#i think they try to find information about their foster parents. some kind of desperate hope that the memory of killing them is just

[pentaghast]

im so worried about. roan. i know theyre literally my character but im worried

[rottenpumpkin13]

Ok so I really wanna ask something 🙏🏽

How do you think this all panned out? After Genesis discovered the truth, did he ever actually confront his foster parents when he came to Banora? You know..before he killed them? Was it quick or did his parents desperately try to reason with him before their demise? In my mind I can imagine Gen was kind of losing it from the hurt and betrayal, especially for him and his clones to go out and slaughter all the townspeople but idk

I'm a sucker for angst (as we all are around here) x

The degradation not only affected his body but also his mind profoundly—though it does not excuse his actions. I know It's widely accepted that Genesis's parents were assholes, but I like to give them nuance like every parent in the franchise (minus Hojo fuck him) and make them dismissive, but caring in their own way, and it stems from a scene that I've overanalyzed to shit:

In that scene where Zack and Tseng find Genesis in the factory, Zack says that Gen's parents would’ve given Shinra false information without the need for threats, and Genesis’s demeanor completely shifts. In an earlier scene, Lazard alludes to how his parents could be lying to cover for him, so what was Genesis’s reaction here? Guilt? Anger because Zack pointed out his parents were loyal? Anger because Zack insinuated that his parents cared for him and Genesis knew they didn't?

He goes from lounging on the ground, seemingly smug and unaffected with his little Loveless copy, to abruptly standing up, proclaiming, "My parents betrayed me. They have always betrayed me from the very beginning," and hurling a ball of fire at Tseng. I might be reading too much into this, but that scene always stuck out to me.

In any case, you’ve given me a really good prompt and you asked for angst! So here you go:

-

He wasn’t blind to how privileged he was, even as a child. He knew some children in the village with unhappy home lives and parents who did not speak to each other, others whose financial conditions wrecked their families. Genesis became hyper-aware of that privilege when his best and only friend became one of them. Angeal lost his father young, being raised by a single mother in the latter half of his youth who did not make enough to support both herself and her son.

And then he met Sephiroth, another victim of an unhappy childhood, who had no parents and grew up confined to the walls of the same company that curated his birth.

Genesis was the odd one out in their trio, the only one who knew what a stable home life was like, to have two healthy parents—although he was not a healthy child. He was the only one who did not know what it was to not come home to two people at the end of the day, to not have every one of your whims indulged in. Granted, weren’t perfect.

As a child Genesis would call them strict. Genesis grew up needing to be perfect, to make them proud, someone that they could gloat over, which was why they posed no objection when he wanted to join SOLDIER. His father was a proud man, a prominent figure in Banora’s gentry, head of a house older than Banora itself. But he was fair, which was one of Genesis’ favorite qualities about him. He never discouraged his son’s theatrics, seeing them as opportunities for prestige. So he allowed Genesis fencing lessons, writing, and theater, and agricultural pursuits, all under the condition that he excelled in all areas. Genesis was set on pleasing them as a child, vying to be the best, the most awarded, and to give his parents all the awards they wanted.

This pleasing attitude began to wane when he hardened into a young man. He longed for independence, making use of his hidden base in the Banora mines, oftentimes favoring his hiding spot over his room back at home. Suffocated by his parents and their demands, he longed for independence, to move to the city and make a name for himself.

The arguments in the Rhapsodos house were plentiful when Genesis had grown into a reckless and headstrong teenager, always combative in his replies and with a tongue sharper than his sword.

But people grow and change, as did Genesis. He became a proud man, just like his father. Perhaps all the years he ingrained in Genesis's head that he needed to be the best finally got to him, and the need to be loved, glorified, and perfect became him.

His relationship with them became better as an adult, although his mother never changed.

Genesis understood his mother, granting her the compassion he did not give his father in his youth. She was at times overbearing, always fussing over him, with a hand over his forehead making sure his temperature was fine and an eye so critical and vain one would’ve thought he inherited from her had he been her biological son.

Mrs. Rhapsodos could not have children of her own, an upsetting condition to have with a social circle that prided itself over their heirs. The couple eagerly accepted the sickly baby when Shinra offered him to them. By their understanding, the baby had been a failure, not meeting Hollander’s standard and unfit to be theirs. The Rhapsodos did not see him that way. For people who had longed for a child, the one they were given was perfect beyond comparison. And perfect he would be, no matter how hard they would have to push him.

As a child, Genesis was careful not to track mud into the house. Springs in Banora were rough, with rain so insistent on decimating the local plantation, that it turned even the finest sand on the ground into mud. Mrs. Rhapsodos liked her plush white carpets, and Genesis knew the punishment for sullying the polished floors of the house would be severe. She knew where to hit her son where it hurt, knowing where he kept his flashlight he used to read late at night—unaware that the mako and enhancements in Genesis’s blood made him fit to see at night—and she knew to confiscate his books—unaware that when Genesis really liked a book, he memorized it to not need the pages to entertain himself.

It was a silly story to tell now as a man, trudging through the mud and rainfall in the middle of a Banora spring. He was coming back from Hollander’s lab with a stack of files under his arm, their contents so horrific that he thanked the rain for concealing his tears from any passersby. They had given him indefinite leave after the events in the training room. The wound in his shoulder wasn’t getting better, his duties were getting harder to fulfill by the day, so they sent him home until his condition improved.

But Genesis didn’t plan on staying there for long, especially after what he had just discovered, after what Hollander had confessed to.

His already fragile mind was a wreck.

Genesis didn’t bother to kick off his muddy boots when he went inside the house that day, watching the debris stain the white carpet, like the disbelief and rage quietly rolling off his shoulders. He rejected the maid who tried to get him to take his wet coat off, holding the files closer to him as he walked through the house. He heard laughter and the sound of talking and soft piano coming from the parlor room. It blended with the sound of his heavy breathing and footsteps. He stood at the doorway, holding the files tighter than before, forcing himself to look at them.

The question ‘Why?��� came in and out of mind, leveling with the hurt in his chest that refused to go away, competing with the pain in his shoulder that had become constant. His father sat at the piano, playing a few keys as he debated with his mother. She sat on the opposite armchair, working through her correspondences while they talked. As soon as their son’s presence became known, their conversation stopped at once.

Had he been a boy, he would’ve worried about his mother scolding him for the mud. Now he just stared at her. Mother was such a strong term.

“Genesis?” She sounded concerned and nothing but, putting her book down and rising from her seat at once. “Have you been out in the rain in your condition? Goddess help me,” she sighed, reaching instinctively for his wet coat, stopping to wipe away the rainwater from his face. “The cold can’t be good for your shoulder, darling.” He let her tug his coat away, keeping the files close to him. “What would happen if you caught a cold to complement your injury? What would people say? They'd think we're killing you to collect checks, that's what.”

His father rose from the piano, looking at him just as he did when he was a naughty child, staying out too long in the rain with Angeal and coming back with scraped knees.

“What were you doing out?” he asked, sinking his hands into the pockets or his trousers, looking at Genesis from his muddy shows to his wet hair. “Where did you go? Did anyone see you like that?”

Genesis stood still, watching.

He felt his mother's hand on the bandaged part of his shoulder, muttering something about having them changed and sterilized again.

“I went to visit Dr. Hollander,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one who matters saw me in this state, rest assured.”

His father nodded. “Is it your injury? Has the pain gotten worse?”

Genesis shook his head. “Just some conversation.” He glanced down at the files in his arms. “I needed to clarify some…things.” So many things.

His cryptic words fell on deaf ears to his mother, who gave his wet coat to a house staff before turning her attention back to him. “I’m going to run you a proper bath. The only thing you're going to achieve by bathing in the rain is an early grave.”

His mother brushed the wet hair out of his eyes. She was irritated, but she meant well, even if Genesis’s fortified mental state was slipping before he could realize that.

“I don’t think the rain can promise me something I already have.”

His mother's hand froze. “Genesis,” she said warningly.

His father laughed, likely trying to alleviate the tension and play into his son’s dark humor. “

Genesis looked down at her. He wasn't sure if none of it made sense, or if everything fell into place so perfectly he could no longer deny the absurdity of his life so far. His name was Genesis, for god's sake. The first one. The failed one. Half of Project G. Soon to be martyred for his belief that he could be anything but what he was born as—broken.

He shook her off, turning his back and starting out of the parlor. “I can take care of that bath myself. Excuse me.”

They were complacent in his pain right now. It could've been avoided if they had been honest with him from the beginning, instead of cradling him in lies.

“Are you sure?” She pressed. Genesis had started up the stairs when he was forced to look back at her again. It hurt every time he had to.

She was leaning on the edge of the banister. His father had come out to look at him too. They both looked concerned. It sickened him. How could they still feign concern even now? He was dying. It had already been done.

“I'm sure.” His voice cracked. He continued up the stairs, trying his hardest not to look at the photographs on the wall, the ones where the three look like a happy family, like he was their son instead of a fostered science project they were being paid to keep.

“Angeal called while you were out,” his father said. “He and Sephiroth have been trying to contact you. They told us to have you call them when you're home.”

Genesis nodded. “I'll see to it. Thank you.”

“I hope you haven't been ignoring them,” his father continued. “Need I remind you that a rift between the three of you could end up in the news.”

Genesis rolled his eyes.

When he reached the top, he leaned against the corner. He would never admit it to himself but he had to catch his breath after activities as minuscule as pulling his weight.

From there, he could hear their soft voices at the bottom when they thought he was out of earshot.

“You don't think it's scarlet fever again, is it?” his mother asked, exasperated. “He did look a bit red.”

His father hummed in amusement. “His hair is red and so is half of his wardrobe.”

“You know what I mean!”

He could hear a clinking glass that told him his father had gotten into the liquor at the table at the bottom of the steps. “Boys his age are complicated. How would you feel if you were put on leave for an injury you had no promised cure for?”

“Surely Dr. Hollander will—”

“I wouldn't put your faith in that man if I were you.”

“You watch your mouth. Hollander has done more to try to help him than any other doctor.”

“I'm being realistic, dear.” There was a pause. “The best we can do for him right now is pray and be here for him with whatever he needs.”

A choked cry from his mother. “Oh, my poor boy…Do you think he's lonely? He's away from his friends.”

Genesis could practically feel his father shake his own head as he took a sip of his brandy. “From what Angeal said, it's my understanding that he's not speaking to either Sephiroth or him.”

His mother huffed. “They were such good friends. He and Angeal have been attached at the hip since they were infants, and Sephiroth has been an amazing influence on him, don't you think?”

“Sephiroth did deliver the blow, dear.”

She gasped. “He's mad at him. Oh, what have I told that boy about holding grudges? Stubbornness that severe leads to a life of loneliness and unpopularity.”

“He's in pain, dear.”

“I'll go run him that bath, and perhaps drown him in oils if that is what it takes to wipe that frown off of his face. Goddess forbid anyone see him in that state. What would people say?”

Genesis heard his mother shuffling up the stairs. He stayed still. A single teardrop rolled down his cheek. He felt light-headed, gripping the wall for support as he caught his breath.

His father sighed disapprovingly. “He's a grown man—”

“—and as frail as he was the day we got him,” Mrs. Rhapsodos snapped.

Weeks passed, and Genesis found himself back at SOLDIER, back to his duties despite Sephiroth and Angeal’s reservations. Their conversations were rocky, with Genesis keeping to himself mostly, and opting to open up to Angeal mostly.

His shoulder still ached, a constant reminder of his vulnerability, but he pushed through the pain, determined to prove himself capable.

Returning to the familiar routines of SOLDIER life, Genesis buried himself in his work, throwing himself into missions with a fervor that bordered on recklessness. He sought solace in the adrenaline of battle, the rush of combat temporarily numbing the storm in his mind.

The revelations from his visit to Hollander lingered in his mind. He needed to do something, to act quickly and find a cure.

But as the days turned into weeks, Genesis found himself increasingly isolated, the rift between him and his friends widening with each passing day. Sephiroth and Angeal's concern only served to fuel his resentment, their attempts to reach out were met with cold indifference from him.

Genesis seized the first opportunity to embark on that mission to Wutai, abandoning the dreaded company that ruined his life, he found himself at the helm of a formidable force, half of SOLDIER standing behind him.

He did see his parents again after that. He confronted them the same week he returned with his army. Screams echoed through the halls of the old house, mingling with the sounds of shattering glass and the metallic tang of blood staining his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he unleashed the full force of his fury on his surroundings, refusing to address them as anything but mere strangers.

He hurled threats and accusations, his voice raw as he demanded answers, refusing to relent until they finally confessed.

His mother pleaded with him to let go of his anger. He told her that he was no son of hers. It was too late for reconciliation, and that night was the last he saw them.

Despite the pain and regret that gnawed at their hearts, his parents understood his reaction. They grappled with their own remorse, haunted by the realization that they had failed him in more ways than one. They lamented their shortcomings, wishing they had been more understanding, less rigid, more nurturing.

But their regrets remained unspoken, buried beneath layers of guilt and shame. And when the Turks came searching for Genesis in Banora, they chose to keep their encounter with him a secret, pleading with them, telling him that he was sick and not in his right mind.

In the end, their silence spoke volumes. Shinra got no information about Genesis's whereabouts from them, even if they knew about what was being done down at the factory.

Amidst the chaos of the degradation consuming his mind and body, there came fleeting moments of lucidity, like brief flickers of a dying flame in his mind. Genesis found himself trapped in an echo chamber of desperation, his thoughts consumed by the haunting verses of LOVELESS, recited on autopilot like a broken record.

For a time, he drifted in a haze, his vision clouded by hallucinations of grand battles and elusive cures, lost in a world of his own making. He moved through the motions of life like a puppet on strings, his once sharp mind dulled by the relentless onslaught of his deteriorating condition.

Autopilot became his default state, his every action guided by instinct and prophecy rather than reason. He grew distrustful of the path he walked, his anger and hurt festering like a poison within him.

It was at the tail end of his ruthless attack on Banora, when it all briefly returned to him. By then, his morals and senses had been corrupted by the insidious parasite eating away at his brain, transforming him into a cruel, unrelenting shell of his former self.

But in that brief moment of clarity, he saw them—his parents, their lifeless forms at his feet. It was a sight that pierced through the fog of his mind, stirring something deep within him. Despite the cruelty he had inflicted upon them, despite the lies and betrayal, his heart tightened with a pang of remorse. The copies had gotten to them, just as he knew they would.

So he did what little he could to atone for his sins. With trembling hands, he buried them, giving them the dignity of a proper burial. As he worked, visions of his past flooded his mind like a river, washing over him with bittersweet nostalgia.

He remembered the simple joys of his childhood—apple picking with his mother, following his father on business trips to the city.

But even as the memories washed over him, he knew they were nothing more than a facade, a cruel illusion designed to keep him ignorant and complacent.

"The grave at the house," Tseng's voice cut through the tension. "We found the remains of our people there as well."

Genesis's mind raced, the words of Loveless echoing in his ears like a mantra. "It didn't take much to have them send false reports," he said coolly, "Just some mild threats…"

Zack's voice broke through the haze. "They would have done that anyway. At least your parents would have."

It was like a glass shattering over Genesis's head. Slowly, he looked up, unfurling himself from his position on the floor. Rage simmered beneath the surface, threatening to erupt into a fiery inferno.

"My parents betrayed me," he spat, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "They had always betrayed me from the very beginning."

As Zack's words sank in, Genesis felt a surge of indignation rising within him. How dare they speak of things they didn't understand, to accuse him as if he were the villain? He was the hero, the chosen one, destined for greatness.

Fire glowed ominously from his bracer.

They didn't know anything at all.

[lifesizehysteria]

HI i'm rewatching the fosters and my general thoughts are. callie and brandon are closer to stef, mariana and jude are closer to lena and jesus kind of falls in the middle (btw this is not saying they aren't close to their other mom) what do u think

Hi!! It’s so nice to have a Fosters question. It’s been a while!

I’m actually not sure I agree with you that Brandon is closer with Stef. I think he falls pretty equally between Stef and Lena, and I think he often feels safer and more seen/understood by Lena than he does Stef. At least in my personal interpretation, which is admittedly significantly headcanon informed but which was initially developed via canon, it always felt to me like Lena sort of filled in a lot of blanks for him where he was so different from his parents. And that long term trust and understanding built between them is really crucial to his relationship with Lena by the time he is a teen. I fully admit that my working knowledge of anything beyond 1a for the kids is pretty spotty but that was how my understanding developed for his relationship to Lena.

Otherwise, I think you’re mostly right. I think it comes from the fact that the kids feel a connection to the parent who most similarly mirrors them, who more instinctively understands them and their needs. Lena is quiet and introspective, yet firm and steady. The kids can pretty much count on the fact that whatever they tell her is going to be received with calm understanding, maybe with curiosity, and at most frustration but still under a relatively calm exterior. It’s rare for her to explode, and I think with young kids it was even less likely than with teens, and Mariana and Jude really need that stability and predictability.

While Stef is much more prone to expressive outbursts upon finding out some kind of unexpected news, she is a woman of action. She’s going to chase down who she needs to chase, she’s going to tell it like it is with no bullshit, and she’s going to show up no matter what. Callie in particular needs someone like that. Since her mom died, she hasn’t had someone consistently and predictably show up for her. And she needs Stef, who is willing to prove herself over and over no matter how hard Callie pushes to try and get her to give. Callie tests Stef and Lena over and over until she truly believes they will show up for her no matter what, and I’m not sure Lena would have passed her test without Stef there, in her tough-as-nails, unwavering stubbornness. Callie might have worn Lena down.

I think your observation about Jesús is really telling, too. I think partly because he just didn’t interact with either mom as much as the other kids. But if we consider that as a canon element rather than a writing failure, I think it’s interesting. He’s kinda the black sheep of the family. His ADHD already had him feeling different by season 1, and he has more complicated feelings about belonging that impact how he acts out than, say, Brandon, who has the privilege of not having to ever question his place in the family and trusting that his parents will have his back no matter what asinine choices he makes. Jesús also desires a father figure, and that has to impact his feelings about his moms, his position in the family, etc etc. Jesús has never been my focus in terms of character analysis but I do appreciate his character a lot and I wish we had seen him spending more time with his moms so we could have a better sense of how he fits in with them and connects with them. I personally tend to see him mostly through the lens of 1a, as the kid who vehemently stood up for his moms, their relationship, and their relationship to him and Mariana. Teens pull away from their parents. That’s pretty normal. I think at the end of the day, he adores his moms and loves them deeply. I love that he’s still allowed complicated feelings about his adoption and the way that has impacted him through his life. Though, I do desperately wish we could have seen him and Stef bonding more over sports/working out. That would have been really fun because they have the same sense of humor, and I think he’s actually a lot like Stef in so many interesting ways. So much wasted potential.

[monk-of-suffering]

Vasectomy

I guess since this is supposed to be my diary I should cover this fairly big irreversible life event. Or rather my motivations behind it.

Be forewarned, I have strong opinions on this and in what follows I won't be clearly drawing lines between what I believe to be fact and what I believe personally.

The obvious one is "I am so fucked up that trying to rear a child would be desperately trying not to traumatize them like I am and failing" but then people always come back with "wElL yOu cOuLd cHaNgE yOuR mInD" so here are my background motivations that are immutable.

Genes

My genes suck in both innocuous and serious ways. I started balding in my early 20s. My hearing started on its way out in my early 30s. But the biggest one is my predisposition to depression as seen in my mom's side of the family. I've sat in a mental health support group and heard everyone else with bipolar agree that, yes, they would have genetic children even if it meant the high likelihood of them inheriting bipolar because, while it can suck and make life hell, it's not bad enough to rule out life entirely.

I've never felt this way once about my depression. Ever since I was 16: "I don't know if or how much these things are contributed to by my genetics, but I would not wish this on anyone else."

Antinataliam

To take the above a step further, I believe that not just my life but all life (as it is now) is suffering. And most importantly, you can put consent to being born. I don't

Personally I think that most of the big reasons that people choose to have biological children are selfish, but that's a rant for another time, one that I am far less confident in than "don't have kids, period".

Adoption

It's incredible to me that people, without fail, always say something akin to "you don't ever want kids?". I don't want biological children. As if there are not tons of children out there in the foster system, which fucking sucks.

Because it sucks so bad, many children in it already have their own trauma, and I acknowledge that. Adopting has its own barriers, but I'm already plenty trauma informed thanks to my own life and, as I said at the start, it I'm not confident in being able to take care of their needs, trauma or not, I'm simply not going to have children.

With antinataliam in mind, any reasons people give for having biological children could be argued to be the most selfish thing a human can do. But that's a rant for another time. My point is, there's no shortage of kids whose life you can irrevocably alter for the better. All you have to give up is the fruitless desire to (a) give birth, (b) most likely start from infancy, and (c) have your own genetic tissue in it, and nobody in the world would say that someone cannot love their adopted child as much as a biological one.

Fulfilling Life

Something that drives me up the fucking wall is the elitism by parents, acting like parental life is more fulfilling. Wrong. It's more fulfilling for you. Maybe you can't imagine a fulfilling life without children. That doesn't apply to everyone and maybe finding fulfilment out of the extremely straightforward "have kids" is a journey that you have to choose to undertake and just because it's not the easy answer doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Having a biological explanation for love or emotions of any kind does not negate them or lessen their importance. It does, however, remove the strength behind the ineffable quality behind loving your children; it's not ineffable because it's some transcendental purpose or pleasure, it's because you're programmed to do it.

I will never ever ever have children because I want to spread my love or raising children is not an experiment. It is not you molding a mini you. It's not about trips to Disneyland or how you feel when you see them walk for the first time or anything that gives your brain the happy chemicals because (spoilers) that's how you're wired. Raising children is not about raising children. It's raising future adults, ones who are going to have to navigate the world and its stresses and traumas for 80 years after you're done raising them –a timespan they are not able to opt out of– so the decision sure as fuck should be entirely focused around how they will exist then and not when they're in diapers or getting their high school diploma.

The world is absolutely fucked

I consider my antinatalism philosophical in that it is not dependent on the current state of things and even beyond that, the world is absolutely fucked. Climate change will probably kill all of us or at least collapse society within my lifetime anyway. Human rights are taking massive leaps backwards in my country. We're on the constant threat of world war, a war that would have advances in technology to use against civilians that are unspeakable in comparison to wars past. We have an entire half of the country that is either actively wanting or in denial about the rise of fascism. Healthcare is controlled by businesses for profit making it inaccessible in so many ways. Chronic illnesses are on the rise. Psychiatric conditions are barely beyond metaphirically sticking leeches on your brain and hoping for the best.

Again, not just now, 80 years from now. You can't predict the future but there's absolutely no indication that things are going to get better.

Retort: Future Partner

If my feelings toward my decision do not change, even if I have moved to where I think I could raise children one day, even if I'm willing to concede antinatalism, there's still the chance that I will meet a partner, someone who is compatible in every other way, but wants to have kids. Specifically biological kids. Specifically my biological kids. It would have to not be enough that they (if they were biologically capable) could give birth through artificial insemination or even do in vitro. That demand very much shows that the person isn't so compatible with me after all.

Whatever

I don't know how to end this and I need to leave to work soon. I have strong opinions on this because I have strong opinions on suffering, trauma, quality of life, and relatedly a right to life. I don't force those beliefs on anyone else but I don't believe I'm somehow "missing out" on life because I hold them.

I hope I made the right choice and, in the end, crotch goblins or not, that's the best you can do.

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

“Last night I woke the hell up. I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah.” - Jon Bellion

Masterlist

Chapter Nine-

Aelin showed up to the police department in a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. She didn't even bother putting on the new-ish sneakers she owned, opting for the ones with holes because they didn't squeeze her feet. It wasn't the first impression she wanted to give, but you deserve a little forgiveness when making a whole-ass human.

Leaning over the dash of the car, she presses a friendly kiss to the side of Chaol's face. "Thanks for the ride, boys."

His cheeks redden, and Dorian leans as much of his body as he can into the front of the car, "No sugar for me?"

Aelin laughs and kisses his cheek good-naturedly. "Feel less left out now?"

"Much better," the corners of his happy smile dim, his blue eyes dart to the doors of the precinct. "Are you sure you don't want me to call you a lawyer, Aelin?"

Chaol nods his agreement beside him, his hands clenching the steering wheel despite the car being in park. "Do you want me to go inside with you?"

Aelin feels a bubble of warmth blossoming in her chest. Their worried faces and eagerness to help her- it was almost enough to warm an assassin's heart. "Don't worry. They just need me to clarify a few things in my statement. Nothing serious. Paperwork issues."

Dorian and Chaol had shown up right as she was walking out of the front door of The Stag. When they realized she was leaving and offered her a ride... Aelin couldn't say no. Not with how her feet were aching.

It took some more reassuring, but they finally agreed to let her leave their caring grasps.

Fenrys met her at the door with a smile, "Hey, Baby Mama. Looking beautiful."

Aelin is surprised to find she's genuinely happy to see him. She can't help the toothy grin he brings out in her. "I'm well. How are you this morning, Fen?"

Fenrys lights up at the nickname. "I bought us some donuts. We have a hard day of work ahead of us, and I figured we would deserve a treat in advance."

Donuts sounded phenomenal and vastly improved her outlook of the day.

He steers her through the PD, and several heads turn to stare as she passes. Aelin didn't particularly care. Whatever they thought they knew about her, they probably didn't.

When they finally reach Rowan's office, they find him slumped over a laptop at a desk piled high with neatly stacked papers. The room is minimalistic. Only necessary office items were visible—no personal effects, knickknacks, or pictures of any kind adorning the space.

Rowan himself is also in his usual state of neatness, minus the dirt she could see staining the underside of his nails. He must have been gardening this morning.

Aelin doesn't bother with greetings. She grabs a chair opposite him and sits down. The last few days, she'd been feeling more drained and quick to tire. At first, she attributed it to the baby getting larger and demanding more of her body's resources, but now Aelin started to think that she caught a bug galavanting through the night.

Fenrys set a blueberry donut and a cup of hot tea in front of her. Bless him. Aelin mumbles her thanks before stuffing her mouth.

Rowan shuts his laptop with a snap and replaces it with a yellow notepad. "Alright, Aelin. I need a name. Who do you think is doing this?"

"When is Aedion getting released?" She says around a mouthful of glazed blueberry.

Fenrys slumps into an office chair at a tinier desk in the corner of the room. "This afternoon."

"If all goes well at this meeting," Rowan tacks on the thinly veiled warning. "I need a name."

Aelin leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath. There was a strange heaviness in giving his name. As if speaking it would materialize him into existence in front of her. Her goal when she moved to Ornyth was to forget about him and push her old master as far from her mind as she physically could, but she supposed it was naive to think he wouldn't come looking for her.

This wasn't just for her, Aelin reminds herself. Aedion would benefit from this conversation.

"His name is Arobynn Hammel. He's thirty-five, red hair, grey eyes, and an utter asshole." Aelin lays the name of her childhood tormentor out on the table. A bad taste sours her mouth.

Rowan tosses the notepad to Fenrys, who relays what she said to the paper. He looks at her over his desk with an unreadable expression. "What is your relation to Mr. Hammel?"

"Why?" Aelin chuckles as if the stress is trying to escape her with each half-hearted chuckle. "Do you want to know if he's my baby daddy?"

"Yes," Rowan and Fenrys say simultaneously.

Aelin's smile falls, and she scowls at both of them. They didn't know better, but she still felt insulted.

"He isn't, but I suppose he probably would have liked to be. Make sure to underline that," she points at Fenry's pad of paper. "Arobynn raised me. I don't think he was legally a foster parent, but he is who I was given to in the shuffle after the occupation."

Rowan dips his chin. Green eyes focus on her intensely, as if he's trying to absorb and commit her every word to memory. "How old were you when they put you in his care?"

"Eight," Aelin breathes out, a sharp tingling of grief comes with that admission. "I lived with him from the time I was eight until I turned nineteen."

"Why do you suspect him of producing and distributing Synth?" Rowan asks the nail-in-the-coffin question, and Aelin has to bite back old instincts to lie and conceal this information. It makes her feel vulnerable to expose Arobynn.

Vulnerability isn't an emotion she handles well. After all, when you bare your neck to someone, it becomes within their power to cut their throat.

"I've seen where he makes it, and I oversaw some of his high-risk contracts and dealings with the distribution," Fenrys chokes beside her, but he smothers it with a cough. Even Rowan looks a little taken back, eyes narrowing.

"At what age did you start assisting with his-" he struggles to find the words. "-His business practices."

Aelin blinks, "Eight."

This time, neither of them covers their reactions. They both freeze in their seats, an air of disbelief hanging over them. Aelin feels a chill and tugs at the hem of her shirt, wishing the sleeves were longer.

"What?" Rowan is the first to break the tension.

"I was displaced in the occupation," Aelin begins the watered-down version of her sob story. "I was carted into Adarlan and placed in the care of Arobynn Hammel. Within a couple of months, he was already using me as a mule to get orders across Rifthold. He trained me in various skills to carry out larger jobs, along with a few other children."

"There were others?" Rowan looks saddened by that tidbit.

Mentally Aelin wants to laugh.

Of course, he would be upset at the prospect of other good children suffering from such a fate.`Ones who had the potential he thought she lacked.

If only he knew what bastards they all grew up to be, and she by far was not the worst of them.

Fenrys' eyes were gleaming with more pity than Aelin was comfortable with because, unlike Rowan, she knew it was directed towards her. Gratefully he didn't dig too deeply. Instead, Fenrys picked up the next question. "Can you name the others?"

Aelin bites her lip, leg fidgeting under the table. "Tern Fletcher, Archer Flynn, Adam Mulligan, Lysandra Ennar-" she swallows past the lump in her throat. "Samuel Cortland and myself."

"Lysandra was involved?" Rowan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He hasn't looked away, barely blinked, since the questioning began. Aelin feels naked as his eyes seemed to be raking in her every movement.

"Not-" she tries to think of how to phrase it in a way that respects her friend's privacy. "She wasn't involved in the same capacity I was."

"Are the others you know still working with Hammel?" Rowan asks, and Aelin gladly lets them move the conversation away from Lys. She wasn't comfortable digging into her friend's wounds when she wasn't around.

"I suspect Mulligan, Flynn, and Fletcher. They were extremely loyal, and as of the last time I saw them, very active in the business." Aelin fondly remembers the beat down she laid on Archer before their parting words. He sold them out, and she hopes for his sake that they never run into each other again.

Fenrys looks up, "What about Samuel?"

"What?" Aelin flinches, the question taking her back.

"Samuel Cortland," Rowan reiterates. "You named him as one of the employees in Hammel's custody but implied he's no longer active in the business. Where is he then?" He leans forward, and Aelin wishes she could shrink back. "Would he be willing to speak with us?"

"Children." Her voice comes out as gruffer than she intends. "We were kids. Not employees. It wasn't a mutual agreement. None of us could consent to what became of us."

Aelin is surprised by the emotion that makes itself known. She swallows back the tears that want to fall and stuffs her trembling hands under her thighs. The implication any of them had a choice in serving Arobynn was disturbing and utterly wrong.

The taste of skin between her teeth, blood crusting under her nails, and being surrounded in pitch-black darkness consume her. Aelin suddenly feels more ill than she had this morning.

"Of course, Aelin." Fenrys placates. "That's understood. We just need to know where Samuel is. He could be very useful to the investigation."

"Dead," Aelin throws the word out like a dying fish on the table. "He died."

It hurt to say that. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Sam dying was worse than talking about Arobynn. A million times worse.

Aelin tries to swallow the lead rock in her throat. Arobynn didn't deserve to be known. His legacy was of blood, abuse, and control. It belonged in the sewer alongside his corpse.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved to be known. He abandoned by the system, forgotten by his family, and still chose kindness above all else. Sam's story deserved to be told, and it killed Aelin that it hurt her so much to share it.

"How did he die?" Fenrys prods delicately.

"What?" Aelin asks dumbly, heart accelerating in her chest.

"How did Samuel die? Any details you can give are beneficial. and you agreed to cooperate." Rowan reminds her sternly.

Mala save her, she couldn't go into detail about how she found him. She couldn't. Aelin feels blood rushing up to her head, and the room seems to sway.

"Sam. He liked to be called Sam-" Is all Aelin manages to choke out. "Excuse me."

Pushing herself from the desk, she shakily bolts for the office door. Their complaints are silenced as the glass shuts behind her. Outside, Aelin can feel the trembling beginning in her hands and spreading up her arms.

Sweat beads on her forehead in the oppressive heat of the building, but when she rubs her face, it feels damp and cold to the touch.

Aelin frantically strides down the hall, eyes darting around madly for a bathroom door. Nausea was creeping up her throat, and she really didn't want to throw up in someone's trashcan. She knew she was moving quickly, that someone might see her and become alarmed, but anxiety made everything feel like it was moving in slow motion.

A dainty hand grips her elbow and tugs in gently. "Follow me, dear. I can help you."

Aelin's head is swimming, and she allows the calming voice to steer her back in the other direction. When the person pushes open the bathroom door and Aelin sees the navy blue stalls, she rips her arm away and falls to her knees before the porcelain bowl.

Long, slender fingers pull her hair back from her face and rub her shoulders as Aelin loses her breakfast. "You are okay," the voice consoles—a hand massages up her spine and soothes the aches there.

Aelin's whole body is shuddering now. Her stomach rolls over itself, and the muscles of her diaphragm are quaking with exertion. She doubts she could get to her feet if she tried. A strand of drool hangs from her lips, and Aelin would be humiliated if her head wasn't still reeling.

Gouged eyes. Bent fingers. Blood on her lips.

A wad of paper towels appears and dabs at her cheeks, which Aelin hadn't even realized were wet with tears. She failed to notice that her body was shuddering under the intensity of the sobs coming from her. The woman continues to pat her cheeks and nose. Then to her mortification, it swipes at the spit hanging from her mouth.

Mala end me now, she mentally pleads.

Aelin looks up to find a woman with raven hair and onyx eyes looking at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't mean to overstep. I've been where you are before. Please don't be embarrassed."

Opening her mouth, Aelin makes to apologize, but another crackling sob breaks from her chest instead.

She's just tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling sick. Tired of being unable to even say his name without breaking down.

Arms wrap around Aelin's shoulders and tug her into an embrace. She allows her face to burrow into the woman's blazer as the grief racks through her body.

"Oh, sweety. It's going to be alright. I promise whatever is going on right now will work out." Fingers rake through Aelin's hair soothingly. It turns her to jello in the woman's arms. Her presence was just so motherly in a way that Aelin sorely misses.

She holds Aelin tight until she's calm enough to hold a plastic cup of water without dropping it. The woman helps her stand and wipes the mascara smudges off her cheeks with a damp towel. "There you go," she tosses the towel in the trash when she deems Aelin presentable. "Brand new, again."

"Thank you," Aelin breathes out at last. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," the woman waves her hand. "I've been pregnant before. Hormones. Nausea. It isn't an easy ride, dear. Besides, no one comes to a police station for a good reason." The woman pulls a stick of gum from a purse sitting on the sink and offers it to her. Aelin accepts it gratefully.

"Has anyone told you that stress isn't good for you?" Her kind eyes bore into Aelin worriedly. "You look very pale."

"I've been told. Many times." Aelin rubs her forehead, an ache already forming there. "I just don't have much of a choice."

"What's your name? I'm Maeve." She smiles and extends a hand for Aelin to shake.

Aelin takes the hand, happy that they aren't trembling so badly. "Aelin."

"Do you have any name ideas for the baby?" Maeve's eyes glance down towards the slight swell of her belly a little wistfully.

Names? Aelin periodically forgot that the human growing inside of her would pop into the world and require such a thing. It was a far-off event where she had plenty of time to accommodate for things in her head. In reality, she was halfway through her fourth month.

Time was ticking.

"No. I don't have any ideas yet." Aelin admits.

Maeve pats Aelin's shoulder kindly. "That's just fine. Ignore my curiosity. You have plenty of time if-" she emphasizes, "you take better care of yourself."

There is a knock on the door. "Aelin, are you alright?"

Rowan.

"Yes. I'll be back in a minute," Aelin says through the door.

She waits until his footsteps echo back down the hallway before she makes towards the exit. Eager to leave the bathroom and the memories of her awkward breakdown with it. "Thanks again. Really. I appreciate it."

Aelin truly meant it despite the utter humiliation she felt.

"Let me walk you back to Rowan's office?" Maeve asked. "It's easy to get turned around in this building."

They walked in a comfortable silence back to the office. Maeve's demeanor is so tranquil it surprises Aelin when the demure woman pushes the door open without knocking. "I have a delivery for you boys."

"Chief?" Rowan stands up, confused.

What? Aelin blinks and turns back to the woman, noting the black and whites and the metal badge on the breast of her blazer. The same blazer Aelin had just cried on.

Blood rushed to her face, and her brain curdles in her skull. Of course, it was the law of Orynth whose arms she just broke down in. Adarlan's Assassin reduced to a ball of hormones clinging to the chief detective of Terrasen like a baby clinging to its mother.

"Has she caused trouble?" Rowan's eyes glint with steel.

If you've done anything to degrade me to my boss, the deal is off.

"Not at all. We ran into each other in the bathroom and had a lovely chat," Maeve brushes an invisible piece of dust from Aelin's shoulder. "I will let the three of you get back to business. You are in excellent company."

Aelin's lip quirks. Just the opposite. She loves me. Congratulations, you are already reaping the benefits of my presence.

"Oh, and Fenrys?" Aelin looks at Fenrys, who is actively ignoring them. "The reports you promised are late. Have them to my desk by the end of the day, please."

"Will do, Chief." Fenrys' reply is dry and lacks his usual pep.

Aelin notes the worried glance Rowan throws him, but he swiftly covers it with an expressionless mask. "I will make sure he gets it done."

What was that? Aelin tries to pry an answer from Rowan, but he avoids her look.

When Maeve leaves, the tension eases from the men's shoulders.

"You are trouble," Rowan tosses at her without venom.

Aelin picks up the cup of tea she left at his desk, glad it's still warm. "Yes, but only the best kind."

"We haven't laid out a single plan for weaseling out Arobynn," Fenrys makes an irritated face at them. "If either of you could focus for ten minutes, we can do the rest of the questioning later, but we need to start throwing out ideas."

"Did Rowan piss in your tea in the last ten minutes I was gone?" Aelin shoots back, not appreciating his sudden attitude.

"Thirty," Rowan says. "You were gone for thirty minutes. That's why I came looking for you. Also, ruining beverages is your thing, not mine."

Damn, had she been gone that long? A glance at the clock confirms he was correct.

When she turns back to Rowan, there is almost something like worry in his eyes? That couldn't be right, Aelin rubs that aching side of her head again. She needed to stop reading so deeply into things.

"We can continue with questioning later," Rowan announces. "Fenrys is correct in saying we need to start making plans. You've given us enough to work with for now."

They sat back in their chairs, pulled out more notepads, red pens, and sticky notes. Together, Aelin helped them form a list of potential places Arobynn would be laying low. Hotels, rental homes, and vacant manors. He had a taste for luxury Aelin knew he wouldn't sacrifice for anonymity.

Test results were still running on the Synth. Technicians had let them know it showed highly abnormal properties compared to average street drugs, and they promised to send them an extensive report when they were through.

Rowan had hushed any potential news stories about The Stag shooting. He didn't want anyone who may know Celaena to catch wind and start snooping around. Aelin was his best lead, which afforded her a certain level of discretion he acknowledged.

They didn't know about the Bane patrolling her block at night, keeping their eyes on the streets for unusual activity.

The clock ticked, and the light beaming through the winders grew warmer as the afternoon trickled away. It was nearly five o'clock when Rowan declared then done for the day, and Aelin was utterly exhausted.

"Come on," Fenrys offered her a hand to help her stand. "I can drive you by the prison. Aedion should be getting checked out as we speak."

"Thank you," Aelin accepts the help. Her feet ached, and she felt entirely drained. It was good Fenrys was offering a ride, or she'd have to call Dorian to come and get her.

Together, the three of them made their way to the parking lot. Conversation between them was sparse but not unpleasant. They'd fallen into a rhythm at some point while working together. It helped break up some of the awkwardness between her and Rowan.

Aelin hustled a little bit when she spotted Fenry's luxury car. She wanted to claim the front seat before Rowan did. Her gut couldn't handle the stress of riding the back.

Her fingers barely grazed the polished handle when Fenrys started yelling.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and Aelin's face throbbed as it found itself slammed into the asphalt. A loud explosion rattled her ears, and chunks of debris went flying through the air. A thick foggy smoke started filling the air, and she immediately started choking on it.

A dense weight lifts off her back, and hands grab her shoulders, rolling her body to face the clouded sky instead of the ground. Rowan is in her personal space immediately. He's speaking to her, but no sound is penetrating the ringing in her ears.

His hands are running along her arms, the side of her face, checking for injury. Aelin tries to ask him if he's alright, but he doesn't seem able to hear her either.

Suddenly, Fenrys is there, and he's grabbing them both by the arms. They are moving away at a sprint. Fenrys is yelling, but the smoke is stinging her eyes, and even seeing is becoming hard.

There is another explosion, and Aelin can feel the tremors beneath the soles of her shoes as the three of them hit the ground once more.

People are pouring out of the precinct. Aelin spies Cheif Maeve at the front of them, ordering people out of the building. Red and blue lights reflect off the smoke, and she knows that ambulances must be on their way.

Rowan is lying beside her. She hadn't noticed the rips in the back of his suit jacket at first, but there were long gouges in the material, and smoke wafted off a couple of scorch marks. The fact he'd thrown himself over her body and shielded her from the explosion was only starting to register when something warm squeezed her hand.

Are you okay? Green eyes were scouring her body for wounds.

I'm fine, Aelin assures him. She's more concerned about the spots on the back of his suit growing wet as he bled.

"Someone blew up my car," Fenrys is gaping at the spot where his vintage ride used to be. All that remained was a roughed-up frame that was lit ablaze like a campfire.

"Gods," Aelin breathed out, the ringing in her ears dying down. "I almost died."

Rowan hadn't let go of her hand and made no move to do so as his eyes fixed on the burning car. "That was meant for us."

He didn't have to elaborate for Aelin to understand. Whoever had placed the bomb hadn't been targeting her, but Rowan and Fenrys. They arrived and left work together. The bomb wasn't there when they got to the precinct this morning, so someone must have placed it while they were inside.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Fenrys runs a dirty hand through his hair.

Sirens wailed as paramedics filed into the parking lot. Other detectives and officers were starting to approach them. Firefighters approached the car with extinguishers and began to tame the burning fire.

Aelin didn't have an answer. Just the sinking feeling that the game they'd entered into had more players than she'd thought.

Here is part one of the mass updates! Thank you SO much for reading. I’ve gotten so much feedback and love on this fic it’s been so wonderful 💚

I do have an ✨IMPORTANT QUESTION✨

Would you all prefer I have tag lists specific to certain fics or an overall tag list for ships? So one tag list for all of my rowaelin fics, one for all my quinlar fics, or would you like me to keep it as I have been? Please let me know! ✨

Tag list- Let me know if you would like to be added or removed. :D ( names in bold won’t tag)

@thisismylibrary​

@highladywhitethrone​

@bee55​

@royalsqueeze​

@rowaelin-cressworth​

@booknerdproblems​

@sjmships​

@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard​

@wordsxstars​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@courtofjurdan​

@emmiesbook​

@killian-me-slowly​

@miserablemusings​

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@booksbqueen​

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@mariamuses

@frosted-crackers

@foughtconquered

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[jilytho]

Blind Dating and Miscalculating

Blind dating au where Lily is on a blind date and wrongly assumes James is her date

Read below or on AO3 :)

“Whew does Mary know how to pick ‘em!” James looked up in shock to see a woman, apparently under the impression some Mary somehow ‘picked’ James leering at him, teetering from side to side as she pulled back the chair opposite him and clambered into it, nearly knocking off the unused wine glass closest to her. 

Drunk. Drunk but also gorgeous. Red tendrils that likely at one point in the night were neatly arranged were now flung about her shoulders in partial disarray. 

“Scuse me, I’m not quite sure you’ve got the right-”

“I told her I didn’t want to go! I said,” she reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her, wide eyes locked on his. One look at her bright green eyes (beautifully green eyes, his favorite shade of green, actually) was enough to tell that while the lights were on, nobody was home. “I said, Mary!” She exclaimed, continuing to cradle his hand close to her while gesturing wildly with the other, “Mary I have no interest in dating, period. Nevermind getting set up with some random strange man. Especially with the name Mark. I mean, look, no offense Mark and other Marks of the world but it really is a rather plain name.” She paused to catch his gaping mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish before continuing. “That’s not to say that plain is always a bad thing or that extravagant names are a good thing,” she stumbled over the word extravagant and pushed right past it, “I mean I dated this bloke, Severus, once and I thought wow such an interesting name, fascinating. Nope. Dead boring and borderline stalkerish fellow as it turns out. So you’d think I’d like plain after an experience like that, wouldn’t you?”

She stopped abruptly, eyes staring at him expectantly, apparently waiting for some form of agreement. 

“Erm I suppose so?”

“Exactly! You’d think! But I mean, Mark. So mundane. I just assumed the person would be mundane as well. Probably an accountant or a lawyer, blech. Not to mention I was a bit nervous, been a little since my last date if I’m being honest. Not that there weren't offers.” She gripped his hand tighter, “There were offers, Mark. Don’t start thinking I’m desperate. I had offers.” She dropped his hand and folded her arms as if he had suggested otherwise. 

“I didn’t say- I’m not, I'm sorry can we back up for a-” his words and thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Anyway,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and relaxing her arms, “anyway. Anyway, what was I saying? Mark! Yes, Mark. So as I was saying, I didn’t want to go on this date at all but Mary was all ‘it’ll be good for you! He’s so cute! We’ll get drinks first!’ and so I agreed to come meet you, but may have drank more than three margaritas but in my defense it was 2 for 1 and Mary was paying and I can never pass up a good deal. So that's why I’m late. But I am here. I am here with you, Mark, and you are far less boring looking than I expected. Yes, much cuter than any Mark I’ve ever met. Mary did well.” She nodded approvingly, sitting back in her seat and smiling constantly. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Sirius walk into the restaurant and see the woman in the chair Sirius had been meant to occupy. James immediately tried to signal with his eyes, “HELP, HELP, HELP” without alerting the redhead in front of him when Sirius, the bastard, winked at him lightly, turned on his heel, and left.

She hadn’t noticed his desperate face as she was busy scanning the menu over and when she wasn’t calling him Mark or yelling in his face she was quite pretty. Extremely pretty, actually. Like exactly the kind of person he’d want to have one a blind date. Or a non-blind date. Any date really. And the girl clearly needed food in her stomach to soak up some of her margarita, really it would be irresponsible to leave her like this. The least he could do would be to keep her company, pretend he was Mark to try and minimize her embarrassment, and then make sure she got home safe. 

“You know,” she met his eye over her menu as he spoke, “for someone who seems to have a lot of opinions on my name, I don’t believe Mary ever told me yours.” 

She laughed lightly, a beautiful wind chimey, tinkly noise that sent delight shooting down his spine. 

“Lily, Lily Evans.” She reached her hand across the table again, this time for him to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure is all mine, Lily, Lily Evans.” He shook her hand lightly and looked back at his menu. 

XX

Dinner seemed to fly by. Once Lily got some food into her system she sobered up rapidly, yet sobriety in no way impacted her ability to keep him completely enthralled and entertained. Each passing minute made him more inclined to legally change his name to Mark and live the lie for the rest of his days. 

Sure their life would be a lie, he thought as she threw her head back laughing over some asinine story he was telling of Sirius, red hair swirling around like flames, but it would be fun. 

Not only was she bold, she openly mocked his ordering bourbon, ruthlessly holding nothing back despite only knowing him for a matter of minutes, but she was also unbelievably sweet. Listening intently to every story he shared, telling multiple of her own where despite being an ass kicking journalist she somehow also found time to volunteer at the animal shelter and had fostered three different dogs in the last two months. Ruthless, for sure, as she batted her eyes at him over her water glass causing all sorts of feelings to start to stir. She would give James, correction- Mark, a run for his money and then some. Barely an hour of sitting across from her and he was pretty sure he’d take his dinner knife to Mark's throat if the bloke ever actually did show up. Whether it be from jealousy or fury that any human being could ever stand up this goddess in front of him. 

The conversation flowed easily. Leaping seamlessly from her parents professions to his childhood mischief to the time she dyed her sister's dog key lime green. Her dad had a thing for flowers, apparently, marrying a Rose and insisting on making their daughters Petunia and Lily. 

“You could keep up the tradition, you know. Get your kids some flower names. Maybe something unique,”

“What?” She scoffed, “and subject them to years of cheesy, thoughtless bouquets of a flower you hardly like just because it’s your namesake? I don’t think so.”

“Then make it a flower they’d want to get! Or an herb, like Basil. Everyone wants a Basil plant around.” He pointed his drink at her as she spluttered incoherently, “are you telling me you don’t love a basil plant?”

“You’re right, how dare I overlook such a top quality name as Basil.” She drawled out in a monotone, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose we’d go with something more colorful though, like Anemone!” She looked like the idea was pure genius and now he was the one spluttering in her face. 

He tried not to let his heart burst at her use of we. 

“I’m sorry, isn’t that the ocean thing? The Nemo thing? The sea anananamename thing where they live? That’s what you want to name your child?”

Her eyes were screwed shut as she clutched her chest, gasping for air through her laughs. 

“What?” He grinned at her, not caring if he had somehow said the wrong thing or appeared dumb when her laughter was so intoxicating. He felt a tingling run straight down his spine. 

“A sea,” she gasped out through choked laughs, “anemone!” 

“That’s what you just said!” He continued to argue. 

“Whew,” she wiped a stray tear from one eye, “truthfully you’re not that far off base at all. Same exact spelling. But they do have anemone for flowers that are on land as well as the sea. I’ve just never heard someone butcher a word so spectacularly.”

“Yes well, you know I’m quite good at that.” He leaned back in his seat as her eyebrow quirked up. “In fact, so good that I have been named the anti-Spelling B Champ,” he nodded matter of factly and continued on as if she wasn’t gaping at him, echo of a laugh still present on her face. 

“It’s true! Annually, all the people that hate spelling b’s gather and compete to see who can truly butcher a word the most. I’ve won every time. You’re sitting with a nationally ranked word ruiner.”

“Oh wow, however could I have not known. Do you have any secrets of the trade you could share?”

“I usually would never divulge such confidential information but just because you asked so nicely and because you are in fact stunningly gorgeous, I’ll give you one.” He leaned in conspiratorially, hitching a finger for her to do the same, and dropped his voice low. “To really put yourself over the top and seal that victory,” he looked side to side dramatically, checking for eavesdroppers before looking back on her, “is all about the silent Q.” He sat back again and watched her shoulders shake lightly with poorly concealed giggles. 

“Personally,” he grinned strongly, all pretense of secrecy gone, “I like to throw a minimum of three in there just to really set myself apart. Once I did a silent q followed by a silent x. I nearly sent the judge to an early grave.”

“You know I bet what would have really done him in is if you followed the x with a p but you pronounce the p like a-“

“Lily?” James reared back to find some bloke standing next to their table staring anxiously in between the two of them. “Are you Lily?” Lily nodded lightly, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes flitting between the newcomer and James. 

“Um yes I am, I’m sorry do I know you?” 

A wave of cold dread overcame him, realization sinking into his chest. The newcomer, just about their age, polo and khakis, easily could have been a lawyer or an accountant. He had to explain before she realized as well and he looked like a total lying creep. 

“Lily, I can explain-“

“I’m Mark, I’m so sorry I’m so late. My car broke down and I didn’t have your number.” 

They spoke at the same time, the real Mark reaching a hand out to shake Lily’s. 

She didn’t take it. Instead she swiveled dumbly between the two staring accusingly at the real Mark. “You can’t be Mark. I’m having dinner with Mark. You must be here for someone else.”

“Lily, I really can explain if you’d just-“ James started again as Lily whipped around to face him. “You! You liar! Who are you?” She pushed back in her chair looking at him as suspiciously as if he had just announced he liked to moonlight as a serial killer in his spare time. 

“I’m sorry, your name is Mark as well?” The real Mark stared down at James politely inquiring, as if this was all perhaps a genuine mix up and not a case of an imposter stealing his date. 

“Not quite, its erm James. But truly if you think absolutely it the names are quite similar, the whole second letter being an A and the part about being in the Bible and what not.” Mark's eyebrows rose and Lily did not appear amused by his comparison. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to lie or anything, I just… you sat down and assumed I was Mark and I was actually meant to be meeting a friend but you were just so pretty and funny and I didn’t want you to feel like you’d been stood up so I thought I could come clean later but I just wanted to get to know you. I’m sorry, truly.” She looked at him, hurt and confused, and he just wanted to hang his head low and apologize another half dozen times. 

“I can leave so you two can get on with your date,” his heart sank as he stood, gesturing the open chair to Mark without quite meeting his eye. 

He forced himself to look up at Lily, “I really am sorry. It was really nice to meet you, have a nice evening.” 

He turned lightly and began to head out of the restaurant, feeling Lily’s eyes burning into the back of his head even while he heard Mark sit down across from her and apologize again for his lateness. 

He was barely out the door when he heard her yelling his name, his real name, from behind and spun back around to watch her jogging to catch up to him. 

He braced himself for her to yell at him or hit him or completely tear him a new one and gave her a forced smile. 

“Lily, I-“

“Is your name really James?” she huffed, somewhat out of breath. 

“Erm yes. Just James. No Jim or Jay or weird nicknames really…” his right hand came up to ruffle the back of his hair, still anxiously waiting for her to scream at him. 

She reached up on her tiptoes, hand snaking around the back of his neck (oh god she was gonna try and hold his head still so she could really hit him strongly) and used it to pull herself up closer and his head down and touch her lips lightly to his. 

The light kiss sent shockwaves down his body as he froze, processing what was happening. 

“I like the name James so much more.” She whispered against his lips, barely a breath away. That was all he needed to throw an arm around her waist and tuck her snugly against him, the other hand going to caress her cheek and bring his lips back to her, stronger than before. They kissed deeply and sweetly and he felt it down through his toes and in every single nerve in his body. 

When they pulled apart, still wrapped up in each other, and she lightly hummed his name against him, he felt suddenly very sure that there was no sound better than her saying his name. 

“So, I’d really like to do that again. And the date again. With you knowing my name the whole time preferably. Preferably right now. What's to say I go take care of the bill and you take care of the real Mark and we go get some ice cream, maybe?”

“What’s say we do.” She intertwined their fingers and pulled him lightly back towards the restaurant for a fresh start.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Do you think they would actually enjoy the modern world? Or would they want to stay in their current time period?

Hm, well, I think that may vary depending on each suitor if I’m honest! (I’ll be excluding Sebastian from this one, only because he is a modern man and I wager he would want to stay in the mansion in order to finish his thesis) 

Under a cut bc it’s a long boi:

I think for people like Arthur and Theo, for instance--who always seem to live in the fast lane--it might not really prove much of a problem. They would continue enjoying the night life and move with their busy schedules. Tl;dr: (For them? Same shit, different day)

Vincent would likely be doing just fine given how Theo often provides assistance in places where he struggles; to promote his art, to spark intrigue in the general public and benefactors. He might be a little overwhelmed by the influx of stimuli that comes with the modern era, constant noise and interaction and movement--perhaps worry that people are losing their ability to live in the moment. (Not to mention what’s being done to the environment...) There might be a learning curve/adjustment, but I think Theo would help him ease in. Plus, it would be a little easier to promote his art given the less stringent restrictions on public exhibitions. He’d still have to work for his fame, but at least the van Goghs wouldn’t have to live in constant unease in the proximity of the cutthroat academy.  Tl;dr: (Mixed feelings, but tries to stay positive about modern times)

Dazai is more familiar with this kind of life of quick turmoil and breakneck speed, if anything he falls back into his old coping mechanisms--hello writing, drinking, and smoking. An overwhelming influx of information and suffering would probably be hard for him to manage, despite how expertly he hides it. I think I would be worried he would lose himself in the dismal reality of diminished connection with other people. Yes I’m shoving him into therapy, I want him to start living for himself and taking care of himself ffs

That isn’t to say there aren’t happy possibilities for him, just that I think he really needs to heal first. I could see him very happy in a kind of writer’s circle with people he loves and trusts; less expending his energy in a desperate attempt to fill the void and please others, more cultivating his own happiness... Tl;dr: (Positive potential, but honestly part of me thinks the past quieter/simple/rural life suits him better...he still loves meme culture tho, he finds it so expansive and creative)

Isaac is in a similar boat as Dazai, I think! He has wonderful potential as a mentor and professor, and living in a world that has a little more patience and respect for genius might help encourage him to put himself out there. That being said, I think the pace of life would exhaust him though--he is very much the kind of person that prefers to keep to himself and just puzzle and tinker. Baby boy just wants to do equations, build little inventions, and read up on the recent discoveries in astrophysics (BRUH WHEN THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK HOLE CAME OUT HE FORGOT HOW TO B R E A T H E) Napoleon is the only reason he eats anything healthy or on any kind of regular schedule s m h. Tl;dr: (Not a lot changes, honestly? He was reclusive then, he still is now--he just has more toys/academic resources. If anything he might get a little too lost in his work because of it, somebody please make sure he’s eating/sleeping/socializing;;;)

Poor Jeanne is SUFFERING. Please release him from this nightmare he is begging. Jk jk, I don’t think it would be too bad for him--but I do think that he would have the aforementioned problem of too many stimuli and too much interaction. I think he would ease into it a little with Mozart’s help; he would just be awkward and wooden until he got the hang of it. Most people just find him quirky in an amusing way, and don’t think too hard about it. I’d wager he’d probably become literate at this point because of the abundance of resources and necessity to read/write (okay but imagine this baby with a little kid workbook iM GONNA CRY!!! TAKE ALL MY CRAYONS JEANNE). 

Can you imagine this mofo at a Starbucks??? Tall and stoic, dark and debonair (EVERYONE IS S W O O N I N G), and he just asks in a light tenor “can I have a mocha with eight shots of expresso” with a completely straight face. “Sir, that could kill you” “Don’t worry, I’ve been dead a long time” And he just moves to wait for his order. 11/10 cryptid I could watch an entire show just about his daily adventures

He works with Napoleon a lot given their similar skillsets. They coach kids at high schools that have fencing teams (it’s really REALLY cute bc if they’re on the younger side, Jeanne will very dramatically lose bc he wants to encourage them and the kids are delighted--but the parents are INCHES from laughing so hard they’re in tears). Otherwise, he mostly takes up gigs as a security worker/bodyguard, only really works for the money. He prefers to spend his time in ways that feel meaningful if he can, so don’t be surprised if you see him in foster homes and in social working spaces. He has an uncanny understanding about him, a kind of silence/patience that doesn’t stifle; it makes the kids/teens calm down in milliseconds. They really listen when he does talk, and he sets good and clear boundaries--he knows how to be firm when it’s required. He gives them the structure and placid grounding they’ve never had, and really pays attention to what’s important to them. Brings them little things he notices; brings flowers to the one that likes to draw, brings CDs (he is bad with technology, but they usually only have access to older/outdated stuff anyway) to the one the one that struggles to write with white noise in the house, brings little plushies to the ones that lose theirs. He’s simple but solid, and he finds a lot of meaning in helping kids overcome the similar kind of struggles he faced.  Tl;dr: (Steep learning curve, but he just sees it as all the same really--just more work to be done with the literacy requirement and adjustment to technology. Will be resistant at first, but when he gets accustomed and starts finding people who are important to him, he wouldn’t want to change anything/go back. But will admit there are some days he just wants to go to the most remote place he can access and just live there for a month with no human interaction whatsoever; people are inefficient and insufferable sometimes)

Mozart’s life honestly doesn’t change much? I feel like he would easily be able to keep composing and continue releasing his work as per usual. Given his quick capacity to schmooze and say what people want to hear when he must, he’d be more than able to network his way into success. I think the only thing he might struggle with now and again is inspiration, given the world operates on a very surface level in the modern era sometimes. Profound insight and depth are not quite as cultivated in many ways, and he can struggle to find something that just sparks motivation/novelty in his mind, makes him start composing at breakneck speed. He reads a lot and watches some TV shows/movies when he’s at really low inspiration levels, the kind of guy that sneers at Game of Thrones--but finds things like BBC’s Sherlock more passable (wants intrigue and complexity, doesn’t much enjoy the sensationalized drivel). When Arthur finds out he loves ATLA he about falls off his seat. “It’s a children’s show.” “Yes it is, with a remarkable level of depth and craftsmanship, what are you trying to say?” He begins to find a kind of rhythm in his composing, and Jeanne and Dazai often drop by with so many crazy stories he finds himself filled with music anyway LMAO Tl;dr: (Same as Isaac, really just keeps doing his thing without being impeded, and he enjoys the luxuries/conveniences of the modern era. Will be slightly resistant at first because of how alien some of the changes are, but will fall into the habits/customs slowly and surely. Fine with it, will whine a bit at the growing pains tho)

Leonardo actually canonically owns a bar, and does that really surprise anyone? He really enjoys the excitement of meeting new people and hearing about their myriad histories, the influx of cultures/languages/experiences. It’s a nice but lowkey place, people stop for a drink, listen to some good music--chat amiably and relax after a long day’s work--before heading out. There are regulars and people that just stop for that single day; tourists, vacationers, so on and so forth.

When asked, many people note a sleek black cat with sharp eyes that led them to the bar... Tl;dr: (Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Prequel, adapts well to the modern era because of centuries of experience but also...he’s so tired...somebody please hold him I can’t watch him live like this, lord jesus)

Optimally, I see Comte filling his time with myriad pursuits; ranging from philanthropy, indulging in art/music/theatre (often a benefactor as well), and keeping track of his chirren (they may exist more independently now, but he still worries about them ;-;). Otherwise nothing much changes for him, still goes to galas and fancy gatherings, still enjoys fashion and spoiling people, still seeks to occupy himself with social interaction and care-taking--if he doesn’t have a family of his own. He’s basically just that meme that’s like DON’T LET THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD SET-IN. DON’T LET IT SET-IN!!!!!!!!! Tl;dr: (Not to repeat myself but also Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Sequel, literally just desperately trying to fill the void please somebody help him he also just needs to be held fuck’s sake, I’m going to drag him kicking and screaming into happiness--but otherwise has no great trouble adjusting to the modern era. I feel like he would have a more minor form of what Dazai struggles with, maybe a lack of personable connection that he once had; fewer chances to be himself and relax. Also probably worried about the increasing unhappiness and turmoil building in the world in general...)

Napoleon is similar to Comte in that he often checks up on Isaac and Jeanne from time to time, and does the aforementioned fencing lessons with kids. He also takes a lot of basic security positions--for venues, concerts, museums--you name it. He dislikes the idea of sitting behind a desk a lot, so he prefers to do a lot of different things; he even cooks from time to time at the restaurants  that know him very well. One gig he particularly enjoys is battle choreography for movies/theatre! He tends to stay away from anything too historically close to his era of origin, but he has fun coming up with realistic (smaller scale) hand-to-hand combat scenarios and duels. Tl;dr: (This era doesn’t feel like too much of a change. It’s a little more intensive in terms of pace, but he manages to keep up pretty well, it just exhausts him from time to time--and he usually goes on trips or hikes to unwind when he needs to like Jeanne LOL they do not go to their happy place, they go to their high lonesome place).

Shakespeare also continues to do his drama thing, organizes troupes on tons of different levels--from community level to more intense, skilled groups that re-enact his own work. His life doesn’t change all that much beyond a new form of theatre logistics, and he adjusts to the technology fairly easily out of necessity. He’ll stop by Vincent’s place from time to time to show him recordings of his latest shows, but otherwise is almost always on the move. Tl;dr: (So long as he can keep following his greatest passion, he doesn’t really mind the changes in how theatre happens--he doesn’t have any sizable issues with the modern era.)

Ability with technology (phones mostly):

Arthur: more than capable, well-versed, loves to do everything on his phone no prob--maybe lives a little too much on his phone (Vine/TikTok/Youtube can kill his productivity RIP) also yes he has a fidget spinner on his desk, no I will not be taking any constructive criticism at this time

Theo: yes but with a lot of cursing at first, had to do it for work and now looks down on anyone that can’t keep up with him (except for Vincent)

Vincent: knows the basics, taking and sending pictures, writing things in notes for later, texting (tho sending emails is a little harder for him); he does his best but he can be slow. Really really enjoys the paint programs on his iPad for when he’s on public transit, but he starts setting alarms after he gets the hang of it (he’s missed his stops before because of it LMAO)

Leonardo: what kind of stupid question? Man knows how to pick them apart and put ‘em back together for crying out loud, uses it like a pro--comes to him naturally, and he’s the guy that keeps coming up with ways to jailbreak Apple products and thwart their money-grubbing tactics. Catch him playing Minish Cap on his emulator on the way to work, brah

Comte: just vibing, keeps up with the times easily since he’s been doing it for so long, much like Theo uses it to keep in touch with the people around him--he’s the “prefers to call instead of text” sorta guy though, he worries about losing emotional subtleties and he likes to hear people’s voices. Doesn’t do anything special on phones, more just a tool; will read/listen to podcasts/does have emulators (courtesy of Leo) and enjoys playing Pokemon when he’s bored

Jeanne: types one finger at a time, it will take a while--but he’ll get there (deleted all his contacts by accident once and Mozart was just. HOW.) He barely knows how to use a phone, and it’s a steep learning curve for him

Mozart: purely functional when it comes to his phone, refuses to rely on it beyond the necessities that only tech can do (for instance, sending emails or reading articles or uploading compositions) he still writes his music before making more polished digital copies. He will sometimes listen to pieces digitally, but prefers to play them in-person; he feels that a lot of the soul in a piece is lost despite the convenience

Dazai: you absolute fools. you baboons. why would you ever give him this kind of power. it is 3AM and he has been on a wikipedia trail spanning hours, started with Cleopatra being the seventh in her line with that name all the way to cotton candy being called “daddy’s beard” in French. please help him he hasn’t slept in years. Also probably binges anime and manga lbr. He’s the one making vine references every other second, always up to date on the memes^TM

Isaac: also mostly uses it as a tool for research and calculations; it’s a way to keep track of information. He also likes to play background music while he’s working, so he finds the device nice and convenient--plus less having to go around pestering people in-person. he does start to get interested in coding and tinkering with apps/programs eventually, too

Shakespeare: finds it a delightful little contraption, so useful because it lets him jot down ideas as they come to him quickly, and he can edit his texts much more easily with digital interfaces. also likes that performances can be recorded, because now he can analyze his staging more efficiently--it gives him a good sense of what needs to be adjusted, and encourages him to keep streamlining/try new concepts

Napoleon: likes it because he can keep in touch with people more easily, the kind of guy to drop a line before checking on a friend. he really likes to look up recipes and find out more about cooking techniques he’s never encountered before. Isaac starts making an Instagram account just to show Napoleon’s impeccable plating, and Napo gets quite the following without knowing for a while

[vampiregirl1797]

Desiderium

For My Masterlist, Click Here

 GIF not mine.

 Minor smut, 18+ only.

 Soulmates had always been somewhat of a fairytale when I was a little girl. I used to snuggle underneath my pale blue comforter that was decorated with daises—it had been something my father had made when my mother told him she was pregnant with me— being snuggled up underneath it when my mother used to narrate how she discovered my father was her soulmate always made the story that much more magical to me. Why? Because your soulmates first words to you would be imprinted onto your skin, almost like a tattoo, but apparently much more painful. Because the words weren’t just engrained onto your skin, but burned onto your soul.

 The first thing my father said to my mother was ‘What’cha doin’ down there darlin’?’ because she had been kneeling at the edge of the grass on her parent’s property, staring longingly at the field that stretched out somewhat endlessly towards the horizon. Daisies blossomed out across the field along with wildflowers. She longed to climb the fence that separated her from the only sight in her life that bought her some semblance of peace, and away from the societal expectations her mother and father were placing on her shoulders. Marrying well, having children, being the perfect wife. Her parents weren’t even soulmates. They had married for prestige and wealth over true love. My mother hadn’t wanted that, but alas they refused to listen. She sighed in response to his question and said, ‘watching the daisies sway with the breeze.’ After a beat, both of them were screaming in pain as the words appeared; my mothers on her chest over her heart, and my fathers along his inner arm, starting at his wrist and falling just short of his inner elbow. They had ran away the next day, and lived happily ever after.

At least that’s how my mother told it to the child version of me. I was absolutely fascinated by the concept of the universe creating someone who was completely perfect for you in every sense of the word. Perhaps my interest was aided by having parents who were soulmates, some of the kids in my classes at school didn’t, and therefore didn’t see what I saw. I couldn’t dispute that you didn’t have to be soulmates to love someone. But young me saw the way my mother and father looked at each other, how they shared a myriad of looks, ranging from soft, to sad, to angry. How they seemed to know what the other needed without a word needing to be said. How they seemed to only be completely content when they were touching in someway, whether it was holding hands or cuddling together. It was a kind of love I didn’t see anywhere else, and I hadn’t seen except in other soulmates throughout my life. Even before knowing a couple, you could tell by observing their behaviour, whether they were destined or not. Some were content to never meet their soulmate, while others longed desperately to find their other half.  

 But as I grew and lost my parents to a house fire at the age of eleven, my desire and hope started to fade. How could I long for love when I knew how much it hurt when you lost them? Growing up in the foster care system made it easy to keep people at arms length, including the families I was placed with. At least until I turned seventeen and Gerard, one of the foster parents in the new family I’d been paired with, had hit his wife. I hadn’t even thought, moving faster than I thought I ever could, I put myself between them. And when I’d held my hand up somewhat defensively, he’d gone flying into the wall behind him, the force enough to knock him out cold. I had stared at my hand in confusion and when Amy, the woman I’d been about to take a punch for had practically shoved my out of the door while screaming that ‘freaks weren’t allowed in this house’, a sense of dread ran through my veins.

 Freak.

 I was a freak.

 It was then that my desire for a soulmate dissipated completely, and over time my insecurities extended to everything. My body. My laugh. My intelligence. Everything. I grew to hate myself, and I knew that if I couldn’t love me, how could I expect someone else to love me? Even someone who was supposedly destined to be with me would see all of the flaws that I did. It was hopeless.

 What I didn’t know was that not only would my life change for the better in the following years, but also I would be introduced to my soulmate whether I wanted to be or not. Fate was funny that way.

 Five years later.

 ‘Good morning sunshine!’ Steve Rogers practically yelled at me as I shuffled into the kitchen.

 I simply groaned in response, my footsteps towards the coffee maker becoming more insistent when I caught a waft of the java goodness. I pulled out my own personal mug—it was absolutely ginormous and covered in cartoon Captain Americas wearing the old uniform Steve had worn before the ice. Tony had given it to me for a gag gift a few years ago at Christmas and I’d laughed harder than I had in a long time when I opened it. That had made Steve’s embarrassment cool somewhat, and I think that was why the mug hadn’t ended up ‘accidentally’ smashed afterwards. That being said, big, blonde and broody always, very dramatically, rolled his eyes when he saw it and it always made me chuckle and wink at him as I sipped my hot beautiful beverage.

 After I’d poured the mug as close to the rim as I dared, I added three sugars and practically inhaled half before finally taking a look around to see who else was up. The tower had become home to me when Tony had bought me here just after I’d turned eighteen. I’d been on the streets for almost a year at that point, and after I’d intercepted someone trying to fire a bomb at Iron man by using my magic, and redirecting it to the one who’d fired it, I’d been dubbed an unofficial avenger. The snarky genius had taken me under his wing, he hadn’t pushed me for anything, for company, for information, he hadn’t put pressure on me to use my powers for his team. He’d simply been there, even when I didn’t know I needed him. Eventually, I’d warmed up to him and started to trust him with stories of my parents, about what happened to them, about the foster families and eventually, how I’d ended up homeless. His eyes had darkened with rage at that story and he’d scooped me up into a hug and assured me that I wasn’t a freak, that I was special and that was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. I’d basically collapsed into his arms after that, my tears cascading down my cheeks after being held back so long by the numbing dam that Tony had managed to shatter.

 It still took me a while to warm up to new people, and my insecurities were still there concerning soulmates, but I had a home and a family now. Which was more than I ever could have asked for after losing my parents all those years ago.

 ‘Morning kiddo!’ Tony grinned and gave a little wave from where he was, which was currently on Steve’s lap as the super soldier gently ran his fingers through my dad’s hair.

 That was another thing—I didn’t know when Tony had started to become dad to me, but he had. I hadn’t said it to him yet, mainly because I didn’t know how he would react, I didn’t want him to feel like I was forcing a responsibility onto him that he didn’t want or ask for. So I kept it to myself.

 ‘Morning,’ I smiled, my mood much brighter after I’d basically inhaled half of my cup.

 My eyes filtered over to the only other person who was up at this time and a huge grin split across my face when I realised whom it was. My cup was placed aside and I ran and basically launched myself onto the sofa where the giant god of thunder was sitting. He’d become an uncle to me over the years, and when he returned from Asgard it never failed to make me happy.

 ‘Thor! When did you get here?’ I yelled in excitement, my arms winding around his neck as I hugged him hard. It had to have been six months since I saw him last.

 ‘Not too long ago, little one.’ Thor chuckled, settling me onto his lap and affectionately running his hand through my hair.

 ‘I hope you’re staying longer this time.’ I gave him a look because the last time he’d dropped in, he’d only stayed for a few days.

 ‘I will be here for at least a week.’ He promised.

 Appeased by his words I dropped my head to his shoulder and closed my eyes and took a moment to inhale his scent of rain and power (which shouldn’t be a kind of smell, but if anyone was going to smell of power it was going to be a god), and sighed happily as it soothed the part of me that always acted up whenever someone I cared about was gone. It was like a thread around my heart that burned enough to be uncomfortable, but not painful. My mother and father’s thread always burned, but that was okay. It reminded me how lucky I had been to have them in my life; there were many who couldn’t say the same.

 Now that Thor and I were silent across from my Dad and Steve, I found myself smiling again when their conversation drifted over to us.

 ‘I told ya.’ Steve sounded smug.

 ‘Well if Thor hadn’t been here, I’m sure she would have come to us for morning snuggles like usual. She hadn’t seen him in like six months, it makes sense.’ Dad snarked back, and when I glanced over I could see him handing Steve a crumpled note.

 I chuckled, but otherwise didn’t comment, knowing their relationship was unique in the way only soulmates could be, and it worked for them. It was obvious how much they loved and adored one another, the same way my parents had. Thor’s hand moved gently up and down my spine and I was helpless to stop my eyes from fluttering shut, as I drifted into a content sleep.

 //

 ‘Shh you’ll wake her!’

 ‘It’s not fair! We’ve all missed good ole’ thunder too! We shouldn’t have to forgo cuddles just because she fell asleep on him!’

 ‘Don’t be such a child, you know how she gets when one of us are away.’

 The voice softened, ‘right. Sometimes I forget.’

 I stirred, blinking against the light that was filtering in through the floor to ceiling windows that outlined the living room. I was a little disorientated, but I settled when I remembered I was with Thor, a glance over to the loveseat told me that my dad and Steve must have left at some point. And when I focused I realised Clint and Tasha were the ones arguing not too quietly in the kitchen. With a fond shake of my head I carefully manoeuvred myself off the god’s lap and used my powers to lay him down so he would be more comfortable. If he’d only landed this morning then he would need a lot more sleep. After placing a blanket over him and making sure his head was supported with a pillow, I kissed his forehead and walked up to the deadly red head and sassy Hawkeye.

 ‘Is it still morning?’ I asked sheepishly.

 ‘Yes, honey. It’s about ten thirty.’ Tasha smiled warmly, like she always did when she greeted me.

 I nodded through a yawn and kissed her cheek and Clint’s before asking, ‘where’s Tony?’

 ‘Down in the lab. Steve went out for a run with Sam so he thought he’d tinker on the birthday present he got for him.’ Tasha grinned, her eyes sparkling knowingly.

 ‘Okay.’ I frowned, knowing that probably meant it was something sexual which I absolutely did not need to know about.

 After I refilled my coffee mug with some fresh warm java, I left the two spies with a parting kiss to the cheek and a promise to Tasha to meet her in the gym for some sparring at noon.

 ‘JARVIS can you let Tony know I’m coming down to the lab please? Tasha’s look upstairs tells me that I don’t wanna know what he’s doing down there for Steve, so I’d like for him to have some time to put away what ever he’s making for sexy times with his husband.’ I practically shuddered at the thought. Just thinking of your parents ever having sense was just… wrong.

 ‘Of course Y/N.’

 ‘Thank you, JARVIS.’ I smiled, knowing the Al couldn’t see me but I had a soft spot for the computer nonetheless.

 By the time I’d made it downstairs, Dad was hunched over and tinkering with something that just looked like a bunch of metal to me, so I felt safe going in and taking the empty stool next to him.

 ‘Morning.’ I mumbled kissing his cheek and wrapping my arm around his waist, ‘whatcha working on?’

 He kissed my cheek and dropped what he’d been working on, before twisting his stool so he could wrap both arms around me. I smiled a little and placed my mug down before reciprocating the gesture.

 ‘Nothing really, Sherbet.’ He replied softly, the nickname one I’d acquired after an embarrassing incident on the first Halloween I’d spent at the tower. I frowned when dad sighed deeply, something he only did when he was really upset about something. Usually it happened when Steve and he had fought. But things had seemed fine earlier, and I know Tasha would have mentioned an argument to me.

 ‘What’s wrong?’

 ‘Steve’s gotta leave for a little while.’ He sighed again but pulled back and started tinkering with whatever the hell he was making.

 ‘On a mission?’

 ‘No. You know how we’ve been working on bringing his friend Bucky home after Steve saw him a few months ago?’ I nodded and he continued, ‘well the software I created has picked him up in Russia, so Stevie is gonna go and get him and bring him home.’

 ‘You’re allowed not to be okay with that, you know.’ I took one of his hands in mine and squeezed it comfortingly, ‘I mean, I know you understand that he’s been reconditioned and controlled for so long and he had no idea what he was doing, or no choice in the things he did, but that doesn’t mean you have to be okay with him just coming to live here considering everything.��

 ‘I know I don’t have to be, but I am.’ He smiled, his eyes softening at my concern for him, ‘I’m a little upset over knowing that he killed my mom and dad, instead of believing they died in a car crash like I’d originally believed for so long. But like you said, he didn’t know what he was doing and I can’t hold that against him.’ He shook his head vehemently at the thought.

 ‘Then why do you seem so sad?’ I frowned, confused.

 ‘Because Stevie is gonna be gone for at least a week. That’s if things go well. It could be longer. Much longer.’ He sighed again, his brown eyes dimming, ‘I hate to be away from him while he runs, but being away for that long. It hurts.’

 ‘It does?’ I asked tentatively. My mom and dad never had to separate for such a long time, so I didn’t know anything about the parting being painful.

 He nodded and squeezed my hand in assurance, ‘it’s hard to explain, but it kind of feels like he takes a part of me with him, and the part of me that’s tethered to him is just reaching out to try and pull him back.’

 ‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’ I murmured, my heart squeezing at the thought of someone I loved being in pain.

 ‘It’s okay, Sherbet. It’s all worth it, trust me.’ He winked, and just like that we fell into a comfortable silence.

 I sipped on my coffee and watched him work; still having no idea what he was trying to build. Occasionally one of us would pipe up with a question and a comment and we’d chat for a little while before falling into the quiet again. At around eleven I ventured upstairs and after showering and getting dressed for a workout, I went to the kitchen and made my dad a ham and mustard sandwich. I also grabbed a bag of lightly salted chips and a bottle of water. After dropping them off at the lab with strict orders for him to eat and drink something that wasn’t coffee, I left for my workout with Tasha. On my way I couldn’t help but wonder about something I hadn’t let myself properly wonder about for years. I briefly let myself think about what I would like to be loved the way that my dad and Steve loved each other. The way that Tasha and Clint, Thor and Bruce and Pepper and Sam loved each other. For a moment I remembered why I’d been overcome with the romantic idea of finding the perfect person, but that came to a screeching halt when I caught my reflection in the mirrors that lined the back of the gym. I wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t funny. I wasn’t interesting. I was disgusting. I didn’t deserve a soulmate.

 With that reminder, I cleared my throat and met Tasha in the ring with a forced smile, ready to focus on something that didn’t make my heart drop to my stomach.

 //

 It took Steve three weeks to come home. One week was spent tracking the other super soldier down, and the other two was spent in Asgard with Thor after the god assured Steve that the healers on his planet could remove the conditioning put in place by Hydra and remove the Winter Soldier completely. At least, remove the existence of the other personality that had been forced into his brain. The memories however would remain, and I only hoped that the memories of who he was before helped remind him of who he was, and not who he was forced to be. I couldn’t imagine what he would be going through, and my heart squeezed in sympathy for Steve’s best friend.

 The whole time Steve was gone was spent sparring, practicing my powers, and looking after my dad. Whether that was making sure he ate three meals a day, or forcing him to go to bed and refusing to let him stay in the lab between the hours of 11pm and 7am to assure he wouldn’t come back (JARVIS helped with that), I looked out for him. Because it was obvious how lost he was without Steve, we were all missing the Captain but of course, no one missed him like my dad.

 He finally returned at 12:30am exactly three weeks and one day after he left. I had been asleep on the couch at the time, and the sound of the elevator sliding open had stirred me awake. Once I’d registered who it was I took off in a full sprint and launched myself at him. He caught me with a laugh and just hugged me tight, knowing I needed a moment to absorb that he was back. I inhaled and the scent of soap and roses made me relax contentedly.

 ‘I missed you.’ I mumbled pulling back enough to kiss his cheek before resting my head back onto his shoulder.

 ‘I know, kiddo.’ He stroked my hair and I felt myself dozing again, helpless at resisting sleep when I felt so safe.

 //

 I managed to sleep until 6am. I’ll be honest I could have cried when I rolled over and saw the red numbers mocking me, but I knew that now I’d opened my eyes I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. With a resigned sigh I rolled out of bed and after I pulled on my unicorn slippers and grey fluffy robe, I made my way to the kitchen. The smell of coffee bought a smile to my face as I immediately headed for my mug to pour myself a cup of the stimulant to get my brain working.

 Usually at this time, I could count on Sam, Steve and Tony to be up. The former two usually returning from their run, and the latter usually rolled out of bed in time to greet his husband. But I wasn’t surprised to be greeted by an empty living room. Dad and Steve would take the time to catch up, and Sam probably wouldn’t have gone for a run without the super soldier there to wake him up. With no one to cuddle, I finished my cup of coffee with a sigh and decided to go for a run. It was better than sitting around and doing nothing. I wondered if Sam would appreciate me waking him up to go with me…

 //

 ‘If this is your way of apologising for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn, then I forgive you.’ Sam murmured around a mouthful of pancakes.

 ‘Oh thank Thor, I never would’ve survived without your forgiveness.’ I teased from the stove—I’d already eaten mine, and we were nearing 8am now, which meant the rest of the team would be waking up soon, so I was making enough to feed everyone.

 ‘Morning Cap.’ My head snapped up to see Steve walking into the kitchen, dad shuffling a few feet behind him. I smiled when I saw that they were holding hands, and with Tony rubbing at his sleepy eyes, it was easy to deduce that it was only the super soldier’s guidance that was leading him forward.

 ‘Morning!’ I said cheerfully, placing the frying pan I’d now finished using into the sink and leaping into his arms. His free hand came to my back to hold me in place and I smiled wider when I noticed he hadn’t let dad go to hold me.

 ‘Morning Pumpkin.’ Steve chuckled and kissed my hair, ‘I see you dragged Sam out for a run.’

 I glanced over my shoulder to see Sam falling asleep on the table, his head resting on his now empty plate.

 ‘I did. Woke up early and I didn’t wanna go alone.’ I explained, shaking my head fondly at the Falcon before turning back to the super soldier, ‘I’m glad you’re home.’

 ‘Me too, kiddo.’ Steve kissed my forehead and placed me gently on the floor, where I then moved to hug my dad.

 ‘Where’s your friend? I don’t remember seeing him last night.’ I commented as I plated up enough food to feed them both.

 ‘He’s still sleeping. He’s been slipping a lot since they removed the conditioning.’ The blonde explained, pulling out a chair and placing Tony onto his lap.

 ‘That’s not surprising, it must have taken a huge emotional toll on him.’ I said, placing two plates in front of them both and then coming back with a mug of coffee for dad and some orange juice for pop.

 ‘Thanks honey.’ Dad and Pop said together.

 ‘You’re welcome.’ I smiled, sipping from my fresh cuppa Joe.

 It was much later that Steve’s friend made an appearance. At around noon as Bruce and I were dishing up our infamous homemade pasta dish to feed the whole team, he made his way into the living area, looking sleepy and uncertain. No one aside from me seemed to notice him lurking at the door, looking in at everyone settled at various points throughout the room: Steve and Tony were cuddled up on the love seat, Thor was chatting with Sam on the sofa, Tasha was sat on Clint’s lap at the dining table as they spoke in sign language and Bruce and I were putting the last touches on the meal without having to verbally communicate because we’d done it so many times. It hurt my heart to see him so lost and uncertain so when Bruce moved to place the two huge pots of pasta in the centre of the dining room table, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and slowly approached the soldier. As I approached, his attention snapped to me and the emotion in his stunningly blue eyes made me want to hug him and assure him that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t of course, as I didn’t know how he would react. Instead I handed him the beverage I was holding and placed my hand on his arm, ignoring his astonishment when I didn’t cringe away at the feeling of metal, and led him encouragingly to the seat next to Steve, knowing that was where he would be most comfortable.

 By then, the rest of the team was sat around the table, Thor sitting next to Bruce, the god placing a kiss to his love’s cheek as a thanks for the meal and smiling softly when the scientist blushed. Tasha had shuffled into her own seat, but she and Clint were still holding hands and had their chairs close enough together that their legs were pressed together. Sam was sitting on the other side of Thor, trying not to glance at the elevator too often as he waited for the appearance of Pepper, the strawberry blonde would take the empty seat next to him when she arrived, which was also on the other side of Steve’s friend. I sat in my usual seat after I’d bought the garlic bread over, which was on the other side of my dad. Once everyone was seated—Pepper arrived after five minutes and settled in after kissing the Falcon in greeting—we all dug into the food.

 Conversation flowed easily, as it always did, though I preferred to sit, listen and observe. I did chime in occasionally, but more often than not, I remained silent. Though, I wasn’t the only one—I didn’t hear Pop’s friend speak a single word throughout the meal, although he did eat three bowls of pasta, half a stick of garlic bread and he drank the bottle of water I gave him as well as the other two Pop had replaced for him. There was nothing wrong with being quiet, but I had a feeling that he wasn’t aware of the conversation happening around him at all. His eyes seemed unfocused as if he were somewhere else, and I found myself overcome with the desire to bring him out of it, to offer him something else to focus on, but I held back. I knew better than anyone that sometimes you just needed to work through things on your own, and being pushed only made you close up more. It had taken me years to open up enough to care about anyone again and to let anyone care about me. So I refused to rush his process, besides I didn’t know him, the one better suited for looking out for the mysterious soldier was Pop’s—he knew him best.

 //

 After about six months Steve’s friend seemed to settle into the tower, at least to a point. He ran with Steve and Sam in the mornings, ate breakfast with the team, worked out with Thor or Pop’s, hung out in the lab with Tony and Bruce, and he ate dinner with us every night too. He seemed to be developing friendships with everyone in the team, but he was of course most comfortable with Pop and Dad. I knew for a fact that Dad telling him that he didn’t blame him for killing his parents was a huge relief for the soldier. Pop had told me he’d fell to his knees in relief and Dad had fallen right with him, hugging him close until he was ready to get up. That had been a turning point in their relationship, and now more often than not if the super soldier was anywhere, he’d be with either of my parents.

 It was a relief to see him smiling, well it wasn’t so much of a smile, more of an upturn of his lips, but it was nice to see that paired with his brilliant blue eyes sparkling with mirth instead of the uncertainty that had shone in them when he’d joined us all those months ago. He teased Pop’s constantly, and developed a kindred banter with Sam that both insisted was an arch nemesis relationship, but we all knew the truth. He always had a smile for everyone and those he wasn’t comfortable with, he was polite.

 The only member of the team that he didn’t seem to get close to was me. I couldn’t really place all the blame on him—I avoided him as much as he seemed to avoid me. It was ridiculous really, but every time he was near me I just couldn’t concentrate on anything. My mind went blank and my heart rate picked up, so to avoid what would most likely be beyond embarrassing interactions that I would never hear the end of from the team, I evaded him. I was sure he wasn’t eluding me for the same reasons, but I hadn’t really given it much thought. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone had even noticed that we’d never even spoken a word to each other in the past six months, and that was perfectly fine with me. Why you ask? Because if he spoke directly to me in that deep, Brooklyn accented voice, I might just die of a cardiac arrest. So this was the way it had to be for now, I was sure my apparent crush would go away at some point, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

 ‘Happy Christmas Eve!’ I grinned as I walked into the common area, yelling the greeting to everyone where they were settled in to watch a film in the living room.

 ‘Happy Christmas Eve!’ Dad responded with as much enthusiasm, Pop shaking his head fondly at his husband.

 ‘Come on Pumpkin, we’re just about to start watching a movie.’ Pop’s said and I made my way to slide underneath Pop’s right arm while Dad was curled up to his left.

 ‘I love this movie.’ I mumbled as the opening scenes of Home Alone 2 started playing on the T.V.

 ‘We know you do, ya filthy animal.’ Clint teased, though everyone erupted into laughter when a cushion hit him in the face with an oomph with a wave of my hand.

 I laughed with everyone else, but I couldn’t help my gaze from lingering on the other super soldier sat on one of the armchairs to the left of me. His eyes were sparkling in amusement and the tension that had been present when he’d first arrived at the tower was nowhere to be seen. His hair was pulled back in a bun, which helped to show off his face, and the grey Henley he was wearing stretched wonderfully across his arms and his abdomen. He was gorgeous of course, but he also looked calm and relaxed and it was beautiful. I forced myself to look away before he or anyone caught me staring and focused on the movie.

 I sunk further in to Pop’s side, the warmth that surrounded me making me sleepy and content. I remember reaching out for Dad’s hand as Kevin McAllister arrived at Duncan’s Toy Chest, and then I fell into the darkness.

 //

 I awoke to voices around me, and it took me a moment to recognise who was speaking and what was going on. The first thing I registered was that I was being lifted and held by someone who was very warm. I couldn’t help the happy hum that fell from my lips as I snuggled closer and mumbled something unintelligible. I felt whoever was holding me chuckle lightly and a small smile settled on my face at the sound. I felt myself falling back into the darkness but before I could surrender completely, the talking started again.

 ‘Careful you don’t drop her.’ That was Pop’s voice, which was confusing because if he wasn’t the one holding me, who was?

 ‘Watch it, punk, I’m easily twice as strong as you, and I would never drop her.’ He replied softly, but the soft rumble underneath my ear assured me that he was the one holding me, as did the coolness emanating from his metallic arm.

 If I had been more conscious I probably would have frozen and fully woken up at that moment. But for whatever reason, I settled further into him and further into sleep. I dreamt about the ocean, rolling in and crashing against the sand. The moonlight reflected on the waves and lit up the whole area enough that I could see someone standing close enough to the tide that the water brushed over his toes. I walked towards him, apparently my subconscious recognised him, and just as I reached out my hand to entwine with his—he faded away into the night air.

 When I woke up the next day, I didn’t remember the dream, but I did feel the ache in my heart as if something was slipping away from me.

 //

 My eyes snapped open at six am on the dot on Christmas Day, and after asking JARVIS who was awake in the tower, I practically sprinted from the bedroom to Tony and Steve’s room. I had a cardboard box about the size of an A4 piece of paper tucked under my arm—it was wrapped of course—and it was my present for the two men who I’d come to think of as my parental figures. I was a little nervous about giving it to them, so I thought it best to do it now, before anyone else was around. After a quick knock on their door and pausing for five seconds to give them time to move from any compromising positions, I entered the room.

 ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!’ I screeched and launched myself at the foot of the bed, careful not to ruin the present I’d bought.

 ‘Merry Christmas Pumpkin,’ Pop’s said with a smile and a ruffle of my hair.

 I swatted him away but gave them both a hug, before settling in between them, but facing them rather than being in the middle against the headboard like they were sitting. I crossed my legs and bit my lip nervously. This present… it was big.

 ‘What’s wrong honey?’ Dad’s voice was gentle and he shuffled forward enough to squeeze my hand comfortingly.

 ‘I have a present for you both. Well I have more for you under the tree, but this one is for the both of you and I wanted to give it to you in private because it’s well… it’s serious.’ I explained, barely remembering to breathe as I rushed to get my words out, ‘I want you to know that you can say no, I put this together because I want you both to know how much you mean to me.’

 Pop’s and Dad looked a mixture of confused and soft as the super soldier took the present from me, tearing away the paper for my dad to gently remove the lid. I held my breath when I saw them stare at the top paper in shock and I had to force myself not to start rambling an explanation and an assurance that they didn’t have to sign them. But the rational side of me told me that this was a lot to process and silence didn’t have to be a bad thing.

 ‘Is this real?’ Pop’s asked, his eyes were glassed over with tears and I felt my own reciprocate as I replied, ‘yes. It’s real. I had Pepper help me draw them up.’

 ‘Honey,’ Dad’s voice was clogged with emotion and I had to hold back a sob at the love I could see shining in both pairs of eyes.

 ‘I understand if you don’t want to. It’s a lot of responsibility, I know, but I’ve come to see you both as my dad’s and how much I love you won’t change if you decide you don’t want to sign.’ I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on the comforter, too scared to meet their eyes.

 ‘Pumpkin, we would be honoured to officially adopt you.’ Pop’s assured me, scooping me up and placing me in between them so they could both hug me.

 ‘Of course we would.’ Dad agreed, kissing my temple.

 ‘I love you both so much.’ I murmured quietly, tears streaming down my face as my body fought for an outlet for all of the emotions that were running through me, ‘I don’t say it enough, but I do.’

 ‘We love you too, honey.’ Dad and Pop’s squeezed me tighter and for a long time we just stayed there, in a cocoon of love as we all cried tears of happiness and gratitude for being blessed with this moment, and this relationship of fathers and daughter.

 //

 Everyone else woke up at around ten, all sluggishly making their way to the kitchen where Pops and I were preparing breakfast while Dad sat on the counter, occasionally tasting some bacon or pancake batter and stealing kisses from his husband.

 ‘Merry Christmas beautiful people.’ I grinned, saluting them with my glass of orange juice and champagne.

 ‘Ugh oh.’ Clint said deadpan, ‘how many of those has she had?’

 ‘Only two,’ I pouted, not knowing that Pops was holding up five fingers behind me.

 Everyone chuckled but took their seats at the dining table anyway. I plopped myself rather ungracefully on Bruce’s lap after Dad and Pops waved me away when I offered to bring in the food. Bruce just chuckled and placed a hand on my waist to avoid me falling, and Thor lifted my feet and placed them on his lap.

 ‘Do you know, I really think that you’re adorable, you know like cuddly?’ I said, taking a sip and not noticing everyone else watching with expressions of amusement and fondness, ‘but also I think that the Hulk is pretty too.’

 ‘What?’ Bruce squeaked and I let out a rather un-ladylike whelp when he nearly dropped me in his surprise, but thankfully he caught me in time.

 ‘It’s true! I haven’t told you before because I didn’t wanna make you upset or uncomfortable but I think the Hulk is pretty.’ I said, taking another sip of my drink, I lowered my voice to a whisper that everyone could still definitely hear, ‘I think it’s because he’s green and that reminds me of nature, which is also really pretty.’

 A round of chuckles erupted around the table but it was the smell of bacon that caught my interest. I placed my drink onto the table and grabbed a couple of rashers and munched on them happily. I offered some to the still shocked Bruce, but he shook his head politely.

 ‘I can’t believe she’s this drunk on five glasses. They’re only tiny flutes and mostly orange juice!’ The hunky super soldier exclaimed to no one in particular, his eyes sparkling in amusement. I hid my blush behind a handful of strawberries. Damn super soldier looking like an Adonis god and making my heart beat out of my chest.

 ‘What did you just say, honey?’ Dad’s eyes were sparkling wickedly and I frowned in confusion as I tried to remember what I said last.

 ‘Hulk is pretty?’ I offered.

 ‘No, no.’ he waved his hand, looking over to Sexy Bun next to Pops, ‘after that.’

 ‘Dad, I didn’t say anything after that.’ I chuckled taking another sip of my drink, ‘and I thought Pops was supposed to be the one with bad hearing.’

 The table went silent in that moment, but I dipped my strawberry into my cream and munched with a satisfied hum.

 ‘What did she just—?’ Tasha started but cut off at the sudden emotion that clogged her throat at the look on Steve and Tony’s faces. They both looked absolutely… honoured and grateful. There was no other way to describe it.

 ‘I’m confused… you have a daughter?’ Sexy Bun was looking at Steve in confusion.

 I grinned big and happily exclaimed, ‘that’s me!’

 ‘Yes it is, honey.’ Dad chuckled fondly, and with all the grace in the world, I managed to lift myself up and over the table to plop myself in pops’ lap. I giggled at the feeling of flying as Dad lifted my feet onto his lap, both of them smiling at me fondly.

 ‘That’s our daughter.’ Pops kissed my forehead.

 ‘The lightweight.’ Dad agreed and laughed at my pout.

 ‘I’m not a lightweight.’ I mumbled around a bite of pancake.

 ‘Of course you aren’t little one.’ Thor’s voice rumbled in amusement and affection, while everyone else murmured their agreement.

 //

 Later on that night after all the presents had been opened and the left overs from Christmas dinner had been consumed, we all settled into the common room, each of us doing different things. Dad was showing Pops how to use the new phone I’d gifted him; the super soldier was completely overwhelmed and the billionaire was shifting between teasing his husband and patiently explaining each function to him. Bruce was sitting on Thor’s lap, his head on the demi-god’s shoulder as he snored softly. The God of thunder was quietly talking to Pepper, the red head in a similar predicament as Sam’s head was on her lap, him having been asleep for as long as the scientist. Both Thor and Pepper alternated between their conversation and looking down at their significant others in complete adoration. Clint and Tasha had retired about five minutes prior, the archer practically carrying the assassin to their bedroom after the redhead mentioned another present she wanted to give him in private. I was sat on the loveseat with Bucky, both of us just quietly observing everyone. I couldn’t tell you how we’d ended up on the same seat, sat so close that our upper thighs were pressed solidly against each other’s, but here we were. It should have been awkward, seeing as I’d never even spoke to the man, but it wasn’t. For the first time his presence wasn’t making my heart rate erratic, my palms weren’t sweating and I wasn’t struggling for words. I was completely calm, but it was a different level of calmness that I’d never felt around anyone else before, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I didn’t want to.

 ‘This has to be my favourite day of the year, every year.’ I mused, looking up at Bucky so he would know I was talking to him.

 I saw the surprise in his eyes when they met mine, and my heart skipped a beat at meeting his stare.

 He cleared his throat before he replied, somewhat shyly, ‘after everything that happened when I fell, I never believed I’d have the opportunity to be surrounded by family again, especially at Christmas. So I know exactly what you mean, the time of year amplifies the love.’

 We shared a soft smile and I was just about to ask him a question about his Christmas’ before the war when my chest felt like it was burning. A whimper of pain fell from my lips, and without even thinking about it I lifted up my pyjama top and stared at the words that were now inked to the left of my chest in shock, disbelief and… relief. I jolted in surprise when Bucky’s metal hand caressed the words with such tenderness that I felt my eyes sheen over with tears as I looked up to him. He was staring at my soulmate mark with such gratitude, adoration and shock that I couldn’t help but mirror when I caught my mark on the forearm of his flesh. My fingers reached out without my permission and traced the letters, revelling in the spark that shot up my arm, in the warmth of his skin and the way the letters were bumpy against his flesh.

 My eyes met his again when he gently lowered my top and took my hands in his. I held on tightly, overwhelmed with what had happened. I never thought I’d meet my soulmate, and even after I’d convinced myself that I didn’t deserve someone, a small part of me had always hoped. Hoped that I’d find someone who would love me the same way my mother loved my father. The same way my dads loved each other. I just never believed it would happen, and I hadn’t let myself indulge in the idea since my parents had passed when I was a child. But now, I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t deny the affection, adoration and love that I felt for the man in front of me. I couldn’t deny the intensity; I couldn’t deny the desire to solidify our bond, to make our hearts one for always.

 ‘I lost hope that I would find you years ago.’ Bucky admitted in a whisper, his metal hand wiping away the tears that fell down my cheeks.

 ‘Me too.’ I told him, mirroring his volume. By some miracle, no one had taken notice of our conversation and I wasn’t about to be the reason that our bubble got burst.

 ‘I knew it was you.’ His fingers ran through my hair and he smiled as my eyes fluttered at his touch.

 ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

 ‘Because you seemed wary of me, I didn’t want to push it and make you more skittish around me, especially if I was wrong.’ He explained, his hands returning to holding mine.

 ‘I wasn’t afraid of you, if that’s what you were thinking. I wanted to talk to you, it’s just every time I tried, I couldn’t get any words out and eventually I stopped trying because I didn’t want you to think I was a stuttering idiot incapable of speaking to you.’ I blushed but felt my eyes soften at the sound of his chuckle and the mirth in his beautiful eyes.

 ‘Oh, doll, I would never think that,’ he promised, his eyes trailing over my face and darkening when they reached my lips. They started to tingle under the attention and it took every ounce of will I held not to lean forward right there. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I had a feeling if we started, we wouldn’t stop until the bond was solidified and I didn’t want to do that in the presence of my family.

 ‘We should…’ I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence, but it didn’t matter he knew what I meant anyway.

 ‘Yes we should, sugar.’ He winked, the dilation of his pupils made my knees weak, ‘I’ll go first and you follow in a few minutes.’ He squeezed my hand and after a wave and shout of ‘goodnight’ to the room, he was gone.

 It felt like time was mocking me and purposefully ticking by as slow as possible as I waited for the clock to show that five minutes had passed, once it had, I had to physically force myself not to leap eagerly out of my chair and casually shuffle over to my dads and give them each a kiss on the cheek. After that I waved to everyone else and practically sprinted when I’d turned the corner out of sight. When I’d reached the corridor that our bedrooms were on, I had a millisecond to wonder where he would be when his bedroom door opened and he gently but firmly snatched my wrist and pulled me inside before closing and locking the door with a click. I couldn’t tell you who moved first, but I can tell you that as soon as our lips met, I felt… complete. Our lips moved together effortlessly, as if we’d kissed a million times before and the sparks that seemed to echo throughout my body at his touch made me moan. He lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist out of instinct and I felt myself shudder when his metal arm slipped under my top and caressed the warmth of my back. My own hands moved to his hair, grateful that he’d removed the hair tie as my fingers moved through the silky strands without interference. I both felt and heard him groan when I gently scratched my nails over his scalp.

 He gently lowered me onto the bed, his body resting perfectly against mine as his hands worked to remove my top, his lips following and kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. He lingered on my soulmate mark for a moment longer, placing an especially tender kiss to the marked skin before removing my top completely.

 ‘You are so beautiful, and all mine.’ He growled and my thighs clenched around his waist in response.

 He smirked in satisfaction at my reaction but I paid it no mind as I reached forward and practically clawed at his Henley, desperate for the feel of his skin against mine. Once all of our clothes were removed and we were moving together, I knew right then and there that I had been wrong about me not deserving a soulmate. Bucky showed me how ignorant I was without having to use words. It was in how he touched me; gentle and deliberate. It was in how he looked at me as if I were the most important person in the world to him. It was in the way our bodies, our souls recognised each other and eradicated any feeling that wasn’t contentedness. I had been wrong about not deserving a soulmate, another half, a best friend, because I knew despite the minimal time we’d spent together and the minimal knowledge we had of one another, I had all of that and more in Bucky.

 As our bodies reached a climax together in a myriad of fireworks, I couldn’t help but think; I’d never been happier to be wrong.

 //

 ‘Good morning, doll.’ Bucky’s husky voice bought me out of my slumber gently, but I couldn’t help but snuggle closer to him and his warmth, desperately trying to chase the sleep I’d been pulled out of.

 ‘Morning.’ I mumbled against his chest, relaxing even further into him as his meal fingers began drawing shapes into the bottom of my back.

 ‘We should get up soon.’ He said, kissing my hair.

 ‘Why?’ I wondered, moving so I was directly on top of him now, my hands curling around his shoulders and my head directly above his heart, ‘I’m perfectly content right here.’

 He chuckled and the sound was fond, ‘Me too, sugar, but if we don’t move soon people are gonna start wonderin’ where we are, and I personally wouldn’t like them to find out about us by walkin’ in and seeing us naked in bed together.’

 ‘I know I should care about that, but I’m simply too comfortable and warm right now to process the validity of your comment.’ I mumbled, nuzzling into his neck and sighing happily at his scent. He smelled like sugar and spice—it was addicting.

 He laughed again and I felt my lips curl up into a grin at the sound, unable to stop myself for placing a chaste kiss at the side of his neck, ‘I love that sound.’

 Bucky didn’t say anything but he kissed my hair and held me a little tighter, his hand moving up and down my spine, causing me to practically melt into him. I was just on the cusp of sleep again when he sat up with me wrapped around him and sat me on the edge of the bed. I grumbled and rolled myself up in the sheets as I tried to fight the cold that wrapped around me without him close.

 ‘Come on, sweet thing,’ He sat me up again and caressed the side of my face, smiling gently when my eyes met his. I puckered my lips for a kiss and he leaned forward and pecked my lips softly, pulling back when I tried to deepen it with a chuckle.

 ‘Easy, baby, if you start that we’ll be in this bedroom all day.’ He kissed my forehead and my lips again.

 ‘Okay.’ I gave in standing up and stretching, when I looked over to him I saw his blue eyes had darkened to molten, ‘you’ll have to hold that thought for later, honey. I’m gonna go shower and then get dressed.’ I kissed him goodbye and slipped his discarded Henley from the previous night on before darting to my room across the hall.

 It was strange; we were only twenty feet apart at the most, but my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, an invisible pull willing me back to him. This must have been what Dad was talking about. If this was how it felt, I had no idea how my Dad and Pop were able to stay apart for weeks at a time, because I was already yearning to go back to him.

 //

 After I’d showered and pulled on some sweatpants, Bucky’s shirt and a sweatshirt I ventured out of my room with my hair still wet. It wasn’t like me not to dry my hair immediately, but I favoured getting back to my soulmate over spending the time getting my hair dry. He wasn’t in his room anymore, so I headed to the common room and found him sitting in the loveseat, quietly chatting to Pop and Sam who were sat side by side on the sofa across from him. Pepper was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t surprising—she often rose late on the rare days she had off. Dad was making breakfast and kissed my forehead as I moved past him to grab my mug and pour myself a cup of coffee. I noticed that Thor and Bruce were sat at the dining table with Clint and Tasha across from them, both couples speaking quietly to their partners. Without giving it much thought I walked over to the loveseat and cuddled into Bucky’s side, his metallic arm lifting without prompt and allowing me to move as close as possible. His hand came to rest on my waist, his thumb rubbing circles into my hip and making me practically melt into a state of relaxation into his side.

 I lifted my mug to my lips and took a gulp before resting the cup against his thigh as I snugged into his chest, inhaling his scent. Bucky’s lips met my damp hair and I felt his chest rumble underneath my ear as he mumbled, ‘you smell good, Sugar.’

 ‘So do you.’ I sighed, my eyes falling closed.

 We’d been so lost in each other that we hadn’t noticed the room fall deadly quiet. The only sounds coming from Bucky and I, as well as the sizzling of the bacon on the frying pan. Tasha and Clint weren’t surprised, Thor and Bruce were a mixture of amused and astonished, but Tony, Steve and Sam were downright shocked. The latter was staring at the newly bonded couple with their jaws hanging open, and their eyes wider than they had ever been. Their surprise was understandable, of course, as before this moment the pair had never been seen speaking a word to each other, and now they moved, spoke, and looked at each other with the same intensity and adoration as each bonded couple on the team. It was a few more minutes of the team observing the couple snuggling together, looking more relaxed than anyone had ever seen them, before the shock seemed to subside and allow for a vocalised reaction.

 Tony cleared his throat and said, ‘um, honey?’

 ‘Yeah dad?’ I responded, too relaxed to open my eyes.

 ‘When did you plan on telling us that you and Bucky were soulmates?’ His voice was casual and that was purposeful; he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea if he allowed his shock to leak into his voice.

 ‘Now?’ I said sheepishly, peeking an eye open and burrowing further into Bucky in an attempt to hide when I saw everyone was staring, ‘we found out last night.’

 ‘We would have said something, but everything happened so fast from there.’ Bucky said, sounding sheepish himself, but his hold on me didn’t waver, if anything he held me a little tighter and I felt a small sigh of contentedness leave my mouth in response.

 ‘Well,’ Clint stood up, pulling out a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolding it to it’s full A4 size, ‘Bruce and Thor had Christmas day.’

 A frown of confusion formed on my face as everyone groaned in disappointment.

 ‘You couldn’t have waited until new years eve?’ Sam complained, but it was all in good fun, ‘The pot was up to ten grand, Pep and I could have rolled around in that money.’

 ‘Well it looks like I and Bruce will have the honours.’ Thor announced proudly, kissing his mate chastely but passionately.

 ‘You were betting on us gettin’ together?’ Bucky clarified.

 ‘Yup.’ Clint nodded as he returned to the room, handing the demi god and scientist a black metallic box.

 ‘For how long?’ I asked, bewildered.

 ‘It was after about a week of Bucky being here, after Tasha noticed the looks you were both stealing at each other.’ Pop admitted.

 ‘You and dad were in on this?’

 ‘We were, Pumpkin.’ Pops said, looking slightly guilty.

 ‘You punk.’ Bucky shook his head in mock disapproval.

 ‘I know, we feel terrible about it.’ Dad said, standing behind his husband and placing a hand on his shoulder.

 I gave him a look and he admitted, ‘okay no we don’t, we just thought you two would be perfect together and we were routing for you to be happy!’

 Pops nodded in agreement, entwining his fingers with the billionaire’s.

 Bucky looked down at me, mirth shining in his eyes at the situation. I smothered a laugh behind my mug as I took a sip, giving my soulmate a slight nod as I told him he could decide what to do. He sent me a secret wink before fixing the team with his scariest Winter Soldier glare, and to my amusement everyone except for Tasha and Thor stiffened in concern for what was going to happen next. He had them squirming for a few more minutes before he let the laughter slip, I joined him in an instant, beyond amused at the annoyed and relieved expression on almost every face in the common room.

 ‘It’s fine.’ I shrugged once we recovered.

 Bucky took my empty mug from me without me having to ask and placed it onto the side table beside the love seat. My hand entwined with his once the task was complete and I blushed when he placed a kiss to the back of my hand, his eyes staring into mine with such intensity that I felt my heart skip a beat.

 ‘Well I was right.’ Pops said proudly, ‘they are perfect for each other.’

 ‘They sure are, Stevie.’ Dad agreed, placing a kiss to his husband’s cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish breakfast. Although, it was more of a brunch now, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the content and happy expressions both his daughter and Bucky were wearing. He felt something settle inside him at the sight—it was about time they both got their happily ever after and Tony couldn’t be happier that they’d found it with each other.

[thesculptedflower]

Adorable effort

Note: I noticed while I was writing this, that I have absolutely no idea how to write for a specific body type. And I’m so so so sorry if this wasn’t what was asked in the request. I think that I don’t really explain how the reader looks in my fics because I want everyone to be able to read them, no matter their size. 

So, I really tried my best, and I hope this is at least decent, and I promise to get better and go read some fics to get some examples! 

Also, I’m sorry this took kinda long, I’m renovating our balcony and it’s taking a whole lot of time.

Request: Hi! Would you ever consider writing a Edward Nygma x plus size reader oneshot, if you’re okay with it??? Maybe the reader is a maid at Wayne manor and she’s like an older sister to Bruce. On the multiple occasions when Bruce goes to the GCPD she is with him and meets Ed, they get on. Reader answers his riddles despite getting them wrong. Thanks! @morganofthecoves1​

Adorable effort

Your life didn’t have the best kind of start. Moving from one foster family to another, being thrown in the system at such a young age had an effect on you. The constant moving made it really hard to form long lasting friendships, so you spent most of your time alone. Trouble seemed to find its way to you wherever you went, but you remained hopeful, that one day everything would turn upside down. And so it did. 

Thomas Wayne spotted you in a roadside diner, waitering customers and collecting empty dishes. He saw how you were harassed and the pain on your face made him feel for you. He wanted to save you from that place, and so he did. He offered you a job in his house, which you gladly took. Working for the Wayne’s was a dream come true. Thomas and Martha were absolutely wonderful to you, always treating you with respect. It felt good to be there and you really felt like you belonged to that manor. The workload wasn’t bad at all, for Alfred did most of the ’’manly’’ work. You enjoyed your moments with Martha, growing really close to her. The two of you would fix up the garden together, gossiping about the neighbors and you loved to help her get ready for all the galas they attended. So when Alfred came home that one night, only Bruce with him, you felt like the bad luck from your past had caught up to you. Thomas and Martha had taken you in with their hearts open, offering you guidance and a warm home, and a sibling-like relationship with Bruce. You and him had a special bond that only got stronger after his parents were murdered. He found a safe place with you, feeling like he could share his sorrows, knowing you would listen and understand. As you both grew up, he would take you with him wherever he went. And one gloomy day took you to Gotham City Police Department, and closer to a one certain forensics scientist. 

Bruce had asked you to drive him to the GCPD, because he wanted to inform Detective Gordon on something he had discovered on his father’s papers. He was so desperate to find out who had killed his parents, it pained your heart. You trusted the police, but anyone who lived in Gotham knew, that sometimes things just stay a mystery. But the new Detective seemed to take his job seriously, for now. There weren’t many officers who didn’t have some kinds of ties to the criminal underworld. 

’’I’ll go talk with Detective Gordon, and I’m not going to leave until I get him to listen to me.’’ Bruce said looking up at you. He had fire in his eyes, the same fire Thomas had. You smiled softly, placing your hand on his shoulder for reassurance. ’’With the facts you have gathered, he doesn’t have another choice but to listen.’’

Bruce smiled weakly, the pain from that night still awfully present in his mind. You watched him run up the stairs to the second level on the precinct and noticed that Gordon was already waiting for him. You decided to take a stroll around, taking another look at all the paintings and pictures of former officers and honorary captains. 

You’d been at the precinct so many times, you had almost memorized all the pictures on the walls. Most of the officers knew you and were nice towards you, greeting you whenever you walked past them. Every single time you had been there with Bruce, one man in particular had caught your eye. He was tall, dark haired and handsome. He would come and talk to you, but you could see that he was struggling. So you tried to make it easier for him, always being considerate towards him, and even answering all of his riddles - even if you knew you were wrong - whilst other officers just laughed or rolled their eyes at him. You felt awful about how they treated him. He was an outstanding forensic scientist and had helped in numerous cases, yet they still treated him like he wasn’t one of them. 

You were so in your thoughts, you didn’t notice someone approaching you with quite a high speed. You were just about to turn around when you bumped into the stranger. His hands were full of papers and his attention was definitely elsewhere than in watching where he was going. All the papers were now falling to the ground, and probably half of the precincts eyes were on you. You felt a little ashamed, a maid should be the one to help in cleaning, not causing the mess. Both of you dropped to the ground immediately, trying to collect the papers as fast as you could. 

’’I’m so, so sorry sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’’ You said apologetically, trying to avert his eyes. ’’It’s quite alright miss, I wasn’t looking either.’’ He answered gathering his papers. You could hear that he was a little nervous. Suddenly you felt his hand accidentally land on yours, and you both froze. Only then did you look up and meet his beautiful brown eyes, framed by strong eyeglasses. He looked equally as surprised as you when you finally recognized each other.

’’Get a room you two!’’ Someone shouted, sending a deep blush to your cheeks. And to your surprise, to his as well. You both looked away from each other. 

’’I- I’m sorry again, Mr. Nygma.’’ You said sheepishly, handing him the notes you had picked up. 

’’Please, call me Ed. And it’s quite all right, there’s no one I’d rather bump into.’’ He flirted carefully, considering you had met him on multiple occasions and the chemistry was definitely there. His hand softly brushed yours as he took the papers, sending another blush to your face. Your hands rested against each other for a while, and the smile he gave you made you weak.

His smile was the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. You returned the smile, wondering if you should continue the conversation. You definitely wanted to get to know him even more, and it was clear that he was as interested in you too. The embarrassment of the previous situation still lingered in the air, but Ed had the means to fix that.

’’What two accidents happen every 24 hours?’’ He riddled. 

You looked at him, trying to come up with the correct answer. You didn’t have much experience with riddles, other than those that Ed asked you, but you still liked the way he added them to your conversations. And he didn’t seem to be bothered if and when your answers were wrong. You thought he enjoyed winning, and at the same time teaching them to you.

’’Um, falling in love?’’ You answered quietly, feeling a little shy from the content of your answer. You didn’t think Ed would ask you about something that would have an answer about love, but you liked the idea that he was that kind of man, whom would fall in love very fast and very very hard. 

Ed laughed softly, not a hint of malice or mockery in his voice. For a moment you felt hopeful that your answer was actually right, but then he shook his head.

’’Adorable effort, once again, but unfortunately incorrect.’’ 

You sighed extravagantly, making it seem you were more upset about it that you actually were. It caused Ed to laugh even more, and you felt so mesmerized. 

’’Well, will you tell me the answer?’’ You asked after a short while.

’’At dinner, tonight at 8. I’ll pick you up.’’ 

You felt so happy, that this incredible, marvelous man had seen you in the crowd, among all the officers, and that he had made his way up to you and asked you a riddle, that started all this. You rose to your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on Ed’s cheek, making him blush once more. You couldn’t wait for the evening, nor all the other dates you’d have in the future.

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still 3/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: it’s been a while since I shared something new! positive news: this is now finished, so all the remaining chapters until its finished will now be coming out weekly. if anyone is still following there won’t be much longer to wait! 

again, heaps and heaps of thanks onto @hollyethecurious​ who created the aesthetic which birthed this fic!

Rating: T 

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

AO3 | one | two

-/-

3 - those who listen intently

November 22nd, 2014 - 5 Years Ago

Everybody stared. They always stared.

But this was not a new truth for Killian Jones.

With an almost supernatural precision, hallways would part as he turned into them, with students pressing themselves against their lockers or the walls of the corridor in order to put as much distance between he and them as possible. Hushed whispers were passed from lips to ears, poorly concealed by the palm of a hand, and turning to nothing but air if he should so much as glance their way. He could feel their eyes on the back of his neck, prickling into his spine in a way that was so familiar, but now with one crucial difference; where before he had suffered their oppressive curiosity about him, now a fearful trepidation had taken its place.

He used to be the boy whose brother had committed suicide.

Now he was the boy who had murdered their classmate, and dumped the body in the woods.

Of course, nobody said anything out loud. Nothing was proven. But they all had watched him be pulled from class enough times by Principal Nemo with Sheriff Humbert at his side, only to return a few hours later, perhaps looking a little paler than before. They had all gone home, reported these details diligently to their parents, who had begun to form their own presumptions about just why he was of such special interest, and before long near on every student at Storybrooke High had been advised to give him a wide berth.

The only concrete thing the Sheriff had been able to throw at him was a piece of orange string they had found in the north woods, smeared with his blood and found a few feet from a beanie that the DNA tests they had sent for had correctly identified as Emma's. Killian had explained, not untruthfully, that he had cut himself many times as they searched the woods that night after Emma disappeared; and that she had been wearing a beanie that night, yes, so she must have lost it.

Circumstantial. That was all it was. And Humbert was getting desperate.

Not that Killian cared.

Not about the kids who always stared but would never meet his eye, not about the good cop, bad cop routine with which Humbert was trying to wile the truth out of him, not about Archie's sympathetic looks or the absolute spitting fire he was starting to receive from adults on the street.

Emma was gone.

There was a yawning, gaping cavern in his heart which yearned to hear her laugh, to watch her smile, to tug her into his arms just one more time.

But she was gone, and it was his fault. And now he had to find a way to live with that.

As he stepped sullenly down the hallway he was suddenly wrenched from his reverie by a sharp pain in his shoulder, crying out as he was hurled into the lockers beside him. His backpack slipped from his shoulder onto the floor as the movement knocked the wind out of him and he winced, but tried to pull his attention to whomever had shoved him.

Leroy stood in the centre of the corridor, bristling and agitated, his face flushed bright red with menace and fury. A few other students had gathered, forming a circle of onlookers around them.

“I liked Emma,” Leroy spat, “she was a great girl. And it’s about time you really got what's coming to you for what you did to her.”

Killian gritted his teeth.

“I didn’t do anything,” he seethed. “Come near me one more time and I’ll knock the sense out of you, got it?”

“I’m not afraid of you, sister.”

Killian straightened, and tried to ignore the throbbing across his shoulders from where he had crashed into the lockers. What Leroy Arenberg did not know was that right now Killian was an oil spill on water, just waiting for someone to light the match. He had been simmering at the edges for weeks, an ember slowly fanning into a flame for every moment that Emma wasn’t here, and he practically begged nightly for ignition. He longed for a fight; perhaps he deserved one. Leroy was bigger than he, but he didn’t have the same smoulder in his bones.

“Well, maybe you should be.”

They had both stood ready to pounce on the other as a wave of excited anticipation rippled through the onlookers, when a taller boy pushed his way through the crowd and out between the pair of them.

“What’s going on here?” David snapped, looking between the pair of them, before taking in Killian’s position by the lockers and Leroy’s arguably stronger stance in the centre of the corridor. It was easy to tell who had started it, just not who would finish it. David’s eyes narrowed at the stockier boy. “Did you–?”

“He deserves it,” Leroy growled, “he’s a monster.”

“Back off, Leroy,” David warned, “if you know what’s good for you.”

David had always been what Killian could never be; a well-liked and generous boy, a member of the track team but a good sport, polite to all of his teachers and kind to his classmates. He had garnered a lot of respect over his time at Storybrooke High, and a lot of sympathy after Emma had disappeared – everybody had known his mother had fostered her. He was as good as her brother, which meant nobody was particularly fond of upsetting him at that moment; and even less wanted to pick a fight.

Leroy included.

The boy grimaced, but eyed David with a begrudging deference.

“You should wise up, Nolan. He’s trouble.”

Leroy shoved his way back through the gathered students and stomped down the corridor. David then turned his ire to everyone else.

“Don’t you have places to be?”

With a start the crowd scattered, students fleeing his temper as quickly as they could manage.

Killian was furious. He couldn’t quite work out why. “I don't need your protection,” he snarled at David, “I could have taken him.”

He wanted to. He wanted to take him. To send him crashing into the ground and keep throwing punches until it didn’t hurt anymore. Until he didn’t want to cry anymore at the flowers and hopeful prayers the students at school had attached to Emma's untouched locker. Until he could erase her final scream from his nightmares for good.

Killian – Killian, don’t—!

“That’s not the point,” David was saying, “you shouldn’t have to. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” David had reached a hand out to him, and Killian ducked it in order to lift his rucksack. His heart was still thumping loudly in his chest, dangerous and greedy. “Just leave me alone, Dave.” He shoved roughly away from the lockers and began to walk away, but his body was still ablaze, ready for a fight. He finally swivelled on his heels and threw back at him, “Isn’t helping me what got us all into this mess in the first place?”

Unsurprisingly, David turned to molten fury; he caught up with Killian like lightning and once again he found himself pressed, albeit a little more gently, into the lockers, with David’s hands fisting in his shirt.

“Quit making this about you,” he spat. “We all lost Emma. It's bad enough you’re letting them all think –  you’re not saying anything when they—” The boy winced, his face contorting with sadness, and the fire went right out of him. “We stick together, you got that? Like it or not I give a crap about you, Killian. You’re my friend. And Emma would never have forgiven me if I let you take a beating you don't deserve.”

He released him and Killian swallowed. A pregnant pause settled between the two of them, and Killian could feel the roar that had made its way to his fingertips beginning to ebb away.

“Will never forgive you,” he corrected quietly. At David’s bemused look he continued. “Present tense. We're getting her back.”

David shut his eyes, before nodding firmly.

“Together.”

-/-

Present Day

Killian had spent much of the last few years enjoying the luxury of anonymity, in one of two ways. Either he walked the streets of cities that cared little for his story, for his purpose or his destination, blending into the palette of the populace and ensuring his identity was lost to the gaping jaws of a metropolis, or he lost himself in the complete opposite. He had skimmed across vast, rural savannahs, often going days without coming across another human being, relaxing in the ease of his own company. After years of constantly feeling under scrutiny in Storybrooke, first after he lost Liam and again after Emma, he had never wanted to undergo anything of the like again.

Of course, returning to Storybrooke had not been a factor in that particular fantasy.

And most who inhabited the town did so enjoy falling into old habits.

The early morning sky was beginning to turn from pink to white by the time Killian made his way back into the centre of Storybrooke. Weary, dismayed and in desperate need of rest, he trudged back through the woods with his torch held loosely at his side, and the dagger pressing against his chest from the inside pocket of his jacket with every step. He daren’t leave it behind, but it weighed heavily against him, the chill of the blade biting against his shirt.

A glance at his watch informed him it was barely nine in the morning, still healthily early for a Saturday, but Killian found himself vividly reminded of why he had been so desperate to avoid Main Street during more sociable hours – he felt vastly observed as he headed towards Granny’s, and the familiar sensation curled about his shoulders with a daunting persistence.

Some pointed, some muttered and tutted to their neighbours, but Killian tried to pay them no mind.

His mind was vexed by far greater quandaries than the gossiping of his long since forgotten neighbours.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Those eyes; distant, jade – hostile.

Despite only the gentle breeze brushing down Main Street, Killian trembled.

He had wanted answers – he just hadn’t realised they could make him so desperately, desperately sad.

The door to Granny’s opened with the usual jingle, and Killian found himself immediately met with a steely glare from the proprietor, stood over a book of accounts behind the counter. His intention had been to ignore her completely and stumble up to his room, to try and catch a few hours of sleep before pondering his next move, but then he spotted Ruby at the end of the diner by the jukebox, lifting glasses from a now empty table and balancing them on her tray.

With a jolt he remembered their conversation from yesterday morning, and he made a beeline for her.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a short gasp once she noticed him at her elbow, “crap, you startled me. Everything alright?”

“I need to know what you saw.”

Ruby hesitated, a perfectly manicured hand hovering above a glass before she lifted it slowly onto the tray. “What are you talking about?”

He was tired, he was hungry, and he had been up all night. Killian didn’t have the patience for any more coyness from Storybrooke’s eccentric residents. It was about time somebody was honest with him.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Ruby wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Did you go looking for your house?”

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Killian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Aye.”

“And you found it?”

“Aye.”

Ruby finally turned to face him, features tight and schooled into something defensive, almost – hurt. “Then you know what I saw. Who I –” She bit her lip, shook her head and steered past him towards the counter.

“Ruby, please,” Killian followed her, careful to keep his voice low as he felt Granny’s beady eyes following him across the diner. “That’s not enough. I can’t help unless I know more about what I’m dealing with.”

The waitress’ lips parted, meeting his earnest gaze with one of her own, and Killian felt a modicum of guilt for pressuring her. Her reluctance abounded from her in waves, and she had been kind to him since he came back into town – it was perhaps the only kindness he had received for kindness’ sake in a long time, and not because of some shared history chequered with pain.

She was spared from providing him with any more information by the clatter of the shutters and the jangling of the bell as somebody entered the diner, and on instinct both of their eyes flickered towards the door. All thoughts of pulling a proper confession from Ruby fled his mind instantly once he recognised the entrants, a lump beginning to form in his throat.

David, and his mother – Ruth.

Ruth Nolan appeared far older than when he had last seen her, although he couldn’t place when exactly that might have been – she was softer at her edges, more frail of stature, and melancholy clung to the air around her with a vice like grip. Ruth, as he had known her, had been nothing but tenderness.

That, like everything else, had changed the night Emma disappeared.

They didn’t notice him immediately. Killian’s first compulsion was to beat a hasty retreat. To sneak out through the hallway and into the inn before they had a chance to realise he was there. It was better that way – they had likely come in for a drink, or some breakfast, and he felt no desire to intrude upon their time together. Even Ruby spared him a helpless look as she glanced between them. Against her own grandmother she would stand firm, but she couldn’t be a shield between he and all the town’s censure.

Killian made to back away quietly, but as he turned his left foot nudged a stool and the loud, sharp scrape which ensued caught the momentary attention of most of the diners – including those that had just walked in the door.

David’s eyes widened as they landed on him, but Killian’s flickered quickly to the woman at his side; David did not react fast enough.

“I… hadn’t wanted to believe it,” Ruth spoke quietly, stepping around David as her dark eyes settled on Killian. He found himself completely unable to form words, panic rising in him like a wave as she took another step forward. With every painful second which passed, a sharpness seemed to form around her, as if she had been nothing but a blurry image before and was just now coming into focus. “When they said that you were back. I didn’t want it to be true.”

Killian swallowed, and all across his back and chest he felt warm. Hot. It was too hot. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“Mom, why don’t you wait outside?” David was saying, but the blood rushing from the base of Killian’s skull was loud, so loud, he could barely concentrate. One of David’s hands was resting on Ruth’s shoulder, tugging gently but firmly, trying to move her away. “Mom.”

“Haven’t you caused enough pain?” Ruth hissed, low and dangerous, and her eyes sparkled with the freshness of a grief he had given her. “Isn’t it enough?”

No, he wanted to shout, wanted to scream so the dead could hear, make me feel it.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

It’s never enough.

“Mom,” David warned, and his arm curled around her waist protectively. The movement seemed to jolt Ruth out of her reverie, and although her eyes continued to spit molten fire, she allowed herself to be turned around and ushered slowly out of the door. The shutters clattered back into place behind her.

An awkward silence descended on the diner, as patrons slowly started to pick up their conversations again, not least because of the fierce glare David shot over that warned them not to remain spectators for any longer.

It was eerily familiar, that sense of David Nolan trying to shield him from prying eyes.

A whole newfound respect for David began to emerge; Killian hadn’t been able to look Ruth Nolan in the eye after it happened, but David lived with her, loved her everyday, while keeping the truth they all knew locked away in a place no one ever touched. Now either that was a colossal level of control on his part, or he could compartmentalise even better than Mary Margaret.

“You didn’t answer my calls yesterday,” David said, and Killian’s ears pricked when he detected a hint of terseness in his tone. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, I’m sorry,” Killian replied. He’d all but forgotten the number of missed calls he’d allowed to pile up on his phone. All he really wanted to do right now was go to bed. “I got a little caught up.”

“Seeing Regina?”

Ah, there it was. A flicker of hurt crossed the other man’s features, and Killian felt a surge of guilt rush forth within him. They were made of such fragile things, he should have known better than to leave David hanging – he should have at least sent him a text, but he’d been just a little too self-involved. He had forgotten what it felt like to be beholden to someone.

Still, the idea that all he had to do was walk down the street for his every activity to be so meticulously reported, combined with the exhaustion already threatening to overwhelm him, had him far more irked than he probably had cause to be. Someone must have spotted him visiting the Mills residence and it had found its way back to David.

He clicked his tongue. “I see the neighbourhood watch is no less efficient these days.”

“I can understand you needing space, needing to re-adjust. But you’ve been leaving me on the sidelines since you got here, and now you’re using your time to see her?” David shook his head, fiercely aggrieved. “After the way she cut us out?”

Killian was almost surprised by the force of his remark. “So you’ve forgiven me for leaving, but not Regina for retreating?”

“You weren’t here,” David bit back, “you didn’t see the way she treated us.”

They had stopped being friends, sometime after Regina’s father had died. That was all Killian had ever been told. After Emma, it had seemed pointless to keep abreast with the particulars; he wasn’t sure his heart could handle carrying their fractures too.

Instead he set his mouth in a tight line. “Everybody grieves in different ways.”

“Just tell me one thing,” the other man continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Did you go to Brooke House?”

His gaze dropped pointedly to the torch Killian carried in one hand, the only thing other than the dagger that he had taken there, and the dagger was tucked out of sight in the inside pocket of his jacket.

David had always been driven by his emotions – his fear, his hurt, the desperation of wanting to know but the trepidation at being burdened with knowledge – it was written as clearly across his face as the first day Killian had brought him and Emma to the old structure in the middle of the woods. He had summoned Killian back to Storybrooke because he had been hopeful about what it might uncover, but now Killian could see there was a chance he might resent every stone they turned over.

In an instant, he knew he couldn’t take David to Brooke House now. For David Nolan, Emma was love, and light, and lost.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

“Yes,” he said simply, because he had no desire to lie, but would also rather the truth be kept as far from David as possible He hadn’t visited the house with Regina, but it was implicit in the details he chose to omit.

David’s expression contorted with anger, with hurt, and when he spoke his voice tremored like a wound.

“I’m the one who called you,” he snapped. “We’re supposed to be doing this together, Killian.”

We’re getting her back.

Together.

Killian hesitated.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Better David stayed out of it.

When Killian spoke again he was careful to keep his tone cool, his manner disaffected.

“Maybe that’s where we went wrong last time.”

For a moment David simply stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Fuck you, Jones.”

The door to the diner had slammed shut before Killian had even registered what was happening, the shutters swaying wildly from side to side in his wake. All at once feeling relieved and bereft, Killian attempted to gather his wits and prepared to head back to his room. Only then did he notice that one of the patrons now stood between himself and the hallway, her soft, lavender coat wrapped tightly around her and a dainty bag slung over her shoulder.

She smiled kindly, although Killian resisted the urge to recoil at the pity he saw in her eyes.

But instead of offering up an attempt at a comforting platitude, such would be her normal fare, Mary Margaret finally let the polite veneer she had come to adopt slip, and he caught a glimpse of the spark that had given rise to her strong friendship with Regina Mills to begin with.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Killian checked his watch. 9:29am. He thought longingly of his bed upstairs.

He sighed. “Definitely.”

-/-

10 Hours Earlier

“So good of you to finally come and see me.”

Killian’s chest began to ache, and he realised it was because he hadn’t drawn a breath in a number of moments, and his torso shuddered with the effort of doing so. The bulb in his torch winked once, twice, and then gave up altogether.

The vision of her remained.

Still watching him, her eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light, all sharp jade and alert and waiting for him to make the next move. Her skin was pale, but the slope of her cheeks looked all too familiar, all too close, the curve of her mouth exactly as it looked in his dreams aside from the lack of warmth in her smile. Killian found his eyes flickering to every inch of her, for some indication that what he was seeing was a falsehood, but he found none.

This was Emma Swan.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

The hand holding the dagger fell limply at his side. “Emma?”

“Surprised?” she smirked, lifting her hands to touch the circlet of dark grey flowers resting on her head. As she did so, two shrivelled petals fell away. “I know, it’s not my usual look. But it does come with a few perks.”

Emma twirled once, her dress floating daintily around her, and Killian dazedly tried to take it in. The hem was crusted in muck and leaves, as if it had been dragged along the forest floor, but the rest was a perfect white like the eponymous creature her name had always alluded to. 

But it was Emma. Emma Swan was standing in front of him.

He reminded himself to take another breath.

“How –” his voice cracked, and he tried to find it again. “How are you –?”

“Here?” she finished, and she stilled the movement of her skirt abruptly, her tone suddenly sharp and cold. “I’m exactly where you left me, Killian Jones.”    

A fierce breeze blew past him and he flinched away, and once he wrenched his gaze back up to look at her she was no longer standing there. Instead, her voice came from behind him.

“After you abandoned me,” she spat, her voice continuing to penetrate like shards of ice, “just like everyone else. And to think, as a girl I’d been naïve enough to think you were different?”

Killian’s lips parted, trying valiantly to keep up with the whiplash of the encounter. After five years, what he had scarcely hoped to be true had come about, Emma was there, but she was overcome with a kind of piercing fury and as she began to circle around him he struggled to keep his legs from giving out underneath him.

“I didn’t abandon you,” he protested, hoarsely, and Emma scoffed.

“No? I suppose bailing out to you is just a riotous show of support.”

Here, Killian could feel himself coming back to himself a little – he was responsible for much wrongdoing, that was certain, but he hadn’t come here to be attacked.

Before he could retort, she cut across him like a bullet.

“After all, isn’t that what your dear, sweet brother did?”

Instinctively Killian flinched, his hand clenching around the hilt of the dagger and something white hot shooting up his spine. As children they had shared so much with each other; they had always known how to make each other bleed.

He hadn’t realised his eyes had closed until the touch of something chilled to his temple shocked him into opening them; Emma was standing before him, her right hand drifting gently upwards as she ran the back of her fingers along the shell of his cheek. Up close, he could see the dark circles that rimmed her eyes, the sallow tint to her complexion, the way her skin appeared stretched, gaunt, over her cheekbones.

Her touch was ice cold. Killian could only watch, panicked and wretched and fearful, as Emma continued moving her hand down, fascinated, as if lingering on the warmth he radiated.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, her biting words drifting to tenderness, “I forgive you. You helped me realise the most important thing.”

She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaning in close to his ear. When she spoke, he could feel cool air lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. She smelt like the forest at dusk.

“The only one who saves me is me.”

A hiss, the freezing touch of her lips to the skin just below his ear, and she was gone again.

“You seem a little overwhelmed,” Emma declared imperiously, and now she was standing in the doorway that led out towards the rest of the house. The puckish delight he had seen in her when she appeared had returned, and she twirled once more in her gown, skirt swishing noisily around the floor. “Why don’t you come back when you’re ready?”

Before his heart could beat another woeful throb, she had disappeared completely. 

Killian stared at the space she had been, now vacant and vast, and tried to wrench himself back into the present.

“Emma?”

His torch flickered back into life. 

Killian reminded himself to take a breath.

More than a little disconcerted, he called her name again into the dark; but he was as alone as he had been when he first arrived. Disquiet slowly giving way to agitation, he gave every corner of the room one last glance before he swept out into the hallway again, scouring the house for any sign of her. 

Even as he thundered up to the second floor and threw open the door to every bedroom, rifled through cupboards, hauled down the rotted door to the attic, she remained completely absent. Killian tried to stem the growing tide of anguish once he realised she would probably not reappear. For a moment he considered that he might have passed out for a few minutes and hallucinated, or that he was asleep back in his room at Granny’s, but Killian had confidence in his own intrinsic sense of knowing when something was real that made him certain he hadn’t conjured up the encounter from one of his more desperate dreams.

Emma Swan was here.

Like a mirror pointed inwards, the very walls of Brooke House were saturated with her; he could feel her pulse through the old, rotted panelling, could hear her steps creaking on the floorboards. He could almost see her sitting at the spinning wheel of the otherwise barren room on the second floor. The dusty tomes of the bookcase in the study had been hauled out of place and clumsily returned a thousand times over – pages had been earmarked and passages circled that would appeal to her spirit. In the attic, the wardrobe door hung wide open.

Emma Swan was here – she just didn’t want to see him.  

Why don’t you come back when you’re ready?

No matter what he tried, nor how often he begged or pleaded into the blackened hallways, whatever vestige of her he had seen did not return. 

Dawn had long since broken by the time he left the house.

He longed for rest, for quiet; and most of all he longed for Emma.

-/-

October 22nd – 5 Years Ago

Emma’s birthday crashed into the Nolan household with far more aplomb than she was comfortable with. From the moment David had tumbled into her bedroom waving about a card and a present he was immensely proud of (a book of humorous ‘worst case scenarios’, to, in his own words, remind her to “cheer up, because at least there aren’t alligators”), she had been the centre of attention all day. Ruth had treated her to a grandiose breakfast of all of her favourite treats, and gifted her a beautiful desk set which looked easily more expensive than anything she had ever owned; which either made her feel unbelievably touched or profoundly uncomfortable, she couldn’t decide. Either way meant she promised she would cherish it.

But as grateful as she was, mostly she was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. She hadn’t been lying when she had told David she would rather the day pass quietly, perhaps with a movie or two. Birthdays for her had always been a lonesome affair, another year under her belt marking the distance from the day her parents had abandoned her by the side of the road; and just as she had been expecting, jumping from one extreme to the other was a difficult adjustment.

Still, even inundated with the gifts and attention she knew she was fortunate to receive, Emma couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

It wasn’t until Killian had turned up on their doorstep, declaring that she had to join him on an expedition, that she realised quite what it was. She had hurriedly called over her shoulder than she would be back in a few hours, grabbed her coat and skipped down the steps after him.

She hadn’t seen much of Killian over the last week or so – in fact, she hadn’t gotten the chance to spend any real time with him since the day they had visited Brooke House. He had taken to spending his lunches in the library, away from the bustle of noise that normally surrounded David’s friends that Emma occasionally fell into these days, and he vanished soon after the bell rang marking the end of the day. It tugged an odd sensation from her. After years of him being only a few doors down under Archie’s roof, she was feeling oddly bereft of his presence after his isolating behaviour in the last week or so.

As she practically jogged down the street after him, she felt something calm and pleasant warm her when she observed his excitement as he charged ahead; she was only half listening to what he was saying.

And it did seem like he’d forgotten it was her birthday. Which suited Emma just fine.

Only when they began to turn up the pebbled path to the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa did Emma’s awareness of her surroundings really kick in, and she slowed her trail of Killian enough for him to notice.

“What are we doing here?”

Killian gave her an odd look. “I told you – ‘Beauty’, I found her.”

“Beauty?” After a beat, realisation dawned. “Like the photograph?”

“Turns out she’s been living in Storybrooke the whole time – the nuns have been taking care of her for the past few years.”

Emma arched an eyebrow. “Taking care of her?”

“Well, she’s… I mean she’s old, obviously,” Killian looked a little uncomfortable, “and y’know… old people need taking care of.”

She had the distinct impression he was leaving something out, but the eager smile he was giving her and the crook of his finger as he took slow, backward steps up the path won her over, albeit reluctantly, and they made their way to the convent.

A kindly nun greeted them on the doorsteps, and given the warmth of the greeting and the apparent familiarity with Killian, Emma sensed he had called ahead. The nun excitedly told them that Mrs Gold did not receive many callers, but felt it would do her a world of good to be visited by a couple of kindly young souls from the town. Emma’s unease grew, but she trusted Killian. Perhaps it wasn’t where she had imagined spending the latter half of her birthday, but that hardly mattered now.

They were led up the stairs to a bedroom door on the landing, and the nun knocked three times to announce their entrance.

“Belle? Belle, my dear?”

Killian was right; the woman nestled into the bed was old. But the soft lines of her face and the lovely, big eyes she had turned to the window were a sure sign that she had once been beautiful. Even with her silver hair and the puckered skin around her features she was easily recognisable as the girl in the photograph they had found in the attic. ‘Beauty’ had been right – but how Killian had found her was a complete mystery.

The nun called her name again. Belle did not turn from the window, and it was then that Emma observed the almost glassy coolness that had settled in her ice-blue eyes. She stared with a definite vacancy out into the garden below, and it was only when the nun gently touched her shoulder that she was suddenly jerked for her trance and, startled, became aware of the visitors.

Emma realised why exactly Killian was reluctant to discuss the state of the aged Mrs Gold; she would certainly have voiced a protest to disturbing an elderly woman with any measure of vulnerability.

Still, after the nun had introduced them, a perfect, gentle smile bloomed, and it changed the shape of her features entirely. She greeted them warmly and the nun, satisfied, soon departed the room.

Emma fidgeted. Killian immediately reached for a chair and scraped it over to the bedside, but Emma preferred to stand – she felt a little uncomfortable as it was, and instead wandered over to the window to perhaps catch a glimpse of what had so captured the woman’s attention.

“This is you, right? In the photo?” Killian was handing it over, and the woman’s laugh was positively musical as she took it from him.

“Why, yes,” she chortled, tracing a finger down the edge of the image. “If – if you can believe it now.”

“You look lovely,” Killian hurried to assure, “then and now.”

“Thank you, sweet boy,” Belle smiled. “Where on earth did you come by this?”

Killian shot Emma a look, but she shrugged. This was his venture.

“I found it,” he began, with a marked amount of trepidation, “in Brooke House.”

Immediately, the old woman’s face fell. Emma watched with amazement as her big, beautiful eyes grew sad, and she thrust the photo back towards Killian, who accepted it more out of surprise than anything else.

Belle shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t… I don’t know anything about that boy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Which boy?” Killian asked.

“The boy with the lovely manners,” she answered, as if that explanation were enough to make it obvious, “he brought me carnations.” At their continuing blank looks, Belle began to fidget nervously with the duvet, intermittently clutching it tightly between her fingertips and releasing it. “They say he… he drove off a cliff.”

Liam. Killian’s eyes closed instantly. Emma stepped up to stand by his shoulder and squeezed it once with her hand.

From all that Killian had told her about Liam, it seemed altogether quite believable that he might be the sort of man to bring an elderly lady flowers and win her over by simply being kind. Killian appeared to have reached that conclusion too.

“That boy was my brother, Liam.”

“Oh.” Belle’s eyes grew wide, and sad. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“But how did you meet him? Liam?” Emma inquired.

“He brought me carnations,” Belle repeated, her voice deep and slow. “He had such lovely manners.”

Emma and Killian exchanged looks. He slipped the photograph back into his pocket.

“We were wondering if we could ask you about the house – Brooke House, where we found the photograph.” Belle bit her lip, gaze flitting nervously between the two of them. “Did you live there?”

“My – my husband,” she said, “he found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.”

Make him –? That settled it for Emma. This woman was, in all likelihood, nuts. No wonder she’d been left with the nuns.

Killian’s lips had parted, but before he could speak the old woman suddenly lurched forward with alarming speed, a frail hand reaching for his and gripping it sharply.

“You mustn’t go there,” she spoke directly, staring firmly into Killian’s eyes with a cognizance Emma would not have attributed to her. “It will only bring you pain.”

Killian did his best to meet her halfway. “Why? What happened to your husband?”

Just as quickly as she had taken it, she released his hand. Emma watched as Killian stretched out his fingers and winced a little – had she been gripping it that tightly? Had she even the ability to? As Belle retreated her eyelids drooped, a melancholy settling around her shoulders that Emma realised she had seen before. Except, now that she knew that for a brief moment Belle Gold had been without it, she wanted to see it again so she might be able to discern the differences in her demeanour. This woman was devastatingly sad, and confused, and Emma grew more uneasy the longer they spent with her.

Not least for the affect it might have on Killian; finding Brooke House to begin with had to be staggering enough.

“No one would believe me,” Belle murmured miserably.

“We’ll believe you,” Killian was quick to assure her, “I promise.”

Belle’s eyes snapped to his. She was all caprice.

“He was taken.” She shook her head. “By darkness, in the middle of the night. There is… there is evil in that house.”

For a moment Emma was no longer in the tattered bedroom of the convent, but the attic of Brooke House – the wardrobe thumped, beckoned, and whispered. She felt her heart begin to race. 

It wanted to know her.

“Do you believe in magic?”

The odd question startled her back to the present, and she was at once able to observe what was happening – Killian watching her, mesmerised, as the old woman spun her tale. He was vulnerable enough, he didn’t need his head filled with all sorts of wizard crap from a batty old lady who lived with nuns. Emma wasn’t having it.

“Killian,” she pleaded, “this is ridiculous…”

But Killian dismissed her concerns with an impatient wave of his hand, and urged Belle to continue.

“My husband believed a spirit resided in Brooke House – a spirit that could gift the one who freed it with ultimate power. He wanted it.” Belle shut her eyes, her wizened face contorted with pain. “That was his undoing.”

Killian was utterly entranced. “What – what kind of spirit?”

Belle shook her head. She didn’t speak again for a number of moments but Emma could sense Killian’s reluctance to ask for a second time; somehow to repeat the question might be to insert some much needed realism into the moment, and the spell might be broken. Whatever fantastical answers he wanted inhabited this single second.

She just hoped they would be enough this time.

To her surprise, Belle’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“I couldn’t do anything,” she began to weep, “for the lovely boy. He b-brought me carnations.”  

“But what did my brother want?” Killian pressed. “Did he ask you about the house?”

“He had such lovely manners.”

Soon, her quiet shaking gave way to a loud wail, and Killian stood from his chair in alarm. Emma, completely unnerved by the elderly woman suddenly howling through the stillness of the convent and entirely unsure of what to do next, merely stood awkwardly halfway to the door – should they fetch one of the nuns? Just leave?

Emma’s mouth was open to ask if she’d like a glass of water or something equally banal and probably inappropriate, when the door swung open and the nun who had invited them inside came through looking startled.

From the way her expression morphed into one of tight fury, Emma knew their visit was over. In a matter of minutes they had been ushered quite tersely to the front door of the convent and invited not to return again if they would insist on distressing their residents in such a way, but Emma couldn’t stop thinking about the way Belle rocked in her bed and wept so strongly into her hands for a boy she barely knew; the sweet and gentle Liam Jones, who had brought her carnations. It seemed every life he’d walked through was incapable of getting over his loss.

Liam was always the one part of Killian she could not touch.

Left stranded on the porch as they were, Emma surveyed the long lawn that led out from the convent. The tips of the grass were frosted over, a herald of the likely harsh winter she knew would follow, and peppered with streaks of gold where errant leaves had blown across from the treeline at the far end. It was all stillness outside, like the air itself were holding its breath. She stole a glance at Killian but he, too, was staring out from the stone wall.

Then he took off quickly down the stairs.

“Killian –?” Emma immediately started after him, and like her call had suddenly jerked him into remembering he was there, he turned and winced.

“Let’s just… let’s not talk about it,” he pleaded. “Just – just for a little while. Please can we not even try.”

Maybe retrospect was allowing him to really see what had just happened the way Emma did; they had been entertaining the crazed ramblings of an unfortunately ill elderly woman, who genuinely believed her husband had disappeared because of the machinations of an evil spirit. Who apparently lived in a cabin. Perhaps he was embarrassed.

So, for the nth time in recent memory, Emma was helpless to not wanting to point it out to him. He was reaching, and part of him probably knew it. Instead, she let out a weary sigh.

“Granny’s?”

“Ah,” he suddenly jolted, “yes! Granny’s. I have something else to show you.”

He darted for her hand and used it to tug her clumsily down the steps towards him and, baffled at his sudden change in demeanour, Emma laughed and let herself collapse into his side.

“But I have to tell you, if it’s another old person about to ask me to believe in magic, it’s going to be a hard pass.”

“Oh, shush.”

-/-

Present Day

Aesop’s Tables was probably the only place serving alcohol that early in the morning, so Killian didn’t question it when Mary Margaret led them to that part of town. Nestled into a redbrick industrial building, it had always been an easily overlooked sort of place – and it was the sort of place that tended to easily overlook you, provided you could pay for beer and didn’t cause any trouble. It was a popular location for late teens or young adults trying to see how far they could push the ‘I’m over twenty-one’ line until it was true, and given there were worse things they could be pretending to be, they were largely left alone.

Mary Margaret held the door open for him, and after they entered he was immediately hit by a wave of something tangy smelling, a fragrance that let you know just before the fact that your shoes would make a peeling sound when you lifted them off the ground. The tables were a worn and dull oak that might once have been nice-looking, but constant forceful cleaning had long since deadened them, and no matter how many times were wiped over always felt just a little bit greasy underneath your fingers, like they still oozed lager that had been spilt into the cracks a thousand times over.

It wasn’t exactly the sort of place he could imagine Mary Margaret, elementary school teacher, wearer of lavender coats and soft berets, spending time in.

It was exactly the sort of place he could imagine Mary Margaret, certified firecracker, acerbic of wit and bold of humour when they were seventeen and invincible, spending time in.

Although the two facets of her had always existed simultaneously, they had always complimented each other in a way that had only strengthened her spirit; she seemed less, somehow, for letting one take precedence over the other.

Certainly watching her daintily lay her lavender coat over one of the crooked bar stools didn’t quite click into place the way it should have done.

Killian nodded to Aesop, who thankfully didn’t care about serving town pariahs as much as he didn’t care about serving minors, and ordered them each a rum and coke.

(A little bit of one side – and a little bit of the other).  

“So,” Mary Margaret said, peering at him over the rim of her glass before taking a sip. Her nose wrinkled, barely noticeably, before the corner of her mouth ticked up. “David. That looked like a difficult conversation.”

“I’ve had worse,” Killian answered, not untruthfully. He felt tired; the kind of tired that burrowed deep into your bones. Mary Margaret hummed in agreement, and something about it made Killian finally give over to his curiosity. “So. David,” he echoed. “What happened? When I left, you were… well, you were definitely heading somewhere.”

Mary Margaret immediately dropped her gaze, picking at the smooth wood of the bar with a fingernail. Like David, she wore her every emotion on her sleeve, but regret had written itself so closely into the shape of her brow that Killian almost didn’t notice it – or it had been there for a lot longer than he realised.

“David… made his choice,” she finally sighed. “As much as I wish it could have gone another way…”

Ah, now he understood. “He didn’t want to let go?”

“Don’t judge me, Killian,” Mary Margaret’s tone was sharp with reproach as she straightened on her stool. “Some people don’t want to live in their trauma.”

He could remember a cool night in early summer, the year after they had lost Emma. Huddled by the edge of the forest he could still hear the buzz of insects, feel the way the soil had kicked up underfoot, the harsh zoom of nearby cars. The night she gave up first.

I want the chance to miss her. But it’s impossible around all of you.

The Mary Margaret of now looked almost exactly like the Mary Margaret of then. The Mary Margaret that would rather be soft and sure than part of their razor’s edge.

She took another drink. “Not all of us have your stamina.”

It was just a statement of fact, unintending of any hurt, but he felt its sting all the same. “Well, I’m sorry about it. You two were… it looked nice.”

“I should have left, really,” she said, with a forced nonchalance that fell flat. “Followed your example. But every time I packed a bag I just…” She shook her head ruefully. “There’s something about this town.”

Something jerked in his chest, something ached. “Don’t I know it.”

“Did you miss us?”

“Of course,” he replied, and he meant it.

They sat in silence for a little while, letting it sink into the space between them. Mary Margaret kept scrunching up her expression and then schooling it into something more relaxed, and he could tell she was trying to think of the best way to phrase something – or she already knew exactly what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t decide if it would hurt his feelings.

He wanted to let her know they weren’t such fragile things anymore, but she probably still remembered the boy on that cool summer night, too.

We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.

She had put them all away, somewhere; but that was alright. They all had to do what they needed to survive.

“It was upsetting,” Mary Margaret said finally, staring hard at her glass. “Not because of you. It was just – I’m sorry we made you feel like you had to go.”

Killian felt something warm bloom in his chest – the fact she carried any regret towards it was a surprise, especially given his decision to leave Storybrooke had no more to do with them than it had to do with the bus schedule out of town. They were just moving parts in a decision he had made all on his own. It wasn’t on them, but the idea that they might think that and feel sorry for it was both startling and touching.

“It’s alright,” he said wryly, after finishing his drink. “I forgave this town a long, long time ago.”

“I wish the town would forgive you.” She, too, polished off the remainder of her drink, and sighed. “We were stupid kids. And one day our stupidity got someone killed.”

It was amazing, he thought, how selective her memory could be.

Without preamble, Mary Margaret stood from the stool and lifted her lavender coat, checking it briefly for any stains or muck that might have come away with it before she shrugged it on.

“Take care of yourself, Killian. And I’m sorry about what I said before, at Granny’s.” She shook her head, cross with her earlier self. “You can talk to me anytime, about anything. You have my number.”

He did, but he wouldn’t use it. He thanked her honestly and watched her go.

Aesop asked if he wanted another drink.

He thought for a moment.

“Something that will help me sleep,” he said finally, “but not let me dream.”

-/-

October 22nd – Five Years Ago

Killian’s hand kept brushing into the space between them, almost reaching, before retreating at the last minute. Emma’s pulse quickened with every inch it skimmed closer to her own hand, almost daring him to go ahead and take it.

It wasn’t like it would be the first time – she had often found herself reaching for his hand, to provide reassurance or some much needed comfort, and he the same for her. It had felt like their entire cautious journey from the rotted front door of Brooke House all the way up to the attic they had stayed attached to each other, needing something to secure themselves to the real world, lest their overactive imaginations pull them apart.

It was just that – right now – they would be a boy, and a girl, on Main Street, and without any such excuse.

She wondered if Killian even noticed that he was doing it.

He spoke animatedly about nothing at all. About the history project they had been given by Mr. Hyde, about the new Sheriff the town had elected last month. About liquorice allsorts, in his smooth, British accent with his face turned onto the road ahead so she could easily, secretly, admire the hard line of his jaw.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed. They weren’t kids anymore. Killian had broader shoulders now, and hair that fell just so, and she remembered the way his upper body had tensed pleasantly the day the seniors had been asked to help put up the Halloween decorations around the school. The friendship she and Killian had forged in fire had always been made of sterner stuff, stuff that had always made her flat out reject any idea of taking that relationship any further than the platonic. He was too special, too important. But it didn’t mean sometimes she didn’t imagine it another way.

And sometimes, when his hand brushed hers, gently, in broad daylight, she thought he had probably imagined it too.

Granny’s was abuzz with the Sunday lunchtime rush, but once the proprietor had noticed their entrance she quickly hurried them over to an empty booth in the corner, bestowing a fond smile on Killian and tousling his hair as she did so. Killian batted her hand away, but Emma could tell he was pleased. Due to their friendship with Ruby, she and Killian were always more than welcome in the Lucas household, which included some added benefits when the household was attached to a diner.

Nonetheless, she was still surprised when instead of her usual diet coke, Granny instead marched proudly over with a large, almost clumsily put together cake with bright pink, uneven frosting, and placed it down in front of her.

The words Happy Birthday Emma! had been wobblily written across in blue icing.

When Emma lifted her surprised gaze from the cake, she met Killian’s grinning face looking distinctly pleased with himself.

“You remembered?” She was sure he’d completely forgotten, amid everything that had happened over the last few weeks.

To his credit, Killian almost looked offended at the notion. “Of course,” he insisted. “I was up at the crack of dawn making this!” A throat was cleared loudly above them, and Killian conceded; “Well, Granny helped.”

“And bought the ingredients, and provided the kitchen space?”

“Granny,” Killian was smiling, although he spoke through gritted teeth, “would you actually mind if – could we have a moment, please?”

Emma missed whatever look of understanding likely passed between the pair of them, as Granny then retreated quickly, but she found herself struck by the image of Killian back in the kitchen of the diner, fussing about how to get the cake just right. Lanky limbs would get in the way, flour would get everywhere; Killian didn’t know the first thing about baking.

Which was probably why it looked so lumpy, like a child had moulded it out of clay.

It was – even more than Ruth’s beautiful desk set, perhaps – startlingly thoughtful.

“Do you… like it?” He was nervous, which was when Emma realised she hadn’t spoken, so she quickly smiled to reassure him.

“It probably tastes better than it looks, right?”

Killian snorted, and Emma too started to laugh. Before long they had both dissolved into fits of laughter, and after Granny had returned with a knife and couple of plates, they had each cut themselves a generous slice and agreed that yes, definitely, it tasted far better than it looked.

“I got you something else,” Killian said later, after she’d shovelled the last mouthful in of her third slice, and declared she couldn’t eat another bite.

“Oh god, if it involves icing I’m going to have to respectfully decline.”

Killian smiled obligingly, but waved her off before reaching into his jacket. Emma could tell from the way he hesitated that he was nervous, and that was enough to make her own pulse race a little quicker. A gift from David or Ruth she could graciously, if awkwardly, accept, but Killian had always been something else. They did not waste trinkets on each other, they never had – money had never been an infinite tool at their disposal, even in the kindness under Archie’s roof.

What Killian withdrew from his coat was a thin white envelope, with her name written neatly across it.

“Alright,” Emma gave him a suspicious look as he handed it over, “colour me intrigued.”

Killian’s hands moved from their place resting atop the table to being clasped together, before separating again restlessly. It took a moment for Emma to register what the small slip of paper that slid out of the envelope was.

STATE OF MAINE DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORT FROM: Storybrooke        TO: Augusta DEP: 23Jun15 18:00       SCHED: 8150 -- TICKET FOR SCHEDULE 8150 / 23Jun15 FARE        $23.00

She felt like she’d seen a hundred of them before – but she still didn’t really understand what she was seeing. Her gaze lifted to Killian, fidgeting in his seat, and she bit her lip. “What am I looking at?”

“I know this town isn’t where it ends, not for you,” Killian said by way of answer. “I’ve always known that, like I know how to tie my own shoelaces. You love David, and Ruth, and Regina and Ruby and Mary Margaret, but you want more. You always have. You deserve more.” His words zinged with a nervous sort of energy, and Emma felt her heart begin to pound against her ribcage. “So I’m trying to… give you more.”

“It’s a bus ticket.”

“It’s for the date of graduation,” Killian hurried to point out, swallowing as he waved at the ticket. She noticed that yes, it was. “I wanted to buy a plane ticket, but then – I mean, turns out plane tickets are super expensive, and I also wasn’t sure where you’d want to go, so—”

“So your birthday present to me,” Emma began slowly, lowering the envelope, trying to make sure she had this right, “is to sit me on a bus and send me out of town next year?”

“Well, actually I was hoping,” Killian replied, fumbling with his pocket for a moment, “that you’d want to sit next to me.”

Gently, he placed a matching ticket on the table beside hers.

The stuttering tones of Only You by Yaz began crooning from the jukebox, and Emma decided it was her favourite song in the entire world.

“It’s, erm – it’s more of a symbolic gesture, really. I thought, if you wanted, that we could get as far as Augusta and then make it up from there. Like – maybe Boston, you know? Or New York? Or, and I’m thinking if I can put enough money aside, maybe we could get a plane ticket. In fact, Augusta seems like a stupid idea now. And also, wow, super presumptuous. Who says you even want to leave? This is officially the worst idea I’ve ever had.” He continued speaking to fill the vacuous space left by her silence, peering closely at his ticket. “I think I can get a refund if I –”

Emma was up on her feet, rounding the table so she could slide in beside him in the booth before he could finish the sentence. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and kissed him hard on the cheek.

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she felt overwhelmed by warmth. On a day that had started uncertainly Killian Jones, as always, was joy and thoughtfulness. All at once to her he was twelve years old and kind and scared but also seventeen and fierce and wanting, and he had bought them both a ticket out of Storybrooke for the day their obligations ended. Future with Killian was limitless; there was only sky for miles and miles and miles.

She couldn’t wait.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, to Killian’s dazed expression. “For always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

“You’re… you’re welcome.”

He probably noticed the exact moment she did the proximity her new position had granted them. Emma realised, with a shot of unexpected and terrifying delight, that they were now just inches apart. All it would take was the slightest movement forward from either of them to finally satisfy their curiosity. From the way Killian’s gaze flickered down to her lips she could tell the same thought had crossed his mind. Knowing him, he was probably waiting to see what she would do.

All other sound tuned out in an unhurried manner, as if someone were slowly turning the volume down on the diner, on the conversation of the patrons and the sound of cutlery on plates or Granny’s loud repetition of the orders she had just received, except for the jukebox. The electronic bop of Only You still tiptoed up and down the scale, and Emma felt herself swaying dangerously forward. She could spot a scratch of youthful, patchy stubble beginning to grow on his chin, and the barely visible scar on his right cheek from when they were fourteen and Regina had flung a pencil at him with excessive force. She knew the curve of his mouth as well as she knew her own.

But she just – she couldn’t. Not now. They’d made plans together, important plans. She couldn’t bear it if there were any reason she couldn’t sit beside Killian on that bus to Augusta.

Besides, the future was only sky. They had all the time in the world.

Emma cleared her throat, smiling self-consciously and sliding her arms back from around his neck. It burst the bubble, and Killian too shook his head lightly as if to jog himself back into the moment.

After a beat of nervous chuckling, Only You became the song she had almost kissed Killian Jones to.

She returned to her seat opposite him.

“Really, thank you,” she said, and she meant it. “Augusta suits me just fine.”

Killian bowed his head shyly.

“Just as well,” he muttered, “it was pretty much all I could afford.”

-/-

Present Day

“Emma?”

He had waited until dark to return to Brooke House, snatching a few hours of restless sleep from within his room at Granny’s, but he still felt tormented by the faces in the town he had left behind. His phone was notably absent of any texts from David, and Regina had left his last message on read and not bothered to reply. Mary Margaret’s offer of confidence fell flat when he knew the things he wanted to share she didn’t truly want to hear. Even Ruby had avoided him, not wanting to finish their earlier conversation.

All Killian could think about was Emma.

I’m exactly where you left me, Killian Jones.

The only one who saves me is me.

Something had survived in that house, and after all this time he wanted answers. Be it vengeful spirit, demonic manifestation or the soul of the girl he had loved, the not knowing simply wasn’t enough anymore. The visage of her had robbed him of his confidence, stolen him away from the barely cultivated life he had built from the debris of his own making, and he wasn’t leaving Storybrooke until he could close this chapter for good.

He had left the dagger behind, wrapped it in an old scarf and stuffed it under the seat in his Chevelle – it felt safer there than hidden in his room at Granny’s. He wasn’t sure if the old lady would come snooping again and he didn’t want to tempt fate by leaving something so conspicuous anywhere she could find it.

Peering into the gloom of the living room, Killian called her name again, and at first the only answer was the sway and creak of the old house, but before long he felt her enter the room. Like all the air had been sucked out, and only a light ringing in his ear could be heard over the deep, deadly cadence of her voice.

“Welcome back.” She spoke from somewhere near his elbow, but when he turned she had already moved far away to the window, the curtain lifted by a breeze with nothing natural about it. “Do you feel a little better now?”

Not as blindsided, maybe. But better?

“Where have you been?” Killian started. Brooke House had disappeared with Emma, that had been well documented by all of them. Its return now had to mean something. “What happened to you?”

Emma surveyed him shrewdly, tilting her chin upwards. A black petal fell from her crown, but landed delicately in her outstretched palm.

“You want to know if I’m still me.” Her tone was almost accusatory when she spoke, before it curled into something awful and amused. “Oh, Killian, don’t tell me you’re still carrying that particular torch. That’s so… sweet.”

Killian felt himself flush angrily, but was sure in the dark she wouldn’t even notice. The heat was a welcome change from the cold that surrounded her.

“I want to know what the bloody hell happened that night.”

Her gown was the same white he had seen the night before, and it audibly swished as she moved across the floor, slowly, daintily, like a ghost of pure ivory.

“Do you remember my eighteenth birthday?” she said instead, ignoring him. When she smiled her eyes were black and Killian had to look away. In an instant she was beside him, brushing a chilled hand down his arm. “You took me to Granny’s, gave me that awful cake. And that pathetic little bus ticket.” She laughed cruelly and Killian ripped his arm from her grip. “God, it’s true what they say, isn’t it? Everything you do as a teenager does make you cringe when you grow up.”

Rage began to build beneath the surface of his skin, and he gritted his teeth.

Don’t, he begged. Don’t take away those moments.

Precious, fugacious things.

In the coolness of her presence, everything was ashes.

“What are you?”

“Is that where you started, I wonder?” she continued loudly, tilting her head far to the side. It was a decidedly inhuman gesture, her neck bent farther than could be comfortable. “On that bus to Augusta? Did you get on it by yourself with those big, sad eyes, and wish I’d been sitting there too?”

Killian felt a humiliating sting behind his nose and turned abruptly away. He wouldn’t let her see it. He wouldn’t let her take another part of him without a fight. Instead, he jolted in surprise when he felt something press into his back. Killian knew it must be the curve of her forehead, as her two hands came to rest above it, between his shoulder blades, hard fingers curling into his jacket.

“I felt it as you walked the Earth, Killian Jones. Every step. My dagger has tasted so many wonderful places.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, like drizzle in the fall. Constant and sad and desperate and desirable. “You said it yourself. This town isn’t where it ends for me.”

Her nails were beginning to sting his shoulder, but he daren’t turn around. Somehow he felt more powerful with his back to her, with her clinging to him like a child. By fair means or foul, it soothed a little of the ache of the years he had spent clinging to her with a similar fervour.

“What,” he hesitated, cleared his throat so he didn’t sound so hoarse, “what do you want?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions.”

Her fingers dug in harder as he felt her lift herself onto her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear. When she spoke again it was harsh and granular and the melodic lilt was gone.

“I want to be free of this house.”

The moment Killian chose to pull himself away was the same moment she released him, and when he spun around he saw her again standing by the window and looking out. With her admission hanging deadly in the air, the words still ricocheting across his skull, he thought she looked almost longing. Sad. Or hungry.

“But David,” he said, making his bemusement clear, “Ruby – they said they saw –”

A figure at the end of the bed.

On the edge of Main Street.

Killian, himself, had seen the whisper of a gown swish closely out of sight.

Only You had been playing around him for days, on radios, in shops, aching, wanting, reminding him of everything that never was, the roads that time had closed. He had assumed that was her doing.

“Oh, I can test the boundaries,” Emma dismissed him with the wave of a hand, “stretch my limits. But I’m always tethered here.”

With a start she was in front of him, and if the concerned crease of her brow and the roundness of her eyes were enough to make him forget the gaunt pallor or the ice of her touch, he might’ve thought he were staring at Emma Swan as he had known her.  She clutched at his hands painfully tightly.

“Help me, Killian,” she begged, and her voice had become light and youth and – normal. “Let me out. Please.”

His lips parted. For a moment, a desire overwhelmed him to run to the Chevelle, to grab the dagger and bring it back to Brooke House, to lay it at her feet. He desperately wanted to please her. He knew not why other than the sensation that he must, and his body tensed, readying itself for the journey.

Only something triumphant had flickered in Emma’s expression then, and it was enough to wrench him out of the thrall. He trembled with the effort of keeping himself steady, almost stumbling forward right into her.

“You?” he gasped. “Or what’s inside you?” With effort he pushed her away, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. “I won’t do it.”

It seemed imperative that whatever restless spirit had taken root in Storybrooke, it should never be able to leave.

Within seconds he was only holding empty air and Emma was gone again.

This time when she spoke, the deep, heavy voice was back, talking as imperiously as he would expect from something so hostile.

“Even if I could tell you what happened to your brother?”

Killian did a double take, but Emma wasn’t in the room anymore. He scrambled out the door into the hallway and found her mounting the stairs, the muddied edge of her gown trailing behind her.

“Liam?”

“I know now, don’t you see?” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you everything – but only if you help me.”

Killian shook his head fiercely. “You’re not her.” Maybe she never was. “My Emma didn’t play games. And whatever you are, you can be damned sure I will never help you.”

He couldn’t see Emma’s expression as she disappeared up onto the landing, and she sounded much farther away than should be possible.

“You don’t have to decide now,” she murmured, Killian straining his ears to hear her. “‘Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love…’”

Gritting his teeth, Killian pounded up the stairs behind her, the wood groaning in protest, but she was already gone. As a cursory gesture he threw open the door to the room with the spinning wheel, and although it continued to spin eerily slowly, the by now familiar creek accompanying its every complete rotation, Emma was nowhere to be seen. Based on his experiences the day prior, he was certain he wouldn’t find her in any other room in the house.

Back in the hallway, he considered heading back to the Chevelle and retrieving the dagger. Surely that would lure her back.

He dismissed it almost immediately – not tonight.

Tonight he would let himself mourn.

Tomorrow, the real work began.

[abm111815]

Bad feelings: JJ x reader

Part one

Summary: what happens when the groups plans get ruined and no one can find JJ? They have a bad feeling that something isn’t right.....

The rest of the pogues were waiting for you down at the docks, or at least that was what the plan was supposed to be. Your shift at The Wreck was just ending. You changed out of your uniform and into your swimsuit and shorts and headed to the docks. Kie, Pope, John B, and Sarah were all there waiting. However, your boyfriend, JJ was no where to be found. That made no sense seeing as how JJ never missed an opportunity to be out on the water. “Hey guys! Where is JJ?” You asked the group as you made your way towards the boat. “We haven’t heard from him since yesterday. We just assumed he was picking you up from work and coming with you?” Pope said as he lended his hand to help you into the boat. You don’t know why, but you suddenly had a very bad feeling that something was wrong.

“Guys, I think I’m going to go try to find JJ, you guys go ahead and take the boat out and I’ll let you know when I find him.” You couldn’t just go out and enjoy yourself when you didn’t know where your boyfriend was or if he was okay. “No, you’re right y/n something doesn’t seem right, we will all try to find him.” We decided to split up to try and cover more ground. JJ had broken his phone during a fight a couple weekends ago so that did not help the situation. Pope and kie said that they would go look at some of his favorite spots to surf and check some of the jobs he had been working to see if he was there. You and John B. decided to go see if he was at his house. You knew that if something had happened to him, sadly home was where it probably happened. You and John B. Were the only ones that knew about his abusive, horrible father and what JJ went through at home. You knew that JJ would not want you all to be there , he had made it very clear that he wanted you to stay clear of his father. However, you did not care how angry he would be, you had to see for yourself that he was alright.

John B. Pulled the van into JJ’s driveway, there was no sign of Luke’s truck anywhere so you made the decision to go inside. John B. Called out for JJ but got no response. John B. Attempted to go through the front door only to find it locked. You remembered that JJ had mentioned one night that he would always leave his window unlocked to his room so he could sneak in for clothes without Luke knowing. You ran around to the side of the house and found the bedroom window. “John B. I need a lift! I’ll go in and unlock the door for you!” John B. Helped you maneuver yourself in through the window. You made your way to the living room to unlock the door and that’s when you saw it...or should i say when you saw him.

“Oh My God! John B. Hurry!!” You hurried and swung open the door and ran straight over to the slumped over, unconscious body of your boyfriend. “Dear God JJ! y/n is he breathing?!” You fell down beside him and tried to roll him over towards you. There was so much blood, his face was black and blue and there were cuts all over his arms and his chest. You put your hand on his neck trying to find a pulse, it was very faint but it was there. “He has a pulse but it is weak! Call 911!” “Baby, can you hear me? Me and John B. Are here ok? Can you open your eyes for me?” You were trying desperately to try and get some kind of response out of him but there was nothing. You pushed some of his hair that was matted to his forehead back out of his face. As tears streamed down yours and john b’s faces, all you could feel was anger. How could someone do this to their own child? How could you just leave them there to die? Not even call for help?? How long had he been laying here?!” Once the paramedics arrived and loaded JJ on the stretcher, you followed close behind and hopped in the back of the ambulance grabbing ahold of JJ’s hand. “I’ll meet you at the hospital, I am going to call the others and we will all be there as soon as we can.” You just nodded at John B. Afraid that you would break if you tried to speak. JJ never woke up the entire ride to the hospital. The paramedic informed you that he was breathing but that he was not getting enough oxygen so they had to intubate him. You had never been more afraid in your life, seeing a tube down your boyfriend’s throat was something you couldn’t have ever imagined having to see.

The others came running into the hospital and rushed over to you in the waiting area. “Any news? Where did they take him? Did he wake up??” They all were shooting questions at you trying to find out anything about their friend. “They said they had to run some tests, check to see how bad the damage was and see what all injuries they were dealing with. No, he didn’t wake up at all. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen so they had to put a tube down his throat in the ambulance to help him breathe.” you tried to explain everything to them but you had to stop because your voice started cracking and it was getting harder to catch your breath. “Ok, ok calm down y/n. You’re gonna have a panic attack if you don’t calm down. Just breathe for me, take deep breaths ok?” Kie and Sarah sat on both sides of you trying to calm you down. It was no use though, once the tears started and the first sob escaped your throat you couldn’t contain it anymore. You sat there with Kie and Sarah holding you until you eventually wore yourself out and fell asleep.

“Y/n, wake up sweetie, come on wake up.” Kie gently shook your shoulder trying to wake you up from the uncomfortable waiting room chair. “Hey, so the doctors just came by. They said that it was pretty bad and that if we hadn’t got there when we did.....he probably wouldn’t be here.” John B. Explained. “They said that he has a severe concussion, almost all his ribs are broken, he had been choked so he had some damage to his throat and that’s why he was having trouble getting enough oxygen, and several cuts and bruises which we had already seen.” All you could do was sit there wide eyed and shocked as John B explained all of your sweet boy’s injuries. “Is he awake yet?” You just needed to see him, see those blue eyes staring back at you, to see that he was still here with you. “No, not yet. Since the concussion was pretty bad, they wanted to keep him sedated for a few days to let him rest and heal and also to let his throat heal before they remove the tube. They said if he wasn’t sedated he would probably try to pull the tube out and it would only make things worse.”

You had no more words to say to anyone. You felt like your world was just crashing down. Your sweet boy was laying in the hospital not able to breathe on his own all because of his asshole of a father. You could not sit by anymore and let this happen. You had asked JJ several times why he didn’t say something to the cops about his dad beating him. He said that he couldn’t do that because he would have no one to take care of him and DCS would send him to foster care on the mainland. You didn’t care anymore, you had to figure out a solution. You could not let the love of your life step back into that house with that man. “Guys, I’m going to head home. I need to get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.” You wanted to include the group in your plan but not yet. After telling everyone goodbye, you headed back to figure 8 to your house. Yes, you were technically a Kook, but your parents were pogues when they first got married and moved here. Your father had worked very hard to expand his business and create a great life for you all. You moved to figure 8 a few years back but you were still a pogue at heart. That is the main reason that your parents never had an issue with your friends. They knew how kooks treated them and they did not agree with it. Your dad and JJ loved each other and hung out together quite often since you all started dating 3 years ago.

“Y/n, is that you? Oh, honey what is the matter? Why are you so upset?” The second your parents seen you come through the front door they knew something was terribly wrong. You immediately collapsed into your mom’s arms and sobbed. You couldn’t even get words out to tell them, your mom just held you while your dad rubbed your back until you finally calmed down enough to tell them what had happened to JJ and who had been the one to cause it. “Are you serious? How could he do that and get away with it? I’m not going to stand for that, I’m calling the sheriff myself and turning him in!” You hadn’t ever seen your dad so mad in your life. He was pacing around the living room clenching and unclenching his fists. “Dad, you cant! JJ doesn’t have anymore family to take care of him, if Luke goes to jail, JJ goes into foster care on the mainland!” “No, that is not going to happen either sweetie. Now would i love for my daughter and her boyfriend to live together in my house? No. Would i like to see the boy that she is obviously in love with be taken away from her? Also no. So that’s why i am going to march down to the station and tell the sheriff what happened and that it is not the first time it has happened and how i want JJ taken from that home immediately and i want to become his legal guardian and he will live with us.” You sat there in shock just staring at your dad. Your mom just looked between you and your father with a huge smile on her face, “Y/n honey, you cant honestly expect us to sit by and watch JJ go through that and not do something about it? I know that boy means the world to you, and i know he feels the same. There is no better place for him than right here with us.” You could not believe how well that went. You went to bed shortly after your talk and tried to get some sleep. You could not wait to get to the hospital tomorrow to tell JJ the good news, but what will he think about it when he wakes up?

[girlofmanyfandoms]

What do you think the council's would have felt after the fight between the council and the black swan where Fitz gets impaled when there back in the lost cities and it hits them that they nearly killed a teenager and he probably has a scar from that encounter?

Ooh, buckle up, buttercup, because I have a LOT to say.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of war, Mentions of kidnapping

Warnings: Spoilers for Keeper of the Lost Cities, Looong response

Clarette was the one at fault for Fitz getting impaled. She was the one who was more concerned with the wellbeing of the Arthropleura, than the wellbeing of the boy who “betrayed” them. I, for one, think the Council was completely irresponsible. They take the Black Swan as a rebel group, but why? I can only think of one real reason.

They genetically altered an elven child, and sent her to the Forbidden Cities, bringing her back when she was 12 - Ok, so this one, I can kind of understand. It’s not right to take genes from two random elves, put the egg in a human, which they were sworn to stay away from for the protection of the planet, and leave the elf there, among the humans, only being watched on by the leader of the organization, who was disguised as an old man next door. Super weird, super creepy, not ethically correct, and illegal. But rebellious?

Sure, the Forbidden Cities are off limits, hence the “Forbidden” part of the name. But can we take a second to understand why? With the information we got in Nightfall, we know that Atlantis was sunk because they needed to cut off all connections with humans. But what happened before that? In Nightfall, we’re told of a golden statue that depicts a human and an elf, standing together in unity. Underneath lies Vespera’s Nightfall, where she kidnapped humans, brought them into what is essentially a torture chamber, and tried to understand how they could do such horrible things with having their minds break when elven minds break completing the same action. She understood how to become close to invincible, and how, in some things, humans are superior to elves.

I’m gong to give you a moment to understand how truly demented this is. Vespera is an ancient elf, just like Bronte, and was among those who got to experience a time where humans and elves lived in unity. Humans walked on the same land as elves and traded market secrets and works of technology, among other things. They were already allies, and they were pretty close, considering there was a statue of them together.

Vespera, an already powerful Empath, wanted to gain the upper hand, gain more power, and consequently gain more status and trust. Vespera wanted to rise above everyone else. Her motive, we’re unsure of, but from what I’ve gathered, she’s power-hungry. So, in order to gain that power, she spent months building her torture chamber under the symbol of the unity of the two species. It was not only the last place someone would look if any information was spilled, it had a beautifully cruel meaning to it, almost mocking. Then, she started kidnapping some human allies, ones that she knew were capable of horrid things, and locked them in the rooms full of mirrors, so they could only see the same images again and again, never knowing where they were coming from. You can also assume that there were other types of torture rooms, all centered around finding out a human’s breaking point, and how they can distance themselves from such guilt.

The Council finds out that humans are going missing, and the humans allies are agitated and enraged. What have their elven allies been doing to their species? Was this all a trap? The Council denies having anything to do with human disappearances and pledges to do what they can to find them. But this isn’t enough to satisfy the humans. They start an uprising, they revoke all resources and trades in place, they plan a defense and attack strategy. Bronte is among the Councillors at that time, and tries to urge his colleagues to take action and clear up the issues, but they’re out of ideas, and their alliances with the other Intelligent Species weaken with each human threat. The goblins and ogres are urging the elves to go to war. The gnomes heed of danger to the economy and population. The trolls and dwarves threaten to leave the alliance with the threat of war hanging over everyone’s head. The humans have powerful weapons, and with their ability of committing murder and other such acts without their minds breaking, the Council knows they won’t hesitate to use them. Besides, what do the elves have? An obscurer and some measly melders? They have no choice. They must run the last bit of humans out of Atlantis and sink the city. They do, and let a few generations pass. The secret is forgotten, and they are safe.

Eventually, they decide to try again, with the Human Assistance Program (HAP). A select group of elves, presumably Emissaries, go undercover and help the humans advance their technology, as well as their view of elves, making elves seem like a mythical creature. There were certain positives with this: electricity, penicillin, Lord of the Rings, chocolate cake, Twinkies. But in the middle of World War II, elven knowledge led to the creation of nuclear bombs. Humans kept on advancing this design, and soon enough, had enough to destroy the world. Humans continued to exploit the knowledge of the elves, and it made them more and more destructive. The Council was forced to make another tough decision. They cancelled the program.

Years later, and Bronte still lives with the guilt of this. He uses his Inflicting abilities to dodge the emotions, sure, but he’s made it clear that it’s not good to rely on your ability alone. And then Sophie came along. The Vackers, one of the most well-known and reputable families, claims to have found this elven Telepathic elf in the Forbidden Cities. The Council is terrified. They went in contact with the humans?! They need to see this girl immediately, and remove all traces of her from her hometown. They need to hide her from the public, especially the Ancients, most of which still see humans as barbarians. what would they think of an elf raised among those who threatened to end them and their world as they knew it? They send her to Foxfire, hoping she can lead a normal life and blend in with everyone else. But of course, she can’t. She gets messages from the Black Swan. She and Dex get kidnapped only to be saved by Forkle and dropped off in the middle of nowhere. They arrive in Paris, a Forbidden City. She takes a flareodon to her hometown, another Forbidden City, and makes all of the Everblaze, which the Council unrightfully presumes is the Black Swan despite knowing that there’s another group out there, disappear mysteriously, leaving only the strange flowers in their wake, making the humans confused and suspicious. And that’s only in Book 1.

What about everything else? What about what she did in Exile with Alden? How she can suddenly telepathically talk to animals? How she keeps getting sent to the Healing Center and one day after going missing with Keefe, she’s all better? When she heals Alden? When she and Fitz try to get into Fintan’s mind, but instead they end up burning down most of Eternalia, killing Kenric, one of their own, in the process.

That’s it. The public knows all about Sophie Foster. Some are scared of her, some pity her, and some idolize her. None of this is positive for the Council, and with the Neverseen after them and all of the Intelligent Species, they cannot have her, or any of her friends among everyone else in the Lost Cities. They take initiative and banish them. But what does that do? They all join the Black Swan, cause chaos in Exillium, and recruit Tam and Linh. Keefe joins the Neverseen in an attempt to get Insider Info. The gnomes, whom the elves depend on for food and maintenance, are being threatened in numbers due to a plague. Eventually, it is actually revealed that the ogres, who are supposed to be in an alliance with the elves, have betrayed them for the Neverseen, and attacked Havenfield, a sanctuary that they depend on.

Isn’t that enough to prove them wrong? No. They don’t have the antidote. So the Black Swan, along with Alvar invade Ravagog, and, after some complications, flood it. Alvar is proven to be working for the Neverseen, and the Neverseen have been working with the ogres to defend the antidote. They don’t have the antidote, and Calla has to figure that out for herself. She makes an ultimatum with the Council: Let the children return to society, and she’ll sacrifice herself to become the Panakes Tree and cure all gnomes. The Council is desperate. They need the gnomes to survive, so they have to accept the offer.

Then what? The Black Swan doesn’t stop defending their people, and continue to pursue the Neverseen. They attack hideouts, get hurt, and find Amy, Sophie’s sister, remembering her clearly. Another problem that the Council can’t know about. So, they stash her in Atlantis with Livvy and Quinlin. Soporodine, a powerful and lethal sedative, is introduced, and affects Alvar, Sophie’s human parents, and Ro. Tam takes Ro away, and she eventually awakens. Atlantis is flooding as the force fields fail, and Linh, Keefe, and Sophie stop in from going under. They’re praised, and are offered a statue to honor them. But this is not the end.

Alvar is here now, and he doesn’t remember a thing. He resides in Everglen, much to Fitz’s disappointment. Silvery goes into labor, and with the help of Luzia, who has been hiding a troll hive in Everglen. Alvar regains his memory, and helps the Neverseen broadcast the release of baby trolls right inside of Everglen, publicly shaming them. This tarnishes the Vacker name, and makes the Council look foolish and weak for not noticing this secret over centuries. Umber is down, but the damage is done. Sophie and Fitz have echoes inside of them, killing them slowly. Even though they recover, the Neverseen have recruited Tam in exchange for the lives of the baby alicorns. Not only that, but Sophie is unmatchable.

The Council is still slightly respected, but anyone can see that the Black Swan are the real leaders here. They decide the only way to gain more control over their people is to form an alliance. But they can’t have the same people that tend to cause chaos around Sophie. No, instead they assemble a team of five, with Sophie as the leader. Team Valiant. They gain the title of Regents, and are there to create order. But Sophie does something else. She becomes more powerful in Inflicting and uncovers the secret of the dwarves’ false unity. Tam is forced to help Lady Gisela “fix” her son, but Keefe ends up in a coma. Tam is freed, and Glimmer is convinced to leave the Neverseen and help the Black Swan. Sophie learns how to truly teleport, and Oralie, her number one supporter (and mom) from the beginning decides to do what every Councillor has sworn not to: help Sophie open her cache.

So, to answer your question, I think some of the better Councillors, like Oralie, Bronte, Terik, and possibly Clarette, feel guilty about harming a child, and that they were worried sick over whether or not they had killed a child. But seeing as how corrupt the elven society really is, I don’t think the Council is on the right side. Soon, they’re going to have to choose.

[phantasticworks]

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter One

it’s finally here, lads. buckle up, because it will be a long one. updating schedule is (tentative) weekly

read on ao3

Words: 12.1k 

Summary: All his life, Dan has wanted to have the chance to be a parent someday. He would be the best parent that ever existed, he was sure of it. Fostering might not be the most traditional way on the road to parenting, but Dan's dead set on doing it anyway. But, well, it would be easier with a co-parent, right?

the self-indulgent, bed-sharing, fake relationship, friends-to-lovers, parent fic i was desperate to read; when i shouted into the void and was met with silence, i decided i'd do it myself

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, references to child abuse

If there was one thing that Dan had learned while working within the education system is that life sucked; and if you’re a kid, it seems to suck a lot more, just behind closed doors. He didn’t know if he was just jaded because he was an adult, and therefore life seemed to suck endlessly for him, or if it was because of the job he was stuck in. Being a school counselor hadn’t been exactly where he thought his career was going, but it was a job and it paid the bills, so he stayed.

That’s not to say he was unhappy with his job. Quite the opposite, actually, because if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was being useful, and helping students sort out what they wanted out of their lives felt like being useful to him. But, like every job, there were things he didn’t enjoy about it, specifically how hard it could be some days.

Today was one of those days.

A student, a sophomore girl called Charlotte, had come into his office during her study hall. He hadn’t been at all prepared for the conversation that followed.

“What’s up, Lottie? How’s band going? Did you land the flute solo in the winter showcase?” He had said cheerfully as he ushered her inside.

She shifted awkwardly in her seat, never taking her eyes off the floor, which was strange, even for a shy girl like Charlotte. “Um, yeah… Yeah, I got the solo, but I…” She begins mumbling, ducking her head down so that he can’t understand a thing she’s saying.

“Charlotte? What’s going on?” He spoke softly and encouragingly, not wanting to pressure her, but wanting her to be honest with him if there was something bothering her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dan studying the shaking girl for a few beats before he realized she was crying. He quickly pushed the box of tissues towards her, encouraging her to take one. “I…” She starts quietly, choked up.

“Charlotte,” he speaks gently, causing her to look up at him, her eyes red and watering. “I can’t read your mind, sweetheart. I won’t know how to help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” He gestures to the tissues before settling back in his chair slightly. “Take your time, just know I’m here to listen.”

It’s a few agonizing moments of silence before she finally speaks. When she does, it’s not what he’s expecting in the slightest. “They’ve been hurting me.” Her voice is almost entirely inaudible, but Dan catches it in the complete silence of the room anyway, although after he processes what she’s said he wishes he hadn’t.

“Who?” he asks, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat uncomfortably as he tries desperately to hope that she doesn’t mean what he thinks she means. He had been expecting bullies in her classes, or a break up, or maybe even just bad grades. He had not been prepared for this.

“My mum’s boyfriend… and, well, I guess her too…” She trails off, but her eyes immediately snap back up to his. She rushes to clarify, “she hasn’t touched me, but she...”

Dan clears his throat, straightening up in his seat. “What does she do when he does this?” He asks gently, his voice serious.

Charlotte looks down again, her blonde hair falling over her face, before whispering, “Nothing. She does nothing.” She’s fully crying again, and he suddenly realizes she’s got a hand covering her wrist tightly. He gets a horrible, sick feeling in his stomach as he rises, moving around the desk to sit beside her.

“May I?” He asks softly, gesturing to her hand.

She studies him for a moment before nodding hesitantly. She tugs the sleeve of her shirt up slowly, and Dan suddenly feels himself go lightheaded. There are purple markings all around the wrist of her left hand, and he can tell there’s some further up her arm.

He clears his throat twice before speaking, trying to recall exactly what he needs to do. Call the police, for one. Child abuse was entirely illegal, obviously, and since she came to him with the information voluntarily he had to report it to the authorities. He hated to think about what kind of effect it would have on her, though. He’d been reading up on foster care more and more recently, as he had always wanted to do it himself, but he was sickened to think that this girl might end up in a bad home.

“We’ll have to report them to the authorities. You’ll have to tell them exactly what you’ve told me. Do you think you’ll be able to do that?” Dan asks her seriously, watching her face for any signs of regret or fear. Surprisingly, she does look frightened, but almost determined, too.

“Yes. I have to. My brother… my little brother got…” She bites her lip, which had been trembling furiously the whole time. Dan hands her another tissue and gently rubs her back in a soothing pattern. “He got hit last night. I can’t… I can’t let that happen again.”

Dan nearly chokes, his own eyes beginning to water. He had met her little brother Andrew at the beginning of this year when Charlotte had gotten in trouble for being late for school. She was walking him to the primary school just across the street since their parents had just dropped them both off at the secondary school building. When one of the teachers on duty saw this, he’d had a fit and tried to give her a detention, but Dan had stepped in and suggested that maybe they look at it from a different angle. The child had been terrified and clinging to Charlotte the whole time, thinking it was his fault that his sister was in trouble.

He was so furiously against any kind of child abuse or neglect, and the idea that her sweet little brother, who was barely six years old, had gotten hit by this man… well, it made Dan sick. He tried not to show his emotions to the girl, since he was supposed to be the mature, responsible adult in this situation.

“You’re very brave for telling me about this, Charlotte. I just want you to know that this is going to be difficult, but you did the right thing. I’m going to get Mrs. Pentland and let her know that we’ll be calling the police. Can you sit in here until I get back?” He asks the girl, rising from his seat when she nods slowly.

Just as he’s walking towards the door, she speaks up again. “Can I…” She stood up unsurely, and without her even speaking, Dan knew that she just needed a hug.

“Of course,” He said gently, wrapping his arms around her. He gently patted her head, his heart breaking as she cried in his arms. He hated this part of his job, seeing kids so young being so hurt.

“Thanks.” She whispered when she finally stepped away, rubbing under her eyes. “Really. Thank you, Mr. Howell. I don’t think I would have been able to tell anyone else.”

Again, Dan’s heart broke for her. He didn’t let her see that, instead smiling briefly and reminding her he’d be right back before stepping into the hallway to find their headmistress and let her know what had happened. He takes a minute to be fifteen again, hear the boom of his father’s voice and doors slamming, hard, before shuffling down the hall, off to do his job to the best of his ability.

~~~

When Dan finally manages to leave work that evening, he’s exhausted. The talk with the police and the case worker who had come along was long and tiring, but more so for Charlotte and her brother Andrew, he was sure. He felt awful about the whole thing, but sadly it was out of his hands. The case worker told him it was likely that they would be removed from the home and placed either with a family member or in a foster home. He tried his best to argue with her, saying that there was no way they could know if the foster home would be any better.

She subtly told him to mind his own business.

As he’s shoveling his papers into his messenger bag, his phone beeps with a text. He’s unsurprised to see that it’s from his best friend.

Phil: Mario kart marathon tonight?

Phil: I’ll buy pizza

Dan barely smiles at the message, but he’s too tired for any gaming. Pizza, however, did sound good. He texts him back before he finishes gathering his things.

Dan: raincheck on mk but dominos sounds good  

Dan’s not even surprised when his phone beeps again less than a minute later.

Phil: uh oh  

Phil: Rough day?  

Dan: you have no idea

His phone doesn’t immediately go off again, so he finishes gathering up his things and heads out, locking the door to his office on the way. He’s unsurprised to see that Louise, the headmistress and one of his close friends, had already left for the day. She had two kids, one being a new baby, so he wasn’t surprised that she had wanted to get home to them as soon as possible. He sighs, because as usual, he’s the last person to leave. It’s almost sad, but he likes to think it’s because he just really cares about his job and not because he doesn’t have a social life.

Walking to his car, he groans when his phone begins to ring. He pulls it out as he unlocks his car and tosses his bag in, sliding the answer button when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” Phil’s quiet voice fills the line. Dan can tell he’s trying to be careful and gauge his mood, considering Domino’s was usually their comfort food when something particularly bad had happened.

“Hi,” Dan responds, slamming his door a little too harshly before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot in one quick motion. “So, Domino’s okay with you?” he asks tentatively, unsure if Phil’s offer to hang out still stands if Mario Kart is off the table. He seriously doubted it, but he feels like he can’t blame Phil if he wants to skip out on this particular mood that he’s in.

“Of course. I’ll order it to be sent to yours and meet you there in about fifteen?” Phil sounds soft and gentle, and Dan finds himself wanting to cry all over again after the day he’s had.

“Yeah, okay. You may beat me there, I’m just leaving work.” Dan would never turn down a chance to hang out with his best friend, even if his day had been shit and he was feeling like he’d be the worst company in the world.

“Alright. Want me to set up a movie?” Phil knew him so well, he wasn’t even questioning that Dan wasn’t in the mood for video games, and just accepted that this was one of those times where Dan just needed some passive entertainment and a load of carbs.

“Yeah, something I can cry over.” He suggests, looking at his side mirror before making a turn. He doesn’t elaborate, and he knows that Phil will understand, he always does.

“Okay. See you there.” He waits for Dan to respond in a similar fashion before the line goes dead. Dan sighs, setting the phone down on his lap, chewing his lip as he drives home. His thoughts are clouded with the events of today and his chest feels entirely too heavy. He knows that if he can just have a minute to cry it out, he’ll feel better.

When he gets to his flat, he’s unsurprised to find the door unlocked, the sound of the tv greeting him as he walks through the door. “I’m home!” He calls out, so he doesn’t freak Phil out when he walks into the lounge. He drops his bag off in the dining room, tossing his jacket onto the back of one of the chairs, rolling the sleeves of his button-down shirt up as he walks up the stairs into the lounge where he assumes Phil will be.

He smiles almost against his will at the scene he finds. Phil is curled into one end of his sofa with his laptop out, probably ordering the pizza, Dan’s fuzzy blanket covering his lap, his glasses askew on his face. He’s wearing an ugly sweater that he probably thought was really cool, which Dan finds endearing, if slightly annoying. He looks up as Dan enters the room, a small smile covering his face.

“Hi,” Phil says softly, studying Dan, as if he’ll be able to tell what had happened today just by looking at him.

“Hi,” Dan mimics, walking over and dropping onto the sofa beside him. He drops his head onto the backrest, staring up at the ceiling, feeling Phil’s stare burn into him.

There’s a moment of silence before Phil decides to prompt him again. “So,” he says, lightly knocking his knee against Dan’s. “Do you want to talk about what’s got you so upset?”

Dan shakes his head slowly, his eyes not straying from the spot of ceiling he’s currently memorizing. He knows he should, and that if there’s anyone he can talk to it’s Phil, but he feels like if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll start sobbing. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop if he does.

“Okay,” Phil says slowly, shifting. He seems to be pondering something before he taps Dan’s thigh. “Would you like some tea?”

He very nearly rolls his eyes at this suggestion; they’re so British it hurts sometimes. Instead, he shrugs. “Hot chocolate?” he requests softly, glancing over at Phil, hoping that his best friend will take sympathy on him and make him a mug.

Phil grins as he stands up. “Coming right up, with four marshmallows.”

Dan’s relieved to be left alone for a moment, watching as Phil retreats downstairs to the kitchen. It’s not like he really wanted to avoid discussing what had happened, he just felt that he needed a moment to process it in the comfort of his own home before sharing it.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Phil’s elephant feet are stomping up the stairs, two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands when he enters the lounge. He hands one to Dan before settling onto the sofa, pulling the blanket over himself before looking at Dan expectantly. “So?” he says gently.

Dan knows he isn’t about to force him to speak about it if he really doesn’t want to, but he also knows what Phil knows; it would be so much better for him to speak about it to someone, and the only person he could really confide in was right there. Still, he’s silent for a minute, swallowing hard before whispering, “I had to report a girl’s parents to the authorities for child abuse today.”

His words sit heavy in the air between them, and Dan feels as if he’s suffocating under their weight. He takes a deep, steadying breath, or tries to, at least. It comes out staggered, and he squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to cry. He hadn’t watched a sad movie yet. Dan didn’t just sit around crying for nothing, at least not with company. His mind laughs at this, supplying the idea that Phil has seen him in much worse shape before. Dan kindly asks that little voice to take a hike.

Phil clears his throat, and when Dan tilts his head to look at him, he’s surprised to find Phil looking out the window, his mouth set in a thin line. He hated the idea of child abuse as much as Dan, and Dan suddenly feels guilty about telling him. He didn’t want Phil to feel sad or guilty over it, since it wasn’t his problem. Just as he opens his mouth to apologize for bringing up such a heavy topic, he feels Phil’s hand come to land on his leg, just above his knee.

Dan’s gaze drops to his hand, and Phil squeezes gently, causing Dan’s gaze to dart up to his.

Phil smiles sadly. “I’m so sorry you had to do that, Dan. I… I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” His friend sounds so sincere, and Dan has to look away, trying to get a grip on his emotions.

“It sucked,” He whispers.

“I know.” Phil responds, squeezing his leg again. He goes to speak again, but just when he does, they hear a loud buzzer, indicating the pizza delivery guy is there. Phil releases his grip to stand and goes to buzz the guy into the building. “I’ll be right back,” he says quietly before taking his wallet and going downstairs to get the pizza and pay the delivery guy.

Dan sighs before rising to go change out of his work clothes. He was already beginning to feel uncomfortable in the stiff-collared shirt that he was wearing. Unbuttoning it as he trudges down the stairs, he’s a little too lost in his head to realize that Phil is turning the corner with the pizza boxes before they nearly run into each other.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Dan mumbles, going to steady the boxes in Phil’s hand. He had ordered pizza and chicken nuggets, as well as cookies. He must have predicted how bad Dan’s day had been while they were on the phone, which Dan is grateful for.

“It’s fine. Go change, I’ll grab us something to drink.” Phil glances down at Dan’s hands, which are still undoing buttons, and Dan flushes when he realizes that he’s basically just walking around stripping. He avoids Phil’s eyes as he ducks into his bedroom to get his pajamas on. He reminds himself that Phil has seen him shirtless, they used to live together, after all. That had been so long ago, it seemed.

Back when Dan was contemplating dropping out of uni and Phil convinced him to switch majors instead. His family hadn’t been thrilled of course, but Dan knew that if it hadn’t been for Phil, he wouldn’t have finished university at all. Or finished anything at all, for that matter.

Dan had been in an incredibly bad place for years when Phil came into his life, and the raven-haired dork would probably never realize how drastically he had changed Dan’s entire life. But after living together for about three years, Dan had moved into his own place. Although it hadn’t been life-altering in terms of their friendship, things had been really weird and hard to adjust to at first, although Dan definitely didn’t regret it now. He had gotten a fairly good deal on his current flat, and they lived close enough they saw each other nearly every day anyway, just like best friends do.

By the time Dan manages to get into his pajamas and work himself out of his thoughts and up the stairs, Phil has already got their plates out and drinks poured. Dan smiles tiredly as he drops to the sofa beside him, tugging the chicken nugget box towards him and tearing the lid off, making Phil roll his eyes.

“I cannot believe you still do that.” His voice is light and teasing, which Dan thinks is good for while they’re having dinner. He can’t handle heavy conversation while he’s trying to eat.

Shrugging, Dan nods to the tv. “What’re we watching? Did you pick out something good and sad?” He tries to joke, but his voice sounds flat, even to his own ears.

Phil shrugs, studiously avoiding Dan’s gaze as he organizes their fair array of dips on the coffee table. “You can pick something else if you aren’t up for it.” He shrugs again.

Slightly suspicious but not enough to be alarmed, Dan tosses the trash from the boxes he’s ripped apart to the side, looking at Phil again. “Is it The Notebook?” When Phil shakes his head, Dan shrugs and turns to the dips, peeling off the lids. “Then it’s fine.”

After a moment, Phil sighs and grabs the remote, pressing play, causing the previous screensaver to change to the movie he’d picked. Dan almost chokes when he realizes what it is, but he shrugs when Phil looks at him in concern. “This is fine. I like this movie.” His lip curls up into a small smile, but he knows his dimple isn’t showing.

“We can change it. I wasn’t thinking about- I didn’t realize what had happened today, Dan. I seriously don’t mind if you want to change it.” His best friend shifts on the sofa, trying to catch Dan’s gaze.

“It’s fine. I haven’t seen this in a while, and it’s a good movie. Sandra’s a good actress, even if she looks weird as a blonde.” He tries to crack a joke, but Phil doesn’t react.

After a few minutes where Dan is actively avoiding looking at Phil as Phil does nothing but stare at him, he hears the older man sigh, before pressing play, allowing the movie to begin.

Dan glances at the tv, then at Phil, sending him a small smile, assuring him that he’s fine. Phil smiles back, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Dan knows his friend is just worried about him, but he feels that just avoiding how he feels about what happened will just be counterproductive. At least, that’s probably what his therapist would say.

So instead of digging himself into a hole of sadness and guilt, he sits back with his plate of delicious food on his sofa with his best friend and tries to enjoy The Blind Side in all its glory.

~~~

An hour later, and Dan is slightly reconsidering his earlier thoughts. The food is long gone by now, so Dan is left with nothing to distract himself with from the emotional aspects of the movie. He had already teared up at the scene where Michael said he had never had a bed, and now his eyes were threatening to spill over again as the graduation scene is happening.

Phil has noticed, and while he tries not to be so obviously worried, at one point he pulled Dan’s legs into his lap, which Dan has to admit does help slightly, if only because the physical contact tethers him to something real and tangible in this world. Dan tries not to sniffle too loudly, but he’s not sure how well he’s doing, given Phil is shooting him glances every few minutes.

Graciously, Phil allows him to cry in quiet, but he crushes any hopes that Dan had that he hadn’t full noticed when he hands him the box of tissues that Dan keeps on the end table beside Phil.

“Thanks,” he whispers wetly.

This time, Phil doesn’t even bother pretending he’s paying attention to the tv, keeping his sole focus on Dan. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, one arm coming up on the back of the sofa while the other rests across Dan’s calves.

Dan nods too quickly, and Phil tilts his head at him in disbelief. Sighing, Dan tilts his head to rest against the back of the sofa and studies a thread coming out at the top while he ponders over Phil’s question. “I want to foster.” He announces quietly.

Phil’s eyebrows furrow at this, and he glances at the tv. The movie is coming to an end, so he apparently decides it’s fine to put the sound on mute for this conversation. “Like you want to be a foster parent?” Phil asks for clarification, studying Dan in that careful, attentive way that he has.

Dan wraps a clean tissue around his index finger as he nods, still avoiding long periods of eye contact with Phil. “Yeah. I want to help kids who don’t have anyone. I just… I get so mad at them, Phil.” He seethes, steadily becoming more emotional and enraged as he just thinks about Charlotte’s situation, and others like hers. She certainly wasn’t the first person who had come to Dan about something like this, but she was the first who he hadn’t expected, as he had seen no warning signs prior to that.

Phil rubs circles onto Dan’s calves, seemingly without noticing it, his eyes focused on Dan’s face. “Mad at who, Dan?” Phil asks, his expression slightly confused.

“The parents, Phil. All these shitty fucking parents who don’t know how to take care of their kids. I could do so much better than them. I just… I feel like I’m not doing enough with the career I’ve got. I want to do something, you know? I want to make an impact in someone’s life.” Dan is slightly aware of the way he’s basically rambling at this point, but he isn’t quite sure where to stop.

Phil looks unsure as he speaks. “Dan, you have an impact on the lives of all the kids you work with.” He hesitates before his eyes drift to his hands, on Dan’s legs. “You’ve had an impact on mine,” He says softly. Dan isn’t sure he heard him right, so he moves on.

“That doesn’t count.” He thinks he sees a flash of hurt on Phil’s face before it’s quickly covered up by a look of concern. “I know that what I’m doing at the school isn’t, like, a total waste of time, but I just… I just want to do more. I want…” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I want to be able to be someone’s parent because I want to be the kind of good parent that mine never were.” His voice is near inaudible by the end of that, but he knows Phil has heard by the way his face falls, a soft look coming over his features.

“Oh, Dan.” He sighs, shifting closer to Dan so that the younger boy is nearly in his lap, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Dan hadn’t realized how desperately he needed that hug until he feels Phil breathe, and then feels as his hand comes up to stroke his back soothingly.

And then, Dan’s crying, just like he figured he would tonight. It had been a long time since he’d been held this way, but Phil was his best friend in the whole world, and so if anyone was going to be there for this slight meltdown, he was glad it was Phil. His best friend gently rubs his back with one hand, the other petting his hair. Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s torso in response, openly sobbing at this point.

Dan isn’t sure how long they sit like that, with Phil whispering that everything would be okay, before he finally realizes how gross he feels, gently disentangling himself from Phil, putting some space between them as he wipes at his eyes. “Thanks,” Dan says wetly. “I think-” he pauses, his eyes widening as his attention suddenly drawn to the stain on Phil’s jumper from his snot and tears. He brings his own sleeve up to his nose, wiping away the snot he’s embarrassed to realize has collected there. He can’t help but make a face, waving the sleeve as if that’ll clean it off. “Er- sorry about your jumper,” he mumbles.

“It’s fine. I know you think this one’s ugly anyway. Probably did that on purpose, if I had to guess.” Phil jokes quietly, causing Dan to laugh before gently shoving Phil in retaliation.

“Nope, you have no proof of that.” Dan shrugs innocently.

Phil quirks an eyebrow before gesturing to the jumper to indicate that it is the evidence, and Dan only shrugs in response.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Dan finally speaks up again. “I think… I think tomorrow I’m going to call a fostering agency.” He says softly, looking down at his hands.

Phil looks at him, nodding slowly. “Yeah?” He prods gently, waiting to see if Dan would elaborate.

He does. “Yeah. I’ve… Well, I’ve actually looked into a few already, but I’m going to call one tomorrow and see if I can get the process started. I read that it can take up to six months, and I really want to do this.” He chews his lip before speaking again, glancing up at Phil timidly. “You’ll, like, still hang out, right? Like, this won’t completely destroy our friendship if I do this?” He asks, worrying his lip as he waits for an answer.

Phil frowns. “Of course, it won’t. Dan, if you want to do this, I support you. I’ll be there to help you, whatever you need. Okay?” He ducks his head to catch Dan’s gaze.

Dan nods slowly, smiling tiredly. “Thanks, Phil.” He glances at the tv, which has long since turned off due to inactivity. He checks his phone on the table next, surprised to see that it’s already pretty late, and he’s had a long day. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. Are you staying over?”

Phil checks his own phone, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ve gotta be at work kinda early tomorrow, don’t wanna wake up even earlier to get home and get ready.” He stands up, glancing down at Dan. “Unless you need me to stay?” He studies Dan intently, his blue eyes searching for any hint of uncertainty.

Dan shakes his head quickly before standing as well, clearing the coffee table. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just needed a cry, I guess.” He shrugs casually before nodding to the table. “Mind helping out before you leave?”

Phil nods, bending to collect the dishes they used while Dan gathers up their trash. Phil heads downstairs to the kitchen to drop off the dishes while Dan tosses the trash into the bin. After washing his hands, he finds Phil already by the door, tugging his shoes on. Dan holds his keys out for him, smiling when Phil studies him with a frown on his face, clearly worried.

“I’m fine, Phil. I promise. Just had a bad day, that’s all. And we watched a freaking sad movie. But I’m fine.” Dan pushes the keys into Phil’s hand before opening the door for him since he’d have to lock it behind him. Although Phil had a key, Dan always preferred to do it himself, so he knew for sure it was locked. He was paranoid like that sometimes.

Phil seems to take a moment to consider what Dan said before stepping through the door. He turns back around to say goodbye and catches Dan slightly off guard when he pulls him into a hug. Neither of them had anything against showing physical affection, as being best friends for nearly ten years definitely did that for a person. Still, it wasn’t often that they hugged each other goodbye.

The surprise doesn’t stop there, however, as before Phil steps away, he brings his lips up to Dan’s forehead, pressing them lightly against his hairline, so briefly that Dan would almost think he’d imagined it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable feeling of lips against his skin. “Night, Dan. Call me if you need anything.” And with that, Phil is off, down the hall and out of sight before Dan can even close the door.

After locking it and setting the alarm, he stumbles to bed in a daze, his head swirling with a million different thoughts. The loudest of which, shouting Phil just kissed you! On the forehead, but he kissed you! The thought isn’t entirely unwelcome, as he’s still processing the oddity that that level of affection between them was. With that thought, others begin flooding his mind, most of them flashbacks to a different time, nearly ten years ago, an October full of first meetings and uncertainty and flirty banter and warm smiles.

While that time seemed so far away now, this evening’s events were causing a whole barrage of memories long since buried in Dan’s mind to resurface. He tosses and turns in bed, struggling to find a good, safe place to let his thoughts drift to as he tries to sleep. One thing is certain, though. After all that thinking, Dan goes to sleep that night with thoughts of blue eyes and Ferris wheel rides swirling in his head.

~~~

The next day is a Thursday, and Dan is nearly bursting with nervousness as he settles into his office for the day. He’s already checked with Louise about Charlotte’s situation, but she didn’t know much. They were informed that Charlotte and her brother wouldn’t be in school for a few days, but that was it. It was incredibly ineffective to yank the children out of their routine, Dan thought, but it wasn’t like he had any real control now. It was entirely up to the case workers and the system now.

He sighs as he sorts his paperwork out on his desk, fishing out the things he’d need today for the few meetings he had, as well as a black journal that he had been keeping all the information he’d found about fostering. There wasn’t much to do at the moment, given he had about an hour before his first meeting of the day, so he decided to go through and pick a foster company to start the process with.

After scanning the websites of the three companies he had on his list, he eventually decides to go with one called Bridge the Gap, partially because they had earlier office hours than the others, but also because he liked the layout and design of their website. Leave it to him to be nerdy enough to consider graphic design when going into a situation like this. He double checks that his door is firmly shut before dialing the number on his cellphone, his stomach twisting with nerves.

The phone rings twice before a cheery voice picks up. “Bridge the Gap Foster Care, this is Kacey, how can I direct your call?”

Dan stumbles with his response, as he hadn’t expected such a prompt and efficient person to pick up the call. “Uh, yeah. I need to speak with a case worker about fostering? Er- I’d like to start, I mean, and so… Yeah.” He finishes lamely, clenching his eyes shut in frustration at how totally unprepared he feels.

The girl on the other end just laughs good-naturedly. “Then you’re in the right place. Give me just a second, and I’ll put you through to one of our caseworkers.” Dan responds with an affirmative, and then the sound of soft music begins playing. He perks up when he recognizes the tune as Clair de Lune. Just from that, he decides that he’s made the right decision. He begins doodling on the large calendar on his desk, a dog, and then a cat, followed by little stick children. He stops when he realizes he’d unintentionally drawn two children, a boy and a girl, beside a little figure of himself.

The wait isn’t too long, and before he knows it, the music is drifting away, and another voice is speaking. “Good morning, sir, I was told you were interested in speaking to someone about becoming a foster carer?” The voice is Irish, which takes Dan aback for a second, as the other girl had been incredibly posh.

“Er- yes. My name is Daniel Howell and I read on the website that this was the best way to get started?” He doesn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but it absolutely sounds that way. He has to remind himself to stop worrying so much about how he sounds. This person doesn’t know him yet, no need to freak out any more than he already is.

“Well, hello, Daniel, my name is Hazel Hayes, and I’m glad you called. It definitely helps to get the process started over phone rather than in person, so we have time to gather paperwork and things like that. So, have you done any research on foster care yet? Or are you calling to get more information?” Her voice is friendly but serious, as if she’s done this long enough to gauge that it’s usually one of the two options.

“I’ve actually done my research this time,” Dan laughs softly. “I’ve always felt pretty strongly about wanting to do this, and I’m not exactly getting any younger.”

Hazel laughs good-naturedly with him, and he hears the sound of papers shuffling as if he’s on speaker. His anxiety spikes slightly at the thought before getting over it. This person doesn’t know him, it’s ridiculous to be paranoid about his voice. “Right, right. Well, normally I like to ask a few questions, and sort of go from there seeing if you qualify to start the process. Is that alright with you?”

Dan nods before realizing she can’t see him. “Yes, that’s fine.” He sits back in his seat slightly, crossing one ankle over his other leg. Might as well get comfortable if he’s about to be interrogated.

“Right, so how old are you, Mr. Howell?” Hazel sounds friendly but business-like, and he wonders briefly how much she has seen in her line of work. She sounds happy and nice but working in the foster system had to have its downfalls.

“I’m twenty-seven.” He responds, glancing around his office absently. He needs to get some photos or something to put in here, he realizes as he studies his sparse desk. He’s got motivational posters and some bookshelves in this room, but it’s fairly impersonal otherwise. The only picture he does have is a selfie of himself and Phil from a holiday they took to Japan a few years back, and that’s attached to his filing cabinet with a magnet.

He tunes back into the conversation when Hazel asks another question. He barely catches the humming sound she makes when he tells her his age, but he’s more prepared for the next question. “Are you employed, Mr. Howell? And if so, could you give me a range of your income?”

“I am. I work as a guidance counselor at Queensbury Secondary School,” he pauses before responding with his salary, which admittedly wasn’t too impressive, but it was enough for him. Hazel makes a similar noise as she had before, which is beginning to make him slightly nervous.

“Right… Okay, a little different now, but how would you say your support system is? Do you have family, perhaps some close friends who would be available for support within the home?” Hazel questions, sounding almost as if she’s bringing the questioning to an end. He was surprised, as he had expected something fairly different during this call.

“Oh, um. My family’s in Reading, actually.” He hesitates, unsure if this is really something she needs to know. “And I’m pretty introverted generally, so uh, I’ve got a couple of friends who would probably be my support system, I guess.” He hates how hesitant he sounds, but he’s unprepared for this kind of question entirely.

“Well, Mr. Howell,” Hazel begins, sounding like she’s about to deliver some sort of unfortunate noise.

Dan can’t stand the anxiety he feels, and he cuts her off. “Call me Dan, please.” He feels as if she’s about to dash his hopes, he’d like to be addressed by his first name.

“Dan, I want to be honest with you.” Hazel suddenly sounds far less happy, and more tired now, as if she’s drained. “It’s hard to find good foster parents these days, you probably realize this if you’ve researched it. That said, there are certain… qualities, I suppose you could say, that generally ensure that a potential foster carer will be more likely to be approved.”

This sounds a lot like one of those speeches where someone is let down gently, but Dan wants the cold, hard facts, not bad news wrapped up in a pretty bow to distract from the fact that it’s still bad news. “I’m not sure I follow. From everything I read, there wasn’t much you could get disqualified for. Sexual orientation, religion, even the factor about employment didn’t appear to be a problem.” He feels as if he’s jumping the gun with how defensive he sounds, but he honestly can’t help it. He’s wanted this for so long, it wasn’t fair that it could just be taken away so quickly.

Hazel sighs as if she expected this to be his reaction. “I understand, and that’s not quite what I’m saying.”

There’s a pause, and Dan drops his leg, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his desk, one hand holding the phone up to his ear while he places his chin in the other. “Well, please, feel free to elaborate.” He says almost bitterly.

“The factors you mentioned don’t disqualify someone, you’re right. And I’m not saying you are disqualified, but there are factors that can make getting approved harder, and I wouldn’t want to allow you to start this process with false expectations.” She pauses as if she’s waiting for him to process before she continues. “The fact that you’re quite young, by our standards at least, is something to consider. The age is twenty-one and up, but generally the people who get approved the fastest are people who are around thirty or older. Another huge factor is support. This isn’t like fostering puppies, Dan. You will have a child’s life in your hands, and it’s crucial to have a healthy support system around you in order to make sure that you are able to take care of the child to the best of your ability.”

Dan is reeling, as this feels an awful lot like a rejection. His thoughts are racing, stumbling for something, anything that can fix this. Hazel’s talking again before he can think of anything to intervene with.

“And the fact that you’re single, well… We don’t discriminate on the basis of relationship status, but typically couples who decide to foster are generally approved easier than singles, simply because of the fact that two parents allow for more reprieve and a better support system for the child…”

Dan’s sure Hazel keeps talking, but he’s stuck on what she said about him being single. He knows she’s right, but she hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t said any different. His conscience is screaming at him not to do what he’s thinking of doing, but he shoves that little voice in a drawer in his mind, blocking it out. He thinks it’s a shot in the dark, sure, but he did have someone who had promised to support him and do anything he could to help…

“Wait, wait. Sorry, there must have been a misunderstanding. I’m not single.” He interrupts Hazel’s train of thought, his heart now racing as he waits for a reaction. His stomach churns uncomfortably, and he tries to tell himself it’s just the waiting for her response, not because he feels guilty about lying.

“Oh. You aren’t?” Hazel sounds slightly surprised, and he almost feels offended.

“No.” He says slowly and easily, trying to force himself into sounding as casual and natural as possible.

“My apologizes, I just assumed- since you didn’t say anything when I asked about your support system-“ Before she can get much further, he interrupts her yet again.

“Well, yes, but you didn’t ask specifically about partners. It’s my bad, really, I think I just misinterpreted the question.” He lies easily, almost too easily, but he’s relieved that she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, that’s great. Not that it would have been impossible to foster otherwise, but you sound like you’ve done your research, and we really need more people who truly care about doing this for the greater good. And I know that sometimes there are just setbacks for people who aren’t… well, anyway. I assume this means you’ll be fostering together?” She asks, her cheer restored in her voice as she speaks.

Dan shakes his head, surprised at himself for what he’s about to do. At least the little voice in his head has finally shut up. “Yes, we will. My, uh, fiancé, and I will be co-fostering.”

“Lovely. Well, the next step in the process is to attend an information meeting here at the center. I can email you about dates and times, and you and your fiancé can decide on something and just let me know.” The sound of typing fills the line, and Dan can only assume that she’s pulling up her email. After telling her his address, she takes a moment before responding. “Okay! That’s sorted, so you should see an email soon. Thank you for calling, Dan, and I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon! Have a great day!”

Dan responds slightly less enthusiastically before dropping his cell phone to his desk, following it with his head. He gently bangs his head on the smooth surface several times before there’s a knock on his door. “It’s open,” he calls out, trying to settle his expression and his feelings with a sigh as he sits up to greet his guest.

Louise ducks her head in, a smile on her face. “Ready for the meeting at nine?” She asks in that happy, motherly way she has when she’s trying to keep him organized and on schedule. He nods tiredly rubbing a hand down his face, but she must assume it’s because of yesterday’s events, and not due to the fact that he just destroyed his life over the phone. “Good. The boy’s parents should be here then, and we’ll call him in from class to discuss the scholarship and everything in my office.” She smiles once again before giving him a look. “It’ll be okay, Daniel, I promise.”

Dan tries to smile back at her, nodding. “I know, Lou. I know.” He watches as she pulls the door shut as she leaves, before dropping his head back to his desk. After allowing himself a few moments of self-pity, he picks up his phone, deciding to go ahead and face the inevitable. Dialing Phil’s number feels a little like walking towards the edge of a cliff to his imminent death, and he selfishly hopes that he doesn’t answer.

Sadly, whatever gods or beings that control his life aren’t so graceful. Phil answers after the third ring. “Hey, Dan. Are you alright?” Phil asks immediately after answering.

Dan clenches his eyes shut, seriously regretting the situation he’s gotten himself in. Who the hell does something this stupid? Him, apparently. “Er, not exactly. Do you have a minute?” Dan props his head up with the hand that’s holding the phone, laying heavily on it. He briefly hopes that he somehow manages to hang up on him with his face, but he knows they need to have this conversation after what Dan just did.

“Uh, yeah, give me a minute.” He hears Phil say something to his coworkers, probably excusing himself to go talk somewhere in private. Dan’s grateful for this, as he’s probably going to want to yell after he hears what Dan did this time. “Alright, what’s up? You sound really weird and it’s freaking me out.” The worry in Phil’s voice is clear, and Dan tries to cling to that as he tries to gather his courage to speak. Phil cares about him, he can’t do anything too drastic after he hears this… Right?

“Well, you see… Something super funny happened, actually…” Dan begins, hoping that if he presents it as a funny little thing, Phil will be less mad. “So, I called the foster company like I said I would, right? Well…”

~~~

Unfortunately, presenting his mistake as a comedy had not had the desired effect. If anything, it makes it worse.

“You did what?” Phil’s voice is loud, overwhelming the phone’s mic so it sends an inhuman wall of noise through the line. Dan cringes, his finger tracing over the keys on his keyboard as he lets Phil get his anger out. “Daniel, that’s- is that illegal or something? Lying to someone like that?”

Dan shrugs before remembering Phil isn’t there. “I dunno, Phil. It’s not like I asked her if it was illegal to lie about being engaged to someone.” He snaps. He had no right to be angry, and he knew that, but he never fully knew how to act when Phil was angry, as it didn’t happen very often.

“Fuck.” Phil swears quietly, and Dan’s eyes widen slightly. Phil normally didn’t swear too much, so this was surely a testament to how mad he really was. “Well do you think you’ll just tell her you were lying, or say that you broke up or something?”

“What? No! Phil, I can’t. She basically said I didn’t have a real chance at fostering if I didn’t have this. This could be the only way I get to do this.” Dan sits up straighter, swallowing hard.

“So, what are you suggesting? That you just keep lying to her? Seriously, Dan? What about when they do the information meetings? Or better yet, when they do the home inspections? What then?” Phil demands. Dan can almost see him pacing, as he tends to do that when he’s seriously frustrated. Dan almost feels bad for calling him at work, but he knew if he waited it would just drive him crazy.

“No…” He says slowly in regard to what Phil had said. He takes a deep breath, trying to steel himself for what he’s about to ask of his best friend. Although Dan knew deep down that their friendship had survived much worse, he felt that this was something he couldn’t really compare to the situations they’d been in before.

“Then what, Dan?” Phil’s voice sounds almost suspicious, as if he knows that Dan has a solution, and he knows already that he isn’t going to like it.

“You said you would be there for me, right?” Dan says slowly. He glances over at the only picture he had in his office, an old one of photo-Phil smiling broadly over his shoulder. They had been through loads together. Surely, they could survive this together, too. That thought in his mind, he just blurts it out. “I need you to be my fiancé.”

The line is completely silent for several moments. Dan almost thinks the call had failed, but when he pulls his phone away to check, it’s fine. He hesitantly brings it back to his ear, waiting.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Phil’s voice returns. “What?” He whispers.

“Phil, please. I just need you to pretend, okay? Please. I don’t- we both know I don’t have any other friends I can ask. And you said-“ Dan almost continues, but Phil’s voice stops him.

“Stop. Okay? Just stop. I’m at work, Daniel. I know you probably felt like you couldn’t just let this wait, but I’m working. Okay? This is something we need to discuss in person.” Phil stops there, but Dan can tell he isn’t finished, so he just waits quietly until Phil has gathered his thoughts. “You can’t just drop something like this on me and expect me to just agree to it. Just because you fucked up doesn’t mean you can drag me into it too.”

That hurts, but Dan knows he deserves it, even though he also knows Phil will likely apologize for saying it later. “Okay.” He whispers back, nodding his head as he stares down at the little stick figures he had drawn earlier.

The line is quiet for a few more minutes before Phil sighs deeply. “I’ll see you after work, yeah? Just… Give me some time, okay?

“Okay.” Dan says again. He’s not sure when things had ever been less okay.

“I get off at five today, I’ll come by, so we can talk.” Phil hesitates before speaking again. “Just… don’t do anything else until we talk, alright?”

“Alright.” Dan responds. “I’ll see you later, Phil.” Before he hangs up, he repeats Phil’s name. When he hears a hum of acknowledgement, he continues. “I’m really sorry.”

Phil sighs before answering. “I know, Dan. I’ll see you later.”

The call disconnects with a beep and Dan feels the guilt settle in, making its way right under his skin, making him feel filthy with it.

After checking the time and realizing he’s about to be late to the meeting, he quickly shoves his personal life to the back of his mind and struggles to force himself into his work life. There was no good that could come out of getting the two all mixed up, and Dan didn’t intend to be one of those people who made that mistake. So instead, he shook himself and tried to put on a smile to go congratulate the parents of a child who had earned himself a full-ride scholarship to a great university. At least some people in the world weren’t messing up their lives.

~~~

Several hours later, Dan is pacing his lounge nervously as he waits for Phil to get there. He’s not sure if he’s nervous to see Phil’s anger, rather than just hear it on the phone, or if he’s just nervous that Phil might refuse to pretend to be his fiancé for the sake of his foster care situation. Probably a mixture of both.

He jumps a little when he hears a key being shoved into the lock downstairs before he reminds himself that Phil has a key. He forces himself to wait in the lounge instead of meeting him at the door, feeling like that last few moments of distance between them will be better.

“Dan?” Phil calls out as Dan hears him taking his shoes off.

“Upstairs!” Dan answers. He’s trying desperately not to look like a nervous wreck, but he knows he does. He’s wearing his Game of Thrones pajama sweats and a t-shirt, but he suddenly feels like he should have just left his work clothes on. He feels too vulnerable like this, despite the fact Phil had seen him in basically every state of dress and undress.

It’s too late for a wardrobe change, though, because Phil comes up the stairs then, pausing when he sees Dan pacing around in front of the large windows. He appraises him for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “You look like roadkill, mate.” Phil deadpans, dropping onto the sofa, his eyes not leaving Dan’s.

Dan only nods, swallowing the lump building in his throat. He absolutely would not cry. Crying would just be stupid and senseless. He had to be strong, because that’s the kind of thing adults do. They own up to their mistakes and deal with the consequences, even if they suck.

Phil studies Dan for a second before sighing, patting the cushion beside him. “C’mere.”

Dan shuffles over unsurely, sitting down where he’s facing Phil, although he refuses to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I should have asked first, or just not lied period, but I can’t un-lie.” His gaze shifts to the painting he keeps on the cabinet behind the sofa, and he stares at it just to give himself something to do. “I know that doesn’t like, make it better, or whatever. But I am sorry, and I know I fucked up.”

There’s a silence before Phil finally speaks. “I’m not mad anymore.” He whispers softly. Dan’s eyes tentatively shift to meet striking blue ones, and he’s surprised to see that there’s no anger left there. “I was seething at first, sure. You lied to someone about being in a serious relationship, and that’s bad enough, but then you just… Just asked me to do it, as if that’s something you just ask someone.”

Dan tries to make a joke. “I mean… You kind of do ask someone to marry you… This is kind of like that.” He tries to smile, but Phil just stares at him.

“This isn’t real.” He says immediately. Dan’s surprised at how much hearing that hurts, but he shrugs and looks away. It’s not like Phil was wrong. It wasn’t real.

Wait…

“You said ‘this isn’t real’ like you meant it was happening.” Dan is struggling to catch up with the tale he had spun just that morning. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do, Phil. If this is going to make things weird, or like if it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t-“

Phil cuts him off then, sighing. “Dan, we both know I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I wasn’t sure I knew I could handle it. Besides, we’ve known each other for ten years. It’s not like either of us have much of a life outside of our friendship anyway.” His sentence is punctuated with a bitter laugh, and Dan can’t help but feel bad, as if he’s the one really holding Phil back from having relationships outside of their friendship. But that would be crazy, because it wasn’t like Dan was standing in his way.

“Yeah…” He studies his hands for a moment before looking up into blue eyes. His words are caught in his throat as Phil just looks at him with a sort of soft, fond look. He looked tired, probably due to the stress that Dan’s terrible announcement of the situation had caused this morning. Even with as angry as he probably was still feeling, he still looked at Dan like there was something to be seen. Like Phil actually liked what he saw, even.

Dan shakes the thought away. He had never had the guts to feel the way he felt about his best friend. He certainly didn’t have the guts now, not when it wasn’t even real. But still, Dan allows himself to feel entirely grateful for the way Phil is handling the situation. The whole thing could have gone in a very different direction, but luckily, Phil was pretty much the best person in the world, and Dan wouldn’t have wanted to be stuck in this situation with anyone else.

“We’ll have to figure a few things out, you know.” Phil says quietly a moment later, thoroughly breaking the spell Dan had been under, stuck in his own head.

“What sort of things?” Dan asks, shifting on the couch so he can tuck his legs under him. This gives him some extra height, and he props his elbow up on the backrest of the couch, dropping his chin onto his hand to look down at Phil.

“Well, for one, if we’re going to do this, we need to work out a convincing backstory. How we met, who proposed to who, all that. Also, might need to get some rings.” He holds up his bare left hand and wags his ring finger around. “If I’m going to be your arm candy, I’m going to require some decent costuming.” His lips quirk into a smirk at the surprise on Dan’s face.

“Oh. Right.” Dan allows his gaze to follow Phil’s hand as it drops back into his lap, and when he realizes that he’s practically staring at his best friend’s crotch, his eyes quickly flit away, his cheeks heating up. “Well, I figure we stay as close to the truth as possible. We don’t change anything other than throwing in a convincing proposal story. We’ve lived together before, so we already know all of each other’s worst habits, which will make it much easier to act like a couple.” Dan shrugs.

Phil shifts, licking his lips before speaking. Dan tries very hard not to follow that movement, but his eyes betray him. “About that, actually. You do realize that they’ll do home visits, right? And if we’re fully doing this, I’ll seriously have to co-foster with you, Dan.”

The truth hadn’t been put quite so bluntly yet, and it wasn’t until Phil said it that Dan fully realized just what he had gotten his best friend into. Not only had he asked him to pretend to be in a long-term, committed relationship with himself, but by doing all this he was also asking Phil to agree to be a parent. They’d have to sign the papers together and seriously commit to becoming foster parents as a unit.

“Did you think about this at all, Dan?” Phil is squinting at him, looking miles away and far too close all at once.

Dan suddenly feels nauseous as thoughts of Phil feeding a baby or teaching a little boy how to ride a bike, or even arguing with a teenage girl cycle through his mind, each of them making him dizzy. Not because he didn’t like to imagine himself co-parenting with Phil; actually, quite the opposite. This future that he’s basically throwing himself into looks so good, and he feels like he might throw up with the thought that it wouldn’t actually be real.

His current existential crisis comes to a screeching halt as he remembers Charlotte. He isn’t doing this for himself or to satisfy some twisted fantasy he might’ve had ten years ago about having a family with Phil. He was doing this because he wanted to help kids like Charlotte, who didn’t have a family that gave a damn. Throwing every other thought out of his head helps him get a grip on what he thinks he’s feeling. It’s nothing other than some old memories and dreams that never came to be, and never would, either. Fixating on it now wouldn’t help him, or the kids he truly wanted to help.

Dan doesn’t realize how much he’d tuned out until he tunes back in and finds Phil’s hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, his eyes wide with worry. “Are you alright? You looked sick. Are you… are you regretting this already?” Phil asks softly.

Shaking his head, Dan gives him an uneasy smile that probably does nothing to convince Phil that he’s alright. “No, no. Of course not. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else to do this, you know that, right? That may sound weird, but you’re the only person I think I could have trusted with this.” Phil nods, uncertain but the worry on his face softens. “I guess I just feel a little guilty. I get that I’m asking more than just “hey, pretend to be engaged to me!” I’m literally asking you to step into a parenting role, which is something I didn’t even really consider when I asked in the first place.”

Phil nods slowly. “Yeah… You know that’s why I sort of freaked out earlier. It wasn’t because of what you asked, exactly.” He hesitates then, looking away from Dan. “It was mostly just the implications behind what you asked that made me a little… uneasy.”

“I know.” Dan nods, picking at the skin around his nails. “I realize that, now. If you…” He takes a deep breath before offering Phil an out. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel like I’ll be mad if you don’t. I really want this, but that doesn’t mean you do.” Dan laughs without humor. “Hell, I really don’t even know if you even want kids, let alone if you’re ready to start being a parent now.”

There’s a beat of silence where both men seem to be lost in their own thoughts before Phil speaks again. “I don’t think anyone is ever really ready to be a parent, you know? I think they all just jump into it at some point, but I don’t think the majority of parents are ever fully ready.” He shrugs then. “And I’m probably not ready either, but I know I want to do this with you. I know how much this means to you, and I know I’d hate myself later if I didn’t at least try.”

Dan almost tears up, but instead he laughs, shoving Phil gently. “You already sound like a parent, all wise and stuff.” They both laugh quietly before the silence resumes. “Thank you,” Dan whispers.

Phil glances up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re welcome. But I’m not just doing this for you. I’ve always said I wanted to foster if I could. You’re just giving me a good excuse to do it.” Phil grins, and Dan rolls his eyes. He figured they’d had enough serious conversation for one night. They still had a few things to work out, but he was starving right now, so he figured that could wait until after they eat something.

“Right.” He stands up to go fetch his laptop, so they can order something. After the day they’d had, he figured they deserved to be lazy and eat takeaway. “Do you want Indian or Chinese tonight?” He asks as he pulls his MacBook off the desk across the lounge.

“Chinese sounds good, actually.” Phil responds, reaching over to grab the remote before turning the tv on. They were so comfortable in each other’s homes that it was almost comical.

A few minutes later Dan places their usual order before closing his laptop and putting it back where he got it. “Do you wanna talk about some of the stuff we need to work out before the food gets here?” He asks, suddenly feeling slightly awkward. He feels that his awkwardness is justified, however, seeing as it’s not every day you find yourself fake engaged to your best friend.

Phil nods, putting the remote beside him on the couch without selecting a show to watch. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. And then we can just lay around being lazy for the rest of the night.” He smiles at Dan.

Dan returns to his earlier seat beside Phil, nodding at his plan. “Are you staying over tonight?” He asks. He almost wishes Phil would say no so he could have some space to process all this, but then he feels bad because it’s actually been a couple weeks since they’d slept over at each other’s flats.

Phil nods, pulling the blanket from off the back of the couch where Dan had left it last night. “Might as well. Er- unless you don’t want me to?” He asks, glancing at Dan with slightly pink cheeks.

Shaking his head, Dan shoves Phil lightly. “You know I like having you around. Of course, I want you to stay.” He rolls his eyes at the absurdity of Phil suggesting otherwise. The thought of him sleeping over prompts a different thought, however. “Speaking of that, though.” He almost blushes when Phil looks at him in question, but they probably both realized that this was going to come up. “We’re going to need to live together.”

The surprise that briefly crosses Phil’s face is quickly followed by understanding. “Oh, yeah. I kind of just glossed over that part in my panic, I think.” He brings a hand up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding Dan’s.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve never lived together. It’s just been like, what, three years? Four?” Dan honestly doesn’t remember how long it had been since they moved out of their last shared apartment and into separate ones, but he knew it’d been at least a couple years. Honestly besides the fact that they no longer lived together full-time, not much had changed. They still saw each other basically every day, and they often spent the night at each other’s flats. Yet somehow, they still weren’t sick of each other.

“Four.” Phil responds distractedly. “You know, my lease is actually up in about three months.” He says nonchalantly.

Dan smiles at this. It would make things much easier, especially since the approval process could take up to six months. If Phil was going to have to either renew his own lease or move soon, this was basically perfect timing. “Well, you know mine’s not up for another two years.” Dan responds in the same nonchalant fashion that Phil had.

It has the desired effect, and Phil laughs. “So, I guess that means I’ll be moving in here?” He asks, leaning his head on the back of the sofa and tilting to face Dan. The way the light now falls across his face is a little too perfect, and Dan mentally curses him for managing to look so effortlessly brilliant. That’s a thought he can totally have about his best friend, right?

“Well, I mean, if you want. We could always just go with yours or into a new one, but I figure my flat’s pretty big as it is. I have the spare bedroom and that other room I have as an office but don’t really use. I think it could work.” Dan nods, trying to act like he isn’t as excited as he is about the prospect of them moving in together again. Putting the whole situation aside, he really did miss living with his best friend sometimes, even when he did annoying shit like leaving the cupboards open.

“I think that’s a great idea. I’ve always liked your flat better than mine, anyway.” Phil shrugs as if it’s common knowledge, but Dan is honestly a little shocked. Phil must notice this, because he rolls his eyes. “Come on, Dan. I always prefer to come over here instead of us staying at mine.”

Dan pouts slightly at the way Phil implies it’s so obvious. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to tidy up, so you just thought it was easier to come here.” That earns him an elbow to the ribs, but he just laughs. “Alright, well if that’s sorted. We can start moving your things in whenever you want to.” Another thought occurs to him then, and he blushes. “Er- when we get approved and we get a child placed with us, we’ll probably have to share a bedroom.” He feels awkward suggesting it, but he knows it’s true.

Phil shrugs as if this doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it bothers Dan. “I figured. I hope you don’t steal blankets as bad as you used to.”

The comment is quick and just a general observation by someone who was close enough to Dan to have platonically shared a bed with him enough to know that sort of thing, but Dan still feels a blush crawling up his neck. Phil knew him so well, but sometimes the fact that he knew little domestic details like that still managed to surprise him.

“I do not do that. I don’t really think I ever did.” Dan offers lamely in his own defense.

Phil shrugs, staring at the tv as it cycles through different Netflix options. “Say what you want, Howell, but when we start sleeping together the truth will come out.”

Dan’s about to make a sarcastic comment, but the sound indicating that the take away guy is there is enough to make him think better of it, instead heading to the buzzer to let him in. “I’ll be right back. Do you want Ribena or some wine?” Dan asks as he grabs his wallet from where he’d left it earlier.

“Ribena, please.” Phil laughs as he allows himself to sink further down on the sofa. “I have to work tomorrow, and I don’t exactly feel like getting wine drunk tonight.”

Dan rolls his eyes but finds himself unable to stop grinning as he goes to collect the takeaway. “Boring,” he teases.

Phil sits up a little, before nodding to the staircase. “Want me to help carry everything back up?”

Shrugging, Dan gestures for Phil to follow him downstairs, where the delivery man is probably tempted to just leave. He goes to open the door with Phil by his side, double checking that the cash he had was enough to cover the food and a tip.

“Here you go,” the boy says, holding the food out. Phil reaches for it as Dan finishes counting the money before handing it over. The delivery boy looks a little surprised at first but smiles as he tucks the tip money into his pocket. “Thank you! You guys have a good night and enjoy your meal!”

Just as Dan goes shut the door, Phil calls out, “Thanks, you too!”

The door closes with a click and Dan turns around, giving Phil a look, raising his eyebrows when Phil doesn’t seem to catch on. “Phil,” he says slowly.

“What?” He asks, already halfway up the staircase.

Dan rolls his eyes as he follows. “You said “You too” to him,” he explains, exasperated.

Phil glances back at him before giggling. “No, I- you! He knew what I meant!”

“You should never be allowed to speak to anyone, ever.” Dan can only shake his head at his best friend.

“Oh, thank god, I won’t have to talk to you anymore!”

[aegon]

okay, I know I’ve mentioned it before that I find the criticisms of ‘joker’ very shallow and misleading - but this is the top review on rotten tomatoes...

...and I feel the need to repeat myself again. This isn’t the only one of its kind, but it’s the most popular I’ve seen. Every media outlet has written about a similar topic in some shape or form.

So I’ve read the article, hidden behind a paywall as it is, and I take serious issue with the damaging message the author took from the film. I’ve copied the article bit by bit because I’m so fucking irritated by it.

For it is essentially a depiction of what happens when white supremacy is left unchecked. It shows the delusions that many white men have about their place in society and the brutality that can result when that place is denied.

Arthur Fleck doesn’t want to be treated better because of the colour of his skin. He doesn’t ask for help because he feels he’s superior to the POC around him. He needs help because he’s ill and no one cares. The film is a criticism of austerity and classism, and the unsympathetic arrogance of those in more fortunate positions than others. It’s also, more importantly, about how all this affects a mentally ill loner with a history of childhood abuse and living in poverty.

It has nothing to do with his race. The author’s words imply that a white person in such a desperate situation is only seeking to affirm their own supremacy. That’s....so fucked up. Mental illness isn’t some tool to be used in a race war, it hurts anyone. He’s dismissing the experiences of a man who happens to be white because he can’t see beyond the colour of his skin. Doesn’t that sound like exactly the kind of thing POC have been fighting against for decades, if not centuries?

The fact that the Joker is a white man is central to the film’s plot. A black man in Gotham City (really, New York) in 1981 suffering from the same mysterious mental illnesses as Fleck would be homeless and invisible. He wouldn’t be turned into a public figure who could incite an entire city to rise up against the wealthy. Black men dealing with Fleck’s conditions are often cast aside by society, ending up on the streets or in jail, as studies have shown.

And though Fleck says he often feels invisible, had he been black, he truly would have been — except, of course, when he came into contact with the police.

Arthur is invisible. It’s painfully obvious that he is. He incites a movement because of what he symbolises and the way Thomas Wayne dismissed people like him. When he murdered the three rich boys on the subway, only his clown makeup was identified. The police weren’t looking for a man of any specific colour, they were looking for a fucking clown.

Arthur could have been black, brown, red or blue. The face behind the mask doesn’t matter, because Gotham City united behind the icon of resistance. It’s supposed to be ironic. The only way Arthur felt seen was when he was under his mask. Nobody cared about Arthur Fleck, they cared about the Joker.

So yes, had Arthur been a black man, he’d still become the symbol of resistance.

Though Fleck is pursued and investigated by Gotham’s finest, his whiteness acts as a force field, protecting him as he engages in the violent acts of the latter half of the film. Consider his appearance on the live talk show hosted by Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). A black man acting as strangely as Fleck does would not have been allowed to go on the air. But the white Fleck is given access, and bloodshed soon follows.

I mean, in regards to how strangely he was acting, the reason they invited him to the show was because they thought he was a freak. They wanted him to make a fool of himself. Also Murray’s producer never wanted him on the air, but Murray insisted because he was more concerned with viewership. Again - that’s the fucking point. Murray was far too invested in his own self-interest to see a man dangerously close to snapping. The author completely glossed over that, and the producer who didn’t want Arthur, white skin and all.

Or look at how Fleck interacts with others. He is frequently in conversation with people who occupy a lower rung in society than he does: a state-appointed therapist he sees early on; a protective mother who chastises him for playing peekaboo with her son on the bus; his possible love interest, a neighbor who lives in the same building; and the psychiatrist he sees in Arkham Asylum. Every one of these characters is a black woman with whom he eventually has confrontations. Phillips consistently places Fleck in an oppositional or antagonistic position to these women.

I don’t know if this is intentional on Phillips’s part, but it is significant. When we learn that his relationship with the neighbor (played with artful restraint by Zazie Beetz) was merely a figment of his troubled imagination, the way he leaves the apartment implies that this realization has led Fleck to kill her and perhaps her child. After his final conversation with the Arkham doctor, his bloody footsteps suggest that he kills her as well.

A key fact the author conveniently ignores in his article is that Arthur never blames immigrants or POC for his misfortune. When he takes a beating at the hands of non-white kids at the start of his film, his colleague calls them “animals” (a common racist term for non-white folks) but Arthur insists they’re just kids. He sympathises with them, despite the fact they brutalised him, because he doesn’t see them as an ‘other.’

And I do think that’s why, crucially, most of the female characters are black women. Whether they occupy a lower rung of society than he does is debatable, because he’s constantly framed as being in the same situation as them. He’s as impacted by the austerity cuts as they are, he rides the bus as they do, he lives in the same shitty building as they do. To quote his therapist: “they don’t give a shit about you, and they don’t give a shit about me, either.”

Arthur doesn’t just have confrontations with them, he has an imaginary relationship with one. Whether he murders her or not is left ambiguous and up to the audience to decide her fate. We can’t say for sure that she’s dead, and that’s the theme of the entire film. We have no idea if anything is real or all in his head when he’s in the asylum.

And that’s the brilliant point.

Arthur’s world is dominated by black women because black women are one of the minorities most affected by institutional prejudice, facing discrimination for both their race and their gender. In 1970s America, they were some of the most invisible people around, ignored by the wealthy and powerful. So Arthur relates to them. 

Phillips’ decision to use black women offers a double message that they, too, are suffering under austerity and classism. This isn’t just a white lonesome man’s struggle, it’s a reality for black women everywhere. Arthur’s situation isn’t exceptional because your neighbour, your therapist, the woman on your bus with her kid - they’re all going through it without going on a murderous rampage. If you feel for Arthur’s plight, you feel for theirs too. It’s fucking brilliant.

As for why he has confrontations with them - he has confrontations with literally everyone. Literally everyone treats him badly. Again, that’s. the. point. Except for the black man at Arkham Asylum who tells him to go get help, who’s just doing his job and feels pity for Arthur. But hey, the author ignores that. 

Fleck kills white men because he cannot access their status and is ostracized by them, but his black female victims are so invisible that the film does not bother to show their deaths. We as viewers can and should take note of them.

Arthur killed the three white boys on the subway because they were beating the shit out of him for no other reason than him laughing. They were cruel and sadistic, and he’d just been fired from the job he loved so was on his last nerve. He killed his white ex-colleague for framing him and having the balls to still ask him to lie on his behalf so he could keep his job, when he had Arthur fired. He killed Murray for demeaning him and mocking his plight.

Every person killed on-screen was white. Every person killed on-screen was because Arthur felt they’d done him wrong. Zazie’s character is unconfirmed if dead. The psychiatrist at the asylum is implied to be dead, but Arthur’s transformation to the Joker is complete and it’s entirely possible that the act in itself demonstrates (after having sympathised with black women before) that Arthur’s sanity has cracked and his humanity has been replaced by the chaos of the Joker, who cares little for any life, even that of a marginalised minority he once related to.

There are other ways that whiteness informs Fleck’s character. He anticipates he’ll be treated as a son by the Wayne family, and assumes he’ll be given medical records just by asking the hospital orderly (played by the great Brian Tyree Henry). The privileges that come with Fleck’s race set him up for these unrealistic expectations. When they’re not met, the consequences are deadly.

It’s almost as if Arthur has no concept of reality and has little understanding of the way the world works and naively believes that things will just happen because he wants them to. It’s almost as if he has severe parental issues and was so desperate for a father, he even imagined Murray calling him the son he’d always wanted. It’s almost as if this has been established in the film multiple times.

Whiteness may not have been on the filmmakers’ minds when they made “Joker,” but it is the hidden accomplice that fosters the violence onscreen.

Let’s take a film that offers a brutal outlook on the impact of mental illness on one’s psyche and sanity and demean the entire message, important as it is, and try to steer a much needed conversation on mental health towards something that doesn’t concern it. As a POC, I find articles like this so, so damaging to the fight against racism.

It essentially weakens our arguments and offers ammunition to those that believe POC just hate white people for no other reason than, “ur white and I don’t like it.” Way to go, NYT.

Guaranteed, if Joker had been black or brown and white women were only used, there’d be a backlash against the narrative for painting men of colour as unstable and white women as victims because men of colour aren’t allowed to be mentally ill, only terrorists and criminals. Which is what Joker ultimately ends up becoming. Can’t win, can you?

Thank u for coming to my ted talk.

[exposedlockers]

Headcannons, mind showing their parents and family and knowing about their relationship and first reaction the Legion’s disappearances

Uh well to be honest with you, I don’t even have their full designs yet. I have like small segments of ideas and headcanons for their parents, Especially Joey. Their parents are still a work in progress; but now that artfight is over I can get back around on working on them!(kind of.) I can show you what I have so far and talk about their reactions. I’ll put a read more since there might be alot haha. I also don’t know if I could really give you headcanons for each but I can definitely talk about them.. since… it’s still a wip.. sorry about the inconvenience!

We actually got an ask about their parents and this is where I left off before I got busy with personal stuff and other things.

I always saw Joey’s parents the disco/soul type before Joey came into their lives, And Joey loves it. He actually carries a photo of their younger days with him in his backpack and holds it to him dearly. He just loves his parents and looks up to them heavily. As for Julie and Susies parents, I dont have really anything for their past. So sorry about that. And Frank is uhh, just Frank haha.

I’ve somewhat brushed on their relationships with their parents but I could talk alittle more about it!

Starting off with Joey, His relationship with his parents slowly went sour after Frank stumbled upon his life. His father became ashamed of Joey as he went through a transformation. looks, style,everything. He used to look like this:

I guess you could say he felt like he lost his boy, seeing the people he hanged out with. I wouldn’t say he despised him, more ashamed of him in a way. Joey didn’t end up the son his father dreamed of having. Though his mother doesn’t mind who he has become. Joey and his mother still held a close relationship, the only thing that got in the way was the drinking. His mother’s drinking habits held a burden upon him and his family, and it pushed him to distance himself from spending time with his mother. He couldn’t handle the atmosphere of constantly taking care of his drunk hungover mother. It depressed him watching her waste her life away, but there were brief moments where it was just the two of them spending time together just like when he was a little kid. To put it in a more simple way, Joey is sort of a mama’s boy. Sure he loves his dad even if hes too hard on him, But his mother was always good to him and he knew for a fact she would always love him no matter what. It was already mentioned that after their disappearances everyone just thought they ran away and left town until finding a body. It starts with devastation, especially with his mother. She’s in denial about it- the thought of her son killing someone just doesn’t seem real. Then him just suddenly disappearing, absolutely no traces to be found, she’s heartbroken. She blames herself for that night. Drinking so carelessly. Not getting up from the couch. Not stopping him at that doorway. She can’t help but blame herself, she feels like she failed as a mother. Then ontop of that her husband blames her too. I figure their fighting would escalate after the disappearance of their son, probably leading to a divorce or Joey’s mother dying from heartbreak. We haven’t really decided yet.

Yeah so I really dont have a grasp on designs for Julies parents. Well, pretty much everyones parents. I want to make sure I get that 90′s feel to their designs so i gotta tinker with it. But I Just… haven’t got around to it. On the other hand, Julie’s relationship with her parents is just a typical teen thing. She was their little sweet pea until highschool came around. Julie used to be the kid they were proud of showing off. A straight A student who played a bunch of sports, with a sweet simple girl personality,popular.  But highschool changed that. In a way, Frank changed that. Her grades started dropping, all her relationships with her friends fell apart, personality did a complete 180. In a way, her parents were pretty disappointed in the path she chose. Instead of trying to talk things through, they became a little more pushy with her. Trying to push her back to sports; mother trying to get her into cheer leading, signing her up for tutoring and what not. And of course this interfered with their relationship.I would say there were alot of arguments between her and her mother. Her father though was more on the sidelines about things. Yes he was disappointed on how she turned out to be, but getting between her and her mother wasn’t something he was interested into doing. He’s more silent about his disappointment, but spoke loudly through his actions. For instance, barely being able to look at his daughter, Or even talk to her at the dinner table kind of thing. Julie didn’t really mind, or at least showed that she didnt care. If anything, Her families actions pushed her more into her impulsive actions. Then when shes gone, they’re both devastated. They both blame eachother for her disappearance at first until the body showed up. They go through a range of emotions. Shock, anger, betrayal, disappointment. They would have never thought their own daughter would do something like that, but knowing the type of person Frank is, they could believe she could be behind the murder along with Frank. Although it upsets them that their daughter is probably behind the murder, they pray one day they could just hold their daughter one last time.

As for Susie, Her relationship with her parents isn’t bad. She isn’t angsty, She doesn’t fight with her parents, and she tries her best to be a good daughter.  Of course the group interferes with her for being an honest good hearted child, but the group doesn’t interfere with her relationship with her parents. We feel as though Susie and her family had a strong bond, they get their ups and downs but they only grow a stronger relationship. As stated before, Susie’s mother is extremely protective of her- practically all of her children. With being protective, she is also supportive of Susie and her dreams. She works hard to help Susie pursue her dreams of going to college for arts and encourages her heavily on her projects. Susie loves her mom, and admires her hardworking self, along with her father. We cant really see any complications about her and her fathers relationship other than him not understanding why she would want to go to school for art. They bicker about it at times but its nothing to big to ruin their relationship. I’ve already talked about Susie’s relationship with her siblings- Since they’re so young she cant really hate them. Kids are just obnoxious, and theres no stopping that. Obnoxious or not, she still loves them; even though they might steal her stuff, ask her millions of questions, or argues over control for the TV. She would protect her siblings with her life, and to the same with her from her siblings. But when she’s gone, they don’t understand. They don’t understand why their parents are crying, making thousands of calls desperately asking for more information on their daughter. It only leads to more confusion when their parents just turn silent about the situation, they won’t bring it up around them. Their parents won’t give them any answers- If anything, their parents probably lied to them and made up some story that Susie finally went off to college to at least leave some positive image of her behind. Now to get more into their parents reactions, of course they’re upset. They would never think she would just suddenly disappear like that, especially knowing that her relationship with the group isnt that strong. (at least with Frank.) They know for a fact she loves Julie with all her heart, and would be willing to do literally anything or her. They first come to the conclusion that maybe she was kidnapped, or possibly lost. With scarce information, their questions were answered with the murder of the janitor with multiple stab wounds. They couldn’t accept it, they couldn’t accept the fact that Susie would do something like this or that she would disappear so willingly. They automatically put the blame on Frank and Julie for her disappearance, unwilling to accept the fact she would do such a thing or even accept the fact she would just disappear so abruptly.

Then there’s Frank. He’s just a sad story with a sad ending. A nobody ending as a nobody. His parents gave him up, his foster dad didn’t even care about him when he was around. We don’t really think his foster father would care if he was even gone. Maybe even glad. It would be no surprise to anyone if he was the one behind the murder in the first place or the disappearance. Everyone knew the type of person Frank was, and everyone in the right mindset knew to stay away from him. There’s really not much to tell for him.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Hm... I recently asked about Summer, so why not... There is lots of theories circling that Summer Rose might actually be alive. If they turned out to be true, this would take away a huge aspect of Ruby's character in my opinion. How do you think about those theories?

Hiya Mizu. To be honest, I’m not really for those theories myself. Everything we know about Summer Rose thus far has pointed to her being dead. While the word going around through the grapevine that Summer being dead was something only fully confirmed by V3, the idea of Summer and Ruby visiting her by her gravesite was established as early as the very first Red Trailer back before the series first began. 

From the get-go, Summer has been a direct influence on Ruby’s life and story without necessarily being a living character.

Let’s not forget the fact that Ruby Rose isn’t the only person whosestory was influenced by Summer’s untimely dead. Summer’s passing helpedspearhead Yang into learning the truth that Summer was not her actual motherleading to the reveal of Raven and thus sparking Yang’s intrigue to go look forher. Apart from that, Summer’s death also affected Tai Yang who apparently fellinto a bit of a depressive state over losing Summer which led to Yang basicallybecoming like a parental figure to Ruby to pick up some of the slack for Tai.

Not to mention that Summer also affects Qrow’s story. Till this day, westill don’t know what really happened when Summer died. All we know is that,according to Yang, she left for a mission and never came back. Yet later in V4, Qrow kept mumbling about telling Tai that Summer is not comingback. Well at the time, most of us theorists, like myself believed that Qrowwas probably referring to Summer. But now that I think about it, Qrow’s murmursabout Tai could also simultaneously allude to Raven’s departure with Qrow beingforced to tell his former brother-in-law and brother-in-arms that his sister hadabandoned her family forever.

But then I figured that Qrow having a delusional nightmare over tellingTai about Raven isn’t too impactful. To me, it would make more sense if Qrowwas talking about Summer meaning that the memory he was recalling during his delirium was possibly the day when he had to tell Tai, probably for a second time that, another love of his life was never coming back. And what was more painfulespecially for Qrow than Raven’s departure is that Summer was dead as opposed to just abandoning everyone behind like Raven did.

I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that, I personally don’twant for the Writers’ to retcon and have Summer be revealed to be alive. Theonly thing a reveal like that would add to the story is more shock value which,to me, honestly isn’t needed.

What I mostly want and need from Summer’s side of things is to learnmore about the type of person she is. I wish the story would take the time toshow more flashbacks of Ruby’s time with her mother. Every flashback of Ruby’schildhood showed her bonding with either her sister or her father or UncleQrow. Very little memory of Summer Rose which makes me wonder exactly how old was Ruby when Summer passed.

Recalling Yang’s flashback story from V2 when she told Blake about thetime she took Ruby to try and find Raven, Yang said Ruby was a toddler at thetime which placed her between the age of 12 to 36 months (that’s 1 to possiblythree or four years). So this would mean that Ruby must’ve been roughly 2-3years old when Summer passed.

This could potentially mean that Ruby barely has much memories of her mother. That coupled together with the fact that Summer was a huntress who would often leave her family to go on missions outside the kingdom—it makes me wonder how much time did Ruby spent with Summer and even still, how much of it does she actually remember from her childhood.

Unlike Yang, Tai and Qrow who probably had years of cherished times andstories with Summer, Ruby doesn’t seem to have much of it and the ones sheactually do remember she probably has to cling desperately to so that shewouldn’t forget her.

It make me wonder if part of Ruby’s possibly melancholy over Summer isthat, she doesn’t remember her as much as Yang or Tai or Qrow and she’s worried that one day, she’ll wake up and forget her all together or…something like that.

What I find interesting about Ruby is that, despite sharing what seemsto be the shortest time with Summer, she’s the only who I guess still keepsSummer’s memory alive in a way since we only know about Summer mostly through Ruby and how much she’s impacted Ruby’s life.

I know we have Yang who talked about Summer once before in V2 but thatwas only that one time. Qrow seems to share the closest ties to Summer yetthrough him we’ve learned diddly-squat new about Summer Rose. And quite franklyat this point, I’ve grown weary about Summer Rose being a mystery. It would benice if the story revealed more about her past, who she is and more importantly,it’d be nice to hear Ruby talk more about her mother and share her experiencewith Summer Rose.

This is why I like my Pinehead headcanon about Oscar beingraised entirely by his father (and by extension aunt and possible uncle) formost of his life while knowing very little about his real mother other thanwhat little stories his father used to tell him about her when he actuallychose to answer his son’s inquiries. Perhaps that’s something Oscar and Rubycould’ve bonded over. Being raised by families that barely spoke of theirmothers yet the two still clung to a desire to learn more about the women whobrought them into the world. That could be a neat concept to push these twokids’ friendship but…y’know that’s just my idea.

Do you actually know what would be cool but would probably never happen?What if…while in Atlas or Mantle, Ruby reunites with her long-lost grandparents a.k.a Summer Rose’s family?

Like imagine if Summer Rose was kind of like Hermione Granger in a way. Not in the sense that she was a book worm but more in line with her being the child of parents who weren’t magical beings like her.

Imagine if…Summer Rose was a Silver Eyed Warrior born to parents who weren’t Silver Eyes. So unlike Maria Calavera who at least had her fatherto train her, Summer had to learn how to use her powers on her own which leadto her meeting Ozpin.

Imagine if…Summer Rose was actually a foster child to Ozpin or one of his many associates and while attending Beacon Academy, Ozpin took on the role of surrogate father to Summer and practically raised her in place of her biological parents who knew nothing about the truth of what their daughter was but entrusted Ozpin to her since he promised them he could provide the answers Summer was looking for.

Imagine if…Summer Rose’s parents trusted their daughter into Ozpin’s custody and Oz used to send letters to Summer’s family informing them of Summer’s development.

 Or…what if…Summer was the one who kept in close contact with her parents, yet she kept their identity a secret for their own safety. Imagine if…Summer was actually forced to leave her parents behind and never saw them again since, according to Ozpin, being connected to a Silver Eyes would’ve potentially placed them in danger and out of fear of having her parents hunted and killed—Summer was forced to estrange herself from them. Despite this, she still kept in contact with them, sending them letters over the years to let them know of how she was going.

Imagine if…Summer never returned to her family but she still maintainedclose communication with them til the day she died. That’s when all correspondence stopped. Imagine if…Summer kept the identity of her parents a secret she held to her grave; even from Qrow, Tai and their family.

Could you imagine how intriguing that would’ve been to learn that Summerhad family that Ruby could meet?

Imagine…a scenario where Summer remains deceased as the story has alwaysportrayed her but Ruby learns about the type of person Summer was through the people who knew her best and were actually willing to talk more about Summer to Ruby.

Also imagine how big of a twist it would be to learn that Summer hadkept her own little secret—about her parents from even her friends and Tai.Not even Yang knew about them. This could provide Ruby with another side of her family that she’s personally connected to through Summer.

Cause let’s face it, while Qrow is Ruby’s uncle (and possible godfathercause I’m still holding to my small hunch that Summer made Qrow Ruby’sgodfather before she passed and that’s why he keeps such a close eye on herapart from being the daughter of possibly the closest person in Qrow’s life),he is technically only related to Yang by blood.

Qrow is only connected to Ruby by extension of Tai since she is hisother daughter he had with Summer. But outside of that, Ruby has no family ofSummer’s to connect herself to. What if she did? Imagine if Summer Rose had long lost parents or even a sister who raised her until the two were forced to part ways due to Summer being a Silver Eyes and Oz taking Summer away or something like that.

In a nutshell, I’m more in favour of Ruby finding long lost relatives of Summer Rose (who aren’t Silver Eyes or…maybe they are, who knows) and learning more about her mother through them than actually finding Summer alive.

Oh! What could even be more fascinating is if Summer Rose actually came from a hidden secret society of Silver Eyed Warriors who took a similar approach to Maria Calavera.

Upon learning of the genocide of so many Silver Eyes over the years,this society gathered all the remaining Silver Eyes in the world as a means of protecting them. However this society went into hiding andavoided contact with the outside world.

According to Qrow who learnt from Ozpin, Silver Eyes were known to befeared by the Grimm and lived the life of warriors. But unfortunately this society sort of abolished that rule. Instead of being trained to use their powers to protect humanity from the Grimm, they were raised in fear of death—the complete opposite of what Silver Eyes are known to be.

Let’s say…Summer was once a part of that secret society with her family. However Summer was a wayward soul. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she saw the greatest in her powers and wanted to use it to help others in the outside world. She wanted to become a huntress.

Let’s say…Summer ran away from the society or rather, she was banished from the society for wanting to pursue the huntsmen lifestyle. Andafter that, the society no longer offered Summer their protection andassistance. She was cast out into the world unknown. She wasn’t even allowed to see or keep in contact with her family who all shunned her for her decision.

Imagine if…Summer gave up the closed off yet protected lifestyleshe once knew for chance to become a hero because that’s was the type of person she was. That was the type of person Silver Eyed Warriors were supposed to be.

Let’s say…that despite being disowned by her family and fellow Silver Eyes, Summer had a younger sister or perhaps a baby brother who she was forced to leave behind in the society after being cast out. 

But in spite of this, Summer’s…let’s say little brother, managed to secretly keep in contact with her over the years without his family or the other society members knowing.

Summer’s brother learnt all about his sister’s adventures in the outsideworld and all the good work she did as a huntress through letters the two exchanged. Unfortunately, eventually the letters stopped coming after Summer died and her family never knew the truth of what happened.

Imagine something like that where Ruby discovers that she isn’t alone.That’s she’s not the only Silver Eyed Warrior. That there is an entire societyin hiding somewhere in the cold, cold mountains of Solitas where no one canfind them. However unlike Ruby, the other Silver Eyes have all been raised tobe cowards in fear of the world and not brought up as the fierce warriors they are meant to be.

Imagine Ruby reconnecting with Summer’s family through this society andfinally gaining the answers she wanted to know about, not just Summer, but theSilver Eyes in general through this society. And…also imagine Ruby eventually becoming the last Silver Eyed Warrior when this Silver Eyes Society is discovered by Salem’s goons in Atlas and there’s a massive genocide which Ruby is blamed for.

Or…perhaps Ruby becomes a leader of some kind—training other Silver Eyes to use their powers, reintroducing the Silver Eyes into the world so that they may help defend Remnant? Or something like that? Who knows? I’d rather THAT than Summer being revealed to be alive.

I agree with you on the prospect of Summer being alive theory takingaway a huge aspect of Ruby’s character. You’re right. It doesn’t need tohappen.

I don’t need for Summer Rose to suddenly be alive because if Summer hasbeen alive this whole time and it’s shown that she straight up left her familymaking them believe she’s dead this whole time then…wouldn’t that in a way make her worse than Raven or just as bad?

Not to mention that Summer being alive would defeat the message of herstaple song with Ruby—Red Like Roses Part II. That theme described Summer’s sacrifice. How despite knowing what her death would ultimately do her daughter as the last living Silver Eyes, Summer still went ahead because according to the lyrics to the song, “…Summer didn’t have a choice. She did what she had to do. She made a sacrifice but as a result of this, forced a bigger sacrifice on Ruby”

It even goes on to voice Summer, almost pleading to Ruby to not pursuethe same path that she did—the path that ultimately led to her sacrifice anddeath—the same path that Ruby had chosen now. Again, Summer being alive would defeat all the meaning in this theme that helped paint a picture of themother-daughter dynamic between Summer and Ruby.

So yeah, that’s my $1.50 on that. To reiterate, not a fan of the Summerbeing alive theory. But I do like the alternative of Ruby possibly reconnecting with Summer’s old family and learning more about her mother through them—what could even be a nice touch is if, after meeting Ruby, Summer’s non-Silver Eye family members compile all the letters that Summer sent to them over the years and Ruby gets to hear her mother’s voice and learn about her through her letters—letters that spoke about all her adventures, her time at Beacon, her time with Team STQR, Ozpin and all the stuff  that came after, including the birthof Ruby and how happy Summer was when she gave birth to her own daughter, how much Summer loved Ruby. Heck it can even include a last letter that Summer sent to her family before her final mission. Possibly.

If not this idea then how about the Secret Silver Eyes Society concept where Ruby discovers that Summer came from a hidden colony of Silver Eyes but left to become a huntress. Imagine Ruby discovering that she isn’t alone and ultimately rising up to become a leader of this secret society, becoming the teacher to train others like herself to use their gift.

I think either one of these could be cool. But y’know, as always, theseare just my thoughts and theories. Overall, I hope this answers your questionMizu. Y’know the drill. Let me know whatcha think.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)