#don’t even know each other’s names yet and they’re already ride or dies forever. it makes me smile and kick my feet

[tranquilitybasehotelcasino]

no time for reylo i’m too busy thinking about finnrey somehow doing a middle school situationship when they’re in their early 20s and also how much i want kylo and hux to anthony and cleopatra each other

[the-cult-of-russo]

In the Stars (part 2)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader 

Request: So, first of all, I love your writing so much. I've just finished reading "In the stars" and I've loved it! Idk if you're taking requests but I was wondering if maybe you could do a part 2?

A/N: You guys… I had so many fucking requests for part two of this, I love you. I'm honestly overwhelmed by how much you guys engage with my work on here. 

Side note; I don't actually know much about astrology so take anything I say with a pinch of salt since it's done with surface level research for this. I'm more of a tarot girl myself and originally I was gonna switch the astrology to tarot since I know all about that. But I didn't wanna deviate from the request too much so I stuck with astrology. 

Warnings: cursing, bit of fluff, idk flirting? Talk of sex but no actual sex? 

If you guys want a part three to this which would mostly be smut then hit me up lmaoooo 

-----------

You were lounging on a beat up sofa that was in the greenhouse at the back of the flower shop. The plants were watered and it was a nice day. You were taking a moment to relax and let the sun come through the glass above you like a cat basking in the warm glow. You knew a customer had come in a little bit a go. You'd heard a gruff voice ask Gemma for advice on flowers for his girl. But since you were never needed in the front, you just chilled out for a bit after popping some headphones in and vibing in the sun as you leisurely scrolled on an astrology site you were on. 

Maybe, just maybe, you'd been thinking about Mr Fancy Coffee man in the past three days since you ran right into him. You'd been sure you'd see him again at the time but it hadn't happened so far. Either way, you kept thinking back to his smile and his obsidian eyes and you smirked as you read what you'd already known when you'd called back after him to give him your own sign. 

'Aries and Scorpio Sex:

Aries and Scorpio like to turn the heat up with everything they do! So, you can imagine the bedroom as being one feisty! Aries is a fire sign, and Scorpio is a water sign. Mix fire and water and what do you get? Yes, it is steam! With this duo between the sheets, we pray the wallpaper can withstand the steam-effect! Aries and Scorpio are the same when it comes to an intense libido. They are energetic with enough energy to keep each other up all night long.'

You ripped your headphones out, tossing your phone on the worn out faded pink cushions as you bounded to the door to the main shop.

"Hey, Gem! Did you know that Aries and Scorpio are like hella compatible for sex? I mean we'd just be riding each other all ni-" your words died on your lips as you slipped through the beaded curtain to find the man from earlier who hadn't actually left yet. He was a little rough looking but he wore a look of shock and thorough amusement at your words as you smacked a hand over your mouth with a laugh. It wasn't really appropriate talk in front of a customer but even Gemma bit her lip to stifle her incredulous laughter. 

"I uh… I'm sorry," you murmured, a sly smirk on your face that said you weren't really sorry but said it anyway to be polite. He barked out a laugh and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. Sounds like a hell of a time," he replied with a chuckle. It put you at ease that he wasn't going to start something about your behaviour, threaten to take his business elsewhere. It wouldn't be the first time you'd done that. 

"Don't mind her. She's the crazy plant lady," Gemma grinned as she continued adding flowers to the bouquet on the counter. Some pretty forget-me-nots. 

"Hey! I'm not crazy just because I talk and sing to them. It's science! If I didn't do that then all these beauties would be withering away in misery," you pouted playfully, earning another laugh from your best friend and chuckle from the man. 

You looked at him then and he was already looking at you. His gaze wandered your face and hair like you held the secrets to the universe and you quirked a brow curiously. Knowing he was caught out, he glanced away and cleared his throat but his eyes flit back to you. It wasn't like you weren't used to looks since you were anything but ordinary, but he looked almost like he knew you or something.

"Sorry… just… thought I recognised you," he muttered apologetically. 

"Oh trust me, you'd know if you'd met her before. She leaves quite the impression," Gemma snorted. 

"I bet she does," the man said with a small smile as he looked at you again like he knew something you didn't. Or maybe you were imagining it.

You grinned as you walked towards the counter, leaning your arms on it as you admired her work. The bouquet was filled with purples and blues and it was breathtaking. 

"Serious relationship?" You asked casually. The man looked slightly taken aback by your bold question and Gemma swatted your arm as you gave her a look.

"What?" You asked with a huff. The man smiled and shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine. It is. Been together for a little over a year now," he had a lovesick look on his face and you found yourself smiling back at him. 

"You love her?" You asked softly. He rubbed the scruff on his chin with a bashful look that looked at odds with the rest of him as he nodded.

"That I do," he murmured fondly. 

You pushed up and leaned your hands on the counter as you glanced from the flowers back to him.

"You should get her a succulent," you declared. Gemma snorted again as she trimmed the ends off some roses and the man quirked his brow.

"You mean like… a cactus or some shit?" He asked, sounding confused and amused. 

You rolled your eyes, whizzing into the back and grabbing a small terracotta pot with a baby succulent in it. It looked almost like a flower with how it's leaves were arranged. You bought it back out to the front and back to him as you set it down on the counter.

"Meet Emily. She's cute and sweet and she says forever," you shot him a cheeky grin and he snorted, eyes darting from the plant to you.

"I'm sorry… Emily?" He asked with a smirk 

"Hey, she's a living thing like you and me, why shouldn't she have a name? And don't tell the others but… she's my favourite," you whispered the last part, eyes darting to the beaded curtain like you didn't want the others to hear and when you looked back at him he was smiling and shaking his head at you. 

"Look… flowers are great and all, a nice gesture and pretty to look at, but they wither and die. They go from pretty to morbid which is why they're great for special occasions but they don't last. But these cuties… they don't take much maintenance, it's hard to kill them and they're more… permanent. Flowers are a great way to say 'I love you' in a shorter sense, but nothing says 'I'll love you forever' more than one of these," you mused with a fond look at the plant. 

The man stared at the plant for a moment appearing deep in thought and when you glanced to Gemma, she was grinning from ear to ear as she wrapped up the arrangement in pretty pale purple paper. A similar shade to your current hair color.

"Fuck it. I'll take… Emily, too," he declared after a moment. You beamed and slid the pot over to Gemma so she could pack her up with the rest of the goods and ring him up. 

"You're good at this," the man said after a moment. You flushed a little at his words and snorted. 

"I just care about the plants," you shrugged with a smile. 

Gemma finished the wrapping and started ringing up the purchases as the man's eyes darted between you both.

"So… you two ladies got any plans later?" He asked casually. He didn't seem the type to make unnecessary small talk but Gemma opened her mouth to indulge him anyway. 

"A few of us are going out later to the bar down the street. The Lizard? It's not been open that long but it's pretty chill. It's nothing fancy though," Gemma smiled softly as she accepted the money from him, opening the register.

"Fancy places wouldn't let us in," you snorted with a smirk, toying with one of the many rings on your fingers.

"They wouldn't let you in. Besides, they have good music there and they don't mind when we let loose and get a little weird," Gemma laughed. The man chuckled with a nod before glancing back at you. He still had that look of recognition in his eyes and you tried to think if you'd ever seen him before. 

"Sounds like my kinda place. I might have to go with Karen and some friends sometime," he mused with a nod.

"You should, if you run into us let me know if she loves Emily. You've basically both adopted a cute earthy child so…" you grinned mischievously. He snorted, seemingly unaffected by you being yourself and you liked it. It wasn't often you got to talk to customers like this which is why you often stayed hidden in the back.

"I will. Have fun ladies and thanks for these," with that he was off and you and Gemma grinned at each other. It was nice to have a customer like that man, even if he did look completely out of place in a flower shop. You had a feeling he'd come back for more things for this Karen woman he was smitten with. 

---------

Billy sipped his beer, dark gaze flitting around the bar before he settled on his best friend. Karen was leaning on his shoulder and the pair had been nauseatingly close since they got here. Curtis and David were also at the table relaxing and talking to one another. 

"Is there a reason we're here?" Billy drawled as he sat back in his chair a little more. This wasn't their usual haunt and they didn't normally deviate from it. It wasn't so much that he didn't like the place. It was relaxed and quite similar to where they usually ended up. But it was a break in routine and he wasn't sure why. 

Frank shot him a sly smirk as he sipped his beer and it made Billy narrow his eyes a little.

"Well… I have it on good authority that little Ms Aries is gonna be here," he said smugly. Billy hated himself the moment he sat up straighter like an eager schoolgirl, especially when his friends all cheered and laughed at the news. He'd only told Frank about her, but Frank being Frank… well he'd told Karen and Karen told Curtis and David and in three short days it had become a running joke that he was hung up on a girl he hadn't even been able to get the name of.

Billy tilted his head, long fingers tapping on the beer bottle as he levelled his gaze at Frank.

"And how would you know that when we don't even know who she is?" He asked with a raised brow. Frank had a shit eating grin on his face as he leaned forward on the table a bit.

"Because I found her at her work earlier," he grinned. Billy blinked at him for a moment, mouth floundering as he tried to absorb that tidbit.

"Okay… so as my best friend and therefore wingman, is there a reason you didn't mention it until now?" He asked dryly. 

"Nah, I thought it would be a nice surprise and I didn't want you to talk yourself outta comin' here. Never seen you hung up on a girl before and I gotta say, she's a fuckin' riot," Frank snorted. Billy felt an unnecessary pang of envy at him then. Envy that his best friend managed to find her, spend some time with her maybe more than he had in the street. He knew it was stupid. His best friend was head over heels for Karen after all, but it was there all the same. 

"She works at the flower shop," Karen supplied with a soft smile as she looped her arms around Frank's larger one. Great, so Frank told her before he told him. Did everyone but him know? Why he was feeling like a petulant child, he didn't know, but before he could open his mouth to no doubt say something ridiculous, Frank's sly grin widened as he inclined his head to the door. 

Billy would lie until the day he took his last breath about how fast his head whipped to the door. He almost broke his damn neck. But there she was in all her purple haired glory and Jesus fuck was she the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. How did she get even more attractive in three days? Shit was ridiculous. But not as ridiculous at the nerves that bloomed in his belly at the sight of her. He was Billy Russo. Ex Spec Ops sniper. Former marine. CEO of Anvil. Serial womaniser. But now he was just Billy. Dumbfounded, actually kind of nervous and moon-eyed Billy. 

He watched as she and another girl she came in with walked over to the table with a few people and hugged them. Her smile was radiant and his eye twitched when she hugged the guys at her table. He kept waiting like she'd lean in and kiss one of them. To feel that crushing blow. But it never happened. In fact, the girl she'd come in with snuggled up to the one of the guys and the other had his arm wrapped around another girl at the table. 

"Well… you gonna go and get her name or what, Bill?" Frank asked with a snort. Billy cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder and glancing back to his beer before he shrugged.

"After my drink," he tried to sound casual but Frank's gaze softened a little and he hated that his best friend knew him better than anyone. He was just thankful Frank didn't call him out for it.

---------

You and Gemma had gotten to the bar a little later than usual because Gemma's cat snuck out the apartment and you'd had to hunt him down. He was cute but a menace but once he was back safe at home you'd both made a beeline for the bar. You had a few shots in quick succession to make up for the lost time and you weren't drunk but you felt the pleasant warmth spreading through you as you laughed and joked with your friends.

"Oh, I love this song, dance with me," you beamed, not giving Gemma a chance to protest as you grabbed her hand and moved a little from the table. It wasn't a club and there wasn't a dance floor but there was adequate space between the tables to dance. No one else was dancing but it was hardly the first time you and Gemma did this. It was always fun and amusing. 

You wrapped your arms around her shoulders and hers went around your waist as the pair of you giggled and swayed your hips. There were a few cat calls but it was all in jest. It was obvious you two were joking around by your over exaggerated movements and Gemma singing loudly and very off key, with your friends joining in the chorus. You loved your group of little weirdos. 

You turned around in her arms, hands still around her neck from behind as you swung your hips, eyes closed and a smile on your face. But when you opened them, they landed right on Mr Handsome himself who was at a table with some others and he was staring at you with wide eyes and a small smile. A grin spread across your face as you continued to dance. You knew you'd see him again. You paid little attention to anyone else as your eyes locked with his and he sat up a little straighter as he noticed he had your attention. 

You smirked, flashing him a cheeky wink as a call back to when you last met before you spun back around to face Gemma.

"So… the super hot guy over there in a maroon sweater? Looks like he's stepped right off of vogue? He's Coffee guy," you murmured giddily. Gemma didn't even hide the look she shot him before she laughed and looked back at you.

"First of all… wow. And second, he's like legit staring at you so hard right now," Gemma smirked.

You bit your lip with a smile as the song ended. Gemma gave you a hug before returning to her seat and then you made your way over to the bar and waited for the bartender so you could grab a beer.

"Can I get you a drink, astrology girl?" His smooth voice sent a shiver down your spine and you glanced over to where he was now standing next to you. 

"Of course. Beer please, Coffee boy," you grinned cheekily at him. He chuckled, ducking his head as he waved over the bartender and asked for two beers. 

"I told you we'd meet again," you murmured with a smirk, sipping the beer once it was placed in front of you. 

"You did. Although I think my friend Frank had somethin' to do with that," he replied with a smile as he glanced over his shoulder. You followed his gaze to his table and saw the man from the flower shop. Your eyes widened as an incredulous laugh left your lips and you gave him a thumbs up. You heard his laugh from across the bar. The woman with him was smiling wide and also watching you both, as were the other two men at his table. You had a feeling if you glanced over at your own friends they'd be doing the same thing. 

"So… do I get your name yet?" He asked, leaning his forearms on the bar. His shoulder brushed yours and it felt like a jolt of electricity shot through you. You glanced at him, a coy smile on your lips as you took another sip of beer. Your tongue darted out and swiped over your lower lip to catch a drop and you didn't miss how his dark eyes were drawn to the motion. It made your stomach clench. 

"Y/N," you smiled softly. You couldn't help it, you'd have given him anything he asked right then with the way he was looking at you. His face brightened when you relinquished your name, his eyes crinkling a little as he grinned. His teeth are perfect. I want him to bite every inch of me with those things.

"Billy," he offered, raising his beer bottle. You grinned as you clinked yours with his and you both took a drink. 

"I read some pretty interesting things about the sexual compatibility of an Aries and Scorpio," you murmured with a wry grin, nibbling your lower lip as you looked at him through your lashes. He was so close to you and you could feel his warmth through the layers of both of your clothes. And he smelt good. It almost made you dizzy.

"Is that so?" He asked, dark eyes intent on you and only you. His voice was lower than before and you fought the urge to jump him right there. You flashed him a toothy grin, a mix of flirtatious and just plain impish that made him smile.

"Apparently we're a match made in sexual heaven," you teased softly. 

You watched as he swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. His almost black eyes felt like they were setting you on fire from the inside out with how heated his gaze was.

"Well now I gotta problem. Because I wanted to ask you on a date first but you're makin' it really hard for me to have any restraint," he purred. Shiiiiit. That tone alone would have you needing to change your panties when you got home. 

You smirked, all sinful as you leaned into his ear, your hand going to his firm forearm. You heard his breathing hitch before you even said anything as your hot breath landed on his ear.

"I'd really like that date," you whispered with a saccharine smile. Honestly, you weren't known for your patience and you wanted nothing more than to drag him back to your place and fuck him until neither of you could walk again. But the idea of a date, of dragging it out a bit, it intrigued you. The man had lived rent free in your brain since you both collided three days ago and as much as it would kill you, you knew the wait would be worth it and only make it better. 

You moved back a bit, your face still ridiculously close to his and he flashed you a devilish smile all of his own before he leaned down and kissed you. It was an intense kiss. Full of hunger and passion you'd never felt before and you didn't hesitate to kiss him back eagerly. There were some cat calls and you had a feeling a few came from your friends but you were hardly fazed by your brazen kiss with the most handsome man in the world. 

When you broke away, you were both panting and you felt your cheeks flush a little at how he looked at you. There was definitely arousal there but he also looked slightly awestruck. You flashed him another grin before slurping some of your beer and he chuckled as he did the same. 

You spent the next few hours sitting beside Billy at the bar as you got to know one another, all the little mundane details that really made up a person. You felt like you'd never get tired of looking at him, of hearing that smooth as silk voice or watching how expressive his face and eyes could be. And no matter what you said, whether it was embarrassing stories about your friends or about the plants at work, he acted like you'd just told him the best story ever. He was attentive and soaked up all of your words greedily. You couldn't remember the last time someone made you feel like this. 

You left the bar that night after agreeing for him to pick you up at 8 the next night and exchanging numbers. You'd kissed him that time and it was full of as many promises as his kiss had been. And you didn't miss the way Frank clapped his back once he returned to his seat either. The wait would definitely be worth it. 

[narrators-journal]

The great escape

oh boy oh boy, it’s here! The sequelette! For those who don’t know, this is a small follow up to my story ‘Inquisitive obsessions’ So if you want the full story, go read that first. This one won’t be overtly Yandere, but I still hope you guys have fun with it.

CW: lotsa pregnancy talk in this one. I’m not that knowledgeable of the topic, so likely gonna have some shoddy parts.

Ever since you had met Illumi, your life had changed forever. You didn't notice it at first, too caught up in being in a relationship to remember seeing him lurking outside your house after a date, or to remember the pair of underwear you'd randomly lost despite seeing them on your bathroom floor right before you went to bed that night. It was only after that brightly colored, card-slinging maniac, who you later found out was named Hisoka, murdered the butlers Illumi had set as your prison guards and then tried to 'introduce himself to you' as if he hadn't just slaughtered other humans like cattle that it finally really set in how deep of trouble you were in. Luckily, you had run to the bathroom as if to throw up and then slipped out of your bathroom window to run for help. Unluckily, Illumi was swift to find you. After that, the 'honeymoon phase' violently ended.

Of course, after kidnapping getting you safely to his family home, Illumi didn't explain anything you asked him about, your life couldn't be that easy, but you had your suspicions that a lot of the weird occurrences you'd been faced with before properly meeting him could be placed at his feet. However, you were in no place to investigate or try to escape. You were taken to the main house, situated in Illumi's bedroom, and almost never alone after that. If Illumi wasn't showering you with gifts, compliments, and cuddles, his mother was eager to befriend you, snatching you up from the halls at the rare times you were permitted to walk the home alone to have tea and tell you all about her plans for you and her son's marriage, or the baby. You hated it, and you were noticeably miserable.

Because of that, Illumi did his best to make you happy, distracting you with talk of baby names, wedding details, your hobbies, anything he could think of to try and make you happy. And it would work for a while, you'd get swept up in his charms and melt into his touch when he cuddled up to you at night, but not too long after, you'd crash again. You'd given up on trying to escape, you'd been driven up to the estate, so you knew how big the mountain was and just how hopelessly trapped you really were, but you would still sob, smack and try to hit the long-haired assassin, and just try to get away from him, even though he never let you leave his sight for fear of 'the baby being harmed.

' As the days passed, you did eventually settle into your predicament, though there was always an intense urge to run if you got the chance. You played along with Kikyo, let Illumi love on you and be excited for the baby, and learned how to not only cope with the fear you now felt towards your 'fiance,' but avoid the brunt of Illumi's manipulative powers, mostly by avoiding looking into his dark, soulless eyes, which would leave you groggy and with static for thoughts. He wasn't a fan of that, but he remained unreadable and cold, never laying a hand on you or showing aggression towards you to avoid stressing you out. He treated you like the world's most fragile porcelain doll because of your pregnancy. That one odd behavior at least got explained though, so that was progress.          "I'm very well trained to fight, so I'm very strong. You...are very much so not." It wasn't much, but considering the most you'd gotten out of him when you'd tried to question him before was some form of topic change, you took it. Either way though, you were thankful that he treated you so delicately, because you didn't want to think of the possible alternatives. On the bright side though, your reluctant acceptance did open up more freedoms to you. Mainly, it was the freedom to talk to a single person outside of the Zoldyck family when Illumi was off on jobs, but once he was home that freedom was taken away again. Thankfully though, that wasn't your only freedom, you also got to go along with a butler to shop in town. Of course, Illumi or Kikyo came with, hovering protectively nearby while you walked the town's shops, getting exercise and socialization under the watchful eye of your fiance or karen-like mother-in-law. Illumi usually spent your time out trailing behind you like a ghost, helping when he felt you couldn't do something alone, but otherwise leaving you to do whatever you needed while always feeling his eyes on you. At the very least, you could somewhat ignore him and maybe even...pretend to be normal while he was being protective, unlike his mother, who would never leave you alone when out, and was all around demanding and very hard to miss. It was a brief reprieve from the insanity, but it was welcome. However, that was just it. A brief escape. Whenever you returned to the car you were reminded that you really had been snatched from your home by your boyfriend and pushed into a marriage you didn't want. Finally though, on a particularly cold late-winter night almost three months after your engagement, as you laid in bed with Illumi, staring at the wall with his arm wrapped securely around your midsection and his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, you decided to try a pretty risky ask. You didn't expect him to agree, but you couldn't deal with him lingering around you anymore. It was worth a shot.          "I-Illumi," you croaked, your voice quiet and almost strangled with anxiety and fear, but you forced yourself onwards after he hummed in acknowledgement, "Tomorrow, could I maybe go out alone? O-or at least only with a butler?" you squeaked, your stomach twisting with nerves as you waited the excruciatingly long moments it took for him to ponder your request and reply with no sign to give away his feelings.          "Why?" He asked, and you were really missing the days where he put feeling into his words. His monotonous, unreadable voice gave you anxiety.         "I..." You took a deep breath to steady your quivering voice, deciding honesty was safest, "I'm still scared of you after you got so aggressive when I told you I was pregnant, and...um, y-your mom is...kinda smothering." Your voice died with each word after 'and', but he still heard you. There was another stretch of silence before he hummed,         "Fine, but if you misbehave in any way on this trip, you won't leave the house for the rest of your pregnancy." He warned, and you didn't need him to emote to know he was deathly serious, so you simply nodded and thanked him before curling up and trying your best to sleep. When morning came, you were sure to be on your best behavior while Illumi arranged a butler to take you into town. You'd only get an hour to do whatever you wanted, but it was maybe your only chance to leave the mountain without the manipulative predator who called himself your fiance breathing down your neck. So, when it finally came time for you to leave, you gave the assassin a kiss on the cheek before you left. With that, you had a long car ride with no looming threat or awkward, prying conversations, just peace, quiet, and a lovely view of trees drifting by outside of the car window along the way. It ended up being so peaceful, that you fell asleep for most of the ride, only waking when the driver hit a bump in the road and jolted you out of your dreams and into a slightly panicked state. Instantly putting you on edge as you expected to be faced with Illumi beside you, watching you blankly, or your mother-in-law trying to feel the small bump beginning to show on your belly for the umpteenth time that day. But, when you opened your (e/c) eyes and gave a frantic scan of the backseat, neither were there. You're safe. They're back at the estate. You told yourself, taking a few deep breaths to slow your thundering heart. You finally had no murderous assassin of any sort nearby. You were 2 hours away from the estate, a total of at least 4 from the main house. You soon realized, you could run. Do you really want to live life in terror? Being used as a broodmare and watching your baby be turned into a small Illumi? The braver, more realistic voice in your head whispered while you watched trees zoom by through the car window, but he's a dangerous man. He found you when you ran the first time, do you think you could get away a second time? And STAY away? the more fearful inner voice piped up, but at the thought of possibly being free that first voice won out. Because of that, you knew in an instant that you were already at a point of no return if you even began this path, but you were also determined to not be trapped in a fearful marriage, watching your child suffer. So, you curled up and covertly unlaced your shoe lace, a small luxury you'd gotten to sooth one of your earlier melt downs about being trapped in such a restrictive relationship, than, you struck. In a flash, you coiled the lace around your hands and looped it over the driver's seat and the butler's throat. You put your foot against the back of the seat and felt hot tears burn your eyes in both terror and instant regret as the car skidded to a halt so the butler could try to fight for his life. However, while the help had been trained to be demons in their own right, you somehow managed to overpower his frantic attempts to free himself with your own frantic, shakey, teary-eyed strength. You were hysterical as you did it, but you  successfully strangled the poor butler after an excruciatingly long time.          "ohgodimsosorry," you wept as you scrambled to the front seat and pushed the body out onto the deserted road, fighting the urge to vomit just yet as you took his place. You then had to scrub your eyes three times before your vision was clear enough for you to drive, but even after calming down a bit, your breaths were still raking through your chest, and you could already feel a headache coming from the intensity of your sobs as you drove into the town and repeatedly plead for forgiveness for the murder. However, when you found a bus stop, you scraped up your composure and did your best to hide just how distraught you were. Luckily, the clerk was an angel, getting you a ticket for free when they saw just how dishevelled and snivelling you were, deducing correctly that you needed help and doing their best to assist. So, you got a cup of water and clutched your ticket like a child protecting their lollipop from a greedy sibling, settled inside and out of view to await the bus and calm down. That was when you got the call. The phone ringing sent an icy hot bolt of primal terror through your body, but you bit that back and went ahead and answered it with shaking hands, (e/c) eyes blurring with tears again when you heard the sickly familiar indifferent voice on the other end of the line,           "(y/n)," Illumi said, not even sounding pissed, just slightly bored, as if he'd expected this. "I understand you are scared about all of the changes and are somewhat sensitive right now, but I cannot let you leave. Please return home before I have to come collect you." Just like that, the rabid courage that gave you that first push of determination was wiped away like a leaf in a tornado. After all, it was so much easier to make an escape when Illumi wasn't looming over you, but now that he was talking to you, knowing damned well what you were up to, you had the powerful urge to burst into tears and drive back to the Zoldyck estate. No! This is the exact reason you were such easy prey for him in the first place! that courageous voice pointed out, essentially slapping some sense into you as you swallowed your sobs and those submissive urges, this is your one chance! if you go back, he's never going to leave you alone for a SECOND. Run! This is your only chance! With that last point, you gulped down breaths, steeling your nerves before speaking at last          "No." You croaked, your voice barely a whisper, but you still sensed the switch in Illumi's mood when he heard,              "(y/n). Come home. Right. Now. You won't like it if I have to come and get you." he said, his voice finally changing from flat and bored, to dripping with a threat as his mask cracked and his anger slipped through so clearly you could almost feel him grabbing you by the throat, but you saw your bus beginning to load, so you had to make a snap judgement as quickly as Illumi's emotional outburst passed and he returned to indifference.             "Listen, I'm trying my best to not be terrifying or anything, but I'd be a horrible hu-" You hung up on him and tossed the phone out of the window once you'd gotten onto the bus and it had begun the journey down the road. Something about that single, simple action felt more like throwing one of your shackles out of the window instead of a phone.

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | part 3

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: season 4 episode 7 plot but spencer doesn't have to go through it all alone. mentions of child molestation and murder

word count: 2K

P1 P2

Spencer calls from Vegas of all places, he’s staying an extra few days after a case and he won’t be home. “Actually, if I buy you a ticket would you fly out here for me?”

“Are you crazy?” She laughs, “what’s really going on babe?”

She doesn’t call him babe very often but when she does she can always hear him blush, he’s so giddy and cute he smiles wide and licks his lips a few times, but he doesn't this time.

“I’m not doing the best.”

“Do you need your girlfriend or do you need a meeting?” She asks because she knows there is a huge difference.

“I need my best friend.”

When she arrives in Vegas, she takes a taxi to his hotel and sits in his room all alone until he’s done whatever he was up to. There’s an envelope on the floor, “you’ve got the wrong guy” written on the front in a hasty black chicken scratch.

She hides along the wall, making sure no one can see her under the crack of the door. She manages to keep one foot on either side of the door frame as she looks out the peephole to see an older white man walking away from the door. He’s in a work uniform, on the phone, he’s whispering.

Once she’s sure he’s off the floor, she grabs her things and leaves the room. Leaving the envelope on the floor, she calls Spencer from the stairwell.

“Hey, I’m on my way back now,” Spencer answers.

“Someone dropped an envelope off in your room. I didn’t touch anything I just walked out after the guy left… can I meet you in the bar instead?”

“Yeah! Of course,” he encourages her safety protocols, “I’ll make sure the envelope is safe first, thank you for being smart.”

“No problem," she laughs, he was the genius and he was still calling her smart for following her gut.

"I’m just walking down the stairs cause he took the elevator. He was white, 5’8 ish and older; balding with grey hair so I’m guessing he was in his 60s, and he was on the phone with someone,” she gives his description quickly before she could forget it. “And the envelope says you got the wrong guy on the outside.”

“I know who that is, thank you. I love you,” each phrase got quieter and quieter and she knew he was in the car with his co-workers.

“I love you too, see you soon.”

—

It’s midnight in Virginia, it’s only 9pm in Vegas and Spencer’s been losing his mind trying to solve a case for his own sanity. He was getting nowhere, he’s even tried hypnosis to take him back to when he was 4. But nothing was working.

He’s in the middle of begging his mother to remember, “mom, this isn’t about me. This is about Riley Jenkins.”

“It was always about you…” Diana whispers.

“Please, mom—“

“Spencer,” Y/N’s eyes shoot open.

She’s just been sitting there, barely getting to know Diana as Spencer explained what he remembers. It was very intimate, but she already knew about the dream. She knew one day he’d want to learn more, and now he was.

“Listen to what she just said, it was always about you,” she repeats the words and Spencer looks more confused.

She steps forward and takes Diana’s hands in hers, sitting her down on the edge of her bed as she looks at her carefully. “This is hard, I know you’re really trying and I know how hard it is to talk to Spencer when he’s like this. But how about you tell me the story? Why was the Riley Jenkins case more about Spencer to you?”

Diana clues in then, her eyes zoning out as she remembers everything and Spencer sits quietly in the corner. “Riley was a real boy, poor boy…”

He’s amazed by the fact she’s so calm and good with his mother. “Yes he was, mom, how did I know him?”

“Your father was the t-ball coach, you were really more interested in chess and so eventually he let you go from the team, and you ended up playing in the park with this older man; who was also watching Riley before he died,” Diana explained softly. “It could have been you.”

Spencer gets closer and closer, eventually, he’s kneeling in front of his mother like a little boy at storytime. “What was his name mom?

“Gary Michaels.”

—

David and Derek are really nice guys. She’s sitting with them in the bar while Spencer has a heart-to-heart with his parents at the police station. It’s been a long day, he’s learned a lot and she couldn’t wait to unpack it all with him.

“How come you don’t come out with him more often?” Derek asks, unsure of how to broach the subject, but he wants to know.

“What do you know about me, first of all? Because it’ll tell me everything I need to fill you in on,” she asks in a question in response to his.

“I know you met at a support group, I know he loves you, and I know you live with him now.”

She smiles, “I have a rare disability that many people don't believe in, I work from home and I make little art pieces for the different seasons to make money, I don’t really like going outside. much”

“But you flew all the way to Vegas for him?” Derek smiles knowingly.

She nods gently, “he’s still my best friend in the whole world, Derek.”

“Thank you,” is all he says, “you’ve helped him be the same Spencer I met when he started. You’ve brought the joy back to his life, it’s nice to get to know you more.”

He asks to get her a drink then, to make up for everything she’s been through that day. All she wants is ginger ale and Derek gives her a strange look, he really has no idea that she’s a recovering drug addict. Spencer has kept all her secrets nice and safe in his big and beautiful mind.

“I’m allergic to most alcohol,” she isn't lying but it works. “Especially dark tequila and all vodkas, it’s because they’re made from potatoes and I have a potato starch intolerance... you know actually sometimes even hand sanitizers that are made in alcohol facilities give me an allergic reaction as well.”

“Okay, that right there,” he teases, “that’s why he keeps you all to himself.”

She laughs, “that was a bit of a Reid ramble, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Derek’s smile is so soft. “It really was.”

When she finally sees him again, it’s been almost a full day since he called her and asked for her to fly into Vegas. He needed her moral support while dealing with his parents, and he knew she was the only person who knew the extent of what he felt for them. He tried his hardest to be the best kid in the world for both of them, and yet sometimes he feels like both a disappointment and an unwanted mistake.

They hug for so long when he finally enters the bar, that Derek gets up from the table and goes to find someone to occupy his time with. It’s Vegas and he’s Derek after all… it wasn’t going to be hard for him to have a woman hanging off of him soon, too.

Back in his hotel room, he passes out from exhaustion and she just stares at him. He’s been through so much that even his eidetic memory didn’t want to think about it anymore. normally he would recount his day to her with a smile, now he just sleeps peacefully for the first time in days.

He was so soft and sweet even after being through the most terrifying things the human mind and body can go through.

—

They take a few days off, his co-worker has a baby and it’s the perfect time for him to take her to meet them all. They won't be focused on her at all, and thus she will have fewer questions to answer.

Penelope Garcia is a blessing on this earth. The second Y/N lays eyes on her, she knows that they are going to be friends. She’s a hugger, and they’re good hugs, and she was already making plans to hang out and keep Y/N company when Spencer and the team were out of town.

JJ looked beautiful for just giving birth, Emily was intimidatingly smart and beautiful and she didn’t know how to really make eye contact with her without developing a crush on Spencer’s co-worker. Derek was kind as always, and Aaron gives a firm handshake.

JJ asks Spencer to be Henry’s godfather and it’s all a little too much for Spencer to handle after everything from the day before. He’s been through so much that Y/N can see the panic roaring through his veins as he tries to keep his cool in front of his friends.

But when they’re back in their own bed; in the safe space, they’ve created for one another. She’s running her hands along his back as he snuggles into her chest. Normally she’d tease him for being this close to her boobs, but they were comfortable and he likes to hear her heartbeat.

“I thought for a while they were going to tell me I was molested,” he whispers. “I was more relieved to know my mom witnessed a murder… and I hate myself for thinking that.”

“I was,” she whispers into his hair. “More than once by different men.”

He sits up to look at her, she shrugs, “my friend's dad tried to teach me how to drive by sitting me in his lap so that I’d have to bounce on him over the rocky back road. And a scout leader drove me home and kept his hand way too close to my parts and then a teacher-“

“How are you okay?” he stares at her like she's got 3 heads or something as he shakes his head lightly in disbelief.

She laughs, “I’m not. But I am at the same time? I can’t really explain it... it sucks and I hate it but I’m safe with you so I’m fine... but I’m not okay?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m fine with you but not okay, too.”

They're quiet for a bit, tilting their heads as they stare at each other with soft little smiles. She loves him and he loves her and all she can think about is forever.

“Can I ask you something?” She’s really serious now, looking at him carefully as his eyes light up.

“Anything!”

“Do you think you’ll want kids one day? Even after everything with your dad?” She’s careful, not wanting to hurt him to push him or make him think he’s letting her down if he says no.

“I want kids, even if it’s just one. I want to be a dad and do what my dad couldn’t. I want to love them and help them grow and teach them how to ride a bike and how to do Pythagorean theory,” his words are full of passion, he’s speaking from his gut.

“I want 3 kids,” she smiles. “With you.”

His eyes go wide, “why?”

She smiles because of course, he convinced himself she wouldn't want his kids, he was a worrier.

“My dad was okay, he was pretty distant and cold until I got sick and then he became one of my best friends. Your dad sucked. Together all that love that we craved will go into our little person and they’ll be so happy and wonderful and loved with us."

Spencer nods in agreement, it's soft and sweet and she makes a last-minute decision. "I don’t think I want kids if I can’t have them with you.”

“What’s your 5-year plan look like?” he asks abruptly like he wants to start having kids tomorrow.

“I don’t have one. But I’ve always dreamed of just being a stay-at-home mom and making art on the side. Maybe even babysitting a few other kids during the days… I don’t know. It always felt like a pipe dream before...”

“Before me?” He asks with a smile, proud and believing it. He really knows she loves him and it’s changed him for the better.

She nods, “you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t ever have a real job?”

“I think we’d be okay as a single income family, I make enough to support the apartment bills as well as groceries, then your income can for things you and the kids want. I’m good paying for everything else.”

She smiles, “you just said the kids.”

He’s giddy with excitement as he nods, “I want forever with you.”

“Okay,” she whispers, leaning in to press her lips against his gently like he could break.

He was so special and perfect to her. Even with the scratches and dings in his paint, he was a collector's item, a one-of-a-kind, never-made again, kind of man who she was really happy she found.

taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[marvelous-space-nerd]

My dearest Bee

Hi dear tumblr people! I wrote a thing and I quite like it,,

Summary: Time travel, is, well something. Who would've thought that you would get stuck in the 1800's?? Well here you are, part of the Van der Linde gang, ready to face the past.

First chapter can be read as a stand alone chapter. It takes place a few years after Isaac died. The relationship between the reader and Arthur is platonic. Enjoy!!

ao3

My dearest Bee,

So I hope these letters- I can’t call them letters if they’re in a book right?- Anyways, I hope these will find you, I hope you’re home, safe. I hope you saw your dog again, I miss her. I have a horse now though! Maybe I’ll name her after you, or just wasp. If I remember correctly you weren’t the biggest fan of wasps. But really, I’m not sure if we timetraveld or were transported to another universe where everything just started like 100 years later, the latter case making it a whole lot harder for you to find this. I just really hope you’ll find this against all odds, because I said I’d write to you if I made it. And I did! I guess. After the whole thing blew up some cowboys found me, I think they call themselves the Van der Linde gang? But yeah, they feed me and gave me a bed for the small price of doing some chores. I’d like to do more though, did you know that the 1800’s are really boring even though you can die at any second? It’s spicy but in the wrong way. I’d like you to know though that it’s not all bad here. People are lovely when they’re not trying to shoot you. You should see a campfire evening- hell any evening- here.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

“(Y/N) get off your lazy ass and do the chores we asked you to do!”

“Mister Morgan! No need to yell, I got it perfectly under control. I was just, taking a break, that's all. Everyone who works all day has the right to take a break.”

“Boy as much as we want it workers are exploited ‘till they fall to the ground face first. You however are not so-” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes before speaking agian. Softer this time than the louder tone he was using first. “get to work, please.”

“Fine fine, but-”

“There better leave something good out of that big mouth of yours.”

“Hey that's just rude! But I want one of you lot to teach me anything. I can’t even ride a horse for Christ's sake.”

“I still don’t get how you can’t kiddo.”

“I told you I lost my memory at the explosion, maybe I lost my skills too.” You said avoiding his piercing gaze. Nothing is better at covering up lies than staring at rocks being sad over the skills you’ve lost.

“And we all know about that blatant lie.” Fuck, maybe rocks aren’t good at covering up.

“It isn’t-”

“Boy I don’t give a damn, you could work on your handwriting though, you’re almost worse than John. But fine, when you’re done with your chores I'll teach you to ride.” He said, finally giving in.

“Yay!” You said while doing little hand clapping motion. “I won’t disappoint, I promise. I’m a fast learner!” You said with smiling eyes

“And how’d you find out you were a fast learner boy?” He spoke out as he raised his eyebrows, just enough for you to feel them piercing right through you, poking at all the holes in your lie. You thought you’d last at least a few months, well here you are, exactly one month deep in this shithole being caught red handed.

“Fuck” Is all you managed to cram out while your eyes lost all their focus. You being back in your own mind instead of the wild world.

It made the silence hard. The only sound that of the other gang members and the birds and the bees to give you something to focus on. It’s so hard out here, no amount of scouts will ever prepare one for the real wild.vIt’s much scarier out here. The real wild is the place where you die if you trip over the wrong rock. The scouts will make sure the rock isn’t even there. Every bird will just put down another rock and god I want the silence broken, just as broken as my lie is.

“I know there’s probably a reason you’re not telling us anything.” Athur said, as he moved closer, his eyes smaller. Like they could see right in his head “You can’t hide forever, not who you are.”

“...”

“Use your words boy”

“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You’ll figure it out, but first geT your ass back to woRK.” His voice became louder this time, I mean this was the third time he asked. He put his hand on your shoulder, shoving you away from your shared tent towards the hay bales you were supposed to move. A bit harder than anyone in the twenty-first century would’ve done, but for Arthur it was just a friendly push.

“I will, I will mister Morgan!” You said trying to act cheerful. Arthur made a “tsk” sound and waved you off, absolutely done, it seemed. You moved to the hay bales that were still in the wagon, ready to be fed to the horses.

The hay bales were heavy, yet they seemed lighter than they were a month ago. Your hands weren’t soft no more and being covered in dirt and dust wasn’t rare anymore. The luxuries that the modern world gave you disappeared the moment you decided that Bee was the one who should go home. One to run to the portal the moment it opens, one to pull the lever and jump through afterwards. Both of you knew that people don’t want you touching their stuff, let alone interdimensional portals or time machines. You knew someone would be quick to show up the moment you turned it on. It was surprising to see the portal become unstable, blinking in and out, in and out of existence. It left you with 2 choices. Option a: jump in it praying it would still transport you back home, back to all you knew not leaving you in the empty pocket of a closed portal. Or option b: run away for the inevitable explosion.

Gods you hated thinking about it. It played and twisted your mind. You couldn’t even talk about it, no accessible therapists in the wild west. And you’d prefer not to tell anyone you’re a helpless time traveler. Stuck in 1895 traveling with a gang of outlaws. A surely unique situation only you could get yourself in. You don’t even remember what you chose. You just remembered waking up surrounded by a bunch of cowboys.

“And how is our newest member doing?” The man's smooth and easy voice was easily recognizable. Dutch Van der Linde. Isn’t it ironic that he has a dutch surname and that his parents called him, well, Dutch. It’s a question that always on your mind, why his parents did that and if it’s iconic or just stupid. Dutch was one of the first people who introduced himself, right after Arthur- who was very inclined on being called Mister Morgan- and Hosea. The trio who showed you the wild west wasn’t all bad.

“Dutch! It is absolutely lovely to see you.” You said while putting the last hay bale down. A little bit of healthy sweat decorating your face. “I am doing absolutely great. Arthur- Mister Morgan is actually going to teach me how to ride a horse when I’m done.” You said while eyeing Arthur. Clearly not being amused with the situation. “Eh, he said yes, it’s his problem now.”

“I’m surprised you got through that thick skull of his!” He said with a smile, each word a little louder than the last. He clapped his hand on your shoulder as he let out a little chuckle.

“I think he likes me even though he won’t admit it actually.” You lied, confidence was half of the battle, as they say.

“I think I don’t you annoying little bastard.” Arthur said, joining the conversation. Dutch clearly talks loud enough to make sure any gossip subject will show up to the gossip. Definitely not the fact that you made eye contact with him “Now get to your horse before I change my mind.”

“Arthur! Oh shit- Mister Morgan! I’ll be there before they can even give me a speeding ticket” You said, maybe it was a bit too modern this time, but isn’t the wild west about living on the edge?

“You speak a strange version of english boy.” Arthur said. “You know how to saddle up a horse right?”

“Hosea taught me so I could help around with chores. And Wasp already had a saddle when we found her so I’m all good to go Mister Morgan!”

“Great, now go get her saddled up so we can go.” He said, motioning towards the horses.

“See you in a flash.” You said while snapping your fingers, forming finger guns to point back to Arthur. You dismissed the look of confusion on their faces, clearly not used to the finger gun motion. You walked off to Wasp and gave her a little pet and a snack. As you were putting her saddle on you overheard the rest of the conversation between Arthur and Dutch.

“We can both see you have a soft spot for the boy, Arthur.” Dutch said with a chuckle.

“And we both know youngins have great hearing and that he’s spying on our little conversation.” Arthur said in response, eyeing you. You kept saddling Wasp up as if you heard nothing. Let the deaf chicken inside of you arise and all. Hoping they’d say more.

“I know Arthur, I know.” Dutch said with a chuckle. About to walk away. “Oh before you go, he’s a kid Arthur, don’t be too hard on him and be carefull.” You didn’t think you were a kid, maybe not a full grown adult, but at least you were half an adult, no kid. But you weren’t going to say anything, you were eavesdropping after all. “He’s all yours, (Y/N)!” He yelled at you, before leaving for real. You turned around and gave him a smile and a quick wave. Arthur walked

“Take her by the reins, we're walking to an open spot first.”

“Shoar '' You said, absolutely trying to mimic the western accent you hear all around here. Apparently it was just bad enough to make Arthur chuckle.

“We’ll make a cowboy outta ya yet.”

Traveling in the wild was absolutely amazing for the most part. Abandoned camps are in fact disgusting. They leave their trash! And it’s not like they cleaned their cans so it smells. But besides that the mostly untouched nature was beautiful and the air was so clean. It all felt much more, how to put it, real. No factories everywhere, no house on every corner of the street, just, the world how mother nature intended it. It was peaceful. There was an open field about ten minutes walking from camp, and that’s where you arrived. Reins in hand.

“You ready to go (Y/N)?” Arthur asked. You put your hand on your hips looking at your horse with abosute pride and stupidity because how to fuck were you going to do this?

“Absolutely.” You said. “Remind me how do I get on again?”

The words were taken by the wind as they made room for silence. Arthur’s expression could be described as a mix between surprise, disbelief and the OhMyGodAreYouStupid emotion. Yet it all quickly made room for a smile, or a laugh. He could definitely be laughing at you.

“I didn’t expect to need to teach an 18 year old how to get on a damn horse.”

There was no fire behind the words, but as they say, fight (fake) fire with (fake) fire.

“And I didn’t expect to end up here for the life of so I did not think horse riding would be a viable skill to know. So get your pretty ass in the saddle so I can.. mimic you or something.” You said making a hand gesture at Arthur’s horse.

He gave you one more smile as he turned to his horse, getting on slower than usual. He got on on the right side of his horse so he put his right foot in the styrup. He lifted his body up effortlessly and as elegant as a western outlaw could get. And there he was, in the saddle, in full western glory.

“Looks easy enough.” You said, an absolute lie as it turned out. The stirrups were way higher than expected, and the getting on could be called anything but elegant or the cool western movies you saw. Turns out your own body is heavy and there’s quite a lot on a horse to get stuck behind. But you ended up in the saddle, full western glory.

The rest of the riding lesson went about the same. Arthur did something really cool looking and whenever you did it it felt like you were some old slime blob.

“Squeeze your lower legs to get her to move, (Y/N)!”

“I am this horse is just broken- OHMYGOD SHe’s moving!”

“Never blame the horse for the rider's lack of skill, boy. Now steering.”

He explained it all to you. How to properly hold the reins and how to use them, how to do it with one hand and how to do it with two. Western and English style he called it. He taught you how to move your horse around and what not to do. The one and most important thing being to have no doubts and no fear. The horse will sense it.

It felt odd at first, to have control over another living being. It wasn’t easy no, Arthur had to tell you how to correct your posture every 5 minutes. But after a while of correcting everything you started to get confident. It started getting easier to steer. Every muscle of yours was getting tired but it was so worth it. Maybe one day you’ll look like an actual movie star.

Once you got the basics down you could go a bit harder. From a walk to a trot, a canter and even a little gallop. And as the wind brushed over your face blowing your hair away, it felt like something the 21st century didn’t have a lot of. Galloping through the grass hearing every step as more and more grass was thrown into the air. Arthur still giving you instructions on what to watch out for, riding by your side in case of emergency. And the horse, Wasp, god she deserved a cooler name. Her big strong muscles moving beneath you, her breath as she was running, the heat radiating from her skin, gods it felt so great. No modern bike or car could ever top this feeling of freedom.

Cars and bikes could however top the feeling of falling off. You lost control quite a few times, losing balance, a rearing horse throwing you right where you belong. But nothing modern could beat that feeling of getting on again. Of it working when you tried it for a second time. Hell, maybe the third time. Arthur was there to make sure you were okay, and you could have another go. And another. And just one more for good measure. Lying on the ground trying to see if this time you did break something wasn’t a strange thing after today. Hell it happened at least every hour. But determining it as fine and getting on again, it felt like a lot.

You didn’t even realize it was getting late until the sky started turning orange. The normally so bright sun started becoming more yellow and stopped burning at your eyes. Instead it just seemed pretty. The clouds became yellow just like the sun, and the sky turned a bit darker with every passing minute. Yellow and orange were happy colours, maybe this was an good omen, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t think you’d die somewhere in a ditch. Bee would be proud to see you haven’t given up. You knew that for once.

“Time isn’t a real thing Mister Morgan, I swear.” You said looking at the sunset.

“Call me Arthur.” Said Arthur Morgan, though guy in the west in dire need of respect. Arthur “You call me mister Morgan boy” Morgan.

“Wait, did someone hide weed somewhere because this must be a hallucination! Can I really call you Arthur?”

“Wouldn't have said it otherwise boy.” He hissed, the mister Morgan just wouldn't leave Arthur.

“Well, Arthur, thank you. I’m happy I only have to say half the syllables now.”

“Shoar thing. Now let’s go back to camp before they send out a search party to see if you haven’t broken anything today.” He said jokingly

“I would never! I am obviously the best horse rider in the entire United states!” You said sarcastically, if you fake confidence long enough, it might become real.

Arthur laughed at that. “Well see about that boy. Now let’s go, we should be there soon considering you can ride now.”

“Of course, good plan. I can show off my skills now!”

“Shoar, go ahead boy. Don’t make your entrance too dramatic.”

“I will, I absolutely will. Oh and Arthur?”

“Hm?” He said, quite relaxed actually.

“Thank you, for everything today. I’m happy you let me bother you today.” You said with a proud smile.

“You’re welcome boy. Bother me all you want, we ain’t getting rid of you just yet.” He said as he ruffled your hair a bit. “Now let’s go home, I’m realll hungry.”

You absolutely couldn’t hide the smile on your face. “Hell yeah, I’m starving.” You said as you kicked the stirrups making Wasp move, you rode to camp in the beautiful orange sky. Maybe he did actually care about you, just a little.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

[iheartsunset]

Papa Louie Scarlett HCs

-Rosabella Ocampo is a 23 year old singer/songwriter and graduate school student who lives with her fiancé, Rudy, in a Powder Point condo. She is widely known by her legal/stage name, Scarlett Heart and is the lead singer/songwriter of Scarlett and the Shakers. While punk ska and playing gigs with her friends are her true passion, Scarlett plans to become a game theory professor in the future. She can mostly be seen writing lyrics for a new song, riding roller coasters with Rudy, climbing trees with Clover, and just vibing with Marty.

-Scarlett is rather bold and seductive, often playfully flirting with others or making jokes about inappropriate topics. I stole this from Rouge, thanks SnapCube fandub for revitalizing my love for Sonic. Alongside her flirtatiousness is her intelligence and desire to succeed, using rules and lessons that she learned from various games to apply to her daily life. Thanks to her love of poker and mahjong, Scarlett has grown to be very analytical and sly in her motives. Out of the shakers, she is undoubtedly the big sister friend as she’s kind of a bad influence on the rest of them and is always subjected to scoldings by mom friend, Janana.

-Rudy calls her “Princesa” because of her Cinderella-like backstory. Her mother was a very kind woman and Scarlett lived happily with her and her father. Her mother died in a roadside construction accident when Scarlett was only 9, leaving Scarlett heartbroken. Her father then married a woman named Moira with two sons, Graham and David, who was emotionally abusive towards Scarlett until she moved out at age 16. Scarlett’s relationship with her dad deteriorated over time and she’s basically disowned them since. She finds solace in Marty and Clover’s parents, who think of Rudy and Scarlett as their own. She also got along with the other Frostfield residents and helped Willow get back into hockey after her infamous car accident (the first one).

-Stan Twitter often makes memes of her because she’s so iconic and quotable. One of her most iconic moments was when she screamed “I wrote this next one about my bitch ass stepmom. Moira, if you’re listening, your hair is limp and you fucking suck!” at the VMAs.

-Music was her escape as a child, hence why she learned to sing and play multiple instruments. However, her stepmother made her play the violin in the school orchestra as opposed to being allowed in a punk rock band. Even though she was concertmaster and first chair, she hated life so badly. Scarlett can play the guitar, bass guitar, violin, cello, drums, the trumpet, the saxophone, the bassoon, the piano, the xylophone, the harp, the flute, the recorder, the French horn, the clarinet, i didn’t even list all of them and I’m tired already. When one of the other shakers has lead vocals on a song, she’ll take over playing their instrument.

-Scarlett met Rudy during their shared freshman year of high school. Hazelnut High’s orchestra department had its annual field trip to Powder Point (based off my actual orchestra field trip!). Scarlett decided to sneak away from her snobby classmates and teachers and have the time to herself. On one particularly large roller coaster, she sat next to a boy with a Mohawk who told her that since he was a Powder Point native, he could more than handle it. He then proceeded to cry the entire time while holding her hand. They realized how much they had in common and kept in contact even after her trip was over. Their relationship is super lovey dovey, yet chill at the same time. Couple goals, but not on the level of Prudence x Cooper x Taylor.

-The shakers got together during the 23rd season of Flipline’s Got Talent. After the shocking elimination of Taylor Morales in the quarterfinals, the remaining acts were merged together. Scarlett and Rudy and Marty and Clover were two sets of pairs merged together. They all got along beforehand and loved Scarlett’s songwriting, so they all wrote an original song together for the finals. Even though they were fan favorites and had lots of support from the audience, Bill and Boopsy’s amazing ventriloquy act was what won the show, with the upset Shakers coming in second place. Afterwards, they were approached by Janana who offered to become their agent, and all they’ve known since was success. Fun fact: Rudy wouldnt accept Clover and Marty into their act unless they beat him and Scarlett at poker. They did.

-The shakers each can speak multiple languages, with Scarlett being able to speak fluent English and Tagalog, Tagalog being her native language (Filipino gang!). She can also speak some Spanish, Japanese, Arabic, Hindi, and Gaelic because she hangs around the other Shakers and Janana so much.

-All of the food, drinks, clothes, and personal belongings Scarlett loves are various shades of red. Cherries, longanisa, red wine, and candied strawberries are her favorite. Her entire wardrobe? Red. Her LED lights? Red. It honestly scares Rudy how red everything is.

-Her voice would either be Jessica Sanchez from American Idol or Gwen Stefani from the No Doubt era. She also covers a lot of No Doubt songs during their concerts. Speaking of covers, the shakers like to sing classic rock songs as well as modern day hits. Scarlett has the vocal range to do Ariana and Mariah Carey justice.

-Her and Marty are best friends. They’re both on the same wavelength and will most likely have the same reaction to memes, like word for word the same reaction. They usually have to get Rudy and Clover out of trouble most days. I love their chaotic, yet chill energy, like the types that just sit and observe and quietly make funny comments to each other.

-She determines whether she likes you or not based off of how good you are at mahjong or poker. If you suck enough to let her win, she’ll love you forever but if you match her in ability, she’ll respect you but kinda fear you as well. If you refuse to play altogether, she hates you. She’s a game theory student, so playing any board game with her is grounds for disaster because she’ll use her weird psychology and tricks to win all the time. Ironically, she sucks at video games. Even though she loves games of chance, she’s hugely against casinos and betting, instead trading small trinkets like food or makeup.

-At the Cheeseria, she set up a poker table, a mahjong table, and a pool table for the entertainment. They unfortunately had to get rid of the Uno table because somebody (ahem, Jojo) got a little too heated over a match with Papa and Wally. And by “got a little too heated”, I mean that Jojo literally got in a fist fight with Papa and lost.

-All she watches are telenovelas. Don’t ask about The Office or Game of Thrones, all she knows is stuff like Rubi and Maria la del Barrio.

-She doesn’t like musical theater except for Phantom of the Opera. She has taken a few roles as Kim in Miss Saigon, but secretly regrets it because musical theater is so much harder than just a regular concert. She still respects theater actors, but will never again sit through Anything Goes.

-She is the only one of the workers who has managed to successfully punch Guy Mortadello. Koilee and Rudy came close, but Scarlett landed an especially hard punch to his nose. Next to being engaged and forming Scarlett and the Shakers, she says it’s the third happiest day of her life. Now, Guy Mortadello is extremely scared of Scarlett and will cry if he sees her or hears her song on the radio (which is all the time).

-She has a tattoo of a heart of her hand along with a crown. On three of her fingers are a yellow Diamond, green clover, and blue spade.

-Scarlett is absolutely gorgeous and badass, I always kept rewinding Papas Cheeseria just to see her and Rudy in the opening because I had crushes on them both. Anyways, stan Scarlett for good grades (it’s not working though I’m still failing two classes)

[eirenical]

1 and 2 for the writing meta prompt please!

Thank you, @flamingwell

[If anyone else would like to send questions, here is the list. ^_^]

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Oooooooh boy. Well, I have quite a few. XD So, how about we just go through the ones I have actively open in Word right now?

Legacies Found: The Untamed, sequel to Legacies Lost. This is a giant canon divergent AU that I've been working on for well over a year at this point. There is one key thing that I changed (and in the interest of spoilers, I'm not going to say what, but if you're curious and don't mind spoilers then, by all means, come ask and I'll tell you all about it. ;D) and it affected everything in-universe, some for the better, some for the worse. Here's the AO3 summary:

Sixteen years ago, the Yiling Patriarch died, a victim to his own hubris and the Yin Tiger Seal. Hundreds of cultivators from many different sects died with him that day, their souls forever doomed to find no rest, even in death. On this, the 16th anniversary of the battle of Qiongqi Pass, Jin Ling is determined to make pilgrimage, to try to put the spirit of his long-lost father to rest. He finds much more than he bargained for, and what he finds… will change everything.

And in the sequel, things have progressed significantly from this point, but the people involved are still broken in various ways, not quite at the point of healing yet, but getting there. The plot is opening up to the wider world and new characters are going to be introduced, and I'm having a lot of fun writing it, but it is SO MUCH SLOWER GOING. OTZ

Mirror, Mirror: I talked about this one extensively in this post, and it hasn't really progressed any further from there. XD This is a Guardian AU based on a short film that Zhu Yilong did with Li Bingbing called "Into the Mirror" (there's a link in the other post).

Reclamation: *eg* For anyone who's been following my Whumptober series (yes, I know we're WELL past October OTZ) of fics that I've been writing for Granting You a Dreamlike Life, this is the latest in the series. This monster is already almost 18K words and it's... it's a LOT. The story is a canon-divergent AU that starts out mostly overlapping canon during episode 35 and begins to diverge somewhere between there and episode 36. I leaned REALLY hard into the whump on this one, went really self-indulgent and wrote the fic that I would most want to read for this fandom, because I was pretty damned sure that no one else would write it or would take it as far and as dark as I wanted it to go if they did. And this particular story is the darkest of the bunch so far. ^_~ I'm not going to link directly to this one, because this is definitely a HEED THE TAGS situation, but if anyone's interested in some really, REALLY dark GYADL fic... hit me up and I'll be happy to tell you more. ^_^ (And for those who just want to look for themselves, you can find it under #eirenical does whumptober or on my AO3 where the series name is "Indefinitely." ^_^)

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I think I've talked enough about my current projects, so how about some future projects for this one? ^_^

(...and how about under a cut because this is getting kind of long...)

The Lost Tomb Reboot

I have... several fic at the plotty stage for TLTR, and I just added a new one to the list this morning. XD

Ershu fic: So, for anyone who's been following my TLTR journey, you know I'm obsessed with Ershu. I LOVE HIM. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. And you know what happens when I love a character, right? Right? I WANT TO BREAK THEM. *coughs* Anyway, something happens to Ershu in S2 of TLTR that I won't go into detail about because spoilers, but essentially, he's betrayed and ends up in the hands of the person who betrayed him with no one else being the wiser and with him helpless and unable to tell anyone. And there are just... all KINDS of dark, fucked up possibilities there, and just like the Whumptober series, I AM going to write that fic, even if no one but me ends up reading it. ;D

Probably post-canon domestic bliss fic: For those of you who enjoy WHIPLASH ;D, I just honestly want ALL THE SOFT DOMESTIC IRON TRIANGLE. ALL OF IT. And I want Wu Xie and Ershu to have an opportunity to sit down and actually TALK about things (e.g., their need for a family heir), instead of trying to one-up each other. Special appearances by all the ducklings, Xiao Bai's girlfriend, and Lia Jiale and Jia Kezi (...my fic, my rules, we ignore canon when we want to ^_^) having an ...oh moment, and sweet, soft cuddles for Liu Sang and Kan Jian because they're adorable and I love them, too. (I have no idea if this is all going in one fic or if it will be a series of slice of life things, but I just want everyone to get their happily ever after IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK???)

Post-canon Huo Daofu and Xiao Ge... time-sharing Wu Xie?: IDEK what to call what's going on here, but... yeah. XD (See, @elenothar, I haven't forgotten! ;D) To crib from another post... I really do think that Xiao ge loves Wu Xie and loves being with him and all that that entails, but that he gets… restless.  A little feral cat, if you will.  And he just needs to wander off and be on his own for a while sometimes.  And I would love to see a permutation where it’s just kind of understood that he and Huo Daofu just kind of… share Wu Xie.  ^_^  Not in a threesome way, but in a way that they both understand each other’s claim on Wu Xie and neither of them wants him to be alone, so they just kind of… work that out between them.  Like he's a time share. (OMG, I have to be careful of how often I use that phrase for this fic or I'm going to end up calling it that as a title. XD)

DMBJ x Highlander xover that I just came up with literally this morning: No, seriously, this LITERALLY just popped into my head as I was waking up this morning. It was a wild fucking ride, too. O_o;;; ANYWAY, I'm probably going to make a separate headcanon/plotty post for this one, but basically I just randomly woke up thinking... Duncan was an antique dealer in the late 80s/early 90s in the US. Wu Xie is an antique dealer in China, now, and his family has been involved in the antique trade for a... VERY long time. Maybe Duncan did some business with the Wu family. Maybe he met Wu Xie as a kid. Maybe he knew Xiao ge even EARLIER than that (like 100 years earlier). Maybe post-canon Highlander, Duncan starts getting back into the antique trade by helping to quietly repatriate artifacts and comes to China to deal with the Wu family to do that, and meets Wu Xie again... and Xiao ge. And has a WTF moment because Xiao ge ISN'T an Immortal like he is, but he doesn't look a day older than when they met 100 years ago and just... WTF?? And Wu Xie is looking at Duncan and looking at Xiao ge and having a WTF moment of his own because is EVERYONE immortal except him and Pangzi?? And... I just think that would be a lot of fun to play with. ;D

Guardian:

The Care and Training of a Former Megalomaniac V and VI, maybe?: OK, so this idea isn't really concrete, but I still want to play with it. I want to do something to tackle Ye Zun's past with the Rebel Leader and the trauma that that left behind, and I'm thinking he'll end up having a good (...drunk) talk with Da Qing about it.

Another idea I had (MUCH more concrete) was based off my own poor lazy bb. He LOVES to catch bugs. LOVES IT. He gets SO EXCITED and SO into it... but sometimes the bugs fly up to the ceiling. And Gabriel is comfy in my lap and doesn't want to move. So he will swat at the bug... halfheartedly. And then he will turn around and complain to me when it won't come down to be swatted at again. Like I can somehow make it come down so he can play with it? IDEK. XD ANYWAY. I had a vivid mental image of Da Qing doing this to Ye Zun and somehow convincing him to actually... bring the bug down. Using his powers. And someone at the SID detects Ye Zun using his powers so ZYL and SW race home... to find Ye Zun... using his powers... to tether bugs for Da Qing to play with. And I just think that would be hilarious. XD

...I think that's everything in the mental kiddy right now? XD

[musingsofanunorgainizedmind]

Top 10 Things I Love About Supernatural

It’s been almost half a year since the show ended and now that the dust has settlIed, I just want to list ten reasons I love this show. Despite it’s flaws, it’s been quite the ride.

1. Team Free Will

When I first got the idea to make this list, I originally planned on doing entirely separate entries for “Sam & Dean” and “Destiel”. Except then I wanted to pay tribute to “Sastiel”. And then I wanted to do an entry for “Team Free Dads”. By that point, I was already halfway through the list and I hadn’t even moved on from the main characters. A few months ago, I made a post about why I love every single pairing in this group. Obviously, Sam and Dean are a legendary duo. Obviously, Dean and Cas have an unparalleled story. Obviously, Sam and Cas are an underrated team. As for Team Free Dads, I’ve always had a soft spot for father/mentor figure characters and and all three tackle the role in different ways. I love Jack, too. I love how everyone in this bizarro family is “broken” in some way. We’ve got the Allistair’s prized pupil, the spawn of satan, the boy with demon blood, and the angel who nearly obliterated all of heaven. But they help each other heal by being supportive and seeing the good in each other. They all love each other so deeply and when together, nothing can stand in their way. Not Michael, not Lucifer, and not God himself. They tore up the book and wrote their own story. And it was a pleasure to watch it all unfold.

2. The Suppporting Characters

To list every single supporting character I have loved and lost in this show would take way too long. I don’t know if it’s the writing or acting performances, but I love pretty much every single supporting character on this show. Even villains like Azazel or Allistair are top-notch villains. Hell, I even like characters like Metatron, Lucifer, Mary, and John! Characters like Rufus, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena, Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Gabriel, Balthazar, Mick...how am I not supposed to love them??? All of their stories were cut so short. I’d watch a show about any of these characters. The Wayward Sisters were robbed. So many ships were gone too soon (Sam/Rowena, Dean/Jo, Cas/Meg, Etc.). So many heartbreaking deaths. I want to be best friends with all these characters. Why be a “dean-girl” or a “sam-girl” when you can be a garth-girl? A kevin-girl? A claire-girl? A bela-girl? There are so many great characters with interesting and compelling backstories and so much untapped potential. I could go on forever on this, but I digress.This show has one of the best supporting casts I have ever had the pleasure of watching.

3. The Themes

It’s no accident that I got addicted to this show at the time that I did. Namely, my Senior Year of College and 2020. Graduating college and entering the “real world” felt like it’s own sort of apocalypse. 2020 definitely exacerbated my worst tendencies. Messages like “family don’t end in blood”, “you can write your own story”, and “always keep fighting” really resonated with me. I could definitely relate to the feelings of insecurity these character’s felt and the ways they suppressed/repressed their issues instead of facing them. I could relate to the feelings of not fitting in and I could definitely relate to the loneliness. This show helped remind me that I’m not alone. That it’s okay if my values and identity don’t line up with the what I envisioned for myself. And, most importantly, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that I should never give up. If Dean, Sam, and Cas can keep moving forward despite their demons and despite how bad it gets, so can I. Regardless of how the story ended, these themes resonated with me and I’ll still hold them with me. A single episode can’t take that away.

4. The Fun Episodes

This show has so many legendary standalone episodes. Changing Channels. Ghostfacers. The French Mistake. Fan Fiction. Tall Tales. Bad Day at Black Rock. When this show goes for the absurd, it goes all-in. It takes the risks it needs to take, it gets completely insane, and it pulls it off. So many of these episodes could have easily been the moment that the show “jumped the shark”. Yet, time after time, the show delivered on it’s potential. I don’t know how much I can say about these episodes except that they made me laugh out loud, made me fall even harder for these characters, and that they’re the episodes I remember best. If I were to rewatch any episode, it would be one of the fun ones. This show knew how to not take itself too seriously and how to poke fun at itself. I’ve always had a soft spot for shows that can make me laugh and cry (X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel, Doctor Who, etc.), and this show definitely nails the fun part. 

5. The Sad Episodes

Death’s Door. Hammer of the Gods. Despair. Carry On. Abandon All Hope. In My Time of Dying. Swan Song. When this show wants you to cry, it doesn’t pull the punches. It gets downright devastating. No character is safe. Literally every character you love will either be forgotten or will die. Or both. The amount of trauma Sam and Dean have to go through is insane. Both have literally been to hell and back. Both have killed countless people, including innocents. When this show decides it wants to wreck you, it’s overwhelming. I sobbed when Bobby died. I sobbed when every single member of Team Free Will died for the final time (I still can’t watch any of those scenes). I still wish Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Kevin, Mick, and Gabriel had been given more time to tell their stories. Being a hunter means a life of endless angst. Being an angel or demon doesn’t get you off the hook, either. I remember going into this show thinking it couldn’t hurt me. My favorite character type is “mentor/father figure”. But holy hell...I don’t think every single sad moment was necessarily good writing, but when it was? Damn. 

6. The Biblical Themes

I’m not a relgious person. But, despite this show being steeped in Christian mythology, it really touched on my feelings about the Old Testament in a profound way. Well, really just Ben Edlund and Robbie Thompson did. I’ve never seen a show really hit the overall feel of the bible the way this show does. The idea of Angels as mystical and terrifying creatures. The idea of God as a flawed father figure with a penchant for wrath. The sheer epicness of the biblical stories. The idea of family members constantly being turned on each other. Cain and Abel. Jacob and Essau. Moses and Ramses. Moses and Aaron. Abraham and Isaac. The bible is full of stories of family drama. This show doesn’t always give angels and demons weight. Sometimes it’s silly and stupid and cheesy. But when it hits right? It’s epic. This is more of a personal thing I love about the show, but definitely a plus!

7. The Music

The early seasons music is so good. I really miss the classic rock of the golden era of the show. I mean, there are still some great musical moments later on, but damn. I loved hearing songs I recognized and I loved learning new songs. I loved when the song and the scene hit perfectly in time (Death’s intro. Cas’s return in Season 13.). Also Supernatural wouldn’t be Supernatural without the ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ song at the end of every season. Even at the end of a season I didn’t love, that recap would always get me pumped. Also Chuck singing Fare Thee Well? Dean and Lee singing together? Fan Fiction? All great. 

8. The Cast & Crew

I never care about the actors or actresses in a show. I definitely don’t bother with the names of specific writers and directors or their styles of writing/directing. They’re just random people who happen to write for or play these characters I love. They’re not actually the characters. But these guys? Well, for one, I’m pretty sure half this cast actually is their character. At least to some degree. They’re also just...really cool people? Who are all friends? They make a point to do community service, to interact with fans, and to promote positive ideas. Jared’s Always Keep Fighting campaign. Misha and GISH. The fact that they all participate in fundraising opportunities and encourage fan engagement. Do they all have issues? Definitely. Have they said stupid things? Yes. But the good far outweighs the bad. They’re an entertaining bunch whether onscreen or not and I hope they all do well in whatever their future endeavors may be.  

9. The Fandom

I joined this fandom late. To be honest, I thought this fandom was obnoxious before I found myself a part of it. Now that I’ve been in the trenches? It’s got it’s ups and downs like any fandom. There are some parts that are more toxic than others. A lot of people yelling that their opinion is the only opinion. But overall? The good outweighs the bad. And the good? The good is great. Some fanfictions I’ve read are better than actual books I’ve read and just as moving. The fanart? Incredible. I love reading all the metas about random aspects of the show I never would have noticed. I love the music videos and I love the analytical videos. In real life, I’ve made many friends through our mutual love of this show. Hell, even getting sucked into GISH once or twice has given me some solid memories and brought me closer to friends. I wish all fandoms were this much like family. I’m so glad I got to be a part of this fandom and I can’t wait to continue being a fan. After all, nothing ever stays dead in Supernatural.

10. The Chaos & Insanity

Season 16 has been a time. First, Destiel went canon. Then suddenly Sherlock was having a 5th season, Putin was retiring, and Georgia was going blue. Destiel going “canon” and Joe Biden winning the presidency will always be correlated in my mind now. Things in the fandom went from quiet to blaringly loud real fast. Carry On happened. The fandom went into a civil war. I can’t even remember half of what happened in Season 16, but it’s been a wild ride. There’s been ups (my personal favorite being the french dub and the Saileen wedding). There’s been downs (Jared’s controversial statements and the original scripts being leaked). At one point Misha Collins had sex with Bill Clinton???? It’s been a wild time. It’s honestly gotten me through the end of this pandemic. At least it’s entertaining. I would say that at least all the craziness is over, but is it ever really over? Every time I say that something else completely insane happens. But it’s been fun. I’m glad I started watching this show despite my reservations and here’s to whatever happens next. 

[samirafms]

[ sahar luna, cis female , she/her ] have you seen SAMIRA  FARAS lately ? yeah, i heard they're 22 years old and a SOCIALITE now in charleston city. i mean, i don’t know if it’s their GEMINI vibes or that they’re -MANIPULATIVE and -SECRETIVE but also +FLEXIBLE and +CUNNING, but they remind me of MONEY by LISA. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble around here. (J, 21, she/her, gmt +3 )

hellooooo everyone it’s j yet again , coming in HOT with a new muse ( correction new mess ) but anways you know the drill so like this or message me on discord @ jules#6729  if you’d like to plot  

I - PINTEREST

you know me and my obsession for pinterest boards so click here to find it 

II - QUICK FACTS

before i start with all the talking here are some quick facts 

dob: june 6th 1999

lives with her mom only , father is unknown ( at least that’s what her mother says ) 

no other siblings aka shes an only child ( of her mother ofc ) 

moved to charleston at the age of 10 so she’s been around for about 12 years now 

nicknames: mira ,sami though she prefers to be called by her name instead of nicknames 

dyes her hair a lot like but prefers being a brunette 

is pansexual

III - BIO

before we get to samira’s birth , we have to go back to where it all starts with the young alia faras , a woman born in charleston with dreams of becoming a world-famous actress , and a drive so big as if there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do in order to achieve it . it was at the age of twenty-four when samira’s mother packed everything and her beloved charleston to achieve the hollywood dream. but things didn’t exactly start off as good as she hoped for , one audition after the other , the rejections kept coming and coming as if there was no end to it . but alia never stopped dreaming , she knew there was someone out there who would be willing to give her a chance and so here he was , a beautiful man by the name of REDACTED , whos promises were so big that she couldn’t say no to an offer like his. not only was he kind , but the missing ring on his finger could only mean that the man was single, and before you knew it , the man who was willing to help her become the star she is destined to be he also suddenly became her other half , her soulmate . this relationship was like no other , he cared about her so much , in a way no other man did before him . 

months go by but the mans promises never come to realization , she never got the roles she wanted , but hey at least they loved each other right , there’s still time for her to shine , she’s still young after all . and before you know it the young woman had not only fallen head over hills for this man , but was also bearing his child  , news that ware supposed to tighten her relationship with this man and maybe seal it forever , her fairy tale world suddenly crashed as the man revealed that he already had a wife and children of his own , and alia and her child had no place around him anymore . and here she was pregnant and alone , about to face a life she wasn’t prepared for . 

the first nine years of samira’s life weren’t too good . her mom was working two jobs so she can pay their bills , she was often left with one of her mom’s friends/neighbors since samira’s mom didn’t exactly have the time or money to be a mom . but it all changed suddenly when on her 10th birthday , when her mom rushed home and packed their bags , claiming they were going to a much better place and so charleston was introduced . suddenly their small apartment was gone  , instead the two lived in a big house filled with everything one could imagine . ever since then samira and her mom have been living a pretty lavish life , with neither of them having to work at all , but the question still remains , where does all their money come from 

SPOILER ALERT 

ok ok so you’ve guessed it probably but basically mommy went all girlboss and threatened samira’s dad for money or else’s she’ll ruin their picture perfect fam . and since the mystery dad is a pretty big deal he started paying an allowance of sorts where he pays them a huge amount of money so they keep everything under wraps  

 IV - PERSONALITY

girlie is very that bitch , shes obsessed with herself 

sis is secretive af like she doesn't share much about her home life even to her closest friends 

shes spoiled rotten by her mother 

get extremely mad when people ask where the money comes from like just dont 

is willing to do anything to achieve her goals 

can easily persuade people to do dumb shit with her 

V - CONNECTIONS

you know me always down for brainstorming but here’s a few quick ideas 

ride or dies ; exes on good / bad terms ; fwb , one-night stands / hook-ups ; enemies ; enemies to friends and vice versa ; childhood friends ; - aka the ones i had on romeo im sorry but my mind = blank 

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (6/7)

The facts were these.

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

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

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

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9K’ish this chapter and some ‘ish is going to happen AN: Hello, hi, here are some explanations and feelings and then some more feelings and drama and stuff is going to happen, guys. Thanks for being top notch and excellent and reading all these words. I think you’re swell. 

|| Also on Ao3 or you can read all those words from the start ||

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​ @thejollyroger-writer​

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-four days and, approximately, eleven hours old when the Earth appears to lose its entire atmosphere. 

She doesn’t gasp, which is kind of disappointing. She just, kind of, sort of freezes, muscles tensing and body going taught with the tension that had been lingering just under the surface of everything since she made the one decision that changed everything. 

Someone curses. 

Emma can’t tell if it’s Ruby or Shakespeare, but there’s some kind of scuffle happening just out of the edge of her vision and there are goons in the living room she hadn’t noticed before. 

She still hasn’t moved. 

She isn’t entirely sure she can. 

Coward. 

The Darkness laughs gleefully, a sound that grates on Emma’s ears and feels a bit like nails on a chalkboard or just, actual, literal nails. He’s moving his fingers, a quick tap against each other, bouncing from one foot to the other and it’s as unnatural as it is disturbing. 

“Oh, I knew that would be good, but I never expected it to play out like that,” he says. The words rush out of him, as if he can’t say them quickly enough to keep up with whatever dance he’s doing in the middle of the rug. 

The rug has tassels on it. 

“Beautiful,” the Darkness continues. “Absolutely beautiful. Tell me, Savior, how does it feel to get that off your chest? I’d imagine it’s a relief.”

Emma exhales, another mistake, but she’s piling those up faster than she can count them at this point and the space between her and Killian feels as vast as several Grand Canyons. She turns her head slowly, not trusting herself to go any faster and he’s staring straight ahead. 

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t close his mouth. 

She can see him breathing, shoulders shaking with the effort of doing it consistently and she understands that. She assumes the oxygen levels can’t possibly be the same once the atmosphere has been compromised. 

“Although,” the Darkness says, leaning towards Emma with a very specific glint in his eyes. “It appears to be quite a shock to both of you. Thoughts, dead man?” Killian doesn’t answer him. His gaze snaps towards Emma, darker than she can remember it and that’s not right at all. 

He’s not supposed to look like that. 

He’s not supposed to feel like that. 

The buzzing in her head is barely more than an echo now. 

“Say it again,” Killian mutters, and at first Emma doesn’t understand. She’s half a second away from mumbling what under her breath, but then he’s half a step in front of her and it somehow feels even farther away. “Say it again. The truth, Emma.” Her eyes flutter closed at the sound of her own name, the pain and disappointment and absolute hurt obvious in all four letters. 

“I’m the reason Liam is dead.” “How?” The question catches her off guard, an edge to his voice that’s brand-new as well and maybe they’ve just been teleported to a different timeline entirely. That would almost make more sense. 

“I don’t—” Emma starts, but Killian’s already shaking her head and a goon groans when Ruby, presumably, kicks him in the heel. “Yeah, that’s not fair, is it?” “You’re asking me about fair? Honestly? With a goddamn demon a foot away from us?” “Oh now, I resent that,” the Darkness chides. Ruby sounds like she’s trying to actually beat several people with her Louboutins. “I’m hardly a demon.” “What the hell are you then?” “Something the world has been waiting a very long time for. But you haven’t gotten your answers yet have you? And you want them. Oh, do you. I can feel it you know, dead man. The need and the questions and the certainty that something was wrong since the start. Because you’ve always believed that haven’t you? It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong.”

The Darkness grins again – slow and reptilian, the movement snaking across his face until his entire expression looks twisted and inhuman. His eyebrows jump and twist, certainty in every shift as the lights flicker around them. 

Emma does her best to stay upright, but it’s becoming an increasingly difficult challenge. The words keep bouncing around her head, ricocheting off nerve endings and synapses and whatever else makes up the human brain. 

It’s like a scratched CD, stuck on one string of lyrics and one sentence, a few words that play on repeat and threaten to drive Emma even more insane than she already is. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

She’s been wrong since the start. 

“It didn’t make sense,” the Darkness whispers, leering at Killian with wide eyes that have suddenly taken on a distinctly yellow pallor. “Even then. Even now. He was young. He had his whole life ahead of him and she stole that from you.” Emma must make a noise because she can feel Ruby’s eyes land on her, but she’s not entirely sure what it is, just knows that it hurts every single inch of her. She wraps her arms around her middle, desperate to keep herself together in a metaphorical and literal sense. 

Killian keeps blinking. 

Like he’s trying to figure out what is and isn’t real.

“How, Swan?” 

Her breath catches when he looks at her – pleading and desperate and so impossibly blue she knows she’d never be able to forget it. He called her Swan again. 

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers. “She, um...well, she died. I went back across the street, remember? It was..it was lunch and I was soaking wet and—” “—You kept trying to spray me with the hose.” “That’s not what happened at all.” Killian doesn’t quite smile, but there’s almost an attempt and Emma appreciates that. “We were going to go ride our bikes down the hill later.” “Yeah, yeah,” she nods, and her tongue feels far too big for her mouth. “I went upstairs, to change and get the mud out from underneath my fingernails and I heard a crash and I...I got back to the kitchen and Ingrid was dead.”

“She wasn’t later, though.” “Yeah, I think you’ve already figured out how that happened.” “Did you know?” “That touching Ingrid would bring her back to life? Or that she could only stay alive for a certain amount of time? Or that when she kissed me goodnight later I’d kill her?” 

Killian’s eyes flash, another string of fairly impressive curses from the peanut gallery and, maybe, one of the goons and the Darkness is frustratingly silent. Emma drags her hand roughly over her cheek, no doubt leaving an angry red streak in her wake, but the tears have started to fall or are still falling and she’s kind of angry now. 

She’s kind of furious. 

And so goddamn alone she’s positive she reeks with it. 

“Any of those actually,” Killian mumbles. He doesn’t reach towards her, but he doesn’t back away again and Emma’s really starting to cling to these half victories. 

“No. That was—” “—That was the first time.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact and a little pitying, which is a little disappointing, but Emma barely musters up a nod of agreement so maybe she deserves the pity. 

“And you,” he whispers. “You didn’t…” “What was I supposed to say? I had no idea what had happened. It was all...everything happened so quickly. Ingrid was dead and I didn’t want her to be dead and then suddenly she wasn’t and—God, I didn’t want Liam to be dead. I wouldn’t…” Emma runs out of air, lips dry from breathing erratically through her mouth “I couldn’t do that to you,” she whispers. “Not when—” “—Not when she was so consumed with several other very important emotions,” the Darkness interrupts, a note of impatience in his voice that seems more unfair than just about anything else that’s happened in the last few minutes. 

One of the lightbulbs in the nearest decorative lamp shatters. 

“And that, of course, is the crux of our little meeting here.” Killian tilts his head. “It’s a meeting then, is it?” “Have I brought you here against your will, dead man? Have I bound you? Gagged you? Dragged through the streets kicking and screaming?” “You did kill me.” “No, no, no, that wasn’t me. That was Mr. Teach. We’ve covered that already.” “Seems a little bit like splitting hairs,” Emma grumbles, a hint of decidedly out of place sarcasm. She knows Ruby is smiling at her. 

“It’s a fact, Ms. Swan,” the Darkness corrects. “And very important to our little tale. Are you and the dead man done discussing things? Because I’d like to get to the point of all of this.” “There’s a point?” He scoffs, almost amused. “Of course there is. And it’s a very important, very sharp point that will change the course of everything.” “Why did you bring up Liam?” Killian asks. “That—Emma hadn’t told me before.” “You know it’s rather disappointing to be proved so incredibly wrong in such a short span of time. You’re quite lacking on the intelligent front. I explained that already.” The last few words come out a bit like a hiss – more reptilian jokes and puns and allusions and Emma can hear the disappointment lingering in Killian’s voice. She licks her lips again. “And you seem like you’re wasting time,” Emma challenges. “Teach said you were trying to bring someone back. Someone important to you? A kid, maybe? Where are they?” She regrets the question as soon as it’s out of her mouth. 

The Darkness doesn’t yell. Doesn’t say anything. But his eyes go impossibly dark, no color, just a vast expanse of nothing that seems to stretch out in front of Emma and she can feel the rage ripple in the air around them. 

It tastes like rotten eggs, a stench that doesn’t remind her of anything and yet somehow feels impossibly familiar, as if it’s always been lingering just on the edge of her consciousness, an almost that threatens to drag her away. 

“Don’t talk about him,” the Darkness seethes. “Not yet. Not until I explain what has to happen.” “And what has to happen, exactly?” Ruby asks, twisting against her own strand of rope and there’s suddenly a gag in her mouth. She flinches at the fabric, stuffed in between her lips, and both Emma and Killian lunge forward at the same time. 

The Darkness clicks his tongue. “No, no, none of that. I have the upper hand here. I do.” There’s a distinct lack of confidence in the sentence, like he’s convincing himself or reminding himself and the realization sends a rush of something that may almost be misplaced confidence down Emma’s spine. 

“Of course you do,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Why did you bring up Liam? And what...you keep calling me different things.” “I’m not.” Emma opens her mouth to object, but reconsiders it as soon as she sees the look on his face and the floor creaks under Killian’s feet when he shifts towards her. Her lungs appreciate that. It’s easier to breathe when he lingers in her space. 

“I’m not,” the Darkness repeats. “I’m telling you what you are. This is the start. This house and the belief it fostered in you. You’re brimming with belief, Savior.” “That’s not true.” “Ah, but isn’t it? You grew up here, trusted everything that happened here and even after it all disappeared, you remembered it, didn’t you? Knew it was true and honest and it kept you both of those things. It made you even more powerful.” Emma blinks. “I don’t—” “—I know, I know, you don’t understand and it can’t possibly be real and you couldn’t be more wrong. Haven’t you ever wondered what happened to your parents?” She stumbles over her own feet, an impressive achievement since she doesn’t really move, but it feels as if the foundations of the entire goddamn house shift underneath her. Killian’s breath is warm on her neck as soon as Emma rolls her shoulders, desperate to maintain her flimsy grip on the situation. 

“Just keep breathing, love,” he whispers. 

“Yeah, easy for you to say.” He chuckles, and Emma isn’t sure if the brush of something she feels on the curve of her shoulder is his lips or just her own misplaced and decidedly wishful thinking, but it’s nice either way and she inhales until it feels as if her lungs will burst. 

“Jokes at the end of the world, Swan? That’s impressive.” “Something, something full of surprises.” It’s definitely his lips. 

Ruby groans through her gag. 

“You know they loved you quite a bit, Savior,” the Darkness says, seemingly unperturbed by flirting at the end of the world. Emma assumes that’s not exactly how he sees it. “Your parents, that is. Fought tooth and nail to protect you.” “My parents gave me up,” Emma argues. She’s been told the story hundreds of times, heard it in every house and from every social worker, the ones she barely remembers before Ingrid and the ones that are ingrained in her memory after. 

The story never changed. It only ever seemed to get worse, more proof that she deserved everything she got and needed to push and run and the Darkness shakes his head deftly. 

He’s got that amused look in his eyes again. 

“Tell me something, Savior, what do you know of magic?” “Aside from my ability to wake the dead?” He hums, stuffing his hands in his pockets and Emma only just notices how unkempt he looks. There are wrinkles in his pants and a few tears in his jacket, a hole in his right sleeve that looks large enough to stick several fingers through. The hem of his shirt is frayed and he’s missing a button on his waistcoat. 

He’s wearing a waistcoat. 

That seems strange. 

“Yes, aside from that.” Emma shrugs. “Nothing. This is...this is the real world. Magic—” “—Oh, don’t tell me you believe magic isn’t real, Savior. Don’t insult both of us like that.” “Explain it then.” It’s more misplaced confidence – a demand Emma can’t possibly make, but it makes the Darkness laugh again and half a dozen frames fall off the wall by the staircase. Killian shifts, fingers brushing over the side of Emma’s arm and it’s selfish and greedy and absolutely, positively wrong, but she twists into. Like a selfish, greedy asshole.   “That,” the Darkness says, nodding at their hands. “That’s it.” Emma tries not to growl. It does not work. “What’s what?”

“Magic. We live in a world where magic used to fill the air. It lingered in the wind and the trees, grew out of certainty and feeling and love. It was...rampant. It was a wonderful place.” “And then?” “And then something happened. The world grew too lopsided. There needed more of a balance and magic started to grow more and more scarce. It started to change as well, a twist and a bastardization to it that shifted the very fabric of magic as itself. There was a split, Savior. Between light magic and dark, between those with power and those who understood it. And for quite some time that was acceptable.” “Who accepted it?” Emma asks, but she’s got a horrible feeling that she already knows the answer. “You? The Darkness?” “In the flesh. As they say.” “Did you twist magic yourself?” He waves a dismissive hand in the air, as if he’s almost embarrassed, but Emma can feel the surge of power and she’s certain the walls have started to shake. A few of the goons mumble something that sounds like master and power and the whole thing has taken a rather cultish turn. Killian’s fingers tighten against her sleeve. 

“How old are you?” he asks. “And how long has your son been dead?” The rest of the frames fall off the wall. A few more lights shatter and one of the chairs not currently being occupied by someone who may actually be a hostage at this point, topples over. 

Killian arches an eyebrow. “It’s been quite some time hasn’t it? That’s what Teach said. You’d been looking for something...something that would be able to bring him back. How long has it been? How many times have you been wrong?”

“Enough,” the Darkness shouts. “We’re not talking about Baelfire yet.” “Yet.” “You’ve already been dead once, I wouldn’t try to push my luck. Not when you’re standing so close to your own personal noose.” Emma hisses, the words slamming into her like shards of glass and she actually has to look down to make sure she’s not bleeding out on the rug. She assumes neither Shakespeare nor Nemo would appreciate that. 

And she’s already done a shit job of making a good first impression. 

“What happened to my parents?” she asks. “Everything I was ever told was that they were gone, gave me up and didn’t—didn’t want me. That’s...there was no one there.” The Darkness shrugs, rocking back on his heels and his confidence appears to have returned as soon as Killian tensed at his threat. He moves, circling around the room like a goddamn vulture and the death puns really need to stop. 

Emma wishes she could sit down. 

“Some of that is true,” the Darkness concedes. “But I suppose part of the reason there was no one there had to do with me. And, well, as the dead man says, I’ve been looking for something that will fix things for quite some time.” “You’re still talking in riddles.” “And you keep interrupting. Where was I? Magic changing?” 

Emma nods, and it feels absurd, a hint of normal in a conversation that is anything but. She can see Nemo trying to unknot the rope twisted around him out of the corner of her eye. She bites her lip. 

“That’s right,” the Darkness muses. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling, a forced casualness to it that Emma couldn’t possibly hate more. “The universe is big and vast and obnoxious, Savior. It has rules and regulations and power is never given to those who really, truly deserve it. There are limitations to all magic, always some kind of price that must be paid, but there was also a rumor, about a magic that was stronger than anything else. That could defy the laws and exceed expectations. That might be able to change things that otherwise ought not to be changed.” Emma’s throat is shrinking. She’s positive. “And what was that?” “Why, True Love, of course.” “That’s impossible.” “Is it?” The argument is sitting on the tip of her tongue, begging to be made. It’s there and real and rational, a hint of normal, but Emma’s never been entirely normal and she can’t bring herself to actually say anything. 

The Darkness grins. “It’s nice when I’m right.” “What does that have to do with me, though?” Emma asks. “I’m—I’ve never seen anyone else go around waking the dead or—”

“—Being the product of True Love with her own True Love, makes the power run twice over.” It’s honestly a miracle she hasn’t fallen over once during this conversation. In the grand scheme of almost victories and emotional upheavals, Emma might be most proud of that one, particular thing. Her knees feel like they’re made of granite at this point. 

“Excuse me?” she breathes, and Ruby might try and laugh at her poor attempt at polite. 

The Darkness stops walking. “What part of that was confusing?” “Well...I mean, all of it?” “Ah, this is why it would have been better to find you earlier, Savior. You’d get your answers, I’d get my boy and we’d rule the cosmos.”

Emma still doesn’t fall over. She makes the single most ridiculous noise in the history of any noise made by any living organism, but she doesn’t actually fall over. She does, however, sag slightly, a rush of oxygen and emotion and hair in her eyes. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Emma breathes, voice turning manic and she’s started looking for escape routes and windows to jump out of. 

She’s fairly certain they can’t outrun the Darkness. 

The Darkness shakes his head in frustration. They are all in desperate need of haircuts. “It’s growing incredibly difficult to spell out every single thing to all of you,” he sighs. “There was a rumor, of a magic that was going to change everything, a strength that had previously never been seen and, very likely, would never be seen again. It was a convergence of everything, a happy accident that could change the fates with a flash of her fingers. And, well, I regret to tell you, Savior that, at first, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You thought it was my parents.” “I did. That kind of love, oh—” He lets out a low whistle, shivering exaggeratedly and Emma has to bite down on both of her lips to stop herself from doing something foolish. “It was potent,” the Darkness continues. “Like a field of flowers and sunshine and all those particularly good things. Nauseating, if not useful. They loved each other and they loved you. And I believed if I was able to bottle that, then I’d be able to bring my boy back.” “It didn’t work, though.” “Obviously not,” he growls, and Emma doesn’t think she imagines how his teeth have been growing sharper every time he flashes them. “I’d never dealt in True Love before. It was intoxicating, that kind of power and the rush of what I could do. But it was also volatile and it knew that I was, well, not of the same cloth shall we say.” “You’re talking about it like it’s alive,” Killian says. The accusation in his voice is obvious and the Darkness laughs softly at it. 

“Because it is. Magic is a living, breathing entity that’s part of everyone in possession of it. The people are alive, why shouldn’t the magic be?” Emma considers that for a moment, loathe to admit that it makes more sense than just about any of the shit the guy has been spewing. She’s never been entirely sure what happened that made her this, but ever since that first moment on the other side of the street, she’s been aware of it, of the hum beneath her skin, the rush in her veins and the buzzing in her ears that roars to life every single time Killian glances her direction. 

The Darkness makes another noise of triumph. 

“Oh, this is going to work,” he says, sounding as if he’s half talking to himself again and possibly doing his best to psych himself up. “Where was I?” “You’re a shit story teller,” Killian hisses. He’s moved again, turning his back on the villain and staring at Emma with a look that’s different and the same as all the other ones, treading a line that feels impossibly important. His lips twitch slightly. 

“And you’re incredibly rude, dead man.” “Did you kill my parents?” Emma asks. She reaches out again, more instinct and want and less-than-good adjectives, but she swears she can feel the warmth radiating off Killian and he feels so goddamn alive, she’s got to make sure he’s real. 

“Not on purpose.” “I’m not sure the universe gives a fuck about that.” Emma jerks her head towards him, almost prepared for the slink of a smile that moves across his face. “I suppose you’re right,” the Darkness shrugs. “It wasn’t my intention to kill them. That would have been foolish. I wasn’t sure how any of this was going to work, why would I use my entire magic supply in one fell swoop?” Her stomach leaps into her throat as soon as the weight of those words settle into every single corner of her brain and the sob that wracks through Emma’s entire body hurts more than those metaphorical glass shards from a few minutes before. 

She can’t catch her breath, feels like she’s run several marathons and sprinted up and down the hill on the other side of town. Her vision swims in front of her, black spots appearing in her eye line and everything feels as if it’s flipped over and then being kicked for good measure. 

And it’s everything she’s always feared, the deepest, darkest worries in the deepest, darkest corners of her, the certainty that someone, eventually, would find her and keep her and make sure they wring every last bit of magic out of her, until there was nothing left, just a shall of a something that maybe belonged to someone at some point. 

“It was admittedly a little frustrating when they went and died like that,” the Darkness mutters, no trace of actual remorse in the words. 

Emma isn’t sure who tries to move quicker. 

Ruby kicks at the goon closest to her, drawing a hiss of pain out of him when it appears her heel has actually made him bleed. Her eyes are no more than slits, but the anger is practically reverberating around her, and Nemo has gotten rid of the knots twisted around his wrists with relative ease. 

He slams his right fist into the face that lunges towards him. There’s a crack of skin and skin and more yelling, something that sounds like a jaw snapping and Emma can’t stop shivering. Shakespeare doesn’t bother undoing anything. He just stands up with the chair still strapped to him, swinging it around like it’s an actual weapon and managing to take down three men twice his size in the process. 

Killian, for his part, hasn’t moved away from Emma – or turned back around to the scene that’s dissolved into absolute chaos behind him. He drags his hands over her jacket-covered arms, scrunching fabric under his fingers and she can’t blink, can’t look away or breathe or do anything except tilt her head up and try and remember that there's something good and something to believe in and it’s not the right moment, is the absolute worst moment, but there might not be another moment and—

“I love you,” Emma whispers, barely loud enough to hear herself. She knows Killian does. 

The force of his smile is so strong she swears it settles into the pit of her stomach and the base of her heels, a weight that doesn’t threaten to yank her down, but steadies her and calms her and his grip on her arms tightens slightly. 

Like he’s making sure she’s there too. 

Killian’s eyes flutter, Emma’s nails digging into her palms again to stop herself from tracing her thumb over the scar on his cheek. He doesn’t sigh, but he might exhale, letting go of something that might just be everything and—

“Thank God,” he mutters. “I love you. I can’t...I can’t remember when I didn’t.” Emma’s relief is wrong. It’s out of place and ill-timed, but that could probably be the subhead of her life at this point and she needed him to know. 

At least once. 

And she doesn’t realize at first, can’t hear anything over the rush of magic and belief, but then Ruby yells her name and some goon slams his foot into her stomach and everything that might have been good suddenly comes crashing down. 

Literally. 

Another lamp falls over 

“I’d hate to interrupt and I really do loathe rehashing plot points, but I do love being right,” the Darkness says, slow and measured and so victorious Emma is certain it will be the reason she can’t ever get the goosebumps off her arms. “Now, none of you are going to try that again are you?” he asks, glancing back over his shoulder at the re-tied rope and upright chairs. 

There are tears on Ruby’s cheeks. 

“I’d hate to have to take steps,” the Darkness adds. “Savior, please tell your friends not to distract me again.” Emma swallows back the lump of emotion sitting in the middle of her throat. She tries to take a step towards Ruby, but two different goons move into her space and they must be multiplying somewhere. Maybe they’re actually clones. 

Magic clones make sense at this point. 

“It’s ok,” she whispers, a lie that makes even more tears spring to her eyes. She must be close to setting a record. “It’s...we’re going to be ok.” The Darkness hums in agreement. “There, now that that’s settled. Let’s get back to the task. True Love, dead parents, a missing baby who just...disappeared as soon as I turned my back.” “What?” 

“I genuinely do not know how to make that any clearer.” “Your magic, love,” Killian mumbles. “You must have...have you ever teleported before?”

She gapes at him. “Are you serious?” “I have no idea, at this point.”

“It’s entirely possible that you did,” the Darkness says. He’s stopped walking, perched instead on the top of the slightly ornate couch in the corner of the room. Every kick of his legs out makes Emma grit her teeth. “As I said, your magic is quite a bit different than mine. It might not have appreciated being, well, targeted like that. Although it did set us on this path now.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “And what path is that?” “I need your magic, Savior. The same magic that was prophesied as the strongest of any magic the world has ever seen. You see, it’s taken a very long time to make sure that that happened, but your little display with the dead man helps explain it.” “Why did Killian have to die? That’s...that’s the one part I can’t figure out.” “That’s the one part you can’t figure out?” Killian mutters, grunting slightly when Emma steps on his foot. His grin is absurd. It makes it easier to breathe. 

God. 

“You met Cora again recently, yes?” the Darkness asks, Emma nodding before he’s finished the question. “Then you know that our former Madam Mayor had quite a talent. She could see what people wanted and was particularly good at discerning those with other abilities. I’d almost given up on finding you, Savior. I’d been searching for so long and, well, it’s not as if True Love happens every day. In fact, your parents are the last case I’ve found until today.” Emma’s knees finally give up. 

She crashes to the ground in a heap, a twist of limbs and Killian’s distinct inability to hold onto her when she moves. The tears on her cheeks feel as if they’re burning their way down her skin.

Killian’s head snaps towards her, eyes wide and that same pleading look from before. As if he’s desperate for more confirmation or more magic and Emma is loath to realize she can’t bring herself to produce either.  

She feels drained and exhausted and the Darkness is still talking. 

“Is that surprising?” he asks lightly, another leg kick that ends with his boot ripping the back of the couch. “I’m honestly a little disappointed in myself that I didn’t realize from the very beginning. As soon as I got to this charming little hamlet, it was obvious. The feel of it. It hangs here, like a blanket. But, as they say, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself and, well, I trusted Cora. That was foolish of me.” “Is that why you killed her?” Emma rasps, voice scratching its way out of her. 

The Darkness quirks his lips. “It was certainly part of the reason. A large part. Cora was positive that Mr. Jones had magic. She told me he was desperate to leave this life behind, couldn’t stand to be holed up in this house for a moment long and, oh—” He glances at the stunned expressions on Nemo and Shakespeare’s faces, another smile and press of his tongue against his cheek. It’s disarming, the confidence there and the evil that makes the word evil seem less absurd in context. 

“Touchy subject, isn’t it?” Killian can’t seem to decide where to move. He wobbles on his feet, jerking between Emma, still on the floor, and his uncles, still tied up in their own goddamn chairs. His hand shakes when he reaches up to tug on his hair. 

“That’s not,” he starts, but the rest of the sentence gets caught in his mouth. “I’m so sorry.” “Can I get back to my story?” the Darkness asks lightly, and Emma doesn’t think before she reacts. She throws her hand out, swiping it through air that suddenly feels a bit like soup and the rush that flashes through her veins is as overwhelming as it is intoxicating. 

She’s got no idea what she’s trying to accomplish, only knows that she has to do something, anything, and Killian’s strangled Emma as soon as it happens seems to slink down her spine. Right next to the promises and the guarantees and that one, particular smile. 

Emma’s never actually seen a body fly across a living room that’s decorated well enough to belong in several different magazines and someone gasps when the Darkness slams into the far wall. It might be her. She might gasp. 

The Darkness laughs. 

Loudly. 

He stays down for a moment, shoulders shaking until he lifts himself up, sitting cross legged on the floor with his chin resting on his fingers. It’s ridiculous. 

“Power,” he says simply. “And it was never the dead man’s.” “Explain that,” Emma demands. She doesn’t remember standing, but her knees crack with the effort of it and there’s sweat pooling at the base of her spine. 

“Cora was wrong. Well, not entirely wrong, but not entirely right. You’ve always had magic, Savior. The power of your parent's True Love passed onto you. And that would have made you a valuable ally. But then you ended up here, in this town and in that house, with this very specific house across the street. 

“You grew up and you believed and you trusted and you fell in love didn’t you? You didn’t know what that would mean, but you were only a child, so I suppose it’s an acceptable naiveté. It festered in you and grew, every single time you were here and every single time you promised. That’s why it’s stronger in some places than others in this town. This house, the hill—oh, it’s rife with magic, that sort of thing always leaves a mark behind.” “You’re avoiding the answer,” Emma accuses. Her fingers twist at her side, something that feels like actual sparks shooting out the ends. 

The Darkness shakes his head. “I’m prefacing. There’s a difference. I’d hate for the dead man to accuse me of pitiful storytelling again. Your magic grew here, Savior and it latched onto the subject of your own True Love. That’s what Cora felt. That exchange and that want. It took root in him, even after you were gone.

“She believed that the dead man could do a job for me. Use his magic to help me retrieve a water that would bring my boy back. I needed magic to transport that water, and then if it didn’t work, I had his True Love power. Of course none of that was true, and the dead man was a stubborn fool.”

Emma sighs again, not sure where to look. She hates that it makes sense. She hates that she wants it to make sense even more, but she’s been on some kind of greedy kick over the last few days and a mythical, magical connection with Killian would almost be reassuring. 

The floor creaks when he moves. 

“Something about the sun, probably,” he mutters, and Emma’s laugh isn’t really that. It’s an exhale of disbelief and the absolute opposite of that. 

“Orbiting or whatever.” “It’s really not helping my non-stalker claim.” “Yeah, I’m kind of almost ok with that.” “That’s good news.” They really are very good at flirting at the most inopportune times. And the Darkness is standing up again, moving across the room with measured steps and a hint of magic that casts a shadow on the edge of Emma’s vision. 

“He’s a bit like a puppy dog, isn’t he?” the Darkness asks, and Emma doesn’t miss the acid there. He may be right and True Love may be a real thing that can alter the fate of the cosmos, but the villain of the story is very clearly starting to grow impatient with all of them. “Following you around as easily as if there’s a leash there. Doesn’t that bother you, dead man? It’s made all of this almost too easy.”

Emma lowers her brows in confusion, startled by the distinct lack of consistency in this conversation. Killian flinches, grimacing in something that might be pain. 

Of the excruciating variety. 

“Hey, hey,” Emma says, already drifting dangerously close to desperation. “What’s happening right now? Hey, look at me.” She can see every one of his teeth when he shifts his head, the cords of his neck standing out and the pinch of his forehead will probably last weeks. 

Emma hopes they have weeks. She’s suddenly not so sure. 

“C’mon, look at me,” Emma presses. She rests her hands on his chest, pulse racing under like it’s trying to prove a point. 

He might shake his head, but it’s difficult to tell, everything coming to some kind of metaphorical head and the Darkness is frustratingly silent. Emma’s eyes drag across his face, trying to find something or a clue and she can’t believe she just thought the word clue, even in her head. 

She gasps when Killian moves, wrapping his fingers around the end of his left arm and Emma wishes she’d stop just realizing things. 

It’s jarring. 

Particularly when the villain of the story has stopped being silent and started laughing again and he’s definitely taken lessons from comic books. 

“Magic,” Emma mumbles. Killian still hasn’t opened his eyes. And the Darkness is getting stronger – metaphorically and literally and it’s hard to see her own hand on Killian’s shirt. 

“Leaves a mark,” the Darkness says. His skin glitters in the shadows, a hint of light that doesn’t do much to help the twist of Emma’s internal organs. “I’d imagine feeling the loss of one’s hand when one isn’t, in fact, dead would be rather traumatic.”

He moves his eyebrows, letting them fly up towards his hairline and Emma has no idea what to do next. Her own magic feels like it’s fizzling out in her right foot. “What say you, dead man?” the Darkness continues. “Does it hurt a little bit?” There’s a muffled groan, but Emma isn’t sure if it comes from Killian or one of his uncles and she has to lean back when his head drops forward. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Emma chants. She also wishes she could stop lying. “Just look at me. I’m right here. You’re fine.” She casts a glance towards Ruby, not sure what she’s looking for but the edge Emma suddenly finds herself perched on feels perilously steep. Ruby does her best to mumble something against the gag, jerking her shoulders and twisting her head until the fabric falls to her chin. 

She’s definitely kicked another goon in the process. 

“God, shit, fuck,” Ruby hisses, and Shakespeare may actually snicker. “Why’d you cut off his goddamn hand? Jeez, Em, the question is obvious.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’ve been a little busy.” “Yeah, yeah, sure. Hey, over here, Dark One—” “—You know, I do have a name,” the Darkness quips, easy as ever, but Emma is far too busy trying to avoid as much of Killian as she can to be bothered with it. 

“Yeah, I genuinely do not care. Why’d you have to cut off his hand? Wasn’t he already dead?”

“Oh yes, exceedingly dead. Six feet under, metaphorically speaking. As dead as a doornail. One foot in the grave. Several other clichés. But I needed to know why Cora was wrong. I could feel it you know, when I saw him, the magic—” “—Wait, you felt it?” Emma snaps. The Darkness smirks at her. 

“I wouldn’t have trusted Mr. Teach with a task quite that critical. After all, the water was gone and I still wasn’t sure where to find you, Savior. But then Mr. Teach summoned me and what did I find? A man with True Love magic practically percolating off him and, well, True Love has to work both ways, doesn’t it? So I took a little souvenir. It’s been a rather expansive plan, dearie, I’d think you’d almost be impressed.”

“Only if you explain it.” The Darkness’ eyes, well...darken, and Emma can feel her own magic react to that, a pleasant return, although the power she can tell is simmering in the pit of her stomach isn’t particularly good. It’s anger and something drifting closer to hatred and she wants to do something, wants to destroy and ruin and— “Emma,” Killian breathes. He’s still bent awkwardly in front of her, hair hanging in the minimal space between them, and his voice is barely that, but his fingers reach for her and that may be something. 

Or everything. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to...we’re going to figure it out, babe. It’s going to be fine.”

He makes a noise at the endearment that she absolutely, positively was not planning on saying, although, to be fair, she also wasn’t planning on telling him she loved him, so Emma can’t be all too frustrated with her own subconscious. It felt kind of nice to say anyway. 

“Don’t,” he says, a contradiction she doesn’t entirely understand. “Please.” Oh. She understands. 

And the shadows on the floor are getting longer – she’s positive. 

“I’m not leaving,” Emma promises. “Right here. I’m staying right here. No more running. I wouldn't. Not...we’re going to be ok, right?”

She means it as a confirmation, but it sounds like she’s double checking too. Killian grimaces. HIs hair is matted to his forehead, moisture on his cheeks that may be sweat or tears and Emma’s fingers tingle. 

“It hurts.” “I know it does. I know. I…” Emma’s head snaps around, trying to find something, anything, that will help but the Darkness is back on the couch and the goons are moving closer to them and she’s only like sixty-seven percent positive Ruby is trying to untie Nemo. 

Killian cries out, a flash of pain that Emma feels in every inch of her. His eyes fly open, not quite clear and not quite looking at her and something is very, very, inextricably wrong. 

He stumbles, wobbling on his feet as his knees buckle under him and Emma takes another step back, twisting her arms behind her. One of his uncles tries to move, but there are more punches thrown and Ruby’s heels should be marked as their own brand of weaponry and the tears on Killian’s cheeks feel as if they’re branding themselves on Emma’s soul. 

“What the hell is happening right now?” she demands. 

The Darkness giggles. Honestly. It’s a giggle and it’s horrible and horrendous and some other words that starts with the letter ‘h.’ 

Hopping off the couch, his feet barely making any noise on the carpet. They’re going to have to buy a new carpet. This one is probably marked or something now. 

And the shadows have started creeping up the wall. 

Emma can hear her pulse hammering in her ears as the Darkness moves towards her, slow measured steps that don’t match up to the sneer on his face. She ignores that for a moment, dropping to her knees instead to try and work her way back into Killian’s eye line. She can’t – his head is pressed against the floor, body taut with tension and an impossibly straight spine, a few noises every other second that sound like complete and utter agony. 

“It’s not real,” Emma says, another lie or promise she can’t keep and she doesn’t mean to gasp when he looks up at her. 

The expression there doesn’t make any sense. It’s not hatred, it’s more, the opposite of everything she’d felt during impossibly out-of-place declarations. The blue in his eyes has turned nearly black, everything a hint darker than it was a moment before. 

“You left.” Emma swallows, terror climbing up every one of her vertebrae and taking root at the base of her spine. Her eyes are ridiculously dry. It’s probably because she can’t remember the last time she actually blinked. 

“You left,” Killian says again, voice not quite as gruff as it had been. “You left. You said you wouldn’t and you did. You never came back.” “Killian, I…” “No, no, no, you left. You said you’d come back and you never did and then it was too late and everything got so quiet. It all stopped. Like I stopped. Just...drifting on waves.” Emma’s breath is coming in pants, not doing much to help the sting in her lungs and the possible crack forming in her heart. There are still tears on Killian’s face, falling over skin and into the scruff of a beard that’s become almost familiar and oddly comforting in the last few days. 

God, she wants to touch him. 

She wants to kiss him and fix this and stop whatever the hell is causing that look on his face. 

Like he hates her. 

Like he knows she’s wrong. 

“It got so quiet,” he whispers. “It was...I knew it was wrong and I...it was too late and I…” Killian trails off, face contorted in pain again. Emma’s hand darts out, a mistake and an instinct and those two words don’t seem like they should go together. 

The Darkness clicks his tongue. 

“I think,” he starts slowly, feet moving in front of Emma’s outstretched fingers, “what the dead man is trying to say is that he thought of you in his final moments. Isn’t that interesting? Some would almost say romantic.”

She doesn’t stand up easily, which is a little frustrating because Emma assumes the hero of the story should be able to support her own weight, literally and metaphorically, but she eventually gets back to her feet, rolling her shoulders and shaking her hair onto her back. 

It’s fake confidence, a mask and another, slightly more necessary, lie. And she knows she’s not fooling anyone, but she doesn’t have another plan and—

“Why’d you take his hand?” The Darkness laughs. “I needed it.” “Why?” “Several reasons. The first, and most important, was to find you. As I said, I could practically taste that magic. Sweet on my tongue as soon as I set foot on that deck. It almost made the blood less obvious.”

Emma bites on her lip to stop herself from making any noise – and the peanut gallery is doing enough of that anyway, low curses and louder grunts and Ruby’s taken one of her heels off, swatting at goon hard enough that it will definitely leave a mark. 

“There was quite a lot of blood, Savior,” the Darkness adds, nodding towards her like he wants to make sure she’s still a rapt audience. “Did you know that True Love magic has a tendency to focus itself in certain locations?” Emma shakes her head. She thinks she shakes her head. She’s not entirely sure how she’s still standing. “It does,” the Darkness guarantees. “Settles into something that’s of relative importance to the person. Of course, that’s usually the heart, but occasionally, it’s something else.” “And I couldn't take the dead man’s heart. People knew he’d left Storybrooke. He still had a family and Cora...oh Cora. She’d made so many mistakes, she severely limited my options. Luckily for her, there was another spot that felt particularly magical, maybe even more than the heart. I was pleasantly surprised.”

Emma falls over. 

It’s disappointing. 

So I can hold your hand. 

“His hand,” she mumbles, and the Darkness honest to God winks at her. 

“His hand. Chock full of magic. To an almost absurd degree. I knew that it would lead me to the true source of the True Love magic and, well, I’ll be blunt with you Savior, I had hoped it would lead me to you. Because, still being blunt of course, holding your True Love’s hand may be your greatest undoing.” Emma is never sure what happens next. She can feel the surge of something wash over her, a snap of fingers and rush of power and every single light on the entire goddamn street goes out. 

Killian screams. 

It feels a bit like being thrown into boiling pitch, every single one of Emma’s nerve endings jolting under her skin until she’s certain she’s being ripped apart at the seams and nothing has ever felt worse. Her head is on a swivel, looking for an ally or a friend or those people from her dream that she’s fairly certain she understands now, but there’s only darkness and a hint of laughter that lingers on the edge of everything. 

She crawls forward, trying not to get too close to Killian while also getting close to Killian. 

His whole body is shaking, vibrating with pain and the distinct feeling of being alone and trapped in that house for the rest of his life. 

“Killian,” Emma breathes, but he doesn’t look at her. She’s not sure he even realizes she’s there. “Killian, please! I’m...here. I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t real. None of it is real.” “Ah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that Savior,” the Darkness contends. “Because, you see, having that little bit of the dead man in my possession has made it very easy to get, well, forgive the pun, but to get a hand on that same dead man. He’s not magic. He’s been holding onto it, trying to remember and linger in it, a hint of a memory I’m certain was very comforting in his final moments. Did you think of her when you died, dead man?” The question hangs for a moment and Emma can’t hear Killian breathing. Until she hears him speaking. “That was…” he mutters, every letter an obvious pain, “all...that was all…” “That’s what I thought,” the Darkness says. “Would you look at that, Savior? You’re right smack dab in the middle of both of the dead man’s worst moments. Losing his brother and losing himself. And now I’ve got that as well. Right in the palm of my hand. Or his hand? Ah, the specifics don’t matter.” “Speak goddamn English,” Emma shouts. 

The smile disappears. Any sense of polite disappears. And Emma sees the Darkness for what he is, just that. The villain of the story and a man who’d stop at nothing for his magic and his power and the chance to have what he’d already lost. 

“I can control him,” he says softly. “Twist those feelings, that hint of magic to my own being. That’s why he had to know what you’d done to his brother. To clear your heart and purify your magic and make him absolutely, completely mine. Because you see, Savior, True Love is a two-way street, but I’ve just washed out his side of the road. You’ll still feel it, and he’ll have wisps of it, when I let him. So you’ve got one option now. Help me, bring back my son and, occasionally, I’ll let your dead man remember you.” “Or?” “Or, I’ll spend the rest of eternity making him live this moment on loop. And I’ll take you without your permission.”

Emma scoffs. It’s ridiculous. Although she isn’t certain she’s ever been more pissed off, genuinely and completely furious, the kind that burns straight through her and lingers in her toes, so she figures it kind of, almost makes sense.

“Fuck you,” she sneers, gaze snapping back towards Killian. He can’t look at her. Emma licks her lips, mind racing and heart racing and the magic she’s apparently full of feels as if it’s crackling between every strand of her hair. “Killian,” she says, softer that time and she’s got half an idea that may work. “How often did you go to the hill? After, I mean. When it was...when you were a kid, after me, and after I left. Did you go to the hill a lot?” He winces. 

It’s honestly not the response she was hoping for. 

“There’s got to be something good, Killian,” Emma presses. The floor creaks underneath the Darkness’ feet. She assumes that’s a sign. This might work. “Some memory or some moment. It wasn’t all bad, was it?” He can barely shake his head, eyes screwed shut in pain, but his hair shifts slightly against his forehead and Emma’s laugh rattles out of her. “No,” he breathes. “It wasn’t.” “He went up there all the time,” another voice adds, and Emma looks up to find Nemo's eyes serious and gaze intent as Ruby tries to work the gag away from his chin. “Every other day at least. If we couldn’t find him, he was there.” “Yeah?” Nemo nods. “He’s got a picture of you. Stuck in the back drawer of his dresser. I know—I know he doesn’t think we realize it’s there, but, well...we knew it was there. The whole time. You’re young and you—you’re holding—” “—A stuffed animal,” Emma mutters, another nod from Nemo. 

“I won it,” Killian adds. His voice is still questionably soft, as if it’s a struggle to even open his mouth. “It was one of those fair games. Knock over the milk bottles and win a prize.” “But I thought it was fixed.” “Yelled at the guy until you turned beet red.” “I did not,” Emma argues, and she can’t believe she’s arguing with a man who’s already died and feels like he’s dying and the Darkness sounds like it’s suffocating behind her. She can see Killian’s eyes a little clearer. They’re the right shade of blue. 

He shakes his head, half a smirk and all her smile. “No, Swan. You yelled and shouted and called him a downright dirty liar and you stomped your foot.” “Yeah, that might be true.” “And he gave me another round for free.” “So you could win me a stuffed duck with a lopsided bill.” “Ah, not everything is perfect.” “It felt like it was.” Killian hums – a sound that quickly turns back into pain and Emma’s breath hitches loudly. “You still left though,” he whispers. “I never—Liam was gone and no one could ever tell me and—” “I kept those pictures too,” Emma interrupts, and the light that flares around them is practically blinding. “The duck was...I think the duck got lost somewhere between Florida and Minnesota and a string of houses, but I kept those pictures and they’re—they’re in my room. Now. I always wanted to come back. For you. Because—” She doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Eventually that will frustrate her quite a bit. Eventually that will feel like the single worst thing to ever happen to her. 

The Darkness doesn’t scream. He doesn’t roar. There’s not much more than a low growl in the back of his throat, but Emma isn’t sure she’s ever heard a more threatening noise and his eyes look almost yellow when she turns towards him. 

Not entirely of her own free will. 

She almost misses the snap of fingers, any hint of light from her or the power of True Love of whatever gone in an instant and there’s a bottle of something in his hand. It’s liquid, that much she can make out, inky black and sloshing against the side of a glass vial that looks like it came straight out of an 18th century apothecary. 

It honestly may have. Emma has no idea how old the Darkness is. 

“I’ve had enough of this,” the Darkness says, deceptively even. “You’ve clearly picked the wrong option, Savior. I’d rather not spend much more time fighting against you and that stubborn streak of yours. Luckily,” he shakes the vial and Emma swears her blood runs cold, “I’ve got enough of this to keep you on your own leash for quite some time.”

He tosses the cork carelessly over his shoulder, suddenly in front of Emma and she kind of resents that everything seems to slow. 

It makes it far too obvious that Killian is also moving. 

And that there is not a single glove in sight. 

Emma shakes her head dumbly, a mumbled no that barely makes it past her lips and if Killian is certain her hair is capable of reflecting the sun, then she can come up with some equally sentimental nonsense about his eyes – something about the ocean and waves and the suddenly peaceful moments after a storm has cleared. 

“No,” Emma murmurs again, the lump in her throat too large. Her heart feels like it’s about to explode. “Don’t, don’t—” “You came back, Swan,” Killian says. He smiles at her. And wraps his fingers around hers, jerking her closer to his side when the Darkness flips the vial of something towards Emma. 

Or where Emma was. 

The liquid misses her completely, body flat against Killian’s chest. She doesn’t move at first, can’t bring herself to know what is already there, but someone screams and she’s fairly certain it’s Ruby. 

Emma digs her teeth into her lip, and he’s already colder than she expected, but he’s also just as solid and certain as she always imagined he’d be and his eyes are closed when she sits up.

“Killian,” she whispers, dragging the tips of her fingers over the curve of his cheek. He doesn’t move. He won’t. Because Killian Jones is dead – and that’s not going to change. 

[butterbeeryuta]

chapter 2: shit colour schemes, bugs, and vegetables

This place looked nothing like hell. The moment we landed, we were placed in one luxurious apartment with a private pool and shit. How is this hell?

Purple-horn lady cleared her throat as she clasped her hands together. ‘Welcome to Hell 127. As you can see, you have a rather gorgeous apartment here, and is probably a very different image of what you thought hell was meant to look like. But that is only because humans are stupid. Keep yourselves warm and welcome, and ya’ll can call me later if you need any help, yeah?’. We all nodded at her, wanting her to leave as soon as possible. If it was not obvious enough, we wanted to have a magical vacation here in Hell 127. Imagine all the films I can watch forever, or even maybe paint forever— this is just simply amazing and irreplaceable. What she said made sense though. Maybe we are dumb because of what we perceive hell to be. From an early age, we learn that hell is a place for ‘bad people’ regardless of what your religion was. Of course, there was no possible way for living individuals to know how hell actually looks like, but damn are we brainwashed. In a matter of a second, the purple woman disappeared, and it was just us 13 embarrassed breathing-yet-not-breathing corpses.

‘Is it only me, or I really want to jump in that pool’ the girl with midnight blue hair asked. We all looked at her direction, not expecting the sudden voice to speak out. My eyes followed where she was looking, and I must say, the pool looked inviting. The clear water had pink and purple led lights shining on the edges; it was a whole disco party in a form of a pool. I love hell.

‘Didn’t you die from jumping in a pool and drowning for your Instagram feed?’ A rather deep female voice questioned.

BITCH YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT I—

The boy with caramel hair snorted at the girl’s comment, whereas Mark’s laugh filled all of our ears. I had this sudden urge to comfort the attacked girl, but I also wanted to high-five the other person for such bravery? Huh… no wonder I’m in hell. I’m just as mean as kpop stans on Twitter. Poor attacked pretty girl tightened her lips immediately, almost as if she was stopping herself from throwing an insult back. Or maybe she was just at loss of words. If it wasn’t obvious enough, I am absolutely terrible at reading people. And to think I wanted to be a psychologist. Considering we were technically going to live with each other for eternity, I had this sudden need to diffuse the tension, and being the natural leader I am since I was an art teacher for fuck’s sake—

‘Are you feeling ashamed that we all know how you died?’ A man with dark red hair asked.  My thoughts were immediately cut short when he began to speak… and now I want to choke him for interrupting me. Perhaps I have a temper problem. Perhaps. The girl nodded a ‘yes’ at him, which only made the man give her a small smile. He had a pretty smile, I’ll admit that. But that gives me more of a reason for wanting to kill him. Though, there is probably no use in doing so since we are all dead anyway and well, we’re all in hell.

‘Well, don’t feel bad. My name is Yuta, and we all had embarrassing deaths. There isn’t a need to feel ashamed or upset sweetheart—‘

‘Oh cut the crap Yuta, stop flirting with people. I’m Johnny by the way. If you think he’s a therapist or something, no he isn’t.’ A 6’0” man interrupted him, which only made the so-called Yuta glare at the tall guy.

‘Ya’ll know each other?’ I asked, which for some reason caused Mark to nudge me. I raised my left eyebrow at him, giving him a ‘what the fuck’ look, but I probably should have guessed it: the bitch actually died from embarrassment, of course he’d be nervous talking to anyone.

‘Uh, yeah. Yuta is a drug dealer, and I was his personal accountant. We died together from stupidly running away from the cops and ran straight into a wall and well… a wall killed us’ Johnny said, scratching the back of his head, clearly not proud of his death. If I thought Mark’s laughter couldn’t get louder and funnier, it just did. Naturally, everyone laughed along with him, including myself. And just like that, we all got inside, sat on the huge couch, and got to know each other’s names and how we pathetically left Mother Earth. The blue hair woman turned out to be an ‘influencer’ on Instagram based in Korea— Jung Wheein. She claimed that she already knew that influencer wasn’t an appropriate term since she just posts pictures of herself, but it gave her money nonetheless. The girl who exposed her death was Ryujin; she had short dark hair, which only added to her ‘mysteriousness’ if that made sense. She didn’t tell us her story though. All we know is that she was an international student in Germany. The man who was ‘laughing in joy’ while watching his own death was Moon Taeil. His death was probably the least embarrassing compared to all of us since it wasn’t his fault. He was riding a horse and fell off midway and well… you know the rest. The rest of the people were Rosé, Jaemin, Jungwoo, Yuna, Momo, and Donghyuck. I would like to tell you their stories, but I honestly stopped listening. This is completely irrelevant, but that Jungwoo kid has been making heart eyes to everyone and I do not know what to feel about it.

We all eventually decided to call it a day, and because hell is such a magnificent place, we all had our own rooms with our names beautifully written on the door in gold. The first floor was already beautiful itself; a huge L-shaped leather couch with a perfectly carved wooden centre table to give it that home-like touch. The kitchen was huge as well, which made Jaemin squeal in happiness because he apparently liked to cook a lot. The kitchen matched the modern theme in the living room. The greyish marble decorated the room with a touch of dark brown to further amplify the modern vibe. It was like those pictures you see in model houses. The second floor carried out the same aesthetic. The only difference was that there was one corridor with 13 doors all spread out; 6 rooms on the left, and 7 rooms on the right. This was probably the first thing I didn’t like in this paradise-hell. It’s just too narrow and crowded, but who am I to complain. After saying our good night’s to one another, I walked up to the door with my name displayed on it: ‘___________ _____________.’ Taking a deep breath, my cold hand turned the knob. 

Second biggest mistake of my life. Or afterlife per se.

What the fucking hell is this?

It was every art teacher’s nightmare. The colours of the room did not match at all, and the chosen textures of the fabrics and cloths made no sense. Who the fuck uses terrycloth, or towel cloth, as bedsheets? Who matches neon green with pale pink? And the paintings that were hanging on the room, they’re incomplete! The only good thing about this room was that I had my own poorly designed bathroom, but other than that, it made me want to go blind. Was everyone’s room like this? I left the room, not wanting to believe that I was assigned to that disastrous room. I knocked on Mark’s door to check since I technically tackled him in the plane. We have a relationship alright.  

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Nothing.

Before I could knocked on the third time, I heard a muffled sob through the door. Was he crying?

‘Mark? Can I come in?’ I softly asked, unsure if what I did was the right thing.

‘S-sure, it m-might be scary-y though s-so try not to get f-frightened’ the poor boy stuttered through his tears. Did he find the colour scheme of the bedroom to be that bad? Unsure of what to expect, I slowly opened the door and, it was nothing like my room. The room had a white and yellow colour scheme, with those glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, resembling a child’s bedroom. Nothing was scary to be honest, until I saw what type of pictures were posted on the cream walls: bugs. Mark was scared of bugs. Mark was sitting on the floor with his knees tucked towards his chest, whereas his tear-stained face was hidden in his arms. As if he was my student, I crouched down next to him as I slowly rubbed his back.

‘Mark, they’re just pictures, they won’t harm you. But if it bothers you so much, should I take them down for you?’ I gently asked as I tried to calm him down. His teary doe eyes locked with mine, and he whispered a mumbled ‘yes’ through his croaked voice. I sighed in response, returning him a nod so he knows that I will take it off. Grabbing a picture by the corner I ripp— okay wow this glue is strong. Grabbing a picture by the corner with both of my hands, I harshly took it of— why isn’t it coming off? 

‘Uh Mark, it’s not coming off’ I said, trying my best to pull it out, but it just won’t budge.

‘SOMEONE SWITCH ROOMS WITH ME WHY ARE THERE VEGETABLES ALL OVER THE PLACE THIS IS NOT COOL!’ Donghyuck shouted, which was soon followed by a shut of his door.

What the fuck is happening? 

a/n: hehehehe i’m so ready to get to the main story in. bby mark is so precious omg protect him from this world 🥺as always, if you’d like to be added in the taglist, just let me know through asks <3

taglist: @ta3ilmoon​ @lelenoir​ @murasakillmepls​ @neolights​ @anothermessedupbitch​

back to masterlist?

[starkergames]

Title: New Years Artists: @lilsoshie (Sketch), @iammagicfishhook (Lineart), @marveling-marvelous (Color) Writer: @darker-soft-starker The years will change and people will change as much as they stay the same. Some changes though, Tony finds, he really doesn’t mind.

Fic below the cut

Some things never change.

Like, being riddled with nerves whilst attending big events. 

Or, the little ticks he’s adopted to mitigate the uneasiness, like bouncing his leg up and down, firing off questions to anyone in earshot like, do you think they’ll have sushi at this thing, I have a craving. 

Or Pepper singing along to whatever is playing on the car ride over, and Morgan answering his inane questions with things like, ew, sushi.

Some things do change, though.

Like, coming back to life after five years of being dead. 

Or being delegated to the backseat next to his daughter, despite the honourable resurrection. Or having his wife remarry in the years following his death. 

You know, typical resurrection things, like realizing that the entire world and everyone you knew has changed. 

Tony’s got a thing about control. Always has. He likes to know, has to know, all of the variables. He thought he knew all of them before he snapped his fingers and prayed to the stones in his gauntlet.

Here’s the thing about infinity stones: they’re sentient. They like balance.

They’re also assholes with a perverted sense of symmetry.

Somehow, perfect balance and perfect symmetry translated into bringing Tony back to life after five years. Or, being suspended in the ether that was neither life, nor death, the holding cell between worlds. 

That was the airy-fairy, hand-wavey way that Strange explained to him. Sparkles and mystery. But Tony doesn’t remember any of it. The not being alive. One moment his heart was giving out, the next he was clawing himself out of the earth. 

That was pleasant.

Emerging dirty and naked to find he’d missed five years of his life was also a barrel of laughs. Missing five years of his daughters growth, finding out his wife had moved on? Hilarious. Best cosmic joke to have happened to him yet.

Though, Tony supposes this is how the recovered Snap victims felt, after. Chasing and chasing the years that were missed, feeling as if they will never be completely caught up.

But that was months ago, his resurrection. Reawakening. Whatever. Seven months and three and a half weeks, if he’s counting. He’d say he isn’t, but he definitely is. 

He’d used the time mostly caught up on the life of his friends and family, shed his tears. He’s lamented Steve, grieved over Natasha all over again. Wondered why the divine equilibrium didn’t include her sacrifice. 

But he’s learned to be okay. He’s living back at the re-built compound with Clint and Wanda and the old-new crowd of super-people that populate the place he used to call home. 

He doesn’t don the suit, hasn’t since he came back, worried that the moment he activates the housing unit that it will all be over, and Morgan will lose her father for the second time. 

He’s a consultant, now, for the new team. Financier. Benefactor. It’s very boring.

“You sure you want to go to this thing,” Tony says again, stretching his legs so his knees hit the driver's seat in front of him, where Peppers’ new husband sits. “You don’t want a quiet one at home? Ring in New Years with the llamas?”

“Morgan wants to go,” Pepper repeats, peering back to smile at her daughter. “Right, sweetpea?”

Beside Tony, Morgan looks up from her hand-held video game and nods vehemently, smiling brightly. Tony feels betrayed by her enthusiasm.

“Are they paying you to say that?” he leans in, whispering close to her ear. “You can tell me Morgasboard, name your price. I’ll beat it.”

His daughter flicks her gaze between her mother and Tony. She leans into her father and whispers loud enough for the entire car to hear, “Uncle Peter is going to be there. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly, nodding along, even though he knows she saw him two weeks ago. 

“Forever is a long time,” he agrees. 

That was another change that Tony feels weird and wonderful about. 

Somehow, in the time that he was six-feet-under, his former protege had become something akin to family to his daughter. Which, if he’s honest, in the years after the Snap, was the goal, the dream as he skipped through time with the Avengers, the proverbial what if that drove him to say yes that one, final time. 

Happy families, he’d thought. What else could two wayward orphans hope for?

Tony’s at least glad that Peter got that part of the deal. That Morgan got Peter. 

Even if Tony didn’t really have either, after.

“Uncle Peter could go back to the compound or the penthouse with us,” Tony offers, nudging his daughter. “You could ask DUM-E to be your new years kiss.”

“You have a speech scheduled, right, babe?” Peppers husband, Greg, cuts in. He was hired as CFO of SI three years ago and it was heart eyes at first sight, Tony is told. He watches as Greg frees one of his grubby hands from the steering wheel to reach across the console and squeeze her knee.

“Sure do,” Pepper smiles, snaking her hand down to clutch his, squeezing their fingers together. 

Tony’s not jealous. No, really. He’s adjusted, he’s over it. 

But he’s still Tony Stark, so he’s unapologetically petulant. And it’s Pepper, what kind of ex would he be if he didn’t properly field the prospects of the one woman he truly loved?

Feigning a stretch, he kicks his feet out again and jolts the driver's seat, delight welling up when Greg huffs irritatedly. Morgan giggles as if it’s some kind of game, and all the adults pretend that it is to please her. 

The unimpressed stare from his ex-wife caught through the rear-view mirror does little to dampen his satisfaction.

It’s the little wins, Tony thinks, as they pull up to the building, paparazzi huddling around the rope barriers that flank the red carpet, flashes firing through the tinted windows as they come to a stop.

Just because some things change, doesn’t mean he has to.

It’s that mentality that gets him through the dreaded, interminable walk from the car to the ballroom entrance. This is old hat, he tells himself as he waves to the crowd. You could do this with your eyes closed. God, he used to be so good at pretending to care about this kind of crap.

Reporters brandish their network-issued microphones at him, at his family. Fans shoulder against security, all of them yelling out in a cacophony of noise he might call white were it not the sound of his own name, in all of its iterations. 

Although he’d rather make a beeline straight to the ballroom he stops and greets a few fans, shakes a few hands, high-fives a few kids. After a slew of signings and selfies the comparatively calm interior of the ballroom is blissfully welcomed. The quartet supplying tunes in the far corner is a reprieve. 

So is the way that Pepper clutches Greg’s hand and leads him away at the same time Morgan clutches Tony’s. She looks back and says, be good. Tony doesn’t know if she’s directing it to him or their daughter.

Socialites swan around them, but Tony just looks down at his daughter and smiles. He squeezes her tiny fingers.

“You wanna dance, Morgarita?”

Her serious expression turns gleeful as she drags him to the centre of the room to dance without a shred of shyness. 

She’s a lot like she was before he died. Smart and mischievous, cute as a button. But she’s markedly different, caught in that pre-teen phase where she’s gaining modicums of independence. Tony’s getting used to not needing to make all her meals or do her hair for her. He kinda misses it.

Little things. It’s always the little things.

She’s taller now, too. That was a change, to have his daughters head rest against his chest when she hugs him. She’s too tall to be picked up, too proud when Tony offers. So she wraps her arms around his midsection and they sway together on the dancefloor. 

Only a few couples are dancing. The night is still young. But, like anything in high society, it’s all smoke and mirrors. 

Which means most guests are mingling, telling each other how beautiful and fabulous they are, filling the room with so much re-circulated pomp and hot air the room is practically a hotbox.

Of course it’s a business event as much as it is a philanthropic one, so not even Tony can avoid the inevitable schmoozing that comes along with it. When Morgans tired feet demand a break they seek out seats and snacks - and they too, are sought out.

To his ire, associates come and go like a conveyor belt to shake his hand, politicians and socialites thank him for reversing the Snap, the Blip, the Click, the Dusting, all of the stupid names and his daughter is sitting right there, growing more and more morose at each mention of the worst thing that ever happened to her.

So Tony looks down at his daughter, mid conversation with a senator and says, “Hey, sweet child of mine, wanna go to the dessert table?”

She perks up at that and is off like a rocket to the other side of the room where swathes of mouth-watering sweets are spread over an eighteen foot table. 

Tony follows her beeline without saying goodbye to the senator, mentally rubbing his hands together at the grub. He’s sure he will pay for directing his daughter to a trove of sugar and hyperactivity. But desperate times. 

Who is he kidding. He’s going to need all the sweet stimulation he can possibly consume to get through this shit-show himself. 

When he catches up Morgan already has chocolate smeared on her lips. Fancy desserts perch daintily upon gold lined plates, on tiered stands. Thin streams of velvety, liquid chocolate trickle out of apex fountains, flakes of edible gold cover the setting.

She points excitedly with messy fingers to the ones she wants Tony to try. He should resist, right? He’s really isn’t supposed to eat dairy. That, along with his faulty levels of serotonin, was something the all powerful stones failed to fix. Which was really just plain lazy, if you ask him. 

But he spies a flamboyant looking fruit-pastry and thinks, fuck it.

Then he sees a yellow-treat that makes his mouth water and thinks, I can work it off tomorrow.

He reaches over and crams an entire portugese egg tart in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Morgan laughs, tipping her neck back in unbridled delight.

“Do it again!” she says, bouncing on her feet.

He does. And then again, and again.

Which is how Peter Parker finds him no more than ten minutes later.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony nearly chokes in his haste to chew and swallow the pastry when Peter swans into view, dressed to the nines and grinning a mile wide. He hears Morgan gasp delightedly beside him, running off to catch up with the younger man while Tony tries not to quietly asphyxiate.

Swallowing roughly, Tony gives him a thumbs up.

Several feet away, Morgan throws her gangly arms around Peter. She buries her head into his chest, just like she does with Tony, brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she embraces him tightly. Peter settles his arms around her neck and leans down to kiss the crown of her head, whispering something to hear that Tony can’t hear.

There’s a weird pang somewhere behind his ribs at the sight. 

He swipes his half-empty flute of champagne and downs the remainder in one gulp to cover it. 

“Mr. Parker,” Tony greets, rocking on his feet when his daughter and former protege walk back to him hand-in-hand. “Didn’t know you owned a suit in your size.”

The younger man holds his free arm out, twisting it to test the fit. It’s a grey suit with a maroon dress-shirt, tailored to perfection. It looks new.

Peter smiles. The action has creases forming at the corners of his eyes; a small, subtle nod to the years Tony missed. Gone is all of his baby fat, his face angular and defined. He holds himself with more self-assuredness, even now. 

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter grew up handsome. 

Worse, he grew up to be Tony’s type.

“Oh, this? I didn’t pick it - but it’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. You, uh,” Tony swallows roughly, eyeing the man from head to toe. “You look good. You clean up well, kid.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at the compliment. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You - you too. You look... good. Really good.”

Peter meets his gaze, his cheeks a furious shade of pink. 

The motion of the room slows as he watches the sparkle reach Peter’s eyes. Everything in his peripherals becomes dull, unfocused. His own heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest and his sure his face is doing something without his permission. 

Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stepping closer. 

Now, Tony thinks, staring at Peter’s face, the earnest smile still tugging at his lips. Now is the time he would say something to curdle the mood. 

Peter being a full-fledged, rent-paying adult adult is new. Being on an even footing with Tony as a person and a professional is new. There’s so much new about him that Tony still has to learn.

There’s plenty that has stayed the same. His soft-spoken, courteous nature, his ethics.

But Tony can read the unfamiliar in Peter’s posture as much as he does the carefully curated vocabulary, how he stops himself from stammering into subjects he might have stepped into, before. The barely-there lines of age around his eyes, the confident squaring of his shoulders. 

And how Tony finds that his imperfect teeth compliment the ever-wayward hairs of his eyebrows - and how all of it, all of Peter, is now somehow charming, rather than awkward.

“How have you been, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling forward

“Good,” Tony says, lips stretching onto the first genuine smile of the night. He’d try to tug those corners down, were it not for the infectious way Peter’s mouth does the same. “You?”

“Good, yeah. Super busy.”

“That’s good. Good to keep busy, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “It is good. Keeping busy. And how are you? -- Wait, shit, sorry, I already asked that.”

“This one keeps me going,” Tony tugs on a lock of Morgan's hair, taking mercy on him. “You been too busy to see the news about Spider-Man? I know you’re a fan.” 

Peter steps closer again, clasping his hands behind his back, smiling coyly as those around them perk up in interest.

“Which news?”

“Taking down Kingpins empire. Fisk behind bars.” 

“Oh, I think I heard something about that.”

Tony nods.

“What a guy. New York’s never looked cleaner. Although, take that from a guy who hasn’t seen the city for five years.”

“That’s some high praise,” Peter says, wringing his hands together as he nears. 

“He’s a hero,” Tony looks to his daughter. With an affirmative nod of dark hair she concurs.

“I think he’s just a regular guy,” Peter huffs, snorting when Morgan giggles knowingly.

Before Tony can inch closer, maybe to do something impulsive like what his hands have been itching to do and grip the lapels of Peter’s suit jacket, the moment is broken by a nearby cry.

“Peter! There you are!”

Sweat beading along his receding hairline, a heavy arm slung over Peter’s shoulders, Otto Octavius swims into view, nodding politely at Tony and Morgan.

“You’re a slippery one, Parker,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

“Otto, this is --”

“ -- Got some guys that want to meet you,” Octavius interrupts, thick fingers squeezing Peters bicep. He leans in and and whispers in a way Tony is sure is meant to be discreet, “They’re keen to meet the brains behind the project; come say hi.”

Another change Tony never counted on was the trajectory Peter’s life took after his passing. 

Peter never went to MIT like Tony had dreamed for him. He went to Empire State University.

Pepper informed Tony that she in fact had reached out prior to his graduation and offered him a position. But Peter had declined. He hadn’t said why, but he’d chosen to work under Otto Octavius at Octavius Industries instead. 

One thing that Tony learned in his short time back in the land of the living was that Otto was infamously proud of his new employee and favoured immensely. 

It’s what Tony would have wanted for Peter, really. Doing what he loves, being given the respect his intellect and kind heart deserves. He seems to be happy and all grown up. As if Tony needs the reminder.

It’s just that Otto was always an insufferable do-gooder. Save the trees, save the bees. ALl noble notions that Tony agrees with - but Otto is like the human personification of a PETA ad. He’d never been a fan of Tony’s, even after he reformed, literally. 

Still, do-gooder or not. There’s something about him. Something that Tony doesn’t like. Just a vibe he has. He’s got good instincts after all of these years and he knows he’s got a solid hunch. There’s something about that man, he knows it.

It’s got nothing to do with the proprietary hand Otto has on Peters shoulder, like the younger man is just a thing to show off. Or how Tony wanted to be the one doing that.

It’s got nothing to do with the way Peter’s suit perfectly fits his frame, or how the maroon and grey compliments his clear, milky skin.

It’s definitely not related to the way Tony’s heart beats just a little bit faster when Peter is in the room.

Yeah.

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Peter smiles apologetically at the Starks, eyes softening at Morgans pout. “I won’t be long, you owe me a dance little miss, remember?”

Tony waves dismissively at him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiters tray. He swallows another generous mouthful, bubbles burning on their way down. 

With Morgan munching on a gold flaked cheesecake at his side, Tony watches as the young hero is led away. Otto’s hand on his back, guiding him to make nice with some university hacks. Five years ago Peter would have fumbled through these introductions. He would have gone bright red and blurted some weird factoid to make conversation. 

But he’s polished now, Tony watches. Not perfect, but his posture says confident adult, not awkward teenager, like the last time he wore a suit around Tony. This suit really does fit him like a glove. His handshake looks strong, too. Firm.

Were Peter’s hands always that big? 

Tony sips his champagne, observing the girth of his former mentee’s fingers. It’s not until he feels the burn of Morgans stare on the side of his face that he breaks his gaze.

“What,” he says.

She points a chocolate covered finger at his face. 

“You know how I feel about people holding up one finger at me. If you’re gonna do it, it should be the middle one.”

“You like him.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I like him. He’s your Uncle Pete.”

“No, dad, you like like him. You want to be his boyfriend.”

“What -- I do not,” Tony says, casting her an incredulous stare.

“You do. You want to marry him,” she says, scrunching up her face and making kissy noises. 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.”

“I --” he huffs, gesturing to the room at large as his words run away from him. “Do not. I’m the adult. You’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. Case closed.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, here,” he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and slips a crumpled fifty out. He waves it in her face. “Take this and never speak about it again.”

“Can I speak about it to mom?”

He slips out another fifty and hands it to her.

“No.”

She smiles, neatly folding the notes and tucking it into her little bag. Tony stuffs another tart down his throat, knowing he’s been played.

She really is his kid.

----

It’s not that Tony doesn’t know.

He knows.

It’s familiar after decades of experience. That weird feeling he gets. The fluttering of his heart, the topsy-turvy motion in his stomach, were he any younger he might call them butterflies.

He just doesn’t get it.

There’s a lot of things that were jarring when he awoke, soil under his fingernails as he tore through the earth in the desperate search for oxygen. He remembers waking up, confused and naked, body restored to the moment before he snapped his fingers. He remembers stumbling onto a rebuilt compound, unable to speak, learning that the entire world had moved on and changed without him.

With FRIDAY as his guide Tony had seen all of the monuments and the altars in his name, fresh bouquets propped against them, even years after his death. The adoration and the glorification immortalised in murals and statues, in grants in his name, in tell-all books. 

They’d even made a shitty movie about his life. 

The actor who played him was too short and the woman who played Pepper wore a wig. It was funny. Not like, funny haha, but funny in that uncanny, meta photo-within-a-photo kind of way.   

But when Peter had come to the compound that first time and they talked after they both finished crying -- it was different. And every time after, it was different. 

It was… awkward. At first, they didn’t know how to be around each other, automatically falling into old molds of mentor and protege. It was almost immediately clear that their old roles weren’t going to work -- too much between them had altered to fit back into the old model. 

They needed to recalibrate, and quickly.

Their dynamic did change. If Tony thought about it long enough, innocently enough, he might dare to call it a friendship.

He would, but there was that feeling in his chest. Beat, beat, bang.

It was a work in progress, to reconcile the flutter in his stomach with the Peter now, with the Peter that was, before. A man who had lost all his baby fat, who was old enough to have colourful stories and a wealth of life experience, who had remarkably broad shoulders looked damn good holding a wrench.

It was the hands. 

They looked very dexterous. Capable.

But that didn’t stop him from spiraling into deep, existential pockets of despair as he wondered if the stones really thought it was best to revive him so he could actively thirst over someone he used to be responsible for. 

Peter is barely fifteen years older than his daughter. He’s lost count how many real and missing years are between them now between death and the Snap. Five a piece.

He can’t tell his road-runner heart if that’s better or worse, though. 

But, too high on the adrenaline of seeing Peter, he forgets to tell his body to stop, to remind his stupid heart that this one is not available. 

----

Sometime after eleven the gala is in full swing. The mood perks right up in anticipation of the New Year.  

Most of the remaining guests are pleasantly tipsy by this point, if not outright drunk. All of the stirring speeches have been made, Peppers included. 

Tony tried to listen, however got distracted by - well, anything. But the effort was there. Something about giving and starting the year fresh, clean slates. 

The relaxed atmosphere has more couples dancing on the floor. The Mayor and his wife stumble over each other, moguls and A-Listers mingle and take selfies against attractive backdrops. 

Even Morgan grew tired of Tony’s ornery approach to the evening, departing with a kiss to his cheek to dance with her mother.

Tony forgets, sometimes. That people expect something of him, something more. Like his resurrection was divine intervention, and if the universe intended him to be here, surely it was for a purpose higher than acting like a morose old man, hiding in the corners of ballrooms.

It’s just. He doesn’t know where his place is anymore.

Norman Osborne stops by to crow about his latest achievements, his contract with the NYPD to provide surveillance towers all over the city. Tony’s seen them. They’re hard to miss.

“Design’s a little archaic, don’t you think? Not very discreet. A pettier man would say you were overcompensating for something.”

He’s not really paying attention as he’s speaking, too distracted by the debacle before him. 

Harry Osborn and Peter dance together in the centre of the room, leaned in close to one another and snickering at what the other has said. 

They look loose and comfortable around one another, as if they were old friends. Or something else.

Peter leans in close to Harry’s ear to whisper something, the flush on his face creeping down his neck. In one swift movement Tony throws back the rest of his champagne, wishing the liquid would drown him, stomach turning to cement.

Whatever Norman says in response goes unheard. 

With the crowd dispersed, Peter catches Tony’s eye and waves exuberantly, nearly hitting Harry in the face.

Tony raises his glass, wincing. 

At least some things stay the same.

“They roomed together at ESU,” Norman breaks Tony out of his musings.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries his best to appear indifferent. Why should he care? That’s right, he doesn’t. Not even remotely.

“I see.” Play it cool, he thinks. “They look close, are they —?”

Nailed it.

“No. They tried, but it didn’t work out. Harry’s engaged now.”

“Huh.”

“But Peter is always welcome in our home,” Norman drawls. “He’s like a second son, really. Wasn’t he your protege once?”

Osborn is so smarmy. All at once Tony remembers why he hates this man and his dumb, weathered face. His covetous tone makes Tony want to hurl, or send a suit to the nearest Oscorp building and play rain of fire.

“Good god, imagine if he was your son,” Tony says blithely. “As if you need another one of those to mess up.”

Norman huffs.

“You’re hardly the authority on raising well adjusted children, Stark.”

Ire spears up hot to his throat, but before Tony can deliver a withering reply, he’s interrupted by the arrival of Pepper and Greg. 

Morgan trails behind, dragging a laughing Peter with her by hand. She weaves her thin body through the crowd, having pulled the man away from his dance wearing identical grins.

He watches his daughter cut through swathes of the elite in a trail of chiffon, delight clear in the laughter that follows her. Tiny heels clack against the polished ballroom floor, and Peter indulges her mischief, catching Tony’s eye and winking as they near him.

It’s the first time he’s seen his whole family look truly carefree since he came back. 

And Tony is where he should be. An inscrutable mass against the beige, peeling wallpaper. 

The look of distaste on Normans face as he walks away is enough to dampen some of his churlishness as his family form before him. Pepper makes small talk with Peter and Greg smiles awkwardly at a passing senator. Morgan dives for a profiterole before anyone can stop her. 

For a moment Tony feels like he’s in a McDonalds playground instead of an upper-class charity event.

Pepper must have had a hand in choosing Morgans dress, Tony thinks, because it has pockets. And, watching her as the adults talk, she sneaks handfuls of tarts and truffles into the grooves of her dress. Tony wants to laugh, to wink at her conspiratorially at the same time he wants to tuck her into bed, new years or not. 

Morgan beckons Peter closer to the sweets table. The younger of the two piling her favourite sampled sweets onto a napkin and thrusts them towards Peter, fervently requesting that he try them, they’re so good, Uncle Peter. 

“Not everyone wants dessert for dinner, little miss,” Tony reminds her, swiping a napkin off the table and wiping the melted chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a baby, dad,” she complains, taking the napkin from him.

He forgets that too, sometimes.

Peter smiles between them, delicately plucking a single strawberry off one of the offered miniature flans and popping it into his mouth. 

Lust spears through him so suddenly Tony sways on his feet. Fuck. 

His daughter and ex-wife are right there. 

“Mr. Stark. Would you - uh,” Peter breaks off to swallow audibly. “Would you like to dance?”

Otto is by the bar. Harry, by the French Ambassador. Tony is in his self-made corner of the room, nibbling on vol-au-vents and sashimi to pass the time. 

He can smell Peter’s cologne and his sweat when he steps closer and sheepishly offers his hand and Tony’s entire damn body wants to just reach out and interlock their fingers, to pull Peter close and breathe him in. Never has Tony wanted to bury himself in another body before and not come back out, not like this.

Tony would consume all of what Peter had to give, if Peter let him. The offering look in Peter’s eyes say that he would let him.

“I… uh,” Tony begins, searching for a quip to cover his falter. Smiling at his companions, Tony smooths his hand down his tie, pretending the curious looks of concern are just the alcohol. “I need fresh air.”

“Tony --”

“Mr. Stark --”

He waves them off and smiles apologetically at Peter.

“-- I’ll just be a sec. Is it hot in here? Is anyone else hot? I’m like, sweating here, wow. It’s just pooling under the armpits. I’ll just be a minute, excuse me --”

The crowd parts for him like the red sea as he marches through it in search of the nearest door. But he’s never felt less powerful in his entire life.

Or lives, as it were.

----

Outside, the air is blissfully fresh and cold. The rooftop is far less crowded than indoors, only a few patrons lean against the railing, cigarette smoke curling up from their fingers, some in quiet conversation with another.

There’s a carefully constructed pyramid of wide, vintage wine glasses brimming with champagne. He’s careful not to topple the entire thing over when he goes to reach for one. Overheated, even as the winter wind nips at him, he takes his drink and finds a quiet corner to sulk in.

Perching upon a stone bench away far away from the others, Tony tips his head up at the starless sky and huffs. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing?

The New York City skyline is alight before him in all its glory, but the memory of how Peter’s face dropped flashes across Tony’s mind on a loop. He looked taken aback. Hurt even. 

Shame wells up low in Tony’s stomach and doggedly stays there. 

It’s for the best. Right? It has to be for the best. Peter deserves the best and Tony is not that.

It’s not right for him to want to fit himself into Peter’s life when he seems to be happy and successful without Tony - there’s one thing he knows unequivocally about himself is that he would ruin that. Ruin Peter, one of the few good things he has left.

His heart doesn’t get the memo. 

Because when he closes his eyes, all he imagines is the way Peter’s firm body would feel against his. What it would feel like to curl together on the sofa, in bed, under the sheets. How his curls would tickle the underside of Tony’s chin, and what it would be like to trace the lines that branch from his eyes when he smiles, or to stroke the narrow slope of his nose as he sleeps. 

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong because Tony doesn’t fit there. Not there, nor in all of the places he used to. He’s not Iron Man or a businessman. He’s not a husband or a full-time father. He’s not even Peter Parker's mentor. 

What he is, for all of his resurrected glory, is an afterthought. A spectre, hovering in the fringes of all of the places he used to be the centre of.

He smiles, raising his glass to the smoking couple as they nod politely at him.

It’s fine. He’s happy that everyone is happy.

But it’s been months. He ain't Jesus, but surely by now he’d find some sense of purpose.

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony opens his eyes Peter stands before him, clutching a perspiring glass of wine.

Tony doesn’t want to notice, but he does anyway. The look of concern written on his face is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the rooftop, the nearby flamelight serves to deepen the frown lines on his young face.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark? Sorry to follow you out here, you just seem kind of...”

“Surly?” Tony guess. “I’m fine, kid. Just had a few too many. Didn’t want to hurl all over the drapes. No need to worry.”

“I was gonna say overwhelmed, but yeah,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony’s bent knees hit the top of Peter’s thighs - his stomach swoops, again. “I’m gonna worry anyway.”

“Yeah, well, happy New Year,” Tony says dryly, knocking their glasses together. 

Peter taps his smart-watch with a finger. 

“Still got five minutes before that. Can’t break into Auld Lang Syne yet, Mr. Stark.”

“We could if we were in Halifax,” Tony counters. The younger man tilts his head agreeably and Tony calls the easing of tension from Peter’s shoulders a win.

“Let’s stick to New York.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be? You got four-something minutes.”

“Right here, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony doesn’t know if that’s frankness or fiction, but he smiles all the same, patting the slab of stone he’s sat upon invitingly. 

“Well, come aboard, Mr. Parker.”

Without pause, Peter hoists himself on the bench with a single hand, delicately balancing the glass of champagne with the other. He shuffles to get comfortable, swinging his legs as he settles.

The firelight catches onto the curve of Peter’s curls, slicked down into wilted tendrils from the sweat dotting his hairline. 

His heart is positively thunderous in his chest. He raises his hand to soothe it and at once, sickeningly, painfully misses the comforting heat of the arc reactor.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, after a moment.

Tony smiles wryly, mostly to himself. Of course, there’s nothing that escapes Peters notice.

“Trust me, kid. There’s not much to say.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Peter says, fishing something out of his pocket and handing it to Tony “I, uh, thought you liked those. I took the last one.”

It’s a portugese egg tart, Tony notes, warmed slightly from Peter’s body heat. Fuck. He does like them. They’re his favourite. 

Tony pretends like his heart isn’t swelling to the point where it feels it's going to burst and breaks the tart in two, passing over the other half to Peter. 

“Thanks, kid. Try some.”

They eat their halves in relative silence, save for the sound of chewing and Peter’s shoes hitting the stone as he swings his legs. But the mood grows quieter, noticeably pensive after they finish eating. It makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“You know,” Peter says softly, as if raising his voice would shatter the moment, “you’re not the only one to come back to find years lost. To find the world different. I know it’s not easy. Especially on nights like this.”

Tony swallows roughly, chasing it with a mouthful of champagne. 

“You seem to have managed well.”

Peter huffs. “Oh yeah, real well. God, you don’t even know how --” his voice breaks off, voice wet with emotion. He looks away, throat bobbing as he gathers himself. “You just -- you don’t know.”

The moment feels fraught with enough gravity that it would bring the moon down between them.

“Hey,” Tony chides, trying to diffuse the heavy emotion with what levity he could utter. “Come on now, it’s supposed to be me out here maudlin. Don’t steal my thunder, Charlotte's Web.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to pencil in sad hours for later.”

“Appreciated.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. A woman, visibly drunk, passes them and raises her glass to Tony, the liquid sloshing out from the glass and down her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and stumbling away.

That would have been Tony ten years ago (in his lived years). On the weekends without Morgan, sometimes it still is.

“Got any resolutions, Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. Take Morgan to Saturn. Run for president, get back on the Cosmo’s Bachelor of the Year.” 

“Most people just join a gym.”

“I didn’t come back to life to break my hip on a treadmill,” Tony says, offended. “What about you, Peter Rabbit?”

Peter takes a sip of his drink as he visibly deliberates. Wayward drops of champagne gather at the corner of his mouth before he scoops them with his tongue, eyes drifting to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get this guy that I’m into to take me seriously.”

Tony hums, stomach dropping.

“Some guy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I’m like, super into him, but he still sees me as a child.”

His stomach swoops back up.  

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, daring to hope, “this guy’s an idiot if he can’t see you for the man you are. You’re a catch.”

Peter shrugs, inching closer as he adjusts his balance. Their hands are nearly touching and Tony can feel the heat radiating from the man's body and he hates himself for it, just a little bit, he’s too old to feel like a kid with a crush again. 

“He’s not an idiot. Well, he is, sometimes. Not all the time.”

“You sure this guy is good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking out at the skyline again. “He’s just lost. I can wait.”

“What if he’s not right for you?” Tony says, throat closing unexpectedly. “What if he’s not worth the wait?”

Peter shuffles closer. 

“He has been so far,” he says, bravely extending his pinkie so it curls atop Tony’s. In the cool night air the touch of skin against skin is scorching. “Worst case scenario has already happened. I’ve already lost him in the worst possible way. I could do without him calling me kid all the time though.”

“He makes no promises on that.”

“I thought as much.”

“You deserve better than lost, Pete,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. For a moment he can’t speak, the memories of electricity ripping through his body in a moment of love much like the feeling he has now. “You deserve the best.”

But Peter doesn’t say anything. He tugs on their linked pinkies to intertwine their fingers, resting them in the interstice of their pressed thighs. Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s palms are damp against his, how they tremble ever so slightly. It’s grounding, to know Peter is as nervous as he is.

When he gets brave enough to stroke the back of Peters hand with his thumb some of the mired shame melts away.

“Deserve is subjective,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And I decide he is the best.”

“What if he wants you back,” Tony whispers, shifting closer on the stone until their sides are entirely flush together. “But he has nothing to offer you. Doesn’t fit in with your life.”

“What about what I can offer him?” Peter clutches his hand tighter, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of Tony’s hand. “What if I'm there while he finds his way?”

“Pete.”

“You have time, Mr. Stark. You can figure the rest out as it comes to you.”

“And until then?”

“You go with the flow.”

“How?”

“Like this,” Peter whispers, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

Closing his eyes, Tony leans into it and lets himself fall. Peters lips feel soft, pillowy, the kiss chaste and unassuming. When Peter pulls back he looks dazed, which is silly, because that was a tease for Tony. 

Eyes on the glistening bow of Peter’s lips, he wants to dive in and tug it between his teeth. So he does.

“That’s -- yeah,” Tony says, sliding their noses together, “Were you -- were you always this confident?”  

“I’m not confident,” Peter replies, kissing him again, pulling back to exhale shakily against Tony’s lips. “Holy cow. That was, like, a super big risk for me. Wow. Did I fool you? Are you fooled?”

“Bamboozled,” Tony says, staring at Peter’s lips again. “Just to confirm, I’m the guy, right? Resolution guy?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

 “Good,” Tony says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Fireworks bathe the couple in an electric array of neons, and crowds can be heard cheering from all around them. Tony pulls away to see Peter illuminated in brilliant colour, lips wet and swollen.

“Is this okay?” Peter reaches his free hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. “Is it weird? It’s a bit weird. Right?”

“It’s weird. But weird-different,” Tony amends. “Good different, right?”

“Right.”

“I should, maybe, keep kissing you to be sure.”

Peter’s answering grin against his lips vivifies the lights exploding around them.

To the soundtrack of waning fireworks, Tony gets lost in learning how Peter kisses, the shape of his lips, how the heat of his tongue feels against his own. 

Struck suddenly by a memory Tony pulls away from Peter to groan.

“What?” Peter queries, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong?” 

“I literally paid Morgan a hundred bucks to not tell you I was hot for you.”

Peter balks, staring at Tony as if he were stupid.

“Um, I have enhanced hearing, remember? And she told me, like, two months ago.”

Tony squints. 

“That little brat.”

——

The knowing smiles when they walk back into the ballroom from their family is a little uncalled for. Morgan is asleep in Peppers lap so she isn’t even awake to crow about her victory.

But the way Otto splutters as his eyes dart between the bruise on Tony’s neck and their joined hands is deeply worth it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Octavius!” Peter beams, swinging their hands together. 

“And - and you. Mr. Parker.”

“Sorry to drop this on you last minute, would you mind if I get another ride home?”

“Well, I --”

“Let me compensate you for the cab,” Tony offers, dropping Peter’s hand to wind his arm around the younger man's waist, pulling their sides flush together. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry, Peter’s ride will be very enjoyable.”

“I take it you’re not coming back to the penthouse,” Pepper cuts in, sharing a look with Greg.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, already pulling Peter away. “When Morguna wakes up from her beauty sleep tell her she owes me a cut of the winnings, okay? Good. Happy New whatever.”

They stop by the dessert spread on their way out.

-----

Their taxi driver sends them scalding stares from the front seat.

It’s fine, Tony will compensate him generously in tips. Though, if he were the driver, he’d probably be pissed too. 

For all of his stealthyness as Spider-Man, Peter is not quiet right now. He bucks into Tony’s touch, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s hand. He breaks their kiss to moans lewdly into Tony’s mouth, breath hot against his face.

“Oh god,” he exhales shakily, tugging on Tony’s tie to bring their lips together in a filthy kiss.  

“Good?” Tony mumbles against his lips, grinding his palm down harder. Peter nods, tilting his head back to groan as Tony’s mouth latches onto his neck. The creamy skin is mottled with teeth marks and barely blooming hickies. 

Tony sucks and and laves his tongue over the heated skin to hear how his breath hitches, those high ahh-ahh’s that fall breathlessly out of his mouth, to hear him moan --

“M-Mr. Stark!”

Tony winces, pulling back.

He sighs. “Kid, if we’re doing this, you really gotta call me Tony.”

In an instant Peter’s face turns stony, somehow looking stern despite his swollen lips and wrinkled shirt. He looks like a petulant pitbull.

“If we’re doing this you really gotta stop calling me ‘kid’, Tony.”

Tony undoes the first button of Peter’s dress shirt, then the second, parting the folds of fabric to get a view of his collarbones.

“I suppose I would be amenable to such amendments, Peter,” he nods, “on the condition that you let me take you on a date.”

As Tony snakes a hand over the curves of his clavicle, Peter’s deft fingers undo the knot of Tony’s tie until it lies loose from his neck.

“I would be amenable to that. Conditions accepted.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you again now.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.”

-----

With a heavy arm slung around his midsection, Tony finds out what Peter’s body feels like curled around his body when he wakes up the next morning.

There are a lot of little discoveries on New Years Day.

Like the feeling of Peter’s morning wood pressed pleasantly against his ass. Or how Peter squints adorably as he wakes up, as if he were confused by his own consciousness, his bedhead a mad nest of curls. Or how much Tony doesn’t mind the humid exchange of morning breath. 

“Do you always take your first dates to bed?” Peter queries over breakfast, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“That was not a date,” Tony points his fork at him. Scrambled egg falls from the utensil onto the table. “And we didn’t even have sex. That’s misleading, mister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tony sniffs.

“You’ll find out when we have our first date, won’t you? Friday at seven. Yes or yes?”

Peter sips his coffee to hide his smile, but Tony still sees it.

“Yes.”

-----

They got their date. 

Six months after the New Years festivities comes Morgans eleventh birthday. 

Tony’s had a lot of dates with a lot of people, including Peter, but nothing quite trumps this. 

It’s a double date. With his ex-wife and her new husband. Plus twelve other kids and their parents at a McDonalds. 

All four are seated at a table, Peter to his side, squirming on the terrible, hard chairs while Pepper and Greg sit opposite. Several servings of burgers and fries lay cold between them. Mostly melted McFlurries ooze off the provided plastic spoon when disinterestedly stirred.

It’s terribly romantic.

Morgan wanted McDonalds with her friends for her birthday, and before the big move to middle school. It fell on date night. 

The garishly decorated diner is alive with the sounds of yelling and laughing, kids and their siblings running after one another, pushing each other down slides and following each other through narrow, plastic tunnels.

Tony’s never really been a double date kinda guy, particularly when it involves the mother of his child and his new, twenty-something lover. It was stilted in the beginning, made more awkward by Tony’s foursome jokes, but Peter keeps the conversation afloat, dipping the congealed fries into Tony’s melted ice cream. 

He rubs Tony’s lower back as he speaks. Soothing, grounding circles that inadvertently keep Tony in the present.

Peter likes being in constant contact, Tony found. Now that he has the permission. Whether its holding hands, a casual grip on Tonys knee, his thigh, his back. 

It’s… actually nice. Maybe because he does it too.

It’s not always about comfort though, Tony concedes, as Peter’s hand dips a little lower, brushing over the swell of his ass.

They share a knowing look. 

Tony knows now, what that odd twinkle in Peter’s eyes mean. That little pervert. He knows it in the way Peter bites his bottom lip, as if canary feathers are about to flutter out of his guilty mouth. He wants to lean over and kiss the look right off them.

Greg keeps a close eye on the playground, loafers tapping anxiously on the tiles when a kid pulls a daring move and nearly misses their landing. 

He’s not the worst, Tony concedes, wearily assessing the other man. He cares for Morgan which is a plus. But he’s greying gracefully and is genuinely so nice and humble that Tony can’t help but test him every now and then. How earnest can he truly be with Tony stealing a fry here and there and knocking his knees ‘accidentally’. 

The conversation turns to Morgans transition to middle school. Pepper thinks she’ll outgrow her peers in months and will pursue a more scientific-focused academic curriculum. 

It’s one of those rare, transient moments of life that Tony’s here to witness. He’s getting used to feeling like everything is going to be okay, like maybe he wasn’t brought back just to be a part of another fight. But there’s a lingering anxiety, he just doesn’t know how to deal with without a solder or a suit to tinker on.

He’s working on it though.

“Should we manhandle her highness back in for the cake?” Tony asks, hand snaking down to squeeze Peter’s firm thigh.

Peter, not missing a beat, sends him a smirk that says I’ll manhandle you. 

It’s only right that Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s thigh, smiling proudly to himself when Peters breath hitches.

A kid knocks into the back of Tony’s chair, screaming as they run towards the playground. Tony winces, the moment broken.

“Need I remind you two that we’re in a family establishment,” Pepper stresses.

“Yes,” Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to the playground of rambunctious, screaming children. “How could I forget.”

“Tony.”

“You heard her, Pete, keep it safe for work. You’re making people uncomfortable,” Tony says, clamping down tighter on Peter's leg. Speaking to the couple, he gestures to Peter with his thumb. “Real horndog this one. Insatiable.”

“Me?” Peter says accusingly, jaw dropping.

Pepper raises an eyebrow cooly. “Please, Tony. Don’t think Morgan hasn’t told me about the time she walked in on you two. One time you told her you were checking each Peters temperature. With your long thermometer -- honestly, Tony. Try not to traumatise our child.”

Peter visibly colours at the mention.

“Wait,” Tony says. “That little -- I paid her twenty bucks not to tell you that.”

“So did I,” Peter frowns. “And I gave her the rest of my Reeses to seal the deal. Ah, crap.”

“You got played,” Greg snickers. Tony hates him again.

He nods at Pepper. 

“She gets that from you.”

Pepper smiles, unbothered, looking every ounce the image of class as she raises her plastic cup of milkshake to them.

Tony sighs, not even mad.

Some things never change.

-- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games! <3 <3 <3 this is fabulous and we hope you enjoyed yourselves!

[a-simple-imagine]

The Absence Of Field

Synopsis: You haven’t known her very long but she’s about change your life forever

Pairing: Dolores Abernathy x fem!reader

Words: 2k+

A/N - I’m obsessed with Season 3 dolores so I decided to write about her. I don’t really expect anyone to read this but yeah!! It’s based off season 3 episode 3 of Westworld and shall be continued as such. 

Warnings - Swearing, kidnapping, guns and minor violence

"How long do you think this will go on?"

"Which?"

"The rain?" Heavy rainfall descends from the cloudy dark sky, hitting the window in a symphony of sound. The digital clock that sits on your bedside reads 3:00 A.M. Her toned arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you snug against her torso. Soft lips ghost the back of your neck bringing a flurry of beautiful butterflies to your stomach. It wasn't the first time and surely not the last. She had that effect on you; it had been that way since you first met. A sigh leaves your lips as you focus on one drop of rain as it travels down the glass. It had been raining a lot the last couple of days; you didn't mind though. You quite enjoy the rain.

"Expect showers all week," It's impossible not to notice her absence all of a sudden; it's almost like your sense of comfort had been dragged away. The blonde was perched on the edge of the bed; her back to you and head down when you roll over to see her. Your brows furrow for a moment as you notice how hard her hands press into the mattress. The energy in the room shifts with the harsh silence.

"What's wrong?" She turns to you for a moment and you can't help but smile. She's always so put together so it's always a pleasure to see her just out of bed. The messy hair is a particular favourite. Despite your short time together there were little things you had come to notice and enjoy about her presence.

"Do you like the world that was made for you?"

Such a question had a vastly complex answer. Did you like the world that was made for you? What made her ask such a thing? "The world wasn't made for me," you answer quietly, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. When you were little you used to wish there were stars up there, painted or otherwise. When you got older you considered it; it was hard to see the night sky with all the lights and pollution but decided against it. You were too old or perhaps just too embarrassed. You had never felt any real attachment to the world and why would you? You'd been alone most of your life. Fighting for every little thing you had. Sure this place had its positives but for the most part, it was dripping with greed and corruption. You weren't unhappy but you couldn't exactly say you were happy either. You've read books on how things used to be before technology became the centre of the world. It was apparently just as ugly and corrupt but at least they had real animals like elephants and tigers; more than just your typical house pets. "I don't think it matters if I like it or not, I didn't exactly get a choice in being born?"

"You have a choice now."

"I suppose," you shrug. "I've never really thought about it that way. Why do you wanna know? Are you gonna ask me about the meaning of life next?"

The last part had been a joke but perhaps it had been a step too far as the blonde doesn't reply. She simply gets up and proceeds to collect the few items she left so neatly on the dresser. Fuck, had you screwed this up already? It must be bad for her to leave abruptly at three in the morning. You push yourself up into a seated position, "Did I do something wrong?" The blonde doesn't answer again so you decide to follow her.

"Dolores," Her name galling from your lips brings her to a stop at the door; hand lingering on the ugly doorknob your landlord wouldn't let you change. you're just a few paces away, tired and confused. You just wanted to go back to bed but with her. "... please don't go."

So weak and pathetic, the words didn't sound like your own. You had never begged someone to stay before but there was just something about Dolores. Something that made her special and it wasn't her beauty although she had a very pretty face.

"You're a distraction that I don't need right now." Her voice was firm; surprisingly cold. The doorknob squeaks as she turns it and the door slowly opens. "I suggest you lay low for a while."

~~

It's no mystery as to why you can't stop thinking about Dolores. She left you in the middle of the night with no explanation. You may not know each other very well but you liked her and you liked spending time with her although admittedly that time had been short. What exactly had you done wrong? Was she scared off by your slightly pessimistic outlook on society? Perhaps it was something else entirely? Maybe she just didn't like you. It didn't seem that way when you were together but looks can be deceiving.

It was really cold this high up; it didn't help that this building didn't have four walls, so it was nothing but the cold wind blowing against you. The entire building was empty for construction, so other than the two men who had you cornered between the barrel of their guns and the concrete below, you were completely alone. You were putting on a brave face but you were absolutely terrified. Their questions drowned out by the loud thumping of your heart in your chest. You felt like you couldn't breathe. You were sweating under the intense pressure despite the goosebumps from the chilly air. It wasn't even possible to answer their questions and yet they insisted on repeating themselves; getting more worked up as they go along. The two of them had conveniently bumped into you on the way home from work. They showed you a picture and offered you money. You could have really used the money, your crappy apartment wasn't cheap but you had to deny the offer. It seemed shady. The ironic part is that the picture was of Dolores. They wanted to know where she was? You wish you knew but you didn't. She hadn't told you pretty much anything other than her name. She looked different in the picture but you couldn't quite place why? Perhaps it was the blue dress she wore or the fact she had her hair down and it was longer. Either way when you didn't comply they dragged you to their car and that's how you ended up here.

You had lost track of time but it felt like you had been here for hours.

"I really hope she's worth all this trouble." The talker of the men grumbles. He wore a black suit; they both did. With a sky blue tie. The other had a red tie. This was business for them; their job if you will. You wonder why they're after Dolores anyway. She's just one girl, what made her so important.

"Why are you protecting her?" The other man asks. "Just tell us where she is and this'll all be over."

Had you known the answer would you give her up? It was the way to save yourself but was in terms of morals was it the right choice. "I- I don't know what you're talking about,"

You could hear the fear in your voice despite the stiff upper lip. Denying you know the girl at all seemed like the best option here, it seemed they were gonna kill you either way.

"Have it your way," One of them utters, a gritty laugh following. "Don't say we didn't give you a chance though,"

"Where the fuck is she?" His voice was higher than his associates. He was also a lot angrier.

"I'm right here,"

BANG! BANG!

You flinch at the sound of the gun expecting the impact that never comes. Losing your footing on the edge, a hand slaps around your wrist before you can plummet to your death. You feel like you could throw up when you spin around and see Dolores. It was more because you almost fell off the edge of a building but seeing Dolores again made you feel warm inside too. A grin spreads over your insanely dry lips as you wrap your arms around the woman pulling her flush against you. "Dolores..."

After a moment she hugs back, her hand running soothingly over your back. "I need you to come with me,"

Dolores' hand slips down your back and into your hand as you unravel from her. Using your free hand to brush away the stray tears. "Where are we going?" You ask as you stumble trying to keep up with her; looking back to the two men who now lay lifeless on the floor. They were dead. Dolores killed them.

"I'm taking you home."

Staying true to her word, she places you on the bed when you finally arrive home. The car ride was silent. You couldn't figure out what was going on and Dolores didn't seem in any rush to explain anything. You're head throbs as you replay the events in your head. You almost died today: if it weren't for the blonde you'd be a stain on the concrete right about now. Dolores kneels down before you, drawing your attention. One hand gentle brushes over your thigh.

"Look at me," she commands but you keep staring off; struggling to focus on anything. "Y/N, look at me."

You oblige this time, meeting her soft blue eyes. She offers you a gentle smile. "I'm gonna pack you a bag and then we can go get you something to eat, okay?"

"I... I don't... understand." You mumble out slowly. The sun was beginning to show its face through the gap in your curtains, casting Dolores in an angelic warm glow.

"Tell me what's wrong,"

"My... my head hurts," you admit quietly, that was all you could get out.

"Any other pain?" You shake your head causing the throbbing to intensify; eyes scrunching up in response. Dolores places a calming hand against your cheek, her thumb brushing gently across your skin. "My sweet girl," Instinctively, you lean into her comforting touch. She was always so gentle towards you; a strong contrast to the woman who just stormed an empty building and shot two people. "You shouldn't have gotten involved."

Your mind wanders to the first time you ever met Dolores as she leaves you alone in the bedroom. It was at a party. One you were much too poor to be at but you were working that night. Dolores has been a guest but instead of ignoring you like everyone else had, she seemed to notice you were, in fact, a real person. She had warned you not to get involved with her and maybe you should have listened. You should have just gone back to your painfully average life but now it was too late. You were involuntarily apart of something so much bigger than yourself. The blonde returned to hand you some water and two pills. "For the headache."

Watching Dolores wander around your room, shoving stuff into a bag was... weird. None of this has felt real. It was like you were stuck in some kind of dream? Or a nightmare may be a better choice of words. She didn't pack a lot of things and it was only now dawning on you that she was packing for you. What was the plan here? Why did you need this stuff? "Come,"

Your eyes drift to her outstretched hand, nothing short of confusion written across your face. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" She doesn't answer. You take her hand, squeezing a little as she helps you to your feet. "Dolores, please? I'm not just gonna run away with you."

"They'll be looking for you now too," she explains, hiking the bag further up her shoulder. "If you stay they'll kill you."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter who," with a heavy sigh, she hesitates before connecting your lips but only for a second in a surprisingly passionate embrace. You too surprised to even say anything and you think she knew that would be the case. "I need you to trust me."

NEXT

[solesurvivorkat]

FC5 Deputy GFH Dialogue

(Quickie ‘Katie IRL’ Update: So sorry for lack of writing... to be succinct, I might have a sleep disorder, possibly Sleep Apnea - been very tired/lethargic for several months now, finally have a test scheduled for late August. Will have to ‘make do’/power through fatigue until then. I will do my best to jump-start my writing {and my YT channel} until then!

Also - as for ‘I Need to Tell You’ (FC5 no-cult AU fic) - I don’t think I have a ton of readers for that one, so I’m just gonna stick to the movie-plot where I can & finish it up {the end is nearing!}. If anyone wants to read anything else from that ‘verse, lemme know & I’ll whip something up - otherwise, I’m gonna finish that up & get back to working on ‘The Book of John’ again, which is loooong overdue {poor Sarah’s been in John’s bunker forever, lol!}. THAT said... )

~~~~~~~~

Deputy Sarah Rook

(NOTE: My apologies if Sarah’s dialogue is similar to anyone else’s OC’s... I promise and swear that if it happens, it’s purely coincidental. I am adamant about not {purposely} stealing anyone else’s creativity! <3  Also, this is quite long... but it’s not everything in FC5, so if you like it & want even more, just lemme know, lol.)

With Fangs for Hire:

Boomer: “Aww, who’s my sweet, brave boy?” (kisses forehead) - “Good boy, Boomer!” - “I know what it’s like to have someone you love taken away from you... but don’t worry boy, you’re not alone. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never are again.” - “I won’t let Eden’s Gate use you, I promise.” - “Boomer, go!” - “Rae-Rae won’t have died in vain, I promise you.”

Peaches: “I’m... usually more of a dog person - but as long as I get to keep all my fingers and limbs, I’m satisfied.” - “Peaches, attack!” - “Us girls gotta stick together, right?” - “Hmm... one blue eye, one brown. Unique!” - “Needless to say, a cougar’s a very dangerous pet. Miss Mable never should have tried to raise you in captivity. Still... it can be handy to have a cougar for an ally.” - (gives affectionate pets) “Aww, my sweet little ‘danger kitty’...”

Cheeseburger: “You’re like a... big, dangerous teddy.” (laughs) - “Cheeseburger! How are ya, buddy?” - “Wade was sweet to look after you. I promise I’ll try to do the same.” - “I will not let Jacob take you.” - “Ohh, those big brown eyes of yours...” - “I can’t believe Wade not only found a collar to fit you, but also one that had cheeseburgers on it. Wow.” - “I’m glad you’re on my side, boy.” - “No, I can’t give you any more cheeseburgers. ...Stop looking at me like that, you know they’re not good for you. ...You’re on a diet, remember? ...  (sighs)  .....Okay, ONE burger. Don’t tell anyone.”

With other Guns for Hire:

Sharky

(serious) “Sharky... just between us... you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” - “Sharky... never change.” (smiles)

“Sharky, I know fire is your, uh- ‘specialty’, but... you need to try not burning down half the forest with us!” 

“Anything you say, Charlemagne.” 

“You and Hurk are a dangerous duo - in more ways than one.” 

(horrified, after hearing about his mom/parents) “Anyone who'd do that to an innocent baby doesn’t deserve them. You’re better off, Shark.” 

(cheesy grin) “I hope Eden’s Gate stocked up on ‘Shark repellent’!” 

(when fighting together) “Time for a ‘Shark attack’!” - “You’ve got us between a rock and a shark place!” - “Sarah and Shark, makin’ their mark!” - “You might be better off using your gun here, Sharky.”

“Disco, Sharky? Really? (sighs) ...All right, to each his own.”

“Hey Sharky, got a bad joke for ya - what’s a shark’s favorite bible story? ...’Noah’s Shark’!”

“Ride or die, buddy!”

“No matter what, I’ve always got your back, Sharky.”

Grace

(chuckles nervously/anxiously after seeing ‘serious/deadpan Grace’) “Sorry, I... joking around is kind of my ‘defense mechanism’...”

“A medal in the Olympics... that’s amazing, Grace. ...Er- no pun intended.”

“For what it’s worth... thank you for your service to our country.”

(after Grace mentions destroying copies of ‘Only You’, Sarah chuckles sadly) “Y’know, it’s funny... I actually used to like that song...”

“I know you want to protect your dad’s grave, I do completely understand... but we also need to help protect innocent people that’re still living too, you know? They need us... need you.”

Hurk

"Hercules Drubman Junior - as I live and breathe." (smiles)

“Hurk, I... don’t think a rocket launcher is the best weapon to use right now...”

“As... ‘tempting’ as ‘Hurk’s Gate’ sounds, I... don’t think it’s quite for me.”

(at a loss for words) “...Oh Hurk...”

“Y’know Hurk... there is a lot more to life than beer, drugs, and sex...” - (Hurk {looks horrified}: “...Say whaat? What’choo talkin’ ‘bout, Dep??”)

“Hurk, just... be careful.”

(stares blankly, then slowly raises an eyebrow) “...Monkey... King/God??”

“No offense dude, but... if your dad doesn’t stop talking I may have to ‘accidentally’ shoot him.”

(sneaking around) “You’re not exactly the ‘king of stealth’. Why don’t... you hang back here for a minute? I’ll signal you or call out if I need you.”

“To each their own, but ‘partying’ is... not really my thing.”

Adelaide

(pointing in turn to Sharky, Hurk, then Addie, during ‘tongue-in-cheek’ suggestions for Sarah) “No, no, and HELL no.”

(Addie: "Punch it Chewie! ...Bet you got a kick out of that, you fuckin’ nerd.") “Hey- I love the reference, and I’m proud of who I am. ...Mostly.” (smiles)

“Addie, for the last time - no, I did not inspect John's underwear drawer when I was at Seed Ranch. I was a little occupied at the time.” (turns bright red as Addie looks thrilled) “...That- that’s not what I meant!”

(reluctantly) “Addie? I kind of need some... ‘womanly advice’.” - (Addie, eyebrows raised: “And you came to me?? Oh hunny...”)

“While I appreciate your... ‘openness’, no - I do not need ‘tips’ from you and Xander about ‘positions’.”

“Addie... ‘showing more cleavage’ is not going to help me with the Seed brothers or Eden’s Gate, despite your insistence.”

“...I am not playing ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’...”

Nick

(after flying Carmina - and puking once landed) “Nick... if you ever make me do that again... I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be bad.”

“Flying may be great for you, but I’m much happier with my feet on the ground.”

“I’ll protect you and your family as much as I can - that’s a promise.”

“Defending your business, plane, home, family, and friends like you have been... I’m sure your family would be very proud of you.”

“There he is, ‘King of the Skies’!”

“You and Kim... you’re lucky to have each other. I kind of envy that.”

“Rook and Rye - on land and in the sky!“

“I know fighting Eden’s Gate is important, but... don’t forget to be there for Kim too. We’ve [the Resistance] got this... Kim and your baby need you more.” 

(After Carmina's born) "How's Kim and the baby? You'd better be taking good care of my goddaughter!"

Jess

“I know we grew up in very different ‘environments’, but... I also know what it’s like to feel alone for a long time. No pressure, but... I’m here if you ever need someone to lend an ear.”

(re: Jess’s insane survival skills) “...You’ve got to teach me that/how to do that sometime.”

“You’re related to Dutch? Wow, that’s... kinda cool.”

“I thought I swore a lot, but... wow.”

“Yeah... I’m not one for small talk, either.”

In Combat

(to herself, stressed) “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...”

“Aw shit...”

“Fucking Peggies!”

(to herself, quickly and quietly) “You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day...”

“Let’s kick some Peggie ass!”

(to herself) “I can do all things through him who strengthens me...”

“May God have mercy on you.”

“I don’t think my soul is the one that needs saving!”

Driving

(hears ‘Oh John’ on the radio & starts humming along. After a couple seconds, realizes what she’s doing and shakes her head, murmuring to herself) “...Damnit...”

“I’m driving? If you say so.”

“ ‘Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need... roads.’ “ (smug grin)

“I used to like driving. Found it kind of relaxing, most of the time. ...That was before I started having to get used to being pursued and chased down by Eden’s Gate trucks.”

“Time for... LUDICROUS SPEED!”

“Fasten your seatbelts... it’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

Idle

“...So...?”

“Everything okay? Do you need a break?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I spent most of my life in New England - Connecticut, actually. Born and raised. I moved out to Hope County only a few years ago, when the Deputy job opened up. Thought it’d be... a ‘fresh start’. ...Definitely didn’t expect anything like all this to happen.”

“I used to roll my eyes - or want to - every time the Sheriff and the other Deps called me ‘Rookie’. They thought it was so funny, on account of my last name and all, and me being the newest addition to the department. Now that we’re all spread out and fighting against the cult... I think I kind of miss it.”

“Some of the most horrible things imaginable... have been done by people who claim they had ‘good reasons’ behind their actions.”

“There’s an old proverb that states, ‘Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works’. ...There’s a lot of wisdom in that.”

“God has a reason for everything, even if we don’t always understand why...”

“The right thing to do is not always the easy thing to do...”

“Faith is believing in things when common sense tell you not to.“

“Imagine the things we could accomplish... if we would just try.”

“ ‘Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.’ ...Make fun of me all you want, but it’s true.”

“I do love nature. ...You know... when it’s not being interrupted by religious idiots.”

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear... it’s deciding that something is more important than fear.”

Recruiting/Greeting

“I’ll do everything I can... you can count on it.”

“Good to see you again.”

“Let’s do this.”

“Stronger together!”

Dismissal

“Until we meet again - stay safe.”

“Call me if you need me.”

“Done already? Aww, you’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

Injured/Down

“God damnit... not yet...”

“FUCK!”

“This can’t be it...”

“I’m sorry... I tried...”

“I need some help!”

Revived/Assisted

“Thanks... now let’s teach these assholes a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

“Never tell me the odds!”

“Never give up, never surrender!”

“Thanks for the help!”

“Thanks... our work’s not done yet!”

Stealth

“Shh... ‘silence is golden’, remember?“

“Keep a low profile!”

“Be cautious...”

“Don’t let ‘em see you comin’...”

“ ‘Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise...’ ”

Being aimed at

“Watch where you’re pointing that.”

“I’m a much better shot than I let on. Just remember that.”

“Two hits - me hitting you, and you hitting the ground. I suggest you aim elsewhere.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Location-Specific:

By any body of water: “When I lived in Connecticut, I loved seeing the ocean. The lakes in Montana can be beautiful, but... it’s not quite the same.”

The Henbane: “Freakin’ Bliss.” / “Please promise me... that you’ll never, ever let me end up like one of Faith’s Angels.” / “Exploiting people’s weaknesses and fears to get them to do what you want... it’s wrong on so many levels.” / “Rachel Jessop wasn’t the first, or even the second ‘Faith Seed’... I wonder if she’s ever afraid of ending up like them.” / “God wants people to follow him willingly, to choose to do good - not be forced into it with trickery and fear. Even if - in an insane world - Joseph was right, it doesn’t excuse the things that Eden’s Gate has done. If they have a message to spread, this isn’t the way to do it.”

Holland Valley: “Saying ‘Yes’ to everything doesn’t make you a better person.” /  “Many people know the seven deadly sins... but few people can name - let alone even know about - the 'seven virtues': chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. ...But you don’t see John tattooing those on people.” / John is... he’s done some horrible things. Committed heinous acts. But knowing the life he had to endure as a child when the Duncans adopted him... I hate so many of the things he’s done, but... part of me can’t help feeling sorry for him, too.” / “Underneath all those layers of ‘jackass’, way, waaaay deep down... I think there’s a lot of hurt and pain in John.”

The Whitetails: “Jacob acts like having feelings, friends, caring for things and people makes you weak. It’s just the opposite... having things to fight for - people to fight for - is a strength. More than just a ‘purpose’ - it’s a blessing.” / (angry) Jacob turning me into a weapon of destruction... he’s going to pay for that. / Forcing Bliss on animals to turn them into Judges... it’s wrong on multiple levels. / “I’m ‘weak’, Jacob? I’ll show you what a ‘weak’ person can do.”

[marvel-redemption-omega]

Of Outlaws and Family

Chapter One: New Beginnings

A/N: So I have RDR2 beat to 85% completion (the compendium isn’t finished but the story section is) and I CRIED when my precious Cowboy died! I had high honor and helped John so there was that at least I suppose... This has eight parts so uhh be prepared for this. It’s a helluva ride. It follows the story in the game for the most part, I changed some missions and added in a few for my own personal reasons (OFC x Arthur) so yeah... Don’t worry, there’s gonna be a happy ending! I promise. I have a lot of the story already planned it’s just a matter of getting the next chapters cranked out. Also Hosea and Dutch are a thing in my eyes... Dutch never corrected nor denied Hosea when he said “the curious couple and their unruly son” soooo I took it and ran. 

I am from the south and I drop ‘d’s, ‘g’s and do a buncha (<- example) other stuff when talking irl so I’ve added that into the story and tried to keep the same type of dialect (is that the word I’m tryna think of?) as they have in the game with accents. I also am trying (and editing) the Irish accents I have for Sean and Molly! If you think anything can/should be changed, please lemme (<- another example) know! Or if you can’t figure out a word/phrase I’ll help or have it in parenthesis if I know some people might have a hard time getting the accent if they’re trying to speak it aloud to hear it for themselves (my friend does this occasionally).

Warnings: Cursing, typical gang violence (shoot outs/shoot ups/gangs,bushwhacking. etc), mentions of death/dead gang members

Please enjoy! Hearts and repubs are appreciated!

My work is not to be posted elsewhere; I will post it to my AO3 and dA if I so choose.

Word Count: 3,246

“Faster, Girl, faster! Go! We gotta get home before them!”

“You think you can outrun us? You owe us, Little Lady!”

“Get her!”

“Don’t let her get away!”

“Fancy, let’s go! Hyah!” She urges her horse on and leans forward, stirrups tied high on the sides of the saddle. The brown mustang tosses her head and breaks from her gallop to a flat out bolt. “Atta girl, c’mon.” The trees and rolling land all blurs as she and Fancy run along the road, she barely registers the white blip of a horse at the four way cross.

“Whoah!”

“Sorry, Mister! Can’t talk! Gotta run!” She turns slightly in her saddle to call the apology over her shoulder as her mare continues to carry her back home. The small band of people, behind the man she narrowly missed, watch her in curiosity.

“There she is!”

“Don’t lose sight of her again!”

“Try and cut her off before she gets over that hill!”

A group of seven men, each on their own horse, fly by as well, sparring not even a glance their way. The owner of the white stallion is stunned for a moment before he calms his horse and turns around.

“Bill, Micah, go after her and help with those damned O’Driscolls. We’ll continue on to get settled. Once we’re good, if they’re not back yet, we’ll go search for them. Come on,” he instructs and watches as aforementioned duo break off and tail the lady’s assailants.

“Dutch, why did you send them? You know how he acted with Mrs. Adler. Was it really wise to send both of them unsupervised?”

“Arthur, are you doubting me? We’re almost there and it shouldn’t take too awful long to set everything up so we won’t be too far behind them,” Dutch turns his horse back and clicks his tongue as they continue on.

“Looks like that was the last one, Ma. Want me to go start the bonfire?”

“Yes please, James. Take Fancy out to the paddock on your way. I left her hitched to the porch,” she answers and leans her gun against the wall. “I’ll get the horses that didn’t spook and start dragging these guys around back.” The boy runs out the back door and she can hear murmurs to her horse and the soft nickers in a sort of reply as he does as told. She sighs and opens her front door.

“Hello, Ma’am, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Seems like we didn’t need to come help.”

Two men push their way inside as she darts back towards her table, picking up a rope lying on it. She lassos one of them and yanks him to the floor, hog tying him as a shotgun clicks as it’s cocked. The other man holds his hands up at the boy who is aiming the gun at him, startling back a few steps.

“Bill! Don’t just stand there! Do something! Untie me!” the hog tied man grumbles as he rolls onto his shoulder to look at his friend.

“And end up shot or like you? No thanks, Micah. I’ll stay here,” he snips and glances down. She uses the moment of interruption to her advantage and lassos Bill too, dragging him closer before hog tying him as well.

“James, hun, go start that fire. We might have more than I thought,” she orders and takes the gun from him as he passes. He shoots a glare over his shoulder to the strange men and dashes out the back door.

Dutch and Arthur look at the house where Bill and Micah’s horses are grazing. Arthur gives him a pointed look, which Dutch sighs at. They climb down from their horses and lead them to the porch and try to quietly walk up, checking around them for any traps or followers. The door is slightly ajar and a women’s voice, the same from earlier, filters out.

“You two have some nerve. Now tell me, what does Colm want now? I done told him I ain’t joining his stupid gang and I won’t warm his bed. If you think that I’ll do it for either of you then you’ve got another thing coming and not even half a mind between the two of you!”

“Well, Darlin’, you might be right about that. There’s not half a brain betweenst those two, but I do take offense that too you think we’re with that dirty, yellow bellied scum, Colm O’Driscoll.”

“Who the hell are you?” A shotgun is pointed at the two newcomers, and Arthur’s lips twitch up as his and Dutch’s hands go up.

“Dutch Van der Linde and this here is Arthur Morgan. I sent Bill and Micah here to help you with those fools, after you nearly trampled me,” Dutch smoothly states, walking forward as he speaks. She backs up to the other side of the table and raises her brow.

“Ma! Ma! There’s two mo-” James freezes at the back door, eyes wide as all attention focuses on him. “They’re already here. What do you want with my Ma?! She ain’t got no money! She don’t want no dirty O’Driscoll!” He shouts and moves so he’s beside his mother, eyes narrowed.

“That’s a tough little boy you have there, Ma’am. What’s his name? And yours?” Dutch stands just on the other side of the table, hands still up, no move made to untie his men, nor is there anyone else in the house, and he hasn’t reached for his pistols either.

“James. His name is James. And I’m Scarlet. Scarlet O’Hara,” Scarlet lowers the shotgun and places it on the table. “So if you’re not with Colm, why are you here? My…” she hesitates and glances at James,” his father isn’t in trouble is he? He’s not part of a gang.”

Arthur and Dutch share a look, glance at the grumbling duo on the floor, and back to Scarlet. They shake their heads and James wraps his arms around his mother’s waist, head resting on her stomach. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and leans down to press a kiss to his mop of dark brown hair.

“Considering we don’t know his father, by name or otherwise? No, we aren’t here about him. When I realized you we’re running from O’Driscolls, I figured you might need help. So I sent these two men to try and help you; though from the looks of your yard and what you’ve done to poor Bill and Micah, well, you didn’t need our help.” Dutch has a way with words, Scarlett will admit that. He’s charismatic and charming, easy on the eyes too. She likes him.

“Well, Mr. Van der Linde, care to help me drag the bodies out back to the pit? We burn any ones that manage to get too close,” she offers and hands James a knife, motioning to the men on the floor. “Cut ‘em loose, but don’t cut them or yourself, James.” The boy nods and cuts the rope on their wrists and backs up to Scarlet, leaving them to cut the rope on their ankles. He sets the knife on the table.

“Damn woman put these too tight to slip out of,” Micah mutters under his breath as he slices through the rope on his legs. He gets to his feet and helps Bill up as well.

“I think we can help with that. Any chance of more O’Driscolls coming this way?” Arthur leads the group out the front door, glancing at Scarlet over his shoulder.

“Maybe. I planned on burning down the house and headed out tonight. I have a wagon down yonder with our stuff and a horse. I was gonna saddle up Fancy and Shamrock and sneak there with James,” she admits and ducks her head a little in embarrassment. Dutch studies her for a moment as they gather the dead men and move them to the backyard.

“I have an idea. You’re free to say no of course, but we could always use more people. We could help give protection to not only you, but to your boy too. James seems like a smart kid, we’ve got another boy just a little younger than him. I’m sure Jack would love to have someone his age to play and hang out with.”

Ooooh, curse this man’s charisma. He’s bound to know I’ll do anything for my boy. Curse him, Scarlet thinks, hesitating in kicking her guy into the small, dug out pit. James helps roll the guy down then busies himself with the O’Driscolls horses, leading them to the pasture as he talks to calm them. There’s kindling starting to catch the logs and clothed bodies of the dead already in the pit.

“I always said I’d never run with a gang, though I fear as I don’t have much other choice. Not now anyway. They won’t stop coming after me and it’s not like I can hide here forever. They’ll find me eventually. I can’t have that. They can’t find out about James,” she confirms, voice filled with conviction. She nods to herself and turns to face the four men. “Dutch Van der Linde, you have yourself a new member. Just tell me all I need to know.”

They finish up the litter of bodies as Dutch and Arthur list the rules of the gang and all it entails, or what they feel they can share around James, with some protest from Micah, then all head back inside. Scarlet ushers them to sit around her table as she fixes them lunch, sending James to feed and water the horses when he’s done with his plate, which he obliges without protest. She keeps busy by cleaning the dishes and packing them as the men talk amongst themselves.

When James comes back inside, having fed and watered the small groups’s horses too, Dutch suggests they head out. He volunteers Arthur to stay behind and drive the wagon when she decides to leave and join them. Scarlet thanks them and sends them on their way with a promise to not be too long with the last of the packing.

It doesn’t take too awful long to get three full double-saddlebags put on the horses. James is sent to lead all the horses to the fence and hitch them to posts in preparation of saddling. Arthur offers to help James and Scarlet nods in thanks as the males head out the back.

Once the trio of horses are saddled, Scarlet ties Shamrock’s reins to Fancy’s saddle horn so he doesn’t spook when she lights the house. She helps her son get into Fancy’s saddle and rubs the brown mustang’s nose, up the white blaze between her eyes.

“Stay, Girl. I’ll be right back. Calm,” she coos to the horse and steps away. Arthur is waiting in his saddle, Fancy’s reins in hand to keep her calm, though Scarlet is positive she won’t spook and tells him as such.

It takes less than two minutes for her to grab her hidden cash and light the bedroom on fire. She leaves the door open as she walks down the front porch and towards the five horses, two being ones from the O’Driscoll members. She climbs into the saddle and Arthur hands her the reins, James sitting in front of her.

“Let’s go get your wagon and then head out. I think we can make quick work of the trip,” he suggests and James tilts his head up to look at his mom.

“Can I ride by myself please?”

Scarlet bites her cheek and hesitates a moment before nodding and slipping from behind him. She unties Shamrock’s reins and tosses them over his head and neck before hopping to his back and adjusting in the barely used saddle. He startles a little but settles down once Scarlet gives his neck a pat and reassures him it’s only her.

“Alright. I’ll lead you to the wagon, and then we can tie those extra horses to the back side of it so they can’t run off. I can ride your horse or lead him back if I ride Fancy. James can ride in the back of the wagon. Shamrock will follow wherever his momma, Fancy, goes,” she plans, though she’s talking mostly to herself until the end, and walks Shamrock to the hitching post to take the reigns of the O’Driscoll horses. They toss their heads and nicker softly as she ties the reins to the horn, leaving plenty of slack so her legs don’t get caught. “That should do it.”

“Lead the way,” Arthur gestures for her to lead and watches as James clicks his tongue and Fancy prances up behind Shamrock. He follows behind the boy and mother, smile on his lips.

“You know, I gotta admit, that was some fine handling of gang members. You sure you’ve never ran with someone before?”

Arthur’s question startles Scarlet slightly and Shamrock spooks, prancing to the left and pulling the two tied horses with him. She rubs his neck and soothes him before straightening in the saddle and kicking him slightly. James lets the reins rest on the horn, hands rubbing Fancy down as he sings her praises.

“No. My brothers are part of one, or were. I’m not sure anymore, haven’t heard from them in awhile. My parents weren’t too happy bout it but they were grown and both could handle their own with the best of them. Last I heard from them, I think they was in Blackwater. But that were years ago. Long before I were even pregnant with James,” her eyes stay trained on Shamrock, blinking back the withheld tears.

The thoroughbred-mustang cross tosses his head and neighs at her discomfort, slowing from a gallop to a trot despite her order to sped up. He pulls enough so the reins are from her hands and he turns to look at her, nickering softly. Fancy speeds up to trot as close as she can beside them, gently nipping at Scarlet’s boot.

“Mama?” James inquires, concern and fear in his quivering voice. She slouches in the saddle, hand going slack on the reins. She leans forward and whispers something to Shamrock before sitting back, looking at her son with a sad smile.

“Just miss my brothers, your uncles….that’s all, James. I wish you coulda met them. I wish I knew what’s happened to them or at least where they are,” she admits and reaches into her shoulder bag. She drops one sugar cube into her right hand and leans forward to feed it to her stud. She holds her palm out for Fancy who happily eats it, then turns to each horse tied to Shamrock, coaxing them softly to take the sugar. She holds her hand out to Arthur who hesitates a moment. “It’s just a sugar cube, ain’t gonna poison your horse. I’d be stupid too,” she chuckles as he accepts the horse treat. His horse tosses his head as he pats his neck.

“Well, I guess you’re right. Can’t be too careful though,” he huffs a small laugh as he rubs his horse’s neck as it nickers happily.

“Mm. That’s the wagon, just ahead,” she nods to a wagon stashed between several trees and bushes. Arthur moves his horse to her other side to get a better look at where she’s pointing. It hadn’t been a far ride, and there’s a horse already tied to the front, pawing at the ground in wait.

“How did you get to own three horses? If you don’t mind me asking,” Arthur asks as they slow to a walk until they reach the tied wagon. Scarlet shrugs as she slips easily from the saddle and leads Shamrock to the back to tie him to one of the trees and undo the other horses.

“My mom. Fancy was hers. Well, technically my grandmother’s but when she couldn’t take care of them my mother offered to take them and well, when I was ready to leave she said I could have Fancy since she don’t ride no more. Said it would be good for her to be with someone she trusts and who would actually ride her and take care of her. She’s pretty old, thirty five or six I think,” she admits and kisses Shamrock’s nose when he puts his face in hers.

“Shamrock was born a few years after I was, so he’s roughly my age. Maybe five years younger. That,” Scarlet points to the horse on the wagon, “asshole is Shasta. He is a moody jerk who I sometimes have to fight just to put up for the night. I got him in a race. Before I were pregnant with James, I would race Fancy. Bets for money or horses were traded, depending on my opponent.

“So I beat the guy who owned him. I felt bad though cause Shasta was young then, only two at the time. His owner, a real rich prick, hit him in the face with the butt of his pistol. So I lassoed the guy off Shasta and hogtied him. Fancy just let me do my thing since she’s seen almost everything, my old girl.

“Shasta spooked so I tossed the guy on Fancy and caught Shasta, lassoing him and calming him. When I climbed into that man’s saddle, I swear he didn’t even have him broke, just listening out of fear. He immediately started bucking and kicking like crazy. I wore him down and tied him to Fancy so I could rid him of the horrid saddle. It was too big for his back! I beat the guy up a bit and yelled at him about his abuse of the poor horse and made him swear to be better. Then I looted the saddlebags and the guy for all he had on him and dropped him and his saddle on the side of the trail we were on after cutting his wrists free. I rode with Shasta tied to Fancy back to my old place and have had him since,” she recalls, chuckling at the memories of that day.

“Sounds like you like gettin into trouble, or at the very least, causin it. Should I ask Dutch to rethink this invitation? We don’t need any more trouble,” Arthur jests, climbing off his horse to help unsaddle the O’Driscoll horses.

“Nah. I’m not gonna be the cause of it. I usually just wind up pulled into it. We can change Shasta with these two so they can’t break away and run off on us. I’ll ride him and my two will follow. Unless you’d feel comfortable tying him to the back,” she rambles as she helps James into the back of the wagon before moving to help Arthur with the saddles.

“Two horses work better than one. I think I’ll let you handle unhooking Shasta though. Sounds like he’s a right brute when he wants to be,” he hefts a saddle and puts it in the remaining room in the wagon, ruffling James’ hair in passing. James sticks his tongue out at the man before clambering closer to the seat and waiting for them.

“Aha, yeah. You’re right. He’s a brute alright,” she chides and rounds the front of the wagon after adding the second saddle on top of the other one. “Go ahead and slip their bits out and I’ll settle Shasta, get him dressed in Fancy’s saddle.”

[vgdemy]

The school year was finally coming to an end, which also included their stay at Gallagher. She felt so many things during this semester: pain, stress, anxiety, and betrayal. But there was also the part of her that was happy. Because of the people that she met, the friends that she made and will be keeping, and the fact that she had her group to back her up. Especially Grace. If Harper hadn’t invited her friend to the protest, things would’ve been different. She wouldn’t have been carted away to a strange school filled with spies. Especially a spy that became her (ex) boyfriend and another that was in love with her. It was a mess and the other deserved better.

Yet, there was the selfish side of her that was happy that Grace was with her. Because Harper had someone to fall back on when things got tough, to go to when stressed out, her rock that was always there for her. Because honestly, if she didn’t have her best friend, she would’ve lost it a lot sooner and that was on poor mental health. Grace was her everything and because she was her everything, her best friend deserved something special.

The two were sitting in the dining hall when Harper decided to ask. It was the perfect location that would add onto the aesthetic and flair of her question. She stood up, catching the attention of her best friend and even more so as she got down on one knee, hand going into her pocket to pull out a little box.

“Victoria Grace Demy,” Harper began, voices around them going hush, watching the show. She had to keep up a straight face because she was ready to crack. “You have been my best friend since freshman year where we met at that wack ass frat party. Because some jerk face was trying to hit on you and I slid in to save you. It was after that moment, when we talked for a bit and partied the entire time that we became best friends. You’ve been my ride or die ever since. From going to parties together, to crashing the other’s dates, and to pulling all nighters during finals week. We’ve done it all together.”

“Even while we’ve been here at Gallagher, you’ve been there for me and vice versa. From talking about stupid boys that don’t deserve our time to being absolute idiots when we’re together, I’m so glad to have you in my life and that you’re my wife.” A few ‘aws’ and laughs were heard that almost made her crack but she didn’t. Time to take it home, Harper. “Which is why I’m here today to ask if you’ll be my date to this boujee ass Gallagher dance. Let’s just focus on each other and no one else. No Rafael, no Jai, and no Michael. Just us and these wack ass matching necklaces that I got us because we’re cute and deserve it.” Popping open the case, Harper revealed the matching best friend necklaces that she made Levi buy (thanks for that bud, remember to buy her more stuff even when she’s gone xoxo). “So, what do you say? Be my date?”

She’s been breathing a little easier, knowing that they’re finally going home. She wishes she could say she grew from this experience, but in reality, she’s just a little more messed up than before, and with an additional ten pounds from all the stress eating.

Grace pokes at her food while they’re sat in the dining hall, not really feeling like eating ( or doing much of anything ) when thoughts of the past played a monstrous loop in her head, like the one from It where the Losers saw Pennywise manifest from that old-timey projector, except instead of a demon clown, it’s every moment where she felt like her heart was about to rip into two, and she can’t stop thinking about the worst versions of Jai and Rafa, angry and mean and with scowls on their faces, telling her to fuck off forever.

Note to self: kissing boys ( and falling for them ) are not, and will never be appropriate coping mechanisms to trauma.

Still. Harper keeping her company is all she can ask for during her last days in Gallagher, and the girl’s been trying her best to pick up the blonde from her slump ( God bless her ) and excited for the party. Grace is almost ashamed that she isn’t.

It’s almost telepathic, or karmic gravity ( if such a thing exists ) doing its magic of turning things around, how the sadness that blankets her begins the rumble like there’s an earthquake about to happen.

Grace is a little shocked when Harper says her full name ( gross, it never suited her ) loud enough for other people to hear. Her eyes go wide, and for a split second, she thinks she’s going to get a lecture from her best friend about thinking negatively again ( she’s pretty sure Harper can read her mind at this point ) and to not play with her food.

But then Harper slides into a story, and she knows exactly where this is headed. Blame the countless promposal compilation videos she watched growing up, wishing that that had happened to her.

Her best friend, her wife, is saving her, as always.

Before she knows it, she’s beaming at Harper’s romantic reverie ( she’s positively gushing ), and she’s right, isn’t she? Without each other, they would’ve gone insane in this school. They’re each other’s complete and utter ride or dies, and nothing could ever replace the feeling of someone having your back like a best friend does. Not even a thousand Rafas or Michaels could come close.

She’s speechless in the best way possible, and she only squeals in delight when Harper presents her with a gift.

Matching best friend necklaces. Because, obviously. It’s cheesy, corny, and fucking amazing. It’s already her favorite piece of jewelry of all time.

She’s so happy that her smile wore her, and she feels an overflowing sense of love that only Harper could ever make her feel. When you’re this busted as a person, and someone still wants to do crazy things for you just to make you smile, you know you have a best friend for life.

Grace enthusiastically nods, and a giggle fit bursts through her from sheer happiness and excitement, “Oui! I’d be honored!” It takes her all of two seconds to envelop her best friend in a hug, and she’s almost in tears because of the gesture ( damn it, Rafa, it’s this simple ) and she laughs, “Je t'aime, Harper. What would I do without you?” her voice is a little softer than her high-pitched, fairy-like ‘yes!’ because she means it when she says she’d be lost without her. She briefly pulls away from their hug to say, “Absolutely no boys. Just us looking gorgeous and having fun,” before wrapping her arms around Harper right back, even tighter this time.

When you have a best friend like Harper, what more could you possibly need?