#i tried to think ab an in canon reason for why they answer questions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

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Self Promo Sunday: Hope for the Orphans

This was my very first fic, and it’s really hard for me to believe that it’s almost four years old! It’s never been posted on tumblr before, nor have I ever made art for it. So here it is: my way of bringing little!Killian and little!Emma together - in canon. I hope these two cuties bring a smile to your face (even in the midst of their canon-compliant troubles.)

I also wrote this for @whimsicallyenchantedrose whose writing I have always admired. Little did I know back then that she would become a wonderful friend! Love ya, Jen!

Summary: One night, while remembering his mother, nine year old Killian Jones asks the man in the moon a question. The next thing he knows, he’s in a strange realm meeting a seven year old Emma Swan at a Valentine’s Day party. Could she be the answer to his question?

Rating: G

Trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse (very vague), and a very ill Killian as a child

Words: 6k and some change

Also on A03

Tagging my usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @sherlockianwhovian @superchocovian @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @ekr032-blog-blog @nikkiemms @hollyethecurious @profdanglaisstuff @kday426 @distant-rose @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @delirious-latenight-laughs @scientificapricot @snidgetsafan @vvbooklady1256

When Killian Jones first saw Emma Swan, he had the strangest sensation that he had met her before. It was like a long-forgotten detail that niggled the back of his brain, and just as he began to grasp it, away it slipped like grains of sand. So he was delighted when it had been Emma Swan to volunteer to climb the beanstalk with him. “I was hoping it’d be you.” And as they climbed, he uncannily just knew things about her. That she was an orphan, for one. He wasn’t lying when he said she had the look of a lost boy in her eyes, but he noticed the look after the knowing. “Open book,” he had told her, but he hadn’t the slightest clue how or why.

The longer he knew her, the more he felt he had always known her. Of course, he never voiced this to Emma. He knew his Swan – he knew if he said such a thing it would terrify her. So it wasn’t until the night of their honeymoon, that he voiced it in the dark.

“From the moment we met, I have felt . . . like I’ve always known you.”

Emma surprised him with her response. “You too?” she asked, propping her chin on his chest. He could just make out the green of her eyes by the light from the bedside lamp. There was no fear there, not anymore.

Killian gazed down at her, confused. “You mean you’ve felt that way too?” At her answering nod, he asked, “How long?”

Emma snuggled into his side before answering. “Since the first day we met. I looked into your eyes and thought that I knew you from somewhere. I mean – I’m not saying it was love at first sight or anything-“ he could almost feel her roll her eyes at that notion – “it was more like a vague ‘I’ve seen this guy somewhere before,’ know what I mean?”

Killian chuckled, “Exactly.”

They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating what it might mean. Emma finally scooted herself up to nuzzle his neck. She murmured against his skin, “It’s probably just the whole true love thing.” How far his Swan had come to speak of it so matter-of- factly!

“Hmmm, “he sighed, as she lightly kissed his jaw. “And pray tell, love, exactly what does that mean?”

“You know,” she murmured as she lazily kissed a path across his face, “two souls destined to be together. Kindred spirits who recognized one another immediately, despite all reason. That sort of thing.”

And that was what they decided. The soul mates cliché. After all, what other explanation could there be?

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

Nine year old Killian Jones stuck his head slowly out of the hatch leading below decks, so only his eyes were visible through a narrow crack. He searched carefully to be sure no other sailors were above deck. He knew, of course, that there was a sailor on watch up in the crow’s nest. But he would be scanning the skies and sea, not looking down below at the deck. Seeing that the coast was clear, Killian quietly slipped out on deck, padding silently to the railing. The wood was cool beneath his bare feet. He leaned over the railing and down at the water below. It was a calm night. He could even see the moon and a few stars reflected in the almost glassy surface of the sea, the image broken only occasionally by the undulating waves. He looked up at the velvet sky and reveled at the sight of so many stars twinkling down at him. He breathed in deeply the familiar scents: salt, seaweed, and damp wood. He listened to the familiar sounds of the ocean and the creaking and rocking of the ship. He felt the cool night air gently fan his flushed cheeks. This was what he needed so desperately after being cooped up for three whole days below deck. Even if the slight saltiness of the air stung his right cheek just a bit.

“Killian Jones! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Slowly and reluctantly, Killian turned to face his older brother. Liam stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking far older than his 13 years.

“I just needed some fresh air, brother!” Killian tried to explain. “I couldn’t stay down there in the hold one more minute.”

“Little brother,” Liam said on a sigh, putting his hand gently on Killian’s shoulder, “you had a raging fever for three full days. The last thing you need is to stand out here, breathing in the deadly night vapors. You must remain abed until you get your strength back.”

Liam tipped Killian’s head up, then turned it to the side to look at his cheek. The deep cut there was still a bright, angry red, but the wound was no longer weeping. Killian saw the regret and guilt in his brother’s eyes.

“It could be worse, I suppose,” Liam grumbled, dropping his hand from Killian’s face. “You’ll have a scar, though.”

Killian decided that the best course of action was to make light of it. “Well, every good sailor worth his salt needs a scar,” he said brightly. Then he poked Liam in the chest, “And what do you expect? I was stitched up by a 13 year old.”

Liam winced. Okay, maybe it was too soon for that joke. But according to Cook, Liam may have saved Killian’s life.

“Well,” Liam replied, poking his little brother in return, “you should have kept your mouth shut, as usual, and refrained from setting off the Captain.”

Now it was Killian’s turn to wince. Liam was constantly berating him for his sass. “Just keep your mouth shut, Killian, and do as your told,” was the seemingly endless refrain from his brother’s lips. And it was true, Killian’s mouth was constantly getting him into trouble. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. A few days ago, the Captain had sent his youngest cabin boy below decks for some more rum. Unbeknownst to Killian, the barrel he had filled the decanter from was not properly sealed. Salt water had seeped in and ruined the rum. The Captain had taken a large gulp and promptly spit it out across his desk. He had roared at Killian, blaming him. Killian should have taken the scolding meekly and gone to get rum from the second barrel, but instead, as usual, he had opened his mouth.

“As drunk as you are, I’m surprised you noticed.”

The Captain had roared even louder and would have knocked his desk over if it hadn’t been nailed down. Instead he threw the glass tumbler in his hand right at Killian, who had ducked just in time. The tumbler smashed into pieces against the wall directly behind his head (really, who uses glass tumblers on a ship? was Killian’s ridiculous thought). Ducking hadn’t prevented a shard of glass from slicing across his cheek. The Captain screamed at him to get out, face red and eyes bulging. Killian had stumbled out, putting a hand to his stinging cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. He wiped his bloody hand on his tunic, and reached up to his cheek again. By the time he stumbled on deck to his brother, his face and cheek were slick with blood again.

“Liam,” was all he managed to say before he swayed on his feet.

The rest was a blur. Killian remembered opening his eyes to find himself laid out on the table in the galley, Liam and the bos’un, Starkey, arguing.

“Cook’s gone to shore for supplies.” Starkey hissed, “What’ll we do?”

“I don’t know,” Liam hissed back, as if he didn’t want his brother to hear him. “Go to shore and look for him, or a healer.”

“Captain was adamant that his slaves stay on board. He may do worse to me and to Killian if we disobey. Besides, Killian needs help NOW. Look at how much blood –“

“Then what’ll you do?”

“Get Cook’s kit. I’ve seen him do it before . . . “

“Have you lost your senses?” Starkey practically screeched. “You’re just a boy!”

“Exactly!” Liam shot back. “I need you to hold him down. I’m not strong enough.”

Then Killian saw Starkey and Liam bending over him. Starkey and the Cook had taken a liking to Liam and Killian a year ago when their father had left. The boys trusted both men with their lives.

Starkey took Killian by the shoulders. He thought he remembered tears in the man’s eyes, but surely he had imagined that. “I’m sorry son.” Then the pain. Killian writhed and screamed. Then everything went dark.

When Killian awoke, he was in his hammock in the hold. He was shivering all over, and no matter how tightly he wrapped his scant blanket around him, he felt chilled. For three days, he drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard snippets of conversation around him.

“The wound’s turned septic.”

“I was a fool thinking I could stitch him up!”

“You did what you had to, my boy.”

“The Captain is demanding to know where his second cabin boy is. He has work he needs him to do.”

“Then stall, damn it!”

Concerned faces floated in front of him. Someone made him lift his head to drink some water. Extra blankets were tucked around him. It wasn’t until later that he realized his brother, Starkey, and Cook and given him there’s. As the fever raged higher, he started to hallucinate. Calling out to his mother. To his father. And most frightening of all, was the hallucination he had of Liam. His brother was weeping, begging him not to leave him alone. It had to be a hallucination. Liam never cried.

But by some miracle, this morning Killian had awoke sweating and hot underneath the pile of blankets. When Cook had come down to check on him, Killian had asked for something to eat. Cook laid a gnarled hand against Killian’s forehead, and then whooped with joy. He had never seen the man do anything but scowl. He tried to get up, but Cook, and later Liam, insisted he was too weak. The two of them and Starkey were covering for him; the Captain had been too drunk to know his smallest sailor was missing.

And that was why, on this night, Killian had snuck out of his hammock as soon as the rest of the crew was asleep. Staying in bed all day when he had all his wits about him was about to drive him mad. It was dark, stuffy, and hot in the hold with absolutely nothing to do. And now he had no doubt Liam would send him right back down there.

So Killian couldn’t believe it when Liam said, “Ok little brother, we’ll stay up her for a bit.” When he saw Killian’s grin, he hastily added, “But not for long, and you’re sitting down.”

Killian couldn’t argue with that, he was swaying a bit where he stood. The two boys sat side by side with their backs to the railing and looked up at the night sky.

“There’s a man in the moon tonight,” Liam pointed out. Killian looked up. Sure enough, there was the outline of a man’s face. “Do you remember what mother used to say about the man in the moon?”

Killian shook his head and sighed, “No brother, I sometimes fear I am forgetting her completely.”

Liam gave him a small, reassuring smile, “It’s not surprising. You were only seven when she passed. But I can tell you stories. That way, you won’t forget her.”

“Ok,” Killian agreed with a smile.

Liam cleared his throat. “She always said to give your problems to the man in the moon. But you had to make sure to tell him everything, so he had all the pieces. Like a puzzle. Then, while you were sleeping, he would work out the problem for you.”

Killian tilted his head up to gaze at the moon. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew he could remember his mother if he thought hard enough. He had to. Slowly, an image came to his mind. A smile that would light up a room. A turned up nose with a dusting of freckles. He saw her face, still a little fuzzy, leaning over him and wiping his brow. He was four or five and was ill. He saw curls framing the pretty face. Light brown, like his brother. Her eyes? He concentrated harder. They seemed to change color. Crystal blue when she was laughing. A stormy gray when she was arguing with his father. Sea green as she sang him to sleep.

“She sang us to sleep!” Killian exclaimed triumphantly. “And told us bedtime stories!”

Liam laughed softly, “That’s right. She had a beautiful voice. Her favorite was –“ and Liam began to sing haltingly:

Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s green; When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen Roses are red, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s blue. If you will have me, dilly, dilly, I will have you.

The song came back to Killian and he joined in. “I’ll say, little brother!” Liam exclaimed. “It seems you’ve inherited her singing voice.”

The boys continued gazing at the sky silently, lost in their own thoughts of their mother.

“Do you remember what you always asked her at the end of every story she told?” Liam finally broke the silence.

Killian laughed, “Yes I do. No matter what it was about, giants, kracken, true love’s kiss, I would always ask her if she believed in it.”

“And she would always say, ‘I believe in everything.’”

“Aye,” Killian scoffed, “and you would always roll your eyes and say it was silly.”

“Not you,” Liam chuckled, poking his ribs, “you would always loudly proclaim, ‘Then I believe in everything too!’ Momma’s boy.”

“Hey!” Killian protested, but he didn’t really mind his brother’s ribbing too much. His mother used to always says she couldn’t believe two brothers could be so different. Now that his memory had been jogged, more flooded into his mind. The clearest memory was the day his mother died. His father was away, he couldn’t remember where or why, but Elizabeth Jones had insisted on her boys being allowed in the sick room. Their father was a respected merchant, able to afford a housekeeper for his modest home. Little did they know he had gambled it all away. Agnes, the housekeeper, had tried to argue with Elizabeth, but to no avail. She dutifully brought the boys to their mother.

Elizabeth spoke to Liam first, asking him to look after Killian. “You are all he has left,” she had said. He now realized his mother had known their father wouldn’t stick around. She gave Liam a ring with a garnet stone, hanging on a chain. She slipped it over Liam’s head, saying, “This ring will always bring you safely home.” Liam had nodded solemnly and vowed that Killian would always be safe.

“Killian,” Elizabeth had called, gesturing to her youngest son. Killian stepped to her bedside, unable to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Liam was strong, but he was weak. “Killian, you have more love in your little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. When you love, you love fiercely, with all that you are. That is rare, my son. And it is strength. It will make you a hero some day.” At this, she took Killian’s freckled face in her hands. “No matter what happens, Killian Jones, no matter what mistakes you make – and we all make some – never forget that you are destined to do heroic things. Promise me you won’t forget.”

“I won’t mother,” Killian had sobbed. Then he had thrown his arms around her. Elizabeth had held him close, drawing Liam into the hug as well.

“Forgive me boys, for leaving you.” She wept. “I don’t want to.”

“Of course we forgive you, mother,” they had both declared. And the next morning, she was gone.

Killian looked up now at the man in the moon. He didn’t have a problem for him, not exactly. More a question. He realized he had broken his promise to his mother. He had already forgotten that he could be a hero. Because his mother was the only one who had ever seen that in him. So, with her gone, he had forgotten. Liam loved him, he knew without a doubt. But he always had the nagging feeling he was letting his brother down. “Why are you always getting into trouble, Killian?” “Can’t you keep your thoughts to yourself, Killian?” It was always something. So Killian Jones looked up at the moon and asked one single question as he closed his eyes.

“Will anyone ever see me the way my mother did?”

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

Killian’s eyes blinked open. He must have fallen asleep on deck. But – something wasn’t right. The surface against his cheek was smooth and cold, not rough and damply warm like the wood of the ship. Someone was saying something to him. . .

“Sweetie . . . come on, sweetie, you need to wake up and get off the bus.”

Wait . . . what? Everything was off. The woman’s strange accent, calling him sweetie, and . . . what the bloody hell was a bus?

Killian jolted up, looking frantically around him. In front of him was a plump woman, middle aged, holding what looked like a rectangle of smooth wood.

“Wh-where am I?” he stuttered. He looked around him – it was all so strange. Two rows of leather benches with an aisle down the middle. And the entire thing was encased in some kind of metal? What was this place?

The woman in front of him chuckled. “You’re at the Valentine’s Day party. All the other children are already inside. You must have fallen asleep.” She looked down at her piece of wood. “Now, what is your name? I thought we had counted everyone.”

“K-Killian J-Jones.”

The woman frowned. “I don’t see your name here.” She shrugged and looked at him with sympathy. Killian wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she was staring at the cut on his cheek. “You must be a brand new arrival. I’ll add your name – go on inside.”

Killian didn’t know what else to do but obey her. He walked down the aisle towards a door at the front of the vehicle he was in. He guessed it was a vehicle. The seat at the very front had a wheel in front of it. He walked down the steps and onto a smooth, black surface. It was all so strange. He looked behind him at the vehicle he had just exited. Large and bright yellow with four enormous wheels. Bizarre. There were words painted across the side in black. He was grateful that Liam had continued his reading instruction after his mother passed. “Baptist Children’s Home.” A children’s home. A nice way of saying orphanage. Great. He was apparently in a strange realm, separated from Liam, and in an orphanage.

“Better hurry up,” the woman behind him admonished. “The food will all be gone.”

Food! Well, at least he wouldn’t starve. He could certainly eat before trying to get back home. Even Liam couldn’t argue with that. He saw a strip of white through a small green lawn. A path. It lead up to two large doors. From the doors and windows of the strange looking building poured a bright, glaring light. What type of lanterns did they have in this realm to make light that blinding? As he walked nearer to the doors and the light, he could see the kind of clothes he was wearing. His trousers were made of a stiff, blue material. The shirt he was wearing was thin, but soft, with strange pictures. The pictures were like nothing he had ever seen, but he could read the words “Star Wars.” That was odd. Over the thin shirt, he wore a short coat made of similar fabric as the trousers. He shivered a little as the wind blew. Seems orphans wore coats too thin in any realm.

Walking into the bright room was overwhelming. At first Killian didn’t know where to look. Glittering, paper hearts of red and pink were hanging on almost every surface of the room. Children of various ages were all around the room. Some were talking, some were playing what looked like carnival games, and at one long table children sat with more paper hearts, rubbing them with colored sticks. But what finally arrested Killian’s attention was the table draped in pink and red tablecloths in the dead center of the room. Food! He tried to calm himself as he approached the table, but he had never seen so many confections in his life! His mother used to make them shortcake with strawberries for their birthdays, but this! The table was a rainbow of color he had never seen on food before. Cakes, pastries, cookies, and . . . was that chocolate?! Pirates would raid ships carrying chocolate, vanilla, or cinnamon, but in this realm such things must be as abundant as sea water. Why else would they serve such rich foods to mere orphans?

Killian almost couldn’t decide what to try first when his eyes landed on a large, heart shaped cookie. The last one on its tray. It wasn’t just the enormous size of the cookie; it was the fact that it was completely covered in pink frosting. Killian had never had frosting in his life. He had seen wealthy patrons buy cakes with frosting from bakeries, but had never tasted it. He picked up the large cookie almost reverently, his mouth watering.

“Hey, kid! You ain’t eatin’ that! It’s mine!”

Before Killian knew what was happening an older boy who towered over him had shoved Killian and snatched the cookie from him. Killian clenched his fists as he watched the boy cram the cookie in his mouth. The bully laughed, his gaping mouth filled with pink frosting and mashed cookie. Killian felt the anger rising, and all reason flee. The boy was huge, but so help him . . .

“I can split mine.”

The soft, kind voice stopped Killian in his tracks. Forgetting his rage, he turned around to see a girl, not much younger than him, standing there with a heart shaped cookie extended to him in her small hand. She was dressed in a similar manner to every other child in the room: the blue trousers, the cotton shirt (with a glittery pink heart), the thin jacket, but she may as well have been the only one in the room wearing a ball gown the way Killian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. He had seen Liam get tongue tied over girls, but it had never happened to Killian. Until now.

The girl laughed – a wonderful sound. Then she rolled her green eyes and cocked her blonde head. “So ya want the cookie or what?”

Oh, she was a tough lass. He could tell already. Speak, you idiot! Killian thought to himself, but all he could do was nod.

The girl carefully broke the cookie in two, handing half to Killian. Killian ate his half slowly, relishing every sweet bite. It was almost sickening it was so sweet. Almost. Then he shyly licked his lips and his fingers, watching the little girl. She laughed again.

“Didn’t get many sweets at your last home, huh?” She said. “Same here. My last place it was nothing but bologna sandwiches. That I had to make myself, of course. Guy spent all the state’s money on beer. My name’s Emma Swan. What’s yours?”

He hadn’t understood half of what she said. But he had sense enough to remember what Liam had told him about ladies. Whether a duchess or a slave, you should always be a gentleman when greeting a lady. So Killian took Emma’s hand, bowed over it and said, “Killian Jones, m’lady.”

Emma giggled. “You talk funny!” Killian’s face fell until she said, huge smile on her face, “But I like it!” Then he was elated. This Swan girl would be the death of him.

“You must be new,” she continued. “Is the cut why you’re here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand . . . “

“This home, you don’t stay long. It’s for emergencies. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Emma rolled up her sleeve and showed Killian her wrist. On it was a scar, puckered and red. “Bologna and beer guy. From his cigarette.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but he saw a little wetness in her eyes.

Killian gently patted his cheek. “Glass of rum,” he told Emma with a smile, “he threw it at my head.”

She smiled back and he just stood there stupidly. “I’m nine,” he finally said, “how old are you?”

“Seven,” she answered, then abruptly grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s do something! The craft table is lame, totally for babies. But they’ve got some good games.”

Emma dragged him to a table with little darts laid across it. On the wall behind the table was a dartboard surrounded by shelves of stuffed toys. Emma picked up a dart and showed it to Killian.

“Suction cup darts. Don’t want to give the screwed up orphans real ones,” then she laughed. Seven and already cynical. Yeah, Killian could relate.

She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear, and he thought his heart might pound right out of his chest. “I want the duck. Think I can do it?”

“I think you could do anything,” he whispered back. And he meant it.

He watched as Emma picked up a dart and concentrated on the board, her tongue sticking adorably out of the corner of her mouth. The first dart didn’t even make it to the board, and the second dart hit two circles from the edge. Emma blew out her breath and narrowed her eyes as she threw the third dart. Close, but no bullseye. Emma sighed.

“Sorry kid, you only get three tries,” said the volunteer.

“Figures,” Emma grumbled.

“I’ll give it a try,” Killian said. The volunteer gave him his three darts. Killian tried to ignore the fact that Emma was watching him, but it was bloody hard to ignore her. His first throw hit the edge of the board and bounced off crazily. He breathed in deeply on his second. He had to win that duck for Emma! His second dart hit on the very edge of the bullseye and he heard Emma cheer beside him. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the bullseye, tossed the dart and …

“We have a winner!” exclaimed the volunteer. “Now, what would you like, little boy?”

Killian didn’t hesitate. “The duck.”

Killian thought it was obvious that he had played for Emma, but when he turned to her and placed the duck in her hands, her mouth dropped open.

“You won this for me?” she whispered, hugging the duck to her chest.

“Of course I did,” Killian said with a shrug. Why wouldn’t he? He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. He scratched behind his ear. “I mean, you did share your cookie.”

Suddenly Emma was grabbing his hand and dragging him along. Again. Not that he minded. He would follow this angel anywhere. The two of them slipped out of a side door and then down a dark hallway. Emma stopped in front of a heavy oak door.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Emma whispered conspiratorially. “You just got here, so you haven’t come to the Bible lessons yet, huh.”

“Bible lessons?” Killian asked, once again confused.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered back. “They’re not so bad. They read you a story, you make a lame craft, play a game. There’s cookies and juice. That’s the best part.”

The only thing Killian really understood was the part about cookies and juice. Food was certainly easy to come by in this realm.

“I mean, it’s the deal with this place. Bible lessons every Wednesday afternoon. But they take us places. I’m hoping I’m still here next week. We’re going to the movies. I’ve never been.”

Once again, Killian had no idea what Emma was talking about. “So what’s behind the door?” Kilian asked.

“Oh, right,” Emma laughed. “The first Wednesday I came here, I had to go to the bathroom. And on my way back to class, I saw colored light shining through the little window here in this door. I was curious, so I snuck in. And . . . it’s sort of my special place. I wanted to show it to you.”

Emma was the one who seemed shy now, chewing on her bottom lip. Killian smiled at her,” I would be honored to see it, Swan.” Emma giggled, and somehow he knew he was “talking funny” again.

Emma pushed open the heavy door and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then she silently motioned for Killian to follow her. When he followed Emma into the room, he gasped. This must be a cathedral! he thought. Each side of the massive room was lined with exquisite stained glass windows. The room was dark, but the moonlight poured through the colorful windows, spilling colored light onto the carpeted floors. “I see why this is your special place,” he breathed.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Emma agreed, “but I have a special spot. Come on.”

And she was pulling him along again. Did Emma Swan ever slow down? Killian didn’t think so. She stopped at the end of a pew and plopped down on the carpeted floor, her back against the wood. She yanked Killian’s hand to sit down next to her. Just a foot in front of them was a beautiful scene in stained glass. It was a man (the same man who seemed to be in a lot of the glass pictures) seated on a rock, surrounded by children. The man’s face seemed gentle and kind, and the children looked at him with smiles on their faces. One little boy sat on his lap, and he had placed his hand on a little girl’s head. At the bottom of the window, in the stained glass, were the words, “Let the little children come unto me.”

“Who is that man?” Killian asked.

“Jesus,” Emma answered. “You’ll hear a lot about him in this place, trust me.”

“Is he a god of this realm?”

More giggling from Emma. “Realm? Yeah, they say he’s god.”

“So you worship this god?” Killian asked, trying to understand fully why this was her special place.

“No,” Emma sighed, “I mean, I don’t really know what to think about him. But the first night I came in here, we had just heard this story. Jesus was really important, so they tried to send the kids away, they thought he was too busy. But Jesus said the kids could come and actually told the grown-ups they ought to be more like the kids.”

“Really?” Killian asked, surprised. Liam was always telling him to grow up.

“Yeah, I know. And then I saw this window, and I don’t know, it’s just – the Bible teacher said Jesus meant that kids believe stuff real easy.” Emma pulled her knees up to her chest. “But I’m only seven, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe in stuff, you know?”

Killian thought of his mother. I believe in everything. What had happened to the little boy who would echo those words back to her? Killian sighed, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“And in this home, they keep going on and on about how Jesus cares for the orphans. And I want to believe that someone cares – anyone – but it’s just so hard. So when I come in here and look at this window, I imagine those children are orphans. And for one moment, I don’t know. I feel . . . I feel . . .”

“Hope?” Killian supplied.

Emma looked at him and smiled. “Yeah.” Then she took Killian completely by surprise and rested her head on his shoulder. They both gazed up at the window for a while in silence, and then he heard Emma softly snoring. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and suddenly felt very, very tired . . .

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

“Killian! Killian, wake up!”

Suddenly, Killian felt someone shaking him. He felt damp wood beneath him and smelled salty air. He groaned. His head felt full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy.

“Killian,” Liam spoke urgently, “we fell asleep, and now you’re burning up. I’ve got to get you back to bed.”

Liam began yanking Killian to his feet, and Killian didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Swan?” he asked. He was on his feet now. Liam tried to pick Killian up, but he wasn’t strong enough. Killian swayed and leaned into his brother.

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, little brother, now walk.”

“The – the swan. With golden hair. She was a little angel.”

Liam chuckled. “You’re fever is definitely back. You’re hallucinating. Besides, you said girls were a nuisance.”

“Not this one,” Killian mumbled as Liam helped him below and then into his hammock. “Bloody brilliant she was. Amazing.”

But Liam was right, his fever was back. Killian spent two more days in a feverish fog, and when he woke up he assumed the blonde angel and her strange realm had all been a dream. And as hundreds of years ground away at his heart and mind, even the dream faded almost into oblivion.

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

Killian and Emma knew that the other parents of Storybrooke were probably rolling their eyes at the idea of taking an 8 month old to a Valentine’s Day party. Although none of them should have been surprised. As orphans, they had missed out on so much. They were determined to give their little girl everything they had missed out on. Children’s events at the public library were one of them.

Belle had always been a natural at running the library, but after becoming a mother she took it to a whole other level. She convinced Regina to approve the addition of a children’s wing, and she kept said wing abuzz with activity. Storytime, laptime, babytime, summer reading programs, and countless special events were a welcome improvement over research to defeat monsters and secret war councils. In the peace that had descended on Storybrooke, the Jones family were Belle’s number one customers. They brought baby Elsa to babytime every Wednesday morning, alternating weeks. Belle had tried not to chuckle the first time Killian brought her. Elsa couldn’t even hold her head up yet, so when they sang the song about riding a pony to town, Killian couldn’t bounce her on his knee like he was supposed to. So really, was a Valentine’s Day party that crazy of an idea?

Granted, Elsa drooled, babbled, and squealed her way through storytime about two rabbits who try to outdo each other with declarations of love. Emma had basically done the craft for her after Elsa tried to eat the glue stick. And now Killian was trying to figure out how to balance a plate of food with his good hand while holding Elsa in his other arm. He was trying to grab Emma’s attention across the room where she was talking to Snow, but with no luck. Suddenly, Elsa made a grab for Killian’s plate, taking a heart shaped frosted cookie into both her chubby hands. She squished the cooked delightedly and then tried to cram the confection into her mouth with both fists.

“Oy, little pirate lass!” Killian pouted. “That was your Papa’s cookie!”

Killian heard a chuckle behind him. He turned to see Emma, holding another cookie out to him.

“Wanna split mine?”

And suddenly, just like that, they both remembered. They both gasped.

“It was you!” Emma exclaimed first.

“I thought it was a dream.”

“I thought you were an imaginary friend,” Emma laughed. She stepped forward and drew her thumb across the scar on his cheek. “Rum, huh? Figures.”

Killian grinned. His hands were full, so he gestured with his head to her wrist. “So that’s why you got the tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Emma said while rubbing her wrist, “the scar never did go away.”

They just stood there staring into one another’s eyes, both their hearts breaking for the little lost girl and the little lost boy.

“But how?” Emma asked, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” Killian shrugged. “All I know is, I fell asleep asking the man in the moon a question. And the next thing I knew . . .”

“Seriously?” Emma rolled her eyes. “The man in the moon? What did you ask him?”

“If anyone would ever see me the way my mother did.”

Emma cocked her head to one side. “Mmhm, and how did she see you?”

“A boy who could be a hero one day.” Killian’s smile lit up his face as he leaned down to kiss his Swan. But before the kiss could get really good, two chubby hands patted Killian’s cheek, covering him in pink frosting. Killian pulled back, both he and Emma laughing. Emma reached up with a napkin to wipe the frosting out of Killian’s scruff.

“What happened to the duck?” Killian asked. “It didn’t earn a place in your memory box?”

Emma laughed. “You’ll never believe this. Another kid stole it.”

“Stole it?”

"Yeah, the same kid who stole your cookie.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Figures. We were truly made for each other Swan.” And he bent to kiss her againn.

#cs ff #self promo sunday #little!emma #little!killian #hope for the orphans #my first fic

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merlin-rabbit-hole · 4 years ago

Note

From the salty ask list!! 27. Least shippable character?, 21. What are your thoughts on crack ships?, and 20. What is the purest ship in the fandom? Thank you for being wonderful!!!! (and bonus if you just want to rant about 25. How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX? even though we 100% know you wouldn't leave it exactly as is. )

aww anon you’re so sweet thank YOU for being wonderful<3<3

27. Least shippable character?

AGGRAV-AINE i was originally stumped by this bc i think i j genuinely tried to block this ridiculous pedophilic-vibes piece of shit out djdj but yeah definitely him uwu

honestly even uthers more shippable than this asshole bc come on ~ewther x troll~ should be everyone’s otp :)

21. What are your thoughts on crack ships?

LOVE THEM give me more of them!!! like going by the base definition of ppl who have literally never met in actual canon canon being shipped i offer you: geon (leon x george) bc @meteorjam has converted me completely and the concept is immaculate, morgal (mordred x daegal) bc thats j freaking adorable, elena x vivian bc I LOVE THEM, aggravaine with the pointy side of a sharpened stake- i mean what? ig mans is shippable after all <3<3, and a bunch of others i cant think of rn!

in conclusion lmao live laugh love crack ships:D

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?

aww im tempted to say merlin x freya! j bc they were both so young w such full hearts and hopes, definitely a really pure ship fs:’)) also mordred x daegal again bc,,,,bbs:’))

25. How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX?

haha ANON thanks for giving me the opportunity to rant ab this jaldfj;aslkf you’re a real one homie ill add a cut for this to spare torture on the rest of anyone who might read this haha

OK SO real talk: ik it literally says in my freaking bio that the end of season 5 never happened for me:’D

but in all honestly? i thought the ending of bbc merlin in terms of arthur dying (albite super fuckin rushed fsssssss) was rlly beautifully done/managed? which is a total tribute to colin and bradley rather than the writers tbh lets be clear ab that

i also think that arthur dying is a large source of the reason why this fandom holds onto the show in such a strong and lovely, commendable way, bc it doesn’t give us room to be satisfied and move on and holds us in the world of camelot and whatever the fuck they planned albion to even be too djdjj....it also means that we get all of the INCREDIBLE fics that we do from amazing amazing content creators bc of the absolute shit we were given from the show as an ending w the totally open-ended possibilities and approximately 0 actually answered questions

if i were to change anything specifically at all, the one important feature i would add as a large LARGE portion of season 5 before even setting up the whole mordred turning psycho shindig is the development of albion itself and whatever the living fuck kilgarrah the massive scaled hippie meant when he said “all you and arthur have dreamed of has come to pass” to merlin

like what the fuck writers,,,,give me that supposed bliss, happiness, and magic inclusive/supportive king arthur instead of that half-assed statement from the apparently dying dragon like bro

imma stop there before i get too too carried away but that’s p much my take on that! left out/forgot a bunch, but thats the basic gist:))

thanks for the ask lovely!! take care<3

#asks #ask games #dkjafsd;lfjs i really did go for that last question rant hahahhah my b #anon

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txladyj-blog · 5 years ago

Text

This Time Around - Chapter 23

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx by request of @txladyj-blog

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 26/?

Back in Alexandria, it was early evening and Abraham was hauling wooden railway sleepers from a truck and dragging them to the vegetable patches along with some of the other members of the community. Daryl’s trip with Jess along with their prolonged hug had been playing on his mind over and over for hours and he felt his skin begin to crawl with anxiety if he sat still for too long and so, decided to give Abe a hand when he walked past and saw the sweat-covered, ginger man swearing to himself and dragging the heavy items around.

Daryl and Abraham weren’t exactly close. They trusted each other enough to have each-others backs and recognized each other’s fighting skills and abilities, along with the out-of-the-box way they both seemed to view the world. From time to time, they engaged in basic conversation but Abraham's brash and extroverted personality was the opposite of Daryl’s and he often found that his energy was sapped from a five-minute interaction. On this occasion, chat wasn’t needed but Daryl did have an ulterior motive. He had a question to ask and needed to hear the answer from Abraham’s point of view but had no idea how to go about it without letting the proverbial cat out of the bag. Spotting his chance when Rosita ambled past and held a hand up in a wave to them both, he decided to bite the bullet and just ask.

“You uh… you n’ Rosita, you still a thing?” He questioned warily.

Abraham slotted the sleeper he was holding into position with a swift and strong kick of his boot and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His white vest was stained with perspiration on the front and his gloves were saturated from being used as towels.

“Still very much got me by the short n’ curlies.” He chuckled.

Daryl cleared his throat and checked over his shoulder, seeing most of the others gathering around the truck a good distance away to be able to overhear anything.

“Right. Right. So, you um, you ain’t gunnin’ for Jess?”

Abraham shot Daryl a suspicious look and his mouth curled into a smile beneath his thick mustache. He laughed loudly and did a double take at him while retrieving a cigar and a box of matches from his pocket and lighting up. It wasn’t a total surprise, he had to admit. He’d seen the way Daryl scowled and stalked off when he spoke to Jess and he was witness to the scene in the armory which had left her beside herself with guilt. Rick had also mentioned that he thought it to be a matter of time before things evolved between them. He wasn’t sure himself if he could see it happening at the time, but there was Daryl standing in front of him and asking if he had any romantic intentions for Jess.

“Goodness gracious, Ignatius.” He said tunefully, quickly lowering his voice and glancing around “She’s got your attention”

“What? Naw, man. I’m just checkin’.” Daryl denied a little less convincingly than he’d hoped. His heart rate was starting to increase and he was instantly regretting saying anything at all.

“Checkin’ for what, exactly?” Abraham pressed.

Panic jolted through him. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Why exactly could he say he was asking? Jess had already put a stop to any ideas that they were more than friends, but Daryl had to be sure and cover all the bases. He just couldn’t admit to Abraham of all people that he had very confusing and strong feelings for his best friend before even telling Jess herself.

“She’s a friend. I don’t want her getting’ her ass kicked by Rosita. Y’know, this ain’t no romance novel bullshit.”

“Huh. My love life is more of a porno than a romance novel. I ain’t about to change it. So long as I can keep pouring’ the Bisquick without makin’ pancakes.” He remarked, amused at his own humorous take on things “Huh? Huh?” He encouraged with two nudges of Daryl’s arm.

“Right.” Was Daryl’s reserved response.

Abraham bustled past him, placing a big hand on his back and guiding him away from the workforce that were now making their way over to the patch adjacent. He turned him away from any prying eyes and addressed him with a permanent, knowing smile.

“C’mon, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I know what’s going on here.” He said.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Daryl challenged, only slightly confident that he could hold his own with the conversation.

“You gotta just grab the bull by the nut sack.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly, perplexed by Abraham's choice of words and even more so by his grabbing gesture with one hand. It wasn’t far off from how his brother used to speak, only Abraham was quite clearly intelligent enough to use colorful metaphors without caring what anyone thought of it.

“What in the hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?” He questioned “Jess ain’t no bull”

“OK, forget that. Tell her you wanna get busy with her, see how she reacts” He suggested.

“I aint tellin’ her nothin’.” Daryl quickly replied with a step backwards as if he wanted to leave the topic, which he very much did by then.

“Then the only way you’re gonna get laid is if you crawl up a chicken’s ass and wait. It’s the apocalypse, Daryl. Sometimes you gotta just ask for what you want.” Abraham reasoned. After all, he’d asked Rosita and she’d been more than happy to oblige. He didn’t see anyone else as being much different and figured that if everyone was just straight with one another, things would be a lot easier.

“I ain’t doin’ that.” Daryl dismissed.

Abraham chuckled once more, slapping Daryl’s back with a huge paw and shaking his head in amusement.

“Ahh, hell. Balls just called. They wanted to know if you’d like a pair.” He joked.

“Look, it ain’t like that. I’m just…makin’ sure she’s okay.” Daryl confirmed, shrugging Abraham from his shoulder and backing up. He could see some of the other workers glancing up at them. Far from being a quiet man, Abe’s booming voice proved to be a lot louder than either of them first thought and Daryl was becoming highly uncomfortable.

“Whatever. Just think about it. She’s a peach, she’d be damn good for you.” Abraham suggested, puffing cigar smoke into a large cloud between them and tugging his gloves off. “I gotta go to guard duty. But I’ma get me some ass first.” He conveyed casually as he stepped down from the vegetable patch and headed across the street.

“Didn’t need to know that.” Daryl grumbled to himself.

Tower watch was usually done on a rotational basis and Jess, being a non-resident of Alexandria, was exempt from such duties. From time to time, she would surprise Deanna and volunteer her time, finding that walking the perimeter or sitting in the tower was a cure for her restlessness. Daryl was no different and as a recruiter, he was also omitted from the guard schedule but often found himself in the comforting, quiet confines of the wooden structure with a rifle, a pack of smokes and his jumbled thoughts when reading to Judith didn’t quite manage to calm his soul enough.

It was a cold night and a dense fog hung in the air like a blanket over the trees. Recent conversations floated around in his memories and he was sure his sides still tingled from time to time with the memory of Jess’s arms wrapped around him. He lit a cigarette and time passed between the spark of his lighter and when he smiled as he dwelled, yet again on the thought of Jess telling him he could hug her whenever he wanted. He wouldn’t, of course. It was far from how he conducted himself and any physical contact normally came with a lot of forethought and mental preparation.

His cigarette balanced precariously between his lips as he tilted his head back and took a drag without even touching it. He expelled the smoke from his nose, the cloudy appearance of the small tower room reminding him of his dream in which Merle had tried to urge him to do something about his feelings.

‘Times a-wastin’, Daryl. Get to it.’

He wished he could. Wished that everything really was that simple. Wished that he knew for sure that she felt something for him the way he did for her. But all he had was a notion, a few blushes and compliments that could be nothing more than a basic appreciation between two friends.

The door below clunked shut and Daryl could hear footsteps on the rungs of the ladder approaching. He threw his smoke away and looked over his shoulder to await the arrival of his visitor. It was past midnight and highly unusual for anyone else to be up in the tower except for the person on guard. Daryl never had company while he was on watch and that, to him, was one of the perks of the job.

When Jess appeared clutching a bag of cookies and pushing her hood back from her face, he figured that maybe tower watch had other perks too. Namely, that he could very well be about to spend time with a pretty girl, cooped up in a wooden box in the sky.

“Ya don’t gotta stay.” Was the first thing he said. He didn’t know why and realized as he said how strange it sounded. Almost like he wanted her to turn around and climb back down the ladder, which he didn’t.

Unimpressed, Jess squinted down at him and huffed out her obvious disapproval.

“Really?! ‘Can I visit you, Jess? You don’t have to be here, Jess’.” She quoted “Talk about mixed signals, stinky.”

Daryl, confused by his own actions, messily waved a hand at the empty chair beside him.

“Take a damn seat n’ quit complainin’.” He grumbled.

The two chairs in the tower were no more than a foot apart and Jess dragged hers even closer still and settled down in front of the window with the rifle resting on the wall on Daryl’s side. She opened the paper bag in her lap and handed him a cookie, telling him they were from Carol and she’s sent them because she knew he hadn’t eaten that day. It was evident that Carol was right when Daryl managed to put away three large cookies in a matter of seconds and Jess peered down at her first, half eaten baked treat as hers was made of lead.

Since the boat and Daryl’s admission of his dream about Merle, Jess wondered if he would ever provide her with more information pertaining to his death and the events that lead up to it. She was curious and more than that, she was concerned that his inability to move past it was presenting itself in his subconscious, when he dreamed. Having reached what she thought to be a pivotal point in their friendship, where they hugged and she awoke with him curled up against her, she guessed it was now that was the right time to ask.

“Can I ask you something? About your brother.” She said

Daryl threw the last of his third cookie into his mouth and chewed noisily before brushing the crumbs from his lap and side glancing at her. She could see the questioning behind his eyes already, the hesitation to discuss what was bound to be a sore subject.

“OK.” He grunted.

“What did he tell you about where I was?” She wanted to know. They’d touched on it before, briefly and on a need-to-know basis.

“He didn’t. S’a long story.” He mumbled, falling quiet and instilling a heavy guilt in Jess. For at least two minutes, he fiddled with the radio in his lap.

“I’m sorry” She eventually managed. “I shouldn’t have asked; I don’t want to drag up bad memories for you.”

“Nah, s’ok.” He said sincerely with a small glance in her direction. Hesitating, it dawned on him that he did want to tell her what happened and that, alone, was a breakthrough in itself. Daryl wasn’t a talker, he never discussed his innermost thoughts and feelings with anyone, but in the time that he’d known Jess, it was becoming easier and more desirable to do so. “I ain’t talked about to nobody before. But I’ll tell you. If ya wanna know”

Feeling as thought a compromise was needed so as not to drag him too far from his slowly expanding comfort zone, Jess decided to offer him a simpler suggestion.

“Give me the short version and maybe some other time you can tell me everything. Only if you want.” She proposed.

Seemingly content with meeting her halfway, Daryl slid further down in his seat and propped one leg up on the window ledge in front of them. As he spoke, he picked at the messy stitching around the repaired hole in the knee of his pants leg.

“After the crazy sommbitch cut his own hand off to escape that roof in the city n’ you saved his ass, he got mixed up with this psycho. Started workin’ for him. This guy, he wanted to kill us all, take the prison we were livin’ in.” Checking she was still with him, he peeped to his side at her, she was listening, now turned towards him and slowly chewing on another cookie. “Merle… he sacrificed himself in the end. Knew his time was up. Michonne was with him, he asked her to give me a message when she saw me. I went straight to find him, bring him back. But he was already turned.”

“I’m so sorry, Daryl. That must have been so hard.” She whispered sincerely “What was the message?”

Daryl looked out at the misty and still night beyond the tower. From where they were, the horrors below were obscured, masked by a serenity that was often taken for granted. But these moments were Daryl’s moments of peace and they were becoming more frequent because of the dark-haired girl beside him. She was becoming his haven away from the misery. He trusted her to ground him, to distract him and to remind him that not everything was lost.

“Said ya was holed up in an apartment opposite a bookstore in the city. That you was doin’ OK n’ that he didn’t tell me ‘cause ya asked him not to and he owed ya.” He explained, catching her small smile as she studied him when he spoke. “And…”

“…and?” she echoed.

He hadn’t meant to let the conjunction slip out. In fact, he’d intended to scrap it altogether, thus getting himself out of revealing everything else that Merle had said. But it was done and if he backtracked, he would be lying and that was one thing he never wanted to do to her.

“He uh-he didn’t know what he was talkin’ ‘bout. It don’t matter.” He tried to dismiss.

Jess’s interest was well and truly hooked by the last, little word on the end of his sentence and she was not about to let it slide without any inclination as to what he was referring to. She had some opinions about Merle of her own and so, concluded that the best way to get Daryl to continue talking, was to be honest herself.

“It does. It does matter. Your brother wasn’t as bad as everyone made out. I saw who he was. He was rude and sexist and racist and he stank of whiskey like, all the time but he was brave and he knew what it was to be loyal. I didn’t expect to, but I respected him and I know now that he respected me in the end, because he didn’t tell you where I was until he was sure he was going to die.”

He briefly looked round at her at her and she heard him sigh. She could tell he wasn’t comfortable with confessing whatever else Merle has said and decided that if her attempt turned up nothing, she didn’t want to push him to anger.

Daryl wasn’t sure if he could endure yet another conversation that left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, it seemed to be what they did now, spent time alone and toed the line together. Although, quite what line Jess was nearing, he only wished he knew. A part of him wanted to tell her the truth and in the back of his mind, he could hear his brother.

‘Don’t be no sissy.’

“He wanted me to know he thought you’d make a good Dixon” He told her.

“Really?�� Jess asked in a tone that told him she was a little surprised. “Seeing as I have you as an example of the better half of the Dixon’s I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t know ‘bout that.” He mused with a shy huff “… he um, he also said somethin’ else. But I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable or nothin’.”

Jess’s eyebrows shot up and a look of captivation swept across her face, her lips curled into a grin as she searched her memories for any clues as to what he could possibly mean.

“You can’t say that and not tell me. C’mon, pleeeease?” She pleaded with a giggle and having to stop herself from gripping his arm and playfully shaking it.

She was too much. Too much to say no to. Her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes made it impossible. He was going to have to give in, he had no choice. His hands furiously picked at the threading on his pants and he was altogether very aware of it, forcing himself to sit still and summon the courage to tell Jess what she was waiting to hear as she leaned towards him across the arms of their chairs.

“Said that everybody knows that you’re my girl n’ I’d be a damn fool not to find ya n’…tell ya that.”

“Oh” Jess breathed quietly, setting back into her seat and blinking away the surprise. “I see.”

“Like I said, he didn’t know what he was talkin’ ‘bout.” Daryl added in the hope that it would do something to help filter the awkwardness from the air.

“That asshole wanted us to squirm with embarrassment even after his death. Very Merle.” Jess chuckled to herself. “Well, ‘your girl’, huh? I should be so lucky.” She mused, slowly turning her head to check his reaction. In the low light, she could just about make out the darkened top of his ear peeking through the gap in his hair. She’d made him blush.

“Are you…blushing?” She grinned.

“What? No.” Daryl huffed awkwardly.

Feeling triumphant and noting it down as more than one occasion that she’d successfully managed to turn those ears pink and witness the slight tint to his cheeks, Jess felt a surge of self-assuredness rush through her. Now, she had the control.

“I did I get the ever-stoic, badass that is Daryl Dixon to blush. Oh, that’s right…again?!” She giggled, nudging his elbow with her own and almost dying at the sight of him hiding a smile and flat refusing to let her have the glory.

“Stop. and ain’t nothin’ lucky ‘bout that.” He scoffed.

Jess tutted and rolled her eyes, releasing a very deliberate sigh and crossing her arms over her body, allowing the empty cookies wrapper to fall to the floor. She didn’t even bother to stop and analyze just how honest she should be, Daryl was going to hear what she really thought, and that was that.

“What are you talking about, you idiot?” She questioned “You’re a catch.”

Daryl side-eyed her, wishing he could find the words to ask her to elaborate, or drag more out of her about what she really thought of him. Hearing that she thought he had something to offer had almost knocked him for six and all coherent thought was suddenly dispelled in his mind like pins at the end of bowling lane.

“Huh. Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbled.

Jess was getting used to risk-taking around Daryl. Most of them had paid off and gifted her with something more than the minimal, closed-off person he presented to everyone else. She’d even managed to get herself some physical contact in the form of a hug and would not be forgetting being able to touch his arm or hold his hand in a hurry. With that in mind, she dived in again, risking placing her hand on his forearm and was pleased when he showed no interest in moving away.

Daryl slowly dragged his eyes down to where her hand rested, then he met her gaze briefly and rendered her completely speechless when he shifted his arm back, catching her fingers in his and threading them together.

“Thanks” He whispered to her.

“What for?”

“I dunno why…but you see somethin’ good in me.”

I wish I could be the man you deserve.

Jess slid further down in her chair, still clinging to his hand and rested her head delicately on his shoulder. If he could snuggle into her at night and fit close to her like the missing piece of her jigsaw, then she could snuggle right back. If she could have seen his face, she’d have discovered the pure astonishment on his features. His mouth dropped open and he feebly glanced about the room, unable to believe that what was happening was real. As she sat there with her hand in his and her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her eyes grew heavy and she noticed how comfortable she’d become.

“I only ever see good things in you” She sighed, closing her eyes and letting her weariness take over.

Daryl knew he didn’t need to respond when her head became heavy on his shoulder and her breathing slowed. He certainly hoped that his tower shifts were similar to this every time he volunteered and that he would see more occasions where he would be able to sit with her hand in his and her sleeping form against him and just…be.

Her eyes opened one first, then the other, weighed down by fatigue. It was dark all around her and her neck was stiff. She scrunched her face up, rubbing her fingers over her tired eyes and groaning. Daryl moved to the side and Jess, having completely forgotten where she was, jumped and scraped her chair along the floor while he watched her, tickled by her lack of awareness. She’d been asleep for around an hour, softly breathing against his arm and he’d struggled with the desire to lift his arm and position her underneath, against his chest and in a motionless embrace. But he’d stayed put and exulted in her being nearer to him than any other woman had managed in the past.

He reached out in an echo of when she’d woken beside him in his room and gently brushed at the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“Droolin’ again.” He chuckled

When it all hit her, where she’d been sleeping, his mocking of her involuntary saliva escape and the delightfully entertained look on his face, she shoved at his arm and covered her bright red face by pulling her hood down to obscure her cheeks.

“Oh my god, don’t be a dick!” She complained

He laughed without reservation, a genuine, unashamed laugh that she had rarely heard without some kind of barrier or means of obscuring it.

“Like a bloodhound” He remarked with a quick flicker of his eyes to his damp shoulder.

“Shut up!” She gasped “Don’t be mean. I was comfortable.” She crossed her arms and pouted at him from beneath her hood. “Shouldn’t have such a comfy shoulder.”

“So, it’s my fault, now?” He asked.

“Yes” She confirmed with an unsure glance in his direction.

You held my hand. I wasn’t exactly going to move away.

“I’ll ask Judith if ya can borrow a pacifier next time” he smirked.

“Enjoy making fun of me while it lasts because I won’t be falling asleep on you anymore.” She muttered to herself while standing up and straightening her clothing, readying herself for the climb down the ladder to the street below. While it was all very light-hearted, she needed to leave the situation and try and erase the memory of Daryl seeing her drool like a baby as she slept.

“Shame.”

She thought she heard it but she couldn’t be certain. It was uttered almost as quietly as his breathing. It wasn’t clear, but it was definitely something. She wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her or her tired mind was making things up. She caught his eye and noted a hint of shyness in him as he nudged his head up at her in a wordless goodbye. Her stomach fluttered furiously because that’s what he did to her now. He gave her butterflies like a girl with a crush. Except it wasn’t just a crush and as the days passed, those butterflies were growing in size, just like her affection for him.

Jess was sitting on the Ferris Wheel upon returning to the fairground. Now out of use and locked in place, she was able to climb up to the top car and sway with the breeze while watching the stars and doodling the outline of her family crest on the front cover of her journal. It was rare she wrote in it anymore, she had Aaron and Eric who bore the brunt of much of her venting. But the heavy nature of the secret she carried with her was steering her back to journaling. Only, she hadn’t quite made it past the front cover yet.

“…And I'll use you as a focal point, so I don't lose sight of what I want…”

She sang quietly, absent-mindedly working her way through the song, grateful that her secluded location meant that she could sometimes sing as loud as she wanted to without fear of judgement. The only audience being the odd Walker, who she would quickly put down with a well-aimed arrow before it had time to cross the trap-ridden area in front of the fence.

“…and I've moved further than I thought I could, but I missed you more than I thought I would”

She tilted her head at the sketch of the crest, she wasn’t the most proficient of artists but was pleased with her efforts and made a mental note to attempt more drawing in the future. It was a break from carving arrows, training, stabbing Walkers and hunting that she needed. Something different to try.

A red streak in the sky caught her attention and she slowly moved the journal and pencil from her lap. She’d just missed it, but it looked like a flare. She waited, straining her ears to listen and squinting at the tower, which could just about be seen through the trees from where she was. The pop-popping of gunfire made her nervous and then, another flare went off in the sky above, closer and clearer this time.

“Oh shit, not again!” she cried before scrambling down the metal structure and racing to the fairgrounds gate.

The scene at Alexandria was more brutal and distressing than she could have ever imagined. With the gate wide open and blood smeared across the asphalt, screams could be heard coming from just about every corner of the town and as Jess crept in through the shadows with her machete equipped and her mask and hood up, her heart beat a solid rhythm in her chest. Her hands trembled but adrenaline was forcing her forwards, putting one foot in front of the other until she halted, whirling to one side and seeing a bloodied woman sprinting across the street towards her. The sound coming from her mouth was garbled yet utterly desperate and her blonde hair was smattered with red from a gaping head wound that reached from above her ear to her collar bone. Following closely behind her, was a burly man with a large knife and a bald head. His face was obscured by a bandana, much like Jess’s and as he barreled along, grasping for the woman’s arm, Jess stepped out from the blackness and ran.

Human bone is incredibly sturdy. It is stronger than steel and concrete of the same mass. The human skull encases the most important organ of the human body, the brain, and has evolved to be as strong as possible to withstand trauma. Strong enough, in fact, that a recently sharpened machete alone is unlikely to penetrate such strong, non-decaying bone with one hit, a fact that Jess was already aware of. Months of reading had paid off and in the slow-motion seconds of her swinging her blade at the bald cranium of the man pursuing the injured Alexandrian, she had the foresight to think of her secondary weapon; the knife that Daryl had given her. The clunk of the metal against his head was so sickening her stomach clenched and her jaw locked shut. The side of the man’s head exploded with blood from the baseball-like swing that collided the blade with the assailant. It peppered her mask and eyes with crimson dots and created a sprawling firework in the air. When she stepped back and watched him stumble, ignoring the loud and gruesome shing from metal scraping on bone as she retracted her machete, she slid her hunting knife from its sheath on her belt and drove it, with all her might into his ribs. He gripped her wrists, terror filling his panicked eyes when his knees hit the ground.

From behind her, Jess could hear the woman’s piercing screams and she quickly turned on her heels, flicking blood from the wound in the man’s side across the surface of the road. He glugged and wheezed and Jess paid him no mind while she focused on the severely hurt woman peering up at her from the floor, where Jess had flung her when she stepped to her aid. Grabbing her arm, Jess began dragging her up to the sidewalk, all the while trying to hush her inconsolable crying and whimpering. Finding a dark spot under a platform and against the perimeter wall, she propped the woman up, ripped her jacket from her shaking shoulders and set to tying it around her wounded head. She’d lost so much blood her entire right side was a deep red and it was pooling under her, dripping from her elbow. Jess snatched the woman’s hand up and placed it on the jacket.

“Hold it. Put pressure on it to stem the bleeding.” She whispered to her with a quick glance over her shoulders. Other people were dashing past, some holding weapons up and wearing similar clothing to the man Jess had attacked. Others, she recognized to be the occupants of Alexandria. Gunfire crackled around her and she could only hope that she was far enough from the road to avoid being shot intentionally or caught in the crossfire. “What the hell is going on?” She asked the woman. Then, it dawned on her. The party. She was from the party and was the unfortunate recipient of Jess’s unwanted cannibal information. Her eyes flickered in a dazed state and her skin was paling fast. Jess shook her shoulder gently. “Hey! Stay awake! What happened here?” She demanded

“The-they came out of….out of nowhere. Started…started…hacking p-people to death” She stammered breathlessly. Jess felt an insatiable fury rise in her entire body.

The group from the city. The group from the woods. The man that shot Daryl.

The woman’s hand slapped around Jess’s wrist, snapping her from her realization and she suddenly leaned forwards, inches from Jess’s face. Her eyes bulged and saliva and blood trickled down her lips.

“Leave-L-leave this place. Not…safe…for-for women. They…they t-take women. M-my children…m-my family…they’re gone…they r-ran.”

It was as plain as day but it didn’t make it any easier for Jess to accept that the gravely injured woman before her was dying from blood loss and likely wouldn’t last another few minutes, let alone long enough for Jess to head off and find her family for her. Swallowing hard, she looked into her tear-filled eyes, held onto her free hand and squeezed it, hard.

“Everything is going to be okay.” She whispered, ignoring the blurry despair that was brimming in her own eyes. “Everyone is going to be fine. Your children, they’re in the church” She lied “They’re there. They’re all there. I saw them go in when I got here. It’s okay…it’s-it’s okay.”

In a display of relief, the woman sighed before eyes began to flutter closed and Jess felt all hope abandon her when her body went limp, her hand went lax and her face froze. Tears erupted from Jess’s eyes and a loud sob forced its way up from the depths of her soul.

“Oh…Fuck” She gasped, sagging forwards and clutching the lifeless fingers of the dead woman to her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.” She sniffed to the chorus of chaos transpiring from behind her.

As was customary and necessary in the apocalypse, Damaging the spinal cord or the brain enough to avoid reanimation was the next step in a death that didn’t involve one or the other to begin with and now, Jess had to commit an act of mercy to stop the woman from becoming a Walker. She held up her knife and chose not to think too much, it was the way of the world now.

Keeping to the shadows was her forte and it had served her well during her time alone. Jess considered herself lucky that it was the middle of the night and therefore, she was able to move from house to house in search of anyone that may have needed rescuing. From the bedroom of an empty house, she spotted a man being cornered by two strangers with exceptionally large blades. Just out of sight under a tree, she couldn’t make out who the man was, but she didn’t need to know. She slid the window up, climbed out onto the roof and equipped her bow, nocking an arrow and steadying her erratic breathing.

The first arrow was aimed well enough to eliminate one of the men, but the second fell just short, scattering across the road surface and giving away her location. The remaining man’s vision shot up to her, locking her in his sights as he pointed and bellowed at the top of his lungs. Jess stumbled backwards, her back hitting the gables of the house in time to see Aaron run out from behind the tree, pick up the arrow and slam it into the side of the man’s neck. She held her breath for a second while she gawped at Aaron, who quickly began grappling with the arm of the man which held onto his blade.

“I-I have to get down there” She said to herself.

Spinning around, she clambered back through the window and thundered down the stairs, spilling out onto the street in time to see Aaron with the man in a head lock and dragging the knife across his throat. Blood fountained from the wound and Aaron quickly threw him to one side and ran to Jess, dragging her to the side of the house and flinging his arms around her while rambling incomprehensible words over her shoulder. His embrace was so tight that Jess struggled to breathe and had to physically step away to break the hug.

“That was…violent.” She commented.

“Yeah…I know” Aaron panted, blinking in disbelief at the gargling man behind him on the ground. “Are you okay? You can’t be here. I don’t know who these people are but they’re trying to round up the females and kill the men. A lot of people are already dead. You-you have to leave. Now. Rick’s group, they’re working their way around the town. You should go. Please, Jess. Go.” He blathered, grabbing her arm. Jess tore away from him.

“No.” She announced defiantly. “Where is Daryl?”

“Uh…He-he was in the tower at first. The last time I saw him, he was with Rick.” Aaron replied with a wipe of his forehead.

“Eric is safe?” Jess asked

“Yes. I can’t say where. In case they can hear us.”

“Carl? Judith? Enid?” She continued.

“All safe.”

“Lord.” Jess puffed in relief. “C’mon, we have work to do. Stay with me”

Before Aaron could protest, she flung him against the side of the house and was inching her way to the edge, unsheathing her knife again. She spat on the blade and dragged the flat edge across her thigh, revealing it’s reflective surface. It was a trick she’d learned in the city to enable her to check around corners for Walkers. It was also a tried and tested military technique to use small mirrors and reflections for such a task and she was sure that if her brother was watching over her from somewhere, he’d have been proud of her, not only for doing what she had to do, but for having the intelligence to educate herself before running into battle.

The glint of the knife provided her with a tiny, but accurate view down the street towards Aaron's house, where she could see two of the enemy group enter the house. She retreated and pressed her back against the house, next to Aaron.

“Your house.” She whispered “The door is open.”

Aaron's head thudded back against the surface behind him and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit” He hissed.

“Eric?” She asked.

“I told him to hide. He’s not a fighter.”

“Did you close the door when you left?”

“Yes”

“Then the chances are, he’s already gone. I’ll check the house.” She decided, moving back towards the corner of the house and gripping her machete.

“I’ll go with you.” Aaron told her quietly. She spun around, pushing him back, in no uncertain terms telling him that he would be doing no such thing.

“I got this. I want you to go and find Daryl for me” She expressed with her hand on his chest.

“I’m not leaving you” He argued.

“Yes, you are.” She gripped the front of his clothing in her fist and shoved him against the house with a thud. “Listen to me” She growled. “I’ll be damned if I lose the man I love again. So, you are going to find him for me. We both know I’m not a perfect fighter but I’m better than you and I can do this. What I can’t do, is live without Daryl in my life. So, go and fucking find him, Aaron or so help me god I will tear down every single one of those licence plates you’ve collected and lovingly attached the wall in the hallway and toss them on a fire while I dance around it singing Kum ba yah!”

Aaron blinked at her in shock but did not for one second take her for a fool. He knew that she was not only deadly serious, but that she was right; She wasn’t as proficient against humans as she needed to be, but he wasn’t as capable a fighter as her. Conceding, much to his worry and trepidation, he gripped her arm.

“Alright, you get my man and I’ll get yours.” He stated.

Jess nodded and went to turn back to the corner, before pausing and looking slightly confused.

“Wait…then we’re swapping back, right?” She asked, a slight smile tugging at her lips. Aaron sniggered and pat her shoulder before dashing off in the other direction, taking the route around the back of the houses in order to stay out of sight.

All around her, gunfire still rang out but the screams were dying down. Bodies littered the street and it wouldn’t be long before they reanimated. They needed to push the invading group back and do a sweep of the bodies with their brains still intact. But first, they needed to kill as many of the violent and ruthless men as possible.

Aaron and Eric’s place appeared to be empty when Jess gradually inched in through the already open front door. Inside was dim, the only light pouring through the windows from a floodlight on the main gate. She checked the shapes in the dark, ticking them off in her mind, each one recognized as a piece of furniture or a blanket or cushion. The house was eerily still and compared to the commotion going on outside, it unsettled Jess’s nerves and caused her to clutch the handle of her blade even tighter than usual. She could hear her heart pounding in her head and she suppressed a shiver as she reached the kitchen. So far, so good.

The hands seemed to come out of nowhere, morphed from the blackness like creatures of the night, grabbing and manipulating her limbs. Gruff laughter and putrid breath licked at her neck and the side of her face as she was jostled across the room. Her blade was ripped from her hand and all that remained at her disposal was her knife, obscured by her sleeve and held out of sight by her fingers curled up to her wrist.

The room flashed before her when she was twisted around and slammed onto the kitchen counter, her head bouncing from the hard surface. For a few seconds, everything blurred and her hearing dropped out before coming back and presenting her with the sinister laughter of the shadows around her. The air left her body, her lungs strained and her stomach contracted. Her throat gasped. Black figures hovered above her, grappling at her clothing to a tune of gruff and sneering laughter. Jess felt a sharp sensation at her throat, long and lethal. She dropped the knife from her sleeve into her hand and hit out with the sharp end of an uppercut, topped by the hunting knife but coming into contact with nothing but air. A mocking voice commented that she was bound to be a lot of fun before they killed her and that they couldn’t let ‘the boss’ know about this one. She could sense that there were two men holding her down, taking her only weapon and pinning her arms to the table. She thrashed and bucked and tried to scream but was soon hushed by the rancid breath of one of the men, leaning close to her face and telling her that if she made a sound, they would gut her like a fish. Her legs were forced apart and she could hear a belt buckle being undone.

No! She thought No, No, No! Please, No!

The back of her head felt wet and began to bleed from the blunt force trauma. Her inner thighs thrummed with agony as one of the men held onto her flesh so tightly, she thought he might tear her skin from her bones. Dread twisted in her gut and she thought she might throw up when the pressure on her thighs released and the sharpness against her neck vanished. Her sheer horror was making everything a little difficult to make out and she rolled onto her side, coughing and reaching up to her head, wincing at the pain.

Daryl hardly ever missed a shot and was glad of his proficiency with a crossbow when he managed to kill one of the men holding jess down with one shot, straight through his temple. The other one looked up in shock as Daryl tossed the bow onto the kitchen counter and ran at him, bulldozing him from the table and landing on top of him. He ripped the weapon from his hand, which he quickly noticed to be Jess’s own Machete and began hacking at him, over and over, growling loudly and driving the weapon down and flinging it up again, all the while fueled by the image of seeing her restrained and about to be hurt in one of the worst possible ways. He didn’t stop, pummeling the brain matter into the flooring, each blow representing only a small fragment of his pure rage.

Jess climbed down from the table and dragged herself into the safety of the corner, pressing her back to a cupboard and hugging her knees as she watched Daryl hack the man into tiny pieces in the light from the window. The metallic odor of murder filled the air and she flinched with every brutal chopping sound until eventually, he stopped and sat back on his knees, panting wildly and tilting his head back to the ceiling.

It felt like hours but it was mere seconds before Daryl got to his feet and turned to face her. She knew it was him, knew he would never hurt her but in that moment, he looked utterly chilling. He charged out of the kitchen, to the living room where he checked from the window on the state of the town. People were re-grouping in the street. Rick, Glenn. Carol, Maggie and Michonne were all in the middle of the road and all in one piece. On his way back to Jess, he slammed the front door closed and adopted a calmer and slower demeanor with her. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, clicked it on and placed it on the counter, shining the beam to the ceiling so it wasn’t too harsh but he needed to see her face. Like a frightened animal, she peered up at him with blood running down the side of her head. His chest tightened in sorrow at the state of her and he pushed away the urge to lunge at her and wrap her in his arms, knowing it would scare her even more. Slowly, he leaned down to her and offered her his hand. He said nothing, hoping that she could see in his eyes that his number one priority was her and her safety. But she just crawled further into the corner.

“Jess, it’s alright.” He soothed, lowering himself to his knees “Ya safe. I got ya.”

She stared down at his blood-soaked hand and felt something rising inside her. It was distress. It released from her chest in a loud exhalation and tears started to soak down her cheeks. She gingerly reached out and touched his hand, he bit down on his lip at the sensation of her shaking violently. She wrapped her fingers around his and gradually, he felt her hold on tighter and tighter until he was pulling her onto his lap and enveloping her in his arms. He listened to her gentle sobs and with each sniff, another piece of him fell away. He hated her being hurt and wished he could take it all away.

“You good?” He asked, tenderly stroking the uninjured side of her head. She nodded and began to shift from his lap, staggering to her feet and holding onto the countertop. He got up, grabbed his crossbow and dragged his hand across his eyes, clearing some of the blood from his vision and lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.

“Uh… I…” Jess tried to say. She pushed her fingers into her hair, feeling a lump forming at the back and a gash at the side. It was wet and sticky with blood. When she started to run thought exactly what had happened in her mind, Daryl could only watch her helplessly as she paced about, her eyes scanning the wooden floor under her boots. She quickly refastened the button on her camo pants and smoothed her hands over her painful thighs. “…Um. I think- I…” she stops and stared at him with tears still forming in her eyes. “…I think I almost got...They were going to…”

Daryl was totally perplexed when she burst into fits of laughter. Squeezing her eyes shut and entering into hysterics, using the countertop for stability. Baffled by her behavior but glad she seemed to have let go of her fear, eventually, he started to smile along with her but was still deeply concerned.

“They almost fucking killed me!” She cried “They almost raped and killed me. I can’t believe it! Holy crap!”

The more she looked at him and his confused expression, the more her laughter waned until finally, she stood in front of him breathing heavily and glaring at him with a strange kind of intensity that Daryl could not place.

“You saved my life. Again.” She uttered.

She closed the gap between them, crossing the wooden flooring as if she was on a mission. She stopped inches from him, placed both of her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him. Without warning. Without permission. Without even deciding to do it or ruminating the consequences. He’d held her life in his hands and he still did and she needed it. She needed him simply because her whole being was so thankful, so unashamedly appreciative of his very existence that she couldn’t have done anything else. When her lips met his, she was alive again.

Daryl was hopelessly unprepared and caught off guard and he was certain that every single muscle he possessed locked into a tight knot. He stood there, immobile and wondered how, for so many months, he’d spent time admiring her and studying every part of her face and lips and yet still, did not see this coming. His mind was screaming at him to react in a mixture of his own voice and that of his brothers.

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. Kiss her back.

She tore away from him, stumbling back and covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes were wide with panic and he could see her fingers quivering in front of her lips. His own were parted and tingling from the soft sensation of her kiss, now lingering like a reminder of his own inaction. He peered cluelessly at her through his wet, bloody hair.

“Shit” she breathed “Oh shit.”

She whirled around, running for the door like it was an Olympic sprint and was gone from the house before Daryl could even blink. He released a strained breath and leaned back against the kitchen table, gripping the edge either side of him with knuckles turning white. His head lowered and he closed his eyes.

I guess this is where everything changes.

Had she stayed in Alexandria that night, she would have discovered that the group responsible for multiple murders in the town was indeed the same one from the city and the woods and it was apparent that their spotters had followed Rick's group back from a recent search. Biding their time, they’d waited until the gate guard was distracted and taken their chance, filtering into the community in the darkened corners of the streets and taking out the guards as quietly as possible.

Deanna was notified with enough time to usher the vulnerable into her attic and wait for what she hoped would not be the downfall of her dream.

But Jess fled from Aaron’s house like a bat out of hell, darting across the street and past the exhausted and re-grouping crowd, which contained Aaron and Eric, who exchanged a worried glance after seeing Daryl race in through their open front door in search of Jess. Eric started forwards with the intention of following her, but was stopped by Aaron taking his hand and slowly shaking his head.

Whatever happened, she needs to be alone.

Daryl emerged sometime after Jess with his crossbow on his back and holding onto her machete and knife. He trudged towards the waiting stares of Rick’s group, who were all in various states, but none of which were as stained red by blood as him. Carol ran out from the middle, skidding to a stop in front of him and gasping at the state of him. Asking if it was his blood, he solemnly shook his head, looked up at Aaron and Eric and told them not to go into the house until he’d been able to remove the bodies.

Jess used water from her tank at the large sink in the diner’s kitchen. She stripped down to her bare skin and scrubbed until she was red raw, shivering and trying to wash off the dirt and the blood and the terror and the sadness. Her mind kept flicking back to being held down to the table and her thighs ached from the hand-shaped bruises forming.

Her own morality wasn’t something she dwelled on too much anymore. In her reasoning, she was a survivor, until she wasn’t anymore and that was no less certain even before the world died. But Daryl saving her life had shoved her, staring into the void of her own demise, forcing her to acknowledge that had he not been there in time, ultimately, it was the end for her. Being taken away and used or being killed there and then, it hadn’t mattered to her because there simply was no difference, both meant it was over and it was a thought that stabbed pure fear into every inch of her being.

Jess had come to the conclusion since the turn that everyone had a monster inside them in some way or another. That most people's monsters lay dormant, in a constant state of disuse because they were brought up a certain way, because they’re not wired that way or because they’ve been conditioned, in some way shape or form, to control them. Others, dance with their monsters and feed them and nourish them on their path to immorality, prison or hell. But those that become nothing but monsters at the end of the world were a new type of depravity to Jess. Those that chose to take that path, instead of surviving in the best way possible and retaining their humanity.

The violence she’d witnessed from Daryl had been like watching a horror movie on a screen, only the noise was real and she could smell the blood and the chopped up, mutilated remains would undoubtedly be an image that she would never forget. But she understood that the difference between Daryl and the men that charged Alexandria for a murder spree, was their monsters and now she’d seen with her own eyes just how vicious Daryl’s was. But he’d made a choice to be on the right path, using death only to protect and prevent, contrary to the men he’d killed.

Wandering out to the wooden seats that still remained at the front of the diner from its days of use. She drew a thick blanket around her shoulders, covering her Star Wars hoodie and sweatpants. She quietly slid onto the seat and brought her legs up, crossing them underneath and studied the long grass between the rides as it swayed in the wind. The ringing of the bell on the gate tinkled through the metal structures and she leaned to one side, squinting and spotting Daryl with his body pressed against the gate and his fingers laced through the fencing.

Wearily and with a certain degree of frustration, she hauled herself up from the bench and padded to the gate, stopping in front of it and not even bothering to tell him that she wasn’t about to let him in.

Don’t mention the kiss. Please, Daryl.

Daryl got the message as soon as he saw her face. His clothing was still crimson in color but his skin had been cleaned enough to make him look human again. His hair was matted and his face was tired, his filthy fingers clung to the metal fencing.

Jess approached the gate and stopped two feet away, not bothering to tell him that she was not going to let him in. But Daryl could tell he wasn’t going to be allowed any further. It was written all over her face and she was paler than he’d ever seen before.

“Needed to know you’re OK” He said quietly, his voice croaky from the sheer ferocious nature of chopping a man into multiple pieces and expelling his rage through his throat.

“I’m not OK. I just need to be left alone.” She said honestly.

“What can I do?” he asked, ignoring the latter part of her sentence and focusing on the fact that she was not, in fact, okay.

I’m not going to mention the kiss. Now ain’t the time.

“Nothing.” She whispered, running a hand through her hair and clutching the blanket at her waist.

“Ya head alright? Ya took a beatin” He observed after noticing the cut to her right temple had been cleaned up and was luckily, smaller than he’d expected.

“Sore.” She shrugged. Concussion was a very real possibility and Jess was aware of that. Her head stung and ached with pain when she’d attempted to get some sleep and so she decided that she would think her night away while sitting on the bench outside.

“You okay other than that?” He continued

Usually always delighted to be in his company, when she looked at him, she experienced a bizarre mix of emotions, among which was humiliation, but also gratitude. She needed him to leave but didn’t possess the mental energy to find the most polite way to ask.

“Daryl-”

“-Don’t you dare argue with me right now, Jess.” He interrupted firmly. The gate rattled on its hinges when his boot hit the bottom of the frame, adding an element of irritation to his warning. “I said, are ya okay, other than that?”

“Some bad bruising on my thighs. That’s it.” She sighed, noting him shift and move closer to the gate, levelling his gaze with her.

“No, uh, I meant…” he pauses “they were gonna-”

“-I know.” She cut in “I know what they were going to do. I’m ok. Really.”

She didn’t need to file through the details, didn’t need to talk about how frightened she was or how her skin felt like it had been marred even though it didn’t get that far, she also didn’t want to talk about how she’d witnessed the man she loved bludgeon someone else to a pulp. What she needed was sleep and to start moving on.

“What you saw…” he croaked “…what ya saw me do…I’d never hurt you. Don’t be scared of me, Jess. Please.”

A lump formed in her throat at the thought of him believing her to be scared of him. He was the person she trusted more than anyone else in the world and he was responsible for her still being alive and able to step forward and entwine her fingers with his through the fence.

“Remember when I told you I’d kill anyone that tried to hurt you?” She asked. Daryl only nodded at the memory. “You did the same for me tonight. I’ll never be afraid of you.” She sniffed “I adore you.”

He unlaced his hands from the fence, pushing them back through once more, over hers and held them there tightly.

“I couldn’t stop. I just…couldn’t stop. Everything went black n’ there was just me n’ him and I thought of you and what he could’a…” He explained. “…I’m here. If ya need to talk. I’m here.”

“I’m okay, Daryl. It didn’t happen. You stopped it.” She assured him

He tried to step back but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her hands, his feet moved but he was soon against the fence again, pleading with her to just let him in, into the fairground and into her thoughts. But she was more independent than he remembered and she needed to start to process it on her own. His eyes never left her, even when a long and intense silence lasted for almost a minute and his hands only gripped hers more.

“I’m the one you tell.” He rasped. “Me.”

She rested her head against his with the fence dividing them like a physical representation of the barrier that had been cemented between them from the beginning.

“Always” She agreed.

--- Tagged as requested ---

@lilred254 @woundmetender

Masterlist

#daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc

19 notes · View notes

courtingstars · 6 years ago

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Notes on The Vanishing Prince, Chapter Three

Yay, Chapter Three at last! I had more notes than I expected, probably because I was looking forward to writing all of these scenes for SO LONG.

This was a pretty self-indulgent chapter on my part, for a lot of reasons. XD But I hope it still included some enjoyable moments, for those who have been looking forward to Furihata and Akashi’s feelings for each other progressing!

So keep reading for notes about Reo’s tarot skills, Akashi’s reasoning about his emotions at this point, and Furihata’s bisexual ogling of BASICALLY EVERYONE. (I can’t lie, the idea of Furi literally staring at everyone around him trying to figure out if he thinks they’re hot or not was super funny to me? Which was probably obvious. //laughs)

(Cut for tarot stuff, notes about platonic vs. romantic feelings, and me rambling on and on about bisexual representation and how I’m way too emotionally invested in N700 trains…)

Mibuchi and Tarot Cards

Some readers might be wondering if I made up the idea of Reo (I always call him Reo even though I use his surname in fics, I can’t help it, he’s just Reo to me??) being able to read tarot cards. And the answer is, I did not! According to one of the canon fanbooks, Reo’s special talent is tarot card reading. Back when I started planning The Vanishing Prince, I knew basically nothing about tarot cards. But I thought it might be interesting if Reo’s hobby appeared in the fic, since there’s going to be a lot of supernatural stuff going on.

Then I randomly started learning a little bit about tarot cards last year. I decided to explore it further, partly to write this fic, and partly for other writing-related reasons. (And it turned into this whole bizarre slash amazing THING that I won’t go into here.)

But anyway, a little over a year ago, I actually did a real-life tarot reading for Akashi, just to see what came up… And weirdly enough (or not, according to people like Reo, haha), the cards I drew fit PERFECTLY with the plot of this fic! So for the reading in Chapter Three, I used the same cards I pulled that day. That’s also why it uses the classic Celtic Cross spread layout, because I was still learning the basics at the time.

(I also did a reading for Furihata on that same day… So did it fit with this fic too, and will it come up in a future chapter? We will see. //grins)

Needless to say, I’m still no expert on the tarot! But I did my best to show how the cards could apply to what’s been happening in the story. (And what may happen later as well…) I also tried to balance the more traditional meanings of the cards with Reo’s interpretation of what they could mean for Akashi. Many experienced tarot readers like to use their intuition and the images on the cards as a method to interpret a reading, rather than the traditional meanings alone.

Reo will be in this fic a lot, so I don’t want to say too much about my characterization of him just yet… But I’ve always thought of him as someone who is guided by intuition in many ways, based on his canonical skill with the tarot. So I felt that he would probably mix traditional card meanings with his own instincts as he saw fit.

Akashi’s Feelings and Platonic vs. Romantic

So given how attached Akashi (Oreshi) clearly is to Furihata at this point, I think a lot of readers might be wondering why he still thinks his feelings for Furihata are platonic? Which is… an excellent question. //laughs There’s a LOT going on behind that, which is going to be unpacked over the course of the story.

But this chapter does briefly mention a part of his reasoning, so I thought it was worth pointing out… At the end of Chapter Two, Oreshi mentioned his other self was ignoring a major reason why he still believes his feelings for Furihata are platonic. In this chapter, Akashi mentions that reason in a different context:

“Akashi was under the impression that romance was supposed to include certain urges, about wanting to kiss and touch the other person. Supposedly, it involved a form of physical desire that was intense, possibly even explicit… As far as he knew, Akashi had never experienced any of that.

“True, he was still young. But teenagers were supposed to want to kiss each other, at the very least. Weren’t they?”

I didn’t connect it directly, but this is what Oreshi also meant in Chapter Two. Basically, he’s under the impression that romance has to involve certain forms of physical desire. And he isn’t experiencing that toward anyone, as far as he knows. Again, there’s a LOT going on there, and it’ll come up again in the fic. But it’s worth mentioning, since it’s not exactly obvious!

Personally, I find the question of what makes a relationship platonic vs. romantic to be really interesting… Especially since some people have romantic relationships that aren’t as physical. The nuances can get murky, so that’s definitely been a part of Akashi’s internal debate, which started back in Part Two of Storming The Castle.

About That Locker Scene

So now on the topic of being self-indulgent… I really couldn’t resist including that Seirin cameo scene. XD I love Seirin SO MUCH, and I really miss writing about all of them! Plus, I thought it would be kind of funny to answer a question that absolutely no one asked…

Which is, if we assume that Furihata is attracted to Akashi, then which guy would he find the most attractive on his own team? I honestly can’t remember why I came up with an answer to this question. //laughs But I did at some point, and now you all know my theory. (Basically, ikemen/pretty-boy point guards who are very skilled, but don’t have the most successful humor and are actually kind of huge nerds? Lol.) I also had a backup answer, which was probably obvious in the scene too. XD

And on a random side note, the phrase “some kind of magical ab factory” is one of my favorite phrases I’ve ever written. Pfft.

Also, if you’re wondering why the Rakuzan players didn’t get more of an appearance this time, don’t worry! You’ll definitely see more of them soon. (A lot more. Probably way more than anyone wants. //laughs)

On Furihata and Bisexuality

Anyway, in all seriousness, I’ve been looking forward to writing these scenes where poor Furi is trying to figure out his sexuality for FOREVER. There are a lot of reasons why… The two biggest ones have to do with LGBTQA+ representation, and explaining a key part of the romantic plotline of the series.

So I’m sure a lot of readers were wondering how in the world Furihata managed to be in denial for so long about his attraction to Akashi… Especially given that he’s called Akashi handsome and pretty, and has literally been ogling him for most of the series? //laughs So this is loosely based on something I noticed when I was younger, both in terms of my experiences and those of people I knew. When I was a teenager around fifteen years ago (I know, the dark ages, haha), the concept of bisexuality was really underrepresented, and often ignored. It did exist, in theory. But a lot of the time, most people just assumed you had to be gay or straight—or otherwise you were confused/undecided. Which was, of course, not exactly helpful.

The Spark of Light series takes place in 2010. While the overall understanding of bisexuality was improving by that point, there were still plenty of issues (and still are, to be honest). Also, the idea of bisexuality wasn’t necessarily being discussed in mainstream Japan… Being attracted to more than one gender has existed in their culture for a long time, of course. (Just look at their history and literature!) But from what I understand, due to a whole bunch of complicated reasons, there hasn’t been the same emphasis on recognizing the modern idea of bisexuality as there has been in, say, Western countries. That being said, things in Japan are changing a lot recently. And I could go into that, and how fascinating it is, but I’ll save it for another day!

What I do want to emphasize, though, is that not very long ago, a lot of teenagers tended to assume they were either gay or straight, period. For all kinds of reasons, many of us didn’t really consider anything else. And because of mainstream social conditioning—and homophobia—it often made sense to focus on your attraction to the opposite gender, without trying to figure out if you were attracted to other genders as well. To be honest, I’m guessing this still happens in a lot of places, given how much pressure there still is to be straight/have heterosexual relationships.

Which brings me to the issue of representation… One of the places I used to notice a lack of bisexual representation, oddly, was in fandom. Back when I started to post fic online (circa 2005), if fans had a headcanon that a character was attracted to another character of the same gender, it was typically framed as, “They’re gay.” Even if the character had relationships in canon with the opposite gender.

In fanfiction, this was often explained with something along the lines of, “He thought he liked women, but he really didn’t/was repressing his sexuality.” More often, the issue wasn’t addressed at all. Of course, gay-but-repressed is a completely valid interpretation, and happens in real life! But I always found it kind of strange that no matter how much the character seemed to have enjoyed their past relationships, people rarely concluded, “They’re bisexual.” I see bisexual headcanons a LOT more in fandom now, which is awesome! And I really wanted to contribute to that.

So when I started A Spark of Light, I knew Furihata would be finding out that he’s bisexual. I wanted to go with that interpretation, instead of implying that Furihata never actually wanted a girlfriend when he joined Seirin, or that he was confused, etc. I also wanted to attempt to portray what it’s like to be attracted to more than one gender, when you’re still figuring out your sexuality and you suddenly realize you’re attracted to more types of people than you originally thought you were? (And that some of the attractive people you ogled, but just assumed it was in a purely aesthetic/platonic way, were actually some of your crushes. //laughs)

So long story short… Furihata having such an obvious crush on Akashi, and yet not realizing it for so long, was definitely intentional! (Whether or not it worked well in the story being a separate issue, haha.) Because sometimes teenagers don’t hear often enough that they could be bisexual, so they don’t fully consider it, and it can take a while to figure it out, and sexuality can be fluid/change over time… And also, adolescence is generally a kind of weird period in life. XD (And so are the ways that social expectations affect our self-perception, especially when we’re young.)

In any case, this is just the beginning of Furihata exploring that issue, and what it means for him. But I wanted to make sure to clarify some of it as soon as possible, to give some idea of what I was trying to portray.

And Finally, Some Feelings About the Train Scene

I have to admit, I got a little emotional when I was FINALLY able to write Furihata riding on another N700 train, and thinking about how he has a crush on Akashi. <3 I’ve been looking forward to this moment in the series, and for Furi to realize he’s always been attracted to Akashi, ever since I wrote this part in The Fast Train to Kyoto WAY BACK in the fall of 2015:

“Akashi was sitting beside the window, just like before. He had a laptop computer balanced on his tray, and was typing away. Furihata couldn’t help noticing that he looked more unreal than ever. The ember-like glow of the sunset shone on his skin, mirroring his crimson hair and eyes. He looked like a picture of some kind, and way more mature than a teenager, with his blazer slung over an armrest and his shirtsleeves rolled up at the elbows.

Furihata had meant to speak first, maybe make up some excuse for running off, or even apologize for being such a nutcase. But when he opened his mouth, his tongue and throat felt strangely dry.”

So yeah, that’s how far back some of the foreshadowing goes. XD; I do enjoy writing subtext, but it’s so nice to finally be at a point in this series where the characters are having to face up to their changing feelings, and figure out what it means for them going forward. Also, I’m just so happy that I was able to get to this part, even though it took so damn long! It was worth the struggle. <3

I hope those of you who have been following this series enjoyed the chapter! And I hope you’re as excited as I am to be going back to Kyoto with these precious nerds. (It might get a bit intense, I won’t lie. //laughs) The next chapter is more or less ready to go, so my current plan is to post it in about two weeks. And I’m also hoping to post a lot more of the story during the summer. <3

#the vanishing prince #kat writes fanfic #long post #kat writes about basketball children #text post #good lord why are these notes so long #I know I ramble but yikes #ANYWAY I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS FINALLY #especially confused bisexual Furi #and Reo with tarot #AND BASICALLY EVERYTHING #also Bokushi's scenes are really fun can I just say #he is so snarky and fancy it is ridiculous XD #kat writes about basketball dorks #akafuri

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somniatcr · 5 years ago

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character study series--- d.azai o.samu

where do i even begin--- dazai is possibly... probably... the most complex character within my little roster. and, like izaya ( who i’ve already done a post like this for, which can be found here ) and the rest of my muses i suppose, my dazai is very headcanon based ( though i do take a lot of reference from the series itself, i tend to portray him as i see fit and most enjoy doing so without sacrificing the things that i believe to be pivotal to his character ); to be entirely honest, when it comes to the manga, for bungou stray dogs and for nearly every series to ever exist, i’m not, nor do i imagine that i will ever be, entirely caught up.

all that said, let us delve into dazai; into the way that he thinks, the way that he functions, the way that he acts, and generally who is he as a person ( as well as how i, personally, view and portray his character ).

let me first kick things off with a significant change that i’ve made in regard to his character, in how he’ll be portrayed here on this blog. dazai canonically has a deeply troubled mind. though his frequent, and oftentimes wistful, talk of death and his suicidal behaviors are rarely, if ever, taken seriously within the series itself ( rather being treated as a source of comedic relief, which does somewhat bother me, but it is what it is ), likely due to this penchant that he has for jesting and for over-dramatics, the reality that his mind is very dark and very deeply troubled remains. he feels as though there is this deep, dark hole ( an emptiness, a void ) within him that he’s incapable of filling, regardless of however hard that he tries. a large majority of his life was spent dedicated to this, to trying to fill it, to trying to find some sort of reason to live ( which is why he had initially aligned himself with the port mafia to begin with; he believed that he could, perhaps, find what he’d been searching for, what he’d been longing for, if he lived this life of conflict, of bloodshed and war ), though, obviously, this was to no avail. and while, yes, he will at times use self-depreciating humor, and while, yes, at times his humor may be dark, a bit morbid, his depression and his suicidal thoughts, tendencies, are not rooted in comedy, they are not a source of comedic relief and i, personally, don’t write him, portray him, in that particular light.

that said, does he ultimately want to die? in his youth, yes, absolutely. he hadn’t yet met anyone that he cared for ( he had no attachments, had never felt nor experienced any genuine form of love ). he too no joy from life, spent all this time searching, aching, for purpose, yet couldn’t find it.

and then he met people who meant something. he met chuuya who, though he was adamant that he couldn’t stand him, was interesting. he met odasaku, who managed to break through his barriers unlike anyone before ( or after ) him, who wormed his way into dazai’s heart and gave him this friendship that he never knew that he’d wanted, nor needed, who provided him with a much needed positive role model and with this beacon of hope. this--- this was pivotal in setting about a turning point, in finally setting him on a different path, in giving him the purpose that he’d been searching for all those years. although an irrefutable tragedy, oda’s death ultimately brought about new life in that it ( and in oda’s dying words ) gave dazai a will to live.

all the same, he does still suffer from depression, he’s an insomniac, and he does still struggle with suicidal ideation ( in that he still thinks about death, about dying and all of the ways that he could go about doing it, fairly often ).

moving on,

this is a man with a very dark and violent past, an important thing to keep in mind. while little is known about his past bar from the knowledge that he was affiliated with the port mafia, that he’s been rooted within this world since he was around fourteen years old, back when he met mori ougai ( as well as the fact that he managed to wind up being the youngest executive in port mafia history ), it can be surmised that his time spent working beneath mori likely, at least in part, has resulted in his penchant for apathy, his tendency to emotionally detach himself from others, from death, and from traumatic experiences as a whole ( he’s actually been shown attempting to fill that hole in his heart, in fact, to find joy, to feel something in causing harm to and in killing others, though he never quite does manage to get what he wants ). his experience as a killer and as highly skilled interrogator ( it’s worth noting that he, in fact, specialized in torturing others for information; he’s even once gone so far as to state that there wasn’t a single prisoner who ultimately didn’t wind up spilling everything when he was the one tasked with retrieving it--- and while still being a child ), has been alluded to on more than one occasion and, even to this day, he still manages to command respect and to inspire fear throughout the port mafia, albeit no longer being a member himself.

he is unconcerned with the idea good and evil. while he currently affiliates himself with the armed detective agency, now working to protect ( and to save ) the city and the lives of its inhabitants, his motivation to do so was primarily spurred by the words of a friend prior to his passing; ’ be on the side that saves people. if both sides are the same, be a good man; save the weak and protect the orphans. neither good nor evil means much to you, i know… but that’d make you at least a little bit better. i know better than anyone because… i am your friend. ’

it’s these words, oda sakunosuke, that finally sets him on a different path, that leads him to meeting the members of the armed detective agency, that leads him to meeting nakajima atsushi, an orphan who’s life he, ultimately, does wind up making a difference in, providing him with much needed guidance ( though to say that all of his methods, and all of his motives, in doing so are genuinely good, genuinely selfless, and always would be a little hard-pressed--- also, it’s worth keeping in mind that this is the second orphan to have been taken beneath his wing; the first being akutagawa ryunosuke who’s experiences with dazai were significantly different, the training that he endured beneath him being absolutely hellish, horrific, and cruel ).

ultimately, with him, the ends justify the means and, so, the actions, whether good or evil, mean little to him. he’s willing to use any means, any method, to achieve his goals; this includes playing dirty, causing harm to others, killing / death when deemed necessary, and so on and so forth. such as, for example, purposefully deflating the airbag in someone’s car prior to a car ‘accident’, in turn causing extensive injuries that he’s only willing to have healed by a fellow ability user in exchange for having a young girl pardoned of her past crimes. the end goal was ultimately good, sure, but the means of getting there were anything but.

he’s also an exceptional liar. while his ability to intricately weave together falsehoods, from the most small and insignificant of lies to the most complex of tales, comes naturally, his time spent working for the port mafia only honed his abilities further. and while is doesn’t lie constantly, perhaps not even frequently ( instead opting to simply abstain from providing an answer altogether ), he is, in himself, a walking fabrication, putting on a perennial facade all his own; fake. his true thoughts and emotions are rarely so much as even alluded to, frequently hidden behind a mask of his creation, perfectly crafted and nearly impossible to crack. furthermore, his true intentions, frequently, are left unrevealed until he, himself, chooses to reveal them. in truth, there isn’t a person alive who truly knows or who genuinely understands him. there are a select few ( such as mori ougai, nakahara chuuya ) who come, in their own way, close through all of their time spent working with him ( a former mentor, a former partner ), though none are able to comprehend his actions, his mind, in their entirely, not quite the way that oda was once able to.

it doesn’t help that he is also a man of mystery and deflection. while he may talk and act as though he’s an open book ( and believe me, he does just this and often ), he rarely, if ever, speaks of himself, in regard to his past and present alike. thoughts are locked away, left solely for him to ruminate upon, and emotions are kept hidden, locked deep, deep within, if not attempted to be brushed away in their entirety. furthermore, he has a habit of leaving his comrades, his friends if you can quite call them that, in the dark when it comes to long-game plans and strategies that he has devised and it’s virtually impossible to get a straight or genuine answer from him upon asking a question, so most times it isn’t even worth the effort that it takes to form the words ( not that this has ever stopped anyone from trying, much to their ultimate chagrin ).

and, finally, a basic character and personality breakdown,

name. DAZAI OSAMU, 太宰治 age / d.o.b. 22 / JUNE 19 species. HUMAN / GIFTED ethnicity. JAPANESE gender. CIS-MALE, HE / HIM occupation. DETECTIVE / PORT MAFIA EXECUTIVE ( FORMER ) affiliation. ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY / PORT MAFIA ( FORMER ) height. 181 CM / 5'11" weight. 67 KG / 147-148 LBS build. SLIM, LONG-LIMBED hair color. DEEP BROWN, ESPRESSO; MILD, NATURAL WAVES eye color. RED-BROWN, CHESTNUT blood type. AB r / o, s / o. DEMIROMANTIC PANSEXUAL noticeable features. WEARS BANDAGES THAT COVER THE LARGE MAJORITY OF HIS BODY ( * explanation to be provided below ); ONLY HIS FACE, HANDS, AND FEET REMAIN UNCOVERED

ability. NO LONGER HUMAN ** his ability allows him to effectively nullify the abilities of others entirely upon contact, whether with the user themselves or a physical manifestation of their ability. he’s often referred to as an anti-ability user or anti-gifted. zodiac. GEMINI religious belief(s). ATHEIST mbti. INTJ alignment. CHAOTIC NEUTRAL temperament. CHOLERIC mental health. DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION pos traits. QUICK THINKER, SHARP, IMAGINATIVE, CLEVER, STRATEGIC, DECISIVE, SELF-CONFIDENT, INDEPENDENT, DETERMINED, OBSERVANT, PERCEPTIVE, CALM, COLLECTED, LOGICAL, OPEN-MINDED, QUICK LEARNER, ADAPTABLE, WELL-READ, A JACK OF ALL TRADES neg traits. SECRETIVE, DETACHED, JUDGEMENTAL, ARROGANT, OVERLY DRAMATIC, UNPREDICTABLE, CONFUSING / DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND, CAN BE OVERLY ANALYTICAL, HAS DIFFICULTY WITH ( AND LOATHES ) HIGHLY STRUCTURED ENVIRONMENTS, PRONE TO APATHY, PLAYS DIRTY, CAN BE CRUEL, FREQUENTLY INGENUINE neu traits. WITTY, TEASING / JESTING, BLUNT, SOMEWHAT OF A FLIRT, PRONE TO SHIRKING CERTAIN RESPONSIBILITIES, HAS A HABIT OF EMBARRASSING OTHERS ( VERY INTENTIONALLY )

he covers himself in bandages for two very specific reasons. the first being that his body is absolutely riddled with scars; while some were obtained during his port mafia days, equally as many were self-inflicted. the second, they serve as a sort of security blanket, providing him with an unconventional source of comfort.

he’s very well read. he enjoys novels of a wide variety, though he’s usually only seen reading books about suicide or death. he isn’t partial to poetry, however.

he isn’t a big eater whatsoever. he’s generally a one meal per day sort of person and doesn’t snack particularly often furthermore.

he listens to music fairly often during his free time ( when he isn’t reading ). while he doesn’t have much of a preference as far as genres are concerned, he does gravitate primarily toward music that he finds calming, more mellow, or relatable.

he’s highly skilled in the art of lock-picking. he could chalk it up to his time spent with the port mafia, but in truth it’s a talent he’s had since he was a kid.

he doesn’t have a drivers license. he’s never been especially concerned with getting himself one and doesn’t really find that he feels the need for one even now.

he dislikes fizzy and / or bubbly beverages. for the most part, he’s a tea or a coffee drinker, although he’s fine with water, too. also, whiskey. he loves a good whiskey.

he enjoys good company ( although he finds that it’s rare to come by ), good and meaningful conversation, summer storms, late night rain showers, autumn leaves, seafood, and fresh, clean scents.

he dislikes overly sweet foods, the sound of babies crying ( and loud noises in general ), dogs, hot weather, and boring, tedious, and / or repetitive work ( such as paperwork, for example ).

he frequently smells of soap, laundry detergent, and cotton intermingled with a natural scent all his own; fresh, warm, and clean with a hint of musk.

#☆. ( hc )#☆. ( character study )#☆. ( osamu )#and y'all thought izaya's #was long holy christ #depression //#self-harm //#suicide //#violence //#death //

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pomegranate-belle · 6 years ago

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For Day 1 of MattFoggy Week: Favorite Canon Scene/Favorite AU

There’s a special place in my heart for my “Turn Left” AU, where lil Matty doesn’t give Stick that friendship bracelet; as a result, Stick doesn’t leave, Matt ends up becoming a member of the Chaste, and he and Foggy only meet during the DD S1 timeline. God only knows when I’ll make the time to really round out this AU and post it officially, but here’s the MattFoggy bits.

Matt sat on the roof, back pressed to the access door leading down to apartment 6A, and lost himself to the noises in the rooms below him. Soft breathing, snoring, and the gentle cadence of three resting hearts. All of it cradled in a quiet, familiar-sounding ballad. He hummed along for a few bars, feeling buzzy and drunk, and the world went soft against his senses like silk. For the first time since returning to New York, he’d found something that drowned out the pain and terror of the city around him. Arms wrapped tightly about himself, Matt yawned quietly and settled in for the night.

Matt clutched the edge of the roof tightly, his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth dry with… With fear. The voice in the back of his head that sounded like Stick was derisive, but Matt’s ears were still ringing with gunshots and his nose burned with the scent of blood and Foggy Nelson had almost died.

And despite all his training and all his strength and all his haste, Matt hadn’t been the one to save him.

The words hot beyond all reason came to mind first. The guy was about Foggy’s height, wiry and well-built with bone structure that a Greek god would cry over. His brown hair was tousled from the fight, and the split in his lower lip only served to emphasize the insane perfection of his features. His cheap plastic black sunglasses were cracked across the bridge, his equally cheap shirt ripped and torn, and his cargo pants splattered with dark spots of blood. The sneakers on his feet looked about five years old and the laces were frayed beyond belief.

“Uh,” Foggy stammered. “What. I… Who are you?”

“Matt,” said the stranger with a sharp smile. “You can call me Matt.”

“If they’ve all been working together, where were you and your weird ninja people when the Russians attacked Jo? Or Karen? Or me?”

“The Hand is all that matters,” Matt explained matter-of-factly, tossing his shattered sunglasses into the dumpster clear at the other end of the alley with alarming accuracy.

“No it’s not!” protested Foggy.

Matt scoffed, shaking his head and still turned towards the dumpster, away from Foggy.

“You don’t understand,” he said, in a very patronizing voice that almost made Foggy rethink his attraction to him. “The Russians, the Chinese, even Wilson Fisk, they’re all… They’re only human. The Hand, they’re a—they’re a different breed altogether. They have access to power normal humans can’t even comprehend. That’s why the Chaste exists, to stop them. Everyone and everything else is just background noise.”

“Well excuse me if I’m not, like, super reassured by that since those ‘background noise’ Russian mobsters tried to turn me into Swiss cheese!”

“So that’s it then?” Foggy demanded, head still spinning. “You just… Just swoop in, save me from ninjas, and then flip away?”

Matt tilted his head to the side. His expression was smooth, calm, a little skeptical.

“Basically,” he concluded.

“What… What the fuck, dude, who does that?”

Matt’s mouth quirked up into a really, really infuriating smirk.

“I do,” he answered.

And then he leapt up, latched onto a fire escape, and scaled it to the roof. Within seconds, he was gone.

“What the fuck,” Foggy repeated under his breath. “What. The fuck.”

I said too much again, he realized with a groan, and ruffled a hand through his sweaty hair.

Always were a sucker for a pretty voice, weren’t you, Matty? mocked the voice in his head that always sounded too much like Stick. It wasn’t wrong, though. Something about Foggy Nelson… Something was throwing him off. And that would be bad for everyone.

He’d need to keep his distance going forward, Matt decided. Protect Foggy from the shadows. Be careful not to speak to him again at all, let alone too much.

Staying away altogether never even crossed his mind.

“Seriously, you saved my life,” Foggy said emphatically. “Whatever it is, it’s no trouble.”

Matt shuffled for a bit, picking at the threadbare fabric of his pants. His shoulders were up around his ears, and his mouth was twisted in a way that very clearly screamed ‘pain’. With how tense Matt was, Foggy was pretty sure he himself would have tapped out, like, instantly. But then, well, Matt was some sort of crazy ninja, so maybe it was a ninja code stoicism thing.

“It’s…” Matt paused, wetted his cracked lips, shook his head, and made an odd aborted gesture with his hand near his right ear. “Too much. Too loud.”

Foggy frowned. Normally, he’d tap his foot while he considered the problem, but if everything was already ‘too loud, too much’ that couldn’t possibly help. Instead he scuffed a hand through his hair.

And then paused.

“I’ve got just the thing.”

Foggy stepped as quickly and lightly as possible over to his closet, and began rummaging through the disorganized pile of boxes in the corner. Textbooks, knickknacks, Columbia sweatshirt… There!

He returned with his prize clutched in his hands. Matt tilted his head, eyes closed, and swayed a little, dizzily.

“Headphones?” he asked.

“Oh contraire, buddy,” said Foggy quietly. “Not just any headphones. These babies are noise cancelling, and they got me through three months of pre-divorce blowout from a couple in 2-C.”

He settled them over Matt’s ears gently and grinned at the sight. After a few moments of contemplation, Matt opened his sightless eyes and smiled too.

“Oh,” he said softly, the tension sloughing off his frame like rainwater, and it was probably the most delicate, precious sound Foggy had ever heard.

For a badass killer ninja guy who also spent a good amount of his non-combat time just being a huge asshole, Matt was just… Entirely too fucking adorable. Jesus.

“Better?” Foggy asked, wondering if Matt would still be able to hear him, if his senses were really that good.

Matt’s blinding grin was all the answer to that question Foggy needed.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Matt’s lips turned up at the corners in the most awkward, heartbreaking little smile Foggy had ever seen in his life. He slid his unfairly beautiful fingers along the frames of the glasses one last time and then slipped them onto his face.

“Well?”

Foggy swallowed.

“They, uh… Look good, buddy,” he said, as if that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

“Oh my god he’s straight,” Foggy groaned into his hands. “He was raised by nuns and Jedi ninjas. He’s got to be so straight. Kill me.”

“Is this really the sorta bullshit at the top of your priority list?” Frank demanded, turning to Jo and Karen for an answer since Foggy was clearly in no state to give one.

“We lead complicated lives,” said Jo. “Now come on, Foggy, it’s not all that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s worse.”

Frank continued to look completely done, and Karen shot Jo a helpless look. Jo returned it with a subtle ‘ok’ symbol.

“Thought tall sexy blondes were usually your type anyway,” she mused. “Y’know, like Marci. And Captain America.”

With a groan, Foggy let his head thump against the counter.

“Between you and Matt, I’m starting to think I have two types,” he mumbled.

Instead of being actually helpful for once, Jo just nodded sagely.

“Well. You are bisexual,” she told him. “Now we know you’re not a fraud.”

“I hate you.”

“We gonna talk about those damn Hand ninjas or what?” Frank cut in harshly, although Karen thought she could see the slightest hint of softness, amusement, in his expression.

“We could all be dead in the next week,” Jo pointed out blithely, shoveling another bite of pie into her mouth. “Now is not the time for sleeping on concrete and eating gruel, Matt. Hell, things get much worse and I might pop a handful of Benadryl so I can eat a goddamn pizza again before I die.”

“Is that—is that really how you’re processing your mortality?” Matt asked after a long pause.

“Yes. Also, hand me that caramel sauce.”

Matt passed it over, his face somewhere between baffled and disturbed. Foggy just bumped his shoulder gently, holding out the plate of cookies.

“Look buddy,” he said. “Conceal don’t feel might work for you, but the rest of us don’t get into deadly ninja battles every day. And it’s not like one night of junk food is gonna negate those frankly impossible abs, so c’mon – live a little! Jo’s chocolate chip cookies are to die for.”

Matt picked up a cookie and nibbled at the corner delicately.

“I don’t have to be able to see them to know that stains like this don’t wash out,” Matt said softly.

He reached up, ostensibly to wipe the blood from his cheek, but his fingers were so trembling and nerveless that he only smeared it across his face.

“Not like that they won’t,” Foggy said gently, purposely misunderstanding him. “But get a little vinegar on it and your shirt will be good as new, Matty.”

Matt smiled mirthlessly as Foggy lifted the washcloth and scrubbed the blood off him.

“And my soul? Gonna clean that with vinegar too?” he asked.

“If I have to.”

“Whatever you—whatever you think we are, friends, or… We’re not. You can’t be more important than the mission. Having friends is just another weak point that an enemy can exploit,” Matt said harshly.

“And if you don’t care about anyone, what then?” demanded Foggy, stung. “What’s even the point of saving the world if you don’t give a shit about anyone in it!”

“I want… To make things better for him. To get him the hell away from that freaky-ass Jedi ninja cult,” Foggy admitted, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Beneath all the brainwashing and kick-ass martial arts, he’s so… Soft. Bright. Good. But I don’t think he’ll stay. Not for me, or for anyone.”

Jo nodded.

“It’s his choice, Fog, he’s a grown man,” she told him quietly, thinking of the gentle wonder on Matt’s face at the feel of silk, the taste of chocolate. “But, I. Maybe, you just have to give him a reason to stay. A place that could be home. We can do that, Foggy, I know we can.”

“… Matt…?”

Foggy almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Matt, standing in the middle of Foggy’s living room looking like he’d been through a woodchipper and then been patched up by… Well, by a machine. Not badly, per se, but with no regard for appearance. Bare-minimum, Spartan care, nothing cosmetic, nothing for comfort. It made Foggy think of Stick, and his stomach twinged with acid.

“Hi,” Matt said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Jesus Christ, Matt, what happened to you? What are you doing here, you look like you need a hospital!”

“We… We won,” Matt said, swallowing harshly. “Nobu’s… Gone. The rest of the Hand has gone underground, for now. They’re not working with Fisk anymore. You won’t have to worry about them.”

It was absolutely a circumspect way to look at the situation, clinical and bare-bones. But Foggy Nelson was a lawyer. A damn good lawyer. And he was great at reading between the lines. Finding the things people meant but didn’t say.

“The Chaste is leaving, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and mostly succeeding. “You’re leaving. This is goodbye.”

Matt swallowed noisily again, and refused to show his face. He ducked his head and studiously picked at a loose thread on his hoodie. Foggy wanted to shake him, to cry, to make demands, but he knew that only deep, open silence would draw Matt’s words out into the air.

“There never—” Matt took a deep breath. “Foggy, there never should have been a, a reason to say goodbye in the first place. We were never supposed to meet.”

“I don’t believe that, Matt.”

Matt stood sharply and ran his busted-up hands through his hair. He laughed, but the noise was nothing like the night they had eaten junk food together and tried to forget the world around them. There was nothing bright or happy about it.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Foggy, it doesn’t. Matter,” Matt hissed, pacing the room like a caged panther. “I was never supposed to interfere. Or, or care. I’m not a—I’m not like you, or Jolene, or Karen. I’m not even like Frank Castle. I have one job, one purpose, and that’s to stop the Hand. However I can, regardless of anything else. For right here, right now, that job is done. I just came to—I just. I had to… Just one last time, I had to…”

Matt’s pacing slowed to a stop, and he shook his head. The expression on his face was torn, helpless, and Foggy’s heart plummeted into his stomach like a stone, like a lead weight. His chest was cold, and his pulse was steady, and even though Matt was only feet away it felt like it would take miles to reach out and touch him.

“You could stay,” Foggy said at last, and couldn’t keep his voice from breaking. “With me. With us.”

“Foggy, I can’t.”

“You’re not a tool, Matt, you’re a person. A person I care about, we all do! And Hell’s Kitchen is your home! You’re worth so much more than, than cannon fodder for the Chaste’s bullshit ninja war! You’re Matt Murdock and you belong here! You could belong here. You could have a life and… And things for yourself. You’re worth that, no matter what that asshole Stick told you. You’re so kind and good and you… You’re worth everything, Matt. You deserve so many good things.”

When Foggy stepped through the door with Matt on his arm, Jo’s apartment fell silent. Several mouths dropped open, but Foggy narrowed his eyes and shook his head minutely.

“Welcome back, Matt,” Karen greeted at last, gently.

Matt’s smile was tremulous, but it was real, and that was enough for Foggy.

“Thanks, Karen,” said Matt. “It… It, uh… It’s good to be back.”

“Your glasses are on the shelf to your right,” Jo added. “We hoped… Well.” She cleared her throat, then abruptly pitched her voice into a more jovial tone. “The rest of us look like bad Elton John cosplayers when we wear ‘em so thank God you two finally showed up.”

Laughter rippled through the room and broke the last of the lingering tension as Matt snagged his glasses from the shelf and slid them onto his nose. With that last barrier put up, a certain tension dropped from his shoulders. Foggy shook his head and couldn’t help but smile.

“Gonna make room on the couch for us?” he asked. “Or do I have to sit my shapely Irish ass on someone’s lap?”

Matt clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“I’ve been what I am for—a long time,” he choked out. “And I know I can’t erase that but I’m not sure it’s what I want to be anymore. You know?”

Melvin nodded with a quiet hum of agreement.

“I was like that too. But Betsy says, she says you can always do better and change, if you wanna. Betsy helps me be good. Maybe your friends can help you.”

“Yeah. Maybe they can. But I think… I think I need your help too, Melvin. I need you to make something for me.”

“They’re in his apartment,” Matt said into the phone, making sure one ear was tilted towards the window – and Foggy and Karen’s heartbeats – even as he spoke to Jo. “He’s not even trying to hide. He wants to— to lure us out. He doesn’t even know Hoffman is missing yet.”

“They… Do they sound alright?” Jo asked weakly.

Matt took a moment to listen closer to the penthouse apartment. The heartbeats within were racing a bit, but Matt didn’t hear bones creaking when they shifted. He didn’t smell blood either. Fisk’s mountain-heavy steps thudded rhythmically across the floor of the room. Back and forth, back and forth. His voice, still low and growling, paced the same away. A quiet pendulum, a monologue.

“He hasn’t hurt them,” Matt assured Jo at last. “We’ll go in soon. Call Officer Mahoney, we’ll leave Fisk for him.”

Matt was distracted for a second by the restless movement by his side. Frank checking and rechecking his guns. He didn’t comment – the impatience was understandable, and it was thrumming through Matt’s veins too.

“You two,” Jo said, and Matt could hear her swallow nervously. “You be safe, both of you, and… A-and bring them back.”

Matt smiled.

“We will. See you soon, Jolene.”

Jo laughed, though the sound was wavering and edged in fear.

“You don’t see shit,” she said.

Then they both hung up.

“Finally,” Frank muttered. “We gonna go or what, Red?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Matt slipped his clubs from their holster and dropped the phone into their place.

“Matt…”

“Can I… Can I…?” he asked softly, desperately, his hands still framing Foggy’s face.

“Yeah, I…” Foggy nodded. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Then Matt leaned in and kissed him – soft, quick presses of lip to lip. One, two, three, four, five as though he had to keep making sure that Foggy was still there, still real. Each one sent a spark of warm electricity jumping down Foggy’s spine.

“Hey,” he said at last, between kisses. “Hey. I’m right here, Matt. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, so just…”

Pressing forward and smoothing a hand through Matt’s tousled hair, Foggy eased them into something slower and lingering. The tension dropped from Matt’s shoulders and he made a soft noise that had Foggy wanting to bundle him up in about fifteen fuzzy blankets.

“Foggy,” Matt breathed when they parted for air, resting his forehead against Foggy’s. “Foggy, I… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… He should have never…”

“Hey, c’mon. I’m fine. Karen’s fine. You and Frank saved us, Matt. It’s over, ok? It’s over.”

“You made the right choice, you know?” commented Karen. “I think… This is where you’re supposed to be.”

Matt grinned, the smile huge and dorky and wonderful.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so too.”

It was a heartwarming idea, Foggy reflected, to be able to believe that in the end all roads lead you home. He generally considered himself something of a skeptic – but with a cheap beer in his hand, pressed against Matt at shoulder and thigh, able to look at the full room of friends around them, it seemed about right.

#mattfoggy #mattfoggyweek #daredevil #writing #turn left au

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jeynewesterling · 7 years ago

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19. “Yell, scream, say something!” - Jonsa. Gimme the angst, Kal, please.

OK HERE IT IS, idk man, I tried. Hope you enjoy. Post-series, book!canon, Jon’s struggling to come to terms with R+L=J

A hush had settled over Winterfell with the arrival of their guests. When a raven came from Greywater Watch announcing Lord Reed’s intention to come north, it was assumed he had come to swear fealty or perhaps to find some answers concerning why his children had never come home. Both were true, but there was another reason the reclusive crannogman left his castle after all these years, a heavy burden he’d been carrying with him for half his life, information that turned the world upside-down.

Jon had listened silently while Lord Reed spoke of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, of the Knight of the Laughing Tree at the Tourney of Harrenhal, of a clandestine meeting on the Isle of Faces, of a journey that ended in Dorne, in a tower, in a bed of blood and roses, with a motherless babe, the history Jon had longed for his entire life. Arya sat to his right, Sansa to his left. Daenerys was invited as well, as this impacted her, too. Suddenly she was no longer the last Targaryen in the world, she had a nephew living. She alone found something to celebrate in the news. Arya rejected it outright, declaring loudly that Jon Snow was a Stark and a direwolf, her brother through and through, damned be anyone who says otherwise. Sansa knew not what to say at all. She wasn’t the only one though. When Howland Reed finished his tale, Jon asked no questions, wanted no clarifications. He merely thanked him for making the journey and offered all the hospitality of Winterfell, before turning on his heel and retreating to his rooms.

And he stayed there for days, his door barred even to the maids who would change his bedclothes or bring his meals. He spoke to no one, saw no one. Even Arya was turned away at his door.

“Perhaps I should speak to him?” Daenerys offered on the fifth day of Jon’s isolation, after Arya had been found at the smithy, trying to convince Gendry to break down Jon’s door.

“I’m not sure that would be of help,” Arya said. No doubt her intentions were kind, but she was a Targaryen, she was his aunt, who had been his lover. There wasn’t a thing she could say that could be a comfort to him, not when her very presence would remind Jon of all that he was hiding from now.

“Well, we can’t just leave him in there until he starves himself to death!”

“He’ll come out when he’s ready,” Sansa said calmly, trying to subdue the tempers between Arya and Daenerys. They both cared for Jon a great deal, no one could argue that, but they cared in very different manners, they knew him in different ways. It would do no good to anyone, especially Jon, if the people who loved him couldn’t help picking fights amongst themselves.

Not that Sansa knew what would do Jon good. Everyone else tried to help him, but Sansa didn’t know how to. She was never close with him as a child, not like Arya had been. She didn’t know the man he was now, not the way Daenerys knew him. She didn’t know him at all, it seems, for she had always thought him her half-brother and even that wasn’t true.

But half-brother or cousin, Jon was still family. She had to do something, she couldn’t sleep at night for worry of him. She lay abed but sleep wouldn’t come. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw wolves and dragons tangling, each fighting to claim Jon for their own, tearing him apart. The look of anguish on his face seemed so real that it drove her from her bed. She knew if she went to his door now, her knock would go unanswered like all the others, but she couldn’t stand it another moment. Something had to be done, but what? She found herself walking to the sept, thinking to pray for guidance, but stopped herself outside of the doors. The Seven were southron gods, her mother’s gods. Jon had never prayed to them, how would they know how to help him? She turned from the sept to the Godswood instead, Jon kept the Old Gods, like Father did, like a true Northman… But something didn’t feel right about that either. It wasn’t the Gods counsel she wanted, New or Old, but Father’s. Father loved Jon, raised him as his own son, he would know what to say to him.

To the crypts then, she decided. She wrapped her cloak tighter about her shoulders, it was always cold under the ground, and lit a torch before she descended. She hasn’t been down here since Arya returned with Mother’s bones, laid to rest beside Father’s empty tomb, but the way is familiar to her. Down the steps, a turn to the left, and halfway to the end, Father’s statue set beside Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna. Sansa had just made the turn when something caught her eye, a light burning low, a figure kneeling before… Oh. Jon had finally left his chambers to visit Lyanna. To see his mother. Sansa crossed to him quietly, lest she should startle him, but it never crossed her mind to leave him here alone. It was a sign that she was called to the crypts just when he was.

She placed her torch in the sconce on the wall. The other torch, the one Jon must’ve brought with him, was nearly burned out, it would only last another few minutes. How long has he been down here? Sansa cast a glance over to Father, the way the torchlight hit the marble made his face come alive, she could almost see his smile. An encouragement. She steeled her nerves and knelt beside Jon.

They sat together in silence for some time, long enough for Jon’s torch to sputter out completely. Jon should speak first, Sansa thought, she wouldn’t press him. But soon the silence was starting to drive her mad. “Jon?”

He still didn’t speak, didn’t move his eyes from Lyanna’s face. He made no move to even acknowledge her presence. He may as well have been made of stone himself.

“Jon, please say something. Everyone’s worried for you. Arya and Daenerys and… and, I’m worried, too.”

His eyes fluttered shut, the only sign of life he’d given since she discovered him, but that was his only reaction.

“I know you loved Father, I know how much it hurts to feel betrayed, lied to, by someone you love. But this… Jon, you have to be stronger than this. You have overcome so much, survived so much, you can survive this, too. –Damn it, Jon! Cry! Yell, scream, say something!” Sansa hadn’t meant to shout at him, but she couldn’t have stopped herself once the words started. She hadn’t let herself dwell on it before, but she needed Jon. After Robb died, she found strength in the thought of him, the only brother left to her, together they were the last of their line. And when the news of his death reached the Vale, it was that which spurred her to action, to accept Lord Baelish’s plans, wed Harry, and take the Army of the Vale north to reclaim Winterfell. And it wasn’t until Jon rode through those gates, by some miracle alive, that Winterfell felt like home again. It was only with Jon by her side that she no longer felt that she had to protect the Stark legacy alone. Together, they both found the strength to rebuild.

Please, let him find strength in me.

Sansa had about given up hope that Jon would ever move from this spot, let alone speak, when suddenly he surrounded her, wrapping her up in his arms and burying his face against her neck. Still silent, but she could feel his hot tears as they fell against her skin and the shake of his shoulders as he cried. Sansa stroked his hair, tutting softly, “There, there, sweetling,” comforting him as Mother used to comfort her when she was small. It occurred to Sansa that her mother never would’ve held Jon like this and she wondered who had kissed away his childhood hurts. Did anyone? “It will be alright, I promise you.”

“How?” he croaked, his voice hoarse and dry from days of disuse. “How will it ever be alright?

How indeed. Sansa knew what Arya would say, she’s been saying it ever since the news broke. Jon is and always will be her brother, no matter his sire. But Sansa couldn’t say that to him. It wouldn’t mean the same thing coming from her, and it was a lie besides. This changed things, the only question was to what scale. Daenerys wanted Jon to accept his dragon’s blood and to rebuild King’s Landing with her to pave the way for a new Targaryen dynasty. Though, Sansa couldn’t imagine Jon leaving the North. He was still as much a direwolf as a dragon.

Though she understood their views, Sansa disagreed with both women when it came to what was right for Jon, but she had no answer for him herself. “I don’t know, Jon, but I have to believe it will.” She kissed his temple before gently removing him from her shoulder. “I do know it won’t ever get better if you don’t eat. Come, let’s go to the kitchens, then you and I will talk.”

#forgive me for the j/onerys mention!!#jon x sansa #jonsa #my fic #i like most of this? but there are things i meant to include that didn't quite fit #ohwell #hellyeahayumichan #actuallyjonsa

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otome--gokoro · 7 years ago

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Hi! I just wondering... what if SLBP lords is in a modern high school? Do you think what I think? Like Nobunaga as student council president etc. Please do for the other lords to: 3 and what are they doing in school? Thank you! --from your precious anon-chan

you know, when I saw this request in my inbox, I was surprised because I thought I already filled it. Turns out that I just thought a lot about it but hadn’t written it down yet haha sorry

Modern high school AU head canon

Nobunaga is the rich kid. He likes to ask questions in class, and is openly dismissive and a little disrespectful if he doesn’t get satisfactory answers, but the teachers have no choice but to put up with it because his father is an important donor. Missed being elected to student council because the teachers begged for his disqualification (but he wasn’t really interested anyway). No one knows why he’s in a regular school instead of an expensive private one, but it’s actually because his dad likes Mitsuhide and wants them to stick together.

Mitsuhide is the student council president. Nobunaga’s best friend, much to the mystification of basically everybody else. Dream student who somehow juggles a horde of after school activities and maintains a perfect GPA. Unfailingly polite to everyone. Is the only one who can exert some sort of positive influence on Nobu. His dad is Nobu’s dad’s personal assistant.

Yukimura is the school’s star jock and mainly plays rugby. He’s very popular because of his cheeriness and friendliness to everybody. Is the kind who says hi to the cleaning staff and asks about their families. His weak point is literature.

Saizo is the one who’s always asleep at his desk. Do not disturb. Most people don’t know anything more about him than his name. For some reason, Yukimura is always hanging out with him. Somehow does really well in examinations considering that he doesn’t pay any attention in class. (see gif - Saizo on the left, Yukimura on the right)

Masamune is the quiet kid whose worst nightmare is group work. Tries to make a quick exit whenever he sees Yukimura or Shingen coming towards him. Teachers love him because he’s cooperative, smart, and doesn’t mouth off. Only talks to a couple of people. Likes playing MOBA games. He’s that guy who says ‘good luck have fun’ before the game starts.

Kojuro is that student who always gets scolded because his homework is in terrible condition. All his worksheets are crumpled. His textbooks and exercise books are mysteriously dog-eared and battered by the second week of school. He’s the drum major of the marching band and memorises sheet music very quickly (before the scores get too damaged to read…)

Inuchiyo is a wrestler. He likes to take mirror selfies and show off his abs. Far too many students have walked in on him flexing his muscles in the bathroom mirror. Has literal dreams of eating pizzas and hamburgers, thanks to his strict diet. Good-natured but looks terrifying, so students who don’t know him personally tend to steer clear of him.

Hideyoshi is head of the debate club. Teachers love him. Students love him. Everyone loves him, even his debate opponents after he rips their arguments to shreds. Likes to photobomb Inuchiyo’s selfies and is always winking in all of them. Runs an Instagram account dedicated to unglamorous photos of Inuchiyo, in the name of improving his reputation.

Mitsunari is the head student librarian. He will kick you out if he catches you eating, drinking, running, yelling, or basically doing anything other than breathing quietly and reading. If he catches you putting books back on the shelves haphazardly, he will pull you outside and yell at you (because no yelling in the library).

Ieyasu is the one people are wary of. He’s always polite and smiling, but he also kind of looks like he hates the world. It’s just a feeling people get. He always leaves the school immediately after classes end, and doesn’t participate in any extracurricular activities.

Kenshin is the head of art club. He likes organising special events once a month, like pottery, batik, and basket-weaving classes. There doesn’t seem to be a theme to the activities, but people sign up anyway because they’re always really fun. Daydreams a lot in class, to the exasperation of the teaching staff.

Shingen is the class president. He talks to everybody as though they’re really good friends, which makes some people (Yukimura) happy and other people (Ieyasu) annoyed. Super chill but very charismatic, always willing to lend a listening ear. One of his personal missions is to have a five minute long, non-one sided conversation with Masamune.

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #slbp cast #sometimes i write stuff

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franeridart · 7 years ago

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Soooo Tumblr tagged your new post as "Content for Adults Only" and I can't see it 😢😢 srsly tumblr is pissing me off rn

Anon said:I don't understand how your most recent post about Denki is blocked by safety mode????? Like it's just your art of his birthday! I love the art of it tho, it's fantastic! Keep up the amazing work.

Anon said:*whispers* the thing you just posted contains sensetive media apperantly

Yeah it’s most probably Mineta isn’t it

(jk it was probs my inclination to swear my way through life’s fault, I asked for a review so it should be visible in a bit but for now you can see it here !!)

Anon said:!!! I didn't know when Kaminari's birthday was but his is the same as mine and I'm even more attached to him now !!! Thanks for bringing that info to my attention and also your doodles were amazing I love them and I hope you have a nice day!!

Yay for you and yay for him too!!!!!!!! I hope you’ll have a great birthday tomorrow, anon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And thank you!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:I can't remember if you've already answered this question but in light of Kami's birthday - you once did a comic showing what everyone from the Bakusquad would get him for his birthday, so I wanted to know what do you think Bakugou would get all of his friends for their birthdays?

Bakugou has the hardest time coming up with birthday presents, presents are just Not A Thing He Does, he tries but it’s just ???? I mean think back to how he tried to cheer Kirishima up, that boy is so damn awkward - that said, given how all his friends gave him something he felt the need to show them he could reciprocate, so this is what he came up with:

Sero’s actual tastes in material possessions are a total mystery for everyone, they make absolutely no sense, but what Bakugou KNOWS is that the fucker likes to eat his greens, so that’s what he did for him - he cooked the healthiest and tastiest meal he could manage to make, spent a whole damn lot of time researching it too, and Sero was honestly so touched (he loved it)

Jirou got a offer to go with her to a concert she couldn’t find anyone to go with - she hadn’t outright asked anyone, but it was clear she wanted to go but not alone - the band was too much for all of her friends, so she was sorta letting the idea of going go. Which is when Bakugou offhandedly mentioned that he’d heard there was the one gig from that one band and he was thinking of going since he liked that band and whatever she wanted to come or something? Bakugou had just spent the last day and a half listening to the band’s discography for the sake of making it believable and Jirou saw right through him (she didn’t mention it) (but man Bakugou could be seriously nice couldn’t he)

Mina’s present was to actually agree to go to her party. That was it. Mina’s parties are the opposite of Bakugou’s ideal place to spend a whole night at, they’re loud, and there’s drinking, and dancing, and the whole school is invited and it’s packed, so when she asked him to come she never thought he’d actually agree to go and stay the whole night, but boy did he. He also let her pick his outfit (Mina recognized the effort for the present it was. She was delighted)

Kaminari got a shopping trip - it went like this: Bakugou mentioned he was going to the mall, which always ends up with Kaminari tagging along just to go window shopping. So he stopped in front of the windows, pointed at stuff, made noises about the deals, and Bakugou went “wait here” and then went in and bought whatever Kaminari had been excited about. It happened four times before Kaminari caught on, and then Bakugou literally had to threaten him to make him stop holding back “I’m deciding I wanna do this so I’m doing this” (he still held back, but by the end of it Kaminari had actually whined the sentence “Bakugou please” pointing at yet another jacket or shirt of necklace way more than once) (he was so damn happy he didn’t even think about how he had absolutely no space for everything he’d just bought to fit in his room)

Kirishima was the hardest one (pun intended). Kirishima was actually so difficult Bakugou spent months thinking about what to get him and came up empty handed anyway. He was so damn complicated that Bakugou sucked up his pride and straight out asked him what he wanted for his birthday. “I don’t want to fuck this up”, he said, and Kirishima smiled so hard and so wide and so bright, it felt like enough of a present for him just hearing that. He told him he wanted to spend the day with him, so they did that - studied, sparred, ate, hung with the others. Bakugou didn’t think it was enough of a present since honestly it felt like any other day, but Kirishima was happy, so he guessed it was fine (he found and bought a super rare super expensive Crimson Riot figure to gift him anyway) (Kirishima cried)

Anon said:You are so awesome!!!

sob thank you SO MUCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ;A;

Anon said:It's t[odobak]u week! It's honestly a ship I never thought about, but ever since I saw fanart about them I've been thinking about their dynamic as a couple. How would that even work with their personalities? I know you don't really ship Katsuki with anyone else but Kiri, but let's say for some reason Bakugou and Todoroki got together. How would you describe their complicated relationship/dynamic? I've been thinking about it ever since I saw that fanart Q_Q

I talked about my feelings for these two’s relationship here!! But in all honesty I just can’t see them as romantics (if I could I’d probably ship it hah) so I can’t say how it’d work for them in a relationship of that kind... mostly because all I can think of as an answer is “it wouldn’t work” haha rip

Anon said:I love when you draw Bakugou being a big old softy

Fun fact: I take the fact that Mitsuki is unapologetically soft to Masaru as a good enough proof that in a romantic relationship Bakugou would be the softest to his partner - he’s already soft enough for Kirishima, can you imagine how much more he’d be after being openly in love with him for years? (I can) (it’s beautiful)

Anon said:More adult!AU please!!!!!!!!!!!

Uhhhhhhhhhhh sure, but it wasn’t really an AU tho! It’s just me playing around with their designs a bit, I’ve been drawing them aged up now and again for a while now (tho I admit mostly what stays constant in the design is only the hairstyles, everything else changes based on how I’m feeling it atm) anyway yeah, more will come in the future! Can’t promise the designs will stay totally unchanged, tho haha

Anon said:We only have to last one more day until the next chapter (probably) kills us all with the feels. Thank you to you and your art for getting me through this terrible week of waiting.

;A; you’re welcome, I’m trying to keep myself sane with my own doodles too so helping you along is a beautiful most welcome side-effect

Anon said:Could i have a ref of your adult kiribaku scars? if not i understand! have a great day!

No probs, just, I can’t draw right now cause of hand-problems so you’ll have to make do with me telling you where they are? Also that’s just how I went for it in that drawing, it’s nothing set in stone, really, I keep on adding and moving them around every time I draw them

The only scars Bakugou has there are on his palms - cover the whole of it and reach a bit on the inside of his wrist too, they’re burn scars and come from overusing his quirk one too many times. Kirishima’s got more - aside from the canon eye one he’s got one on the left side of his mouth, one on each forearm in the same spots he’s been hurt in the latest chapter, and one covering most part of his upper back (this one he got protecting civilians with his own body too often and breaking one time too many)

Anon said:I don't know if you take request or not but if you do, could you draw adult bakugou with baby kirishima and vice versa, please? 😙😊

I already have tho!! x x x

Anon said: Holy crap, scarred up hottie Kirishima with the black roots saved my life

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! glad you liked him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *O*

Anon said:denki at the end of your last post is me xD

*whispers* honestly same

Anon said:Okay but think about how fucking pissed Baku would be if Todoroki tripped and fell and broke his ankle walking up the the battle arena and they didn't even get to fight because Todoroki can't even stand.

Listen, listen, if anything like this happened Bakugou would take Todoroki off his list of worthy rivals asap why was he ever even interested in this guy why did he even waste his time like this he’s so done

Anon said:I just got my wisdom teeth removed and can't pronounce "f" , and all I can think ab is Bakugo, in the same case, being pissed as hell because he can't say "fuck" anymore

That’s the moment the squad learns that Bakugou uses the word fuck out of convenience and not because it’s the only one he knows, really (did all those swear words even exist) (how does he even know so many)

Anon said:Fran I just found out why you've stopped posting Haikyuu as much and?? I feel so bad?? Because you're absolutely right, the fandom might be pretty healthy compared to others but it a certain idea of what should be and what shouldn't be. Like the minute you get into the fandom you're bombarded with the "canon" ships (which aren't even canon smh) and then there's other ships which are just automatically designated as "brotp" and if you don't follow the norm then you get hate. (1/2)

And it just makes me feel terrible because you obviously love(d?) Haikyuu a lot, and drawing for it, but then the fandom basically forced you to leave. And that just makes me really really sad. I used to be sad that you didn't draw for Haikyuu much anymore (because despite fandom I do love the series very much) but now I'm just. Really glad that you found BNHA and are having fun drawing for it. Ahaha this is kinda pointless but I really respect you and so?? Just keep doing you

Thank you so much oh my god orz it’s... true, posting for hq hasn’t been half as fun as it used to be, lately, but I do still enjoy it! Between everything the fact that the fandom is sort of asleep atm does make me lose even the last motivation to draw more, so! I’m pretty confident as soon as the fandom wakes back up I’ll start posting more for it again! After all I love the show and all the characters a lot still~

Anon said:*chanting* Draw that hair angst! Draw that hair angst!

I’m trying !!! (tomorrow might just be the right day)

Anon said:i just recently started watching bnha and i'm IN LOVE!!!! i'm also glad i can appreciate your art more bc now i actually know who the characters are 😂

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m SO GLAD you’re liking it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And thank you SO MUCH for sticking around even while you didn’t know the show!!!!

Anon said:i love your art!!!!!! im gay!!!!!

tHANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and great for you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said: I can't believe Kirishima wears Franeridart brand knickers

It’s the most popular brand on this blog, really

Anon said:bro i don't even read/watch bnha. why am i so invested in these kids. it's,, it's your fault isn't it. you're being paid by horikoshi (is that the mangaka's name?) to reel us all in aren't you. EXPOSED, FRAN

Joke’s on me anon, I’m not even being paid for this (lol) (since you like the kids you should really give the show a try, tho *nudge nudge*)

Anon said:hi just a friendly reminder that kirishima eijirou is amazing and incredible and so are you

Being given the same compliments given to Kirishima might as well be the best thing ever happened to me.... oh my gods.............. thank you............

Anon said:There's only one way for me to find out if my Quirk is breathing under water

Anon no

#fran answers #guess who likes to blabber #me i do #anyway at the one person asking what's tomorrow #it's Fran Dies From Kirishima Feels day #aka new chapter's out tomorrow #no time to give to denki if im crying over eijirou you know #r i p that was rude to the birthday boy but honestly #HONESTLY #could have picked another day for your bd my boy #anonymous

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sleepyverstappens · 7 years ago

Text

Dancing Through Life (9/?)

Title: Dancing Through Life

Pairing: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden

Rating: M

Warnings (New warnings in italics): Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Non-Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attack(s), Coming Out

Summary: Two boys, stuck in a small village in the Yorkshire Dales, until they found their unlikely way out, through ballet and each other.

A/N: Surprise! I found some stuff I had written in a notebook a while ago and actually managed to finish a chapter already :D! It's a quite dialogue heavy one, but I hope you all like it :) (Also this is from Aaron’s POV again, it just worked out liked that, will probably be back to switching between them in the next chapter).

(Read on AO3)

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8)

Chapter 9:

He heard the murmur of people in the theatre get louder and louder as he walked down the stairs towards the backstage area. He crossed the sign that told them the audience would be able to hear them from there on and finally found himself stage left. Nervous energy was running through his body as he caught a glimpse of the people finding their seats. This was only his 3rd show as a principle and it was his first original work. He knew his mum would be somewhere in the crowd of people, orchestra, row five, seat 16, to be precise, he had gotten her a seat smack-dab in the middle. Cain would probably be sitting next to her along with Lisa and Belle. Marlon, Charity and April were somewhere else in the theatre as he had only been able to reserve four tickets.

Cain had most likely been pressured by his mum to come along, his uncle still not the biggest fan of ballet, but he would do anything for his sister and his nephew. Lisa and Belle had come to love ballet and had been to most of his shows over the years. Marlon was only there because April had begged him, saying she was old enough to go and see Aaron perform now. And Charity was probably only there to get out of her shift of the Woolpack. Whatever their reason was for coming, Aaron appreciated it a lot, it was always great to share the high from an opening night performance with his family afterwards. He wondered how Robert must feel right now, no family there to support him.

Speaking of Robert, he caught his gaze briefly as Robert made his way over to the other side of the stage where he would enter. Yesterday’s events had played through Aaron’s mind all day long, not the best preparation for opening night but he had clearly been able to hide it better than Robert, as the other man had been called out more than once during the day. They hadn’t really spoken throughout the day, both trying to keep focussed on getting everything right for opening night.

He heard the opening notes ring through the theatre and looked over as Ruby entered the stage from the coulisse next to him. She danced her opening scene and one by one the other dancers entered the stage until it was only Aaron and Robert left backstage. He looked over to the other side of the stage and found Robert’s eyes focussed on him, with a small nod he acknowledged him. Robert nodded back and then they both entered the stage.

Aaron forgot about everything else around him and was fully focussed on dancing his heart out. Movements flowing from him as he danced the first pas de deux with Ruby, eyes focussed on the woman in his arms as he lifted her up easily and spun her in a pirouette. Then smirking over at Robert’s Etienne as he dipped her right in front of him. The characters’ battle for her hand had started.

A roaring applause burst through his bubble as they finished their pas de deux and he left the stage for Robert’s scene and pas de deux with Ruby. He had a few minutes to catch his breath before he was right back in another intense scene. Time seemed to fly as all of a sudden it was time for his and Robert’s duet. They looked at each other from opposite ends of the stage, reminiscent of the start of the show, and with another mutual nod they ran onto the stage and jumped up, both of them forming a perfectly timed jeté. He grabbed Robert’s arm and twisted him around and into his body, hands wrapping around his waist as he lifted him up high, eyes focussed on each other the whole time. Sparks were flying between them as Aaron lowered Robert back to the floor. Their hands lingered slightly as Etienne twisted away from Antoine in defiance, before both of their character started a petit allegro.

As they ended their quick movements their characters tried to one up each other by performing more and more complicated movements, until finally they burst and Aaron’s lift was coming up. Antoine made out to move away from Etienne, but then twisted around with a turn in the air before ‘launching’ himself at the other man in anger. Aaron runs up to Robert and feels the other man’s hands wrap around his hips as Robert lifts him up, turns around with the momentum before pushing him off again. Antoine seems to have lost the battle and applause rings through the opera house as Etienne dances victoriously, but then out of nowhere Antoine comes back and Etienne’s victorious sissonne clashes with Antoine’s aggressive sissonne and both of their characters are knocked down.

As Aaron and Robert fall down, Ruby’s Mathilde runs back onto the stage to see both of her suitors dead. She caresses both of them in a mournful dance, before being joined by the other female dancers in a synchronised dance as she stands strong while Aaron and Robert get dragged off stage by Adam and Alex.

Ruby finishes off with an impressive pirouette another loud roar of applause is reverberated throughout the Royal Opera House. Adrenaline rushes through his body as Robert and him run back onto stage to take their bows. Both of them grab one of Ruby’s hands as all three of them bow, before Ruby steps forward to take her own. People are standing and the applause seems deafening; and Aaron can’t seem to wipe the grin of his face as he takes in his surroundings.

A great opening night.

---

“Mate, have you read this?” Adam asked as he walks into their kitchen holding a newspaper. He must have gone out to get it, as they don’t normally get papers.

“What?”

“The review of the show,” Adam said as he shoves the newspaper into his hands.

“Brilliantly mesmerizing new Royal Ballet original.” The headline reads.

It talks about the basic premise of the story and praises Ruby’s performance, but the next line mentions him and Robert.

“The male competitors, while showing their skills to impress Mathilde, played by female lead Ruby Rosenthal, seem to actually have more sexual tension with each other than the female lead.”

Aaron huffs, “What are they on about?”

“Mate, it’s true though. It’s like there’s an invisible thread that you each keep pulling on, but you never seem to be able to get to each other.”

“Since when are you all metaphorical?” Aaron asks his best friend. Adam is great, but not always the smartest and hearing him spout some random metaphorical shit is confusing.

“I’m not, read the rest of the article.”

He reads the rest of the article, it mentions the bit that Adam had spouted at him. The writer wondering if this apparent sexual tension between the male leads is intentional or not. It then goes on to talk about the rest of the show and the other company dancers, before ending with the details of where to find tickets for the show.

The article gets him thinking. If even complete strangers could see what was going on between them, then why were they still playing this game?

Aaron wanted him, the two kisses they had shared had already left him wanting more, but then the itch should’ve been gone after their escapades the other day; it wasn’t gone, if anything his body craved more. He also knew Robert was right. Getting involved would complicate things at work. Especially now that they were in the same show and in these roles that shared so many scenes. Was Aaron willing to risk the fragile working relationship they had managed to build over the last few weeks?

---

“My sister is coming to the show today,” Robert said a few days after opening night. They hadn’t mentioned what had happened the day before opening night, but they hadn’t gone back to avoiding each other either, so Aaron considered it progress.

“That’s nice, right?” Aaron said with a smile, it always felt great to have family in the audience, he assumed Robert felt the same.

“Yes, it’s great. She would’ve come on opening night, but she couldn’t get out of work.”

“Ah, that sucks. What does she do?”

“She’s a cook in a pub,” Robert said with a frown.

“Not what you had in mind for her?” Aaron questioned.

“No, she’s way too good to be stuck in a village pub cooking grub for the local boozers. I’ve been trying to convince her to apply to a culinary school over here for ages now. I think she’s about to finally give in, now that I’m back in London, and she’s been moaning about her colleagues a lot lately.”

“It’s nice that you look after her like that,” Aaron replied.

“Yeah, well, I missed too much of her growing up already, guess I’m trying to make up for that still,” Robert sighs with a wary look on his face that intrigues Aaron.

“Why is that?”

“It’s complicated,” Robert replied too quickly, like it has become a rehearsed answer.

“Try me?”

“It wasn’t by choice. After my mum died… stuff… happened and I didn’t see her anymore, not until 7 years later when my dad died. She’s been coming to my shows ever since though, even came to Paris a bunch of times and we were able to forge a pretty great bond over the years.”

“Well, you should invite her backstage, introduce her to everyone,” Aaron responded, though his mind was racing with this new information. What was the ‘stuff’ that had happened all those years ago? Why hadn’t he seen his family for years? He had a feeling it was something to do with his father. Robert really didn’t like talking about him, but he didn’t want to push the other man. Knew he wouldn’t want people pushing him to talk about his. If Robert wanted to tell him he would, eventually.

---

“Victoria?” Aaron asked as Robert was about to introduce them.

“Aaron, hey.”

“Wait, you’re Robert’s sister?”

“Duh, you hadn’t made the connection yet? Sugden?

“Yeah, well there’s bound to be more Sugdens around than just your lot,” Aaron shrugged.

“What about all the times I mentioned going to London to see my brother called Robert perform,” Victoria chuckled.

“Wait, you two know each other already?” Robert asked, confused by the conversation going on in front of him.

“Why’d you never say you’re from Emmerdale?” was the response he got from Aaron instead.

“Hang on, you never did either!”

“Oh boys, you’re both as thick as each other,” Victoria said shaking her head. “With you both in the same show, I’d assumed you knew.”

“Okay, so how exactly do you know each other?” Robert asked again.

“Emmerdale is a tiny village, everyone knows everyone. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about that. And well she works in me mum’s pub.”

“Well, I haven’t really been back since I was 21 and then before that I hadn’t been back since I was 14,” Robert shrugged.

He sees Vic give Aaron a don’t ask look, which he’s grateful for. Though he assumed Aaron would be able to connect some of the dots after their talk about his parents.

“Wait, so you couldn’t come to opening night because my family was coming?” Aaron interrupted his train of thought.

“Yeah, they should really get some more non-Dingle staff at the Woolie! I was stuck working the bar and kitchen on my own until Bob was done at the caf! Anyway, now that we’re all caught up, let’s hit the town eh.”

“Vic, come on it’s the middle of the week, we’ve got a full day of work tomorrow,” Robert groaned, his body was already starting to ache now that the adrenaline boost from the performance was wearing off.

“Oh come on Robert! It’s one night, I’m sure you’ll be alright you old sod,” Vic said grinning broadly at her brother. “You coming with Aaron?”

“Yeah alright then, don’t want to be called old now do I? Is it okay if I ask Adam along as well?”

“Sure, the more the merrier. See Robert, Aaron’s coming.”

“Okay, okay, stop pestering me already,” Robert whined, but a smile starts pulling at his lips.

---

They had found their way to a pub not that far from the theatre, none of them feeling up to getting a taxi somewhere further away. The pub’s bustling around them, but not over crowded. It reminds Aaron of the Woolpack in a way, some obvious regulars are propped up at the bar. The booths filled with people nursing pints, some shoving handfuls of prawn cocktail crisps into their mouths as they chat amicably. There’s a more even mix of regulars and outsiders than there ever is in the Woolpack, but then they are in London after all. A young couple sits in the booth next to them, speaking a language he can’t really make out; a group of men with American accents are laughing loudly over at the booth in the corner, clearly having already downed a few. But it’s nice, easy, letting his sore muscles relax in the worn down leather from the booth they had managed to snag.

Adam and Vic had hit it off pretty quick and were now lost in their own world, leaving Aaron and Robert to entertain themselves.

“So why didn’t you tell me about her before?” Aaron asked.

“Well, I told you I had a sister didn’t I. Didn’t really think you’d know her, so why bother? And you never asked either,” Robert shrugged.

“Fair. Why’d you tell me about her coming today though?”

“Ever heard of making conversation, you know what we’re doing now,” Robert grinned. “Nah, I told you she couldn’t come opening night didn’t I, so I guess I wanted to tell you. Wanted to tell someone and as you may have noticed I don’t really have any other friends here yet. Not in the company at least and most of my old friends have moved to other places by now.” Robert seemed to hesitated slightly on the word friend, was that what they were?

“Right, so I was your only option?”

“Well, we had at least talked before,” Robert smirked, insinuation clear.

Aaron blushed slightly, mind all too eager to bring what had happened in the rehearsal room a few days ago back up to the forefront of his mind. He tried to ignore the insinuation though, in favour of questioning Robert some more; he wanted to find out more about him.

“So, why’d you come back to London if most of your friends have gone?”

“Like I said, London is my home. I guess I’m just a sentimental fool like that…” Robert said wistfully.

“Emmerdale not home to you anymore then?”

Robert just shook his head. “As I mentioned before, I haven’t been back there in 10 years. And that was only for two days, I hadn’t been back for 7 years before that.” Robert said, still avoiding the reason why he hadn’t been back there in so long. “It is to you?”

Aaron thought about that for a while. His family was back in Emmerdale, but it hadn’t really been his real home in a long time. Which is what he told Robert. The other man nodded.

“So, you go back there often?” Robert asked, turning the questions back on him.

“Hmm, not as often as I like. My mum comes down to London often enough, but I still miss her a lot. And the rest of ‘em only come down here every so often, opening nights mostly. So whenever I get the chance to make the trip up there I do. Wouldn’t dream of living back there full time though, much prefer the city life.”

“No gossiping old ladies, amiright,” Robert chuckled.

---

They talked some more about Emmerdale, but eventually the conversation diverged to other topics. They didn’t even talk about ballet, the conversation flowing easily without the need to fall back on that common ground.

Aaron saw Robert trying to stifle a yawn; feeling a yawn of his own start in response. He glanced over at the clock by the bar, it was almost midnight, the pub would be closing soon; it already being open later than most.

“We should probably head home, about to get kicked out anyway,” Aaron said. They were the only people left apart from the lone stranger sat at the bar that had just downed the last of his pint, and the bartender who was beginning to give them more and more dirty looks, clearly eager to close up.

“Yeah, let’s go. We can walk together, what way is your place?” Victoria asked.

Aaron told her which street him and Adam lived on and they found out that they lived only a few streets away from Robert, so they could walk a fair bit together.

Adam and Victoria walked a few steps in front of them, still chatting along easily even though they hadn’t stopped to catch their breath all night. Robert and him walked together quietly, happy to let the noises of the city be their soundtrack. Their shoulders brushed lightly every so often with how close they had ended up walking, sending a shiver down his spine every time. He could see his and Adam’s house dooming up all too soon and found himself slowing down his steps, not ready to say goodbye to Robert yet. They had both opened up more in the few hours in that pub than they had in the almost 2 months that they had been working together and he couldn’t help but want to know more.

“Oi Aaron lad, you coming or what?” Adam called out to them, already at their front door.

“Well this is me…” Aaron murmured.

“Right. See you tomorrow then?” Robert said softly, eyes roaming over Aaron’s face as if to take him in just once more. His hair was all floppy, falling over his forehead, having dried naturally after his post show shower; cheeks slightly red from the cold wind. He looked slightly sleepy and so much younger, and it made Aaron feel all soft inside.

“Yeah,” he sighed. And then all of a sudden lips were pressing against his cheek, gone all too soon again, but they left a his cheek tingling. A slight blush creeped up his neck as Robert hurried away, grabbing his sisters hand as if to get away as quickly as possible.

“Mate, you’ve got it bad,” Adam said all of a sudden, he hadn’t even notices his best friend walking up to him.

“Shut up,” Aaron huffed, quickly drawing the hand that was pressed against his cheek away, when had that happened?

#dancing through life #chapter 8 #my fic #robron #robron fic #emmerdale #emmerdale fic #aaron dingle #robert sugden #the ballet au

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