A faint melody became discernible from the hum. He opened the door and started down the stairs, slowly, and when he arrived at the bottom he saw Frances in the corner of the wine cellar, her phone blaring Beyoncé, huddled up with her eyes shut tight but clearly wide awake.

Alex wanted so badly to run to her and scoop her up and never let her go and yell at her until his lungs gave out and give her anything she had ever wanted, but he limited himself to staggering to the door frame and choking out one more “Frances.”

Frances looked up with a start. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. “Where were you?” she croaked.

Alex stared at her. “What?”

Frances looked down at the floor mulishly. Beyoncé continued to play incongruously in the background. “I was looking for you. Last night. You said if I ever needed anything in the middle of the night, I could come get you. I went to get you. You weren’t there.”

Alex felt his heart drop. He walked over to Frances and sat down in front of her. She turned her head away. Alex picked up her phone and paused the music as he tried to think of something to say. “Oh, Frances,” was the best he could come up with.

“Where were you?” she asked, her lower lip wobbling. “I was so worried.”

Lying to her became simultaneously absolutely vital and much more difficult. “Your dad had an emergency at work, in the middle of the night, and I had to go with him. I didn’t get back until early in the morning, and your dad’s still there. We thought that since I would only be gone a few hours, and it was the middle of the night—“ He swallowed hard. “Frances, what happened?”

“I had a bad dream,” she said. She still wasn’t looking at him. Alex waited. “About the people,” she said finally. “The people who were after my mom. I had a dream they came here. And then I woke up and I wanted to see if you were still there and you weren’t—“ She looked up at him. “I hid. Mom told me if they ever came, I should hide.”

Alex wrapped his arms around her and she unfolded, sinking into him and hugging him back. “Frances, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m safe, your dad’s safe, I promise nothing bad’s going to happen here. But I never should have left you alone. I’m so sorry.”

Frances pulled back a bit and nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I have those dreams sometimes,” she said quietly. “Do you think you’ll be there the next time I have one?” Alex opened his mouth to say yes, yes, of course, how could I not, because I’m never leaving you again, and then felt the weight of his cell phone in his pocket. He thought back to his mother, working night shifts at the hotel uptown, collapsed on the couch the next day, and how much he and Jamie had resented her for it. He thought about how those night shifts were what gave her the money to afford to stave off social services and keep their tiny family together. He thought about the funeral, and thought about what it would be like to take Frances to one.

“Frances I… I may not always be there right away. I know, sweetie, I know.” She was beginning to truly cry again and Alex began to well up too. “But I’ll always come back for you. Always. I’ll always come looking for you and I’ll always find you.”

When John arrived back at the manor, he found Frances and Alex passed out together, lying on the couch in the media room, Frances across Alex’s chest and Alex’s arm wrapped around her. John stood there for a minute, listening to the two of them breathing close to in sync. He kissed Frances’s head gently, hesitated, and then draped a blanket over the two. Then he went upstairs and fell asleep in his master bedroom, alone.

#hamilton #john laurens #alexander hamilton #lams #fic #frances laurens #batman au #this is such a good prompt thank you #orig #the everqueen

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bedlamsbard · 8 years

Text

Reunion AU backstory scene -- Kanan’s capture. I think this is the first time I’ve actually written Kanan’s capture in the moment, so to speak; Backbone shows the aftermath, but there was never any intent to write the confrontation itself, and the only other version I’ve written has been the hologram Beneke watches in the double Imperial concept.

Previous: Cham, Hera, Hera backstory.

About 2.8K below the break.

There were six big cells in the city jail, and Kanan had been sitting in one of the men’s cells for the better part of three days now. So far he had punched more people than he could count, nearly been scalped in his sleep – there had been a Trandoshan inmate who was fascinated with hair, right until he had tried his trick on a Wookiee prisoner – and probably contracted some kind of unmentionable disease, either from the vermin that were common in the cells, his fellow inmates, or the slop masquerading as food.

One of the few good things about the Force, Kanan mused, stretching his long legs out in front of him, was that even in what passed for dormancy it burned out disease and infection. If he had been unlucky enough to contract something, the worst he could expect would be a few uncomfortable days. There were few illnesses that could truly affect a trained Force-user; those that did were usually fatal.

Kanan was only half-trained, but that was enough. He had been told that untrained Force-sensitives had a tendency to get sick less often than their Force-null comrades, but that was all. It was using the Force, embracing it, letting it flow freely through mind and soul and body alike, that let it destroy everything in its path. Or so Kanan had been taught.

That had been a long time ago, though.

The only reason that Kanan had room to stretch out in the cell was because the city guards had cleared it out this morning, hauling all the other occupants off to who knew what fate. Kanan had expected to go with them – had counted on it, knowing that it would be easier to break out once they were in transit – but he had been left behind. He thought that there were a few beings still being held in the other cells, but Kanan was the only one left here. It gave him a little quiet space to think, and to stretch legs that had gotten cramped over the course of three days of confinement, but mostly what he could think about was that being singled out was never a good thing.

The most obvious answer, he knew, was that the chief of the city guards – or maybe one of his cronies – wanted to make a few extra credits off the books. Kanan was seventeen – or nineteen, going by the age he had had to give the booking officer when he had been brought in – and alone and was not only in good health but was reasonably good-looking besides. Over the past few years he had had plenty of opportunity to find out that that combination wasn’t always to his advantage, especially out here on the Outer Rim where the Empire either turned a blind eye to or actively encouraged the slave trade. Officially it was illegal; Kanan had seen all the propaganda about noble Imperial officials and stormtroopers in spotless white armor cleaning out underground slave markets and holding pens. He had met plenty of people who even believed all the propaganda, which as far as he was concerned took a special kind of idiocy.

Anyone who tried to buy or sell him was going to get one hell of a surprise.

He scuffed a booted heel against the dirty floor, his head cocked as he listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. If he was still here by dark tonight, then he wasn’t going to wait around to find out what the locals wanted with him. He was pretty sure that he could get past the locked cell door, though there was a decent chance that he would have to use the Force in order to do so. He hadn’t wanted to try while the cell had still been full.

The cell door slid open. Kanan glanced up, arching an eyebrow. “I was starting to think you boys had forgotten about –”

Stormtroopers. Not city guards.

He was on his feet without consciously thinking about it, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Thamisa had an Imperial governor, but the planet’s stormtrooper garrison was perfunctory at best, which was why Kanan had come here in the first place. They shouldn’t have been here doing the city guards’ job.

“Someone wants to see you,” said the stormtrooper in the lead, who had an NCO’s pauldron on one shoulder. He produced a pair of binders, advancing on Kanan.

Kanan was already standing against the bench that ran along the back wall, so there was nowhere else to go. The cell didn’t give him much fighting space, either, and there was no way of telling how many other stormtroopers were out in the hall waiting for him. He would probably have a better chance in more open space, if they were taking him out of the station.

But he was breathing hard as they snapped the binders onto his wrists and shoved him out into the corridor. Two stormtroopers preceded him, two more followed behind, and the NCO walked beside him with his hand locked around Kanan’s arm.

“All this for one kid?” he heard one of the stormtroopers mutter to another. “What do they think he’s going to do, burst into flames?”

Kanan wished, but the Force didn’t work that way.

They took him out of the cells into a station that seemed to be completely devoid of city guards, but with more stormtroopers stationed at the exits and entrances. Their heads turned to track Kanan’s passage as their comrades escorted him to a closed door whose namecard announced it as belonging to the guard chief.

Kanan was guessing that he wasn’t in there.

One of the stormtroopers rapped sharply on the door and said, “The kid’s here, sir.”

“Send him in,” came the response, muffled by the closed door. “Remain outside, no matter what you hear.”

“Wait,” Kanan said. “What does that –”

The door slid open and the stormtrooper NCO shoved him inside.

Kanan stumbled but managed to keep his footing as the door shut behind him. The room was dark, the lights off and the shades drawn. There was a tall figure standing beside the chief’s desk, looking at the closed window as if he could divine something from the heavy curtains. Something about the shape of his skull, even from behind, made Kanan think that he wasn’t human.

“Listen,” he tried, “whoever you think I am –”

“I know who you are.” The figure raised one hand; Kanan felt the Force spark as the binders fell away from his wrist.

Kanan flinched back against the closed door as the stranger turned around. He was a Pau’an, in black armor with the Imperial cog painted on his pauldrons and a glint in his eyes that chilled Kanan to the bone. Sharp teeth gleamed as he smiled.

“Hello, little Jedi,” he said. “I am the Inquisitor.”

Kanan stared at him, his pulse pounding. He could feel the dark side pressing down on him, a heavy weight around him that made it suddenly hard to breathe. I’m not a Jedi, he wanted to say. You’ve got the wrong guy. But he couldn’t seem to remember how to speak.

He was going to die here.

The Inquisitor put something down on the chief’s desk – Kanan’s lightsaber, both sections fitted together. “Take it,” he said. As Kanan stared at him, he reached over his shoulder and drew something off his back, igniting the lightsaber blade in a streak of red plasma.

Kanan had never actually seen a red lightsaber before. Not in real life, not outside of Temple holos. Red blades were something out of ancient history, not the real world, even though he knew that people like Dooku and Ventress had carried them during the war.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. Time seemed to have slowed to frozen slices illuminated by the Inquisitor’s lightsaber, and Kanan couldn’t breathe –

“Do you want to live?” the Inquisitor inquired.

Kanan jerked his gaze from his blade to his face, breath slipping out in quick gasps. Whatever expression was on his face must have been enough for the Inquisitor, because he repeated, “Take up your weapon.”

It took everything Kanan had, but he managed to take a step forward.

“No,” the Inquisitor said sharply. “Not like that.”

Kanan let out a gasping breath that was almost a sob. His whole body ached with the pressure of the Force bearing down on him; he couldn’t tell if it was the Inquisitor’s intent or whether it came from inside him, if it was the Force taking back what it had been denied it for years. Somehow – he wasn’t sure how – he managed to stretch one hand out. He saw the lightsaber rattle on the desk, felt a sharp spike of the Inquisitor’s attention, and thought in sudden, clear panic, He’s going to kill me. If I don’t have it in my hand NOW he’s going to kill me –

The red lightsaber blade screamed as it cut through the air towards him.

Kanan threw himself into a roll, coming up on one knee with his hand stretched out for his lightsaber as it flew off the desk and slapped into his palm. The blade ignited almost before he had completely found the trigger, and Kanan swung around, awkwardly batting aside the Inquisitor’s downward blow. He was on his feet a moment later, fixing both hands around his lightsaber’s hilt and trying to calm his breathing.

He saw the Inquisitor’s lips curve in a smile as the Pau’an prowled towards him in the gloom of the room, the glow of his blade staining his sharp teeth red. Kanan raised his lightsaber in front of him in a guard position, his shoulders shaking even though his hands were steady.

“So,” said the Inquisitor, “there is some life in you after all, little Jedi.”

He feinted forward and Kanan flinched despite himself, taking a step out of the way that he knew immediately was a mistake. He barely got his blade up in time to parry aside the Inquisitor’s blow, dodging back again.

Kanan hadn’t been in a swordfight in the better part of half a decade, and only one that hadn’t been training with Depa Billaba or the other younglings in his cohort. But Jedi learned how to use a lightsaber as soon as they could make a fist, and even after years without touching one Kanan still knew how to use it. Besides, he had been in a lot more fights since then.

Enough fights to tell that the Inquisitor was better than him.

Kanan’s swings got wilder and wilder as the Inquisitor pressed him around the room, their whirling lightsabers turning the desks and the shelves along the walls to splinters. Kanan’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his breath scraping out his throat; he could feel sweat dripping down his forehead and sticking his hair down against his skin. The Inquisitor didn’t even seem bothered.

Kanan saw an opening and lunged forward, scoring a dark line down the front of the Inquisitor’s armor. In response, the Inquisitor’s blade flicked out and slashed a shallow cut across his right shoulder, making Kanan gasp and almost drop his lightsaber, taking a few quick steps backwards and switching his grip to his other hand. He managed to block the next blow, awkwardly left-handed, then the Inquisitor’s lightsaber kissed the outside of his left thigh and then his right calf, barely more than a pair of burns but enough to make Kanan’s legs go out from under him.

His lightsaber deactivated as he briefly released the hilt in shock, though Kanan got his hand over it again as he caught himself on the paneled wood floor. Pain seared up his wounded legs and arm, but he pushed himself up to his knees. A fourth blow caught the edge of his collarbone, burning through the fabric of his shirt and making him yell in startled agony as he fell backwards. A fifth cut a line of burning fire across his left forearm. But he kept his grip on his lightsaber.

He pushed himself back away from the Inquisitor, splinters from one of the broken bookshelves digging painfully into his bare palms as he did so. The Inquisitor advanced slowly on him, the careful, deliberate pace of a predator intent on his prey.

Kanan’s back hit the wall behind him and he stopped, staring up at the Inquisitor. The Pau’an stopped too, regarding him thoughtfully.

His hands shaking, Kanan managed to ignite his lightsaber again, keeping the blade between himself and the Inquisitor despite the way his injury tried to drag his arm down. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to –

“Better than I expected, little Jedi,” the Inquisitor observed, sounding a little like a particularly strict flight instructor Kanan remembered from the Temple. “Though you are out of practice.”

Kanan couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just bared his teeth at the Inquisitor like a trapped animal.

Without deactivating his lightsaber, the Inquisitor reached behind himself and removed something from his belt, holding it out on his palm. “Open it,” he said.

It was Depa Billaba’s holocron. Kanan stared at it, his breath rasping out in agony, and then raised his gaze to the Inquisitor again. He shook his head a little.

“Do you want to live?”

“Does it matter what I want?” Kanan gasped.

“Do you want to live?”

With a gasping sob Kanan deactivated his lightsaber, because he knew he couldn’t hold it up and do this at the same time. But it was easy, so easy, to reach out with his mind and touch the glowing core of the holocron. He felt the faint flutter of something that wasn’t quite personality, wasn’t quite delight that it was being activated, and then something that was almost disapproval as it sensed the darkness of the Inquisitor.

Please, Kanan begged it. Please. I don’t want to die. Please. You don’t have to show him anything important.

There was a moment of something like hesitation, then agreement. Kanan shut his eyes as the holocron unfolded, but he could still see it in the Force, a dozen brilliant pieces of gold and crystal that rose up out of the Inquisitor’s palm.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place.”

You don’t say, Kanan thought, and then, to the holocron, that’s enough.

“This message is a warning and a reminder to any surviving Jedi –”

The words cut off as the holocron closed again, Master Kenobi’s image vanishing. Kanan dropped his head over his lightsaber, trembling uncontrollably with everything the duel had taken out of him. Or maybe from the Force use. It had been a long time.

He heard the Inquisitor deactivate his lightsaber, but a moment later the emitter was under his chin, pushing his head up until the Inquisitor could look into his eyes. Kanan met that mad red glare, shuddering, and felt the Force stab into his mind, probing in a way that made him gasp.

“Do you want to live?” the Inquisitor asked again.

Kanan shut his eyes again, his breath catching on a sob. “Yes.”

“Good,” said the Inquisitor. “Very good.” He brushed his fingers lightly against Kanan’s hair, making Kanan flinch back again with a gasp of pain at the motion. He saw the Inquisitor’s lips curve in something that might have been a smile, then the Pau’an stepped aside. He had put the holocron away again, but he had left Kanan his lightsaber, and Kanan bent over the hilt with his hands clenched so tightly on the metal that they ached. He held the weapon to himself like a talisman – not so much because he thought he would get a chance to use it, but because it was all he had.

He heard the door slide open again, and looked up to see the stormtrooper NCO standing in the entrance. He took in the ruined office with an impassive tilt of his helmeted head, then turned to look at Kanan, the set of his shoulders suggesting surprise that Kanan was still alive.

“We are finished here,” the Inquisitor told him coolly.

“Yes, sir. And the kid?”

The Inquisitor flicked an impassive glance back at Kanan. “Him as well. The restraints will not be necessary,” he added as the stormtrooper reached for the binders on his belt.

“And his weapon?” the stormtrooper said dubiously.

“He keeps it.” The Inquisitor smiled. “For now.”

#cut scenes and concept writing #reunion au tag #as always comments are appreciated #I am pregaming for my birthday on thursday by crying about it several days in advance

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