#but shattering his soul has also changed him hes more selfish and quick to anger

[fishybehavior]

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i need to write like 20 jaya fics

rn thinking about a fic where Nya finds Jay, he's in rough shape. He was captured by basically dragon hunters. They escape but Jay doesn't want to go with her

he's got no choice he's injured. They travel across the merged realm back to the monastery and Jay begrudgingly is falling for her again. But he's not the same Jay, and Nya keeps talking about him going back to normal. But Jay has recovered no memories

he asks her directly whether she would feel the same about him if he didn't remember, didnt go back to normal. Jay is a very different man, he shattered his soul, worked for Ras and the Administration. Would her Jay do any of that?

He loves her but he doesn't care about the other ninja, he probably would if he didnt shatter his soul. But he did, and that changed him more the administration, more than ras, more than loosing his memory.

Jay is tired of other people telling him who he is and he decides to leave Nya again so he can figure out who he is. Tho he promises to pass through the crossroads every now and again to say hello.

[yaimlight]

Not Worth The Truth

“I lied when I said I loved you”.

He looks back at you with wide pain filled eyes, tears clinging to his lashes. You feel your hart crake just a little bit more but you push your own pain aside, keep your face blank and neutral. You can’t let there be any doubt, any chance that he might see through the cracks and know you don’t mean it.

He blinks once, twice, those forest green eyes so big and honest and you have to fight the desire to reach out and brush his tears away. Izuku’s eyes have always been so expressive, the man unable to hide anything he was feeling and you had loved it, basked in the way he looked at you with such love and devotion but now it makes you feel sick, makes your skin crawl. You force yourself not to look away though, commit every flash of pain and confusion to memory. You didn’t deserve to forget this, your greatest crime.

“You don’t mean that,” he tries to sound confident, sure in his statement but his voice wobbles slightly as the tears begin to fall, his words catching as he sucks in a shaky breath. You knew this wouldn’t be easy, knew that Izuku wouldn’t let you make a clean break and disappear into the night but you had hoped that you wouldn’t have to get cruel but you were rapidly running out of options and time. You were going to have to break his heart, his stupidly large and trusting heart that you had once sought to protect.

You glared at him as you took a step back, relying on old habits to see you through this. He wouldn’t believe you if you cried and you needed him to believe every word you said. For both your sakes.

“How could I ever love someone like you? Look at yourself Izuku, you’re pathetic,” you spat, voice dripping with distain. He flinched back from you, the large muscled mass of a man shrinking in on himself like your words had physically hurt him. It felt like your heart was being cracked in two, every word that left your mouth another stake driven in to make the gap bigger. After everything you knew he still strives with his self worth, his right to be here and it was a low blow to strike him where you knew it would hurt but you needed it to hurt, needed him to look at you one day with nothing but contempt.

He looked so broken and you wanted desperately to wrap your arms around him and take it all back but you couldn’t. Not now, not ever. Instead you sneered at him, letting out a bitter huff of laughter. You turned to leave, determined to get away whilst you could but Izuku wouldn’t let you, a scared hand grabbing at your wrist and keeping you in place. “Please,” he whispered, his normal cheery voice hollow and desperate. You did that to him.

You screwed your eyes shut, hands curling into fists at your sides and jaw clenching. “Please, if I...if I did something wrong...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to upset you...please just...” you cut him off with an all to real laugh, bitter and mocking, not directed at him but at yourself though it doesn’t come across that way and you hate that that works in your favour. You yank your arm free turning back to look at him with anger in your eyes. He’s taller than you, not by much but enough you have to tilt your head back slightly to look at him. You loved that though, liked to cuddle up to him and slot your head under his chin and listen to the rumble in his chest as he mumbled on and on about the most random of things. You wouldn’t get to do that again.

“Are you thick? What about i don’t love you are you not getting?” you hissed out, taking a step back to put some much needed distance between you. You weren’t sure that you would be able to go through with it if he touched you again. His warm and scared hands sending pin pricks of heat across your skin.

Izuku was still in his hero costume though his utility belt and gloves were gone, abandoned on the table. You had been waiting for him when he got home, the greenet having been excited to see you and expecting to find you lounging around in one of his stupidly ironic t-shirts with a coy smile and a promise of love. Instead he had found you cold and shut of, a bag sat at your feet that contained every last little thing of yours that had found it’s way into his apartment over the last six months.

“I don’t understand. We were fine this morning. Just please talk to me, tell me how to fix this and I will,” he pleads with you, those to green eyes looking at you like you hold the sun in your hands and your threatening to take it away. Izuku has always wanted to help people, fix things and make everything right in the word, his strong ideologue often make people mistake his genuine desire to do good as stupidity. You had never believed that though, had always seen it as a sign of a good heart, a true hero who wanted to make the world a better place for all but now as he desperately tried to cling onto the tattered remains of your relationship you began to wonder if you had been wrong all those times and he was actually living in an impossible fantasy land. His dream had always been a nice one but you had always known it wouldn’t happen.

“Nothings changed I just can’t be bothered with this little game anymore,” he looks betrayed, taking a step back and almost tripping over his own feet. “Game?” he chokes out and finally you can see your words starting to sink in, his to quick mind running through every aspect of your relationship and trying to see if he had missed something. You knew you had to push just that little bit more, had to tip him over the edge before he could start to fight back again and you knew this would hurt him but he had to let you go, give up hope.

Smirking you looked up at him with cruel amusement. “You didn’t think this was real did you?” you laughed watching the way his eyes widened impossibly more with shock and pain. It didn’t matter if it had been real, didn’t matter that he was the first person in a long time you had actually cared about, had actually wanted to be around. You had known when this started it was a mistake, that nothing good would ever come of it but you had been selfish, had wanted to bask in the light of his smile and the warmth of his arms. This was all your fault, his pain was all because of you and you carry that with you until the day you died.

“Oh you did didn’t you? You actually though that I could want someone like you, let alone love you,” you mocked his feelings, the words coming easy despite the nausea you could feel building. His tears and flowing quick and plentiful, streaming down his lightly freckled cheeks and dropping down onto his chest, soaking into the green fabric. He’s a noisy cryer, sucking in sharp and ragged breaths as he shakes his head, like he’s trying to deny what your saying but you know him and you know that by now he has realised that you had only told him you loved him once and that had been to get him into bed. He had noticed that you never really went out with him, had been reluctant to meet his friends and had never tried to introduce him to yours. He was probably wondering about all the late nights at the office that you knew didn’t exist, was probably imagining our with someone else and laughing about how easy it had been to string him along. It was better than the truth, better he think you a heartless bitch that what you truly were.

Sighing like this was growing boring you snatched up your bag and slung it over your shoulder, “look let’s not make this more than it actually is. You were a good fuck, something to pass the time with but that’s all it ever was. No need to get so emotional”. His knees give out then, hitting the wooden floor with a loud thud as he presses both hands over his mouth in an attempt to keep his chorales sobs and whimpering at bay. It doesn’t work and you feel your mask threatening to fall apart, your eyes stinging as your own tears threaten to fall. You need to leave and now, before he notices.

You turn away again, managing to take a step this time before Izuku is once again grabbing at your wrist, his grip tighter and damp with his tears. Huffing you turn back to him, finding him looking up at you with the desperation of a man who is about to lose everything and you hate yourself just that little bit more. “Please...I...love...you,” he forces out between sobs, his quiet voice full of despair.

Wordlessly you loosened his grip, one finger at a time and letting his hand fall to his lap once you were free. You crouch down in front of him, cupping his cheek with one hand and using your thumb to wipe away the tears but there falling so fast it doesn’t make a difference. He screws his eyes shut, his face pressing into your palm and you can practically feel the last little shrewd of hope he is clinging onto. You’re going to have to crush it, extinguish that flickering flame and leave him cold and hollow. You don’t want to. You don’t want to hurt him any more than you have but if there’s hope there’s the chance he will follow and only madness lies that way.

Leaning forward you press a kiss to his damp lips, Izuku whimpering and pressing back but you don’t let it last, pulling away before it can be something more. His eyes open and this close you can see all the different shades, see the depths of his soul. It also means you can see the moment his heart finally breaks when you say your next words, “I know yet I just don’t care”. The sound that comes from his lips is one of pure pain, his hands pressing back against his mouth as he doubles over and cries like his whole world has been shattered.

You push to your feet quickly, licking your lips and tasting salt as you dig his keys out of your jacket pocket and chucking them into the table, the little green bunny key chains ear snapping off on impact. He sobs loudly at the sound of them hitting the table, something closer to a scream that’s muffled behind his hands. You can’t stay there any longer, spinning on your heals and having to force yourself to walk casually through the apartment and not run. Izuku doesn’t try and stop you this time.

His cry’s follow you and your thankful you had waited for him with your shoes and jacket already on because the thought of having to stand there and listen to the man you loves heart brake as you laced up your trains makes you feel sick.

The door creaks as you open it, the lock clicking into place as it shut it softly so as not to disturb his neighbours. You make it to the stairwell before your own tears start to fall and you find yourself sinking down into the cold concrete floor as your body shakes with it. You burry yourself head in your knees, hands grasping at the back of your head and just let them fall, bitting down hard on your lip to keep the sounds at bay. Oh gods what had you done?

You always knew that you would have to be the one to end this, the one to make sure he wouldn’t try and cling on but you had never thought it would hurt so much. You weren’t supposed to get so involved, wasn’t supposed to fall in love yet here you were, hopelessly infatuated with the man, a hero no less. You had been cruel, malicious even and though you had done it for his own good he would never see it that way. Every morning cuddle and stolen kiss, every lazy day spent lounging on the sofa and just enjoying each other’s company, every aspect of your relationship was now tainted, twisted and blackened with the implication that he had been nothing but a bit of fun, nothing more, nothing less. He would never think of you again without remembering what you had just done to him, without feeling the phantom twist of your words as they ripped through his heart.

You had done a lot of things wrong in your life and loving Izuku was probably the worst in a long list.

Your phone dinged, the sound cutting through your muffled cries. You lifted your head, scrubbing at your eyes and taking one shaking breath after another as you try to regain some sort of control over yourself. It takes a few moment and your breathing is still ragged but eventually your vision is clear enough for you to pull your phone out and look at when you had been sent. You were half expecting it to be Izuku, begging you to come back but it’s not his name that flashes across the screen. It’s a simple thing, just a time and a quick glance at the clock tells you that you don’t have the time to sit here and wallow in pity and lamenting your mistakes in life.

With one last shaky breath you push your self up into your feet, pulling your hood up and start on your way, bouncing down the stairs quickly. You take one last look at the photo of you and Izuku on your Lock Screen, the both of you happy and smiling, before you flip it over and prise the back off, not caring as the something snaps. You slip the chip out just as you burst through the buildings door, dumping the phone into the bin just a few steps down the street and dropping the chip down a drain.

You couldn’t risk Izuku using it to find you, didn’t want the temptation there to contact him either. It was better this way, disappearing into the night like you hadn’t ever been there. You had moved out of your apartment that morning, not leaving a forwarding address behind. Not that it really mattered. The name on your lease was a fake anyway, the name on your new one different to the last and on the other side of the city. Izuku wouldn’t find you, no matter how hard he looked.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the city, slipping into the night time crowed easily and getting lost in the mass of others. It was with practiced ease that you disappeared down back alleys and side streets, getting deeper and deeper into the city and its dark and seedy underbelly. This was the forgotten part, full of drug addicts and petty criminals, prostitutes and street gangs. No hero came here unless they had a death wish, leaving this part of the city to rot and fester. This place had its own rules, its own hierarchy and as you slipped past the lowlifes and degenerates no one dared touch you, watching you with open hostility as you approached ‘The Unholy Hero’, the bars neon green open sign fright in the darkened street.

You burst through the door, bouncing down the steps and ignoring the four sets of eyes watching you, heading straight to the bar. “Trouble in paradise?” the annoying cheerful voice called through the silent room and you gritted your jaw, trying to ignore him. You let your bag fall off your shoulder, throwing it against the counter as you lent across the counter and snatched up a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. “How about you go fuck your self,” you snarled, leaning against the bar as you pours yourself a shot and nocked it back, quickly refilling the glass.

No one here knew about Izuku, you had been careful about that but they did know you had been seeing someone. It was hard to hide the change in your behaviour when you spent so much time with these people. You knew if they ever found out about him that neither of you would survive the night, him dead and you a broken mess beyond repair. No this was better. Izuku would hurt for a while but he would be okay in the end. He would wake up one day and realise you hadn’t been worth it and he was better off without you.

Across the bar Higashikuni snorted, his kohl lined golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “How about you fuck me yourself coward,” he smirk, winking at you and he shook his head, moving his jet black hair out of his eyes. “Like I would ever be that desperate,” his gold eyes narrowed as the others laughed, flashing brightly as he stuck up his middle finger at you. This was normal for you two, an odd mix between flirting and hostility that had worked well for the two over the years. Normally you would just roll your eyes and get on with it but you were feeling raw and stolen, on edge and ready for a fight and he would be a good distraction, your quirks complimenting the other in a way that meant any fight you had would be long and painful. You wanted it to hurt and he wouldn’t disappoint.

Before you could spend your mouth though the side door opened, the quiet murmuring of voices stoping instantly. Huffing you took another shot, eyes falling to look at your shoes as you ignored the new arrival. It didn’t last long, shinny black shoes appearing in your line of sight. “Bad night?” he asked, like you were some sort of puzzle to be turned over and put back together. Your grip tightened on the bottle, your eyes screwing shit for just a moment as you seriously contemplated leaving but you knew you wouldn’t get far, you never did.

Sighing you opened your eyes and looked up, glaring into blue/grey eyes that looked as cold and uninviting as a winter storm. “Yeah. Some asshole is waisting my time when I’m pretty sure there are a thousand other things I would rather be doing right now,” you were never normally this rude and over Fuyuhito’s shoulder you could see Higashikuni raise an eyebrow at you but you didn’t care. You had already fucked up your life tonight so why not carry on as you started and set the rest of it up in flames as well.

The room got colder, an impossible breeze ruffling at your hair as Fuyuhito’s cold eyes narrowed. You didn’t back down down, held your head high and glared back hoping he would take the bait, even as you felt your skin prickle with the cold. Something must have given you away though, the sudden cold breeze disappearing and Fuyuhito turned away from you with a sigh, his silver hair glinting in the light. Growling you took another shot, letting the liquid burn as you glared at his back.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he said airily, waving his hand and the lights go off, a project whirring to life. He sinks into a chair next to the other, leaning back into the plush leather and looks at you expectantly. Glaring at him you took another shot before placing the bottle and glass down on the counter and headed to stand next to the glowing image of a high end skyscraper. “As you all know this is the headquarters of the Nakamura foundation, the countries largest supplier of high end luxury goods and services to the rich and famous and tomorrow night they will be hosting a party to show of their newest collection-“ you waved your hand and the image changed showing off a group of of diamond and precious jewel encrusted necklaces and bracelets “-jewel of the night”.

This was easy, the words flowing from your lips like water. You had been working on this for six months, had spent months doing recon and test runs and you were sure in your plan, as was Fuyuhito. This is what you were good at, how you had made your living and gotten through life and your confidence was well earned. After all this wasn’t the first high end robbery you had orchestrated and it wouldn’t be the last.

As you went on about security systems, who would be in attendance, heroes that would be on duty and exit strategy’s your mind wonders back to the man you had left broken and alone. You hated yourself for what you had done but it was better this way, better for him to think he had fallen in love with a heartless bitch and not a wanted criminal. You didn’t want to put him in that position, to have to watch you be lead off in cuffs or for him to be the one to arrest you. No this was definitely a mercy and come tomorrow night it wouldn’t even matter. You would take your share and run, put as much distance between you and Izuku as you could and never set foot in Japan again.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) {6}

Summary: Knowing the truth, Y/N wants to force Ethan to confess and in her attempt to prank him into doing it, she realizes the joke’s on her.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, talk of depression and anxiety

Word count: 4700+

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) series Masterlist

A/N - heavily inspired by Grey’s anatomy, my own experiences and thoughts, but also by songs: Birdy - Not about angels, Bear’s den - Fortress, Matthew and the atlas - Out of the darkness, Harry Styles - Falling, Kodaline - Wherever you are, Isak Danielson - Love me Wrong, Dove Cameron - Remember me, Tom Odell - Can’t pretend, The XX - Angels, Coldplay - Fix you, Coldplay - The scientist, Elvis Presley - Can’t help falling in love.

I really hope you guys like it! Feedback is always wanted and appreciated, no matter how small or big it is!

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Eccendentesiast (n.) - someone who hides pain behind a smile

Finding out something that absolutely goes against all you believe in isn’t quite something Y/N expected to happen once she woke up in the place she felt safest in all her existence – Ethan’s bed. She had never thought that something so earth-shattering, so unbelievably life-changing could be hiding in that brain of his she adored so much and while she felt the urge to scream at him, to throw a tantrum, even contemplated burning his damn apartment to the ground, she just sighed instead. There was no fight, no defiance left in her – yet she embarked on a journey, passing the stages of grief within minutes.

First came denial. Her shaky hand covers her mouth to stifle a whimper aching to escape her quivering lips, her breath shallow as she tries to understand. It wasn’t possible, right? She would have known if he were the one, right? Being around him all that time and not knowing? She didn’t know if that was ever recorded or if she is just the worst in detecting the man who is meant to be her soulmate. After all the time they’ve spent together, why would he keep quiet on such an important subject? Why would he have ever lied to her? Well, he didn’t necessarily lie, but he did omit a pretty big truth.

“Will you ever tell me about her?” Her voice is quiet, small, meek. She doesn’t really want to know, or ever hear him talk love with someone other than herself, but that tiny bit of silver in his hair haunts her more than she anticipated.

Ethan wets his lips, the corners of those soft plush rosy colored cushions she craved every minute of every time twitch and she can’t help her stare, nor the odd fixation she has with them. She had never met a human being with lips as perfect as his and she never thought there would ever be a pair of lips she’d be addicted to as much as she is to his. They’re a drug – he is a drug, but he’s the drug she chose and she couldn’t and wouldn’t rehab from.

“Do you want to do a heart transplant with me today?” And typically, in Ethan fashion, Y/N received no answer, however, the way he shifted her attention to anything but her question was effective and she quickly forgot about it altogether. 

At least for the day.

Then came anger. How many times did she ask him about his soulmate and he just bribed her into forgetting it? How many times did he have her right in the palm of his hand and he completely disregarded her or her wish to know? Or how about the fact that he knows exactly where she stands on the soulmate connections and he chose to hide it from her? Did he know from the start? Did he know it that night in the bar when she was just a wreck looking to lose the soulmate she happened to stumble upon? She wanted to find a way to wreck that love before it ever began and he was there? He must have seen the silver in her hair appear right before his eyes and yet he continued to flirt like nothing was wrong at all? Why? Why is he so cruel and selfish? Why couldn’t he just tell her the truth? Instead, he got into her bed and her heart and mind and she can’t deny that he’s there to stay. Now she understood his reasoning about pulling out and using condoms…he was afraid she’d get pregnant, not because they might get an STD.

“Fucking asshole.” She mutters under her breath as her eyes focus on her hands in her lap, her head throbbing as she glances back at the door, realizing they must have wised up and went to talk somewhere she can’t hear their lies become truths.

“You really want to use a condom? Don’t guys usually convince girls otherwise?” She rolls her eyes, wishing he would drop the ridiculous request yet all he does is pull his boxers up, much to her dismay.

“I’m not going to risk our health for a momentary pleasure. Y/N, we’re not exclusive and that’s something I’d love to change, but unless you do too, I’m not going in raw anymore.” Emotional blackmail, that’s how she saw it at the time – an ultimatum where he used her horny needs for his own use and while she wasn’t about to completely fall for it, she groaned and parted her thighs to give him a view he would build a shrine to if it didn’t make him feel like a total creep.

“I’m not ready for that. But if it means so much to you, put the condom on and get to work because a certain Grant had stressed me the fuck out and I need to get it out of my system.”

Third came bargaining. Finding excuses for him is incredibly easy for her, trying to make his actions justifiable. After all, didn’t she tell him she wouldn’t be with her soulmate? Didn’t she make it clear she wasn’t interested in ever going down that road after her parents showed her all the wicked ways that bond can work against you? Maybe he was just scared of losing her? Maybe he’s still scared she’d walk away and leave what they’ve built from ground up? But how could he think that after all they’ve been through? After she opened up to him, laid her soul bare? After she resorted to acting as his girlfriend without the official label? She did that to make him happy – everything she did was somehow connected to a smile she hoped to see.

“Look what I got you!” She tosses a surgical cap his way, too fast and off target and with no previous warning so much so he barely grabbed it as it fell toward the ground. Hospital floors may be clean, but they’re not that clean.

“What the? Turtles?” Ethan’s voice went higher as he questioned her choice, even more so when he saw her giggle as if she cracked some major code to his personality and while he found himself confused, he couldn’t help but chuckle to appease her. He could never not smile when she laughs.

“I heard Grayson call you turtleman and I found this the other day and you popped in my mind. You’re the only surgeon I know who doesn’t have his on-brand cap. Thought I’d fix it.” And with that victorious smirk of hers, she left him smiling like an idiot. He never liked customized caps, never wanted one, but she changed that in an instant. Even if it’s silly, he would wear it if it made her happy. Always.

But when depression settled in, she was defeated. There was no way around a fundamental concern that hounded her brain. What if Ethan only loves her because he knows she’s his soulmate? What if all of it was a lie? Their love felt like a cosmic joke now, something that rose bile in her throat and she couldn’t help but question his feelings for her. She loved him for him, but did he love her for her or the promise of true love? Is that what this was about? Could she have avoided him? If she locked the world away, would she have managed to escape this unrelenting pain inside her chest with the thought of Ethan’s feelings being fabricated? She always believed you should be your own planet, high up in space, but rooted in yourself. Then he came and anchored her and she never wanted anything more than him.

“Do you ever think about a world where soulmates are just a concept? Like, no one wrote your story, you get to choose it yourself?” She wondered out loud, staring up at the moon as Ethan’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into his embrace, their breaths synchronizing as he dipped his head in the crook of her neck and his lips placed a feather-light kiss upon her collarbone.

“No. I feel like we still have a choice in everything. You could escape your soulmate, or you could seek them out. You choose if you want to be romantic, friendly, or nothing at all. It’s not so bad, even if you find yourself addicted. What’s so wrong about loving someone that is made for you?” His low tone had given her chills, his beating heart made her heart still. The effect he has is unparalleled with anything she had ever experienced and he was only holding her. Why would she want anything more than him?

“In that case, I’m always finding myself addicted to wrong things.” She heard him hum in curiosity, his lips ghosting over her shoulder before leaving a quick peck that made her smile fondly, widely enough to wonder if she ever smiled as much before meeting him.

“You, for instance.” Turning her head to the side, her eyes find his as quickly as his lips find hers. There was never a need for words between them, their eyes and actions spoke volumes instead.

In the end, she faced acceptance. Ethan lied, hid things, manipulated her, but she understood why. She had ruined every chance he had to be honest and while she’s still cross with him for doing it, mostly because she could have been knocked up in her intern year, Y/N accepted he did it for both of them. It couldn’t have been easy to keep it a secret and it must have eaten away at him daily, but if he didn’t, she’d never know what it means to love a person so fully that your heart swells just by thinking of them. She’d never know what it’s like to daydream about a future she didn’t think she’d have and she would never have stuck around long enough to see what they could become. It would have been a shame to miss out on Ethan and the way he had turned her world upside down. This would be a big issue for her to get over, that’s for sure, but if the tree falls at the first gust of wind, the roots were never deep to begin with and their roots were really fucking deep.

Alexithymia (n.) - the inability to express your feelings

When she mouthed a faint ‘I love you’ to Ethan, she didn’t know if she would ever see him again. She had a madman holding a gun at the back of her neck, time just wasn’t on her side. It never was. But that’s when she realized she had more than enough chances to tell him how she felt and she always hid behind her pain instead of giving him her all. She did give ninety nine percent, but that last percent she held onto out of pure fear.

She wished she had a second chance to do it all over again – to go all in from start to finish, to tell him she loves him more than words could ever explain, that she loves him to the moon and back, that she will never stop loving him, even if the world stops spinning ‘round. She wanted to grow old with him, just him. She wanted him every day, all the time, for him to know that while she used to think love is nothing but chemistry, essentially a lie, he showed her she was wrong and she was never happier to be wrong in her life.

That’s when she realized that she used to see beauty in the world as a child, but then she learned the truth. Nothing ever lasts. This world is suffering until you’re dead and while she used to wonder why she was taking all that pain, why she bothered to wake up every day, she knew now. Her entire life had boiled down to the moment she would meet this man.

Her only regret is that she didn’t tell him she loves him enough, that the words would die with her and he deserved so much better.

And she’s still angry, vengeful even. But she can’t deny one abundantly clear fact – she loves Ethan Grant Dolan and even if he’s a lying douchebag, he’s her lying douchebag. Maybe she would forgive him eventually, but for now, she just wanted him to tell her the truth. However, instead of facing him while laying indisputable proof before him, she crafted a plan of her own.

Clearing her throat, she stood up and decided to find him and his equally treacherous brother. It didn’t take her long, because as soon as she walked into the living room, she found the pair talking in hushed voices. Grayson notices her first, slapping Ethan’s shoulder to shut up and they looked exactly like she imagined one would look if they were guilty.

“How did I get here?” She rubbed the back of her head, noticing it really is sore, likely from the fall she took earlier. Ethan didn’t blink as he rushed toward her, his big brown eyes checking her over as his hands felt drawn to her, resting on her hips to keep her steady.

“How are you?” The concern in his voice is palpable, enough for her to let a real smile slip past her.

“Confused. A bit sore. What the hell happened?” She chuckled at the continuous touches Ethan had issued as if his hands have healing abilities and would make everything stop aching. Maybe they were healing to some degree, but this isn’t something he could have fixed.

“The SWAT team got him. The girl was his daughter and he chased her and her mother halfway across the world. Abusive fuck got what he deserved.” Grayson fills her in and while she would usually be shocked by his foul language, she couldn’t really look at him the same knowing he too had lied to her. Sure, it wasn’t his secret to tell and looking back at it Grayson did drop massive hints for her to pick up on, but damn it, she thought they were closer than that.

“Good.” Swallowing thickly, she raises her hands slowly, allowing her palms to rest on Ethan’s cheeks, just noticing how pale he is. And she’s pissed at him, but she can’t help the pang of worry that makes her soften her gaze.

“I’m fine. I’m a little nauseous, but I’m fine.” She reassures him, her voice never quite as gentle as in that moment and Ethan’s lips quickly stretch into a smile she longed for - a smile she never thought she’d see again.

“I know. I’m just having a hard time dealing with today.” Shrugging, Ethan forces a smile before letting out a heavy sigh. “I really thought I’d lose you today and while I fucking admire you for being so brave, I really wish you’d fucking stop being so fearless and fierce. One day, it will get you killed and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for the pain of losing you that would annihilate me.”

Grayson took it as a cue to leave, offering a tiny wave as goodbye and “Glad you’re safe” before escaping the situation he saw as a possible fight.

But he was wrong. Instead of arguing, Y/N wrapped her arms around Ethan as tightly as possible. There was no escape, he was right. She tends to undervalue her life and offer it up whenever she deems it could save someone else. When she was a kid, she had done it when she offered her morphine to her dying friends, or when she had tackled a robber as a teenager or now, when she basically told a shooter to take her as a hostage for a child. She didn’t want Ethan to feel the loss that drove her mother to suicide, not ever. After years of wanting death, Y/N found herself wishing for a long life.

“I won’t do that again. I promise.”

A night in bed where they held each other for dear life was enough for the pair to find a way to breathe again. However, Y/N still wanted to exact her plan instead of just talking to her soulmate and expressing her feelings. It would start that morning.

Jumping from the bed, she rushed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Ethan jumped right after her, startled by her sudden urgency, only to find her slamming the door in his face. But when he heard the unmistakable sound of her puking her guts out, his fists connected with the door with force enough for her to realize she has to calm him down.

“Open the door!” He insisted as the sound of her throwing up stopped and silence ensued.

“I don’t want you to see me this way! Plus, I’m fine. Probably just the stress.” She lied through her teeth, smiling on the other side of the door after her performance and while she knew it was cruel, so was his choice to lie to her since the night they met, way before she was his intern.

“I don’t care if you’re drenched in puke, I want to see you.” He exclaimed and she rolled her eyes. It’s sweet, but she can’t let him in because there was no residue smell of vomit and she needed it to be believable.

“I will let you in after I shower.”

And while he had waited in front of the door like a lost puppy, she showered and painted a small smile for him to see when the door opened again.

His arms wrapped around her instantly, the warmth of his touch making her melt and a little guilty for making him worry at all, yet she didn’t give up on her plan.

“I’m fine. I’ll make us breakfast.” Pecking his cheek, she tapped it lightly before getting dressed and doing just as she promised. That’s when she implemented part two of her plan.

“Why are you opening all the windows and why the hell are you holding a wet wipe to your nose?” Ethan found himself even more concerned when he found the very appealing eggs prepared on the kitchen island and his very beautiful soulmate running around wildly as she opened every window in sight.

“I don’t know, they smell so bad. I think the eggs went bad!” Shaking her head in disgust, she furrows her eyebrows as her eyes meet his and the odd frown on his face.

“They smell delicious.” But the moment he sat down, she rushed back into the bathroom, once again locking the door and pretending to throw up while Ethan is left on the other side for the second time that morning.

She washed her mouth away with mouthwash to have a reason for fresh breath instead of the sour smell vomit would cause, only to let him in this time. The open window above the toilet seemed to be a believable reason for the lack of vomit smells and she was ready to put her slightly shaken mask back on.

“You need to see a doctor. This isn’t just stress.” Ethan spoke, his hands running up and down her back as he massaged her gently to relieve whatever stress residue she may have.

“I am a doctor and I know my body, Grant. I’m fine and I want to work. It’s probably nothing, okay?” She leans into him, wondering if the pounding of his heart that is echoing in her ears right now truly worth her revenge.

It didn’t take long for Ethan to find Grayson once they came to the hospital. He left Y/N in the plastic surgery ward, unhappy with how pale she seems and even worse, how shaken up she still feels.

 Who gets back to work just a day after a traumatic experience and even more importantly, who comes into work when they feel under the weather? 

Ethan understands she wants to be a doctor and she doesn’t exactly have an eternity to take her time with it like the other interns, but he didn’t want her to work herself to death either. His idea of their future included a long life for both of them.

“She okay?” Grayson asks as he sips his morning coffee, crumbling the plastic cup in his hand right after he’s finished as he always does.

“I don’t think so, bro. She’s pale, queasy, threw up twice and thought the eggs are rotten even though they smelled and tasted delicious. I think she’s got a stomach bug.” Ethan licks his lips as his fingers thread through his hair, contemplating if sending her home would make her hate him again. He honestly didn’t know how many more fights he could handle.

“You’re kidding, right?” Grayson chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief before leaning toward his brother, his hand landing on his shoulder, firmly clutching him.

“What?” Ethan’s disgruntled groan follows his words, sparking up annoyance as Grayson’s grin widens.

“You’re a doctor and you can’t pick up on basic symptoms of pregnancy? I mean come on!” Tapping his brother’s shoulder, Grayson relents and leans back comfortably as Ethan begins to sweat.

“Fuck, no! I’ve been careful to the point of thinking about wearing two condoms! There’s no fucking way.” Ethan insists in a state of panic Grayson could see a mile away.

“There’s no such thing as safe sex with a soulmate and you know it. Dude, you’re a dead man walking.” Grayson didn’t mean to chuckle, very much aware how fucked up this situation is, but he also spend a better part of a century studying pregnancy, he knew the symptoms like the back of his hand.

“If she’s pregnant, she’s gonna know we’re soulmates and that’s not something she should find out like that! I was gonna tell her soon, on my terms. She should have had a choice in when she wants to get pregnant! She’s gonna hate me forever.” Ethan could feel his mind slipping into madness of his own creation, shaking as his mouth runs dry and he can’t even string two sentences right

“Hey.” But then she shows up in the worst possible moment and she can’t help but notice the way Ethan paled once she walks in, making her wonder just how fast did he connect the dots. He’s clearly freaking out and she’s assuming he’s doing so because of all the hints she dropped during the morning.

“I just wanted to ask Grayson for a consult.” She feigns innocence as she walks closer to Ethan, placing her hand on his back.

“Sure, just, uh…Would you mind if I ask you something for uh….study I’m doing?” Everything he had said came with a stutter, but Grayson figured he could be inconspicuous and get some solid information on which his brother could form his next steps.

“Shoot.” Y/N cringes at her choice words, it was too soon for her to joke on what had nearly taken her life just the day before but she spoke before thinking and it was too late to take it back and neither of the twins said a word anyway.

“Are your periods regular?”

Frowning, Y/N noted the pink hue on Grayson’s cheeks, loving just how uncomfortable he feels and even more the death glare Ethan sent his way. It was pure comedy watching them sweat after they’ve played with her head for so long.

“Yeah.”

“And when was your last period?” Grayson managed to say without losing his shit, feeling as if he too would hyperventilate the longer Y/N kept quiet, mulling it over longer than she should have but they were changing shades of red right before her eyes as she widens her eyes as if she too had realized something is amiss.

“I need to go.” She had never left the room faster, making Ethan’s heart drop and there was no returning from this. Looking back at the door, Ethan imagined a Y/N shaped hole in the door, aware he’s fucked for life.

“She’s late and I’m pretty sure she just figured that out. So congratulations, bro, we’re about to have a mini Dolan with us.”

Ethan wasn’t himself that day. He had walked around the halls half dead as dread gripped him. He must have changed his clothes at least five times during his eight hour shift, each time because he sweat through the scrubs – courtesy of anxiety and a crippling fear of losing Y/N. 

How could he be so irresponsible and keep the truth hidden for so long?

At the time, he had justified it with the possibility of her leaving him in the dust, but he had no right to keep it a secret for this long. She deserved to know when they started being intimate and no matter what excuse crosses his mind, there’s nothing he can tell her to issue forgiveness once she finds out.

When he got home, he found her shoes at the door, tossed as if she was in a hurry. Surprised she had come home earlier than him when she was supposed to do a double shift, Ethan took his jacket off and called out for her.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” No response. Swallowing thickly, Ethan rubs his face before walking into the bedroom, finding a box at the bed and the bathroom door closed with the light shining from under it.

Apprehensive, he moves closer. He wishes he is brave enough to knock on the door and tell her he loves her and that he needs to come clean about something that would impact them both, but he’s frozen as he nears the bed and the label on the box that becomes easier to read the closer he gets. He’s anxious. It comes as an electrical storm in his brain that, quite honestly, is painful. It's different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow, perhaps as a sort of frozen panic with nowhere to go, and he can’t pretend anymore as his eyes finally read what the box says – Home Pregnancy Test.

“You’re home early.” Her voice is void of joy, of anger, of sadness, of emotion. She sounds defeated, exhausted, weak. With a tiny gasp, Ethan turns to see her, noticing her holding the item in question and he can hardly breathe as he takes in the disheveled look she rarely allowed herself to sport. Her mascara is ruined, her lipstick smeared and her eyes have lost their light.

“You, uh…have a pregnancy test?” Ethan could barely talk, words becoming hard to form as he tried to seem unbothered but even she could tell he was losing his shit. There isn’t a man in this world that had treated her right and just as she believed Ethan might be the one, he had reminded her just why she resisted for so long.

“It was supposed to be a joke…a way to make you confess. It’s not funny anymore.” She tossed the test on the carpet in a momentary flash of anger and he didn’t dare look down.

“Confess?” Uttering like he had forgotten how to speak, unable to move an inch, Ethan stared at her and he couldn’t even pinpoint what he feels anymore, much less what she feels.

“I know we’re soulmates. And I was angry. I was so angry at first, but I understood. I just wanted to hear you say it and I was going to make you think I’m pregnant, but I don’t have to make you think anything anymore. When Grayson asked me those questions today, I realized I really am late. Two weeks.” Sniffling, she drags her sleeve under her breath as tears form in her eyes.

“Well, your lies have caught up with us both.” She went silent as he glanced down at the test and found two thick lines have formed. Looking back at her in shock, he felt his soul leave his body and he couldn’t speak, not when he had no excuse for what just went down.

When you hurt a woman you love, most of them can't even look at you, not even turn to you. But what does a man do when the woman he hurt, the woman he loves most in the world, stares right into his soul as he shatters her completely? What can a man do when her teary eyes hold his with such bravery, such complexity as she crumbles and he has to see it happen? When he's the perpetrator and sole witness of her fall? There isn't a single thing in this world that breaks like a heart does, Ethan knew that now for in this silent exchange between their souls, the silence has never been so deafening.

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

Tags: @beinscorpio​​​ @peacedolantwins​​​ @heyits-claire​​​ @dolandolll​​​ @godlydolans​​​ @dolanstwintuesday​​​ @ethanhes​​​ @iwastornsincethestart @graydolan12​​​  @zeusgrayson​​​ @libradolan​​​ @justordinaryjen​​​ @pineappledolan​​​ @graysavant​​​ @voguekristens @imayoutubere @livexdolan​​​  @shadowsndaisies​​​ @maybgrayson​​​​ @dolans4lyfe​​​​ @mendesficsxbombay​​​​ @fxkthatdairy @sharpdolan​​

Anyone crossed out wasn’t able to be tagged, probably an issue on Tumblr’s side, sorry.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 7)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone. I know that some of you must hate my guts after last week, and I couldn’t even begin to blame you for that, but I promise I will make things better this week. I hate to linger in the drama, and as such we get a resolution this chapter. That’s not saying the road will be easy, but hopefully it’ll pack some great feels and will end with a bit of forgiveness, not just for CS, but with us too. I’ll wait to see what you all think on that forgiveness part, but without further delay, here’s the next chapter of ‘Feels Like This.’

Agony. That was the emotion clinging to his body and soul through the rest of the processions. From the moment he saw Emma, and took in the range of emotions on her beautiful face, he realized she somehow hadn’t read his letter. Despite the assurances from Jefferson’s team that Emma had spoken with a member of the royal guard herself, had taken custody of the letter, and understood it was important, there was clearly a breakdown in that story. The shock in her eyes was too potent for her to have had any kind of heads up. She was torn apart and hurting, and it was all because of him.

This was a miserable and soul wrenching mistake, a slowly traveling crash in which he had been the operator, and the worst part was that he couldn’t go to her and try to explain himself. He tried to, stopped the horse, and was ready to go to her, consequences be damned, but Liam’s order was clear and he was bound to follow. As such, Killian had been in excruciating pain for hours. He spent the rest of the day imagine how hurt she must be. If he felt like this, undoubtedly her heart ached even more. And still, throughout all of this, there was no one to blame but himself. He alone was the one who had hurt Emma this way. His choice to be selfish and to wait in telling her had opened the doors to her heartbreak, and in all his life he’d never made a decision, or rather a series of decisions, he regretted so resolutely.

He would never, as long as he lived, and forever thereafter, forget the look in Emma’s eyes when she saw him from the crowd. The alarm of her expression was a knife to the chest, and then the waves of hurt and embarrassment and grief that came after laid all his sense of self respect to waste. He had done that to her. He had made her gorgeous face stain with disbelief and discomfort. He’d caused the anxiety and the sadness that were clear as day in her eyes. He’d undoubtedly ruined a day with her son, something that she cherished and had been excited about for weeks. And most importantly he shattered her trust in him and in herself. That part especially killed him. To see the moment where she came to believe that she’d been had, that he’d somehow meant for things to go so badly, that was the worst of all. Emma was brilliant and strong and sure of herself, and he’d diminished that by withholding who he was. He’d never forgive himself for that grave sin.

This wasn’t to say that his ire was limited. He was enraged with himself, but he was also furious with Liam. Keeping him from going to her in that moment may have been the ‘smart’ thing to do, but Killian couldn’t look past the fact that it was also the ‘proper’ thing as well. On a better day, and in a less tumultuous time, he would believe in his brother’s goodness. He’d give Liam the benefit of the doubt and imagine that the call to keep him in the procession was made to protect Emma and not to keep him from making a scene, but he was hardly rational right now. Instead, Killian was desperate, and as soon as the parade was over, he dismounted from his horse and rushed into the castle, disregarding all the staff who tried to help him. He stopped only to thank his grandmother for the distraction she’d provided and remained focused on his mission.

The only thing he could think right now was that he had to get to Emma. He’d go to her like this, dressed in this royal monkey suit, if that wouldn’t be yet another afront to her. She’d been slapped with the reality of who he was hours ago, and he would never try and throw that in her face again. He made it to his rooms in record time, and didn’t bother to even close the door as he went about changing, all the while brainstorming how he would get to her and make this right.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Liam said. Killian hadn’t even realized he was followed by his brother and he was even more angered by the lack of privacy. He bit back a snarl that was very unlike him but came naturally at this moment. “But there was no other way.”

“No other way?” Killian asked, a hollow laugh escaping as he shook his head at his brother’s words. “You might be the king, brother, but you’re a bloody fool if you believe that.”

“Killian I was only trying -,”

“Don’t!” Killian yelled, interrupting him before Liam could say something he didn’t want to hear. “I swear to you, Liam, if you so much as attempt to justify this, if you even think about bringing up my duty to this family, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Well luckily for me I was going to do neither.”

Killian glared at his brother but then disregarded him. He had the change of clothes he needed and made quick work of removing the starched pants and suit jacket. In under a minute he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, more normal attire that Emma had seen him in at the center. But just the thought of it made a lump form in his throat. What if all of this was over? What if he’d ruined everything? What if she could never find a way to forgive him?

“Okay I lied. I was going to make excuses, forgive me.”

“Forgiveness from me means nothing,” Killian said, deadly serious. “When I myself am unforgivable.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of. You think I was just gallivanting around the globe all these years, brother? No – there is darkness in me, sins on my soul I’ll live with every day, and now the worst among them is what I’ve done to Emma. The nightmares and memories of war I could live with. It’s not easy, but it can be done,” Killian said, expelling his breath quickly and wanting to get off this topic that he purposefully never discussed with family. “But what I did today, and what you commanded me to do… it’s a bridge too far.”

“So this isn’t all about your title, then. That’s not the only thing you’re hiding from her.”

Ice ran through Killian’s veins at Liam’s assessment, but his brother wasn’t wrong. There was a lot he hadn’t yet revealed to Emma. He always made the excuse that their stolen moments together were too fleeting, or that it wasn’t the right time to discuss such heavy things, but the truth was he was kidding himself. He’d wanted to gloss over the bad parts, which wasn’t fair to Emma or to him.

“I’m not good enough for her. The things I’ve seen and done have stained me. They made me different – they’ll always haunt me. But this,” Killian said waving around his rooms, which were so ornate that the French aristocrats of old would gasp in the face of them, “She deserves so much more than I can give her. This world is too demanding with too little wiggle room. She’ll feel trapped here. She’ll resent it. But I can’t let her go. I’ve never…” he trailed off, trying to put into words how Emma made him feel. “I’ve never felt like I was exactly where I’m meant to be; not here, not abroad. But with her there is no question. I’m the man I wish I was, the man I want to be.”

Liam was quiet a long moment, looking at Killian with a mix of emotions on his familiar face. There was concern to be sure, and sadness for Killian which he did not want. He didn’t want sympathy. He knew he wasn’t normal, in the regular sense of the world, but he didn’t want pity for that. Yet beyond that there was also a warmth in Liam’s looks, and when his brother spoke, his tone was open and honest.

“I saw you two today. I watched the exchange you had out there. The things you feel are not one sided. She loves you too. That was clear.”

God Killian wished that that were true, but even if it was, he didn’t know if love could survive this moment. It was a cruel thing, to taste real hope and have it stolen from you by your own missteps, but he had a sinking feeling that was to be his fate.

“My choices and my actions have likely destroyed those feelings,” Killian said, the lump forming in his throat so tight it made it hard to speak.

“I’m not so certain. She’s clearly going to give you the chance to explain yourself, and that alone speaks volumes.”

“And what would I even say?” Killian asked, putting words to his great fear. “There’s nothing I can say that can make this okay. I didn’t lie to her, I made sure never to do so, but a lie of omission is just as bad.”

“Is it though? I mean you’re not a criminal, Killian.”

“No, I’m a prince!” he yelled, the word hanging around them long after he’d screamed it into the room. His chest heaved as he caught his breath and slowly he calmed but he never felt better. “You don’t know Emma as I do, Liam. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to see this development as desirable. She has no fairytale ambitions, no dreams of the spotlight. She’s a woman trying to make a way in the world for her and her son. She wants a good life for her boy, a healthy and happy home, a decent chance at love, and a partner. She wants a man who can walk by her side and chart the path she’s built for them, she doesn’t want… this,” he said sadly gesturing at the grandeur around them. “And she certainly doesn’t want the scars of my past tossed in as well.”

“Well how can you know that if you’ve never even asked her?”

“I know.”

“Oh rubbish!”

The words from the doorway had both Killian and Liam turning and low and behold there was Gran and his mother. These two women, who had always been his fiercest advocates and caretakers looked upon him with such fierceness of emotion. His mother looked distressed but her love was still tangible. She also didn’t appear to be confused, and in her blue eyes he saw understanding even in her alarm. He was surprised that she was even aware of the situation, but then he turned to Gran and remembered how much the woman could say in a short amount of time. She’d no doubt told his mother, and now, despite her age and smaller stature, his Gran was poised for a fight and looked downright pissed. She was a force riled up this way, and he readied himself for a verbal lashing.

“All you know is that you made a mistake, a series of them if you want to get particular,” Gran said shaking her head. “But here’s a scary truth for you, my boy, we all make mistakes. There’s not a person in this room who has not wounded someone they love. Hurt them in a way they’ll regret to their last breath. It’s a terrible thing, but it is life. People are flawed and our time on this earth is messy. We can’t all be perfect. We can only try to be better.”

“I don’t deserve her forgiveness, Gran,” Killian said, not bothering to waste energy with diversions and denial. This was his great fear, and it slipped past his lips as if she’d forced he confess. “I’m not worth it.”

“Oh, Killian,” his mother said sadly, but his Gran held her hand out towards his mother, a silent show for her to wait. With purposeful steps, his grandmother approached him. She came in close, and he wanted to look anywhere but in the eyes of his family. She was uninterested in that avoidance though, and she put a dainty, wrinkled hand to his cheek. He looked up to her and watched as she took in a deep breath. Instinctively he did the same. Then they both let them go together. It was a remnant of his childhood, a tactic that helped calm him whenever he’d felt small and overwhelmed by their world. Gran always knew and she always helped, and even now, at this lowest point, it granted him a small comfort.

“My dear, I’ve always imagined you to be sensible and smart. Please, for the love of all that is good, do not prove me wrong,” Gran said, her voice softer but no less determined. “If you do not deserve her forgiveness, then you must earn it. You are not defined by a few bad choices you made, or by the scars that life has granted. You are more than the mistakes of your past and your present. You are a man, a complicated, loving, and ever-learning man. You have done wrong. You have caused pain. You have shielded the full truth. Now admit that, repent for that, and show her you will never make a mistake like this again. She’s a brilliant woman. A little guarded, but that’s to be expected with all that she’s known. Show her who you really are. Remind her why she took a chance in the first place.”

“I don’t even know where she is,” he admitted. He’d checked his phone and tried to call Emma as soon as the procession was far enough from public eyes, but she’d shut the bloody thing off, no surprise. God, he just hoped she was safe. He was worried about her, knowing that she must be fragile after the realizations she’d faced today.

“Go to the Center, darling,” his mother said softly, having made her own approach, and taking his hand and holding close. “There’s the party tonight that you mentioned.”

“More importantly her friends are there, that Elsa girl for one, as are the children she’s grown to love. No better place to start your search,” his Gran argued.  

Killian knew they were right and without any more thought, and with only a few swift goodbyes, he headed out to find his Swan. It meant a lot to Killian to have the support of his family, and there was a tiny flickering of hope at their words and advice, but he had to get moving before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t keep talking about this, he had to do something. Only after he was out of his quarters and in the car headed for the institute did he realize something – his family knew way too much about Emma and her habits. Liam he understood, but his mother, and especially his grandmother. Something was afoot there, but he’d have to save that for another time. For right now all he could do was work to get to Emma.

The drive to the institute was faster than normal but it felt like it took an eternity. When he finally got there, he was greeted by playing children and general merriment. The festivities were starting soon, and Emma’s original plan had been to come by when she and Henry were done at the beach. Perhaps he’d get lucky and she’d already be here, he looked around and finally saw someone who might know.

“Elsa, have you seen Emma today?”

“She’s not coming,” Elsa said and Killian’s heart dropped. “She called to say she and Henry couldn’t make it.”

“All right, well do you know where she is, in the meantime? I’ve tried to call her and I really need to speak with her. It’s… well you see… something, um -,”

“She told me what happened,” Elsa said, filling him both with relief and dread all at once.

“Elsa, I -,”

“How could you not tell her?” Elsa asked, not yelling for the sake of any children who might hear, but clearly mad. In fact, Killian had never seen Elsa so much as cross before, so this anger was truly something to behold, unexpected as it was. “Do you know how upset she was? Do you know what it must feel like for her? She deserved to know that, and you should have told her.”

“Elsa, I’m sorry –“

“Don’t tell me that. Tell her!” Elsa said, exasperated but then she let out a sigh and Killian noticed her eyes were misting over. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get so mad. Realistically I know it must not be that simple. It’s just that Emma is my friend, and I never imagined that she didn’t know who you were. Marie told the rest of us what was going on. We were all briefed the day you came, I long assumed Emma was too. Then I began to wonder, but you two were so close, she had to know. When she called today, I could hear the sting of her betrayal. She really had no idea. She was blindsided.”

“I never meant for her to get hurt, Elsa.”

“But surely you must have known she would find out. It was only a matter of time, and you had weeks to break it to her, but you chose not to.”

“I tried, a hundred times, I really did. But we were always here. There were always things that needed doing and children underfoot. And even in the quiet moments… I could have found a way, Elsa, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her looking at me differently. I can’t explain what she means to me, what her seeing me for me has granted me.”

“Even if that’s true it doesn’t change the outcome,” Elsa said sadly. “She needed to know. When were you going to tell her?”

“I was going to tell her tomorrow on our date.”

“You were going on a date? Like an actual date?” Elsa squeaked out, seemingly surprised at the information. “Tomorrow? Oh my goodness, that’s why she wanted me to watch Henry.”

“Aye,” Killian said, curious as to why Emma hadn’t mentioned that part to Elsa.

“I can’t believe you finally asked her. So if you’re asking her on a date, are you serious about her?” He nodded, trying to silently convey the words he wanted to save for Emma. He regretted that it had slipped out with his family before. The first person to know that he loved Emma should be Emma, and despite his quiet non-response, Elsa began to understand that. “And you swear to me that you were going to tell her tomorrow?”

“I give you my word, Elsa. I even sent her a letter this morning before everything happened. It wasn’t enough but it was all I could do.”

“She didn’t mention a letter,” Elsa said shaking her head. “So chances are she never got it.” His heart bled at that confirmation.

“I take full responsibility for her pain, Elsa. I know I am in the wrong. The blame lies entirely with  me. But please, believe me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to make it up to her. No matter what it takes. She’s the most important thing to me.”

Elsa looked him over, critically trying to assess whether or not he could be trusted. He hoped beyond hope that he would live up to Elsa’s scrutiny, because he was now relying on what else Elsa might know to find Emma and make amends. When she finally nodded, silently accepting his words as truth, he let out a shaky breath. He wanted to ask her where he could find Emma since she wasn’t coming by, but he didn’t have to, she imparted everything she knew on him. Where she was (which was home), what she was doing (making dinner for her and Henry after their beach day), and what he could bring to start to try and make amends (the special dessert that cook was making that both Emma and Henry were desperate for). Killian appreciated all the help, and as he stood in the back with Elsa, waiting on the sweet treats to be wrapped for delivery, he felt a tug at his hand. Looking down he saw Cecelia, who was offering him a shy smile.

“Hello, little love. How are you doing this evening?” Cecelia let out a giggle at his formalities, something he’d grown to learn that she liked over the past few weeks.

“We had dinner, and cake, and we are playing. Pirates and princesses!” she said excitedly. “Do you want to play, Killy?”

The name that Cecelia had begun to use for him, which only his family ever called him, made him happy, in spite of the circumstances. He smiled at the never-ending charm this little girl had, and at her sweet disposition and thoughtfulness.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay. I’m on a mission you see.”

“A mission?” She asked excitedly. “What kind of mission?”

“I did something that was not very nice, but I feel very badly about what I did. So I am going to say I’m sorry. And I am going to also bring this, as a token of my apology.”

“What’s a token?” Cecelia asked.

“It’s like a little symbol or present. I want to show I’m thinking of the person who I upset.”

“You should bring flowers,” Cecelia said immediately, dragging him as hard as a five-year-old could drag a full-grown man. “Here, these is my favorite.”

Killian followed the little girl to the meadow and watched as she plucked flower after flower until it made a perfectly imperfect bouquet. At one point she let out a little chirping sound of glee, he asked her what had made her so excited and she showed him the yellow flower she had found.

“These are my Emma’s favorites.”

“Well let’s get some more of those then.”

He thanked his lucky stars that Cecelia didn’t ask more about who he had offended. He could only imagine how sad she would be to discover it was Emma, but as he worked to retrieve the flowers with her, Killian solemnly vowed again that he would make amends. This might not be nearly enough to do so, but it was a start, and no matter what it took, he would eventually find a way to win Emma back again. As soon as he had the blossoms in hand, and the dessert with the help of Elsa, Killian was ready to go, but as he looked back out to the car with his driver and took another look at his detail his stomach sank. He didn’t want to do any of this with an audience. He didn’t want the flagrant reminder of why they were different thrown in Emma’s face.

“You know, Elsa and I got really good at ditching our bodyguards when we were kids,” a voice said, and Killian looked over to see Anna, Elsa’s sister, who he also knew to be a good friend of Emma’s and kind to him personally.

“Anna!”

“Oh shoot, pretend you didn’t hear that!” Anna said, her face suddenly sobering. “Seriously, don’t repeat that. To anyone. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he said, curious as to why the sisters would have ever needed their own bodyguards. It was a strange thing, especially seeing where they were now in their lives, but he knew full well it was not his business. “But I hope you mentioned it to offer a suggestion. I’ll take any tricks of the trade, so to speak.”

Anna let out a sigh of relief before looking over his shoulder. “Gus is the main one watching you today, right? The others are stationed outside?” Killian nodded. “Excellent – totally lucked into that one.”

“How so?” Killian asked and Elsa filled in, shocking him further.

“Gus is a great guy, very capable, but easily distracted. He sat down a full twenty minutes for Eloise to make him an origami frog last week. Barely kept tabs on you the whole time.”

“You noticed that?”

“We notice everything,” Anna said with a smile, before pulling out two of the flowers in his chosen bouquet and tossing them away. On second thought they didn’t exactly match, but he didn’t have the chance to thank Anna before she was giving him another gift. “I’ve got a moped in the shed out front. It’s speedy, efficient and has a helmet and saddle bag. You can fit everything inside and get to Emma in five minutes flat. We’ll keep Gus distracted.”

“For how long?” Killian asked and Elsa and Anna exchanged a look.

“Thirty minutes, easy. But if we hit him with a meal from Cook, could be longer.”

“I owe you two, royally.” The two sisters laughed at his words and he groaned. “Pun not intended, but you take my meeting.”

“Two I-O-Us from our neighborhood Captain and Prince. We’ll take it.”

“Call it even if you make it up to Emma,” Elsa agreed, and Killian nodded his head. Then he watched as Anna grabbed his flowers and the dessert and made a big show of asking him for his help on the third floor. He understood her ruse and agreed, at the same time that he nodded to Gus and Elsa moved over to his guard. She struck up a conversation with him, bringing in some of the kids, and quickly Killian and Anna snuck out, getting the moped in record time.

“Emma lives only a few blocks away,” Anna said, writing out the address that she read off of her phone. He was grateful for that as he’d sent the letter this morning through a royal courier. He hadn’t actually known her address, but relied on Jefferson’s intel to get it there. “Here. Do you know where that is?”

“I do,” Killian said, relieved as all hell for that. “Thank you, Anna. Without you and Elsa…”

“Just keep your promise. Make things right with Emma,” Anna said, shooing him away as she stood guard, making sure no one was aware of their deceit.

As he drove out of the front gate, Killian felt free, and he rode as fast as he could without risking his life to get to Emma. Soon enough he was at her building. He parked the bike, and with shaky hands gathered his items of penance. It wasn’t enough, but he hoped it could be a start. Quickly he moved up the front steps, schooling his breathing, and hoping beyond hope she’d open the door. He knocked three times, the heavy metal of the knocker sounding out against the wood. Thud. Thud. Thud. His heart was racing, his mind outpaced it, and seconds stood still until he heard the sound of feet behind the door. A subtle pause, a bated breath, and then…

……………….

Never in her nearly thirty years of life did Emma Swan ever encounter a situation like this one. The drama and the intrigue, the secrets and a big reveal, it was exhausting and complex. In truth it was too much to comprehend, and as a result she was currently standing in her kitchen, staring aimlessly into the refrigerator, and wondering what the hell was going on.

It started with a pretty simple premise: girl meets boy at a new job. That part she had no real trouble understanding. People met every day and sparks flew, that was pretty normal. Not so much for a single mom who was always barely treading water, but it could happen. Theoretically she always had a chance of meeting a man who was interesting and captivating and funny and smooth.

Stage two was also somewhat familiar: girl falls for boy. It was less likely, but still believable. She had never felt any significant pull to a guy except for Henry’s Dad, and even looking past the horrible way that relationship turned out, the feelings were not the same. That love was grounded in need, a need for connection and for love and for family. She was without a center, and Neal was a way to build her world around someone else. With Killian it was different. Emma liked the idea of finding love, but she had no need to build a world around someone else because she already had so much in her life and she understood and loved herself so much more than she had as a girl. Instead, with Killian, she felt a kinship and an undercurrent of possibility. Killian had jolted her out of the small life she was leading and made her dream of more. It was exciting and new, and though she never really expected love like that to come, she knew that it was technically possible for her to feel for someone again. She hadn’t anticipated it, but it could happen, and with Killian it did.  

The next part though, that was what killed her and was completely and totally bat shit crazy: boy turns out to be prince of a tiny coastal nation that no one’s ever heard of, but is heaven on earth. Like… what? What the what?!

This was the making of some cheesy movie or romance book, but it was never anyone’s actual life. Even when girls met princes, they always knew from the jump that they were a prince. But Emma? Oh no, she had to be the one in 7-something billion to completely miss the memo. Okay actually that wasn’t quite right. Most of the issue here was that no one outside of Montenarro knew about this country, let alone its monarchs. Still, she was surrounded by people who were aware of the truth: Elsa, Anna, Marco, Marie. The list went on and on and on, and yet at no point did anyone ever think to let her in on this giant, gaping, gargantuan secret.

Of course, the person who really should have said something was Killian, and for hours Emma had wondered what the hell he was thinking by not telling her. Like sure, maybe it wasn’t polite to introduce yourself as Prince Killian of Montenarro from the jump, and yeah, he was clearly trying to fly under the radar with the kids, probably to make them feel more connected and not separated by status, but it was unfathomable that he would never have brought this up. Especially given the fact that he was in a nationally watched parade today. How did he possibly think she was going to miss that? And more importantly, how could she trust him, or anyone else for that matter, after they’d kept this from her for so long? She thought back to her phone call to the institute earlier where she’d told everyone she and Henry couldn’t make it. She didn’t plan to say anything, hoping to hide the shame of being so stupid, but Elsa could tell something was up, and when she asked Emma couldn’t deny it…

“Are you sure that you’re all right, Emma? It’s not like you to miss something like this and I know that Henry and you have both been looking forward to this. Are you sick? Can we bring you something? Anna or I can come and -,”

“It’s not like that,” Emma admitted, taking in a shaky breath before blurting out a question that had bothered her all day. “Why didn’t you tell me, Elsa?”

“Tell you what?” her friend asked, seriously perplexed.

“About Killian.”

“Emma, I’m sorry, I’m not following you here. What happened with Killian?”

“I saw him today at the parade.”

“Oh I know he called here, just in case we played it on television. He doesn’t want the first time the kids hear to be through the parade. He wants to tell them himself, which I respect.”

“Well I wish he’d had the same regard for me.”

“Regard for – wait, Emma, you didn’t know?”

“No,” Emma admitted, grateful that Henry was putting his beach stuff away upstairs. She had a little privacy and the sadness of this moment could air without her son knowing her pain. “I had literally no idea and now I feel like an idiot because we were there, Henry and I, and I saw Killian and he saw me, and it’s just… it’s like I’m too heartbroken to be mad. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa said, and Emma closed her eyes, willing the unshed tears to go away. She couldn’t break down right now. She just couldn’t, but she would if she continued to think about this. “If I had ever thought in a million years that he would be so careless, I would have told you from the start. Anna and I wondered if you realized in the beginning, and we weren’t totally sure, but we thought maybe if you didn’t know then he was waiting for the right moment. It was hard to tell because maybe he had told you and you and you were keeping things private. I thought for sure he would have told you whenever you got a real moment one on one, and you’ve had a few the past few weeks. It never occurred to me that you were still in the dark. I never imagined…”

“It’s not your fault, Elsa,” Emma said, fending off the tears that threatened to come in the face of this bad moment.

“Has he tried to reach out to you? To explain himself?”

“I haven’t checked,” Emma admitted. “I called you on the land line here. My phone’s been off all day.”

“Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

“Of course I do,” she admitted. Knowing it was true. She wanted answers, and she also wanted to understand. Why had he done this? What was he possibly thinking?

“So why -,”

“Because what if there is nothing to say?” Emma interrupted, her biggest fear revealed. “I mean he’s a prince, Elsa, and I’m just… me.”

“You’re not just anything, Emma,” Elsa said determinedly. “You are brilliant and wonderful, and let me tell you something, titles and nobility don’t mean anything. The merit of a person resides in their heart, not in a crown.”

Emma appreciated her friend’s faith in her, and she didn’t think much of how adamantly opposed Elsa seemed to the exultation of nobility. Still, she felt unanchored right now. She’d really begun to feel that connection with Killian was something special, and it was impossible not to question all of it in the face of a secret this big. Because this was big. Really big. Honestly it was -

“Mom?”  Emma jumped at the sound of Henry’s voice and she looked over to her son who had a curious look on his face. She closed the fridge door, unsure of how long it had been open, but her attempt to cover herself didn’t go unnoticed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, kid. What’s up?”

“There’s someone at the door. They knocked twice already. I’d answer it but you know the whole stranger danger, different country thing.”

“Right,” Emma said wiping her hands down her shirt and preparing to greet whoever it was.  She suspected it was Elsa or Anna. After Elsa had told her that she was absolutely Killian’s equal regardless of status, both Elsa and Anna had been on the phone, telling her to be strong and have faith in herself. They were both hopeful but also incredibly sympathetic, and despite Emma’s protests, both had mentioned sending some cake this way for her and Henry. Still she didn’t want to see anyone. Okay that was true she only wanted to see one person, but as she moved to open the door, she knew it wouldn’t be – wait, Killian? Oh God, he was here. Like actually here.

“Emma,” he said, his voice filled with equal parts relief and anguish.

“You’re here,” Emma said, dumbfounded. She never in a million years expected him to actually come to her house, not after the parade today and realizing who he was. The reminder of his real identity had her looking to the street. What kind of scene was being made for him to come here? But then when she looked there was no one outside, and nothing but a moped on the street. Only then did she realize the helmet he carried.  “Where’s your detail?”

“I ditched them. Didn’t want to draw attention.”

“You ditched them?” Emma parroted, not following him. “Is that an option?”

“I made it one,” Killian said, determinedly. “Look, Emma, I know that what I’ve done is unforgiveable. I said that in the letter this morning.”

“Letter?” Emma asked and finally understanding dawned on her. That thing she thought was an invitation in her tote bag… that had held answers all along. God, seriously? What a mess, and here she’d been thinking on this for hours and maybe there were some answers already in her grasp. But whether or not that was true it was too late now. “That was from you. I thought it was from the institute.”

“So you never read it,” he said and she shook her head and Killian grimaced before straightening his stance and diving into what the letter must have said. “It hardly matters. A letter could never be enough to right what I’ve done. I know I should have told you who I was from the start, and having things go so badly today when what we have is so good… it damn near kills me to know I’ve ruined things before they’ve even had a chance to really form. But I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that I never meant to hurt you, Emma.”

Now the tears were back, misting over in her eyes and she couldn’t try and stop them. Today had been so crazy and she was stressed and angry and sad. But the look in Killian’s eyes as he tracked her sadness broke something else inside her. His longing and his sorrow were so palpable. She knew, even without his words that he was truly sorry, and when he moved toward her, taking her hand, she didn’t pull away. She stayed there, too caught up in feelings to speak, and allowing him to try and explain some more.

“I know my words can’t possibly be enough, Emma. I would never expect them to be. I’ve been foolish and I’ve been daft, and Lord knows I would give anything the world over to take back the pain I caused you. It’s the last thing I would ever want. You deserve so much better, and God above, I am sorry Emma. So deeply, truly sorry. I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to make this right. I know asking you for anything is unthinkable. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or a second chance, but I can’t walk away, love. I don’t want to lose you, I don’t think I could bear it.”

What could she say to such a statement, such bold claims of caring about her and regretting what he’d done? She had so much to say. She was angry and hurt and embarrassed, but underneath all that she still felt the pull that was there before. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn’t help but look into his blue eyes and feel like there was magic here between them. Her heartbeat skipped out of time, and her hands grew shaky. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Honestly, she probably wanted to do both. Still, the only thought ringing in her head was that he was here. He’d come to her, for her, and he was really, actually here.

“Who is it, Mom?” Henry’s question from behind her made her jump, and without thinking she stepped away from Killian’s hold before Henry could see their hands joined together. Jesus, this was all going so crazy so fast, and then Henry’s eyes lit up and he gasped. “Wait, aren’t you… you’re the prince! You were at the parade today.”

“Aye, lad,” Killian said, and though he aimed a kind smile at her son, Emma could tell it took everything in Killian not to wince at the pronouncement.

“But what are you doing here? What’s going on, Mom?” Henry looked to her and Emma looked between him and Killian trying to figure out how to play this.

“Killian and I, um, work together.”

“Wait this is Killian?” Henry asked, and Emma felt her cheeks flush as her son gave away the fact that she’d talked of him at home. “You said he was a Captain in the navy, but I didn’t know he was a Prince!”

Neither did I, Emma thought, but she was at a loss for words. Luckily Killian stepped in.

“At the institute I’ve been blessed to be as I am. I’m not a prince there. I’m just a man. Just Killian.”

“That must be hard sometimes,” Henry said, surprising both Emma and Killian with the words. “Being a prince, I mean. I mean it’s cool, but a lot of responsibility, I bet.”

“Aye, lad. Truth be told I’m not always up to my familial role,” Killian confessed, making Emma’s heart ache with the sincerity he displayed. “Some have said I’m not particularly good at being a prince. I can’t disagree with the sentiment.”

“How are you at making pizza?” Henry asked, completely changing the subject on a dime, in the way only a kid could. Henry showed absolutely no intimidation in the face of meeting royalty. He was completely relaxed, stunning Emma with his nonchalance.

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t really know,” Killian said, his hand moving through his hair in a gesture of uncertainty. “I can’t actually recall ever making my own.”

“That’s okay, it’s easy. Mom’s a master at it. She can show you. Right, Mom?”

“Henry, Killian probably has other things he has to do.” She looked to him trying to assure him that he did not need to indulge her son. But when her eyes met Killian’s she was yet again surprised at the hope she found there. He wasn’t running for the hills or jonesing to get away and back to the palace. In fact, he looked excited at the prospect.

“Actually,” Killian said, hedging a moment making, silently making sure she wasn’t trying to give him the brush off. She purposefully kept quiet, thus giving him permission to make his own call. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here, making pizza as it were.”

“Really?” Emma asked and Killian nodded before motioning to the box he was carrying that she hadn’t paid any mind to before.

“Aye, and I come bearing an offering of sorts. Elsa and Anna send their regards, and cook’s coveted cake.”

“Wohoo!!” Henry yelled, whooping with joy as he pulled Killian inside, dragging him to the kitchen to get dinner underway. For Emma’s part she was still hesitant. This was not something she ever expected, and it was not smart to let Henry get attached to Killian when she didn’t even know what was going to happen between them. But the fact that Elsa and Anna had sent him her way was an endorsement, and if they trusted him after she’d been so honest about her pain today, she didn’t think she should fully close the door on this.

What ensued after that was a few hours of strangely perfect intimacy. Despite the newness, and how much was still unsaid between them, Emma watched Killian and Henry truly bond. He may not have much experience in the kitchen, but Killian was a quick learner, and more than anything he was attentive. He met Henry’s enthusiasm with appreciation and support, and when her kid chattered on all night, Killian only seemed to enjoy himself more. Watching all of this, and knowing that Killian had every intention of speaking to her when they were alone, made Emma’s heart soften, and though she was still scared shitless about his being a prince, she felt her defenses waning at the night went on. Even in the middle of such a mess, this man was perfectly imperfect. He was flawed, and he had acted badly, but he was good still, with a heart so big and kind she couldn’t help but wish for more nights like this, both for her and for Henry. In spite of who he was, Killian seemed to fit here, and hours later, when Henry was readying for bed and had bid them both goodnight, Emma wanted to find a way to say that even while she held him accountable for what he’d done.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, Swan, you should say it. I promise you I can handle it. No need to mince words or hold back,” he said, showing once again just how much he understood her. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, willing the questions and the accusations to come, but they didn’t. So instead she said what she felt.

“You’re a prince.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Why am I a prince?” he asked, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be a prince. But beyond that, you saw me,” he replied honestly. “The real me. Not the man the world thinks that I am or that my family thinks I should be. You can’t imagine how that felt, how intoxicating it was, when I hardly even knew myself before I met you.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know, love, and I was going to tomorrow. The plan was to have real time together. I didn’t want it rushed or interrupted. I wanted to break it to you gently, because I knew hearing this would hurt no matter when it came. But believe me, Emma, I never planned to be at the parade today. A public spectacle like that when you didn’t know… it was unfathomable and cruel. But I need you to believe that my hands were tied. It’s a complicated story involving politics and parliament, but suffice it to say my brother needed me, and I could not deny the King. I knew it was wrong, but I was bound by honor to my family. They required my presence and I couldn’t turn away from that. Even so, if I had known you’d see me today, that you and Henry wouldn’t already be tucked away at the beach, I never would have gone.”  

“You still should have told me, Killian,” she stressed, appreciating some of the context, but knowing it didn’t actually change anything. He nodded, his eyes taking on a real pain as he replied.

“You’re right, Emma. I started to tell you a thousand times, but fear and cowardice won out. I was terrified – I am terrified – that the truth will have you running. I told myself if I could just find the right moment, then maybe it would be okay. You’d stay because you knew that wasn’t everything I am. I thought if I could make you care for me as I’ve come to care for you…” his voice trailed off for a moment, but he moved towards her, now close enough to touch yet still an ocean away as he continued his confession. “It was stupid, Emma. But more importantly it was selfish and wrong. Keeping this from you goes against everything I feel for you, everything you bring into my world.”

“What do I bring?” she asked, curious as to why he was going to all this effort and facing these hard questions for her of all people.

“What do you bring?” he asked, his voice edging up like he couldn’t believe she would ask that. “Light, Emma. Light and laughter and peace. I’m dizzy from the sight of you, I hardly think unless my thinking is of you, every day I stand in awe of everything that you are, but still in knowing you I’ve found something that feels essential. You calm me, even as you awaken parts of my being I never knew till now. To put it simply, you bring everything, love. It is I who has little but trouble to offer.”

The swirls of emotion that took flight at hearing him say these things was incomprehensible. It was varied and layered, pulling at things in her heart and her soul that she’d always wanted to be and to feel and to know. She knew that he meant this, knew he was showing her his truth absolutely, and yet the tone of his voice was resigned. He was asking for forgiveness but didn’t believe himself worthy of it. And only part of his belief was because of what he’d done. Heartbreakingly, Emma could see most of it was because of this title, this role he never asked for and clearly didn’t yearn to hold. He thought it made him too removed, too burdensome to love. He didn’t see what she did, that he was more than one crown, one title, one role.

Closing the space between them, Emma’s hands came to touch him. One hand came to his chest, the other cupped his cheek. She felt the beating of his heart, and when he looked at her, she saw this sense of hope in his features. It was like she was a lifeline, a saving grace, and she couldn’t help but smile, and try her best to make him see what really was between them.

“You’re wrong, Killian. You may be trouble, but you are also so much more,” she teased. He huffed out a breath, something that wanted to be a laugh but it wasn’t real. It was mired down by doubt, doubt she needed to ease away for both their sakes. “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry or upset. Finding out today like I did hurt me. I can’t change that, and neither can you, but in some ways you were right. My knowing from the start would have made things different. I’d love to say it wouldn’t have, but we both know that it would. I’ve got walls and I’ve got triggers. I’m slow to warm and I play it safe. I don’t think I ever could have been so open if I knew the differences between us. I don’t know if I ever could have believed something real could come from this. Knowing would have made me cautious, and yes I probably would have run if you told me too soon.”

His hands came around her, like just the mention of her running made him need to hold her close. And funny enough she didn’t really mind. She loved this feeling, this connection, this warmth. Even with everything, this felt like a perfect slice of heaven. Nestled in his arms she felt safe, like no storm could come that they couldn’t weather together.

“But even if it’s crazy, and I have a million questions, and I have no idea what the hell dating a prince entails… if the prince in question is you, and if you’re still the man I know, the one who gives more than he takes, the one who faces each new challenge, and the one who kissed me yesterday like I’ve never been kissed before… then I don’t want to run. I’m still in this, Killian. The only question is, are you?”

No sooner had she posed the query than his lips crashed down on hers, telling her everything she needed to know without saying anything at all. As life-altering as yesterday’s kiss had been, it was nothing to this. This was a moment shared by two people who had said so much and left it all on the line. There was only want, and desire, and need. She felt it coil from deep within her, radiating through her whole body, and by the time they came up for air she was flooded with the sense that nothing and no one could ever make her feel like this. Killian held the key to this sensation, and it was worth the risk of heartbreak to try and take a chance with him.

“I’ll never have the words to tell you how remarkable you are, Emma. How you revive my very being, and how miraculous it is to feel the way I do when I’m with you,” he said, pushing a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear as he gazed upon her, smiling and joyful and full of relief. “But I aim to show you, Swan. Today and every day I’ll do my best to remind you of all that you are, and all that you mean to me.”

“Good,” she whispered, stealing another taste of him. He growled into the kiss, quickly taking it over and she melted into him again, forgetting everything and living only in the now.

“I hope this all means we’re still on for our date tomorrow,” he said when they came apart again and she nodded, feeling a blush spread over her cheeks.

“I’m still game,” she answered, biting back a groan at her attempt at being casual. It was so corny, but screw it. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was looking at her like she hung the moon and the sun and the stars.

“You’re certainly something, love,” Killian said smirking at her in that sexy way and kissing her again. She melted into the embrace but when they broke apart once more, she admitted another fear she had.

“I may be bad at this,” Emma warned.

“You, bad? I don’t believe that’s possible,” Killian said, his voice warm and lush and happy in the face of this second chance.

“I’m not great at dating generally. It never turns out well in the end.”

“For me either,” he confessed. “But I suppose that’s because we’ve never had the proper partners.”

“I’m scared to mess this up,” Emma admitted.

“You are incapable of doing so,” Killian reaffirmed, kissing her gently before resting his forehead against hers. “You’re the reason we still have hope. Your forgiveness is everything, Emma, and I promise you, as different as our circumstances are, I will never again allow you to be hurt. Not by me, my title, or the baggage from my past. You, and Henry, are safe with me. I swear it.”

“Are you sure you can make a promise like that?” Emma asked, doubting anyone’s ability to prevent bad outcomes, but Killian’s determination was unwavering. He was absolute in his promise, and she had no choice but to believe him.

“I am sure. We can do this Emma. We’ll go as slow or as fast as you desire. You’re the Captain of this vessel, so to speak, but if you trust me, I know we can see this through. I’ve never felt anything so surely as I feel that.”

And with that, and with a few more heated kisses, Emma and Killian cemented their decision to really give this a shot. Unfortunately, Killian had to leave soon thereafter, heading back to the palace where everyone was likely worried sick from his ditching his detail, but Emma knew he’d be back tomorrow for their date. And as she watched him ride away, and she closed the door behind him, she made a conscious choice to really give this all she had. Because despite the worries and the fears, and despite the crazy thought that he was a prince and she was an ordinary woman, she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t follow her heart.

Post-Note: Okay so… what do you think? Am I forgiven? I hope that I am, and if I am not let me entice you with the promise of next chapter, which is going to be a fluff and feels filled first date worthy of a prince and his (soon to be) princess. Honestly though, this has always been my vision for this story. I think about that scene in the Prince and Me when the girl sees the prince and he runs to her from the parade and I love it, and yet I wanted to twist that a bit, to turn it on its head and in the process keep Emma and Killian’s love still a private, personal thing. I want them to have more time to grow and nurture their feelings, to know it’s definitely love before the whole world gets a say, and of course throwing in meddling Anna and Elsa, and having Henry push the love birds along a little never hurts either. Anyway, what I am trying to say is I hope you guys enjoyed and I thank you all for reading. Not sure when the next chapter will be ready, because I am in the final stretch of school craziness, but know that it is coming and that I can’t wait to share the rest of this story with all of you. Until next time!

[nuricurry]

Saint Seiya | Ikki/Hyoga PG-13; “all i’ll ever be to you is someone else”

It’s strange, the way things change between them. When they become ‘something else’ rather than just associates or comrades, or even just friends. There are things that are different, but things that stay the same, and maybe that’s why the transition feels so awkward and stilted and incomplete, because they were picking up things in the middle. 

They had known each other since they were children, they had begun a lifetime of conflict and rivalry at an early age, but now that they’re older, it’s all a little different. Childhood spats about deciding who got to pick the game they played are different now at age seventeen, when their responsibilities are greater, the costs higher, the risks more steep. Now they fight about making the hard choice in sparing their enemy mercy or not, they fight over the fact that Ikki wants to dive into danger all on his own, while Hyoga chases after his shadow, picking up broken pieces left in his wake. That much will probably never change, the chasing, the fighting, the bickering. But there are new fights now, ones that Hyoga still doesn’t quite know how to navigate. He knows what arguments to give when Ikki pushes him away during a fight. He knows what to expect, when a new enemy rises and they haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in over a month. What he doesn’t know is how to tell Ikki that he wants him to stay the night, not because he’s afraid he’ll get hurt, but because he likes his company. He doesn’t know how to tell him that he wants to touch him in a way that isn’t meant to hurt-- no punching, no grappling, no shoving or hitting. What he wants is for the two of them to hold hands. He wants them to kiss. He wants to look at Ikki and not see anger there, not see a scowl or frustration. He doesn’t know how to argue that telling someone that he’s in love with him isn’t about manipulation or coercion, sometimes it’s just conveying emotion and affection and it wouldn’t kill Ikki to say those words back, once in a while.

There are times when they are lying together on his bed in the apartment in Omsk and he feels as if he’s choking on memories, yet it’s still when things are so incredibly new. Something about the way that Ikki looks lying on his side across the bed from him, just looking at him, it feels like something that Hyoga’s seen before. Something in the unguarded rawness between his gaze and Hyoga’s is familiar when it shouldn’t be. The first time they have sex, when Ikki is pressing his back into the mattress and he has his hips pushed upwards with his legs around his waist, it feels like they’ve done this a dozen times before. It feels like they don’t need to ask, don’t need to test waters about what will and won’t work, what they do and don’t like, because their bodies already know. He has doubts that they could possibly be so compatible-- no one ever really is, not the first time, not the first dozen times-- but Ikki doesn’t want to talk about it when it’s over. He just wants to roll over and sleep, and so that’s what they do.

That night, and every night after, when Ikki is beside him, Hyoga has dreams he can’t explain. Dreams about a boy with bright blue eyes and a secret smile, about a childhood that isn’t his. Fields of wheat and aquamarine seas, completely unlike the cold tundra and black waters he knows best. In his dreams, his hands hold bows and pots and small childrens’ hands. In his dreams, he lies on the grass in hot summers, and that boy with his blue eyes and infectious laugh lies beside him. He wakes up after those dreams with his heart full and heavy in his chest, and he never knows why, because they’re just dreams. He compares their fights to broken bones. It’s a fracture born of trauma, a result of pressure building and building until finally parts of their bodies snap. It’s a wound that isn’t immediately obvious on the surface, it’s felt more than it’s seen, and it’s not something that can be easily healed. It takes time for things to be stitched back together for them, it takes them setting things into place and letting it heal over, hoping that the bones fuse together the right way, that they won’t just break again with the next slightest bit of pressure. But like broken bones, those cracks remain, and they never go away. They calificy, they get harder and crust over, but they can’t ever return to their previous state; the memory cannot be erased and its effect on them will remain, for the rest of their lives. Their relationship is like a mirror, chipped and cracked and broken, then put back together again. It can be fixed, but it can never be perfect, it will always be just a breath away from shattering again, into even smaller pieces the next time. The first time they really break is when they fight about dying. When Ikki throws himself headfirst into a fight he can’t win, and he doesn’t come back out. For months, Hyoga walks around, feeling like there’s something lodged in his chest, a huge sharp knife sinking deeper and deeper into his heart, painful enough that he feels like he’s splitting into two. He feels like he’s half-dead the whole time, like his soul was sucked out of him when he heard that there’s nothing that remains of Ikki’s body, and they’re sure he’s gone this time. 

He dreams of stormy seas, of his hand desperately reaching for someone else’s. He dreams about blue eyes and a bottomless pit, of hands touching his face and promising him that he’s not alone, that death isn’t the end, it is just a bump in the road. Trying to hold onto that voice, that feeling of warm and comfort, is like trying to grab onto smoke. It slips through his fingers like it doesn’t exist at all, and he just wakes up every day with tears on his face, and a name he can never remember on the tip of his tongue. 

When Ikki comes back, whole, reborn, it’s the splint put onto their relationship. It’s the morphine that blinds Hyoga to the pain, makes it all a little more manageable, a little fuzzy on the edges. He forgets about the nightmares and the loneliness and the knife in his chest. Until he asks that Ikki never does that again, and Ikki refuses to promise him. 

He knows his duty, he says, he agreed to accept this life and all it’s dangers, all it’s trails, when he agreed to put on the armor. He’s not going to back down because Hyoga’s afraid, because Hyoga can’t commit to anything that might end up being difficult. 

Their fight is less about dying, and more about commitment, because Hyoga tells him that Ikki is only so quick to offer his life because the risk is negligible. Because it’s easy to die and harder to live, because Ikki doesn’t have to face consequences if he dies, he doesn’t have to see the damage he leaves behind when he does. 

They have angry, furious, violent sex on the couch, not even bothering to try and make it to a bed. They push and bite and dig their nails in because it hurts but it’s real, it’s a screaming neon sign that tells them that they’re alive, they’re both here, and they can afford to do something so stupid and selfish again. 

For a week after, Hyoga dreams of soft, gentle kisses, of a warm body wrapped around his late at night. He dreams of words of praise, words of comfort whispered into his ears, of an arm heavy and familiar draped over his waist, and fingers tracing indistinct symbols into his stomach. He wonders if those dreams are all in his head, or if maybe Ikki is the one prompting them, late at night after he’s fallen asleep. Ikki denies it, he tells him to stop talking about his dreams because they’re blinding him to reality, but there’s a fear in his eyes when he says those words that Hyoga has never seen before. 

It becomes a loop, the structure of their relationship. A cycle that they don’t know how to break. They fight. They break. They make up. They fight. They break. They make up. The same three steps over and over again, in varying degrees, in different lengths. The breaks are shorter when the fights are longer. Because when they’re fighting over Ikki never giving Hyoga a key to his apartment, it’s not about keys, it’s about trust and establishing Hyoga in his life. That’s a long fight, a fight that lasts months, and is fixed with a slapped on band-aid of a copy of Ikki’s key but instructions to never be there when Ikki isn’t. But that also means that when the fights are shorter, the breaks are longer, they’re one of those deep bone breaks, the crack right down the center of the mirror’s reflection. When they fight about Shun, it’s a short fight, but it’s short in the way a bomb denotation is short. It only takes seconds for their worlds to completely fall apart, with an accelerant in the mix. 

He doesn’t know why he never said anything before. That’s a lie; he knows why. He knows it would break things and that’s exactly what it did. Explanations meant nothing when they came under duress. Words like <i>before</i> and <i>different</i> and <i>why are you holding this against me? we weren’t together</i> fall on deaf ears. Arguing that it’s not a betrayal when there was nothing between them to break doesn’t work because Ikki wants to be angry, and Hyoga can’t take those things back. “When were you going to tell me you fucked my brother?” Ikki says with his whole chest, and Hyoga can only plead for him to understand. 

He can’t lie and say it didn’t mean anything, because it did. Because he does care about Shun, and they did share things together. But feelings are not a zero-sum game; it doesn’t take away from his feelings for Ikki, for Hyoga to have feelings for Shun. They both have their pasts, they both have histories outside of each other, but Hyoga knows that it’s different, it’s different because it’s too close, it’s a line that’s far too easily blurred. 

And so they break, and they crumble, and they turn to dust. Finally they’ve reached the point where there is nothing left to mend. 

Hyoga dreams of fire, of a city razed to the ground. He dreams of cold air on his neck, of arms around his waist, but no comfort in that embrace. He dreams of apologies and cries for help trapped behind his teeth, unable to be said because there is no one there to say them to. He dreams of Ikki beside him, standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the precipice of their misery. He dreams of them letting go, and falling into the abyss together, dying over and over again hoping to be reborn the right way, in the right time 

They return to the earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

[reddie-to-go]

I'll Kiss All of Your Wounds Away

So this is another piece written by @princesschelliebelle I’ll start posting my stuff again soon. But in the meantime, I really like the way she writes. there is a trigger warning on this for an attempt at suicide, it’s a little dark but good, keep reading if you’re okay with that.

Richie padded down the stairs only to be smacked in the face with the sour, putrid smell of vomit.

"Fucking great", he mumbled to himself. He walked quicker, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

Richie opened a cabinet and started to rummage around, hoping to find something, anything, to eat that was easy to grab quickly, so he could dart back up the stairs and lock himself away in his room again.

No such luck.

Leaning against the kitchen door frame, half-lidded, and partially covered in her own vomit, was his sad excuse for a mother, Maggie Tozier.

She scowled and gestured at him with the beer bottle in her hand.

"What the fuck are you doing in the cabinets, Richard? I swear, you're going to eat us out of house and home."

Richie gritted his teeth, and tried not to bait her. He knew where it would lead.

Seventeen years of the same crap had taught him that. But he was hungry and tired, and his patience threshold wasn't particularly high at the moment.

"That's so damn hilarious considering I haven't eaten in 2 days, since someone spent the grocery money on booze", Richie spat out, without turning to face her.

Richie could feel the anger radiating off her in the seconds before she spoke.

"What did you say to me, you little shit?"  

Richie slammed the cabinet shut, and decided to resort to what he knew best to try to defuse the situation. Sarcasm.

"Nothing, Maggie. I'm just making yet another sly attempt at stealing your best tupperware. Damn, foiled again." He turned on his heel, hoping to make a quick exit.

Just then, Richie heard a loud crack and the sound of glass shattering.

If you blinked, you might have missed it.

Richie pulled his hands to his head, trying to make sense of the searing pain on his scalp.

He ended up on the floor, his back to the kitchen wall.

Suddenly, as he put his hands in front of his face, it processed. Shards of glass.

His mother had chucked the beer bottle at him, and she had more than met her mark

"You selfish, ungrateful little child. You think you're so funny, and you're so smart. Well, you wouldn't have fucking anything if it wasn't for us!", she yelled at him venomously. She seemed entirely unconcerned it the trickle of blood now running down from his hairline to his neck.

His head throbbed, and he looked up at her. Richie could feel his heart pounding, the adrenaline making him quick to speak.

"What do you mean 'us'?! As if you spend your money on anything but alcohol! Shit, we both know that your husband pays for nearly everything!"

She chuckled low and shook her head at him.

"You fucking waste of space. You think you're special, Richard? You're the abortion that should have been! But noooo, your father wanted a family so bad. We had hoped at least we would have a daughter. HA! You were true to character from the start....a God damn disappointment."

Richie wanted to tune her out, he really did.

He really wanted to believe in the old adage "Sticks and Stones". But right now, he felt like melting into the linoleum tile and dissolving away into oblivion.

The drunk grabbed a new bottle of beer and popped the top off on the counter.

She took a long swig and began again as Richie stood to his feet.

"Hmm, it's ironic really. Now even your father regrets you. Why do you think He's away on business 21 days of every month?" She stumbled over to the doorway again, glanced at the glass mess on the floor, and scoffed.

Then she shuffled away to leave Richie alone at last.

Richie ran up the stairs so fast and shut the door so hard that the walls shook.

Richie wasn't about to give that bitch the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

He began to sob so hard that he started to dry heave.

Snot ran down his face and intermingled with the mostly dried blood trail from the slice on his scalp. He haphazardly wiped at his face with his jacket sleeve and buried his face into his pillow to scream.

Richie didn't know how long he stayed in his room with his muffled screams and cries filling the space. Richie swore that time moved at a different pace depending on your mood.

And from years of unwitting practice, Richie decidedly thought time moved at a snail's pace when you were shoulder deep in self-loathing. But according to the clock on his nightstand, it had only been just shy of an hour since he ran up here.

When his tears ceased, he stood up and moved as if he was on autopilot. His face felt stiff, sticky and hot, and his eyes felt swollen.

He walked downstairs and found his mother passed out on the sofa, in front of the television. He stared at her motionless form in disdain. If looks could kill, they say.

He walked to the dining room, seeking out the familiar oak liquor cabinet.

He crouched down, and carefully picked his poison. He picked up a half-full bottle of some type of rum and walked up to his room once more.

"Like mother, like son", he whispered to himself bitterly.

He just wanted to be numb.

Tonight, was the first time he had sunken to her level, so to speak. Richie was not one to 'drown his sorrows' with alcohol.

No, the drunken, sadistic psycho role was already taken in this family.

But tonight, he had reached his tipping point.

He removed the ornate glass top, and started taking sips straight from the bottle, shuttering as it burned its way down his throat.

Richie found himself lost in thought as his whole body warmed with each swallow of rum.

Richie first realized he was depressed at roughly age 14.

He had seen those anti-depressant commercials, talking about how one becomes "lethargic, disinterested, persistently feeling sad and empty".

But "trashmouth" Tozier wasn't one to just lie down and take it.

He tried his best to be happy.

He would try to stay out of the house as often as possible and spend time with the fellow losers as much as he could.

He would crack perverted jokes, clown around, tease and poke fun, but at the end of every day, one thing remained.

He had to go home to that hell hole and feel the weight of the father who doesn't know him and doesn't care.

He had to go home and feel the burn of a mother who despises him.

And then be left alone with his thoughts.

And sometimes, Richie thought his own mind was worst of all.

His home life aside, he also was forced to face two things consistently.

First being that he felt replaceable, and disposable at best.

The losers club, that glorious lucky 7, in his opinion, didn't need Richie to be as perfect as it was.

His friends loved him, he knew that. And god, the feeling was mutual. But even still, the nagging thought remained.

You see, everyone has a role.

There's Beverly, the courage of the group.

Then there is Bill, the unofficial leader.

Then there is Stan who is the reasoning, and Mike is the kindness.

Then comes Ben who is the knowledge.

And of course, there is Eddie Kaspbrak, the nurturer of the pack.

But what was Richie?

The court jester?

A placeholder?

A 'waste of space'?

And he wished his thoughts ended there, but that would be too simple.

Oh, how Richie longed for things to be simple.

When you're life is one big convoluted shit show, the last thing you need are romantic feelings.

Especially not unrequited feelings for your male best friend, without one fucking soul knowing.

There were so many reasons why Richie was so in love with Eddie, but the biggest was Eddie's gigantic heart.

And worse yet, was the realization that Eddie didn't deserve to be stuck with someone as worthless as Richie.

But Richie knew he would never be so lucky to have him feel the same way in the first place.

He couldn't decide which thought hurt worse.

Richie sat on his bed, headphones blasting in his ears.

His vision was fuzzy around the edges, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

He rested it back on his headboard and picked at the frayed hole in his jeans.

Why didn't he feel better?

Why wasn't his mind blank?

Richie tried to stand up, and ended up landing hard on his knees.

"Shit....I can't fucking walk right, but I can't shut my mind the fuck up?", Richie mumbled angrily.

He slowly pushed himself up, and shuffled to his desk.

He slid open the drawer and pulled out his pocket knife.

He flipped open the blade and observed how it glinted in the dim bedroom light.

Richie smiled sadly as he ran his finger along the cold, smooth length of the blade and thought to himself, 'Maybe I can just shut my mind up forever some other way.'

Richie’s mind was made up.

He couldn't take one more day, one more hour, one more minute of hating the skin he was in, and everything inside of that shell.

Suddenly, he had the urge to call Eddie.

He grabbed the house phone off the cradle, and went back to his room and locked the door.

He sat on his bed and dialled the number he knew by heart.

Eddies groggy voice came on the line after 3 rings.

Richie sighed into the phone at the familiar voice, before he slurred out "Hello, Eddie Spaghetti. I'm sorry its so late, I woke you up." Eddie didn't skip a beat before saying, "Rich, don't fucking call me that. And are you drunk, dude?" Richie lets out a hiccup as if on cue, and leaned his flushed cheek onto the receiver.

"Maybe. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is I got to talk to you one last time. Because you're most important to me. Did you know that, Eds? God, I hope you know that. Just promise me you'll never change, Eddie."

Eddie broke out into a cold sweat, panic making his heart jolt into overdrive, and he began to yell into the phone, "Richie, what you do you mean 'last time'? What's wrong? Are you OK? RICHIE?!".

Eddies stomach dropped when he heard the deafening silence, a click, and then a dial tone.

Eddie had never pedalled his bike so hard in his life.

He muscles were screaming at him, burning as he furiously pumped his legs to go faster, faster, faster.

He needed to get there in time.

Eddie didn't know what happened, but he wasn't going to wait until it was too late to find out.

He made it there in half the normal amount of time as usual, and ran through the front door without stopping.

He thudded upstairs, panting from exertion and anxiety.

He went to turn the knob on Richie’s door, but it wouldn't budge.

Eddie felt like there was a timer ticking down ominously overhead, and it nauseated him.

He thought quickly.

He ran to the master bedroom and whipped open one of Mr. Toziers drawers.

Eddie knew he was a dentist, and was praying there was some dental tools somewhere, anywhere.

"Yes!", he yelled out loud, grabbing some sharp, surgical steel tools.

He grabbed a handful and darted to his door.

As luck should have it, the first one Eddie shoved in the keyhole popped the lock open, and Eddie tumbled inside, gasping for breath.

Eddie went cold with what he saw.

Richie was on the bed, slumped sideways, whimpering softly, while blood ran out of a cut on his left wrist.

Blood slowly dripped to the carpeting below.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no....Richie! What did you do, Rich? Oh my god, what the fuck did you do?" Eddie cried, as he desperately pressed the blanket to the wound.

Eddie didn't expect Richie to answer, but Richie groaned and swivelled his head towards Eddie, and opened his eyes, trying to focus.

"Eds....Hi. You aren't supposed to be here...You can't be here. Stop...please leave.", Richie said, starting to cry.

Eddie moved the blanket to look at the cut.

It was fairly long and moderately deep.

However, thankfully, Richie didn't seem to know that when suicide was the desired option, cutting lengthwise is deadlier than cutting across.

Richie could have stitches.

Eddie thanked his lucky stars, and started to yell "What were you thinking? Why would you do this, Richie? Why? We love you, I love you!

Why?"  Richie scrunched his face up, and looked away.

He just cried and cried, and Eddie leaned forward and leaned onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat. A steady, rhythmic reminder of what Eddie almost lost.

After Richie had managed to catch his breath, he spoke softly "I'm sorry...but.. I'm just a mistake, Eds. I have no purpose...I have no reason to stay. I have no one who loves me. And not just the losers...I mean the real kind. Like, capital "L" love. And the fact is, no one ever will. And I’m tired of being reminded why every day..." he trailed off, his gaze fixed to the wall.

Eddie never thought he would say what he was about to say out loud, but he also never thought that he'd be here with Richie, after his suicide attempt.

After that, nothing seemed as scary to him anymore.

Eddie gingerly grabbed Richie’s hand before beginning, "Rich, this is not the way I ever wanted to do this. In fact, I never thought I would be doing it in general. But if manning up and confessing my feelings to you is what it takes to make you want to stay around today, tomorrow, and the next day...well, I will say it until I'm blue in the face" He paused, and took a deep breath.

Richie turned and looked at him, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I love you, Richie. I love you. And fuck, I need you. And yes, in that "capital L" way. Tonight made me realize, I should of said things like this when I had the chance. You are MY purpose.", Eddie admitted I’m a rush, his cheeks blazing while he gripped the bed like a vice.

For a moment, Richie just stared, eyes wide and glossy.

Richie spoke so softly then that Eddie had to strain to hear him.

"Fuck, Eddie. I love you too...and I want to believe that...I really do...But after what happened tonight, I feel like you might say anything to give me 'proof' that this life is worth living".

Eddie bit his lip, and thought.

Proof?

Fine, Eddie would give him proof.

"Do you remember that summer when we were 13, after all that shit went down...the blood pact we made? You know more than anybody I can't stand any kind of germs or bodily fluids. But in that moment, it didn't matter. So I bit the bullet, and I cut my palm and mingled blood with you guys. Because we had something so important to promise and to prove." Richie looked up and nodded.

He looked like he had aged a year all in one night.

Eddie began again, "Well, I will prove what I said to you just now is true, just like 4 years ago." Eddie reached out and picked up Richie’s arm so gently, as if Richie would shatter at any moment.

He looked at the cut, which had stopped bleeding some time ago, but was still fresh and unscabbed.

Slowly, Eddie bent down and pressed his lips to the cut, making a point to linger.

Eddie pushed the raging neurotic thoughts aside, as he wiped the small spot of blood from his lip.

Richie stared, mouth hanging open in shock, but Eddie saw what he was hoping for in his eyes. Trust.

Richie didn't know if it was possible to fit any more adoration for this boy inside of him.

How lucky was he for the chance to love him this much?

Richie hugged Eddie to him hard, knocking the breath out of him.

"I believe you....I believe you.", he whispered into Eddie's ear.

Eddie pulled back and rested his forehead against his. Richie studied the face before him that he knew better than his own.

Too many emotions were trying to crowd into his heart at one time. But above the guilt, shame, and surprise, one shined brighter than the rest. Love. And it was so pure, brilliant, and blinding. It cleared away so much of the dark fog.

Richie found himself thinking that now he knew exactly why he had made it through the torment of that summer 4 years ago. And why tonight had ended the way it did. The 'nurturer' of the lucky 7, nurtured his heart in the special way no one else ever could, or would.

Eddie smiled at Richie, and slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to his. It was chaste, soft, and warm. It spoke volumes to both boys without saying a word.

"I'll kiss all of your wounds away, if you let me, Rich. I promise."

And for the first time in the longest time, Richie allowed himself to believe that.

[back-alley-magic]

The Renegade

Powers: Not much is known about him. He's mostly regarded as irresponsible, selfish, and unprincipled, a young hedge witch with wasted talent. If the rumors are true, he has a pair of Seven League Boots, a silver chain inscribed with gold and ash, and a knife carved of ivory. Those who know him say he is rather talented with blood magic, but practices a variety of highly symbolic magics (with varying degrees of success). These symbolic magics require substitution of items with those that are logically or emotionally connected to another object, such as lighting a log on fire by holding a piece of coal. This takes a strong physical toll the larger the logical leap.

He was the one to introduce the New Initiate to the world of magic, though he is afraid of getting them involved now that he is being hunted for The Stone.

Faction: Hedge Witches

FC: Dane Dehaan

Name: Lysander Crane (true name unknown)

Any other titles, nicknames, or epithets: The Thaumaturge, though no one actually calls him that. More often he's called Prick, ***hole, or some other choice four letter words. And now, he's The Keeper of the Stone, or simply the Keeper.

Age: 24

Personality:

+creative

+moral...ish, at least in principle. In practice he is more than willing to bend and break rules for what he views as the right cause. And yes, his own benefit does count as a "right cause."

+thinks better on his feet. If he's given too much time to plan he begins to second-guess and overthink

+intelligent, though he tends not to apply himself

+surprisingly disciplined about learning new things when he really cares about them.

+surprisingly accepting of others' flaws

+logical, though this logic is internal and can seem erratic to others

+/-dramatic

+/-headstrong

+/-dark sense of humor

+/-blunt when he shouldn't be and cryptic when it's very inconvenient 

+/-obsessive over small tidbits of information and completely oblivious to other (usually more important) facts

+/sarcastic

+/-self-indulgent

+/independent

+/-thrill seeker

+/-provocative

-pretentious

-disloyal

-cynical

-addictive personality

-aimless

-easily bored, and often turns to dangerous distractions

-selfish

-flippant

-chaotic

-self-destructive

-can be childishly spiteful, the "I'll hold my breath until I pass out, that'll show you" kind of vindictiveness

-irresponsible

Powers, weapons, and skills:

highly symbolic magic. His catch-all conduit is blood, for the sheer power it provides. But he tends to mix this raw energy with more targeted magic. His workings are usually very complex (some would say purely convoluted) and highly dramatic. Mostly it seems he wants to impress himself with crackpot, improbable, but often strangely beautiful magic when a simpler but humbler thing would do the trick. 

Since magic draws on connections and symbols it helps to have a powerful internal logic. He's good at quick-thinking and rushed spells, whereas most witches fall back on prior planning to ensure success. This makes his magic seem very fluid and organic, but also unpredictable. 

His magic deals mostly with change, usually in objects, and perception. He calls it his magical word games. In reality it's connecting a current reality with a desired outcome by making a series of logical leaps, folding and shifting reality until it meets that outcome, like magical origami. This magic is extremely energy-consuming so in his day-to-day magical life he usually uses a few pre-made magical objects. 

These pre-made magical items include a very worn pair of leather boots which, thanks to the sigils on their soles, allows him to move at incredible speeds. These seven league boots don't come without their dangers though. Operating them isn't as easy as simply walking. Without a careful input of energy proportional to the speed and distance you'd like to travel, you could end up literally walking your soul faster than your body. 

Lysander also has a knife carved from mammoth ivory which he uses for his blood magic. He found it deep in one of the underground tunnels, buried in a forgotten barrow. He may not know it yet, but it was buried for a reason, and the more he uses it, the more strange coincidences start happening around it. It does help focus his magic though, so he'll keep using it despite the random occurrences that spark around it. 

He also has a silver chain inscribed with gold and ash. As yet, he hasn't figured out what it does. But that won't stop him from wearing it. In the very least, the silver gives him some modicum of protection against fae.

Weaknesses:

Not very good at explaining himself. He prides himself on that fact, but it can be a big weakness when trying to work with others

extremely self-destructive, addictive, thrill-seeking behavior.

Hell-bent on doing things his way or not at all

Puts more raw energy into magic than is necessary. He's generally regarded (among those who know him in the magical community) as a waste of talent. Everyone assumes he'll burn himself out before he does anything worthwhile, and it seems he's determined to show just how quickly he can prove them right.

Gets bogged down with his own logic and the theoretical side of his actions when given time to plan. When he's working on the fly things come easier to him because he doesn't have time to overthink

Generally comes off as a rude, pretentious little s*** who cares only about himself and is hell to work with

Likes:

puzzles and logic problems

the sound of bells and tinkling jewelry (he wears a lot of bracelets and charms, only some of which are magical)

beautiful solutions (though not necessarily simple ones)

neon lights

deep pounding music

maybe experiments with hallucinogenic compounds more than he should

new experiences

staying one step ahead

confusing others

letting others know he knows they're confused

other curious individuals

taking notes on random scraps of paper

experimenting with....everything

frustrating authority figures

surprising turns of events

heights

theoretical mathematics

making then breaking things then making them into something new (with mixed results)

Morrow (especially the twisting maze-like streets and the underground tunnels)

the more theoretical side of magic (he isn't here for practical magic)

getting swept up in a moment

Dislikes:

not good at making sure he eats regularly and doesn't really care about food (he smokes more than he eats and jokes that he has a liquid diet consisting mostly of vodka)

coming down from a high (whether emotional or otherwise)

that look of disappointment in authority figures' eyes (he reflexively fights back with biting sarcasm and even more outlandish behavior)

his family

stifling regulation, especially from the witches proper, who he thinks act superior to hedge witches without good cause. He sees them as one-trick ponies who have closed themselves off to some of the most beautiful (though maybe more unorthodox) forms of magic

people trying to organize his things (it's a physical representation of his thought process and isn't very linear. But he knows exactly where everything is in the chaos, he swears)

the finer points of emotional interactions with people (he tends to interact with others in over-the-top, off-puttingly extreme shows of emotion or no emotion at all. Complex nuances of relationships are beyond his logic, and therefore very tough for him to understand)

people who refuse to innovate and experiment

water and swimming, he's terribly afraid of drowning

boredom

Short bio: As with all those who sink into the murky waters of hedge magic, Lysander gave up his old life and drowned the boy he was. It seemed an easy price to pay for the ability to grab the fabric of reality and tear it to shreds, and oddly satisfying to murder everything his family made him. Who he was before is shrouded in mystery. But a few close to him (and that is a very, very few) know he studied theoretical mathematics somewhere before finding his way to Morrow. Even those who haven't heard his fragmented, sparse telling of his past can recognize the pedantic, vaguely disdainful drawl of an academic when he discusses his craft. His horrible, gaudy tastes also hint at squandered wealth. It takes good money to look that cheap. The flippant disregard for the finer points of surviving (like the necessity of a job or even the basics of housekeeping) also hints at an upbringing as another spoiled, pampered child hell-bent on a downward spiral. No, that past is nothing but a murky shadow, his true name nothing more than an echo. He was truly born, as he'll tell you on a good day or from the bottom of a bottle (which, all in all are often the same), in a dark alley in the warehouse district, blood dripping from his chin and fury burning in his throat. His blood hit the cracked pavement of Morrow and, whether he knew it or not, it was his first offering. The ley lines of Morrow focused all his anger, all his pain, and left nothing but two vaguely-human singe marks on the alley walls. A better man would have been horrified, running far away from that power. And a lesser man would have been devoured by it. But Lysander is none of those, lost maybe, unprincipled sure, unfocused definitely. But he is no hero, and he is no villain. It's true, he hasn't killed since. But most agree using reality-shattering magic fed from your own life-blood to perform petty party tricks is not the most responsible path. But Lysander doesn't care. What matters is learning, knowing, searching. And it appears that searching has provided more questions than answers.

Life in Morrow: Those familiar with the party scene in Morrow have probably seen Lysander. He appears to be nocturnal, though that may just be a product of nights that leave him in hungover stupors more often than not. He isn't exactly a "productive member of society," spending most daylight hours holed up in his grimy apartment/laboratory (which in all reality is an abandoned warehouse full of mismatch furniture, dirty beakers full of who-knows-what, an entire wall covered in chalk markings, and haphazard stacks of books) fiddling with his powers. Every so often a question catches hold of him and he can be found rummaging through the university library. No one knows how exactly he gets in. Maybe he knows someone, or maybe he just jimmies the fire escape lock. In any case, his daylight appearances are few and far between. Most of his time not spent downing whatever alcohol he can get his hands on or trying to break the laws of physics is spent exploring the subways, sewers, and tunnels under Morrow's streets. His apartment has a small cellar with a few precious treasures and a staircase that descends down into the veins of the city. While he prefers to explore alone, he has been known to venture out with a few trusted acquaintances on occasion. No one really knows how Lysander survives. He doesn't seem to take in any money, though perhaps he has no need for it. He doesn't even have a kitchen, and most of his food comes from the few friends he has leaving leftover Chinese or a few cold slices of pizza on his desk. In all, it's a rather lonely existence, surrounded and consumed by his studies and drowning in his vices. While he doesn't go out in search of company, he doesn't turn it away when it finds its way to his doorstep, often desperate, frightened, and in need of help. It takes a /very/ peculiar sort of desperation to rely on Lysnder Crane for help, but surprisingly enough, he never refuses.

Why do they want the Stone? Right now he's doing his best not to get murdered in an alley for it. He's also trying to figure out how to get it to work (equally, if not more dangerous). In the long-run, many people are worried he'll use it for his own magic. Anyte Vale is the only one who believes he actually knows what he's doing with it.

Greatest wish? To make something truly beautiful.

Greatest fear? Losing his magic. Life was boring and pointless before, and now it's the only thing that makes sense. Also, that feeling of power is hella addictive.

What 5 items would you put in a pentagram to summon them? a bottle of cheap vodka, a pair of expensive leather shoes, a half-empty pack of cigarettes, chalk, a broken shot glass (the two biggest things to know about Lysander: he's always wasted, and always dramatic)