#hi yeah Roland's PHYSICALLY PAINED ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

demonsigh · 3 years

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the hunt

rating: lime/mature pairing: male vampire x gender-neutral reader features: touch starvation, safewords, biting, aftercare, cuddling warnings: blood, fear, being chased, dizziness length: 4240 words

Feeling isolated and craving physical intimacy, a college student agrees to be hunted and bitten by a vampire in exchange for a post-meal snuggling session. Based on this prompt submitted to @monsterkinkmeme by @the-color-of-sound-is-space

You were supposed to meet him at 11 PM, in the middle of Bartleby Park. Vampires were nocturnal and uncomfortable in the sun, so the hunt had to take place at night. But did it have to be this late?

It wasn’t as if you were getting tired. You were something of a nocturnal animal yourself nowadays; college tended to do that to people. But the park was pretty creepy this late at night, eerily empty and unnaturally quiet.

You checked your phone again. 11:10 already. He was late. Had he been held up? Or could he have overslept? That thought wrung a quiet chuckle from you — a sound not at all reassuring to hear in the dark silence of the park.

The “he” in question was a vampire named Roland that you’d met on the internet. You were meeting up so he could suck your blood.

For whatever reason, college towns tended to attract vampires. It probably had something to do with the vibrant nightlife, and the bars that never closed, and parties that only ended when the sun rose. Or perhaps it was the rich history of such places, in the old stone buildings and the musty library books. Or maybe it was just the students themselves: curious and open-minded, over-educated and sheltered and a little bit reckless.

In the modern age, most vampires obtained their food in the modern way: in bags, from blood banks or speciality clinics. But there were those who still swore by more natural methods. Many believed that feeding from the source provided physical and mental health benefits. For others, the desire to stalk, and chase, and bite, was simply too strong to resist indulging. Luckily for all, it was not as difficult to find a willing human victim as one might expect.

You discovered a message board that was dedicated to this macabre economy. Vampires would make posts looking for “prey” — humans willing or eager to be bitten. An arrangement would be made for a night of thrilling and dangerous roleplay, where the vampire played the part of the seductive predator, and the human, the helpless victim.

For most of the humans who posted on this forum, being prey was a kink. They enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the pain of the bite. It was foreplay to them, and the evening inevitably led to sex after their partner’s more pressing appetites were sated.

You became a little obsessed with this message board. You didn’t think you’d mind being bitten; there was something kind of sexy about it. But you weren’t really trying to get laid. What you really wanted was some quality aftercare, a perk that was frequently offered, requested, and discussed on this forum.

College had become something of a lonely experience for you. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, and you weren’t sure where you’d gone wrong. In your freshman year you’d made an effort to be social, starting a number of casual friendships, but none of them really stuck. You were still close to your high school friends, and you talked to them online all the time, but somehow the number of people with whom you had any physical interaction had dwindled down to zero.

It made you lonely in a deep, nagging way. You wanted a hug. You wanted to hold someone’s hand. You daydreamed constantly about these things, setting up elaborate scenarios in your mind that led to someone safe and warm holding you for hours at a time. You felt like these fantasies were reaching a boiling point in your mind. And one night, after drinking several beers by yourself, you made your own post on that message board. You would let someone bite you (hunt optional), in exchange for an evening of snuggling (sex optional).

And that was how you met Roland. He wasn’t the only vampire who replied to your post, but he was the only one who lived within easy walking distance. You agreed to meet at one of the campus cafes and discuss possibilities over coffee.

You recognized him immediately, although you were pretty sure he didn’t recognize you. He was in one of your classes. You frequently spied him from across the lecture hall, tall and good-looking and unapproachable. You’d always thought there was something a little otherworldly about him, but he mostly just looked like another student. You’d had no idea that he wasn’t even human.

And it turned out he wasn’t as intimidating as he looked. He actually seemed pretty nice, even a little bit shy. He’d never fed straight from the skin before — drinking nothing but bagged blood since he was turned — and he wanted to try it at least once. He wasn’t trying to get laid either. Like you, he was much more interested in the aftercare, hoping for something like a cooldown hug once the deed was done. That suited you just fine.

The plan was this: You would meet in Bartleby Park at 11 PM. The exact location didn’t matter, he said; he would come find you. This statement gave you an unexpected thrill. Perhaps the hunting part would be more fun than you’d thought. You would run, and he would chase you. If you screamed, all the better — although this did make a safeword necessary. You chose “cardboard,” the first word that came to your mind, which made him laugh. When he finally caught you, he would bite you on the neck and drink your blood. Then he would take you up to his apartment for first aid and spooning. Simple as that.

Only he wasn’t here yet. It was 11:20 now, and you were still alone. Maybe he was having trouble finding you. Or… was he backing out? That thought stung. You suddenly realized just how much you’d been looking forward to this, and the idea of going home tired and alone made you feel more depressed than ever.

A branch snapped in the trees nearby, and your head whipped toward the sound. Your eyes scanned back and forth across the screen of dark leaves, trying and failing to uncover the culprit.

“Roland?” you whispered. You hadn’t meant to whisper, but suddenly you were having trouble finding your voice. Your phone buzzed in your hand, making you jump. It was a text message from your friend:

“How did it go?”

“He’s late, I’m still waiting,” you typed in response.

“Ok… Text me again in an hour or I’m calling the cops.”

Your friends had basically all agreed that this seemed like a bad idea. You were starting to wonder if they were right. You didn’t know Roland at all… even if you knew where he lived and where he went to school. Even if he was cute and he seemed nice.

And even if Roland was fine, Roland wasn’t here. It was late, and the park was deserted. Who knew what other weirdos were prowling around out here.

You were starting to feel genuinely anxious. Beneath the trees, the park was dark, the shadows unaffected by the dim light of the street lamps. What was the safeword again? Cardboard? That was it, right?

There was a rapid noise in the grass behind you — tff tff tff — like something rushing towards you in long leaps. That was the last straw. You launched into a flat-out run, heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.

A pair of cold, hard arms wrapped around you from behind, jerking you to a stop. You screamed at the top of your lungs, and then, almost in the same breath, shouted, “Cardboard cardboard cardboard,” all in a rush; sure that the word would mean nothing to this person; that you were about to be hurt or worse.

But cardboard was the magic word. The arms disappeared from around your chest, and in a flash he was standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

And of course it was only Roland, the very person you had agreed to do this with. He was staring into your face, expression distressed, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. “It was just… scarier than I expected.”

He was slowly shaking his head back and forth. He looked appalled. “Fuck, I am so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing like that, until you suddenly became aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and the ragged sound of your breathing. Were you crying? God, how fucking embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing tears from your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Jesus.”

“No no,” said Roland, “don’t apologize. I think I overdid it. ...And I was pretty late, that definitely didn’t help.”

He was looking around now, frowning into the dark woods, and rubbing your shoulders absently. You were hyper-aware of his hands. They were like ice but every pass of them over your shoulders sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt extremely relieved that he was here, even though he was the reason you’d been so scared in the first place. You wished he would hug you — the desire for this was almost overwhelming — but you felt too dazed and embarrassed to ask.

His eyes met yours once again, and his hands slipped from your shoulders, finding their way into his pockets instead — the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“Uh…” he said. “Do you wanna just skip this part and go straight back to my place?”

A wobbly laugh escaped you, and you nodded weakly. “Are you still gonna suck my blood?” you asked.

“Do you still want me to?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled at that. It was a small, almost shy smile, but enough to give you a good look at his fangs. They looked shockingly white and sharp in the dark.

He started to walk in the direction of his apartment, then paused; and looking back, expression uncertain, he held his hand out towards you. You hesitated for just one second. Then you placed your hand in his, and his cold fingers closed tightly around yours.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Your heart was racing again. When was the last time you’d held someone’s hand? You never wanted him to let go.

Neither of you spoke. You wondered if he was feeling as nervous as you were. You’d thought that the scary part was over, but what about what came next? How badly would it hurt when he bit you? He’d never bitten anyone before, he said. How would he react to his first taste?

When you tried to picture it, all you could imagine were his lips pressed against your skin; and his hand cupping the back of your neck, holding you still. They were not unpleasant images. You felt your face heat up, and you were suddenly grateful for the darkness and the cold night air.

It was a fairly short walk. His apartment was a big single-room studio: TV and sofa in one corner, bed and bookcase in another. Rounded doorways branched off into a kitchen and a bathroom. There was a large white-curtained window in the west wall, and moonlight poured in through the glass, illuminating the plush carpet. It was cozy and uncluttered. Roland watched you look around, then looked around himself.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” he asked. He caught your eye, then glanced quickly away. “So we don’t get blood on the carpet.”

How practical. You followed him into the kitchen, forcing yourself to take even breaths as you went. Vampires were supposed to have excellent hearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating?

“Want some water?” he asked, opening a cupboard as he spoke. You peered over his shoulder, tickled to see that the only dishes he seemed to own were drinking glasses; no bowls or plates in sight. What would he need a plate for, after all?

He moved around you to fill the glass with water from the sink. He seemed to be avoiding eye-contact, and you wondered again if he was nervous. Somehow the thought made you feel more at ease. Boldly, you opened his refrigerator to examine the contents. Blood bags, and nothing else. Lots of them. Stacks upon stacks, in neat little rows. You couldn’t quite believe it, even though it was exactly what you’d expected to find.

You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but you were afraid it wasn’t good. You turned toward Roland and found him watching you, expression careful; glass of water forgotten in one hand.

“Yeah…” he said.

“Nothing for me?” you asked, grinning, attempting to break the sudden tension.

He grinned back sheepishly. Then he pulled a little juice box out of the pocket of his jacket. It was the kind of thing they gave you after donating blood. You both began to laugh, and a warm, giddy feeling spread through you.

Roland moved closer and patted one of the countertops. “Hop up here?” he asked. You obliged, although it was more of a scramble than a hop. Roland began pulling more small items from the pockets of his jacket, and setting them on the counter next to you: single-use alcohol wipes; a few band-aids; a little roll of gauze, and a roll of medical tape. It became clear to you that he really had intended to bite you in the park, and he had come prepared.

He was standing very close now, almost pressed against your bent knees. You longed to close the distance. You didn’t move. Roland’s movements also grew slower, more hesitant. Stalling.

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He looked you right in the eye, finally. His expression was serious.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” you replied, although you weren’t sure whether you actually believed that.

He frowned, and his eyes travelled down to your neck. He was biting his lip, and his fangs stood out starkly against his skin.

He handed you the glass of water. You drank it. Then you took his hand and gently pulled him closer, spreading your knees wider so he could stand between them. He swallowed visibly.

“I’m nervous too,” you told him.

“I know,” he said, in a hoarse almost-whisper. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Safeword?”

“You can just tell me.”

You were both almost-whispering now, leaning in closer and closer. It felt an awful lot like you were about to share your first kiss.

With one hand, he pulled the collar of your shirt away from your neck, while his other hand slid up to cup the back of your neck. Your heart was hammering with excitement and fear, and his cold fingers felt good against your flushed skin. He lowered his face against your neck, and almost before you knew it his fangs were piercing the skin, creating thin twin wounds that ached immediately. You gasped and grasped handfuls of the fabric of his jacket. Honestly his teeth didn’t hurt much more than a needle, but somehow the reality of it stunned you. He was really going to drink your blood. In that moment, for the first time, you really believed that Roland was something other than human.

His lips closed over the wound. His mouth was wet and unexpectedly hot, and his tongue moved rhythmically against your aching skin as he sucked and swallowed your blood. He made a low sound deep in his throat — the type of contented groan that a good bite of food might inspire. You had to hold your breath to keep from responding in kind.

This was erotic. You couldn’t help thinking of it that way. Your grip on his jacket tightened, and you forced yourself not to squeeze your knees more tightly around his waist. You wondered if he felt it too. Was this exciting him at all? Or was this just a meal to him?

You couldn’t have said how long this went on — it was probably minutes, though it felt longer — but eventually he stopped drinking and pulled away. Somehow a piece of gauze was already in his hand; he pressed it to your neck, holding it firmly against the bite. You stared at each other, both breathing unevenly. His cheeks, so colorless before, were now flushed.

He cleared his throat and licked blood off his lips.

“Are you okay,” he asked, voice rough.

“I’m ok,” you said, although you actually felt a little dizzy. You felt around for the juice box. “Was that enough?”

He nodded his head and grabbed the juice box, pressing it into your reaching hand. He seemed a little dazed. He tore open one of the alcohol wipes, and while you drank your juice he disinfected the bite marks. You hissed at the stinging pain, and he grimaced in sympathy. Then he taped a fresh strip of gauze over the bite.

“It didn’t hurt that bad,” you reported between sips.

“Good,” he said. But he was starting to look unhappy again, frowning as he watched you sip your juice. Your heart sank a little in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed this as much as you had.

“Are you ok?” you asked him.

He didn’t respond at first. And then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him. You bit back a huff of surprise. He was no longer cold — drinking your blood had warmed his whole body.

“What is it?” you whispered.

He heaved an enormous sigh next to your ear. “You just looked so scared in the park,” he said. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your chest. “I feel really bad.”

You didn’t feel bad. One of his large hands was pressed against your back, warm and reassuring, and the other was cupped around the back of your head. Your chest was pressed flush against his, and he was warm and solid and worried about you. You gave up trying to resist the urge to touch him. You put your arms around him, and squeezed your knees tighter against his waist, pulling him even closer to you. You let your head fall forward to rest against his neck, but as soon as you closed your eyes, the room began to whirl around you.

“Um,” you gasped. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh,” he said, a little catch of surprise in his voice. He pulled away. “Um. Let me, uh...”

Carefully, he slipped his hand under your knees, and gathered you up into his arms. You threw your own arms around his neck, shamelessly clinging to him as he carried you out of the kitchen with no apparent effort. He paused in the doorway and looked down at you.

“The bed or the couch?” he asked.

“The bed,” you said against his chest, hoping that this was not too bold. He didn’t seem to think so. He carried you across the room, careful not to jostle you, and gently laid you down on top of the comforter.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You were quite cold, actually; another effect of the blood loss.

Roland stood and went over to a small closet, where he retrieved a stack of thick, warm-colored blankets. He shook them out and draped them over you in layers, and their warm weight made you feel better almost immediately.

“Thank you,” you said.

“No problem,” he replied. He stood by the side of the bed, unmoving. He seemed to be struggling for words. “Um… Do you still want to…”

“Yes,” you said emphatically, and you peeled back the blankets to make space for him.

He looked self-conscious, but he didn’t hesitate. He crawled under the blankets, and carefully pulled you into his arms, settling your head against his shoulder. His body was still warm with your blood, and you pressed into him eagerly.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you said. You placed your hand flat on his chest, then sighed happily, which made him laugh. He laid his hand over yours, curling his fingers around it.

That was almost too much. Your chest felt fit to burst with it. You kept waiting to wake up, sure that you must have dreamt this whole thing. You still couldn’t believe he’d drunk your blood. His teeth had been inside of you. And as much as that weirded you out, it kind of turned you on too.

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to text your friends back. You shifted around, and Roland loosed his hold on you to let you pull your phone out of your pocket.

“I’m letting my friends know you didn’t murder me,” you explained as you typed. You’d meant it as a joke, but you regretted the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, turning in his arms to face him, and wincing at the pain in your neck. “I didn’t really think you would…”

He shook his head before you could say anything else. “It’s ok. Biting someone…” He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Well, it’s an inherently violent act. Some people get carried away. Your friends weren’t wrong to be worried.”

“I feel safe with you though,” you said.

“Oh. Good.” He ducked his head, and his cheeks turned the pinkest they’d been all night. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest. He was really adorable… You hadn’t expect that, watching him from afar. You pulled closer to him, putting your arms around him and laying your head against his chest. He tucked the blankets more snugly around your shoulders.

“This is really nice,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“How did you like biting me?” You forced the words out before you could lose your nerve. You hoped you weren’t making it awkward, but you had to know.

Roland didn’t answer at first. Then he let out a breath, and slid one of his hands over his face. “Not gonna lie,” he said. “It was way better than drinking bagged blood.”

“Oh, good!” you said, laughing. “I’m glad. I was worried you didn’t like it.”

“I definitely liked it…” he said, still covering his face. “You taste amazing.”

You felt your face turn bright red. There was a double-entendre in there somewhere, although you guessed it was unintentional. I’d like to taste you next, you thought wildly, and once again, you found yourself wondering if you were the only one whose mind had wandered into the gutter tonight.

He seemed to sense your sudden discomfort, if not its source, because he uncovered his face and said, “I’m sorry, that was a super weird thing to say.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I liked it too,” you admitted. “When you bit me.” Then, still more softly: “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again sometime.”

You heard him swallow. “I’d like that.”

You lapsed into a warm silence, untroubled and comfortable, and you basked in his presence like a cat in sunlight. You were aware of every part of him that was pressed against you: his chest rising and falling beneath you, and his hands pressed against your back, and his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, chaste but intimate, and ripe with potential.

You definitely wanted to kiss him. You opened your mouth to float the idea, but you were overcome by an enormous yawn. You suddenly realized you had no idea what time it was. It felt really late, but maybe you were just tired out from all the excitement.

“Was I falling asleep?” you asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“I should probably get home,” you said, but then made no move to get up. You heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t wanna go yet though,” you complained, “I’m so cozy.”

“Do you wanna stay here?”

You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “Stay the night?”

“We don’t have to do anything weird,” he said, turning pink again. You stared at each other for a moment. Then he gently pushed your head back down to his chest, so that you weren’t looking at him when he said, “I don’t wanna let you go yet.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. As if you weren’t already convinced. “I won’t throw off your day? I mean your night?”

You felt him shrug. “I was just gonna do homework.”

That drew a surprised laugh out of you. You’d almost forgotten that Roland wasn’t just your weird vampire hookup. He was your classmate too.

“Do you know that we’re in the same class?” you asked, playfully accusing.

“Yeah,” he admitted, with a bit of a laugh in his voice. “I recognized you when we got coffee.”

That surprised you. “I thought I was the only one,” you said.

“I noticed you sitting in back sometimes.” His hand was still resting against the side of your head, and his fingers moved absently through strands of your hair. “I thought you looked cool.”

“Good,” you said, which made him laugh. You grinned against his chest. “I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around you.

#exophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #vampire boyfriend #monsterkinkmeme #sighs writing

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peach-the-owl · 4 years

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I think you not going to like this,74 and 87. But hear me out. child cries realize that it old group of the child after seeing the remain of child's old group. saying child fault after leaving the old group behind. But for Nein, they tell child the old group give their life to let child live. A burial for old child group, telling old group real goal, is see child a better future with new family they found. Yeah my English not good, but hope you like this. Try Destiny 2 Journey vocal 2 for this

It is done! So, I think I get idea, but I also decided to add in some creative liberties of my own, so to speak, because it’s the spooky season and who doesn’t love trauma! May have overdone it a little, idk but it was a fun ride. I hope it was worth the wait 😁

WARNING: This is gonna get a little graphic

Carry On

Mighty Nein & Child!Reader

74- Why are you crying? 87- It's my fault this happened.

You met the Mighty Nein several months ago when you were but a lone wanderer, concerned for a lost child they took you in hoping to help find your family. You told them that while you were traveling your family had been attacked by a strange looking group of gnolls, at least that’s what you could remember anyways. As you journeyed along you recognized the route you were taking, this was the same road you’d last saw your family and an eerie sense of being watched crept into you.

"We should be careful around here." You say huddling closer to Jester in the cart, she puts an arm around you and gives you a kind smile.

"Hey don’t worry about it, we’re always super careful." You wanted to believe her, but you’ve been with them long enough to know that wasn’t always true. The sound of rustling foliage catches everyone’s attention as these creatures that looked like gnolls jumped out and attacked.

It was like déjà vu, the long track down the road, assurance that things would be just fine, the rustling leaves that lead to an ambush it was exactly like what happened last time. Everyone sprang into action, while you were left in the cart trying to calm yourself, you look over and notice one of these gnolls was staring at you like it knew you somehow. You duck away from view and grab your weapon to defend yourself, the cart shakes as the gnoll jumps onto it and lets loose a cackle, something sounded off from the usual laughs gnolls normally made though. Even stranger is that it doesn’t attack you right away either, instead it grabs ahold of you before you can take a swing at it and covers your mouth to stop you from calling for help, it then proceedes to carry you deeper into the forested area. You can hear the shouts and sounds of battle grow fainter the farther in you go, you struggle and manage to wriggle free of this things grip and book it in the direction you could only assume you came from. Not looking where you’re going you trip on a tree root jutting out of the ground and stumble into a clearing, the area smelled rancid and upon looking around you could tell why. Bodies littered the area some more decayed then others, all of them twisted and mangled into strange positions, you could feel bile raising to your throat and had to physically stop yourself from vomiting.

"Isn’t it a beautiful sight? Such wonderful art." That voice, you knew that voice. Turning your head you see the "gnoll" remove its headpiece revealing a man underneath.

"Mr. Roland? You did this?" It was shocking, horrifying even to think that someone your family had once trusted would do something like this.

"Now don’t fret child, instead why not marvel at my latest masterpiece." He gestures towards something, you fearfully look over eyes widening and body trembling at the sight. Bloody bodies twisted beyond their limits with bones jutting out every which way, dried organs draped around arms and legs like they were fancy decorations, some of their faces were pinned up to look like they were smiling while others still held looks of agony. These people, this "masterpiece" was your family or what remained of them anyways.

"We… we trusted you." The words came out so fast and shaky making you wonder if you even spoke them at all.

"And it was a wonderful choice, just look at how amazing they turned out, in fact I should be thanking you." You give him a confused look. "You see if it wasn’t for your family doing everything they could to help make your escape I wouldn’t have this masterpiece at all. Perhaps I should let you flee again, after all you’ve brought me more people to work with and what a colourful bunch they are too." Your breathing hitched, this was because of you? They were like this because of you, and now the Nein were next… all because of you. Tears streamed down your face, vision blurring as the weight of the situation pressed down on you.

"Oh dear child, why are you crying?" He sounded as though he was mocking you now and as much as you wanted to look away or run you find your body having become unresponsive to your thoughts. When he speaks again his voice sounds as though it’s circling around you from all directions. "Could it be you feel left out? Well if that’s the case… I’ll be happy to have you join them!" You were too distracted to focus on his words or hear the loud thud along with a grunt of pain from behind you.

"Come on kid we gotta go!" Whoever was talking now you couldn't place their voice, still stuck on the horrific imagery that was now burned into your brain, it wasn’t until you felt hands on your shoulders did you finally react with a flinch. The sight of crimson eyes and lavender skin help readjust your focus. "Hey, hey, hey! Look at me kid, there’s no time for that we gotta go, now!" Legs shaking you slowly get up, only to stumble when you try to walk. With a swift motion Molly picks you up and dashes away from the clearing, your breathing was heavy and your head still felt a little hazy after what you just saw but you were still able to focus enough to see Roland give chase after you, a large slash wound across his chest and abdomen. Even with the nasty wound he still managed to gain on you, panic filling every part of your body the closer he got.

"B-be-behind you!" You managed to give a warning and with another swift motion your placed on the ground, hearing the sound of metal clashing before turning to see Molly blocking Roland's attack. You were able to see the road from where you stood but still found it hard to get your body to do what you wanted, feeling as though you frozen in place, so you did the only natural thing left that you could do…

You screamed.

Curling yourself into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your ears you let out an ear piercing shriek, soon gentle arms pick you up making you once again flinch on reaction but the calming voice that follows eases your worries a bit.

"It’s alright (y/n), you’re going to be okay." Fjord brings you out of the tree line and sets you down into the cart. "Wait here, I’ll be right back." You reach for him as he disappears back into the forest, slowly you lower your arms once again curling up into a ball for any sort of self-comfort, letting tears cascade down your face as the situation fully sinks in.

"It’s my fault this happened. They all died because of me, now I’m gonna lose two families." You sob to yourself thinking only of the worst outcome, so wrapped up in your own world you weren’t sure how much time passed, maybe a minute, maybe an hour you didn’t know anymore. The feeling of something soft and fluffy nudging against you pulls you from those negative thoughts, slowly uncurling yourself to see Frumpkin butting his head against your hand asking for attention. You place the cat onto your lap brushing your hands through his soft fur, looking around your eyes land on Caleb standing a few feet from the cart giving you a empathetic look, had he heard you? It’s not long after the rest of the group emerges from the forest, some of them looking more roughed up then others, most notable being Yasha and Beau.

"So anyone know about that creepy ass clearing?" Beau blurts out, getting a few glares from the party as she realizes her slip of the tongue. "Umm… sorry, the question still stands though."

"M-mr. Roland called it his art." You say it quietly, but still loud enough for them to hear.

"Who’s Mr. Roland?" Jester questions, with a curious tilt of her head. You explain to everyone how he was supposedly a friend to your family, helping with jobs and looking after you and your siblings when your parents couldn’t, and finally how when your family had been attacked several months ago you had thought he was aiding you in the fight.

"No one survived, except for me… they all died because of me." You hug Frumpkin closer to you as fresh tears streamed down your face.

"That’s not true-"

"How do you know!" You shout at Fjord, cutting him off and immediately feeling guilty for doing so, you still continue but softer. "He said it himself that they all died while I was running away."

"They died because you ran away or to help you run away?" You snivel as you think about it again, but it was still hard to focus on your own thoughts. There was, however, one thing on your mind that kept taking priority over all else you just weren’t sure if they’d all agree, better to ask now then never though.

"Can-can I ask you all to do something for me? It’s ok if you don’t wanna, but I was wondering if we could maybe… go back and give them a funeral, or something." As you spoke your words fade to a soft whisper, feeling embarrassed by the request, resorting to hiding your face in the fur of the cat still trapped in your arms. The party talks amongst themselves while you try distracting yourself by playing with Frumpkin's paws.

"Hey." Looking up you see Veth in front of you offering her hand for you to take, so readjusting Frumpkin you take it as she leads you off the cart again and back towards the tree line. While your walking she keeps her hand firmly in yours. "I know this must hard for you, are you really sure you want to go back and see the… aftermath?" Was it not for the situation you’d find it almost funny how despite being about the same height she still acts very motherly to you, or maybe it wasn’t that funny at all, either way you knew what you wanted to be done.

"I’m sure, I don’t want them to be left here as a crazy mans 'art project' they don’t deserve that and I…" You pause, the words catching in your throat. Veth gives you a few gentle squeezes for reassurance to continue, after a minute you find your words again. "I want say goodbye properly. Is that dumb, does that sound dumb?"

"No no, it’s not dumb at all, in fact that’s very brave of you. Some grownups don’t even have the nerve to say goodbye, so just know I’m proud of you for that." You give her a small but genuine smile. By now you had made it back to the clearing, and with some deep breaths you step into it see the rest of the Nein having already dug some holes in the ground to act as graves. The bodies of your family and other poor victims who fell prey to Roland already being placed in some, Caduceus being the one instructing everyone on the proper procedures. It took a few hours so by the time they finished burying the bodies the sky had turned to dusk.

"Is there anything you’d like to say?" Caduceus asks you softly, as if his words could shatter you if he wasn’t careful. You open your mouth but find it to be a struggle to think of something to say now, having been put on the spot in front of everyone trying to force any sort of sound out to no luck. Your face slowly turns red at the feeling of embarrassment that washes over you.

"I have something to say to them if that is alright with you." Caleb says, looking to you as if to ask permission, you tilt your head a little in confusion but nod. He steps forward and clears his throat. "I may not have known them, but if (y/n) is an example of their kindness and acceptance of others, then I can understand why they would do anything to keep them alive." He turns and gives you a gentle smile, you faintly return it.

"It always hurts to lose someone you love, but if I can learn not to let that chain me down and accept love from others again then you can too." Yasha surprised you with her sweet words but there was something uplifting about them that you couldn’t help but raise your smile at.

"My turn! Ok… may the Traveler bless your souls for sending us this sweet little child to call our own, ummm… that’s all I got." Jester pipes in, bringing a sort of joy to cut down the lingering tension, it almost makes you giggle.

"As a mother, I know I’d happily give my life again to protect Luc knowing that he’s still alive and will carry on my legacy." Veth says, almost reminestantly. It made you slowly realize that maybe your family did the same so you could carry on their legacy too, if that’s the case then you’d accept it.

"I do believe the kid's made things more lively since they joined and I for one wouldn’t want to trade that for the world." Maybe not as heartfelt of a speech as the others, but you honestly expected nothing less from Molly, he even struts over to you and ruffles your hair earning a small laugh from you.

"Wait, are we taking turns? Uhh… it’s been nice having someone to look out for and teach the ways of the world to, it always feels like we have a purpose even when we feel useless." Fjord stumbled over his words a little, not fully expecting everyone to contribute but found his grounding at the end, his and everyone’s words so far having helped raise you spirits more and more.

"Ummm… look I’m not really good at this emotional stuff but I’m glad your here with us." Like Molly, Beau's little speech wasn’t all that heartfelt but her words were genuine and that’s all you could ask for.

"You all did amazing, I’m proud." Caduceus says, he then gently places his hands on the ground and casts Decompose while muttering a prayer of safe passage for the deceased to the Wildmother. The area quickly sprouting various fungus’ and some (favourite flower/s) the clearing becoming a beautiful patch of nature once again from the horror show that it once was. You are then brought into a group hug, a warm feeling of true belonging coming over you.

"I’m really happy I found you." Tears slide down your cheeks, but no longer ones of sorrow, these were tears of joy.

"We’re glad we found you too."

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3starsquinn · 4 years

Text

The Next Right Thing || Orion & Winston

Setting: Around 2-3am morning of 10/20 after the birthday chatzies (x and x)

Location: Ricky/Winston/Rio’s house

Parties: Orion and @danetobelieve

Content Warning: Physical and emotional abuse mentions, Death mentions

Summary: After Rio leaves his parent’s house he goes home to find Winston. Things are surprisingly less dreary than they probably should be.

Orion had no idea what time it was when he finally snuck back into the house. His real home. His safe haven. Not the glorified prison his parents had to offer. Or… offered. It was only a matter of time before that news came out. Before investigations happened and questions started to be asked. How long was it before suspicion fell to Rio and Athena? Would they be the first suspects? How was Rio supposed to even sleep tonight, knowing what hell was coming in a few hours? He had cried tonight, more than he had wanted to. He had cried for himself and for his sister. He had cried because of what he had been forced to do and what this meant for him. But he still hadn’t cried for his parents death. He wasn’t sure he ever would. Now he felt like he was out of tears.

Orion went to his room first. He dropped his bag off and tried his bed out, lying in it for approximately twenty seconds before he realized that he wasn’t ready to sleep. He couldn’t push off telling Winston. No matter what it meant, Winston deserved to know. Even though they worked for the same police department that would be investigating the murders. Winston had trusted Rio with the necromancy even though the two had barely been speaking at the time. He abandoned his room and crossed the hallway somberly, resting his hand against the door for a moment before he convinced himself to knock. The light peaked out from the foot of the door and Rio could hear the typing from the bedroom. He knocked, waiting for the okay to come in and slipped through a crack before closing the door again and resting his back again. Facing Winston now, Rio realized that he apparently did have some tears left in him. These were for Winston, because Rio didn’t know how they were going to react. “Sorry I- I didn’t want to interrupt.” Rio wiped at his face and wished that he had been able to just come home and watch Winston work. But telling them now was the right thing to do. “Something happened…” Rio took a deep breath, chickening out from the immediate truth and settling instead of, “My parents are dead.” He would let the shock of that settle before dropping the other bomb.

It had been a late night. Honestly, most of their nights were late nights now. Winston had always been dependent -- to some degree at least -- on caffeine to assist with not sleeping and the hours that they choose to keep. Now more so then ever. Sleep didn’t come easy. Not with Roland’s death and the lack of assistance that they’d been able to have on anything that had happened to do with it. Not including any of the danger that Rio and Blanche had been put in. So they’d crawled into their work and although Roland had been dead for almost longer then Winston was willing to admit. The sound of typing filled the room. The only light was from the computer screens and it cast a relatively eerie glow around them. Winston swallowed a large mouthful of hot coffee as they heard the knock on the door. Their latest project was their most complicated yet, but then again wasn’t it always the most complicated project yet? Trying to calibrate the auto turrets that they wanted to install for the house was far from easy on a technological level and although in theory including a magical component should make it simpler, the truth was that it didn’t. “Come in,” they called, it was late but they hadn’t realised quite how late. Rio was usually asleep at this time and Winston barely looked up from the computer screen until Rio spoke. There was a familiar pain in their voice and Winston felt their heart fall through their chest and into their stomach. It felt like it was slowly and awkwardly dissolving there and Winston swallowed a few times before speaking. “You never have to apologise Rio,” they were standing and basically running across the room before pulling Rio into the tightest hug that they could. It was so important that he knew how much Winston cared in this minute. Winston had hated Rio’s parents but that didn’t mean that they really wanted them dead. “Do you … what …. I….” Winston was notoriously bad at things like this. But they had to be good now. For Rio if nothing else. “Rio, what happened? I’m so sorry.”

As usual, Orion was oddly surprised that Winston immediately dropped everything to comfort him. It shouldn’t come as a shock. Winston had done it long before the two were romantically involved and had never stopped. Even after the whole love potion fiasco, Winston had tried to act as though it hadn’t bothered them. But old habits die hard, and it was still weird getting used to all of his friends being there for him when he had spent his entire life with only the Quinn family as an example of what to expect. It couldn’t be any more evident that Rio didn’t deserve Winston. It couldn’t be any more evident that Rio didn’t deserve Winston. Rio held too much baggage, too many fears and apprehensions. How could he ever live up to what Winston needed? What they deserved? The thoughts only forced Rio to cry harder, being pulled tighter into a hug as he tried to breathe through the blubbering and force himself to say the words that he hadn’t quite managed yet. Even while Nic was there, he hadn’t been able to admit it directly. He had to now. “It was me.” Rio finally admitted, breaking the hug to take a step backwards. He didn’t feel like he deserved it anymore. “I went to the house and- there was a fight and they got so angry. I thought they were going to kill me so…” Rio didn’t mention Athena. If things went south, there was no reason to drag both of them into it. The look on her face after it was over hadn’t left Rio’s brain yet. He had never seen her hurt or scared like that before. He imagined it was the same facial expression Rio had made before in his life, considering they were twins. “I killed them. I killed them.” Rio had to repeat it again for it to feel real. “I don’t- I can’t believe that I did that.”

A dark part of Winston had begun brewing recently. A seed in their heart that they couldn’t help but nurture and nourish. It hadn’t been deliberate. But all the violence. All of the death. All of the pain. It was hard not to see that dark part grow and whilst Winston had once tried to suppress it they weren’t sure they could anymore. It wasn’t as if they were deliberately feeding it or anything. It just … happened. So when Rio admitted that they had been the one who had done the deed, there was a tiny part of Winston that wanted to say good. That wanted to tell Rio that his parents had been bad people who had done terrible things to him and Athena. That wanted to point to the scars that crisscrossed Rio’s arms and highlight that this was a fair trade. Obviously Winston didn’t do that. What kind of partner would they be if they had? But there was a moment where they almost did. “You…” Winston swallowed again, looking him in the eye before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, “you need to tell me everything that happened, and you need to not lie to me because your parents were well known members in the community and I can’t keep you safe from any or well …. You know all of this if I don’t know everything that happened. First things first, you didn’t text or call anyone did you? Because if you did we need to get rid of those records immediately, anything that might implicate you.” Winston was going too fast. “I guess, before we can do any of that I need you to tell me everything that happened, I know you went to their house, why did you fight? Why did you go to the house? Can you tell me what happened to make you go there? Did you go on your own?” Was Winston asking too many questions? They weren’t sure but they certainly weren’t trained for this sort of thing. But they had to do something. It was Rio….

You. The word had been enough to stop Orion’s breath and hold his eyes shut. He knew what came after it. You monster. You murderer. You freak. Many variations, but all meaning the same thing. But instead, those words never came. Rio felt Winston’s lips brush against his forehead and then began asking questions about what had happened. Rio peaked an eye open to examine them. Winston was being serious. Knowing the story. Deleting phone records. Winston was going to help Rio. “You’re- You’re going to help me?” Rio found himself asking even though it seemed pretty obvious by this point. “I- yeah. Okay.” Rio shook his head, wiping the tears from his face and beginning to recount the night, “Athena and I have this tradition. We end our birthdays by sitting on the rooftop until midnight when it turns to October 20th. I went over there to meet with her and do it and- well I went to tell her that I couldn’t talk to her anymore. That I needed to cut ties with the entire Quinn family if I was going to move on. But- before I could leave our parents caught us.” Rio didn’t know how much information Winston actually needed, but he couldn’t stop it from all spilling out now, “There was an incident. On our eighteenth birthday. Our parents had a werewolf. They starved and tortured it and made it attack us during training. Athena ended up killing it right before it could kill me. And uh- well they admitted that they had done it on purpose. To try to get rid of me.” It didn’t bother Rio so much anymore. He had accepted the truth of that night months ago, but Athena hadn’t taken it so well. “They were going to finish the job. She broke my wrist,” Rio held up his wrapped left hand as evidence, “And she was hurting Athena. And I had to do something so- there was a fight and my mom got hurt. And then my dad came after me. He died first.” He was still teetering between telling Winston about Athena’s involvement. That she had stabbed their father before Rio had finished her off. Or that she had been the one to kill their mother. An odd part of Rio felt protective over her. “I called a friend of mine. Nic. He helped me clean up and he told Athen and I to leave. To have an alibi ready just in case.”

A deep frown furrowed Winston’s brow and they sighed gently. “Of course I’m going to help me … wait not I mean, of course I’m going to help you … Rio, you-you’re my boyfriend and I love you and I’d never ever let you go through something like this on your own and I don’t want you to go to jail because you were dealing with …” Winston again was really struggling not to out right call Orion’s recently deceased parents shit heads but there was a time and a place for everything and Winston got the impression that this was not the time and the place for that particular brand of profanity, “.... well everything around this.” They listened carefully to the story that Orion told, trying to take in all of the details. “If they were trying to get rid of you and you managed to survive not once but twice then …. Well you did what you had to do and even if you did kill them both it was definitely in self defense and we can use that as a defense if everything goes wrong but ….” Winston was chewing their lip nervously as their brain rocketed into overtime trying to think of the perfect scenario, “I won’t be able to work on this case if it gets that far because it is to do with you and therefore would probably be a conflict of interests which is an ethical breach, so we need to do everything now, I can probably use magic to fuck with your GPS signal so that they won’t know that you were at the house but …” Winston didn’t know that Rio knew Nic, taking a deep breath they furrowed their brow once more.” Winston swallowed and considered everything that was going on. “Here’s the plan, we’ll go to the woods behind my parents house and we’ll fake a fall for you, then I can go and get my parents and tell them you’ve fallen and that can be our alibi, we can say that we were doing some astronomy shit and take a telescope out there, I know Ricky has some lying around that were just in the house and yeah, alibi is sensible. You’ll get called in about this even if you aren’t a suspect so after tonight we’re going to need to start learning your story and we both need to know it perfectly. But most of all, we don’t talk to anyone without a lawyer present which we should also start thinking about.”

Winston was a machine, talking at a rapid pace and running through the entire scenario in a surprising amount of detail. Orion remembered that Winston had been part of something that had taken a life. Maybe that was where this all came from. Coupled with Winston’s own experience working for the police department and Rio was either the luckiest boyfriend in the world or the unluckiest, depending on how Winston had taken the news. Aside from knowing Winston was important enough to get the whole truth, it had been another reason why lying to them would have been a bad idea. Still, it was pretty amazing seeing the gears turn in their head as they formulated an alibi on the spot. “My wrist will heal quickly. It’ll probably be better if we just tell your parents I sprained it.” Rio interjected, nodding along in agreement and wishing that this wasn’t something they had to drag Winston’s parents into. “I don’t know any lawyers.” Rio stated. Would he have to tell this same story to a lawyer if they got one? Would he have to lie and go along with this fake story? Lying wasn’t something that Rio was unaccustomed to. He had been doing it his whole life. But he had thought that part of his life was coming to a close. Now he had just gone and made it so much worse. “I don’t regret it.” Maybe Rio shouldn’t disclose all this information, in fear that Winston thought that he had completely lost it. But Rio couldn’t shut himself up. “I took someone’s life. I killed them. And I’m horrified and sad because I took a life. But not because it was them. I wanted them dead. I don’t regret that it was them and I don’t miss them. I hate them. And I’m happy that they can never hurt me or my sister or anyone else ever again.”

There were a million and three ways that this could go wrong and Winston dreaded to think about how everything could go badly if they didn’t get this right. They had to get it right because if they didn’t get it right then Winston didn’t know what was going to happen to their boyfriend and they weren’t going to ever let anything bad happen to anyone, not if they could help it. Not after everything that they’d been through this year. “Okay, good point, we’ll tell them we’re doing all the star gazing, romantic sappy stuff, then we can say you slipped and fell and hurt your wrist and that cements our alibi with them and with everything else.” Winston swallowed thoughtfully and sighed for a moment. “Of course not, your feelings are obviously valid and of course you wouldn’t regret it and you shouldn’t. But taking someone’s life, taking anything's life is never ever going to be easy …” Winston sighed, “you did what you had to do. I once thought that we lived in a system which would let us keep safe without ever having to do anything like that. But I’m starting to learn that not only can the cops not keep us safe in the human world, but when it starts to come to the supernatural world they aren’t even close to being able to help us at all.” Winston swallowed and considered their words carefully. “Sometimes, unfortunately you just have to make the tough call and you just have to decide that you can’t just sit and watch this anymore. You have to decide that now is the time to act and that’s what you did. You did what you thought was right and I don’t think that anyone can blame you for that. I certainly don’t. They don’t and can’t and will never do anything to you or Athena ever again.” For the first time since Orion had moved in, Winston was sure that he was safe here.

Orion didn’t know what was wrong with himself. He didn’t regret what he had done. He couldn’t regret finally stopping those monsters from torturing him and others. He wouldn’t miss them. He wouldn’t have to be scared of running into them again. He wouldn’t have to fear for his friends' lives that his parents would kill them if they found out they weren’t human. Everything about this situation was better. So why couldn’t Rio stop crying? Winston was right. The police couldn’t help when it came to the supernatural. They never would have known about his parents. They had been too good at covering their tracks. They had been the only ones able and willing to stop them. Rio had never been much for affection or intimacy. Mostly because intimacy had never been present. Physical touch had only ever been painful. But with Winston things came easy. Rio didn’t just accept their touch, he craved it. And pulled Winston into another tight hug, “I love you so much. Thank you.” The words came easy too, the feeling that Rio had known for a while but too afraid to say it before. He let himself bask in the beautiful moment before he had to turn the conversation back to the nights earlier events. “There’s going to be- My dad. In the basement he kept… a room. Like his own private operating theatre. He did terrible things there. When they search the house, they’re going to find it. And they’re going to know something was really wrong. I don’t- I just wanted you to hear it from me. Before you hear about it at work. People are going to figure out exactly what kind of people my parents were. Which means they’re going to have even more questions for me. I don’t want you to get dragged into the middle of that.”

Swallowing gently, Winston felt their tongue sit dryly in their mouth as they tried to come to grips with their current situation and truly grapple with whether or not they were going to be able to come to terms with this and how they could best help Rio. Honestly, it didn't change anything for them. Just for Rio. If someone else had killed their parents then Winston would have been a little bit more concerned but with Rio … well it wasn’t what Winston had wanted but it was a good solution to the problem. “I love you too and you know that you don’t have to say thank you to me, I would never ever let you do this on your own. What is the point of having a partner if they’re not going to be your literal partner in crime.” In hindsight now was probably not the very best time for Winston to be telling jokes, but that was fine, Winston was sure Rio wouldn’t mind and it cut the tension. At least that is what Winston said to themselves in that moment. Swallowing gently, Winston realized that they hadn’t fully grasped just how fucked up Rio’s parents were. Which was kind of shocking honestly, Winston had not believed that there was anything else that they could possibly do that would make them worse then they already were. “Of course, I mean, I’m glad you told me but I don’t think that means anything, if anyone asks we just tell them that you’re living with me because you ran away from home because you couldn’t stand your parents, we say you didn’t know about any of that and … you know, we’ll make sure that everything is worked out. I won’t be allowed to work this, because you know, conflict of interest and ethical standards and all that, but that’s probably good in the end, means I can focus on keeping you safe.”

Orion nodded his head. He just kept nodding his head. Over and over again as Winston spoke, as Winston saved everything for Rio. Winston claimed that Rio didn’t owe them a thank you but in reality Rio owed them everything. The only reason he was alive right now was because of Winston’s offer back at the Scribrary that night. Winston and Ricky’s generosity had kept Rio safe from his parents for this long. Now, after Rio had done something he wasn’t even sure he would have been capable of months ago, Winston was there to save the day again. Whether Winston wanted to accept the gratitude or not, Rio would owe them for the rest of his life. Rio tried laughing at Winston’s joke, the humor not entirely lost on him. How had the two of them ended up being murderers and criminals? What had this town done to them? “Yeah. Right. Of course. I uh- let me get my act together, yeah? If we see your parents I can’t let them see me freaking out before I get the news about my parents. Do you mind if-” Rio trailed off, thinking about what he wanted to ask. He didn’t want to be alone, that much was obvious. But he didn’t want to say or do anything stupid in this moment of weakness and vulnerability. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Shock didn’t quite come close to describing how Winston felt. But at least this was something that they could actually help with. This wasn’t like when Roland died. Or Celeste died. Or anyone else who had passed before Winston’s very eyes. This was a brand new problem but it was a problem that Winston had something that they could do something about and that in itself was the best news possible. At least for them. “Of course, you can take some time for sure and we’ve obviously got the drive over. I don’t want to sound callous because normally I’d want you to have all the time in the world for this but you can’t take too long because we do need to establish that alibi as quickly to their time of death as possible.” Winston was already vividly aware that they were a bit beyond the time of death already but they were trying to make everything work. “We can definitely share a room if you need to, I don’t want you to be sleeping alone either… not after everything that happened.”

Orion had been crying, but what for? He didn’t think he was mourning. He wasn’t particularly sad that either of them were gone. If anything, he felt relieved. He didn’t have to constantly look over his back anymore, always afraid that his parents would be lurking behind to finish the job they had started three years ago. Even if things went south and Rio was taken off to jail, at least he could rest easier knowing that James and Linda Quinn couldn’t hurt any innocent person ever again. Which meant he had to be crying for Winston’s sake, right? It was as if the realization pulled Rio back to reality. Just as suddenly as it had started once getting into the room, Rio’s tears stopped streaming down his face. In one last motion, Rio wiped the rest of them away. Though his eyes must be bloodshot and his face felt puffy, his voice no longer cracked when he spoke. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m going to pack a bag. We should take a blanket and some snacks and stuff with us just to make sure that it looks as legit as possible, probably.” Rio’s mind was already racing with anything that he could think of to make sure that this was as perfect as possible. He couldn’t have the story falling apart. This had to work. “Give me five minutes, okay? I’ll be ready to go.” He didn’t want to be anywhere without Winston right now. But he needed to get some things together before they left. “But good. Because I want to sleep with you” Rio said as he walked out of the room, only to pause a few steps out of the doorway and slide back to poke his head back in, “Um- I didn’t mean it like that. I want to sleep in bed with you. Not with you. I mean… I do want to sleep with you. Like when we’re ready or whatever. But tonight probably isn’t the best night for that” Or maybe this was the only chance Rio was going to get. But he wasn’t prepared to deal with that thought yet, “Uh anyways I’m going to pack now.”

Winston nodded. None of this felt weird. At the beginning of 2020 the very last thing that they would have imagined was that they would be in a position where they would have a boyfriend and that they would be helping this boyfriend cover up the murder of the parents. It was weird how things played out because at this exact moment Winston couldn’t think of a single thing that they would rather be doing or a single person that they would rather be helping. Orion of all people deserved Winston’s help and they were never going to leave him to take these things on themselves. “Yeah we should try and make this look legitimate,” Winston wasn’t entirely sure that this was going to be the most solid alibi, but they would be able to play with footage to make it look like there was other things going on then there were. Murder was a finnicky business and Winston decided that they needed to try to be involved in it as little as they possibly could. This level of stress couldn’t be good for their health. Of that they were certain. “I can grab a thermos and fill it with something too, that way we definitely won’t look all that suspicious.” Winston couldn’t help the dumb grin that crept across their face. “Uh, okay, well, you can definitely share my bed tonight, or yours, I don’t … where we sleep doesn’t matter.” Their heart rate was elevated. Their palms clammy. “We can talk about sleeping together when we’re not trying to … to cover up the mu-” Winston swallowed, these things were never easy at the best of times, “tonight isn’t the best night for it you’re right.”

Winston mentioned filling the thermos with something, the implied beverage making Orion immediately nervous. But it seemed like it could be a good idea that may be more believable. Rio’s twenty-first birthday had just ended a couple of hours ago. It would make sense that he may be celebrating it by drinking with the person he was dating. Besides, alcohol may help explain how he ended up spraining his wrist too. But it wasn’t enough to just claim that he had been drinking. Depending on how quickly the police discovered the body and got into contact with Rio, he may need to have alcohol in his system. He might actually have to drink tonight. “Yeah, good idea about the thermos. Maybe we should just bring a whole bottle.” The idea of drinking until he was at least semi intoxicated didn’t make the conversation about sleeping together any easier either. Of course, Rio would still find a way to insert his foot into his mouth on a night like this. He supposed he should be somewhat happy he hadn’t completely lost his sense of humor. Or his ability to embarrass himself. “Right yeah. Not the best night for sure.” To avoid any further embarrassment, Rio slipped down the hallway and into his room. The outfit he was wearing now was already a new one. One that he had gotten from his old closet at his old house when he had to get rid of the ones he had been wearing beforehand. Just to be safe, Rio changed again, slipping into newer clothes and then stuffing another outfit into a bag with anything he thought would be good for hiking. As he packed, he wondered how Athena was doing. She had always been so much stronger than him. She had the bigger stomach and she was fearless. But tonight she had looked like Rio must have looked all these years. She had done the unthinkable to two people she had idolized her entire life. For once, Rio had been the one that walked away from a bloodbath unscathed. He needed to check in on her tomorrow, once they heard the news. The last thing he needed was for her to completely lose it and give something away. Rio zipped the bag, shoving the thoughts of Athena down inside the bag with it and locking it away for the rest of the night. “I’m all set!” Rio yelled down the hallway, closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall in wait for Winston.

This was obviously a very bizarre situation and Winston was sure that Rio was doing his very best to cope with this in a healthy way. After all, they were nothing if not striving to be a normal and natural couple. Which normal couple didn’t murder their parents and try and help cover it up together? But Winston wasn’t going to let Rio take the fall for something that was definitely some form of self defense. This wasn’t premeditated and the supernatural world didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of the world. “A whole bottle is probably a better idea yeah,” Winston replied with a laugh, “maybe then it would be the best night- not that I need to be drunk to sleep with you, I’d happily sleep with you, I just, I didn’t know if you wanted to or if it was the right time and I just didn’t want to come off as the creep who tried to have sex with you after you’d kil- after what had just happened with your parents.” Winston swallowed, good moves all around. They were sure that this was really the sort of behaviour that got you brownie points with your boyfriend. Winston packed their own things quickly. Hoping that Rio realised that sex was definitely on the cards had he ever wanted it. It was just a matter of time right? Winston was trying not to worry about that too much right now. Grabbing the last of their things, Winston scooped up the telescope and made their way downstairs. “Yeah, I’m ready too,” Winston slipped out into the night and got in their car, “how are you feeling?” Winston asked, maybe now wasn’t really the time but they couldn’t help but worry about Rio. He may seem fine, but killing anyone was a tough thing to do. “I- I’m not sure that I get it - like how you’re feeling and why you’re feeling that, but I do want to help.”

Staring out the window, Orion only looked away when he heard Winston coming down the steps. With not much besides the conversation about intimacy on his mind, the two crept out of the house and into the car. The night was cold, but a welcome sensation against Rio’s skin. The fresh air helped clear out any daze or fog that had settled in his mind. He crawled into the passenger seat and cracked the window open, pulling his legs up so he was in a fetal position in the car. Winston wanted to know how Rio was feeling, but Rio didn’t know how to answer it without sounding completely insane. “I feel… Fine.” Rio finally shrugged. “I don’t know if I should be relieved or horrified. I don’t like that I did it. But I don’t regret it. I don’t wish I could take it back and I don’t miss them. I just feel calm.” Rio sighed, his heavy breathing was fogging up the window as Winston drove. Now more than ever he was sure what those tears were for earlier. He had prepared himself for the worst, already mourning the loss of his relationship and maybe his friendships too. But that wasn’t happening. Instead, Winston had shown even more that they were exactly who Rio was desperately in love with. “I can’t believe that we actually had the sex talk. On tonight of all nights” Rio laughed, changing the subject and glancing over at Winston. It was dark out, and there were little lights on in the car. But Rio didn’t need to light to see Winston. His vision let him admire them through the darkness. “I don’t know. I think I always assumed that it would never happen. That no one would ever care for me enough. Or if they did, they wouldn’t be willing to wait. Or maybe that no matter what, I just wouldn’t be able to accept intimacy because of everything. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to hold someone’s hand or kiss someone. Let alone… y’know.” Rio found himself talking out loud in the car, filling the silence with his own deepest fears. That his entire life would be as lonely as the first twenty years of it had been. “But I did some of those things with you. And I want to do… all of those things with you.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #c: winston #chatzy: winston #the next right thing #physical abuse mention tw #emotional abuse mention tw #death mention tw

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corpse--diem · 4 years

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Ghosts That We Knew | Blanche & Erin

TIMING: A few hours after this PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @harlowhaunted SUMMARY: When Blanche wakes up in the hospital, she has something to tell Erin. CONTENT: House Fire tw (mentions)

Blanche dreamed of darkness until she awoke to a steady beeping and a too-bright light in her eyes. She let out a quiet moan. Her limbs were filled with cement, and she couldn’t really move as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. Blanche was in the hospital. Oh, the hospital. Fan-fucking-tastic. Properly admitted too, or so it looked from the hospital bracelet around her wrist and the IV coming out of her arm. It took her a second to remember the fire, and it was only then that Blanche forced herself to sit up in bed, chasing away the tiredness that hung around her. Her back hurt. Her everything ached. Her eyes shot around the room, and she saw Erin in the bed next to her. “Erin?” Blanche croaked, voice hoarse and thick. She coughed once, before the questions spilled out of her before she could stop them. “Erin? Where’s Rio? What happened? Are you okay? What’s - I mean - What’s going on?”

Erin didn’t want to be here. She could leave against medical advice if she really wanted to - wasn’t like she had handcuffs securing her to the bed, which was a surprise in itself. The police had come through to talk to her about the fire and Roland’s death. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a suspect they were prodding too hard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was just better judgment keeping the more pressing questions from the woman who’d gone through a trauma like that until later. Turning her head slightly, she peeked behind the half-drawn curtain that separated their beds for the fifteenth time that hour. The guilt needling her bones each time. Still quiet, still sleeping. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. Erin could only hope it was restful. Rest. Roland jumped out in her mind’s eye. She kept seeing him falling over and over into the flames, stuck on a loop. Closing her eyes, she ground her teeth down hard. No. Not now. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and knew if she allowed those thoughts to permeate, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She couldn’t lose control. Not now and not ten feet from Blanche’s bed. What right did she have to mourn him, anyway?

She opened her eyes, forcing her attention to whatever As-Seen-On-TV kitchen appliance was being overhyped on the screen. When she heard Blanche stir, she instinctively shot up, wincing as her bandaged arm hit the side of the bed. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Medication could numb that pain at least. Mostly. She reached over as far as she could, holding a hand up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Rio’s fine. You’re fine.” Her chest tightened at her other questions. “There was an accident at the funeral home. Do you--do you remember anything that happened?”

Blanche coughed some more, looking at Erin as she tried to calm her. “I -” She still had the lingering headache that told her she shouldn’t have pushed herself too hard. Her hand rose to her forehead, squinting at Erin. “I remember what happened. Rio and I … I picked us up food while we were both on our breaks. The smoke alarms didn’t go off.” And oh god, the fire had been so horrible. Blanche could almost feel the thick smock scratching the back of her throat as she slumped against the wall, waiting to die with Rio. Things went hazy after that. Rio picked her up and passed her through the door to Erin and the police officer… Her heart sunk in her chest. The police officer. What had his name been? Roland. Blanche saw his burned form once they were finally outside, lingering over Erin while her wounds were getting treated. His words burned her ears. He said her own name as Blanche faded back into unconsciousness, unable to do anything else. “That…. Man.” Blanche didn’t see him fall through the floor, but she had heard it. She had seen the aftermath. The flames leaping out of the hole. She looked at Erin, her mouth going dry. “The one who helped us. He was there and…” She rubbed her aching forehead, shifting in the bed to pull her knees up to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “How did it start? The fire?”

The severity of her injuries reflected how much longer her and Rio had been exposed to the smoke and lack of oxygen and Erin physically cringed at the sound of Blanche’s painfully dry coughs. Didn’t have the courage to keep eye contact. Rio was recovering surprisingly well from when she last checked and she had to wonder if that had anything to do with the way he literally punched through that door. Blanche had a rougher journey ahead of her. “Roland. He’s--was the police sergeant,” she said quietly, easing her legs over the side of the bed to better face her. Shoved that swelling in her chest away as hard as she could. Blanche deserved to know the truth, she’d almost died for it, but the words kept sticking in her throat. “This is my fault,” she finally answered with a stoicism that surprised even herself, even if she could only meet her eyes for a few seconds at a time. “My boss. He did this. The one I told you about?” She recalled their conversation very clearly, remembered promising her she had it under control. So much for that. “Let’s just say I gave him my resignation and he didn’t take it well. I think I started something I can’t stop.” That was all Blanche really needed to know. She lifted her chin to face her properly, finally, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blanche. You shouldn’t have been in any part of this. This is my fight and that sick fuck took it too far--” she paused, chewed at her cheek when her voice rose and nodded firmly at her. “I’m going to make this right.”

Roland. She remembered being an ass to him online. Her heart tightened, and she cleared her throat again as she shook her head. Blanche looked at Erin, pressing her lips together as she digested Erin’s explanation. The situation with her boss - the one that Erin was supposed to have under control. Only for a moment did Blanche feel a spark of anger. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it wasn’t fair. “This isn’t your fault,” Blanche found herself saying, shaking her head. “You didn’t… You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t lock us in. The only thing any of us can control is ourselves.” Rio and her were shut in there on purpose. The lock had been tampered with and they were barricaded in, left to die of smoke inhalation and fire. A cruel death, likely meant to get back at Erin. Blanche remembered glumly thinking about how much it would hurt before she lost consciousness the first time. She shifted on her bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position that had her back aching less. Blanche washed a hand down her face, looking away from Erin to stare at the stark white sheets and blanket they put over her. “... I need to talk to you,” Blanche finally said, glancing back at her. The heart monitor picked up the anxiety she felt, and Blanche shot a glare at it. “About… Roland. I saw something. Before they… Before they loaded us into the ambulances.”

Erin didn’t say anything when Blanche insisted it wasn’t her fault. It was. She knew it was and arguing about it with Blanche in this sad, dark hospital room wouldn’t change that. Sure, she hadn’t touched the fire to the house but there wasn’t any question about who had ignited the flame. She shook her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Either way, after we get out of here, I need you to keep your distance. No joke. From me, from the funeral h--” She froze, shoulders tensing, face flushing at her glaringly obvious error. The structure stood still, stubbornly intruding on the skyline. From what the police had told her, with enough money and perseverance, it was salvageable. Probably. Not great news but it was better than what she expected. “Stay away from anything to do with this or me,” she said, the edge in her tone sharp and unforgiving. This wasn’t a suggestion and she needed to make sure Blanche realized that. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Roland, uncertain but far softer than they had been seconds ago. “What do you mean? What about Roland?” He was dead, there was no question there. The doctors had delivered the news personally after she had been taken care of and bandaged up. “What did you see, Blanche?”

The words were cold, but familiar. She hated that they had come from Erin though. Blanche’s eyes closed as she once again adjusted, unable to find a comfortable position longer than thirty seconds. Her legs had this irresistible urge to move; despite feeling like her limbs were weighted down in cement, she wanted to leap out of bed and start screaming. The anger that was there before was back in just a brief instant, her fists curling around the cloth until the skin stretched across her knuckles turned white. Stay away from me. Stay away from danger. “Yeah. Okay,” Blanche said, blankly. “You have it under control, right?” It was a snide comment, but it wasn’t like Blanche had asked for any of this to happen - like she asked to be put in a burning building from some asshole who had a vendetta against an organ dealer. Blanche had grown up used to disappointment, but hearing that from Erin made her so angry that it took her a second to remember the responsibility she had.

That responsibility hit her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The damn ghost situation. Blanche felt the tears prick her eyes, and she felt so ridiculous for feeling so upset over something so stupid when someone had died for her and the rest of them. They couldn’t do a single thing for Roland now. Blanche would have to go and make sure his soul was gone, but other than helping him find peace, there was nothing anyone could do for him now. Blanche pressed her lips together in a thin line, not looking at Erin as she answered her, instead looking at the silent TV trying to sell her some fancy juicer that would break after using it two times. “His ghost,” Blanche said, finally. “I saw his ghost. He … said things to you.” Blanche finally looked at her, her tone softening slightly at she remembered the man’s words. “Do you want me to tell you what he said? Or do you want me to wait?”

Erin wasn’t expecting her demand to go over well but the anger she saw Blanche tensely hold back caught her off guard. Of all people, Blanche deserved to be angry, and especially at her. Stung a little but if that’s what it took to keep the younger woman at a safe distance, she could take it. What hurt more was the question that followed. It hurt because the implication wasn’t wrong. Hurt because it came from Blanche. Guess she deserved that. She clenched her jaw, settling her gaze on the dark window at the far end of the small room, shrugging. “I’m working on it,” she answered simply.

Her attention turned back to Blanche, bristling at the word ‘ghost’, piling onto the confusion that followed immediately after. What would he have to say to Erin? She almost didn’t want to know. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with her after the arrest and she shifted uncomfortably as her imagination ran wild. He also had no reason to forgive her. Making her feel guilty about his death from the other side didn’t seem like his style. People could surprise you, though. She’d surprised him after all. After a long silence, she nodded her head. “What did he say?” She asked, her voice small but sure. Whatever it was, she could take that too.

Maybe Blanche wasn’t being fair, but right then and there, Blanche didn’t want to be fair. Stay away from anything to do with me. Blanche heard that before, and it meant trouble and pain and, now, it meant death. She thought of the police officer again, how he was so ready to literally carry her out of there, and how his last action was to throw her to safety as the floor gave way beneath them. It wasn’t fair, Blanche realized, to let her anger mask over her duty to the dead. “He said he was sorry,” Blanche said stiffly, her cheek resting on her knee as she stared at a patch of wall. “That he doesn’t understand how you got mixed up in something like this, but…” Blanche was unsure how to word it, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if the memory she had of Roland’s voice was right. But didn’t Blanche owe it to Erin to tell her what she thought she heard? “But he wants you to find your way out of whatever this is.” Her voice hardened again, despite herself. The anger she felt was real, and she was having trouble swallowing it back as she became more and more aware of just how much everything hurt. The pain gnawed at her like an aggravating itch she couldn’t get rid of, even though she was sure they had given her something for the pain. Her fists clenched around the blankets, and for a second she thought the whole room was going to consume her. Breathe, Blanche. Her eyes closed, and slowly, she forced herself to relax out of the stiff position she wound herself into.

“I don’t know if he passed on,” Blanche finally looked back at Erin. “I… couldn’t stay awake any longer.” She was uncomfortably guilty about that. “I’ll have to go back and check later. Once…” Blanche looked around, squinting out into the dark. “Did they say how long we’re stuck here? I want to go home.”

Erin had naively thought she was ready for whatever this fight would potentially give or take away. The nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, were spent picturing the 1001 ways this could go wrong. As if armoring herself with any foreseen pain could make the actual thing more bearable. Didn’t work like that though. Emotions couldn’t be planned out ahead of time. She could suppress them, switch autopilot on when it was necessary to get the job done. She’d gotten good at that. The way Blanche was looking at her--or more aptly, not looking at her--seared a white hot guilt through her chest that rivaled the literal burn on her arm. A look she had thought she had prepared herself for--the anger, disappointment. Roland’s final words only added to the noise in her head. “He’s sorry?” She blurted out while the rest of his final words processed. “Why would-- For wh--” Her jaw slacked as her mind tried to catch up, to try and understand his reasonings. It never quite got there. The man had nothing to be sorry about. No good reason to hope for the best for her. She had gotten him killed and still, he was more kind to her than she ever deserved. Angry tears clawed at her throat, burned behind her eyes until her vision blurred. Oh god, she couldn’t break down right now. Not here. Not in front of Blanche. Wasn’t fair to put that on her on top of everything she’d already endured. “Thank you. For telling me,” she nodded earnestly when she finally pulled herself together.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me how you were doing,” she finally managed after Blanche asked the question. Something about HIPPA or whatever. She pulled her covers up a little higher, afraid if she moved too abrasively or made any sudden movements, the whole room would crumble in on itself. Home sounded good. She wanted to go home. Wanted to disappear into Nic’s arms for a little while. She ran a hand over her cheek, took a deep, sharp breath. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or get the nurse to?”

“That’s all he said. I’m sorry.” Granny said a medium’s gift was for the living just as much as the dead, but she couldn’t give the living answers that were not there. What was Roland sorry for? The fire? The way things went between them when he was alive? Blanche didn’t know, and she couldn’t give Erin the answer she wanted. Her job was to speak for the dead, not to put words in their mouth and lie, even if making something up seemed better now. Remembering Granny’s words kept Blanche stone faced as she stared at the wall, not responding to Erin’s gratitude. She didn’t want her thanks, she didn’t want any of this.

Her icy facade only broke when Erin asked if there was anyone she could call for her. A name caught in her throat before everything hit her at once. Everything was fucked. Erin’s home, Roland’s life, Rio, how quickly she gave way to the smoke and how tired she was. Why did this keep happening? If things were just normal she would be sitting here, her mother and father and brother at her side already. If things were normal, Blanche wouldn’t be here at all. She wouldn’t even be in the state. She’d be in Massachusetts, getting ready for her senior year of school if she could have just held on for a little bit longer. It was thoughts she had before, and Blanche knew that dwelling on them would do nothing for her now.

Tears had come out of her eyes before she could stop them, and Blanche crumbled in her bed, right in front of Erin, suddenly too viciously upset to be embarrassed. Her arm with the IV jerked. Blanche knew there was only one person in the entire world that could give her any comfort. “I want Granny,” Blanche said angrily, knowing just how impossible it was. “I want to go home.”

If Erin had known the question would set Blanche off into a torrent of tears, she would have kept her mouth shut. Concern spiked through whatever grief or guilt clouded her thoughts. Granny? The one Blanche had been mourning, who had crossed over not long ago? “Oh, Blanche…” she murmured softly. Words failed her the rest of the way and they died in the air.

Comfort usually came much easier than this but her own pain and exhaustion refused to let better words come. Instead, she shifted tenderly off the bed, wheeling the IV attached to her arm to Blanche’s bedside. “Blanche, I’m s--” she shook her head, sitting at the edge but close enough to rest her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Apologizing again felt hollow. She tried to meet her watery eyes, her sobs piercing her skin like knives. “Please. What can I do? Who can I call? Let me just--please let me help you,” she pleaded. Even if she could just sit there while she cried, to help her feel a little less alone right now, she’d take it. If she wanted to scream at her for putting her in this position, she’d take that too. Anything at all would be better than helplessly watching her fall apart.

She wanted so badly to rip the IV out of her arm and shove Erin away from her. What was she doing? What were either of them doing?! This was so stupid. This was all so stupid! Granny was gone, someone was dead, and they were almost burned alive. Blanche cringed away from Erin’s touch, wanting to rip her arm away from her. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Delivering messages while she sat in a shitty hospital bed, in pain, exhausted, and angrier than she had been in a long, long time. Hadn’t she accepted this when Granny moved on? Her mediumship was her duty and her responsibility, no matter the circumstances because so few could give a voice to the dead. Who else would have heard Roland? And Roland should be heard, his words and his wishes should be heard. But, Jesus Christ, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to sit here in this shitty hospital room and look Erin in the eyes after she just told Blanche to stay away from her? Why did she have to provide her that comfort? Granny would remind her to be kind and have compassion, but at that moment, Blanche had no kindness or compassion for Erin.

She shook her head, wiping her tears away in fury with the back of her trembling hand. “I want to go back to sleep.” Blanche snarled, finally wrenching her arm out of Erin’s grip. “I want to go home. I want Granny. I want Adrien. Nell. Rio. I just want - I want it all to stop! Can you make it stop Erin?” Blanche looked at Erin severely, unable to truly focus as the hot tears blurred her vision. Erin couldn’t make it stop, and that wasn’t her fault. She was grieving the loss of her home and that policeman she saw - the one who whispered to her before she died. This wasn’t fair to her either, but Blanche was done being fair. Her energy was spent, and she had nothing left to give. Maybe she would regret it later, but now? Blanche just shook her head, pulling the thin white blanket up and over her head as she curled back down into the thin mattress and shut her eyes tight. She could deal with Erin later. She could text someone later. She could deal with anything later as long as she didn’t have to deal with the weight of the world now.

There was nothing Erin wanted more in the world than to make it stop. Make this all stop. The death, the destruction, the fresh pain rippling through town at the hands of this monster. Monster. It wasn’t a word she used lightly anymore but there was no better descriptor for Roy Chambers. Roy and the easy smile he wore while he flippantly decided who lived and who died. Who had to bear the burden of the ash he left in his wake. Erin could take it. She would, whether she liked it or not. She’d signed up for this. Rio hadn’t. Blanche hadn’t. Roland sure as fuck hadn’t. Nothing Erin said or did right now was going to change or dull the pain that Blanche was feeling right now either. She wouldn’t take back her demand, either. This was exactly why she needed Blanche to stay away. Space was the only thing that would keep her safe. If that meant she’d hate Erin for the rest of her days, Erin could only be thankful she had those days to hate her with.

Still, the rejection that came when the blanket was pulled over Blanche’s head gutted her like a knife. She sat quietly at her bedside, hoping maybe she’d rip the blanket off and even scream at her if that was what Blanche needed. When it became clear not even that was going to happen, Erin padded slowly across the cold floor back to her side of the room. Grabbed the curtain that separated the both of them, sparing one last look to the rumpled bed. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here if you really need me. She didn’t say any of those things and knew it was probably better that way. The less she confused the young woman about her previous demand to stay away, the better. She’d done enough damage as it was for one night. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, Erin drew the curtain shut.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #ghosts that we knew #house fire tw #mentions #chatzy: blanche #:/#meri hurt me with this

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gryphonablaze · 4 years

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first two chunks of the angel lives/maya gets kidnapped fic

(Present VHers are Maya, Kreig, Gaige, and Zer0. Axton and Sal are somewhere else or w/e. Mostly because I don’t know their characters well enough to reliably write them. Sorry babes)

‘No… no, this is wrong. This is wrong.’ Maya felt… almost confused. She fell to her knees in front of Angel.

‘Let… me go… It’s okay…’

‘N-no, it’s not. It’s not!’ Maya sounded close to tears. She took a healing syringe from her pocket and stuck it into Angel’s thigh. She winced. ‘Gaige, Kreig, get her more of these.’ Maya’s voice was commanding, even through all the breaks. ‘Zer0, crack open one of those pipes. Fill the empty syringes with Eridium. Lilith, once there’s enough Eridium, take everyone to Sanctuary and get Angel to Zed’s.’

Zer0 suddenly flickered, and disappeared from where he was standing. The other two Vault Hunters nodded and got to work. Gaige took the empty syringe from Maya and gave her a fresh one.

‘Please just let me go…’ Angel begged.

‘No! You deserve a real life! I won’t let you die before you get that!’ Carefully, Maya grabbed the collar clamped around Angel’s neck. With a little bit of Phaselock force, it cracked open. She tossed it aside.

Maya picked Angel up from the ground and handed her to Roland, then took the Vault Key from where it had fallen behind her. The other three Hunters and Deathtrap returned with armfuls of eridium-filled medical syringes.

‘Alright, everyone ready? Here we go!’

Suddenly, something choked her. Involuntarily, a Phaselock bubble formed, and she was kept in place while everyone else disappeared in a fiery flash.

All of the group landed on their feet in the center of sanctuary. Roland began running with Angel toward Zed’s, and the Eridium-laden Vault Hunters all followed. Lilith dropped to one knee to catch her breath.

‘What in tarnation--’

Deathtrap nearly broke the door in opening it. Roland pushed a bandit corpse off the one actual hospital bed in the room and set Angel on it.

‘Set up an IV for her. Put, uh… mix some Eridium with the healing compound,’ He ordered. Kreig, after dropping his payload onto the floor, began assaulting the vending machine for as many healing hypos as it could digistruct.

‘Now just who in the blazes is this?’

‘It’s Angel. She’s the one who sabotaged Sanctuary’s shields at Jack’s command, and also tricked Roland, Lilith, Brick and Mordy into opening the first Vault.’ Gaige informed him cheerfully. ‘But she’s one of the good guys now. Didn’t see THAT one comin’.’ She glanced aside. ‘Unless, y’know, you’ve done this before.’

‘No,’ Angel groaned, ‘I… did horrible things… you should… hate me.’

Zed paused for a moment.

‘Well. That, uh, that certainly is a heavy history, ain’t it?’ He grabbed an IV bag. ‘Now does the needle go in toward the hand, or away…?’

‘Toward,’ Gaige told him.

‘Thanks.’

‘Gaige, tell me please, how is it that a schoolgirl... would need to know that?’ Zer0 sounded incredulous and mildly concerned.

‘It was an example in a problem in the gravity-pressure chapter of my physics textbook. Has to go in the same direction as the flow of blood.’

‘... huh...’

It was only about five minutes after Angel was stable that the rush of adrenaline began to wear off for anyone. Everybody stepped outside to get some air.

‘Guys,’ Lilith asked, ‘where’s Maya?’

Everyone stopped.

‘That, uhh…’ Gaige tried, scanning the area around them. ‘That is a… very… good… question…’

‘LOCK THE LOCK IN THE DOOR LOCK OF THE HOUSE,’ Kreig offered in his usual loud manner.

‘We know that you try, but to us all your words are… untranslatable.’

Zer0 is right. Would it kill you to speak coherently? (crossed out and bold means inner Kreig)

‘No, no, I think he might be onto something,’ Roland muttered.

‘We don’t need to figure out his word puzzle, we should just split up and look around Sanctuary for Maya.’

‘LOCK THE LOCK IN THE LOCK HOUSE!’ Kreig sounded slightly annoyed. He shoved Roland and Lilith aside and marched off to the HQ building.

‘Wow, uh, that wasn’t like, at all rude.’

‘Lock, lock… in… a house… lock… away? In a house…?’

‘Put something away’ Zer0 started, ‘But then what goes with a lock? If there’s a lock, there’s…’

‘A key!’ Roland finished. ‘She went to put the vault key away in HQ.’

Everyone shared a small ‘ooh, okay. Yeah.’ before they turned toward the HQ building. Kreig had left the door open. As soon as they entered, he came stomping down the stairs. Tannis was totally indifferent to the whole endeavor.

‘HOLLOW BONES! BIRD AND ROCK SPEAK OF HOLLOW BONES!’

‘Brick and Mordecai said she wasn’t here?’ Roland frowned. ‘Where else woul--’

‘How did you get all that from ‘hollow bones?’’ Lilith interrupted. ‘I thought telepathy was Angel’s thing.’

‘Well, bird is Mordecai and rock is Brick. ‘Hollow’ meant ‘empty,’ and ‘bone’ sounds like ‘home,’ so ‘empty home,’ meaning she’s not here.’

‘NIPPLE SALADS!’

‘I don’t know what that means, thou--’

‘Uh, guys? I feeeeeeel like we should be, y’know,’ Gaige waved one finger in a circle. ‘Looking for Maya?’

‘Nobody I’ve talked to has seen her,’ Gaige said over the table. ‘What about you guys?’

‘Also nothing,’ Roland reported.

‘Why did we even bother searching?’ Lilith spat. ‘I think we all know what happened, even if nobody said it. And she’s not even at the control core anymore either. I lost her.’

There was a long pause.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Brick started.

‘Isn’t it? I’m the one who teleported us all. I’m the one who left her--’

‘RAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!!’

Maya screamed.

Her voice echoed in their heads, and her face twisted in pain was a ghost in their vision.

‘Yes!!’ Gaige cheered. She received offended silence from the others. ‘What? I mean, obviously I’m not happy that she’s suffering and all, BUT this means that she’s alive! AND she can do the head-talking thingy that Angel does, so she can still communicate with us even though she isn’t answering her echo.’

‘O… kay, good point. That is worth celebrating, I guess…’ Roland added.

Lilith did not look so appeased.

‘We. Need. To find her,’ She growled through clenched teeth.

#gaige canonically breaks the fourth wall #so yeah . that's what that is #borderlands #borderlands fanfiction #i'm doin it

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jane-the-zombie · 4 years

Text

Session 5: Regret || SOLO

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Downtown White Crest. PARTIES: @jane-the-zombie & guest SUMMARY: Jane meets with her therapist and discovers that a little progress is better than no progress at all. CONTENT: Mental Health Warning, Discussions of death, dying, post traumatic stress, and addiction.

Ivy Saade, Ph.D., was an older woman, with kind lines in her face and grey streaked auburn hair that she twisted on top of her head in a very professional bun. She was the counselor the department sent her to - the one Roland had mandated her to see after she died. Not that he knew that she died, just that she was physically assaulted and dumped in the middle of the woods, where her car was found fished out of the lake. Somehow, it didn’t make her feel any better.

Dr. Saade had a quaint little office, armed with knock-off designer couches and a perky college-aged receptionist that practically sang her greetings to everyone that walked through the door. She was only supposed to see Dr. Saade for the two or so weeks that she was suspended, and yet when Dr. Saade looked over her thin, wire-framed glasses and asked Jane if she was coming next week, Jane had found herself saying yes.

That had been three weeks ago, and now here she was at her 5th session, sitting on the soft, beige couch staring blankly at the ever-patient Dr. Saade.

“How are you doing this week, Jane?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Fine,” Jane replied stiffly. They didn’t seem to be out of the habit of Jane acting like she was still forced to be here, but Dr. Saade only casts her bemused smile.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. Tell me about your week?” Dr. Saade asks.

Jane gives half a shrug. “One of my housemates is in the hospital - Cece. The one that works in the morgue. There was an accident.” An accident that was no doubt caused by Regan Kavanagh and her screaming problem. Kavanagh hadn’t screamed close enough to her the first time to do any more permanent damage, other than making her ears ring.

“I saw the news article - do they have any idea what it was?”

“No idea,” Jane lies, shaking her head. “I haven’t been assigned that case. I’m still weeding through people from the incident at Pat’s. And, well, all my other work.” Her caseload was still overflowing, no matter how long she worked. And she could work longer now without getting exhausted. At least physically exhausted, at least. Jane was beginning to get very good at telling the difference between physical emotions and mental emotions, considering the only body part that worked anymore was her brain.

Ha, brains.

Good thing she had eaten before she came; otherwise, she might have been tempted to snack on the perky receptionist in the waiting room, no doubt on her phone or filing now that the good doctor was tied up with a patient.

It was then that Jane realized Dr. Saade was talking - Ivy, rather. She was supposed to call her Ivy. At their first visit, Jane sarcastically asked her if that was to foster a personal connection to her patients, and Ivy had looked at her blankly before saying yes, of course, it was. If Jane wasn’t dead, she would have flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry, what was that?” Jane said, a little sheepish. She hadn’t heard the question.

“I asked how your department is handling Sergeant Hills’ death.”

Oh. They hadn’t really talked about Roland yet. Jane was surprised that Dr. Saade - Ivy - brought him up. “As well as to be expected, I suppose. It’s…” Well, her partner wasn’t okay - well, it wasn’t just Marley that was acting weird. “It’s hard,” Jane relented.

“Oh?” Ivy prompted her.

“His office is empty,” Jane said, but her voice sounds almost strange as if her voice isn’t actually her own. “He isn’t… there anymore. Because he’s dead. And he’s… Well.” Jane pressed her lips together. “Gone,” Jane clarified, frowning at her. Ivy’s quizzical look turns sympathetic, but instead of feeling pissed off like she usually did when she gave her, it was actually sort-of… comforting.

What the hell is wrong with me? Jane thought bitterly.

“I see.” Ivy wanted her to go on, Jane could see the silent in her face. This would typically be the time when Jane swerved the subject into something else that they could mindlessly chat about for the rest of their time, but Jane found herself doing what Ivy wanted.

“I was angry at him.”

“Yes, you had some colorful things to say about your sergeant the first time we met. I wrote down the remark about him being a lean-cuisine consuming son of a bitch to call my husband the next time he thinks he wants to skimp out on cooking.” Ivy said it with such a straight face, Jane can’t help but laugh.

“It’s not funny.” Jane sobered up quickly. “He’s dead.”

“You are,” Ivy leans forward on the knees of her finely pressed pantsuit. “Allowed to be angry with dead people, Jane.”

She had a sarcastic zombie comment bubble to the surface, only to beat it down because she didn’t think Ivy was necessarily in the know, despite living in White Crest all her life.

“Sure. But -” Jane frowned. “Can you be angry at someone for dying?”

“Yes. But is that why you’re angry at him?”

“Not completely…” Jane admitted, her shoulders slumped. “He - He suspended me—mandated therapy. But…” Jane trailed off, suddenly feeling a lump in her throat that wasn’t there before. Ivy looked at her, expectantly. Jane shook her head.

“But?” Ivy finally prompted. She got out of her chair, walking to the small mini-fridge in the corner of the room. She took out a bottle of water and handed it to Jane. Jane didn’t bother telling her she didn’t need to hydrate anymore, but took it and twisted the cap off.

“Thanks,” Jane said, more shakily, taking a sip. “I - I don’t want to be angry at him.”

“Do you forgive him?” Ivy asked. “For suspending you? And for the therapy?” She asked it like it didn’t matter that Jane had been going to more sessions than mandated.

“Of course. He was doing his job.”

“Well -”

Jane didn’t hear Ivy’s follow up question because suddenly, she kept talking. “He died doing his job, he died a hero. He saved three people in that fire; two of them were kids. And he...” Got to die. It wasn’t that Roland deserved to die. Of course, he didn’t deserve to die. He earned much more than that. Jane realized what was happening.

“I was on the job when I-” Died. “- … got hurt,” Jane said carefully. Recognition filled Ivy’s eyes.

“You were.”

“Doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”

“Yes. And you lived.”

Ivy thought that Jane was upset because she got to live, but Jane realized the root of her discomfort, and her anger towards Roland was the fact that he got to die and stay dead. Jane touched the scar on her neck, tracing the bite mark with her fingers.

It wasn’t that she wanted to die because she didn't want to be dead. She wanted to be 26 years old, in Portland, just promoted to a detective with no fucking scar on her neck, no burning desire to throw herself off the cliff for a jolt of adrenaline, no ex-zombie fucking fiancee…

It was then Jane realized that she wasn’t angry and bitter at Roland - He was just convenient because he was dead and they had an argument before they died. She was angry and bitter at herself and what her life was. The regret clung to her, sinking down into her skin like cement, weighing down on her chest so hard that she wanted to cry out in pain. God. She was sad. Jane watched as Ivy kindly pushed a box of tissues towards her to take care of the tear tracks down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” That’s something that Jane liked about Ivy. She was straightforward and rarely bullshit her, if at all.

“Because I’ve wasted my life,” Jane said mournfully, dabbing at her eyes with the Kleenex.

Ivy looked at her, that quizzical expression coming back onto her face. “You still have time. You’re only 35.”

“Yeah,” Jane replied, suddenly unable to stop the tears burning in her eyes. “All the time in the world.”

#wickedswriting #para #para solo #solo #session 5 regret #ivy #roland #mental health tw #addiction tw

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gilbirda · 4 years

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When Marianne finds Roland in the arms of another woman on the wedding day she flies away from her castle, trying to ease the pain in her chest. A miscalculation that took her off course made her land on the Dark Forest for the second time that day, and right into an horde of goblins… and their King.

…Or the Canon-Divergence we deserved.

First Chapter || <<Prev Chapter || Next Chapter >>

Chapter 22

Dagda was way calmer now, after a lengthy explanation about how Bog and Marianne kept in touch after the Ball, just an informal thing, and once she was notified about the elf she recognized the description and flew to the Goblin Castle and the three of them formed a plan to bust Roland once for all.

He knew they were lying somewhere, of course. Marianne did that thing with her thumbs when she was lying and he noticed her trying to hide it as she explained her part of the story. By her side, Bog stood with a really tense pose, staff in his hands. He had been stoic for the most part of their interview with the fairy, but Dagda noticed his head tilting softly into his daughter’s direction.

The King closed his eyes and sighed, not really wanting to fight over this. Marianne had always been different from her peers, and so much like her mother, Violet. She saw him among a crowd. She could have married any wealthy man that brought honor to her dinasty; but she married a commoner nobody.

The only difference is that my little princess had to look in the wrong place! He thought. His daughter… how could she be interested in a goblin? He wanted to be upset with the idea, he really really wanted.

But he was tired. This situation had dragged for so long… Roland, her rebellious phase, her obsession with the peace between kingdoms… It was always a fight with her about what she wanted. Marianne would always fight for what she believed in even if it was against everyone else’s comfort.

And guess what, she was usually right.

He had told her a mere hour ago that he was done trying to force her to do what he would do and now he wasn’t going to do that again to her -

“So… any questions?” Marianne’s voice brought him back to the moment. Dagda shuffled in his seat and sighed, looking at the two people in front of his desk willing to lie to a King (and a father) to hide their love.

“Yeah, only one. How long have you been together?”

Marianne felt like the air was punched out of her chest.

“What?”

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious. How long has this,” he made a gesture with his hand, pointing at his daughter and then at the other king, “been going on? Since we went to the Dark Forest? Since the Spring Ball?” He rested both hands on top of the desk, secretly enjoying their scared expressions when they looked at each other.

“Dad, please -”

“I’m not going to do anything, Marianne,” he stopped her before she started to fight. “I said that I’m done forcing you to make my decisions, and I’m willing to do that no matter how much it pains me to do so,” he made a face and looked at Bog, who was gripping the staff so hard that Dagda thought he would break it. “I must admit, it never crossed my mind that you would be interested in someone like him. But again you never did anything like everybody else.”

“Dad, if that’s and insult I swear -”

“I guess this is why you never liked any boy I presented to you,” the King continued rambling like his daughter wasn’t angrily fisting her hands. “You may have never been destined to be with a fairy. So I guess I should be thankful that you pushed so hard for this treaty.”

“Actually…” Bog spoke for the first time. “We meet before any of that.”

“Oh, really?” Dagda smiled. Finally! Someone was telling the truth.

“Yeah. We… We met on the wedding day. She kind of fell into my kingdom, crying and hurt. More than physically.” He whispered the last part.

“Bog!”

So that’s why she recovered so fast…

“I see,” the fairy nodded and stood up, walking slowly to the mismatched pair that, somehow, made a lot of sense now that he knew the truth. “Then I’m grateful that you found her and treated her,” in his words he implied that he meant more than the body. He then took one of Bog’s big and scary hands and put it between his. “I’m very grateful.”

***

“That went well.”

Marianne snorted at his comment.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“I didn’t expect to have this conversation today either,” he offered her a taste of what he was drinking. It was some kind of sweet beverage made from a flower only found in the Forest.

“Thanks,” she took a sip and tried to determine if she liked it or not. She decided that she did, but she couldn’t drink this for too long as it was too sweet for her tastes. “At least he seemed happy with this?”

“I’m sure that this isn’t over. It can’t be that easy.”

“Well, at least we agree on that.” Marianne gave him back the container with the drink and looked at the enchanting scenery of the dawn from the top of the goblin Castle. They went back after their conversation with her dad once punishment for Roland was decided (she must admit that being forced to do community labor was fitting for that selfish prick), as Marianne was too awake to even think of sleeping now.

It was weird being there knowing that her dad knew she was there. And at this time of the night, when she was supposed to be in her room dreaming about next day’s adventures. But it was a feeling she was willing to get used to.

Marianne looked at Bog and took his hand on hers, watching him take a sip from the container. She was going to comment on how beautiful was the Forest at night and that they should do a tour around it, when a drop of the drink slipped from his lips and fell down his chin.

It was something mundane, she swears, the movement she did to clean it for him. She just wanted to help. But without realising it she got really close to his face and it was too late to lean back when he put the container down besides him without breaking eye contact.

The mood between them did a one-eighty, suddenly becoming something they hadn’t felt before. Their eyes, their lips, they had never been so tantalising.

“Can I…?” he whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

Instead of an answer, Marianne leaned in the space that was left between their lips and kissed him for the first time since they formalized what they were. It was a simple, chaste kiss, but it was exactly what she didn’t knew she desired.

Marianne felt his big hands find their place on her narrow shoulders, almost laughing at the way they managed to make her feel totally covered under them. Yet he was gentle and careful of his claws, something that melted her heart more than it was already at the feeling of his rough lips on hers.

It was loving. It was overwhelming. It was, without doubt, something she could get used to. And, what the heck, she was going to get used to kissing this dork even if her life depended on it!

She was softly caressing his cheeks when she pulled back to breathe a little, opening the eyes she didn’t remember closing, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Marianne, I -”

“I know.”

“But I haven’t finished saying anything!” the fairy laughed.

“But I can read your mind.”

“Oh, yeah?” he smirked back at her, really, really enjoying the feeling on her nimble fingers on his exoskeleton, successfully caging his face to only look at her. Not that he was going to do anything else tonight. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

“Hmmmm,” she faked thinking the answer. “You want… another kiss?”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

This time he leaned in and kissed her a little bit harder than the last kiss. She wasn’t complaining, though, and she let herself enjoy his enthusiasm.

She felt him everywhere, his hands con her cool skin, his warm lips on her own. This could last forever and she wouldn't complain.

Suddenly, she felt his tongue softly grace her lower lip in a movement she was familiar with. Her heart did a flop and her stomach started to be filled with butterflies as she thought that oh my god. But she wasn't nervous, of that she was positive.

She was afraid of wanting too much, of being too much.

“Tough girl,” he whispered when they parted a bit to breath, and that did the trick. Something inside of her unraveled and all of her subdued passion, which once upon a time was tainted by bad memories, make an stellar appearance.

It was her who this time attacked the other with maybe too much enthusiasm, pushing the goblin to the floor in what she wanted to be a swift movement but turned out a bit awkward. Marianne blushed, opening her eyes and trying to see if he was hurt.

“Sorry -” she started to say, but was interrupted.

“Don't be,” Bog grumbled from under her in an even deeper voice, his bright eyes shining with love, passion and adoration. She shivered, but not because she was cold.

She jumped to his awaiting lips, fully prepared to what was coming next. She wanted it, she wanted him. She wanted to replace bad memories with new ones, including learning to kiss again.

She pushed her tongue inside his mouth, not like he put much resistance, for a moment forgetting about the beverage he was drinking before. He tasted sweet and a little bit citric, but she liked it. She liked kissing him.

“I love you,” she said between breaths.

“I love you,” Bog responded in a husky voice, sending even more shivers down her spine.

Yep, she could get used to this.

#strange magic #strange magic fanfiction #princess marianne #bog king #butterfly bog #lofe #writeblr #gil writes #fanfic #fanfiction

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (20/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: shout out to @resident-of-storybrooke for beta-ing this bad boy even if I did find a hell of a lot of typos doing my final read for this chapter. It’s okay. We all make mistakes 😉

(It’s me. I made the mistakes because I’m the one making those typos.)

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @youraverageshipper

-/-

The game plays on the television in the weight room as Killian works with free weights to work out his arm and his shoulder. He’s already been massaged by Archie today even though he’s not playing, but when he woke up there was a slight ache there that wasn’t pleasant to live with. It’s still there, but it’s manageable, just a small little niggling feeling that he feels if he lifts something that’s too heavy or twists in just the right, or wrong, way. But it’s fine, as it always is, because the pain doesn’t last for too long and is always manageable.

How many athletes walk around every day living with manageable pain when the world thinks that their bodies are in the most pristine conditions?

That’s always been kind of funny to him, and it hasn’t been until the past two years that he’s understood why. Fans of baseball, of any sport really, sit in the stands, on their couches, and on barstools at the restaurant yelling at athletes to do the impossible with their body, and then when they can’t or get hurt doing it, yell at them for not having some kind of superhuman strength. He’s had so many people bemoan to him about the public part of his accident, one that was traumatizing on a personal and professional level with effects still lingering to today, and they don’t seem to understand that the men and women on fields and courts or in swimming pools are human beings who have pushed their bodies to the limits for most of their lives.

And he doesn’t even play one of the most physically demanding sports, though it can be much more demanding than most people think, especially for his arm.

Hell, definitely for his arm.

But he loves it. That’s the thing. Killian loves this game, loves his team, loves getting to stand out on that field even on the days where only a quarter of the seats are filled up. It’s been his passion for so long, the thing that he is truly good at, and he can’t imagine doing anything else even if he’s had back-up plan after back-up plan and will have to do something with his life when this is all over.

Today isn’t that day.

“Hey,” Robin says as he enters the weight room, his hair slicked back from a shower so that Killian knows that he’s not actually in here to talk, “you wanted to talk to me?”

Oh, and the fact that Killian told him that he wanted to talk. That will definitely do it.

“Yeah, one minute,” he sighs, running through one more rep before putting the weights down on their rack and adjusting the hat on his head so that he can wipe away the sweat on his brow before turning to look at Robin who is sitting on a weight bench. “Roseman sucks today.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, no,” Killian corrects, taking the seat across from Robin on another bench and leaning forward so that his clasped hands rest between the open space between his knees. Taking a quick glance toward the door, he sees that no one is around, and with the music blaring so loudly throughout the hallways, he knows no one will be able to hear anyways. “So, I feel like I’m making the rounds delivering news when I really should have gotten you all together at one time to get it over with, but Ariel has been impossible to get to sit still for more than a second and Will talks too loudly for me to tell him in person and – ”

“Are you dying or something?” Robin laughs, his brows raised in confusion.

“I’m not dying,” he reassures Robin even as his hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I’m, well, I’m dating Emma Swan, and while we’re keeping it quiet from the media and most everyone else, we decided to tell the people who are close with us, hence you and A and Eric and Will. Plus, obviously, my family, who are the only ones I’ve managed to tell so far.”

Robin doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes widened as he takes the information in, and while Killian knew the reaction he was expecting when he told Liam and Elsa – Liam was surprised and far too overbearing and Elsa literally told him that she figured it out at Addy’s birthday party – he hasn’t quite been able to come up with a clear idea of how his friends would react.

Silence and confusion have been his best guesses.

“For how long?” Robin finally stutters out.

“A couple of months.”

“And you’re serious about her?”

“That I am.”

“And this is a secret?”

Why does he feel like this is an exact repeat of the conversation he had with Liam and pretty much the same as the conversation Emma relayed that she had with David?

“Yeah, for Emma. After everything with me and then all of the backlash that she gets with her job, we wanted to keep it quiet. At first, it was so that we could figure things out, but now that we’re more comfortable, we’re telling the people closest to us so that such big parts of our lives aren’t hidden away.”

Robin nods, the smallest smile forming on his lips, and Killian didn’t quite realize how much he wanted Robin’s approval until he got it. Not getting it wouldn’t change things, but Robin has been one of his best mates for a decade, has been through so many of his highs and lows, and he wants Robin to be happy for him. He wants to be able to talk through everything with Robin the way that Robin has with him.

“That makes sense. I mean, yeah,” Robin chuckles, leaving back and messing with his shirt. “I knew you always fancied her, especially lately, but it makes sense with how often I’ve seen the two of you chatting on the plane or at breakfast. I didn’t think anything of it, just figured that she was looking for a friend since the woman who used to be go on road trips with her isn’t around that often. Huh, you’re dating again.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Only a little. You were so messed up after Milah and all of the women that came after her that I didn’t really think you’d ever seriously date someone again. I kind of thought that you and I would end up as eternal bachelors and live life vicariously through Roland.”

Killian barks out a laugh, one that he really shouldn’t at how depressing that thought honestly is, but leave it to Robin to make him laugh like that. It’s something that comes with knowing someone for so damn long, and Killian is thankful for it.

“Do you think Roland will take care of us in our old age? I’m not sure that he will.”

“He’ll take care of you,” Robin laughs, “because you never have to tell him no. He’s going to harbor the fact that I didn’t let him have dessert last night forever.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not getting chocolate pudding when you’re old and it’s all you can eat.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but the smile is still there. The smile is still on Killian’s face too. “I’m happy for you, mate. I kind of think you’re both batshit crazy for getting involved with each other when there’s so much that could go wrong, but happiness looks good on you.”

“Thanks. I don’t – she’s great, Rob. Bloody fantastic. I mean, I know that you know her and get to see her kick ass at her job every day, but outside of work too…she’s amazing.”

“I know.”

-/-

After the game, Killian manages to pull Will, Eric, and Ariel aside into one of the offices outside the locker room to tell them, finally hitting three birds with one stone, which is a pretty morbid saying now that he thinks about. Their hitting coach looks through the glass of the window when Ariel lets out a scream at his words, and Killian can do nothing but shake his head. It’s like he’s announcing the most exciting thing to ever happen to him every time he tells someone, and as much as he knew that his friends were invested in his dating life – or lack thereof – he didn’t know it was like this.

They all very obviously need to get a life.

-/-

“Oh my gosh,” Emma groans, slamming the passenger side door to his car closed as she slides onto the leather seat and adjusts her bag in her lap before dropping it to the ground, “I’d never make it as a spy. There were approximately a million people who were walking this way that knew me or you or were a member of the press. I swear, babe, it was impossible to get over here. I could have gotten to your brother’s house faster had I taken the trains, even with how packed they are right now.” She takes a breath and leans over to press her lips to his cheeks. “Hi. Thank you for waiting on me.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly going to leave without you, Swan. How was work?”

“You know,” she teases, rolling her eyes a bit at his question, “it was good. Did you know that the Yankees won today and that they’re leading their league? And things like that tend to make players very happy to talk to me. Do you know who else was very happy to talk to me?”

“Who, love?” he asks as he presses his foot down on the gas and hits the ignition button to start the car.

“Ariel Fisher. That’s another reason why I’m late. I was attacked by a tiny, very loud, red-headed woman giving me a hug that I swear squeezed the life out of me. I’m not entirely sure what she said to me since there was a certain lack of air circulation going on in my brain, but I’m pretty sure she said she was super happy for me and then tried to adopt me or something like that.”

Killian chuckles, unable to help himself, before he leans back into his seat and rests his cheek against the headrest so that he can look at Emma. She looks so happy today, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail to keep it off her neck since he knows that when she sweatssweatsshe hates the way it tangles at the back of her neck. He also knows that she spent an hour picking out a dress to wear today because she’s coming with him to his brother’s townhome for Sunday night dinner and is a little nervous. She claims that she is simply indecisive about what to wear all the time, but he knows that isn’t true. Ruby, who he still hasn’t officially met but who he’s going to meet when he’s subjected to his own family dinner (interrogation), finally helped her out by tossing an orange dress that falls beneath her knees and curves around Emma’s breasts at her and telling her they were leaving the apartment in an hour.

Ruby is a force of nature.

And he is very much distracted by the swell of Emma’s breasts right now and the way he can see the freckle that resides on the inside of her right one. Always so distracting.

“Yeah,” Killian sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “I have now officially told everyone I deemed worth of knowing that you are my girlfriend, and despite Ariel’s several squeals over the whole thing, everyone is going to keep it quiet. At least to the outside world. I fully expect them to be a little too invasive with us from time to time.”

“Really?” Emma drones sarcastically, shifting her legs underneath the dash to cross one over the other so that the material shows the skin just above her knee. “I didn’t expect that at all with Will asking me if I was going to be your plus one for his wedding. Belle apparently needs to know for the seating arrangements. Or Ariel asking if we’d be willing to go on a couple’s vacation for the New Year.”

“I can believe both of those things happened.”

“As you should because they are true statements, twenty-nine.” Emma sighs back into the seat, turning away from facing him and looking out at the gray block that is the parking garage. “How’d Robin take it?”

“I’ll tell you on the way to Liam’s, yeah? If there’s one thing you need to know about the Jones family, it’s that we like to be on time, and we, my darling, are running late.”

“Liam will just have to get used to it like you have.”

Killian laughs as he puts his car in drive and makes his way out of the parking garage, filling in all of the details about his conversation with Robin as well as his with Will, Eric, and Ariel. Honestly, it feels like this is all they’ve talked about in the past week since Emma finally took the leap and told her family. She was pretty quiet about it all, not surprisingly, and slowly but surely he managed to drag some information out of her besides the fact that Ruby had figured it out because Emma was wearing his sweatshirt – which he still hasn’t gotten back – and that David had kind of caused her to freak out about things. He doesn’t love the thought of Emma getting into a panic about their relationship, but there are definitely things for them to always think about and consider. That’s not going to change.

Liam had said the same thing to him when he told him. He’d been full of questions, that obnoxious protective older brother gene coming to life. It doesn’t matter that Killian is twenty-eight years old and very much has control of his own life. Liam is always going to be that way, no matter how much Killian asks him not to be. It stems from Liam being both his brother and his father for a lot of his life. Liam was the one who was there to help him apply to colleges, to help him get recruiters to watch his games. His father had been the one who was obsessed with baseball, but his brother was the one who helped him achieve his dreams. And Liam had been the one who was by his side when he got drafted, when he worked his way up from the minors, when he pitched his first ball in Yankee stadium.

On top of all of that, Liam had been the one who was there when Killian and Milah broke up. That had been a disaster among disasters, and it’s probably exactly the reason why Liam pretty much had some kind of heart attack when Killian told him that he’d been dating someone in secret again. It had never occurred to Killian, not until he was sitting down across the kitchen table from Liam, that there were similarities even if the situations and circumstances and reasonings are different. Milah had asked him to be private about their relationship because of her marriage, not that he knew that at first, and he, the cocky guy that he was, thought that it was because she didn’t want the attention that would have come from being with him. In reality, no one but die-hard baseball fans cared about him, and he was fooling himself into thinking the things that he thought.

He was an idiot.

Still is sometimes.

How did he not realize that Liam might be truly upset about it all, that keeping such a big part of his life away from his best friend in the entire world would cause some sting? How did he not think through the fact that Liam, even though he’s often teased Killian about Emma and genuinely likes her, would worry about something similar happening here even though it is entirely different?

And now, after the accident, after all of the guilt and fear and worry that came with that, Liam focuses so much on Killian and how his life is going so that this would impact things.

It had been a long, stilted conversation, one that made Killian’s head pound, and thank goodness for Elsa to break things up and to understand and to help Liam calm down and see things the way that he should have seen things. And while it was Elsa who insisted that Killian bring Emma to Sunday dinner, he knows that Liam is more or so accepting of it all and will not be an ass to Emma.

That was agreed upon beforehand. Killian felt that was necessary, and while Emma told him that it was fine, that this is how David is going to be despite her best efforts, it’s very much not fine for anyone to be an ass to Emma simply because she is dating him.

Or at all.

So, maybe he’s a little nervous for this dinner, but that’s nothing compares to the way that Emma’s leg is shaking underneath the touch of his palm resting there.

“This is a nice neighborhood,” Emma says as he turns onto Liam’s street. “I don’t think I’ve ever been over here.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve ever had reason to unless you were randomly walking down the streets in front of these families’ homes.”

“I am pretty weird. I might have been.”

He glances over at her and smiles, but Emma’s gaze is very much focused on the street in front of her. Squeezing her thigh to silently reassure her, Killian moves his hand off of Emma back to the wheel so that he can turn into Liam’s garage, rolling down the window to type in the code so that the door will open for the two of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go get dinner somewhere else?” Emma worries, her voice visibly shaky. “I’m sure we can go find, like, one of those really good Mexican places that looks like it should be shut down for health codes but actually has the best queso dip you’ve ever eaten. No one will recognize us. I’m sure of it.”

“Swan,” Killian chuckles, driving into the garage and putting his car in park before turning to look at Emma, reaching up to cup her cheeks with his palms and run his thumbs underneath her eyes, “it is fine. They, unlike me, do not bite.”

“You are ridiculous. Why would you even say that?”

“To make you laugh.” He leans forward and playfully nips at her lips before tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You are going to be fine. They’re just people, most of who you have met before, and if all else fails, you’ll have Addy and Lucy to be a buffer.”

“If you freak out when you have to meet all of my people, I’m going to say the exact same things about you, so just think about that with every word you use to calm me down.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“So is this.”

Killian hums before gently kissing Emma and taking his time to move his lips of her, breathing in the smell of her perfume and her hairspray and maybe the tiniest bit of sweat. He needs to calm down too, to take a breath, and tell himself the same things that he’s been telling Emma.

“I love you,” he says when he pulls back, still reveling in the fact that he can say those words to her after feeling them for so long.

“I love you too. Last chance on the Mexican thing.”

His eyes roll, but he laughs all the same, briefly kissing her once more before leaning over her to open her car door. “Funnily enough, that’s what we’re having for dinner tonight. It’s a family favorite.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying to me, and if you are, I am stealing your car and driving it to my apartment, where it will inevitably get towed.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

Killian opens his own door and gets out of the car before walking to Emma’s side and waiting for her as she adjusts her dress and messes with her hair in the reflection window. She’s still hesitant, which he imagines will stop when she gets inside and actually gets into conversation, so he places his hand on the small of her back and guides her up the stairs until they’re entering the kitchen and coming face-to-face with Anna.

Probably not the easiest way to ease Emma into things.

“Oh my gosh,” Anna squeals before putting her glass down, “you’re Emma.”

Emma stills beside him, and he rubs his hand up and down her back before squeezing her ass simply because he knows that it’ll make her focus on something other than her nerves. Sure enough, she jumps, looking up at him with a wry smile on her face and a playful roll of her eyes before looking back to Anna.

“That’s me,” Emma laughs, stepping away from him to move forward to shake Anna’s hand only for Anna to wrap Emma in a hug that is so tight that Killian swears he can feel it in his own legs. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Well, not really, but a good amount. Mostly from Elsa. I followed you on Instagram. You might not have noticed that. You are just so pretty and I’m sure sweet, and I have no idea what you’re doing with Killian.”

“Hey,” he scoffs, pressing his lips together. He was going to laugh at how Anna rambles until she got to that end part, “why is everyone always saying things like that? I happen to think I’m a catch.”

“Well, you are, but only if people don’t know you that well,” Anna teases, releasing Emma and walking toward him so that she can hug him and whisper in his ear, “I’m kidding. She’s so pretty, Killian.”

“I know,” he sighs into Anna’s cheek. “She can probably hear us.”

“Oh, I’m totally not listening or anything,” Emma teases.

Anna laughs and pulls back before stepping over to Emma and grabbing onto her arm. “Come on, everyone is in the living room, and they need to know that you’re here. And I want to hear all about you. Your job is awesome, obviously, but a girl has seriously got to know why Killian loves you so much. I don’t even know if you guys have said those words to each other yet, but I can tell. He’s got that sparkle in his eyes.”

“You know,” Emma chuckles, looking back at him with a smile on her face, “you and my sister-in-law would get along really well.”

“Then I have to meet her too.”

Killian follows Anna and Emma around the corner and into the living room where Liam, Elsa, and Kris are all sitting on the couches while Addy and Lucy are watching television. The moment they walk in the room, though, Addy turns her head and runs toward Emma, grabbing onto her waist and talking about just how excited she is to see Emma. Lucy is right behind her, and even though she’s more reserved, she hugs Emma too, letting Emma pick her up and rest her on her hip while everyone else greets Emma. She’s very quickly learning that his family are all huggers, and man does he hope that they’re not overwhelming her. He’d very much like for her to want to continue to date him after this.

Damn. Why is he thinking thoughts like that? That is not the kind of headspace that he needs to be in while Emma is talking to Liam, Lucy still sitting on her hip.

He kind of just threw her into the lion’s den, didn’t he?

But it’s good, he thinks. The conversation flows, there aren’t any awkward silences, and most importantly, there aren’t any interrogations.

“Do you need help with dinner?” Emma asks Elsa later when they’ve moved from the living room to the kitchen so that Elsa and Liam can start dinner, which, much to Emma’s delight, truly is good Mexican food.

“No,” Elsa sighs, waving Emma away as she chops up a bell pepper, “you’re a guest. You don’t cook. Killian, can you grate some cheese?”

He finishes taking a sip of his beer before putting it down. “What happened to guests not cooking?”

“You are family. That’s different.”

“That’s bullocks.”

“You love to cook,” Emma says as she knocks her knee into his. “I’m pretty sure you can handle grating some cheese.”

“He’s pretty incompetent. You’d be surprised at how little my little brother can actually do.”

“Younger. My gosh it’s younger,” Killian groans to Liam. He did that just to annoy Killian, the bastard. “Is that ever going to stop?”

“Maybe when you’re thirty.” Liam hands him a bowl, the cheese grater, and two blocks of cheese, before going back to getting ground beef out of the fridge. “So, Emma, how’d you get into baseball?”

Liam is definitely subtle in his ways of interrogation, but Killian picks up on it. Emma too.

“Watching it or working in it?”

“Working.”

“My brother is a lot older than me and has been working at ESPN pretty much since I’ve known him, and he helped get me an internship in college. It just kind of built from there, you know? I mostly was a stat checker and then got to write some articles, but then when they started covering the games on TV more and developed their streaming service, the job as an on-air reporter opened up. And yeah, here I am.”

“What do you mean your brother has been working there since you’ve known him?”

“Liam,” Killian warns, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

“It’s fine,” Emma promises him before placing her hand on his back and rubbing up and down. “I didn’t have parents, so I was in the foster system for my entire life. My last house, well, I grew close to them, and they’re pretty much my family. David is my foster mom’s biological son, and he’s pretty much fallen into that older brother role. You two are very alike.”

“Stubborn and far too invasive?” Elsa teases, looking behind her at Liam and winking.

“I am neither of those things.”

“You definitely are,” Killian and Elsa say at the same time, and Liam simply grumbles in response before placing the beef in the pan.

“Are Anna and Kris okay with the kids?” Emma wonders aloud, twisting her head around to look into the living room where Anna and Kris volunteered to watch a movie with them while dinner is being cooked. “I can watch them. I don’t want to interrupt your tradition of family dinners or whatever since I am kind of an intruder.”

“You are a breath of fresh air is what you are,” Elsa says, smiling at Emma before she takes the cheese out of his hands like he wasn’t just doing a bang-up job himself. “I thought you were the sweetest thing at Addy’s party, and when I realized that you two were dating, or at least had feelings for each other, I felt like all of those six-year-olds hyped up on sugar. I’m glad Killian has someone kind like you.” “You think she’s bloody kind, but she’s actually pretty mean to me.” Emma slaps the back of his head, and he starts laughing at the affronted look on her face. “See. She just slapped me.”

“Shut up.”

“Really mature, love.”

“You know that I’m not.”

“No, but you do some pretty mature things, if you know what I mean.”

“Killian,” she gasps, slapping him again, “that was a horrible innuendo.”

He arches a brow. “That’s what you’re insulted by? Not the fact that I alluded to our sex life but that I did it in a non-creative way?”

Emma shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“Els,” Liam groans, “I don’t think I can handle Killian dating again. It’s too nauseating.”

“Asshole,” Killian mumbles at Liam, flicking a piece of cheese at him.

“You’re really not very creative with your innuendos or insults today, Professor Jones. You should work on that.”

“And you,” Killian points out as his eyes roll at the nickname, “have got to stop talking to Scarlet if you’re going to call me things like that.”

Once dinner is ready, they all settle down in the dining room, the kitchen table not big enough to fit everyone, but just like the rest of the afternoon, everything goes smoothly. Liam is definitely peppering in questions and little comments, but it’s all in the good nature of getting to know Emma. Honestly, though, no one gets a word in for how much Emma, Anna, and Elsa are getting along. Emma is very obviously a big hit with the two of them as well as Addy and Lucy (and Kris and Liam even if they’re a little less vocal about it), and it makes his heart swell. Admittedly, he was kind of nervous about all of this, if only because his family and their approval is so important to him, but there’s no way they could ever not like Emma.

Maybe be a little dubious at first, but dislike? No.

He can only hope that it’s the same with her family since he knows that mixing lives doesn’t usually run so smoothly, even if this is only her second meeting with everyone.

Emma’s nerves seem to have faded away the longer they stay, and when he pulls her to the side after dinner and offers to take her back to his place, she shakes her head and says that she’s good to stay and watch a movie with his family. So they all settle down into the living room, and while everyone takes their normal spots, their routines obviously very engrained in their minds, Killian moves to the large lounge chair that’s in the corner, pulling Emma down on top of him and wrapping his arms around her waist so that Emma doesn’t have to sit across the room from him.

Maybe that’s a little bit for himself too.

Okay, it definitely is, and he dips his head down to kiss the back of Emma’s neck as she pulls a blanket up to cover their laps while Liam turns the lights off.

“I really like your family,” Emma whispers as she presses her cheek against his and squeezes his hands. “I’m glad you have them.”

“Yeah, love, me too. You seem to be a very big hit today.”

“It’s because I’m so charming.”

Killian chuckles into her cheek, pressing a kiss there. “Exactly.”

“Uncle Killian,” Addison groans, “Daddy says to stop kissing your girlfriend and pay attention to the movie.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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eirabach · 4 years

Note

What was *that scene *in renegades?

Well since you askedddddd 😍😍

----

Grace leads her to a little treehouse away from the bustling centre of their town. It’s rustic - she’ll be picking splinters out of her hands for weeks probably - but it’s warm and dry, with a handmade chair and a straw bed covered with a thick wool blanket, so she doesn’t have to fake her gratitude when Grace shows her the balcony she can hang her damp clothes from, or the metal grate where she can light a peat fire.

It almost feels like a home.

Grace leaves her, and Emma finds herself pottering around the small space, sniffing distastefully at the slightly goaty cheese on the ramshackle table and fiddling with the kettle over the fire. Her thoughts constantly wander to what it might have been like to live in a place like this. To live a life like this, with warmth and food and someone to come back to.

A home.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

Hook lets the door slam behind him and it bounces off its hinges, once, twice, three times until the latch finally clicks into place. He still looks like thunder, and Emma eyes him cautiously, keeping the table between them until she can get a better read on what’s going on.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she says. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He lifts his chin and tilts his head to one side - but the smile he gives her is the one she’s seen him throw at half a dozen whores, the wide one with too many teeth and not enough lines around the eyes. It doesn’t fool her one bit.

“What makes you think something’s going on?”

She leans forward against the table and nods down to the curved steel peeking out from under his coat.

“You’re wearing the dagger and Roland’s still alive. Something is clearly going on.”

He looks down at himself briefly, seemingly almost bemused at finding the dagger there, then casts a rather desperate gaze around the room until it alights on the bed.

“This bed is looking awfully lonely. If you’ll excuse me I intend to rectify that at once.” He grins that terrible grin again, and sidles past her, casting off first his coat and then his sword belt before collapsing face down on the soft straw with groan of such pure ecstasy that Emma almost regrets the sneer behind her next words.

“Oh, you get the bed do you? It’s like that now.”

He rolls onto his back and folds his arms behind his head, looking at her with such wide-eyed innocence she’s not sure if she wants to jump him or brain him.

“You hate me being gentlemanly, so I assumed you’d want to take the chair.”

“You’re a bastard,” she snorts, and he gestures to his too-innocent face as if to say what, me?

“Not guilty. My parents were legally wed, more’s the tragedy.”

He wriggles his hips, pretending to get comfortable while simultaneously watching her like a hawk. Well, if he thinks he can distract her that easily… he winks - a pathetic, sleepy sort of thing - and she sighs in defeat. He’s probably right.

“Oh, shove over.”

He looks a little gobsmacked, and she can’t really blame him. She’s a little shocked herself. Yes, she’s lain with him in far fewer clothes than her chemise, and yes, he’s the one who started it by claiming the bed for himself, but it’s still different, squeezing herself into the space at his side sober. It’s different, they’re different. He’s different.

He’s hiding something, but then she’s starting to think maybe she is too.

“Swan…”

She grins at how horrified he sounds, pressing herself up against his side just because she can.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she drawls, “I’m tired.”

“Emma,” he warns in a low voice.

“I said don’t,” she says, but there’s no venom in it.

Very little truth either, in all honesty.

“No - I,” he swallows hard, so hard she can feel it vibrate down the length of her arm where it’s pressed against his. “I made a deal.”

“You don’t say.”

She smiles up at him, a bright, open smile that she hopes he’ll return with some openness of his own, but instead she watches as his face seems to crumple, his eyes squeezed shut as if he’s in physical pain.

“Emma, you have to go home.”

She blinks at him, gobsmacked into silence for a moment, before hot rage simmers its way through her veins.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I shouldn’t have let you follow me in the first place, but you’re so bloody stubborn and I - well. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. Roland has agreed to help you make your way home. Whatever provisions you require - maps - ”

She shakes her head in disbelief, but now he’s started it’s almost like he can’t stop. As though he has to spit the words out before they swallow him whole.

“I have a few things you can take to ease your passage, I won’t require them so they may as well go to you, the Jolly is probably long gone, but if you find her I’m sure you wouldn’t be adverse to a bit of plundering - “

“Hook,” she tries, but he rambles on.

“Unless you’d rather stay? I can see the appeal, and no doubt Mr Hood would be delighted - “

“Killian!”

She's never used his first name before, not ever, and judging by the look of shock on his face he's probably forgotten he ever told her it. She presses her hand against his chest, half to ground him and half to reassure herself of the beating of his heart.

“Why are you talking as though you’re writing a will?”

He shrugs, his hand coming up as if to cover hers before he apparently thinks better of it and let's it drop to the blanket, his fingers twitching restlessly.

“Well. I suppose I am. Had to happen eventually, even to me.”

She tucks that weird bit of phrasing away for later consideration, and hoists herself up onto her elbow so that she can look him in the eye.

“Tell me. What the hell have you done?”

Hook closes his eyes and let's out a long sigh. He looks older, suddenly. His face tight and lined like a man who's seen too much horror and not enough softness.

She knows that look, knows how it feels, and she wants to kiss him. Wants to make him smile the smile that wipes it all away. She wants a lot of things, here in this secret space where there's no one but them, but then he’s speaking. So she pretends she doesn't.

“The Hood boy, he told me all about his parents. How they lived peacefully outside of the laws with others who had no place to go - no where to call home. He made it sound idyllic.”

“Yeah, he told me, too.”

“It wasn’t though, not always. His mother was killed by the Evil Queen when he was barely more than an infant, and that’s when his father began to build a world of their own, a place they could defend, where they could feel safe. She attacked when Roland was nine, razed the trees to the ground and disappeared into the night, taking his father with her.”

“That must have been awful,” she says, and means it. To have never had something, someone, is miserable enough. But to have it and lose them? Her fingers tighten around the material of Hook’s shirt.

“According to Roland, she ripped his father’s heart right out of his chest, and the man just followed after her - meek as a lamb.”

Emma balks, her face scrunched up in disgust.

“She can do that?”

“I’ve seen it done,” Hook says, and there's an undercurrent to it, something dark and angry that colours his next words. “It does things to a child, being left alone like that. Scars them. Makes them think a little differently, like they see the world through the bottom of a glass.”

“You think he’s wrong?”

Hook shrugs.

“Not sure what I think matters, Swan. But it explains what he’s asked me to do. In return for giving me the dagger, he wants me to kill her.”

Emma raises her eyebrows.

“And you don’t think you can?”

He shakes his head and let's out a puff of air that might have been a laugh.

“Oh no, I know I can. I will.” He says it casually enough, but his gaze is still fixed on the ceiling. “But you -”

“I’m tougher than I look,” she says, mildly offended, and the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly.

“And you look very tough indeed, but lass, this isn’t an adventure story. We won’t come out covered in glory. Only regrets and the blood of other people. I want better for you.”

“Maybe I want better for you,” she says, her hand creeping up his chest to cup his jaw.

She can feel the muscles twitch under her palm as he fights between the urge to press closer or pull away, so she rubs her thumb gently over his beard until he seems to decide, relaxing into her touch.

“I’m beyond saving, Emma,” he sighs.

She tightens her grip, turns his face to hers. “You can let me be the judge of that.”

They lie like that, noses almost touching, breathing each others air, for what feels like minutes. Emma finds herself cataloging every freckle, every eyelash, her fingers coming up to rest lightly over the cut he'd received in the battle with the knights back at the dock. It'll scar, she thinks, but she won't mind.

She has the sudden all encompassing feeling that she could look at him forever, scars and all.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in barely a whisper, his eyes flitting hopelessly from her own to her lips and back again.

Emma smiles, and lets her hand move round so that she can run her fingers through his hair.

“Roland says you're my friend.”

He smiles back, genuine and soft, and shuffles his body just a little closer to hers, his hook resting cool and heavy on her hip.

“Oh yes? I'm not sure I've ever had one of those. What's that involve, then?”

“Nor me,” Emma bites her lip and watches his eyes flash dark. “But I think… Maybe something like this?”

It's a peck, a breath, just a lightning spark of lip against lip, but it's enough to send sparks flickering along her spine and set her heart pounding, and the little sound he makes - desperate and guttural right at the back of his throat - fills her with the burning need to hear him make it again, make him burn with her until he's hers and he’s hers and gods she wants to keep him…

The hammering on the door sends them flying apart, Hook landing ungracefully on the floor just as Roland bursts into the room.

“They've found you,” he gasps out. “The Knights. They've found the camp. You have to go, now!”

Emma scrambles for her clothes.

“They were following us?” she asks, furiously tugging on an overskirt. “Since when? We came by boat!”

“Not us, not as such,” Hook says, his face as grave as it ever was. “They're after this, still.”

He rests his hand on the dagger, and stares at her from under furrowed brows.

“There's still time to back out, Swan.”

“What?” Emma blows her hair out of her face and whips her cloak around her shoulders. “And leave you to get yourself killed? Not likely. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“No,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I don't suppose I can.”

Roland looks nervously over his shoulder before beckoning them out of the door, the sound of shouting and the clash of ste echoing from somewhere below.

“Go North,” he says, thrusting something round and golden into Hook’s hand. “We’ll hold them off - keep going till first light and you should be safe a little while longer.”

“Oh, comforting,” Emma grumbles.

Roland flashes her a quick, apologetic smile before turning back to Hook.

“You won't forget what I told you?” he pleads. “You'll do everything as I asked?”

Hook nods once, then swings himself onto the nearest rope ladder.

“Coming, Swan?”

She spares Roland a smile and a friendly squeeze of his arm, and, taking a deep breath, she follows Hook into the unknown.

#clare vs writers block #renegades #ask games #katie-dub

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shut-up-im-jay · 5 years

Text

PEEPS THERE IS MORE

WHAT ARE. THE. FUCKING. REPRESENTATION. OF. PAIN. IN. ART.

Sorry I’m overly excited rn

I love this. And I’m sorry but I’ll tag peeps here too bc it’s really interesting, tell me if you want more in the future or if you want me to stop tagging me lmao

@whumpthisway @whumpster-dumpster @untilthepainstarts @ashintheairlikesnow

Let’s dive into it.

SOO how does art represent pain and how does it allow us, spectators, to feel it and why do we represent it in art?

Art and stuff, when I use the word it’ll be about every representation of it, paint, fanfic, writing, films, series.... everything.

first of all, maybe when we experience art we aren’t just communicating with the author and the characters but also with the other readers somehow. Like there is a community behind any form of art

heroïc pain, comical pain and the experiment of pain in stories about real people --> restitution of sensation of pain, (recent phenomenon apparently) are the three main thing we’re gonna talk about here

What is a hero and what is its link to pain?

stoïc heroes are the ‘best’, those who take pride in toughening up, very often a mannly trait, there is historically a superior power in play. They’re heroic bc they fight till the end knowing that they can’t do anything (see La chanson de Roland, the agony of Charlemagne’s nephew, it’s apparently a really good agony/whump thing)

Action is superior to affection when you’re a hero (martyrs hello, we’re talking about st Sebastian, our true gay icon, I love him)

------ Tbh this is basically the base for whump, but not the cool part. We want our whumpee to go further. The strength is cool but I don’t just want this, I mainly wanna feel the pain and no one is that hero. It’s often more the tipping point that gives me whumperflies --------

Philoctet here. Who is the guy? Heroic af, but he is an ass. So anyway he is wounded and he has an ulcer and yeah that’s why he screams and smells and his friends just let him to die on an island (lmao) bc he has invincible weapons so they just go away with it (savage)

So he is the metaphor of a patient isolated in their pain, that’s cool. Also there is a caretaker in the story. True antic whump peeps.

-----------Now comical pain(?) (not whump related here)

Can we really laugh about pain? we’re talking about the ripping a bandage kind of comical pain in caricature. How can some kind of pain affect us while other makes us ‘laugh’ or at least be amused...

We then laugh more about the idea of humiliation, for example in comical theater, laughing at the pain as punishment for the ‘bad’ characters. Also laughing makes people superior, so when we laugh together it binds us together, and then pain can be bounding but anyway that’s not the point.

The real question is: how the fuck do we have an insensibility to pain when there is a comical situation?

let’s talk about someone who falls and it’s funny cause they slipped on a banana peel or smtg. bc there is a social convention in the funny situation. Also pain isn’t really obvious, it’s often ambiguous and we can’t really have empathy so yeah, we maybe don’t relate that much? and also small kids don’t seem to find it funny apparently bc they’re not really aware of the comical situation.

I think that this kind of things would be more interesting to do it as a psychological/social study on why we find things funny related to culture and our background, more than our relation to pain

------------ Now, the historically modern kind of pain tale, the one more related to whump, when the goal really is to describe the pain, often trying to get the spectator to relate.

The body has a new place in art. Historically the soul was really the center of art while nowadays we are more in a somatic art, the body is the focus.

Cenesthesia is the internal perception, the general sensibility we have toward our internal feelings. And it’s a general tendency now, Hunger, K.Hamsun, Nausea, Sartres, they focus on those internal feelings. Another great book: ‘La doulou’, Alphonse Daudet (he suffered from syphilis) and he described in a diary all the pain he was feeling, and he tried to be really accurate. Again, great writing material ig.

Léon Werth: The white house is an auto-fiction, basically the story of a guy that has an ear infection and his surgery then the fever. The whole story is about post-op sensations. Interestingly enough, the character doesn’t even have a name, the whole story is only to describe the pain, and the main character is really interested in his own pain. He uses GREAT analogies tbh, like there is an industry in his ear and everything, that’s.... that’s good shit. But like, he isn’t bad about it, he is just weirdly okay with it? he only describes things as he feels them, he has some kind of dissociation from his pain.

This is basically one of the example of pain descriptions in modern art, when the person in pain becomes the spectator of its pain

Dolor y gloria, Pedro Almodovar --> good PTSD shit, how emotional pain becomes physical pain. Two narratives at the same time: the main character with chronic pains as an adult, but then there is the other story: how, as a child, MC was influenced by his past

on an unrelated note, the teacher just said that main character and his mum are hot lmao that’s bi energy af

Well now she’s dissecting a cinematic scene and it’s not really interesting so I’ll try to express what I took out of this.

Seriously, it wasn’t as cool as I expected it to be, I thought she was going to focus more on how we relate to pain. That’s unfortunate, bc I’d love to have an external pov on whump. The actual psychological effect of seeing pain, and why it’s truly appealing to us. Why the fuck do we enjoy it.

It was more of a dive in the representation of pain in different arts. Some good whump references in it I guess. But nothing really psychological and it’s kinda a shame tbh.

Oh but some cool things maybe(?), some interviews of neurologists:

WHAT IS PAIN AND HOW DOES IT INTERACT WITH THE MEDICAL WORLD?

(also there are people specializing on pain out there which is fucking rad and metal lmao)

Scientific pov: Pain is an experience. Sensorial, emotional and physical. the pain isn’t really localized in a part of your brain. Sure, things are processed in the thalamus but it’s a very large zone already, there are so many ways to feel pain, and so many structures in our brain, it’s almost as complex as memory(!)

-The facial expression of pain and why it’s ambiguous? How to see the pain? There are literal descriptions of non-verbal cues, and how to detect pain (there are even photo stocks of facial pain expressions lmao to try and educate our brains). And often, the more you’re affected, the more you’re ambiguous in the way of expressing it.

Frowning is one of the first ways of expressing pain, muscles have a kind of order in the way they react.

Our anatomy teacher now: words of pain. As doctors, it’s often unclear how to understand the levels of pain based on patient expressions. So we have precise forms to help, but we need patients to be really educated to have enough vocabulary. Unfortunately sometimes as we already stated, pain can be anesthetic in a way, and hard to describe, and trying to fix the pain in time is near impossible. We would even need to do a linguistic study on pain and stuff to make sure we can be precise (and write more whumpy things lmao)

Here, a take on pain as an alarm system. Dramatic consequences ensue when there are lesions of nerves, so it is obviously a very useful and protecting tool. But then what about neuropathic and chronical pains? They’re basically when in a house, the alarm goes off all the time for no reason. And then the definition of a protecting system is really wrong

What are the bias medical professionals have? The more a patient says he’s in pain, and the less they’re believed (it’s almost an auto protecting factor: we shut down our empathy and it conducts us to underestimates the pain, and this is terrible bc the more you’re in pain, the less you’re going to be actually taking care of!)

The logic and chaos of pain: either persistence of a physical issue or malfunctioning of nervous systems In a western, there is a tendency to have pain representation when an arrow gets in the flesh, then when it’s extracted, but we mostly won’t even blink when the character just isn’t in pain anymore bc we have that representation of pain being linked to trauma. (whumpers, I think there is where we have something to say: we actually understand the role of pain after the trauma)

And knowing that pain is linked to something is a very relieving factor for most patients. Thus the known placebo effect: if we actually say to patients that there is a cause to their pain, they almost always have better results with pain management!

Placebo also works the other way around peeps, if you think that smtg is going to be painful, oh boi. It’s gonna hurt like hell. Like more than it should... you get the hint

The human mind is fascinating

#not so cool #ssh #whump #anyway it was kinda interesting #some good references #not so whumpy too #the end is better #I like scientifical pov on things #later #italics are basically my thought

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omoghouls · 5 years

Text

Relaxing drive

(Aka: I'm not over Bloodwings death and wanted to write some lowkey Brick/Mordecai)

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

The gaunts under his eyes ached when his knuckle rubbed over the tender flesh. The sniper adjusted his goggles, fiddling with the strap as he became all too intuned to his surroundings. The murmured voices talked about furthering the mission, hushed as if the room was wire tapped. The constant droning hustle of the town below.

He couldnt stand it anymore.

[[MORE]]

Mordecai stood up. Catching the attention of the woman across the table.

"Where are you going?"

The sniper glanced at siren before continuing for the door. He lerched back as a hand gripped onto his shoulder.

"We need everyone to stay in headquarters until we get intel from the vault hunter," Roland gave, blankly staring at the lanky man.

Mordecai harshly shrugged him off, freeing himself from the crimson leader's grip.

"Solider!"

Mordecai clenched his fist as he swung his entire body around.

"I am not your fucking soldier, I am not apart of this stupid goddamn patrol of yours," Mordecai barked, "So if you excuse me," he added as he stormed out of the room, into the grundy streets of Sanctuary.

"Mordecai, wait!" Lilth called out.

"Let 'em be Lil'," A previously silent voice said.

Lilith looked at Brick with confusion. How could he be so calm? His friend just left.

"He's going for a drive," Brick said, as if reading her mind as they watched the man walked into the small hub of the city.

"A nice relaxing drive."

"Soldier, so God fucking far from the way it is," the man grumbled under his breath as he stomped away from the fast travel.

His vision adjusted as he looked around the wastelands. Empty. For now at least. Mordecai walked over to the florescent sign.

"Catch a riiiiiiiiide~"

Usually the grating, thickly accented voice caused the man to roll his eyes. But, today. Today it was a comfort as he waited for the vehicle to materialize.

Mordecai ran his hand over the metal before climbing into the driver's seat, engine purring as he pulled from the idle spot and onto the pathway.

There was no particular destination in mind.

Anywhere but back there was good.

Occasionally, Mordecai took his eyes off the road, glancing to the side. Nothing but barrenness and remnants of bygone times.

The past. Distant yet still so close.

The sniper sighed, shaking his head while taking a sharp turn to keep his mind from wandering futher than what was meters infront or in back of him.

Back on his home planet, driving was something he loved. The freedom of rolling faster than the local habitat, everything he passed became an uprooted blur. A Nomad of his own town.

The way he had liked it.

Maybe that's why other reason he left, dropped off land, wandering until he got to where he really wanted to be. Even then, he wasn't so sure he would stay rooted for long.

Mordecai swerved around the rocks, the car leaning just slightly too much to the right before smashing back onto the dusty ground.

A smile cracked on his face as he pressed his foot to the ground of the vehicle. The wind, the kicked up dust hit his face as he laughed.

"Just like old times in New Haven, eh gir-" His voice trailed, shoulders dropping when he saw only empty air above him.

The vehicle jerked as it came to an abrupt halt, drifting beneath the shelter of rusted bars.

A nomad without his pasture was just, a displaced man.

His fist slammed against the steering wheel, the searing pain traveled up his arm. He didn't care what damage he was causing to him, or the vehicle.

Frankly, he didn't care about anything; his mind clouded with resurfacing rage and a chest filled with a cold, lowly ache. His blurry vision glared towards the sky, the giant 'H' that loomed over Pandora. The lump in his throat emerged as he let out an angry,anguished cry; echoing off the sun washed billboards.

The sniper's chest heaved, breaths shallow as he rested his cheek against the steering wheel. Relishing in the cold material coming into contact with his burning face.

Exhausted. He was, exhausted; in the physical and emotional sense, he couldn't sleep, sure as hell couldn't drink the exasperation thoughts away. He tried.

But, with it replaying in his mind, he didn't even have to close his eyes to hear her pained screeching. The gurgling cries muffled from the echoes of the detonation. Followed by the hoops of laughter from the tyrannical bastard on Helios.

The sniper roughly rubbed at his tear stained face as he grumbled weakly.

And it wasn't fair.

It just wasn't fair.

Mordecai peeled his face away as he sat back up, silently watching the sun setting behind the mountains. The pink hue mixing with the natural yellows and oranges as the darkest times of twilight slowly emerged. Dim lights of the vehicle blinked on, casting skewed shadows against the boulders. He blinked slowly, wincing as he gripped the wheel once more.

Silence, save for the electric humming from the lights. Mordecai slipped into the headquarters, careful to avoid the few creaky steps as he walked upstairs.

He paused in his motions as he looked to the sleeping bodies. Lilith curled into a small ball, blanket tucked around her securely. Eyes wandered up, spotting the Roland, sleeping upright as he acted as a bed. The sniper held back a gruff chuckle at the two.

A yawn escaped past his lips as he tugged further in, hanging his rifle back up for the night before wandering out onto the porch. The sniper leaned against the guard as he looked past the monochromatic skyline of the town.

Sleep was at a fingers brush away, he finally was going to seize the opportunity.

He clutched his chest when he spun around, face to chest with the berserker.

"Ey, ey, give a man a warning before you do that," Mordecai said, although the tone came off as annoyed, he was glad to see the bigger man, in a sense.

Brick shrugged, "Guess I'm getting better at that sneakin' huh?" He chuckled.

Mordecai gave a lopsided grin, slowly fading when he saw the other man yawn.

"Did I wake you up?"

Brick shook his head, "Was waiting up for you, all were. "

The sniper's stomach knotted with guilt.

"You, you didn't have to do that," he quietly told.

"You went out without sayin' where you were going, of course we all were staying up, make sure you made it back," making a small nudge towards the other sleeping two,"Had half a mind to send one of my boys to find you. But," he paused with a small shrug, "I know you can handle yourself out there. Still though."

The sniper rubbed the back of his neck, he felt as if he were a teenager being caught sneaking home late.

"Fun drive?" The taller man said to fill the awkward air.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess," Mordecai said, "Same old shit just at an elevated speed, less dusty boots."

He flinched when the large hand patted his back. Leading the lanky man back inside.

Usually, Mordecai would stay put, not budge from the leading action. Tonight, tonight was an exception to that rule. He leaned into the contact, letting his head drop.

"Not the same without her."

Brick raised a sympathetic brow when he heard the mumbled voice.

"Course it ain't the same, ain't gonna be for a while," he explained, "you two were close, like me and Dusty."

Mordecai chuffed as the two sat on the cot. He didn't have to worry about being psychoanalyzed when it came to heart to heart conversations with Brick.

"Yeah, kinda like that," the sniper gave, letting his body slump onto the mattress. Too tired to further comment.

Brick looked at the man for a moment before standing back up. Mordecai tilited his head up in curiosity.

"Unlike you, I can't wear my shoes to bed, go to sleep, I'll be back in a bit," the berserker said.

Mordecai simply nodded before curling his knees to his chest, he wanted to see what the man was up to but, his body had made claims to the cot and was not leaving. The sniper closed his eyes to a dreamless sleep.

The light of a new dawn shone through the room. Mordecai groggily lifted his head, patting around blindly. He blinked slowly once his goggles were on.

He was the only one in the room.

"How long was I-?" His thoughts were paused when his hand brushed against a box by his head.

The sniper squinted as he held the box in his palm, carefully he tugged at the bow that held the top securely to the box. Mordecai peered in, eye widening as he quickly pulled the object out.

A chain dangled between his thumb and index finger. An all too familiar feather tickled the gap between.

"Oh, you're up."

Mordecai turned his head towards the door, watching as Brick walked in, standing idly by the cot, glancing at the opened box.

"Do you make this, amigo? How, how did you find her feathers?"

Brick smiled with a nod, " 'fore, what happend, when you two came by here she was shedding and dropped a few. Kept them, it ain't much but," the man was cut off when arms wrapped around his sides. Surprised by the sudden fling of affection coming from the scrawny sniper.

"Thank you," Mordecai softly said as he looked up at the bigger man, rolling the chain around his fingers when he moved away from the embrace.

The berserker tugged at his own necklace, the paws clinking together from the jostling.

Mordecai pulled the chain over his head, tucking the feather under his shirt,

"Gotta keep 'em alive somehow." Brick said as he gently patted the sniper's chest.

"I uh, saved you some breakfast, if that's something you wanted to come get right now?"

The man swallowed back the lump in his throat, "Yeah, actually might take you up on that," he said as he walked with the other man down the stairs.

Brick smiled, slinging his arm around Mordecai's small frame. He knew it would be a lengthy process for the sniper to go through, but this, this was a nice step towards that.

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #mordecai the hunter #brick the berserker #lilith #roland #handsome jack #angst #hurt #comfort #otp #bloodwing #fanfic #bunny rambles #hi this is also callled 'Mordecai is dealing but not too good'#x

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princessofthedarkrealm · 6 years

Text

Dark Phoenix Rising- Chapter 10

“So where was you and Roman’s first date?” “At the Rocket. It’s a diner.” “How big is Derry?” You smiled. You loved how curious Jake was. At least it was keeping your mind off of your romantic life and the physical pain you were in. Your foot crunched on another stick. Even if you and Jake hadn’t been talking, if Pennywise or Walter were still around, just your loud footsteps would give you away. “It’s pretty small. And very old fashioned. You probably wouldn’t like it if you’re so used to modern technology and a big city. Have you ever walked on the Brooklyn Bridge?” “Yeah. I’ve been there. Have you?” You nodded. “Walter took me there. It’s very noisy but I love the view.”

Jake stopped short, his mouth gaping open. “Walter took you on a date?”

“Well I uh…I wouldn’t really call it that. We went to see about the portal and then he bought me a hotdog. If bought is the word you want to use.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s something else, yeah. Oh, and he took me to one of his hideouts. I didn’t see how to get there though. He blinded me.”

“What?!” Roland’s hand was on your arm in a nanosecond. “Walter did what?”

Oh shit. “Not really. He just…” You waved your hand in front of your eyes, “he put some kind of mist over my eyes. It was an illusion. Still scary though.”

You could practically see Roland’s jaw clench. You were actually nervous. Your group had been walking through the woods for a while now and Roland had asked you nothing about your time with Walter at all.

“Roland, if there’s something you want to say, please do so. You know I’m not good with beating around the bush.” You shifted your weight to one foot.

Roland opened his mouth to speak and then glanced over at Jake. Poor boy. He was so in the dark about what all had happened the last couple of weeks. He hadn’t even asked you about your pregnancy. And you hoped he never would.

“I’m just worried about you,” Roland finally answered.

You gave him a tired smile. “You and me both.”

Later that afternoon, a thick mist started to creep in.

“You know, this is kind of like on the Wizard of Oz when they get to the Wicked Witch’s forest,” you idly commented.

“You think flying monkeys are going to come out?” Jake shot you a half grin.

“I take it that’s another reference from your world,” Roland commented.

You could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. Was he jealous that you had someone to talk to about your own culture now?

You sighed. “Not monkeys, no. I don’t know what to expect. That’s what scares me.”

“You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you?” Roland raised an eyebrow at you.

You smiled. “I know. I just wished I knew what-”

Roland put out his arm to stop you.

“What is it?”

Roland pulled out one of his pistols. “I don’t know.”

Then you heard it. A loud rustling noise coming from the hill to your left. Part of you wanted to summon your magic just to be ready. Then all was quiet.

“If that is who I think it is…” you muttered with a scowl.

“Then he’s going to have a fight on his hands,” Roland finished.

Jake shot you and Roland a worried glance. “W-who do you think it is? Walter? Pennywise?”

“My guess is on Pennywise. Stay alert,” you told Jake.

You had told Jake about your mate. Or at least somewhat. You had said he didn’t like children. Which he didn’t, depending on how you looked at it.

The three of you went further into the woods without any issues. Your nerves were becoming more wound by the minute though. You wanted to scream at whoever was watching you to come out. Finally at some point, you were coming around a bend in a group of trees. Roland pulled Jake back. He motioned for the two of you to get down.

“What’s-”

Roland put his finger over his mouth for you to hush. He pointed through the brush. You looked around until you saw it. Taheen. Several of them. They were going in the opposite direction. They hadn’t seen your group.

“What are they?” Jake asked quietly.

“Taheen. Walter’s minions. We need to be more careful,” Roland responded.

Your heart started pounding. Were they looking for you or Jake? You hated not knowing. If you would know for sure it was you, you would go with them in a heartbeat. But would you? Could you do that to Roland? You glanced over at him and saw him watching you. You stood. Either way, you weren’t afraid. If the Taheen were here for Jake and they tried to attack, you and Roland could easily pick them off. You started to take off, but Roland grabbed your wrist.

He stood. “I need to talk to you.”

You shifted your posture. “Alright.”

“Stay close,” Roland told Jake.

Roland led you off a little ways. “You know I’ve been trying my best not to ask anything. But since you got back,” Roland sighed, “you haven’t been yourself.”

You snorted. “I’m growing wings, Roland. That’s not normal for anyone.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well obviously I don’t,” you retorted. “I’ve been through hell these last couple of weeks, Roland.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I know that.” He gently grabbed both of your arms right above your elbows and looked you square in the face. “Whatever Walter has done to you…you don’t have to be ashamed. Let me help you.”

You lowered your gaze with a sigh. So that was it. He thought Walter had forced himself on you while you were with him.

“I swear to you, Y/N…I will do everything in my power to stop him. He won’t hurt you again.”

“Walter has never hurt me, Roland.” Now it was your turn to meet his gaze. “Don’t you get it? I mean, yes, he may have in the beginning. On that one night. But Pennywise has done exponentially worse.” You pulled yourself out of Roland’s grasp. “If anything Walter saved me from that. And he saved me again. Two days ago. I would be dead, Roland, if it wasn’t for him.”

Roland scowled at you.

“You know it��s true. It has been hell for me not knowing what was going on with you. And I knew you had to be worried sick about me. I’m sorry for that. Walter was going to let me see you. Not in person, but he said he had a way to let me see that you were alright. The only reason why he didn’t was because of everything that came up with Jake. And now Walter may or may not be looking for him. Or the Taheen could be looking for me. I don’t know.” You shrugged both shoulders. “Walter never hurt me, Roland. These last couple of days, he didn’t…” you shook your head, “he didn’t hurt me. In any way. We shared a…” you shifted from one foot to the other, “we shared his bed together. Last night. But no sex. At all. He took care of me. And if I’ve been,” another sigh, “if I’ve been acting weird, it’s because I feel lost without him. I feel…vulnerable. And now I’m hurting and there’s…” You scrunched your face up as a wave of emotion rushed through you. “There’s nothing that I can do about it. I just feel so lost.”

The tears fell now. You put your hand over your mouth. You heard someone coming and you and Roland both glanced in that direction. It was Jake.

“Uh…guys…you might want to see this.” He pointed back in the direction he had just come from.

You quickly wiped your tears and without giving Roland another glance, followed Jake. You didn’t see anything at first that would warrant attention, but as soon as Jake pointed upwards, your mouth fell open.

It was a tall, metal sign, like you would see at a carnival. But it wasn’t the presence of the sign that made you stare in shock. It was the wording on it. One word.

PENNYWISE

Several emotions warred inside you—awe, fear, joy, confusion. Pennywise had been to Mid-world. And from the looks of it…

He’d had his own amusement park.

You and Jake walked underneath the sign. A large Ferris wheel came into view. It was even more dilapidated than the sign. Images flashed through your mind of when Roman had taken you for your date with him underneath the Neibolt house.

The date that had been a lie.

Pennywise was the master of creating illusions, but this…to actually see that he had at some point existed in another realm…somehow that, more than anything else that you had seen and experienced with him in the last several months, brought it home for you.

Pennywise was an alien. He was a demonic, child eating alien. How old was he even? Where did he even come from? Was it Mid-world? Had this really been his amusement park or was it just where he had gotten that particular persona from?

You shook your head. “I can’t believe this. Pennywise has been to Mid-world. Why hasn’t he told me?”

“Probably for the same reason he didn’t tell you a lot of things,” came Roland’s terse answer.

“Yeah, but this…” you pointed back at the sign. “He could have told me this. I know he’s not even really a clown. He could have-” You stopped when a bout of nausea flared up. You put your hand on your stomach and rubbed it.

“You ok?” Jake asked you.

You nodded. “It’s just nausea. I get that sometimes.”

“From the baby?”

You regarded his now downtrodden face. You smiled at him. “I’m okay yeah. My baby’s gonna be strong. But the thing is…so am I.”

“That you are, my dear.”

You whirled around. Pennywise was standing just feet away from you.

“Penny,” you breathed.

“What’s wrong, dearest?” He smiled at you. It gave you the chills, and not one of pleasure either. “Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”

He stepped towards you but both you and Jake backed up. Roland came forward, one of his guns pointed at the clown’s head.

“You just can’t leave her alone, can you?” Roland asked.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Pennywise told you.

“What are you talking about?” you snapped.

“Oh you haven’t told him?” Pennywise’s mouth fell open into an ‘o’ as he turned his gaze towards Roland.

“Told him what, Pennywise? Spit it out!”

“Your new beau.” Pennywise’s yellow gaze was now completely on you. “Your new mate.”

His cherry red mouth was twisted in a sneer. And the right side of his face was all jacked up. Like someone had poured acid on it. Had you done that? Or had it been Walter?

“Penny…you know things weren’t working out between us.”

“And so you bedded him! You bedded him like the whore you are!” Pennywise screeched.

“And what if I did? Why should you care?” you hollered back. “You don’t care if I fuck half the men in Mid-world so long as I’m yours, that I belong to you! Well I’m sick of belonging to you, Pennywise!” Your hands were at your side, balled into fists. “So Walter told you we’re sleeping together, did he? Did he tell you about my sleep?” You pointed at yourself. “Did he tell you that he couldn’t wake me up this morning?” You took a few steps toward him. “Is that what you want? For me to sleep with you instead? A deep, dark sleep from which there is no waking? Until I’ve lost everything?” You snarled that last word. “I am PREGNANT! What do you think that’s going to do to me? To me and Walter’s baby?”

You shook your head slowly as angry tears obscured your vision. “All I wanted was your love,” you said in a small voice.

“Deny him.”

Your eyes widened. Walter! Was he watching you right now?

“Deny him, my love. It is the only way you will be free from him.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Pennywise. And I won’t.” You took a few steps closer to him. “I deny you. By all that is good and right in this universe, I deny you.”

Pennywise’s eyes turned blood red. “Deny me? You will deny yourself as well. You will cease to exist.”

Your blood ran cold. Was this it then? Were you to die right here? After all you had been through, did it really matter anymore? You glanced around. If you were going to die, then you might as well take him with you. Your eyes landed on a pile of crumpled up long, skinny pieces of metal. You didn’t know what it had once been. You didn’t care. You made your hand into a fist behind you.

And you concentrated.

“And if I die, then so be it.” The tears started to fall. “But at least I will be free of you.”

You straightened your posture. “I, Y/N, Guardian of the Dark Tower, deny you Pennywise.” You felt a pointed scrap of metal form in your fist. “I deny your claim on me.”

Pennywise snarled.

“I deny your claim on my soul.”

You clasped the metal so tightly, you felt it cut into your palm.

“I deny your claim on my life.”

You were crying so much now that you couldn’t see. But you didn’t have to. You knew exactly where Pennywise’s heart was.

Because it didn’t exist.

“I love you.”

With an inhuman screech, you lunged. Pennywise was faster. He leapt on you and at the same instant, you heard a gunshot. You landed hard on your back.

“AAAHHHHHH!!”

It felt like two knives had gone through your back. Pennywise had crushed you against the ground. His mouth was contorted. You felt something wet spraying the front of your nightgown. Finally Pennywise staggered off of you.

The metal was sticking out of his chest.

You couldn’t move. Your entire back was in agony. You watched Pennywise grab at the piece of metal. He started to pull it out. You heard Roland cock his gun. Saw him point it at Pennywise.

You laid back on the ground. Stared straight up at the mist obscured trees.

BANG!

Me: *hides behind Walter* save me!

Walter: You asked for this, sweetheart.

Me: Yeah but they had to have known that something like this would eventually happen.

@booklover2929 @grotesquegabby @allkundsofwrong @mummerthemimo @tomuchofaclownlover @pinoflicious

#dark tower #dark tower fanfiction #pennywise x reader #roland deschain #jake chambers

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squidneykoala · 6 years

Text

So like 10,000 years ago I was sent some oc questions by @yumecosmos, and somehow it took me a month to answers 15 questions. Yeah, I know. Anyway, here’s questions from my big wip of a fantasy novel/sort of memoir for one of my OCs, Errol Carwyn.

He’s a nomadic doctor who often ends up being more of a mercenary than medical professional. Answers are under the cut!

2. What is the thing they feel the most guilty about?

Since Errol doesn’t have any formal medical training, he kind of learned on the fly in the field. One time he and his mentor, Roland (whose name I literally just came up with), were helping out this town since they were being frequently raided by bandits. After the bad dudes were dealt with, some search parties were sent out to find missing people/any wounded in the woods surrounding the village. Errol came across someone severely wounded and couldn’t save them because he had barely any training and he was pretty young at the time—probs around 14 years old. I feel like he’d get a lot of guilt since it was the first patient that died on him.

3. What is the worst pain they’ve ever experienced?

One time growing up he tried to get a cat out of a tree, but upon reaching the cat, it jumped down on its own. Then he slipped off the branch and broke his femur. His friend laughed at him until they realized his leg was bent unnaturally.

5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear.

Surface level: He does not like spiders whatsoever.

Repressed fear: Errol doesn’t mind total darkness, but when all the lights are off and it’s completely silent, he gets nervous. This ties into the somewhat pending backstory I have planned for him.

Deep Dark: Since he’s an empath, he’s afraid that he could completely lose himself to the emotions of others and never have any of his own.

7. What feature (physical or otherwise) do they hate most about themselves?

Errol is constantly traveling because he can’t figure out how to just settle down and live in one place. He wishes he could just commit to one spot and live there because that would be so much easier than going from one place to another hoping he can find shelter, but every time he thinks he’s found it, he wonders if there’s someplace better out there or someone he can help.

11. Do they have any vices?

He can be pretty arrogant since he knows he’s good at what he does. Also, a tab bit vain. He’s sort of a pretty boy.

13. Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them?

Based off my last answer, I’m gonna say Pride.

17. What sound always gives them a headache?

Constant squeaky noises.

19. Do they consider themselves ugly?

Hell no.

23. Have they ever been assaulted/abused/raped?

So the pseudo-backstory I’ve sort of given very minimal thought to involves his empath abilities being abused by someone not so nice. It would basically be a situation where someone with a substantial amount of power was collecting “gifted” people for servants and Errol was young when he was employed (that word being used very loosely) and he underwent training to be a lie detector. The training was pretty brutal for obvious reasons, but I’m not 100% sure if I want to keep the Tragic BackstoryTM.

29. Does what they cannot see scare them?

Nah, he kind of lives for the thrill of the unknown.

31. Do they have self-confidence or self-image issues?

He really doesn’t, but he’s not fond of people knowing he’s an empath. As long as no one suspects that, things are gucci.

37. Have they ever had their freedom taken away?

Yes, when he was a kid employed for bad, evil employer person. You’d think I’d have this backstory nailed down with all these questions but I guess I’m just so iffy on if I want his past to be sad or not. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

41. Do they get sick often?

I’m thinking since he’s a doctor and has had much experience around sick people he should have a decent immune system. So, no.

43. Do they wish that they could change their past?

Since it’s probably sad, I’m going to say yes. He’d probably wants it to be a lot happier, but at the same time I think he lives a very everything-leading-up-to-this-point-made-me-who-I-am-today kinda guy.

47. Have they ever gone so far as to attempt suicide?

Nope.

A lot of these are subject to change because I’m indecisive, but it was good to actually sit down and put some more thought into who he is before the story takes place. If anyone really wants to know about some other characters from my book, feel free to ask.

Also because you guys are relevant, @hannifranni @jaminholl

#now i shall run away and hide #idk why i get so nervous about sharing projects but #sigh #here we are #errol carwyn #mlbiafn

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swanqueeneverafter · 6 years

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43. Lily, Pt.1

The Land Without Magic. New York. 9 Weeks Ago. (Robin, Marian and Roland are now living in Neal's old apartment.) Marian: “If this is New York, I'd hate to see the old one.” Robin: “Oh, we've been in tougher scrapes than this before. I'll admit, this modern world is a bit confusing.” Marian: “This is all my fault.” Robin: “Marian, if you hadn't left Storybrooke, you'd have died. I made the decision to come with you and bring Roland. Nobody forced my hand.” Marian: “I know. Your honour is your greatest strength.” Robin: “Do you remember what you said to me our first day as outlaws?” Marian: (Hesitates:) “I said so many things.” (Suddenly there is movement by the door.) Robin: “Roland, come here. Stand behind your mum.” (Robin picks up a knife and is ready to fight when Mr. Gold enters the apartment.) Mr. Gold: “What the hell are you doing here?” Robin: “What are you doing here?” Mr. Gold: “That's none of your concern. Your concern is removing yourself from the premises. This... This is my son's home. You're trespassing.” Robin: “No. This is our home now, and we're not going anywhere.” Mr. Gold: “Look I really don't have time for this. I've got business to attend to.” Robin: “What business could you possibly have in a world without magic?” Mr. Gold: “The business of my happiness. Now get out.” Robin: “Oh, you're here to find the Author, aren't you?” Mr. Gold: “So she told you. Of course she did. Well, then you'll also know that if I don't find the Author, Regina won't get her happy ending, either. Which might be good for you, too.” Robin: “I'm sorry, but I will not succumb to your games. I know better than to trust you. I have a wife and child. We need this home, and we're keeping it!” Mr. Gold: “No, no.” (Mr. Gold clutches his chest and collapses.) Robin: “Gold? Gold!” At The Hospital. (Robin waits in the emergency room. He is about to call Regina when a nurse finds him.) Nurse: “Sir? Your friend's awake.” In Mr. Gold's Bedroom. Robin: “What did the doctors say?” Mr. Gold: “Well, only what their small minds can comprehend. Prattling on about diets and exercise. They tell me it was a heart attack.” Robin: “But you have other ideas?” Mr. Gold: “My problem isn't physical. It's moral. All the dark deeds I've done... They've taken their toll, poisoned my heart... Thickened the blood. Back in Storybrooke, I used magic to protect myself. But out here... I won't last without some.” Robin: “Well, unfortunately for you, Dark One, there is no magic in this world.” Mr. Gold: “True. We can't create magic here. But we can use magical items if they were brought from elsewhere. Remember something from our past... The elixir of the wounded heart. Something I asked you to steal. Well, I think I might know where some of it exists. Right here in New York city. And I need you to get it for me.” Robin: “And why would I help you?” Mr. Gold: “Because you're a man with a code, a man of honour. And that, despite everything, is the reason why you will save me.” Storybrooke. Present. The Woods. (Emma is searching the woods for the Author when her parents catch up to her.) David: “The Author, where is he?” Emma: “We lost him.” Mary Margaret: “We know him, Emma.” Emma: “What?” Mary Margaret: “We met him a long time ago, before you were born. He, um...” David: “Manipulated us. It's because of him we were put on the path to causing Maleficent to lose her child.” Mary Margaret: “It's true.” Emma: “No. No, what's true is no matter how you were manipulated, you still did what you did, and you lied to me about it! You've been lying to me about everything! About you, about me...” David: “That's not the case. It's one incident from our past.” Emma: “Don't you dare downplay it.” Mary Margaret: “Well, we've changed. We've tried to become the parents you deserve.” Emma: “I am only the Savior because you altered the entire state of my being at the expense of someone else's soul!” David: “You're right. What we did, it was wrong. But we... We didn't fully understand what we were doing. We acted out of fear. We're human.” Emma: “Yeah, well, right now I don't care. None of that matters now. We have to find that Author before Gold does.”

The Land Without Magic. 9 Weeks Ago. (Robin stands over Mr. Gold with the elixir in hand.) Mr. Gold: “You found it!” Robin: “Indeed. ‘The Wizard of Oak.’ That was his cover while in our world.” Mr. Gold: “Yes, well, apparently being great and powerful did not mean witty. But he was effective. Zelena sent him to New York to keep an eye on Emma. She would have been a fool to send him without precautions... Magical charms, potions.” Robin: “Lucky for you your assumption paid off. (As Mr. Gold reaches for the potion:) And now that I've made good on my promise, we need to strike a deal.” Mr. Gold: “Well, make it quick.” Robin: “Before this potion heals you, you will move on. Your son's apartment belongs to me now, and I never want to see you there again.” Mr. Gold: “It's yours. Take it. Now give me what's mine.” Robin: (Placing the potion on the tray in front of him:) “Good riddance, Rumplestiltskin. Our dealings are done.” (He leaves the room.) Mr. Gold: (Reaches for the bottle:) “Goodbye, thief. (Mr. Gold drinks the potion:) It's not working. It's not working. (Throws the bottle against the wall, shattering it:) Why isn't it working?” Marian: (Entering the room holding the real potion:) “Because it's not real magic.” Mr. Gold: “What?” Marian: “I tried to convince Robin to let you die, but he just wouldn't listen to reason. So here I am.” Mr. Gold: “You switched the vials.” Marian: “I did. The one you drank won't cure your heart, but it will lessen the effects of seven cold and flu symptoms. Don't worry, it's non-drowsy.” Mr. Gold: “Why are you doing this? I've done you no harm.” Marian: “That's not exactly true.” (Marian reaches for her necklace and rubs it, transforming into her true self: Zelena.) Mr. Gold: “Zelena! ... How is this possible?” Zelena: “Imported magic, dear. Never travel between realms without it. You remember the six-leaf clover from Oz, don't you? It's quite the effective glamour spell.” Mr. Gold: (Panicked:) “No, no. I killed you.” Zelena: “Mm, you tried. When you stabbed me in that jail cell, I didn't die. My life force simply fled my body before it shattered. I had somewhere to go. Or should I say some time?” Mr. Gold: “You followed Emma through the time portal.”

Zelena: “That I did. Once I managed to literally put myself together, I sought out the person I was looking for. Sat some distance away from the action, recording everything for prosperity... was the Author." Mr. Gold: "No." Zelena: "Oh yes. I mean how else did you think I was going to alter my fate and make sure it stuck? Yes, I could've followed my original plan and killed Snow White's mother but that still wouldn't have guaranteed my happy ending. No, what I needed was something a little more... ironclad." Mr. Gold: "The Author can't change what's already written." Zelena: (Sighs:) “No, he told me as much when I found him. Which is why it was imperative that I be the one who cast the time travel spell, to ensure that I ended up exactly where and when I needed to be. But, I didn't let that ruin my fun. We had quite the philosophical debate, the Author and I. He was quite adamant about how it was his job to merely record the events that unfolded. That to interfere in any way would be against the rules." Mr. Gold: “So after everything, you failed.” Zelena: "Oh, I wouldn't say so. He didn't look too pleased when I showed him what the Savior and the one handed half-wit were up to. Changing the course of history and using the Author's very own book to do it? He had quite the determined glint in his eye when he left the Enchanted Forest to travel to another realm. But, with my hopes of changing my past dashed, I had to come up with a new plan. And when I realized what Emma had planned for Marian, well... Inspiration struck! And then I struck. For a few careless moments, they left her unattended, and that was all I needed… I killed her… And then I became her. I took her form. Do you know, it wasn’t easy not being me, but it certainly beat being dead." Mr Gold: “Marian... Never made the trip... To Storybrooke.” Zelena: “No. No, dear. It was me all along. And, you know, no one's been the wiser. Not her husband, not even her child. I mean, she's as dead as, well... Your son. Oh. Oh, that's right. I suppose that means you never avenged his death. That... You failed. Oops. (Gold's heart stops and alarms sound from the various machines he’s hooked up to. Knocking on Gold’s chest:) Hollow. What a beautiful echo. (The nurses and the doctors arrive:) Oh, please! Help him!”

A Short Time Later. (Zelena stands over Mr. Gold who now has a breathing tube inserted. Mr. Gold wakes up and tenses immediately.) Zelena: “Shh. Shush, dear. Don't try to talk. Look at the magic in this world, Rumple. A tube that breathes for you. My, your predicament does look painful. You know, there's a time I would have relished this. And with your vendetta against me for the death of your son that would make this a strong practical choice. But, see, I'm not done telling you about my clever plan. I was going to use my little Marian-glamour to steal Robin's heart, to make him fall in love with me, to steal Regina's fated true love. How ultimate, you know? Sadly, it didn't take. I can't win his heart. Something is standing in the way like a... Like a stone wall. Could be fate. Could be true love or some other bias in the universe towards those who deserve happiness. But whatever it is, I am certain that the Author can simply force a happy ending for me. And if there's anyone that could find him and bend him to their will, well, my money's on the Dark One. Or should I say the deathly pale one? Anyway, whatever your plan is with the Author, I want my happy ending built into it. You'd also have to stop trying killing me, of course. (Doing her best impression of the Dark One:) But, dearie, what does old Rumple get out of it? I mean, you are aware I have a certain potion that fixes hearts. I don't know if it could cure this little lump of coal you've got in your narrow little chest. But it will get you back home. Your life for mine. That seems rather fair. Do we have a deal? If we do? Simply blink.” (Mr. Gold stares daggers at Zelena before, finally, blinking his assent.) Storybrooke. Present. Regina’s Vault. (Regina calls Robin.) Regina: “Robin?” Marian/Zelena: “No, it's not Robin.” Regina: “Marian?” Marian/Zelena: “Not exactly.” (Using the necklace, Marian turns into Zelena.) Zelena: “Hello, sis.” Regina: “No... No, it can't be.” Zelena: “Oh, but it is.” Regina: “Zelena. But how? I saw you die.” Zelena: “You thought you saw me die.” Regina: “Where's Robin? This is his phone. What have you done with him?” Zelena: “I haven't done anything except love and honour him in sickness and in health, to have and to hold and all that other wifely nonsense.” Regina: “I-I don't understand.” Zelena: “Well, you don't have to. All you need to know is that while Robin thinks it's his wide-eyed wife cooking dinner for him every night, it's actually me. Oh, I've got to run, sis. He'll be home soon, and I've got a meatloaf in the oven.” Regina: “No...” Zelena: “Oh, you sound like you need a moment. Take it. I'm sure we'll see each other again very soon. Ta-ta.” (Zelena hangs up.) Regina: (To Gold:) “You knew.” Mr. Gold: (Nods:) "Zelena is the reason you began your search for the Author to begin with. She planted the idea in your head when, as Marian on the night she returned, she told your son that you would always be a monster." Regina: (Remembering:) “And that Henry only need to read his storybook to know who I really was. That bitch." Mr. Gold: “Your sister played you perfectly.” Regina: “Well you’d know all about that.” Mr. Gold: “Regina, this needn’t be cause for us to not get what we both desire. When I told you I wished you happiness, I meant it.” Regina: “Zelena murdered your son!” Mr. Gold: “Well, Zelena and I have come to... An understanding. Regina, you are vital to my plan to turn the Savior towards darkness. If Emma turns dark and becomes a villain like us, you can still be together and we can all find our happy endings.” Regina: (Shakes her head:) “You made me a monster. But I won't let you do the same to Emma.” Mr. Gold: “Don’t mistake me, dearie. Miss Swan will turn to the darkness one way or the other. So when I do find the Author, you’re going to have to ask yourself one question. Do I want my story to be a happy life together with my son and the woman I love, or do I want to end up alone, unloved, forever?” (Regina lunges at Mr. Gold before he disappears in a cloud of smoke.)

Storybrooke. The Woods. (As Emma, Henry and the Charmings are closing in, Isaac is attempting to fashion himself a new quill from a branch of wood.) Mr. Gold: (Appearing beside him:) “Well, I'm not much of a writer, but I do know something about magic quills.” Isaac: “Such as?” Mr. Gold: “Well, for starters, they must be sculpted from the wood of enchanted trees, which, unfortunately for you, is not an attribute any of the timber in Storybrooke possesses.” Isaac: (Snaps the branch in two:) “Damn it! I need to go.” Mr. Gold: “Yes, you do. Or, um... You could come with me.” Isaac: “Why would I do that? You're quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass I have ever had the displeasure of writing about.” Mr. Gold: “Yes, there is that. But there's also... (Reaches into his jacket and produces a quill:) This.” Isaac: “What do you want from me?” Mr. Gold: “You are gonna write me a whole bunch of new happy endings.” (Isaac looks to see the heroes quickly approaching.) Isaac: “Okay.” Mr. Gold: “I thought so.” (Mr. Gold waves his hand and both of them disappear.) Storybrooke. The Next Morning. (Cruella speeds down the road in her car until she is halted by Maleficent. Giving an annoyed sigh, Cruella exits the vehicle.) Maleficent: “We need to talk.” Cruella: “Good thing I had my brakes serviced, darling. I do hate getting blood on the car.” Maleficent: “There's still time for that. Tell me about Lily.” Cruella: “Sorry. Who?” Maleficent: “My daughter, Lily. You told me she didn't survive the trip to this world. You lied.” Cruella: “Perhaps I did. Um, but there's an explanation, of course. You see, um... I'm a really terrible person, and I left her in the woods to die.” Maleficent: “You did what?” Cruella: “Oh, don't be so flabbergasted. You know I'm not mother material. I took that dragon egg she was in. Oh, the magic helped me stay young, you know. Wonderful thing. But the little brat...” Maleficent: “My daughter.” Cruella: “Yes. Well...” Maleficent: “You should know your death is going to last for days.” (Maleficent transforms into a dragon. As the creature stalks towards her, Cruella uses her powers to subdue the beast.) Cruella: “Oh, I was so hoping you'd do that. People always underestimate a girl in diamonds and furs, don't they? I mean, no one guessed what I was really after. Not Gold. Certainly not you. But now that the Author is here, today is the day that I get mine. Now be a good girl, lie down, and take a nap.” (The dragon lays down and falls asleep.) Blanchard Loft. (The Charming's return home.) Emma: “You have to remember something else about the Author, some way to find him. Now think.” David: “We told you everything we know.” Emma: “Are we sure about that? Because secrets just keep coming out.” Mary Margaret: “Okay. You're clearly still upset.” Emma: “Yes, I'm still upset. You were the ones who taught me there is always a right way. A heroic way. And what you did to Maleficent's child...” David: “It was our only option to make sure you grew up... Good.” Emma: (Scoffs:) “Other than raising me yourself of course. You know, you blame the curse but, did you even plan to raise me or would I have ended up calling the wet nurse ‘Mom’ and one of the dwarfs ‘Dad’.” Henry: (Chiding:) “Mom.” Emma: (Sighs, shakes her head:) “I'm sorry, but if it were me, no matter what, I would not harm a defenseless person. (Regina enters the loft. Sighs, relieved:) Regina, thank God. Where have you been?”

Regina: (Hugs Henry:) “In the middle of a very bad day. I'll tell you the whole story later, after I rescue Roland and Robin Hood.” Henry: “Robin Hood?” Emma: “What are you talking about?” Regina: “It turns out that Marian... She's not really Marian at all.” David: “So who is she?” Regina: “Zelena.” David: “The wicked witch?” Regina: “I don't know how it's possible, but my sister has been masquerading as her this entire time. And she's in league with Gold. So I'm going to New York to stop her.” Mary Margaret: “And what about Gold? If they're working together, he's not just gonna let you waltz off and spoil his plans.” Regina: “I wouldn't worry about Gold. I know exactly how to handle him.” Mr. Gold’s Shop. (Belle takes some books from the counter and puts them in a cabinet behind her. When she turns back, Regina is standing there.) Belle: “Oh! Regina, I didn't, uh, didn't hear you come in.” Regina: “Your ex-husband has done quite a number on me, Belle.” Belle: “Oh. I'm, uh... Sorry to hear that.” Regina: “And now he wants me to work with him.” Belle: “Uh, well, I'm sure that would be a mistake.” Regina: “I know it is.” Belle: “How can I help?” Regina: (Smiling:) “I'm glad you asked.” Mr. Gold's Cabin. (Mr. Gold brings Issac to the cabin.) Isaac: “Well, this is certainly homey. Antlers are a nice touch. Makes me feel like Hemingway. Or maybe Thoreau. (Offers his hand to Mr. Gold:) Name's Isaac, by the way.” Mr. Gold: “Do you always talk this much?” Isaac: “Only when I'm nervous. And you still have my quill.” Mr. Gold: “Yeah. Well, for now, let's call it... My quill.” Isaac: “You know, it's worthless without its ink.” Mr. Gold: “Oh, I'm aware, and I plan to obtain some very soon.” Isaac: “Yeah. And just how are you gonna do that?” Mr. Gold: “Simple. Now you're here, I'm gonna turn the Savior dark.” Isaac: “What will that accomplish?” Mr. Gold: “Once her heart has been blackened, everything I need shall fall into place. You'll see soon enough, when my associates return.” Isaac: “Your associates seem to have a taste for fur. And perfume. Can't wait to meet them.” Mr. Gold: “Surely you must know them from your stories.” Isaac: “Know of them, sure, but an author rarely gets...” Mr. Gold: (Sensing something:) “Be quiet. Don't say another word. Something's just come up. You stay here till I return.” Isaac: “Until you return? But who's gonna... (Mr. Gold leaves in a cloud of smoke:) Protect me?”

The Wishing Well. (Belle is repeating Rumplestiltskin’s name over and over trying to summon him when he arrives.) Belle: “Rumplestiltskin. Rumple...” Mr. Gold: “Hello, Belle.” Belle: “Hello.” Mr. Gold: “This is a curious place to meet.” Belle: “Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me here the night of our vows? How I chased all the darkness out of you?” Mr. Gold: “Belle, look, I'm sorry for everything.” Belle: “No. No apologies today. For once in my life, I just want the truth. Why are you here, Rumple? Are you... Are you trying to win me back?” Mr. Gold: “It's a bit more complicated than that.” (Mr. Gold rips out his heart. His heart is dark except a little red spot.) Belle: “Rumple?” Mr. Gold: “It seems that centuries of dark deeds do take their toll. And all that's left of it... Is this. And pretty soon, that will be gone, too.” Belle: “Well... Will you die?” Mr. Gold: “In a manner of speaking, yes. I will lose any ability to love. And that goodness that you once saw inside of me... Well, that'll be gone forever. There's only one man who can reverse this process, and that's the Author. That's why I'm here in Storybrooke. (Puts his heart back in his chest:) I don't expect you to understand, of course.” Belle: “But I... I-I do understand.” Mr. Gold: “You do?” Belle: “Sometimes I worry... I worry I threw out the chipped teacup too soon. (Overcome with emotion, Mr. Gold kisses Belle:) You know what the problem is, though? Will is just such a better kisser than you are.” Mr. Gold: “W-what?” Belle: “You're pathetic. Watching you come groveling back to me, it's like a dog begging for scraps.” Mr. Gold: “Why are you saying that? This isn't like you, Belle.” Regina: “But it is so like me.” (Regina arrives holding Belle’s heart in her hand.) Mr. Gold: “Regina.” Regina: (Speaks into the heart:) “Now forget all this and run along home.” (Belle obeys and leaves.) Mr. Gold: “You have no idea just how much I'm gonna make you suffer for this.” Regina: “Oh, you're not gonna do a thing, unless you wanna see what happens when I take this heart and squeeze.” Mr. Gold: “Come on. We both know you don't have it in you.” Regina: “Don't I? You think you can threaten the woman I love and I won’t retaliate in kind?” (Begins to squeeze the heart.) Mr. Gold: “All right, all right. I believe you.” Regina: “Good. So I'm headed to New York now. And if you breathe one word of this to Zelena, you won't be the only one who loses a heart.” Mr. Gold's Cabin. (Isaac is reading a book as Cruella enters.) Cruella: “Don't bother studying the greats, darling. You'll never be one of them... Hello, Isaac. Never thought you'd see me again, did you?” Isaac: “I was certainly hoping not to.” Cruella: “Then why don't you make this easy and give me back what you took?” Isaac: “Can't do it. Sorry.” Cruella: (Grabs him by the throat:) “With one whistle, I can send a hundred snarling dogs after you.” Isaac: “I know you could, after all I am the one who gave you that particular power. But you and I both know that even with all your magic, you don't have enough power to hurt me.” Cruella: (Frustrated, she releases him:) “I do hate it when you're right, darling. Though I do like this new shade of confidence. It's so... Masculine. Are you sure you can't help a girl out? For old time's sake?” Isaac: “Not a chance.” Cruella: “Well, then you will pay for what you did when you made me what I am.” Isaac: “You know, idle threats don't make for good drama. But I do see one interesting story developing here.” Cruella: “Really? And what's that?” Isaac: “Rumplestiltskin has no idea that we know each other. Which means that... You lied to him. So from one old friend to another, you should probably be gone before he gets back.” Cruella: “Oh, you always did know how to infuriate a girl, didn't you? Well, enjoy the upper hand while it's still on your wrist, because I think you'll find... There's more than one way to skin an Author.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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emmaswanchoosesyou · 7 years

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CSBB: Part of the Narrative (11/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, mild violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Confrontations, one main character striking another, corporate espionage.

THINGS ARE HAPPENING, FRIENDS. So thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting for things to get here, and to all of you who helped me get here. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Like seriously, she’s the best.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Chapter 11

Emma goes to Killian, and he has to deal with the fall-out of her discovering his subterfuge. That's not the only thing that goes pear-shaped in his life as things heat up at Mills & Booth.

Killian

Killian hadn't precisely slept well the night before, but it hadn't been the worst night's sleep. He and Emma had argued, but he was willing to chalk it up to strong personalities and the adjustment period that tended to happen early in relationships.

He'd been restless all day as a result, and trying not to sit beside his phone and wait for a text or call from her. He was convinced, though, that she'd call as soon as he walked away from the infernal thing.

But morning had come and gone, as had the afternoon. It was early in the evening by the time he finally accepted he'd have to do something to feed his growling stomach, and that he and Emma likely wouldn't be making up just yet.

Maybe she just needed a little more time to cool off.

Killian had always run hot and his anger turned to grudges, but it didn't seem like Emma was the type to hold onto grievances. Especially, the petty part of him insisted, when he was right and that she was behaving a little irrationally and blowing things out of proportion. He shushed that small voice, looking in his cupboards for something he could throw together for dinner.

He found the necessary items for his favorite recipe of pasta primavera, knowing the act of preparing a meal would provide some solace and a much-needed distraction. He wanted to pour himself a generous snifter of rum, but he was still holding onto hope that Emma might call and they could put their disagreement behind them. Then there could be pasta, kisses, and maybe even shagging.

He had just pulled the pasta off the range and was grating Parmesan when a knock came at the door. His heart leapt when he saw Emma through the peephole. Killian opened the door, trying to temper the wide smile on his face.

"Swan, I'm so glad to see you. Come on i--"

She cut him off abruptly with a stinging slap to his cheek.

Well, that answered the question of whether she was willing to put their tiff behind them.

"Love, stop," he said, grabbing her wrist and halting another strike. "What happened? I'm sorry we disagreed, but it's hardly a reason to turn violent."

He was flummoxed by this sudden turn from her coldness the night before. The ice had clearly melted off, leaving behind a molten rage that was clear in her eyes and the way she was very nearly shaking.

Emma twisted her wrist from his grasp, and he dropped his hold on her and stepped back. She walked inside and he took the opportunity to close the door, not wanting his neighbors to use their fight as the evening's entertainment.

Standing a good five feet away from him, Emma finally broke her stony silence. "You were spying on me? What the hell, Killian? For August? What the actual fuck?"

The color draining from Killian’s face and his stomach dropped to his feet. No, more like below his feet. If it were possible, his stomach felt as though it had dropped through the earth's many layers and into hell.

He certainly wasn't hungry anymore.

"I--wha--how did you find out?" he asked, realizing there was no reason to continue to lie, that it wouldn't help him at all anymore. Not that it ever would have, he knew.

"That's really what you want to know? How I found out?" She was glowing, nay, vibrating with rage. She was still achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, with her eyes flashing and her expression fierce. He wanted to hold her, to pull her close and bring her comfort, but when he reached out to touch her shoulder, she pushed his hand away. Not with the force with which she'd slapped him earlier, but it certainly wasn't gentle.

He sighed. "I suppose that's not what matters now. I am sorry, though, I want you to know. I quit, I told August before our first date that I wouldn't continue to spy on you."

He watched as she stepped back and crossed her arms. "Just...why? Why would you do that? Betray my trust like that?" Her voice broke, and so did his heart with it.

"I...it was selfish, and wrong. I was trying to get away from a bad situation in London, and August offered me an out in exchange for my work and information on you. I didn't ask why, and he never volunteered a reason."

Her eyes welled with tears, and he fought away some of his own. She didn't speak, so he continued. "I stopped early on. I--I didn't count on you, Emma, when I agreed. You should know that. You swept through my life. You captivated me, mind, soul, and heart. I wouldn't--I can't begin to convey how sorry I am, but I also promise that I'd never hurt you or betray you again."

"Too late," she said, her voice rough, harsh. "I--I can't trust you anymore. You lied to me, and that--that's it for me."

“What are you saying, love?” His voice was more frantic than he was proud of, and he cringed at the sound of it.

“You don't get to call me that anymore. We--we’re done, Killian.”

“Emma, please--” He pleaded with her and moved toward her, stopping just short of reaching for her.

“No. Don't...just stop. We still have to work together, so I'll be professional. But I don't want you to talk to me about anything outside of work,” she said, her shoulders slumped. She sounded resigned, defeated.

And he felt utterly deflated.

Killian didn't reply to her soft “goodbye” as she walked out of his flat, out of his life.

&&&

He sobered himself up enough to attend work that week, but he moved about in a fog for a full five days after Emma broke up with him. Each night, he drowned his sorrows in rum, trying to numb the pain that his cock-ups, and her resulting departure, had caused. He got one brief email from her with a couple notes about an upcoming chapter, but he couldn’t even bring himself to respond.

Finally, on Thursday, Robin called him. He sounded tentative as he asked, “Hey mate, your text sounded a bit off. Want to grab a pint?”

Killian didn’t remember texting Robin, but he quickly scrolled through his recent texts. He winced, seeing the numerous errors and misspellings. “Yeah, I could go for a pint. Rough week, you know.”

“Aye. Cornwall’s?”

“I can swing that.”

“There aren’t usually too many tourists on Thursdays, so we should be fine,” Robin said.

Killian managed a small smile and joked, “You don’t think we count?”

Robin laughed and Killian continued, “I’ll see you there at eight or so, if that gives you time to find a sitter for Roland.”

“It’s not an issue--I’ve a friend who looks after him while I work, and he was already planning on taking him for the night.”

“I’m not messing with plans or anything, am I?” asked Killian.

Robin laughed. “No, I originally had a date, but I cancelled. She made some comment about puppies that seemed rather...off. So, for the record, you’re a rather large project that came up at work.”

Later that evening as they slowly drank their pints of ale, Killian found himself amused in spite of his continued glumness. Robin was animatedly recounting the story of one of his arrests from last week and the hijinks that had ensued as he and his partner had tried to track him down. The evening was almost enough to make him forget the ache in his chest, the hole left by Emma.

Eventually, though, Robin grew serious. “Now, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but...are you all right?”

Killian stared down into the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around. “Well enough, I suppose, for having just been chucked by the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“This is your writer lass? The famous one?” he asked, sitting up and listening intently.

“Aye,” Killian said, nodding. “She’s the first woman since Milah who I really connected with, and I fucked it up.”

“Oh, how so?”

Killian hesitated a moment, realizing his friend was in fact law enforcement. Then he realized how much he needed to get it off his chest, how much he needed to tell someone. Somehow, over the last couple months, Emma had become so much more than a love interest--she’d become his closest friend, the person he chatted with about everything. And now he didn’t have that, couldn’t tell her about the weird ship in a bottle he saw or listen to her laugh about what one of the regulars at Granny’s Diner had done.

So he warned Robin that some of his behavior might not have been strictly legal. When he reassured him that as long as no one was being physically hurt it would stay between them, Killian told him the whole sordid tale, from the first time August contacted him to the alcohol-fueled stupor of the previous few days.

“Shit,” said Robin when Killian had finished. “That’s…”

“A disaster?”

“To put it mildly.”

Killian sighed.

As soon as he ordered them another pint (the final one, Robin insisted), he said, “Well, if you need a listening ear or any such rot, I’m here. D’you think there’s a chance Emma could give you another shot?”

“Doubtful, mate.”

&&&

On Monday morning he strolled into the office miraculously free of a hangover. Since his chat with Robin, he’d worked on cutting back on his drinking. Not eliminating it entirely, but he made a marked improvement over the previous week’s constant queasiness and malaise.

He settled into the chair behind his desk, intent on picking up on the work he'd slacked on last week. God, but he'd been a wreck. Today, he promised himself, he would accomplish things. Maybe even get to Emma's chapter, if he could work up the nerve.

He had opened his email and was looking over some of the other projects that had crossed his desk when he heard a knock at the door. He yelled out, "Come on in!"

Killian was surprised to see Ariel, and a rather frantic-looking Ariel at that. Her eyes were wide as she stumbled into the room, arms flailing. He didn't know the lass terribly well, but she seemed like the calm and cheerful sort. He had yet to see her looking harried, or entering his office. Today appeared to be the exception.

"Uh, Killian? I mean, Mr. Jones?"

"Killian is fine, Ariel," he said, frowning at her obvious discomfort and worry. "What seems to be the problem?"

She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Well, I just got a letter from the, uh, Immigration Services about your work visa. It says they found that a bunch of things are out of compliance and that, uh, you need to stop working for wages immediately, return what you've earned, and that they'll be launching an investigation. And maybe deporting , you," she finished with a squeak.

Shit fucking damn.

This was...beyond bad. This was catastrophic. He had to admit, he hadn't paid much attention to the particulars of his visa, had let August--

August.

August had to be the one responsible for this. He had initially arranged the visa and Killian's immigration, had sped it along with his contact. And he had been the one disappointed when Killian stopped providing him information about Emma.

Well, it clearly hadn't taken him too long to undo the permissions he'd obtained for Killian. (God, had it even been on the up-and-up to begin with?)

He was reeling, nearly hyperventilating when he sucked in a long breath. Realizing he hadn't actually replied to Ariel, he tried to find the words. Coming up blank, dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

He felt a light pat on his shoulder and glanced up to find Ariel attempting to provide him with the awkward solace she felt capable of. He also caught sight of a glass of water, which he downed in one gulp. "Thank you, Ariel."

"Are...are you going to be okay?"

He shrugged and sighed. "I don't know, do I? But I should leave today, shouldn't I? I don't want to endanger anything or cause problems for anyone."

She twisted her hands together, clearly concerned. "Well, I'd talk to Cleo. She handles a lot of HR stuff and has some contacts of her own, so that might be the best route."

"Erm, I'm not sure she's all that fond of me," he replied.

"I don't think that will matter to her if she feels like you're a worthy cause," Ariel said, nodding and exiting his office.

Well, then.

&&&

Fuck, he was nervous. He wasn't sure what it was about Cleo, but something put him on the defensive and reminded him of the nuns at the Catholic school he'd attended as a wee lad, strict and disapproving of whatever she thought he was up to. (Truthfully, though, he hadn't been all that mischievous as a boy, not unless it involved Liam or one of the other boys insulting someone in his family.)

But here he stood, next to Cleo's open office door, hoping she wouldn't notice him dithering about in the hallway deciding whether or not to go in.

"Mr. Jones? Why are you still standing outside? Come in here and close the door," he heard in Cleo's authoritative, strong voice.

Ah well, no such luck then. He followed her bidding, entering the room quickly and closing the door behind him before sitting in the chair across from her.

How different this was from their first interview--he couldn't summon any of his trademark charm (smarm, an internal voice sounding suspiciously like Emma’s said) to hide behind. He didn't have the promise of so much as a flirtation with Emma to look forward to. Instead, all he had was an official-looking document telling him to stop working and threatening him with deportation. He had to say, the trade-off was not ideal.

"Well?" she said, an eyebrow raised rather imperiously.

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter Ariel had given him. He watched an array of emotions dance across her face as she read it--surprise, shock, dismay, something that looked a little like guilt, and finally, determination.

"Shit, Jones," she said.

He nodded in agreement. "I couldn't sum it up better myself."

"So...why bring this to me?" She tossed the letter onto her desk between them and crossed her arms as she stared at him expectantly.

"Ariel brought me this rather ghastly piece of communication and stopped me before I left. She said you're occasionally good at handling tricky situations like this," he said.

"You're looking for a quick fix, then?"

He shook his head. "As lovely as that would be, I'd be happy with an explanation and maybe a couple of possibilities about what I can do now."

Grudging respect was how he'd later describe the look on her face. She looked at him for nearly a full minute, seeming to weighing and considering him. He didn't look away from her. Finally, her face cleared and she nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever she'd found in their stare-down. "Honestly,” she said, “I'm not entirely sure what has happened to bring this about, but do you mind telling me a little about your perception of the situation?"

Killian gave her his rundown of the previous months, from August contacting him to how quickly he'd gotten leave to come over to Boston. He briefly mentioned that they'd had a falling-out, and that while it was not exactly personal, it wasn't entirely professional either.

Cleo listened impassively. "I know a lawyer who works in immigration, and she could probably help you get a stay on this, if that's what you want. It's not a permanent fix, but that'll probably take a while. We should also talk to Regina, she will want to know what’s happened and there might be something she can do to help. In the meantime, where are you in your projects?"

He offered her a grateful smile, feeling the tension in his shoulders dissipate some. "Well, my largest project is obviously editing Emma's new book. She's made some excellent progress, but we may have also had a row. And a complete end to our...more personal communication, actually."

That furtive, guilty look appeared again on Cleo’s face. "I might have heard something about that. I'll see what we can do, if you all decide you want to continue to work together professionally. We could probably get you a tourist visa and make you a contractor..."

He nodded at her, willing to follow any of her suggestions. She might intimidate the hell out of him, but there was something trustworthy and knowledgeable about her. "Whatever you think will work. And Cleo?"

"Hmm?" She was lost in thought, typing notes out quickly.

He smiled, a tiny shred of hope blooming in his chest. "Thank you."

&&&

He'd gone home at the end of his meeting with Cleo, called Robin, and started looking into his options for an attorney. Robin had been at work, but he'd offered his support, even if he couldn't do much. "Don't worry, mate, I won't arrest you...and fine, I'll see what I can do in terms of helping you out."

It was a couple more days before he received a summons from Regina. She wanted to meet with him along with August and Cleo. Cleo had texted him after he received the calendar request, told him he really had no way of proving August's involvement without making his life much more difficult, so they’d have to find another approach.

And he knew she had a point. So he went in for the meeting, on his guard and having absolutely zero clue about what to expect.

You could have knocked him over with a feather when he entered Regina's office to find her at her desk, with Cleo and August sitting together with Emma. Regina waved him in and Killian joined them on the couch.

"Er, hello," he said with a brief nod.

Regina rolled her eyes. "This isn't Alcoholic's Anonymous, Mr. Jones. Now that we're all here, we can discuss how to proceed with this immigration dilemma you've found yourself in."

A retort was hot on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, especially when he saw the smug look on August's face and the cautionary one on Cleo's. Emma looked blank, uninterested. Her presence both bolstered him up and was like a vise squeezing his heart. She was so close, but she'd never seemed farther away.

He simply nodded again. "Well, shall we begin, then?"

A business-like façade fell over Regina's face again. "Indeed. So, thanks to Cleo, it looks like we were able to get a stay of proceedings that would lead to your deportation while officials look over your documents and figure out if everything has been done properly," she said, nodding at Cleo.

Killian was extremely gratified to see the smirk fall off August's face. Emma looked up, clearly surprised.

Cleo just gave one single nod. "Yep. There's been a stay of that, and we got you a tourist visa. So, officially you're just here visiting, and we were able to get that to start from the date of issuance, fortunately, instead of it being retroactive. So we have about six months to figure this out."

"...but things do tend to move slowly when in comes to customs and immigration," Regina interjected, "so I'd like to get started today."

"First, I think we should really take a look at why Killian is here, and what he brings to the table," August said. "It might be easier to help you find a job back in the UK and just go with an American editor, or at least someone whose papers are in order."

"No!" Everyone turned, surprised to find Emma was the one to respond so vehemently.

Killian was honestly just surprised Emma had spoken at all, let alone in defense of him.

He tried very hard not to read into it.

Emma clenched her jaw and stared down everyone but him, her gaze lingering on August. "No. Killian isn't replaceable. He's been a great editor, and his help and input have been invaluable. Changing editors at this juncture would have a very negative effect on the quality of my book, which I think we can all agree would be a bad thing."

"Are you sure you're not allowing your personal attachments to cloud your judgment, Miss Swan?" asked Regina.

"I am," she said levelly, "given that we've ended our personal association."

Surprise shone in Regina's eyes, and then respect. "Very well. So we can all agree that Mr. Jones is important for this novel--"

"--but we need to figure out whether his work on other projects is up to par. Otherwise, why bother with anything other than telecommuting?"

Killian could swear he saw every woman in the room roll their eyes.

"Thank you for your interruption, Mr. Booth, and we'll take your input into account. I am rather curious as to why you suddenly seem so keen on shipping Mr. Jones back to London, when you're the one who advocated for bringing him on," said Regina with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow.

August had the decency to looked a little embarrassed, but he recovered quickly. "I'm just trying to do what's best for Mills & Booth, and that includes maintaining a team that can work smoothly together. Is that really happening?"

"Yes," Emma said fiercely, lying through the skin of her teeth.

Killian shot her a grateful look, which she acknowledged with a slight dip of her head. "Now that we've all established that we're professional adults, can we get on with some of the practicalities of the issue?" he asked.

Cleo snorted. "Agreed," she said.

Regina's mouth twisted into a smile. "That does seem to be the most efficient use of our time."

If August was bothered by this turn of events, he didn't show it. In fact, he looked beyond pleased, especially when the door to Regina's office burst open.

Even Regina looked shocked to see Cora Mills striding through the door, Ariel trailing behind her muttering her objections to the intrusion.

Cora Mills. She was a legend within the publishing world, having married the heir of a small publishing house and turning it into the juggernaut that was Royal Hearts publishing. It was primarily known for romance novels, but its forays into literary fiction were well-respected. She couldn't seem to step a foot wrong when it came to books, and most authors would kill for a chance to meet her.

She was also Regina's mother.

Killian wasn't entirely sure when the schism between the Mills women had happened, but it was common knowledge within the publishing world that they didn't get along. Regina had started her own competing publishing house, after all.

There was a long, tense silence before Cora finally spoke. "Hello, Regina. Your office is lovely, even if this is quite the collection of...professionals in it. Between the one in trouble with Immigration, the glorified beat cop, and the felon, I'm actually impressed Mills & Booth hasn't imploded already."

Emma moved quickly, but Killian was able to stop her before she took a swing at Cora Mills.

"I'd expect nothing less from an orphan of unknown parentage with a rap sheet," Cora sneered, brushing at her clothes where Emma had come close to grazing her.

At that point, Cleo had to hold back both him and Emma.

Regina stood and made her way over to the center of the room, her face grim and mouth in a line. "Mother, what do you want? Or did you just come here to insult me and mine?"

"No, I came here with a proposition."

"Ah," Regina said, giving nothing away.

"Regina--and August--you both know very well I have plenty of contacts that could help fix Mr. Jones' little tiff with the authorities. And I'd gladly help promote Miss Swan's novel, if that's something you think is a worthy cause," she said.

Regina's mouth tightened. "But what do get out of it? I've never known you to do a damn thing for free."

Cora's eyes gleamed. "I don't want anything but time with you, Regina. I've loathed being so cut off from my only child."

She snorted. "How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn't just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth."

There was an audible gasp that came from either Emma or himself, he wasn't sure.

Cora's face twisted briefly before melting into a look of motherly concern. "That's just because I know how much an investment could help, and I'd get to see so much more of you."

Uncertainty crossed her face, but Regina crossed her arms. "Get out," she said. "And if you would kindly refrain from insulting my colleagues or bullying my assistant while you're on your way out, I'd appreciate it."

Cora schooled her features and nodded imperiously. "Very well. But just know your mother is here for you whenever you need me," she said.

She swept out, and silence reigned.

Finally, Regina cleared her throat. "Well, if that's done, can we just agree that we'll work on figuring out Mr. Jones' visa situation, while hiring him as a contractor to work exclusively on Miss Swan's project for now?"

Cleo, Emma, and Killian all nodded, none of them missing the distrustful glare Regina directed at August.

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #cs au #cs mc ff #part of the narrative #amber writes #things are happening #dun dun dun

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