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capsized-heart · 5 years ago

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Lady Liberty and The Captain / Part One

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (1940′s Brooklyn AU)

Summary: You are a rising young star and the newest breakout actress in Hollywood’s Golden Age! When war finally descends on the west, your reputation as America’s Sweetheart finds you cast in a promotional picture alongside Captain America himself.

Yet, he looks eerily familiar, like your Stevie from childhood…

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: fluff!!

A/N: hello, everyone!!!! I hope you’re staying home, warm, and safe during these crazy times. I’ve been snuggling with my doggie and continuing with my university’s online classes in my final semester..absolutely crazy how things are rn. I hope this new story can help brighten up your day just a little bit.

First of all, I just want to say thank you💖💛for all the love that old and new readers alike have shown this blog recently. I’ve been writing on this platform for a little less than a year and I never thought l’incendie would blow up as much as it has. You guys are amazing. I’m really excited and eager to share new pieces and hope you enjoy the content I have coming! Please don’t hesitate to pop in and say hi, or shoot me a message. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with readers and would love to know your thoughts on my fics, or just to talk about fandom stuff! Timmy included! PAHAHA

So, this chapter is gonna be a part of a mini-series for a 1940′s writing challenge and I’m using the prompt of wartime romance! This will probably be split into two or three parts and I will tag the host as soon as the last chapter goes up, I’ll most likely make a masterlist in the end as well. Reader has a name in this fic, but hopefully the choice of name will make sense later on :D

As always, feel free to drop a ask/message if you’d like a tag in the next update.

ENJOY!

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Film: ‘Apple of Discord’, Lola Swanson’s Dazzling Debut!

By NICHOLAS WATTS September 1, 1943

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The film drama from the original screenplay written and directed by Andrew Campbell opened to a roar of applause and acclaim at the Radio City Music Hall yesterday evening. Apple of Discord is a reimagining of the myth and Plato’s allegory, focusing on the tumultuous, profoundly elegant life of a young noblewoman during the Trojan wars.

The film’s frontrunner and leading lady is Hollywood newcomer, young and fresh-faced Lola Swanson. Swanson’s performance is so thoughtful, so unfaltering, so intelligent and controlled that it is hard to believe this is little Lola’s long awaited motion picture debut. And what a debut this is!

Starring opposite Hollywood veterans Sean Schultz, Kash Dennis, and Gracie Smith, this star-studded cast packs punches and sizzling chemistry and yet, Swanson does not fizzle out but confidently holds her own, demanding your attention in every scene, and rightfully so. Watching Swanson in this picture is watching a major actress in the making.

Born and raised in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen before moving to Brooklyn to pursue acting, some may recognize Lola from her daytime television roles in Insanity and Passion, It’s a Date! and as Jessica in Jessica Davis Returns.

Now we know these roles were preparing Swanson for the debut of the decade.

“APPLE OF DISCORD” is now showing at the Radio City Music Hall and Cinema 2. Tickets at 25 cents. Running time: 139 minutes.

★★★★☆

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APPLE OF DISCORD, written and directed by Andrew Campbell; director of photography, Laszlo Kovacs; edited by John Wright; music by John Barry; released by Universal Pictures.

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The newspaper trembles hard between your fingers, threatening to tear its edges. Pulse pounding, ears ringing. You can’t stop smiling. You feel like crying.

You reread the words again and again, the words written by legendary film critic Nicholas Watts, the man you’ve only dreamed of making an impression on, that he’d someday see you in a picture. And here he’s written a glowing review of your major motion picture debut.

You erupt in a fit of giggles and screams, twirling around the small space of your apartment in a swirl of nightgown, pinned curls. A neighbor, Mr. Krisinski, you think, pounds on your wall to shut you up.

It’s still early morning and you had gone downstairs at first light to buy a paper from a newsboy. Outside your window, the streets of New York already yawn and bustle with morning commute. The movement of people, gleaming automobiles against the red brick buildings and muted gray of Manhattan. Warm sun washes over it all, your heart brimming and full, mirroring the glow of golden dawn.

You feel on top of the world. Maybe you’ll finally make it here.

Your phone rings. You rush over to the mint blue rotary telephone on your bedside table, snatch up the receiver before Mr. Krisinski can break down your door with all the racket you’re making.

“Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece, cradling it between your hands. You feel breathless, high strung and buzzing, like you’d just downed a whole case of Coca-Cola, whirring with the taste of sugar and success, bubbling with starpower. Maybe it’s Kash or Gracie calling to congratulate you. Hell, maybe even President Roosevelt.

“Lola! It’s me. Have you read the paper?” The cool voice of Peggy asks you through the receiver. You quietly laugh at your own fantastical expectations. Of course it’s Peggy. Punctual, collected Peggy.

Peggy Carter is your talent agent and manager at MGM. Peggy had snatched you up while you had been working as a background actress on Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca, so hopeful and beholden just to be in the presence of such respected artists, willing to stay the extra hours even after the other girls had gone home when realizing they wouldn’t be seen in the shot. It hadn’t been your first time on a hot set, you were used to the itchy costumes, long hours of endless waiting, and the empty stomachs, but no way you were going to miss a chance to see Ingrid Bergman and Madeleine LeBeau up close.

Back then, only a few years ago yet a lifetime away it seems, Peggy had been a casting assistant, seeing your dedication and marching right up to you between takes to hand you her card. On the back, written in smooth blue ink, a time the next morning for an audition at MGM Studios in downtown New York. Eight o'clock sharp.

You didn’t sleep at all that night after you wrapped.

She’s worked at getting you into audition rooms and meetings for years, pushing you onto writers, production assistants, riggers, directors. She had secured you an audition with Andrew Campbell after “accidentally�� leaving your headshot in his mailroom and later calling his assistant with threats of stolen property. MGM’s new fresh face had been penciled in for a side read the following week.

Fierce, ingenious, and your own bright star, you’ve risen through the ranks and fought your way up with Peggy at your side.

“Yeah, Peg. I have it here in front of me. This is...absolutely nuts.”

“Not really, you were brilliant in the picture, darling. But it’s a comfort to know Watts has finally replaced that cotton in his brain with some sense.”

Another laugh from you, twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“Let me have this one, Peg.”

“If you insist.”

You hear the rustling of newspaper from the other end. You can practically see Peggy sitting at her desk, perusing the paper over a morning cup of coffee, her hair curled, makeup and nails all scarlet red and perfect. The golden placard glittering on the frosted glass of the door.

Margaret Carter, Casting Director.

“I’m calling to tell you about an offer we received this morning from Paramount. I think you should take it.”

That rush of giddiness burns bright again in your veins, pulse skyrocketing.

“Paramount? Geez, what did they say?”

“They want you for a promotional picture that’s being produced by Senator Brandt. Brandt is hoping to boost the homefront’s war bond sales with a little starpower from you and from Captain America. You’ve seen his posters, haven’t you? That costumed bloke?”

You have. Plastered everywhere and looking like an absolute buffoon. Nice physique, though.

The disappointment that settles in your stomach is ugly and cold, like a fruitless pit, hard, rough, a sour taste in your mouth. It’s stupidly childish, yet your own expectations for your first movie, first box office hit, for that very first taste of the promised fame and fortune of success, begin to blink out. Expectations you’ve held on to since you were a little girl, since you realized this is the type of work you want to do for the rest of your life.

You’ve managed to impress Nicholas Watts, the most cynical film critic in all of Hollywood, and this is your big break? A Paramount picture featuring you and a tights-wearing mascot?

Peggy is practically asking you to star alongside Mickey Mouse.

“Is that all they offered?” You respond. You wince at the demanding, ungrateful tone. Afterall, showbiz has hardened you to go after what you want, to take and take because this lifestyle does not guarantee anything. You’re told no more than you are yes, the constant rejection having molded you into a diamond tough girl, glitzy and solid, unbreakable, beautiful.

But how many girls would kill to be in your place?

“The only sensible deal. They also offered you the role of Violet for It’s a Wonderful Life, and Ruthie in The Grapes of Wrath.”

“What?! Peggy, contract me for those instead!”

“Well, I’m not going to. And you listen well as to why.”

You twist your lips together. Peggy’s voice filters clipped and disapproving through the phone line, the way she always gets before she offers you damned good advice.

“Not just Watts is impressed with your work, Lola. You’re finally turning heads and for all good reasons. Anyone can get in front of a camera if they have the right look. But you’ve shown them that you have the look and the raw talent. Critics are saying you’re rivaling Judy Garland, darling. And you’re telling me you want the part of a lousy love interest? A secondary daughter? All because the pictures have big names behind them and people may go see it?

“No,” you mumble.

“No is right. You know better than anyone that people expect young stars to burn out fast so they can take their place. It’s all business. If I put you in for those roles, we’d be playing right into their hand. We’d use up all your potential in one summer. The public would get sick of seeing your face in every big picture. We have to earn their affection, darling. It’s slow and tame and not always glamorous, but this deal is smart.”

You listen, silently.

“Morale is low. War is when people turn to familiar pastimes and simple pleasures. To treat themselves, to take their minds off all the grizzly headlines. Captain America embodies all of that and more. If we take this, I promise you, Lola, that people will remember you as the girl who got them through the darkest times. This will do wonders for your career years down the line. And then, if you still want to play Violet, I’ll phone Frank Capra myself.”

You close your eyes and draw in a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Wonderful. I’ll phone Paramount now. We’ll be in touch.”

Growing up with poor Irish immigrants for parents, the rare moments you could afford to splurge on luxuries, you spent them at local cinemas and theaters with your brother. Any day was a good one when you and Samuel bought tickets for a noon screening, the cheapest showing of the day, scraping together pocket change to split a popcorn if you were feeling extra special.

And reclining in a nearly empty theater with refreshments and goodies between the two of you, you’d watch the silver screen with hope in your mouth and stars in your eyes. In here, it no longer mattered how little money you had, or the discrimination your family faced, or the war in Europe, or the meager apartment you’d go home to, lucky if the electricity and heating had been paid for. In here, nothing else mattered but the visual stories.

And you realized that you wanted to help tell them. You wanted to be in front of the cameras, to embody characters and personas and let audiences worldwide empathize and identify with your performances.

You’ve loved playing make-believe since you were a little girl, having never really grown out of it. You could do it, you think. Dangerous dreams, perhaps, but what child doesn’t hold this wish within them? To see their name in lights and to be admired and commended, but most of all, to provide for their family?

How hard could it be?

At sixteen, you land your first speaking role. It’s pathetic. You’re working on set as background, per usual, only this time, the director picks you out from the crowd and gives you the line of, “Good morning, sir.” You’re to look off camera as the actor playing Kent entered the scene and you would then say your line.

You’re stupidly excited. Three simple words. You’ll be uncredited, of course, but your face would finally be seen! With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the scene resets, Kent takes his mark, the cameras roll, and you deliver.

The scene is cut from the final reel.

You pound the pavement. You scour newspapers and flyers for casting calls, you phone agencies and playhouses, you save up to get your picture taken on glossy photo paper. You keep looking. You keep working in background until you can land a steady role.

Then, you finally get one. A miniscule part of a friendly neighborhood girl on a TV drama for CBS. You only have mere minutes of screen time, but the checks that arrive in the mail from Columbia Broadcasting System after your first few episodes air say otherwise.

You open a savings account. You plant your paychecks and watch them grow into a comfortable sum of money. You land another guest starring role for a daytime soap, the secretary of the title character. Combined with your parents’ salaries from your mother’s sewing and your father’s work on the railroads, you become the main breadwinner.

You move your family out of Hell’s Kitchen, out of your cramped, dark apartment. You sign a new lease under your new stage name and move to Brooklyn together.

Brooklyn is slightly cleaner, but the familiar hustle and bustle, the noise of shopkeepers and dialects and children and cars is comforting, grounds you in your roots. When your CBS drama wraps months later with your last check in the mail and you’re looking for your next gig, your brother works odd jobs to help shoulder the burden. Brick laying, chimney sweeping, milk and mail delivering, Samuel becomes no stranger to any and all work, so long as it pays. You become a typist on the side as you wait for auditions and callbacks.

Samuel tells you his aspirations to be a poet, a writer. He hasn’t said a word to your parents, but he shows you the small bound notebook he carries with him, leafing through pages of prose and verse. You encourage him to submit his work to newspapers, publishers. He gives you a shy smile, says he’ll consider it as soon as you get your motion picture debut. You shake on it. Together, your already close bond of brother and sister grows stronger as you each work to support your art.

You’re waiting for Samuel to finish his shift so you can catch a late showing of His Girl Friday, a warm September day when you first meet Bucky Barnes down at the wharfs. He’s tall, lean, and glistening with sweat when he rounds out of the warehouse with an armful of crates and nearly knocks you off the pier.

“Hey, watch it!” he snaps. His eyes flash like the water around you, blue and cold and dangerous. Brown locks curl with perspiration against his forehead, the sleeves of his workshirt rolled up over his shoulders, the exposed skin of his throat and arms flushed and tan.

Embarrassed, you try to steady him, to which he growls in annoyance and spins out of your reach. He makes a great show of bearing the weight himself, grumbling as he sets down his load. You don’t miss the way the muscles in his back flex and dip. It isn’t until he slowly stands back up, wiping his palms on his khakis, that you get a good look at each other.

The hostility in his eyes softens ever so slightly, simmering into a look that cinches your chest tight when his gaze travels shamelessly up from your kitten heels to the curves of your lips and cheek. His breathing is still labored as he surveys you and you can feel heat and color blooming against your skin. When his eyes finally settle on your face, you can’t decide whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“You lost or something, honey?” He asks with a whisper of a smile. He strolls in a lazy half-circle in front of you and moves to go back up the ramp to the warehouse. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“Have we met before? I swear I recognize you from somewhere.”

This delights you deliciously, that a handsome young man you’ve met by chance has seen your work. Not glamorous, acclaimed roles by any means, but recognition nonetheless. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress your smile and give him a coy, bashful flutter of your eyelashes.

“If that were the case, I’m sure I’d remember you.”

He grins wolfishly, pleased, and takes a step closer. “Yeah? Think you’ll let me take you out for dinner tonight?”

“She’s got plans with me, Buck.” Samuel’s voice carries across the water. Your brother emerges with wooden boxes and sets them between you and Bucky in a huff, as if he’s implementing a physical barrier, both childish and endearing. Bucky glances at you and Samuel.

“Are you two..?”

“Steady? No. She’s my sister.”

Bucky snorts and his eyes find you again, glittering in the evening light. “You never told me you had a sister, Sammy. And such a looker too..”

“Makes you wonder why I never brought her up,” retorts Samuel and gives him a playful shove, traps him briefly in a headlock. “At least Steve wouldn’t ogle.”

“Stevie would get a nose bleed and pass out.” You hear Bucky grunt back. Samuel moves as if to dump him into the drink and Bucky pinwheels, scrambling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Satisfied, Samuel releases him and socks him in the shoulder for good measure. Bucky stumbles, looking boyish and smooth despite his shirt and hair all disheveled.

You’ve seen his type in casting offices all across New York; bold, alluring, and charismatic. It’s a look and type you’ve longed to act opposite of someday, as all young starlets dream of, but a look that simultaneously sparks the feminine temptation that shivers between your breasts. You wonder if Bucky would look the same in a dark bedroom, with him on top of you and your fingers running over his back…

Bucky grins toothily when he catches you staring and shoots you a wink. None of those movie star hopefuls hold a candle now to his rugged, spirited charm.

Samuel guides you back up the pier so he can punch out his time card and the two of you can be on your way. And as you’re about to set foot on solid ground, you hear Bucky call out to you.

“What’s your name, honey?”

Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Cripes.” He mutters to himself. Before Samuel can stop you, you laugh and turn back to the water with a fresh and girlish aire, warmth and excitement whispering through your veins, young and naive and sixteen.

“Dolores!” You give him your full name, your real name. For once, you don’t want to be Lola Sparks. You want to be your natural, honest self, the girl who deserves young love and joy and an untroubled adolescence. The sound of your voice rings clear and strong, the diva that you are, and Bucky’s mouth curves upwards.

“See you ‘round, Dot.”

Much to Samuel’s displeasure, you tail your big brother around the docks like a lost pup whenever you have time. And being a C-list actress and a part-time typist, you have plenty of it. You loiter with the excuse of bringing sack lunches, waiting on Samuel and Bucky at the edge of the warehouses. It’s lonesome and bores you to no end being all by yourself, until one afternoon when someone is already waiting at your spot by the pier.

Small, skinny as his own shadow with a fringe of blonde hair, he leans hunkered and folded within himself, timid and seemingly conscious of how he occupies space. His jacket droops over his shoulders, eyes downcast even as you approach. He has a sketchbook in his hands, concentrated as the pencil moves across the page in fast, gentle strokes. You see an impressive likeness of the piers and Bucky’s distant figure in charcoaled lines.

“That’s really something.” You say.

He jolts so hard the paper tears and he crumples it into his fist in a single motion. “Huh?” he answers. When he looks to you, you realize his eyes are a pretty shade of teal. He flushes, petrified, the tips of his ears coloring pink. You feel horrible when he goes to pocket the ball of paper.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you,” you breathe. Gently, you offer your palm to him. “If you’re not keeping it, do you mind if I have it?” You ask softly. A few seconds pass and he shakes his head before placing it in your hand. You unfurl the paper, carefully smooth it out as he watches you from the corner of his eye.

Shyness is a barrier of art you’ve known all too well, from your own experiences in audition rooms to your brother’s reluctance to find a publisher, you understand that sting of insecurity better than anyone. So, you let him watch you as you admire his work, let him know of his talent and let your actions speak for you. You smile and slip the drawing into your purse.

Then, his stomach grumbles audibly, almost comically loud. He folds his arms around his stomach, so tight you’re afraid he’ll snap in half. You quickly reach into one of your paper bags and hand him a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a can of lemonade.

“Here, let’s trade.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I can’t accept..” he starts. The timbre of his voice is surprisingly gallant and sure, pleasant, sweet. You have a gut feeling that the world has been taking advantage of that kindness his whole life, scaring him away from genuine compassion, that everything must have a catch. It makes you press harder.

“I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do for sneaking up on you.” He eyes you warily and again that feeling of regret washes over you. “Consider it payment.” You smile.

Finally, he takes Samuel’s lunch from you and unwraps the sandwich. He eats quickly and quietly, draining the lemonade only minutes later. Perhaps it’s his bony statue, but you feel happy to see this stranger eat.

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth and turns to you. His lips, pretty, pink, part as if about to speak, yet no words leave him. Instead, he stands frozen with that transfixing blue-green gaze keeping you still, lingering.

That is until a stream of brilliant scarlet red dribbles down his chin and splatters onto his dress shirt. He pinches his nose, doubling forward and his flustered complexion matching the blood spilling from his nostrils.

“You must be Steve,” You laugh lightly and quickly hand him your handkerchief of cream yellow lace and embroidered flowers. You help steady him as he keeps his head tilted down. “Bucky’s told me all about you.”

Steve groans and presses the handkerchief to his face, blushing all the way down to his neck.

Steve returns your handkerchief days later with an embarrassed hush, carefully cleaned and laundered. It smells of lavender and clean linen and the image of him working the fabric between his thin fingers with soap and suds warms your heart.

You tell him it’s his. He blooms and keeps it neatly folded in his breast pocket.

You and Steve quickly grow close in the hours you spend together waiting on Bucky and Samuel. You pack extra lunches for him and sit by the piers chatting, skipping stones as Steve sketches the Brooklyn skyline day in and day out.

“Draw me!” you tease. “Isn’t that the request that all artists want to hear?”

But surprisingly, he does. He always draws you and Bucky and Samuel with striking, intimate familiarity. His sketchbook gradually fills with portraits and pictures of you, sketches that could put your very headshot to shame.

After their usual shifts, the four of you head to the drugstore for your ritual of sodas and sundaes. Two pairs, brother and sister and brothers by blood enjoying a rare wartime treat. With the rations on sugar, it’s a special and memorable circumstance just to be together and sharing something sweet.

It’s there, at your corner booth in Wolfe’s Pharmacy over ice cream, that Bucky opens up a paper for that night’s television network schedule and sees your name.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dot,” he says. “What do others call you?”

Defeated, you twist your lips, hesitant to break the short spell of normalcy you’ve had with your new friends. Samuel sips at his Coke with a silent grin.

Time for the truth to come out.

“Well, ‘doll’, by Stevie,” you giggle and toe Steve’s foot under the table. Steve shyly shrinks back into his seat. “But CBS calls me Lola.”

Bucky’s jaw drops.

“Get out of here. You’re pulling my leg..”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Sammy, tell me she’s pulling my leg.”

“She’s not.”

Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes dart between you and your brother. Bucky’s face breaks into an open smile, laughing. Steve lurches forward.

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” Steve prods with a hint of that honest, innocent charm.

You wrinkle your nose sheepishly. “Mason Cook?”

“Who?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sundae.

“Exactly.” Samuel snorts.

“Well, I’m sure he’s very talented.” Says Steve.

You swipe his maraschino cherry and let the stem dangle between your lips. “At least Stevie believes in me.”

“Dot, honey. I saw your pilot episode. If anyone’s a fan, it’s me.” Bucky feigns hurt, hand to his chest.

You stick out your bottom lip before sucking in the stem, working it into a tight knot in your mouth. “Are you still gonna be when your girl is signing autographs with John Wayne?”

You place the knotted stem on your napkin. Bucky nearly chokes.

“I better be.”

Samuel coughs. Steve giggles.

You thank your stars that your secret doesn’t change anything between Steve and Bucky. They treat you just the same; as Samuel’s baby sister who tags along with the boys. The teasing, the fleeting looks all unchanging.

Girls, you’ve unfortunately realized, are catty and mean. You’re competing for roles, after all. But with Bucky and Steve, your first taste of homecoming since moving to Brooklyn, you don’t have to worry about silly competition, or fame, or being the best in the room. They keep you level-headed, reminding you of your girlhood and life’s simple pleasures.

Bucky drives you and Steve around town in the company truck on weekends. Hopscotch and jacks on brick roads and warm nights, watching sunsets until the sky blushes peach and mango yellow at Coney Island.

A Saturday afternoon on Rockaway Beach, a vacation for you all after a draining week of work and auditions when Bucky promises to win you a stuffed bear when he sees you eyeing the one on careful display.

“Buck..Bucky, give it a rest, we can try the next one.” Steve chides.

Another plastic ring pings off the neck of a glass bottle. Bucky curses, rings his hands together and slaps another dollar onto the counter.

You and Steve trade looks. Bucky’s been at it for ten minutes. At this rate, you know you’ll be walking on the train tracks home tonight.

So, you and Steve huddle close and cheer him on. Do it for our doll! says Steve. Finish it so you’ll stop wasting money, you dolt! you cry. Hell, even the vendor finds it humorous and joins in.

And when Bucky wins that grand prize and you’re handed a teddy bear as big as Stevie, you hoist it on your back, careful to not let it touch gravel or dust as the three of you walk in line with the train tracks later that evening.

Paradise, a sheltered haven from the broken landscapes and realities that the European newsreels broadcast home in grim black and white.

True to Bucky’s word, they become your biggest supporters, helping you run lines and monologues and accompanying you to auditions. Bucky’s not bad for a scene partner, and Steve’s awareness of emotion and character motivation is impressive.

The attention you receive from casting directors and auditionees doesn’t hurt your chances either, lanky Steve and smoldering Bucky wishing you luck before stepping into the green room.

You book a drama. Then, a short film. Then another. You call them your lucky charms.

And when your humble little short film “premiers” at the corner cinema, squeezed in between an empty noon showing of a cartoon rerun, Steve and Bucky whoop and holler when your character is shown on screen. They throw popcorn and gumdrops, jostle you by the shoulders. Bucky even runs down the aisle and mimes kissing the projector screen.

“That’s our girl! That’s our Dot!”

The usher threatens to throw you out. Steve tells him you’ve paid good money for your tickets and you’ll stay and watch as long as you please.

The following week, you’re scouted by Peggy Carter.

Your world, your career will never be the same.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x you #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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symphonyselfships · 4 years ago

Text

A-Support

Words: 2,301

Warnings: Mention of blood.

Summary: Finally reunited after 5 years of war, Ashe decides to take the opportunity to confess his feelings to Rebekah.

Links: C-Support, B-Support

Notes: I love him.

It was imperial year 1185, a mark of history that heralded five years since the flames of war consumed Fódlan. Ever since the battle and consequential loss of Garreg Mach Monastery to Emperor Edelgard's army, Rebekah's life had been thrown in chaos, much like the rest of the world. Under Seteth's rushed and final order during the struggle with the enemy, all students of the Officers Academy were to immediately evacuate to their homelands. For Rebekah, this meant running off to the capital of the Kingdom, Fhirdiad. After a teary reunion, her family immediately set forth on mass-producing recruitment posters and the like for the kingdom's army; the library where they lived was only building for miles that had access to do so. It was almost more terrifying how quickly they adjusted to this new war-oriented line of work than the actual presence of it, after all, who reads during wartime? For the next two years, a day wouldn’t pass where Rebekah’s hands weren’t smudged with dark ink.

However, these ink stains would soon turn crimson with blood when the imperial army broke into Fhridiad, claiming it as part of the ever-expanding empire. It was a brutal clash, the royal guards stationed there were resisting an army three times their size. While Rebekah and her mother retreated into the flow of escaping citizens, her father ran back into their home, attempting to rescue books that the empire would inevitably burn given the content inside. He would not return. Many months into the future, a family friend would send a letter to Rebekah, confirming his capture by the imperial troops. After successfully keeping their lives thus far, the mother-daughter pair decided to flee further north, eventually landing in Galatea territory. They settled as best they could and continued to support the war effort, sewing blankets and distributing rations. Rebekah found this time to be the most vulnerable she had ever been in years. Prince Dimitri was said to be executed, her father was gone, and the Empire's victory seemed inevitable. The despair of her losses threatened to plunge her into a darkness that wouldn't break at dawn.

If it weren't for the letters, that is.

They were received from… a friend, to put him lightly. Ashe Ubert, temporary overseer of Castle Gaspard territory, and the lone source of her happiness. He sent her a letter every two weeks or so, writing stories about his siblings and cracking corny jokes he knew would make her smile. Rebekah's heart would leap whenever her mother gave her a new envelope, and she would pour over his words until her eyes grew weary. Her mother would wonder out loud if she should change her daughter's surname, to which Rebekah only scoffed and turned pink. After three more years of this, his final letter would come to her a few days before the date of what was supposed to be the millennium festival. He mentioned the promise their class had made to reunite at Garreg Mach for the occasion, and eagerly wrote about how he couldn't wait to see her again. If there was one thing Rebekah was happy about in regards to the war, it was that she had no concrete plans for the next decade or so. Free to chase after this promise, she made her way to the Galatea household, their heir, Ingrid, letting her into the premise due to them being old classmates. Together they decided to trek the dangerous journey back to the monastery. Upon their arrival, the rest came faster than Rebekah ever could've suspected. After countless rumors of their demise, her tears barely had time to dry after seeing the professor and Dimitri alive once more. With the professor's ingenious strategy and leadership on their side again, it was instantly proposed to revive the kingdom army and officially take down the empire. The acceptance of this plan was just as quick; all the Blue Lions, Rebekah included, agreed to stay at Garreg Mach and work together to triumphantly win back their homeland.

And so now she was here. Basking in the glory of organizing the monastery library.

"As Loog approached Eris, a warm breeze passed through the cliffside they were standing on. The feeling of the air against his skin carried a feeling of memory, and a sense of nostalgia enveloped him. It was a reminder of the start of their adventure: when he was but a simple warrior, and she a maiden of the wind..." Ashe's voice echoed off the library walls, the sound reaching Rebekah just as she shelved the final book. He was sitting at a nearby table, reading from one of his knight's tales in the dim candlelight. Rebekah didn’t exactly know why the professor had sent both of them to arrange only one section. Nonetheless, she was overjoyed to finally be reunited with him after years of only letters. She took a second to admire the completed task, her tidy placement of the various encyclopedias and historical novels a big improvement from earlier. After confirming everything was just the way she wanted it, she walked across the floor to sit opposite from Ashe. Putting her chin in the palm of her hand, she hung on to his every word as he continued his monologue. "Alas, the quickening pace of his heart at the sight of Eris proved that- like emotions- all things change with time," he narrated.

"Eris stepped forward until she was mere inches from his body, her golden hair flowing in the gust. She gently took Loog's hands in her own, and he realized how truly invaluable she was to him: both as a soldier and companion," Rebekah continued. Ashe looked up at her interruption, meeting her eyes with a small smile. He closed the book and continued speaking, laughter threatening to slip into his words. "Eris felt herself flush when Loog confided this thought to her, her red lips stretching up into a joyful grin. She glanced up at him, eyes sparkling with emotion."

Rebekah had less self-control than he did, and let out a giggle before continuing to recite the story. "After all this time together, she said, I've never felt happier than I do right now,"

"Would you care to tell me why?" Ashe lowered his voice to a comical level, glancing at Rebekah to see her reaction. She burst into a fit of laughter, and a warmth suddenly spread throughout his heart. "A sm- a small-” Rebekah paused to regain her composure and quickly resumed. “A small smile appeared on Eris's face. I think you already know, she sang to him."

"You’re right," Ashe continued.

"Eris-"

"I love you."

Realizing they both accidentally said Loog's confession at the same time (and to each other no less), Rebekah felt a blush flare up in her cheeks. Ashe was in a similar state from across the table, obviously flustered as he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Should we stop there for today?” he inquired. “I just finished up organizing the shelves, so we should be good to go! Only the rest of this chapter left right? We can meet up some other time to finish it,” Rebekah proposed, a smile across her face. “Of course! I look forward to being with you. To finish the book- I mean. Speaking of, it was really impressive how you could just recite it like that! I thought I was a little weird when I started memorizing it myself, so it makes me really happy knowing somebody else loves it just as much as I do.” Ashe’s words were almost shy as he tucked his hair behind his ear, still slightly red from earlier. “You’re not weird, Ashe. It’s really admirable how you- wait.” Rebekah frowned, her brow creasing. “Hold on.” She slid from her seat, moving to perch on the table right next to Ashe and the storybook. Taking it out of his hands, she flipped through the yellowing pages to the section they were reading earlier. With a small “aha!”, she turned the novel so that it was facing Ashe, her index finger tapping a certain line. "Right here... it says pink lips, not red. It looks like you’re going to have to work on that memorization Mr. Ubert,” she stated, flashing him a wink. Ashe gave a small laugh, getting out of his seat. “Looks like I might! Just don’t go around thinking that I forget everything now,” he teased.

“Who, me? Never. You’re the one who remembered the promise we made to come back here after all.” Rebekah tilted her head back, leaning on her arms as she gazed up towards the library’s ceiling. “It had almost slipped my mind… I’m really grateful you reminded me about it. Now it’s just like our academy days again! Do you remember how much time we would spend in the greenhouse? You were a pretty amazing gardener.” Ashe’s face lit up as she said this. “I think we spent longer there than in our actual classes! Lots of memories there, huh?” He remarked. Something passed across his complexion, and he suddenly seemed to grow sheepish, shuffling his feet against the floor. “Ah, That reminds me…" he mumbled. He took a deep breath, almost as if to steady his heart, and looked up to meet Rebekah's eyes. "Rebekah, the one to return to Garreg Mach isn’t the only promise that I remember.”

Rebekah automatically straightened her posture on the table, mouth slightly ajar. If Ashe was referring to what she was thinking... she didn’t even want to imagine the possibilities, in fear of disappointment. While she was preoccupied with her thoughts, Ashe came closer to her, shyly fiddling with his gloves. “That day in the greenhouse… I vowed that until I had the right words to say, I would protect you. Stand by your side and make sure that you're safe... because I care about you." Ashe's voice went quiet as he moved to take one of her hands in his own. Raising it, he brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles, almost as if he was sealing the sentiment. Had it not been for the very real sensation of his lips against her skin, Rebekah would've mistaken this for a wonderful daydream her mind was conjuring up. He moved to grasp her hand in both of his own, every inch of his face more lovestruck then she had ever seen anybody else’s before. "And… well, I suppose there couldn't be a better time to finally tell you," he continued. "I'm in love with you, Rebekah. Deeply and eternally. I never want to stop being your knight. That is, of course... if you will have me."

Rebekah couldn’t speak. It felt like she couldn’t even breathe. Everything she had ever wanted had lead up to this moment in time, overwhelming her in the best way possible. Ashe: beautiful, kind, sincere Ashe, loved her. Her own fairytale romance was finally budding into fruition, and she had never felt happier in her entire life. Breaking into a wide smile, she reached up to take his face in her hands, exclaiming:

“How could I say no!? I love you more than anything else in the world!”

Ashe’s eyes glinted as he registered that she felt the same way, whether from the candlelight or something else. “Please tell me this isn’t a dream,” he mumbled, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself. Rebekah gave a soft laugh and guided his head towards her until their foreheads were touching. “It’s not.” She tenderly brushed her thumbs over his freckled cheekbones, reveling in the fact those stars now belonged to her. Consequently, it was at that moment both of them realized how close they were, uncomfortably so had it been any other situation. Instinct pulled Ashe forward, but he stopped himself, first and foremost a gentleman. He glanced up at her through his eyelashes, and barely whispered his next words.

“...May I?”

The breath of the request ghosting over her lips sent a shiver down Rebekah's spine. She didn't answer, instead choosing to lean forward, finally sealing the gap between the two of them. Ashe was still, eyes shot wide open with surprise. Too still, he realized. Despite his desperation to fix that error, he kissed Rebekah back so softly her heart threatened to flutter right out of her chest. His hands moved to gently hold her waist, tilting his head to deepen their connection as much as possible. The rush of euphoria combined with the ever-present lack of oxygen caused Rebekah to pull away from him with a small gasp, moving her hands away from his face to clutch his shoulders. The pair sat there for a few seconds to recover, and started to laugh from sheer joy.

"So, what now?" Ashe asked once their little fit was done, affectionately bumping his nose against hers. Rebekah giggled at the gesture, but her attitude quickly turned serious. "We keep fighting. Keep believing. Whatever happens will happen in due time, but for now…." She trailed off and lowered her hand, intertwining her fingers with Ashe's.

"We love."

Ashe gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that." Rebekah let out a pleased hum, nuzzling her head into his chest. Much to her annoyance, her sense of responsibility still tugged at the corner of her mind. Sighing, she begrudgingly moved away from him. "Should we head back downstairs? We're done with our task." "Well.... we still have a while before dinner," he said, a hint of suggestion playing at his words. A smile flickered across Rebekah's lips, and she grasped the sides of his hood, tugging him close. "Come here."

Ashe complied and leaned forward, laughing under his breath.

“Anything for you.”

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kendrixtermina · 5 years ago

Text

The Team Dynamics of the Three Houses

Essay time! =D

Part One: Team Makeup and Thematic Framework Blue Lions

Overarching Theme: Classic basic fantasy archetypes but with a dark twist (We have Prince Charming/ Guilt-ridden softboy standard-issue JRPG protagonist, Handsome Lech/Idiot Friend, Standoffish Rival, Gentleman Thief, Lady Knight, Sweet nice healer, Adorable spellcaster Girl, the Gentle Giant etc. )

Composition: Has the most people with crests, and the one guy with a naturally occurring major crest. Foreshadows how the crest obsession is particularly bad here, due to Faerghus’ harsh environment and a society that’s both religious and has a serious element of hero worship

History: Notably the most tight-knit group. Everyone knows each other already. It’s basically Dimitri, Dimitri’s longtime best friends, the daughter of Dimitri’s former instructor who heard lots of stories about him and her super nice BFF who gets along with everyone... and Ashe, who didn’t know the others until the academy, but since he is a honest sweety who loves cooking and knight stories, he hits it off with the others right away.

Atmosphere: Everyone has kind of the same hobbies (cooking, handicrafts, weapons collecting, knight stuff) and a lot of history, some posters have remarked on missing the “family ambiente” in the other routes but since the bonds are stronger they’re also more charged, it’s also been said that it’s the group with the most inter-team drama, especially when you feature in their relatives - You have Dimitri’s whole character arc, all the family drama between the Fraldariuses and the Dominics, Ingrid’s hangups regarding poor Dedue etc.

As expected if you recruit any of them they’ll kinda have a hard time going after their old home, even the tsundere ones.

The Leader’s position: For all that Dimitri’s friends refuse to drop his honorifics they really are his friends. They’re just all kinda polite with the obvious exception of Felix, and he’s largely tsundere. Despite the afore mentioned drama we see plenty of Dimitri just hanging out with his friends and even coming to them for help, he’s really just one of the bunch .

Since Faerghus is in chaos everyone’s pinning a lot of hopes on Dimitri and it’s not like he’s completely unaware of that or doesn’t have the corresponding sense of duty, he’s always torn between that and his revenge plan which eventually just takes over. He pursues this entirely on his own, too, with not even Dedue knowing what he’s sneaking around the library for.

How this “flavors” part one: Gives it a very “personal” touch. Faerghus, it’s culture, recent past and current state of chaos are fleshed out a lot (we learn plenty about the Alliance and the Empire but Claude and Edelgard have greater scope plans) and since a lot of the part I missions concern the instabilities in the kingdom they affect the characters directly. Basically since they’re more “regular” fantasy protagonists we gotta hit em all with the Drama hammer to keep things fresh. And that’s how it continues - They follow Dimitri because of personal loyalty (both toward him specifically, and because it’s in their culture), and Dimitri just wants to protect (or avenge) the people he cares about.

How this Ties into The Themes: The Kingdom route eventually becomes very much a Power of Friendship story where they all stick it out with Dimitri in his time of need because he’s their friend and they want to be there for him and that makes a lot more sense if there was a big emphasis on friendship/ found family before that, and of course their friendship is what eventually helps him turn his life around.

How does Byleth fit into this: Dimitri, like Hubert and Leonie, can be filed into the box of those who aren’t immediately awed by their heroic charisma. He doesn’t really get people who aren’t as outwardly expressive as him (eg. Edelgard) But unlike, say, Leonie, Dimitri has no settings between crushkilldestroy and stilted politeness and seldom expresses or responds to overt hostility most of the time. On the one hand there’s a side to him that’s a bit judgemental and vindictive, but that extends to himself too so he’s very ashamed of his flaws and is afraid that he won’t be accepted, so he projects outward that same acceptance that he likes to receive.

So the end result is that he goes out of his way to befriend Byleth, he encourages everyone to speak with them in a familiar manner, insists that they join the victory celebrations etc. Then of course he gets to see that they’re actually quite supportive and so in time they become, as Dimitri puts it “the heart of the group”.

By the time they find out that Dimitri ever disliked them, that’s long past. He’s a very high-empathy, emotional person so once he likes you he really likes you and will regard your troubles like his own. Some ppl might say that maybe the bond feels more special since it took longer to “earn”. He’s practically ready to swear a blood oath with them once Jeralt dies. There’s an unappreciated Symmetry here like he goes through the trouble to ‘defrost’ them, and then they return the favor by supporting him through his difficult times when they perhaps get to see the ugliest side of him.

Further Dynamic Notes:

So you have a dynamic of working past/ understanding and accepting each other despite one’s flaws and differences. (whereas Claude and Edelgard are interested in Byleth right away, because they’re unusual, but in slightly different ways - Claude can kinda relate to the experience of sticking out itself but is still stumped by being unable to read them, whereas Edelgard sticks out in the same way so you’re actually on the same wavelenght to begin with)

“opposites attract” specifically in the way that they balance each other out. A cool steadfast leader type certainly has a grounding effect on Dimitri as a very reactive person, but he also pulls them into the ‘normal’ world a bit after they spend all this time just wandering the world like all places are the same to them. They basically put the magic destiny on the backburner to help him out. They still become archbishop and all to fit the standard fantasy look of it all but not like full messiah like on the church route

Even after the timeskip Byleth kinda plays the mentor role or at least that of the dominant person/ big spoon in the relationship (though Dimitri ends up waaay taler than them especially fem Byleth), “Excuse me this is my emotional support mercenary”

If you go the platonic route you very much stay at „mentor“, Byleth is basically the brains of the operation post timeskip ‘cause the old Mitya can‘t come to the phone right now and Gilbert and Rodrigue would follow him off a cliff

Plot wise, their contribution is to stop the revenge trip when it gets to be a too obvious kamikaze stunt, which they, as a relative outsider to Faerghus and experienced, pragmatic fighter, would do when someone like Gilbert would not

Character journey wise, they refuse to give up on Dimitri and still see the good in him so that he eventually comes to a point where he could envision his own redemption/ come to accept/forgive himself and learn that its okay to move on and live his own life

Byleth can be said to somewhat even out the flaws in everyone‘s leadership styles (while the house leaders help Byleth find their own direction – i didnt come up with this alone there was a brilliant post a while ago that i cant find rn) – In Dimitri‘s case, he has authority/credibility/integrity („Pathos“), being the rightful king with many loyal followers, and emotional/ personal leadership as an emphatetic person who inspired respect for his character („Ethos“) but is lacking in plans („Logos“)

Golden Deer

Overarching Theme: Ragtag Bunch of misfits /Unlikely Heroes (let’s see, we have trickster turned lying politician, upper-class twit turned opportunistic conservative, lazy rich girl, shy glasses boy and his best friend dumb muscle, cursed werewolf girl, stuckup teen genius and the mean money obsessed one )

Composition: Has the most honest-to-goodness commoners - and they largely got in on their own merits, too, while almost all the others had connections. You have a few peeps from the Alliance’s prominent merchant class and one completely ordinary village person whose father was a simple hunter.

History: Bar the two merchant kids none of them know each other and even they’ve been a little estranged since the demise of Rafael’s parents. There are a few backstory connections (Such as Lorenz’ dad basically having murdered everybody’s dead relatives, or Leonie’s village being in his territory) but they’re largely indirect. They come from a range of different backgrounds and life experiences. Even Claude just showed up the year before and doesn’t know anybody. Of course this is all so you can watch them grow into a team on-screen all leading up to Claude’s epic speech about how they got along despite being from different backgrounds (or be surprised if they show up as one post-timeskip)

Unlike Dedue or Hubert, Hilda can still be napped early on because she doesn’t really become Claude’s right-hand person until halfway through part oneIf you recruit any of the deer they’ll say that they didn’t have that much ties to their homeland anyways.

Atmosphere: These are definitely Garreg Magh’s party animals. Or like a bunch of theatre kids. They’re tremendous fun. “Less complicated” as Claude puts it though some have missed the intensity/drama of the other bunches. The Alliance itself might be full of political intrigues but this younger generation is fairly chill with the important exceptions that are Leonie and Lysithea but Leonie’s lack of chill is largely Byleth-specific, she’s plenty chill in her other supports, and though Lysithea probably donated all the extra chill for the other deer and hence doesn’t have any left, the others love her anyways wether she wants to or not because try as she might she can’t really get an argument out of them.

This certainly jives well with Claude’s “friendly surface level extrovert” gimmick they all get along on a surface level and you’ll be hard-pressed to find an ounce of social skills in the Black Eagle house, and the Lions have the Drama Moments, but some have also perceived the deer as not quite as open.

At the same time they’re not superficial. We have a large abundance of Artsy Ones, we have Ignatz, Claude and Lorenz both write poetry, Leonie isn’t good at it but she does draw etc There’s enough insightful ones for depht and insight to be a significant undercurrent in the group dynamics. They all have different sortts of insight - Hilda can read people well, Ignatz has this sort of intuuitive thoughtful understanding, Lysithea is observant and logically astute, Leonie has street smarts etc.

The Leader’s position: Precarious. No one knows him, no one trusts him. He just showed up one day, very suspicious timing, not long after his uncle dropped dead (that was Lorenz’ dad but it’s not like anyone knows) and then he’s a shifty weirdo who cannot help being slightly unnerving despite his friendly extroverted demeanor.

Still he’s a big believer in teamwork, appreciates the value in everyone’s perspective and he can do the friendly extroverted charm well enough to eventually win over most people based on that, though its not until waay after the timeskip that he even considers letting anyone past the soft outer layer. (In Recruited, Raphael remembers him mainly a lover of feats and merriment)

The longer the story goes on the more the Deer transition to being “Claude’s jolly detective bureau” in which he pulls on all their individual insight for maximum info collection.

How this “flavors” part one: It’s taken up largely by Claude’s search for information with the various events being seen in that light.

Claude’s first reaction is often to ask questions and be curious with the emotional response hitting him somewhat later, though it’s definitely also that he keeps up a cheerful face for the team.

Ironically he’s the only one who came to Garreg Magh for it’s intended purpose: To get a ruler’s education and do networking. Dimitri and Edelgard were already onto Thales courtesy of his having killed their families, him searching on his own, her making preparations for her takeover, and Claude doesn’t know - it’s probably a game balance thing because Claude is the smartest person in the game and if he started out with all the info there would be no plot.

How this Ties into The Themes: It all builds towards Claude’s big speech about people from different backgrounds coming together. It’s like a microcosm for what he wants to do with the world, to bring people from different places and backgrounds together and have them understand each other.

Lorenz takes until halfway through part II to come around, but come around he does. (markedly, this happens only on Claude’s route, otherwise he sticks with the empire out of self-preservation and opportunism, though he gladly jumps ship to join the kingdom. )

How does Byleth fit into this: Now I‘ve seen some people saying that Claude initially didn‘t like Byleth or just wanted to use them, but I don‘t think that‘s true. I do think he actually liked them, found them interesting and wanted to befriend them. But Claude, on principle, doesn‘t trust easily, and will in any interaction look at how he can use it.

It‘s a habit born out of both natural curiosity and intelligence (What the 12type eneagramm calls a „Mercury“ Personality type) and the need to survive in a hostile environment where people tried to kill him as a child, and as such it‘s automatic second nature. He has a strong overruling self-preservation instinct. Claude is suspicious and will interogate people completely independent of how much he likes them. No amount of like makes him trust implicitly.

He doesn‘t have a bad impression like Dimitri, but he doesn‘t immediately click like Edelgard and the curve is pretty nonlinear: With Dimitri we have a clear progression from dislike to like and then the reversal where Dimitri had defrosted Byleth and now Byleth must defrost Dimitri. With Edelgard she likes them immediately out of similarity (like Felix likes Byleth, or like Edelgard likes Lysithea and Petra), and the difficulty/drama only comes later when Byleth‘s connection to the church and Edelgard‘s plots become apparent, but mostly she‘s sad that she‘s „destined“ to be enemies with this person she likes, her level of like never goes down. Claude meanwhile – you might compare him with Dorothea. He‘s used to being able to charm people as well as read them, and Byleth is not only a brick wall, but remains one upon closer examination. They really don‘t know about their past – but Claude takes that as evasions and becomes more and more suspicious.

A big turning point here is the Jeralt situation, where Byleth finally opens up and tells him everything, and Claude realizes they‘re not hiding. And that‘s something I really love about their dynamic – Byleth tells him all and Claude is so interested in them and looks out for them.

Though you could assign each of the three a „turning point“ after which they open up - The diary for Claude (which shows him that Byleth really isn‘t hiding anything) Flayn‘s dissapearance for Dimitri (which convinces him that Byleth cares) and the holy tomb scene for Edelgard (which shows her that Byleth won‘t betray her)

Further Dynamic Notes:

Claude and Byleth relate because they both stick out, but it‘s notably about the experience of sticking out in and of itself, whereas in Edelgard‘s case they stick out in the same way. They’re also alike in that they only found out some secrets about themselves when they were already young adults, Byleth’s magical destiny, and Claude finding out he was related to the ruling house. From how he mentions “not being raised in the lap of luxury” and how his royal connections in Almyra are also “distant”, he might in fact have been raised in a normal village and not known he was the king’s bastard son for some time, though once the secret was out he definitely got some princely instruction like training with Nader.

The dynamic both interpersonally and as an action duo is very much a complementary one. Dimitri is very different and has that sorta morality chain dynamic going on. And though they each have their specialties that the other is lowkey jelly of Edelgard and Byleth actually fill a fairly similar niche as the charismatic superhumanly powerful field commander. Meanwhile with Claude there’s a division of labor: Claude’s the planner and Byleth’s the enforcer. He repeatedly observes that his plans would be way less effective without someone of Byleth’s caliber to carry them out.

Out of the three lords Claude is the only one where you get the sense that Byleth works for Claude post-timeskip or that Byleth becomes his subordinate. Dimitri’s lost without them, and while Edelgard offers them a formal position as royal advisor after the mock battle and gets this line about how they can’t yell orders at her in public now that she’s the emperor, but it’s phrased in such a way to suggest that she just wants them to yell orders at her discreetly. They certainly balance out Claude’s presentability/trustworthyness problem the way that Hubert quickly puts them in charge of morale to patch Edelgard’s PR shortcomings, but Hubert pretty much says this to Byleth’s face whereas Claude is the only one who knows where the ship is going for the majority of verdant wind. And in the end he’s like “Babysit fodlan for me while I finish world peace” He’s also the dominant one on an interpersonal level, he gives Byleth this speech about how they should use their position more confidently and promise to detective out their mysterious past for them. He also tries dropping hints that maybe Rhea’s not to be trusted though Byleth’s dialogue options are written to suggest that they bought her maternal act and want her back – some ppl said but this way really expositions that „well meaning deception“ aspect of Claude‘s character. He frequently steers ppl toward something they don‘t want but with the hope that they‘ll want it eventually. Perhaps he could be said to have a very fluid/dynamic view of things and people; The other two lords view them more as fixed, hence „I respectfully disagree… lets settle this by stabbing each other“

The platonic end result is your basic Epic Friendship, tell each other everything, very supportive, look out for each other, take down a zombie warrior together in an epic team attack, what more could you want I think I‘ve made a whole post about what a good friendo Claude is, initial ulterior motives nonwithstanding… He certainly had strategic advantages in the back of his mind but I don‘t think he ever faked liking Byleth

Plot wise, having The Messiah on his team gives Claude a bargaining chip to seize control of the church with its greater influence. On the other routes, he wisely refuses to touch that particular hot potato with a ten foot pole.

Character wise Byleth‘s influence largely serves to mitigate his jaded cynism. He starts to actually believe his far-flung dreams might happen, so he plays far less defensively than on the other routes.

Claude is smart and charismatic („Logos“ and „Ethos“), his main problem is that nobody trusts him. This is a bit more dimensional than just a flaw though, because he hides his real goals (though they are not truly sinister) both to avoid fights with people who would oppose these goals (contrast Edelgard who declares her intentions openly and deals with the fallout, so she has to fight the knights whereas claude manipulates them) and get the chance to gradually convince them and reveal the truth once ppl agree, also he‘s more a tactician than a strategist and often changes his plans in accordance with what he thinks is doable under the circumstances, and not telling what his plans are gives him the freedom to do that – either way, a downside of that is that no one trusts him. He lacks credibility and, having shown up out of nowhere, has less loyalty and support. Byleth, as a chrch-sanctioned charismatic figurehead, naturally mitigates that.

Black Eagles

Overarching Theme: Subverted Villain tropes. We have Emperor Evulz / mad science supersoldier, Black Mage classic, Seditious Chancellor Junior, Sexy Mage, Eccentric Scholar, Pretty Barbarian, Fighting Obsessed Blood Knight and Antisocial Sniper

Composition: It‘s nobles all the way down, even the one commoner used to be famous and is from the capital where all the wealthy ppl live (as opposed to the decentralied alliance and the very spartan kingdom nobles) – The capital‘s a heaven for culture and sophistication but you also see the evident elitism/corruption/inequality problem going on. In keeping with Adrestia being more secular, Ferdinand‘s the only one who‘s explicitly stated to be a believer (in the Marianne support) and he‘s not even super devout

One should also appreciate the irony that the side with the ‚saintly‘ crests is now against the church whereas Faerghus, ruled by the descendants of Nemesis‘ former allies and where he used to have his stronghold are now fighting for the church. But should you go with the church route it also makes a kind of sense as they‘d be goig back to the empire‘s distant origins in a sense.

History: They all vaguely know/ have heard of each other due to their parents being co-workers or living in the same town, many have at least met each other but at the same time they‘re not BFF like the Lions and many take a bit to warm up to each other.

Another thing of note is that while many of the Lions‘ families were also friends and have been associates since the days of Nemesis, many of the backstory connections for the adrestian studenrs would seem to predispose them to being foes rather than friends, half their dads‘ essentially dethroned Edelgard‘s and are various degrees of complicit in what happened to her siblings, Petra was basically taken hostage by the previous administration, Dorothea has good reason to have beef with the local rich people etc

Atmosphere: I‘ve seen some ppl who played the other routes first say things like how they were struck by how individualistic they are and how there‘s far less team cohesion, or how they „all seem to hate each other“ - I don‘t think that‘s correct assesment but they definitely are quirky, independent-minded or both. They scamper off in all directions when introduced and definitely don‘t bother with formal politeness or friendly facades, if they‘re annoyed with you most of them will probably say so. Even Bernie gives Ferdinand a lecture once XD They‘re basically goth. Though I do think it‘s sorely underappreciated that there definitely IS friendship and admiration between them esp. later in the story, admiration & appreciation being key factors especially since they‘re none too easily impressed.

Of course being independent minded makes it likely that they wouldn‘t blindly follow a leader who‘s up to no good, but it would make them just as suitable to participate in a rebellion

Another thing of note is that while the Kingdom nobles all learned to hold sharp objects in the nusery and many of the deer have street smarts or survival experience having had to live through tough circumstances most of the Eagles are complete greenhorns when you first deploy them – sure many have seen their share of effed up stuff but not in a warlike setting. And you have many of the sensitive/reluctant ones like Bernie, Linny and Dorothea. This of course could either make you think twice about the church sending them on missions or predispose you toward Flayns brand of pacifism.

Of course this just leads to Hubert and Edelgard (and to a lesser extent Petra) to clearly stand out as the experienced ones. El-chan and Hubie dear have most definitely killed a man before. The rest of them will definitely have to measure up to pick up the slack after the two of them leave.

The trajectory certainly goes differently, in CF they all return notably more confident after the timeskip (most notably with Bernie) perhaps in keeping with how Edelgard believes in & promotes self-reliance whereas in Silver Snow they never quite stop being like „AAAAA“ though I suppose the point is that they get their act together and do the deed regardless.

The Leader’s position: Absolute both in terms of power (sorry Ferdie) and dynamics. Definite ‚student council president‘ vibe, she largely interacts with them as a taskmaster/ to make them do their homework. She markedly doesn‘t like this and would like to be one of the bunch but genuinely finds it hard to step out of boss mode.

She does try her best to cultivate an equal atmosphere and for what it‘s worth most do drop the honorifics and tell her when they disagree.

How this “flavors” part one: The emphasis is certainly on expositioning how much everything in the setting sucks especially on the church‘s horribleness, I mean in the end if she‘s essentially like „We‘ve all seen it this past year“ but of course there‘s also definite foreshadowing that sHE is up to something, there‘s certainly peeps who picked her ‚cause she‘s pretty and she looked more put-together/less obviously dodgy than the others but then didn‘t personal taste wise jive with her character. The whole scene after Jeralt‘s death is definitely a point where you either decide you hate her or love her forever; You get both „WTF“ and „I get it“ type of dialogue options.

How this Ties into The Themes:

No matter what route yo pick you essentially get a story about going your own way and putting right what the previous generations done fucked up – wether they do this by leading Adrestia back to its holy origins, or by backing Edelgard‘s revolution.

On a political level they either go against their homeland or the previous administration, and personally they‘re all sorta expected to take over their parents‘s job and follow these expectations of proper nobility that they have no interest in and many of them renounce their titles or cut ties with their folks. Only Ferdinand particularly wants his fathers job and even them he means to do it very differently. The happy ending, for most of the eagles, is getting to choose their own paths

How does Byleth fit into this:

Mostly, they shift the team dynamics from Edelgard as the absolute leader in a lofty, distanced position to her coming closer to being „one of the group“ working under Byleth.

There‘s a reason she later names her elite troop the „Black Eagle Strike force“ in honor of their time at the academy. This is almost the bigger difference, because Byleth isn‘t there for the timeskip. The big change is caused by creating this situation where all the black eagles leave with Edelgard, so she knows she can trust them and having real allies needs the slithers less.

It‘s very hard for her to step out of boss mode for reasons ranging from her personality, backstory, monarch obligations and fear of vulnerability, but having Byleth be the boss for once helps. Some of her most formative experiences were a) Her family betrayed by almost all its allies including her own uncle b) being helplessly dragged around as a hostage. She wants to avoid being helpless ever again at all costs and thus grew to be a very proactive decisive adult which is mostly a good thing but can cause her tome come off blunt and unyielding at times. I mean when she‘s worried that Hubert, her best friend, is hiding some worrysome secret from her she‘s like „Tell me that‘s an order!“ and when he expertly sidesteps that (since he knows her well and understands that she wouldn‘t actually force it out of him) she‘s stumped and doesn‘t know how to tell him that she‘s worried about him – and this is a guy she knows since forever. With the other eagles she really looks out for them but can only really show it through her „leader“ persona, she has this one trick, and when it doesn‘t work (like with Caspar or Linhardt who don‘t really want anyone to boss them around or talk politics) she‘s stumped.

This is hugely mitigated when another person of her caliber shows up with whom she can share the responsibility or even leave it to them so she learns to allow herself to be soft and do stuff like admit her doubts, this starts with Byleth but also radiates into the other relationships. See Caspar and Linhard revising their bad first impressions of her later in the support chains

Further dynamics notes:

A recurring theme is being misunderstood (outright stated in the introduction and that one quote by ladislava – and also in the church route dialogues where Seteth says that „the people will never understand her ideals“ ) and finding someone who understands, which is different from Claude and Dimitri who ultimately want the world at large to understand and accept them. Edelgard has given up on that long ago - her version of the „pep talk“ scene implies she thinks its impossible to truly understand anothers sorrow – I like to think that after her siblings died she found great comfort in Hubert being „not much for condolences“ and talking plans rather than sympathies while everyone else was showing pity for something they couldnt understand. Dimitri is basically traumatized (he relates to Dedue about losing everything and thats why they‘re so tight knit), Claude is basically an outcast and relates to all that dont quite fit in, but Edelgard… yes her family‘s dead much like Dimitri‘s, but in addition to that, she has been through an indescribable science fiction fantasy thing that no one has any context for. She views herself as so altered that she considers herself a whole different person and her past self basically dead. Hence someone like Byleth or Lysithea who could relate to all that is very, very tempting to her – we‘re not told if that‘s the truth or just her perception though, Hubert doesn‘t note her being extremly different, and later on she kinda admids that she herself distanced herself from other people.

Likewise the ship dynamic is ‚birds of a feather‘. Edelgard tells you right away: She feels that she and Byleth are similar and is drawn to them because of that. It‘s not just the mad science background, both are stoic natural leaders with a bit of a dorky side. This goes both ways – While others are often mildly stumped by Byleth, she can read them pretty well and gets a lot of dialoue like „wow you‘re telling the truth“ or „I can tell you‘re lying“ - that happens so often that it‘s even used to hint that she‘s the flame emperor.

If you had to name a dominant person it would probably be Byleth but overall this combination is disntinguished by being relatively equal and balanced. She likes having Byleth‘s support but repeatedly mentions wanting to support Byleth as well - As she says after the big mock battle, „sometimes its better to have someone to rely on to support each other through the darkness“. Team dynamics wise they feel a similar niche – the abnormally powerful, stoic charismatic leader who inspires many followers and is a gifted field commander. When they‘re not allies they are foils after all. But as pointed out in their A support despite their similarities each of them have their own particular strenghts that the other envies – Byleth is a better tactician and ultimately better at moral support (though their time powers help). On the flipside, Edelgard is more proactive whereas Byleth struggles with that, and at least her 22 year old self probably has more raw strenght (judging by her stats total and how they‘re evenly matched in the church route reunion cinematic though she isn‘t using her preferred weapon)

If you don‘t marry her then the note the A support ends on would suggest that Byleth sorta gets adopted as a honorary big sister/brother with how El asks them to use her childhood nickname and just lampshading the sense of kinship between them – the platonic outcome is a family bond, which buils as much on similarity and alikeness as their romantic outcome

Plot wise, Byleth‘s presence gives Edelgard something that she wouldn‘t otherwise have: Reliable allies. This means not just Byleth themselves, but the other Black Eagles whom she feels are more firmly on her side as they never defended Garreg Mach from her assault. As she puts it when she tries to recruit you as the „Flame Emperor“, the slighterers will go around causinga strocities but with the sword of the creator on her side she could courttail that better and generally has less need to coorperate even for purely pragmatic reasons so she is free to weaken them ahead of time, kills Cornelia right away rather than work with her etc. Interestingly this is why the front lines are actually further back when Byleth returns than they are in the other routes, but then the war ends the quickest.

Character journey wise, Edelgard goes from being convinced that she has to give up everything to be a tough leader to allowing herself to just be a person, cummulating in the ending where she pulls a washington/cincinatus, abdicates and gets a normal life.

In terms of leadership style, Edelgard has „Logos“ and „Pathos“ to spare, she‘s described as a remarkable leader who inspires remarkable devotion and has a cause/ rationale – but she‘s got her weakness with inspiring loyalty on an interpersonal level. The followers are loyal to the cause – Edelgard herself is perceived as unapproachable and shady/unsavory, see Dimitri‘s rant about how she‘s „strong“, or statements by herself and Ladislava that people tend to misunderstand her. As a superhuman science experiment she is by definition not a „relatable“ leader. So once Byleth proves trustworthy Hubert immediately puts them in charge of morale and of support/pep talking the reluctant recruits.

(In part II we‘ll get into decision making processes but I think here we have to separate by route rather than house since it’s most evident post-timeskip and dependent on plot events.)

Team Dynamics and Decisionmaking

Empire Route

Here, there is a very clear distinction between inner circle and outer circle. Edelgard and Hubert have their own thing going on and once you prove loyal, you’re in, and you get to see a whole different side to both of them, Edelgard lets down her guard, Hubert acts polite and sympathetic where he was previously suspicious and mocking, and they basically tell Byleth everything, including the unsavory pursuits that they keep secret from everyone else – but overall the secrecy, maintained for realpolitik reasons, never truly stops. Basically those three make all the decisions.

Notable is that if you’ve recruited Lysithea she hovers on the threshold between inner and outer circle. She was fed the cover story of the nuke being a church weapon (though she did’t buy it) but WAS told about the secret assault on Arianrhod. This is prolly cause Edelgard likes her, she can become her main advisor in their paired ending.

Kingdom Route

Dimitri describes himself as as someone who thinks change should come from the people and that the leadership should serve them, for all that he prefers to uphold the basic order of society, and this is reflected in his leadership style – though this also reflects that he is a ‚people person‘ rather than a planner, so the plans are left to his advisors like Byleth, Gilbert and Rodrigue. He is more the emotional/ spiritual lynchpin than the mind or will of the group.

In Azure Moon, especially later on, the decisions are really made by the entire group and you see them considering their next step together. Dimitri spills the backstory as soon as it comes up, telling everyone about his relationship with Edelgard for example.

In early part 2 this is at an extreme in that Byleth, Rodrigue and Gilbert are de facto making the decisions and Dimitri is at best a grumpy figurehead that they‘re putting up because they need him as a symbol, but at the same time he doesn‘t really compromise on his revenge obsession and is just dragging the whole team along/ not really reacting to how they are making him the lynchpin for their hopes. (though it is important to note that he didn‘t ask him too either – they decide to follow him out of friendship or loyalty to his house) yet inwardly Dimitri too is blindly following what he believes are his obligations.

A huge turning point is when he returns after the whole rain conversation and Byleth gets to ask him some variety of „What do you want to do“ in which Dimitri makes a step toward both inner and outer self-directedness, but precisely because of that becomes are more complete/better consensus leader.

I also want to stress that Claude and Edelgard LOVE togetherness and cooperation and equality as concepts every bit as much as Dimitri does they want to be one of the team but they find it difficult. And of course Dimitri’s style has its own flaws too

Alliance Route

While the Blue Lions decide everything together and either variation of the Black Eagles setup has an „inner circle“ that makes the decisions, in the Golden Dear that inner circle is basically just Claude.

Even Byleth doesn‘t find out his plans until part two, and it‘s later still till he comes clear with the team (and still doesn‘t reveal all but points to Cyril as a stand-in) Hilda and Lysithea are discernable as preferred right hand people, and Byleth and Marianne as special confidants, but in the end Claude rarely shows his real self and only he knows the plan. If Hilda and Lysithea pick up alot about him and his true self it‘s because of how observant THEY are and how much Hilda is basically a lot like him.

Claude does all the thinking and motivates followers (from Lorenz to the random merchans who support him) by promising them things they want – because even if he can‘t trust peopöle, he can trust their self-interest.

Church Route

Since you are with the church that is ideally a sort of benevolent parental authority under the supposition that people need guidance and that‘s a good thing it is perhaps fitting that though Byleth winds up the nominal leader, this is actually the route where they are more of a follower. They do watch Seteth says, who is doing what he believes is his duty and mission, and we have Flayn as an innocent, pacifistic voice.

They lost their dad, and the Nabateans are a sort of surrogate family. (wether its one that youre born into or marry into, the wiord „family“ is stressed) – they are the „inner circle“ making the decision and the empire kids, ragtag misfits estranged from their homes, follow. On the one hand they‘re going against their home country on the other they have the saint‘s blood and Adrestia USED to be church aligned so it also makes a kind of sense.

Among the Adrestian kids themselves, Ferdinand and Petra get a chance to shine as the ostensible leaders. They are stalward, competent leader-like people in CF too , but there they are more overshadowed by the much more experienced Hubert and Edelgard. - Though when you think about it they are like „pure hero“ versions of them who were never forced to become as cold and pragmatic. Ferdinand, like Hubert, is a nobleman from a storied family who is proud of it but wants to fix its tarnished reputation from his corrupt father. Petra, like Edelgard, is a former political hostage who experienced hardship at a young age and worked her way up all on her own, being very serious and competent despite her young age. I prefer the version where they stay buds rly.

It‘s worth noting that Seteth, ‚Heir of Purpose‘, sees it as their families duty to protect Fodlan and is the only one really doing that – his brothers noped out, and Rhea, uneknowst to him, twisted „protect“ into „rule/subjugate“. One might question who gives him the right to decide things because his mom is magic but on the other hand he really is 100% benevolent and I see no sign that he has any greedy intentions especially in in Silver Snow, all the countries collapse and someone needs to keep order, he doesn‘t understand what the empire‘s doing and why just sees their agression and really is rising to the challenge of upholding peace because something needs to do something about the violence. He had withdrawn to protect his daughter but then in the end he‘s the last one who is really doing what Sothis would have wanted. He looks most like her too having the slightly darker, ‚spikier‘ hair.

Further Thoughts

I’m curious to see how Yuri, the Ashen Wolves, and Cindered Shadows compare/contrast to this and i theyll manage to make the dynamics sufficiently different so that its neither a carbon copy or a blabk mary sue ish superlative.

I mean the other routes are so interesting to dissect because its a tradeof and all have their own flavor so really CS would do better to try to be “different” or, better yet, “complementary” than “better” or “cooler”

#three houses #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #black eagles #blue lions #golden deer #three houses meta

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boundlesshart · 5 years ago

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preliminary cindered shadows thoughts and headcanons

Or: DLC truly fed me more than I fed myself today

Ok. I have watched through all of Cindered Shadows, read through the library texts, and seen the Claude/Balthus supports. I’ll keep this mostly concerning Claude and House Riegan as a whole, since they’ve gotten a lot of development.

As of right now, the information seems to be more informing than “you see this carefully created headcanon that you like? poof. gone”, which is excellent!

Spoiler warning extends to early Chapter 1 of Cindered Shadows (snippet of dialogue ten minutes into the side story, nothing story related), Basement Library contents, and the Balthus/Claude support.

Members of House Riegan

The most exciting development for me is that every immediately relevant Riegan has been named! Duke Riegan (Claude’s Grandfather) is now Oswald von Riegan (nicknamed Oswald the Old in the C support of Balthus/Claude), and Claude’s mom is now Tiana.

First off: Oswald the Old. Love it. Keeping it. I’m only now realizing that a lot of my headcanons have been restricted to the headcanon channel on our discord, so for a refresher: I hc that Duke Riegan has a Major Crest of Riegan, which has allowed him to reach 100 years of age by the time the game starts. He’s kind of shaking his cane at the youngins and being stubbornly alive in the face of Alliance nobles praying to the goddess for him to pass on finally, but his health is failing and he is unquestionably old. It reminds me a lot of “The Late Lord Frey” from ASOIAF, which refers to another ridiculously old man who people wish would die so that they can get their inheritance, only for him to be stubbornly alive (and hated, though he doesnt particularly care about that). LITERALLY hate that I compared Oswald to Walder..... LITERALLY hate that i realized that their names have similarities. Moving on quickly before I get mad.

I do miss my Shakespeare reference of Desdemona falling in love with Othello the moor, and Tiana feels a little too simple next to her brother Godfrey, but it’s fine. I’ll talk more about her later, because now we have to talk about the brand new Riegan on the block: Claudia von Riegan.

Letter to a Mysterious Noble: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part One

I’ll start with the letter that nearly killed me:

My Beloved....

You were right. It seems he would not hesitate to divide the house. What's more, I hear he's considering taking his half of the territory and joining the Kingdom.

I can't believe he would even consider dragging another region into this, not to mention stirring up trouble over his inheritance, at a time when the Alliance desperately needs to unite. He's clearly out of his mind. Though he bears a Major Crest, and you a Minor Crest, your father was wise in his attempt to declare you his heir.

As it were, I can't help but wonder what your intentions with me are, I am drowning in letters proposing marriage to that....beast. He may share your face, but the resemblance ends there. I refuse to marry such a foul creature. If you don't come to me soon, I am going to you. Don't forget that my father's blessing could be revoked at any moment....

I will depart Derdriu at the end of the Lone Moon. You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.

- Claudia, Second Daughter of House Riegan

Ok. With the Claude/Balthus support it is confirmed that Claudia von Riegan is NOT Claude’s mom, which is a relief and a half because I was about to throw hands in defense of the milfdilf power couple that I made Claude’s parents to be.

Now that that is cleared up, this letter is definitely referring to the split of House Daphnel and the creation + defection of House Galatea to the Kingdom. We don’t have a date for when this happened to give more context to the letter, so I’ll leave that to a future Ingrid to decide. In lieu of that, I’ll place this at the 960s, since the Alliance would be in turmoil rebuilding and recovering from the war against Almyra, which would be a time when they desperately need to unite. It’s also a part of my Riegan timeline that isn’t getting filled up, so it works for me.

What’s more important is what is happening in this letter: Duke Riegan’s daughter, fleeing her home and all she knew for the one she loved. Very Claudemom, which is where we realize that this is the inspiration behind Claude’s name. I’ll deal with that in a second, I just want to comment on how funny it is that a Riegan lady eloping is something that has happened twice now. It’d be funny if this was a pattern..... though I can’t see it staying positive though, Riegan ladies being thought of as notoriously difficult and strong-willed, in a bad way.

I thought this was Claude’s mom because of how frank she was. Claude calls his mother a warrior goddess and a demon queen who would have laughed right alongside his dad if he got into trouble, and from this letter..... it really fits. “He’s clearly out of his mind”, “I can’t help but wonder what your intentions with me are”, calling one of her suitors (the other brother?) a “beast”, “if you don’t come to me soon, I am going to you”, and my favorite part: “You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.”

Very blunt. She knows what she wants and she’s going to get it. It’s pretty much confirming what I’ve been thinking about how Tiana would have approached Hairan (Claude’s dad) and captured his heart, and what I’ve been going with for Claude’s search of a partner. They know what they want. They won’t stand to marry a spineless lowlife. They want someone who can keep up with them, not walk behind them or ahead of them but beside them. Excellent content. This really made me love House Riegan.

Now. Claudia. Claude. Claude is meant to be named after Claudia. My headcanon prior to this was that Claude is a name he took on when he came to Fódlan, naming himself after Godfrey Claudius Riegan to curry favor and affection from his sentimental grandfather.

Here’s the thing: both ways have their own meanings and I love them both. The first references someone who could have been Tiana’s inspiration to leave to Almyra, a tribute to the woman who gave her courage. The second references a dead guy whose name Claude uses for his own personal gain, only for it to end up being a big part of his identity, similar to his initial view of Fódlan as a stepping stone to achieving his dreams. I’m not in the business of headcanoning deadnames. Claude’s reference of fake names after Balthus asks if he is Claude von Riegan (something along the lines of “Claude is such a common name in Fódlan, it’d be perfect for a fake name”) is definitely just to throw Balthus off, but it’s too perfect not to appropriate for my own use. My initial headcanon about Claude’s names stay: When he started transitioning he chose to go by Hafez, and when he resolved to go to Fódlan he decided to go by Claude after his recently-departed uncle.

Tiana von Riegan: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part Two

Tiana von Riegan..... I love her. God I love her. I love that Balthus loves her and confirms that she is a hot milf on top of being a badass woman in general. Claude being like “Dude that’s my mom” was also really funny. Excellent support that goes into what is important for me. Love. Stan.

Timelinewise, I’ve put Tiana’s birth year at 1135, her graduation from the Officers Academy at 1154 (a year after Balthus was born, she was 19), and her disappearance in 1160. Reminder that Claude was born in 1162, specifically stated outside of Fódlan. Things are actually looking up for this timeline and where I placed her: Between 1154 and 1160 she is stationed at Fódlan’s Throat as one of the Goneril Valkyries, which gives me a fantastic excuse to have Holst and Balthus meet her a few times before her disappearance as stated in the support. Both of them knew her, and apparently they bawled their eyes out when they heard that she disappeared, which is hilarious but also cute???? She really was popular....

Back to the milfdilf power couple, LOVE Claude’s line when Balthus says that he wants to confess to his mom: “Is that a fact? Well, it’ll be interesting to see whether my father can kill you before my mother beats him to it”. They’re MARRIED. They LOVE EACH OTHER. I love it when Fire Emblem gives me parents that love each other and their kid.

Overall, nothing much changes besides the name. Except for this one..... “interesting” document from the Basement Library.I’m just going to be mad and confused at it so it gets their own separate section:

To Those Who Slither in the Dark: Eat My Ass

Ok, so straight up? I don’t like the whole “secret society of mole men are behind every plot point in history ever” thing. Stop it. Stop it! I hate this almost as much as I hate alternate timelines coming together. I’d rather it be people making decisions on their own be the reason why things go to shit, not secret societies of mole men. I had a feeling that the Slithers would be involved in the Leicester Alliance somehow beyond the Ordelia mess, but that didn’t mean that I wanted it.... Awful. Terrible. I’m posting this note here for posterity.

Item 51 Part 6 ...son of the Alliance's leader, Duke Oswald Riegan, has died in an accident. This follows an incident involving the previous successor, and even the knights of Seiros suspect it was at Count Gloucester's command, thought it seems to conspicuous. This is some concern that this could spark a war. With Duke Riegan gravely ill, the situation is....

At first glance it’s pretty much what it is: throwing some ambiguity at the identity of who arranged for Godfrey’s death. The one thing I’m still trying to wrap my head around is the mention of a “previous successor” before Godfrey. The only mention of Duke Riegan’s other kids is in the Alliance Nobility Register Thingy describing House Riegan, which only mentions his daughter Tiana. Timeline-wise, she is the only person that fits. I headcanoned Tiana as a crestless daughter and the last child of many throughout her father’s lifetime, so far out of sight and mind that she gladly took on risks like fighting to defend Fódlan’s Throat and eloping to Almyra because she didn’t have any duties tying her down. I don’t know what to make of this.... so I’m just going to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Claude/Balthus Support

Finally.... here is the rest of my reaction to Claude’s one new support from the DLC. I said this a lot but I’ll say it again: Love it, excellent, incredibly informative. I like it for the same reason I like Hilda’s (going into his origin), but I also like it because it’s the first time someone that can speak comments on Claude’s ambitions outside of the one cutscene after Fort Merceus. I’m very satisfied with what I got.

The official story/explanation for Claude’s origins seems to be that he was born to an offshoot of House Riegan. Now, Balthus dismisses it, but Balthus is dumb and I’m not dismissing it because it perfectly fits with my headcanon that there are a handful of people that are Riegans in name only, children of the current Duke Riegan, crestless and poor and existing only as irrelevant nobles. They would have been ignored if Duke Riegan died without an heir. Balthus sees through it immediately, but seeing that Claude thinks it’s plausible enough to use as a cover story, I think there’s some truth to it.

Claude reaction to Balthus poking into his heritage is to tell him to mind his own business, followed by saying that he’s too busy and leaving. This is so unconvincing that I’m choosing to ignore it. Come on Claude. You’re better than this.

We get a little information on Kupala, the autonomous village in the mountains close to Edmund Territory, north of the Alliance and straddling the borders of Leicester and Almyra. I’m not tooooo interested in them personally but I like Claude’s last line when he’s talking about a description of the Kupala tribe he heard in Almyra: “Don’t try to find them, people say, or you’re liable to get hexed. Or so the tale goes. That part was probably added to spice up the story a bi, but even so, they’re certainly a mysterious lot.” I headcanon that magic isn’t widely practiced in Almyra and to a point even feared (see: Claude’s pleas to not get hit by magic in his Lysithea supports). So like.... love it when my dumb headcanons get that Support.

Absolutely LOVE that someone is telling Claude that simply “breaking down the barriers”, whatever that means, won’t be easy and might result in consequences he didn’t prepare for. It’s like I possessed Balthus.... “Give me concrete details on your plan and also let me tell your mom I love her”. I also love Balthus’ line “Everything we’ve built to until now could fall to ash”, which references Claude’s death quote in CF.

#headcanon #fe3h spoilers #long as hell this took me two hours #i couldn't wait to share my thoughts

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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A kinda sorta Christmas valentine (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Started this during Christmas, it became something so much bigger than it was supposed to be, wound up finishing it on Valentine’s day. Funny coincidence, huh?

Thank you Holtz for beta-ing <3 <3 <3 Title from Christmas Valentine (lots of versions but the one that inspired this was Ingrid Michaelson & Jason Mraz).

Vanessa misses the summer.

When she looks out the window of her classroom she sees blankets of white, heavy flurries that still coming down, until nothing is particularly distinguishable from anything else on the ground. She can already tell that it’s going tol be freezing outside; never mind the fact that the heat in the school has been broken for pretty much the entire season, or that her winter coat is still wet from a slip and fall chasing some of her kids down at recess.

Just two more handwriting sheets left for Vanessa to grade (if you could call it grading, really–when you teach kindergarten, if a letter looks even vaguely like the one it’s supposed to, you praise the Lord and call it a day), and she’ll be free. Granted, transit is going to be a disaster in this weather, but even time sandwiched between fifteen strangers is better than freezing in a chalk-dusted, paint-smeared tin can that she’s spent almost eleven hours total in today.

Vanessa would have been done a lot sooner if she’d just brought the past week’s worth of grading home with her. But Riley has taken to chewing up anything he can get his greedy little paws on lately, and so the safer choice these days is to just leave things at her desk.

It doesn’t really explain why Vanessa’s left it all for a Friday night, but it’s not important. What matters is that she’s on her last sheet, and there’s a bottle of red wine and leftover Chinese in the fridge at home.

Vanessa files the last sheet away with a triumphant flourish, grinning to herself as she shimmies into her coat and gathers up her things.

The school halls are a ghost-town. It’s not entirely unexpected - even though it’s only the second week of December, things are beginning to wind down in anticipation of the holiday break. The committee meetings, late-night grading, and clubs have started to slow down significantly. Coupled with the heating situation and, well, there’s really no motivation for staff or students to stay at the school this late.

Still, there’s something eerie about the silence that greets Vanessa as she walks down the hall, her runners scuffing against the unwaxed floor (thanks to a janitorial strike, there’s a little extra grit catching in her shoes today, but hey, they really do get underpaid, so she doesn’t mind).

Almost like it’s taunting her, driving in the fact that she really is alone here.

Vanessa doesn’t have time to ruminate on it, though. Right now, she has to get home to Riley and her dinner, the Dr. Phil reruns on her PVR to help her forget the strange feeling of being alone at school after dark.

She reaches the front door and pauses for a moment to bring her hand back into her sleeve, effectively creating a sort of glove for herself before laying her hand on its frigid metal push-bar. She’s about to brace herself to actually touch it when suddenly, a pale hand darts into her field of vision, beating her to the punch.

“Oh.” Vanessa looks up to see a tall blonde woman smiling at her, green eyes not quite meeting her own and shy blush spreading on the woman’s face. “Hey, Vanessa.”

Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Vanessa’s heart skips a beat.

Brooke is the other kindergarten teacher at the school, and while she’s popular with her students and parents, she’s become controversial in the teacher’s lounge, for lack of a better word. At first it had been a sort of confusion, an inability of the other staff to make heads or tails of the woman. Whenever she had been around her kids, she was alive and outgoing, pulling faces and making exaggerated gestures and teaching them with an expert rapport. But in the teacher’s lounge, she had been well, cold wasn’t the way to put it. She was always friendly, and kind, but shy and reserved, almost flat, in a way. Didn’t talk much, except in meetings, when she was so overly-perfect with her notes and posture that it had been intimidating just to look at her. Often shirked social opportunities, giving some kind of excuse that no one could tell the actual truth of. A bit of a mystery. Still, people had put up with her most of the time, because she’s good at her job and doesn’t cause any problems.

Until this year.

Scrooge Lynn Hytes . The nickname rings in Vanessa’s ears as she thinks back to last week, all the talk about Christmas crafts and the big holiday concert. Brooke had simply shrugged and said that her class wouldn’t be participating in the concert, and at the current moment, not a single paper Santa or even a crepe-paper menorah hung in her doorway. No one really asked her why she was abstaining - still, the fact that she didn’t spontaneously offer an explanation seemed to tick people off, and so the other teachers had become as cold to her as they often perceived her to be towards them.

She thinks she’s above it.

She teaches kindergarten but won’t let any kids have fun.

Why is she working with kids if she can’t even let them make some letters to Santa? I gave her a template for one and she refused.

Ridiculous.

It’s easy enough to believe, if one listens to the rumours often enough and don’t know Brooke much more than the talk they’ve heard about her.

Only the thing is, Vanessa has trouble accepting it.

Since they teach the same grade, Vanessa often works with Brooke closer than other teachers. They spend time during lunches and after school planning lessons, check in with each other, and make sure their curriculums and approaches are in sync. Learning from each other and helping each other out. And in all of that, Vanessa can tell that she and Brooke actually have a lot in common. Like how much they love their kids, and how they love seeing the bright colours and patterns on every backpack, sweater, and running shoe that the older kids slowly stop sporting as they move towards grade five. How they were both dance majors in college, then went back to school to study teaching. How they both follow pageants, and how neither of them can stop their heads from bobbing or lips from moving softly when Rihanna is playing in the staff lounge. How they both love to teach through crafts, songs, and movement more than any other kinds of activities, and how they both like to include equity and leadership in their curriculums.

And then there are the things that make them a little different, the things that make Brooke completely unique and utterly unforgettable. Like how her voice rises about five octaves when she’s excited, or how she decorates every corner of her classroom with cat posters that are almost always new every year. How she has a dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and makes jokes that could easily be taken seriously, if you aren’t looking at her face to check for the wry smile and expectant eyes she always flashes at her audience while waiting for them to laugh. How she drinks black coffee like it’s water, and will tell kids to spit out their gum while actively chewing three pieces to mask the smell of espresso and cigarettes on her breath.

How she’s funny, and kind, and genuine, even if she can be quiet and neurotic and pragmatic to a fault.

Vanessa knows that there’s more to Brooke than the other teachers allow themselves to believe. And maybe it’s that mystery, or maybe it’s all the things she does know about Brooke, but either way, Vanessa can’t stop thinking about her. How pretty she is. How smart she is. How she wishes she had reached the door just a bit faster, so that there might have been even the smallest chance that their hands would meet.

“Hey, Miss Brooke.” Vanessa settles for a little smile and a light tone of voice instead, and even though it breaks her heart to see how Brooke lights up at the kindness, it also warms her to see the other woman smile.

“You’re here late.” Brooke blushes as she says it, almost as if she’s afraid it’ll be rude, and Vanessa suppresses a smile. Cutie.

“I left some grading until the last minute.” She shrugs. “How come you’re here this late, you a slacker too?”

To Vanessa’s relief, Brooke laughs, and not a nervous or forced laugh, either—it’s loud and genuine, one she doesn’t hide behind her hand or try to keep quiet.

“I was decorating.” Brooke shakes her head, still chuckling a little bit. But her smile fades when she looks back at Vanessa, and Vanessa suddenly realizes that she must look as surprised as she feels at the words.

“God, you don’t actually listen to Barb and those rumours, do you?” Brooke rolls her eyes, and it breaks Vanessa’s heart to see how there’s a flash of hurt on her face, a sudden hardness to her voice. “I’m working on shit with my class, it’s just winter-themed, not holiday. Pisses Barb and her library posse off, and suddenly I’m the pariah of Charles Elementary.”

“Oh.” Vanessa’s heart sinks, a feeling of guilt and regret clawing at her chest, tightening her throat. “I didn’t—Shit, I’m sorry, Brooke, I didn’t know. And I shoulda asked.”

The apology seems to reassure Brooke, or at the very least placate her, because a little bit of light returns to her eyes, and she finally meets Vanessa’s gaze.

“It’s alright, Ness.” Vanessa’s heart practically leaps at the nickname, her previous faux pas left behind by her mind as Ness echoes through it. It’s a nickname only Brooke ever uses, one that Vanessa likes to think carries warmth and affection in its one syllable. If anyone else has a nickname for Vanessa, it’s Vanjie or Vanj, a throwback to her days teaching in the inner-city. But no one calls her Ness except Brooke. And Brooke has no nicknames for anyone except Vanessa.

“Say, it’s really coming down out there–you want a ride home?” Brooke stares through the thick sheets of snow falling outside, squinting as she scans the front entrance and parking lot.

Brooke’s right - even in the maybe twenty minutes that have passed since Vanessa last looked out the window, the snow has intensified an alarming amount. Now, it’s coming down so hard that Vanessa practically can’t see through it, the flurries spinning fast in what she guesses must be some pretty bad winds. The ground, from what she can see, is glistening with packed snow and ice, stuff that probably comes up to her ankles as far as she can tell.

“Yeah,” she shudders, “A ride sounds great.”

It’s probably just her, but Brooke seems to light up at the response a little, seems to have a little extra spring in her step as she leans her weight against the door to force it open.

Then again, if the way her heart is practically dancing in her chest as she follows Brooke out is an indicator of anything, she might just be projecting.

“Holy fuck.” They trudge up to Brooke’s car only to find it buried in snow, a thick wall weighing down on its roof and windshields. The wind has clearly swept more snow onto Brooke’s car than just what’s falling, and even underneath it, there’s a sheet of wet, windswept snow that covers the ground.

“I can help you brush it all off, if you want.” Vanessa offers, and she swears the rosy blush that appears on Brooke’s cheeks is from more just than the cold.

“No, that’s okay.” Brooke shakes her head. “I have a brush in the car– Fuck. ”

“What?” Vanessa shuffles as fast as she can without slipping over to where Brooke is struggling with her door handle, grunting with frustration and and effort as she pulls with increasing strength. But it’s useless - Vanessa can see even standing just beside Brooke that the door handle is frozen over in its place, unmoving.

“Maybe if I just stay with my hand on it it’ll warm up…” Brooke starts, and that’s when Vanessa notices Brooke’s hands.

It’s not the first time Vanessa’s been fixated by Brooke’s hands. It’s not creepy–at least, she tells herself it’s not, because she doesn’t spend time thinking about what she wants them to do, she doesn’t, not that much, anyway. It’s more of a fascination, yet another thing about Brooke that Vanessa finds she can’t get out of her head. How graceful they are, and poised, how they work so efficiently and with such fine dexterity, never shaking or tripping up. How the skin seems so smooth on them, save for the veins that pop up and trace ridges and rivers over her tendons, strong and twisted and just a little blue through her pale complexion. How they fly up to comb through her hair when she’s nervous or thinking hard, how they clap and ball into excited fists when she laughs especially hard.

Now, though, all Vanessa can notice is how red and raw they seem. Because despite the terrible weather, despite how dry and frigid the air is and how searingly cold the metal car door handle must be, Brooke’s hands are completely bare.

“Oh my God, Brooke, don’t–C’mere, okay?” Vanessa doesn’t think twice before surging forward to grab Brooke’s hands in her own, rubbing the frozen fingers between her glove-clad hands and bringing them close to her mouth to blow on them a little.

Close enough to kiss, and fitting well enough into her palms to keep holding onto them forever.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry, I–” A wave of horror washes through Vanessa as she realizes the implications of what she’s done, how intimate the action actually is, and she tries to retract her hands, but Brooke stops her, grabbing onto her hands and pulling them close again despite the nervous way she blushes and bites her lip.

“It’s okay.” Brooke smiles just a little, and Vanessa’s heart speeds up even as her anxiety subsides. “Thank you.”

They stay like that for a moment. Silent, their eyes flitting between each other and elsewhere, only catching each other’s gazes for a moment before breaking it. And maybe it’s just Vanessa, but the air seems to change for a moment, becoming warmer, thicker. Like something is growing in it, words waiting to be said and actions ready to be taken, if only one of them would move first.

Brooke is the first to break the suspense, shifting on her feet and dropping Vanessa’s hands far too soon.

“Let’s head back inside.” Brooke suggests. “I’ll call a tow truck and we can warm up a bit while we wait.”

It’s strange–as frigid as it is outside, and as much as the snow pelts them as they trudge back to the school, Vanessa can’t help but feel a little warmer as they go.

–

“They said it’ll be about two hours because of the weather.” Brooke emerges from the principal’s office about five minutes later, hands finally back to their normal hue as she slides her cell back into her coat pocket. “Apparently there’s lots of accidents right now, and that’s before they even start trying to get to us.”

Vanessa shivers thinking about all the people out on the road who haven’t been so lucky as to have their car physically stop them from trying to get anywhere. People who might have careened out of control, hit other people, skid right off the road and wound up in a ditch, trapped upside down and stuck waiting for help. Buses at a stand-still for fear of losing control, and routes cancelled because a busload of people being injured or worse just isn’t worth getting home in time for your TV program.

Suddenly, being stuck at the school doesn’t seem so bad, even if the heat is broken, the hallways are far too quiet for comfort, and there’s nothing much to do.

“Vanessa?” She snaps back to reality when she hears Brooke’s voice again, edged with a bit of concern.

“Huh?”

“I said, do you want to wait in my classroom? I have a space heater, I brought it from home last week ‘cause my kids were cold.”

Vanessa doesn’t answer, only charges down the hall in the direction of Brooke’s room, Brooke’s laughter echoing down the hall as she follows close behind.

Vanessa’s enthusiasm is only increased tenfold when she reaches the classroom and moves aside for Brooke to unlock the door. There’s an illustration of children skiing plastered over the door’s window, and when the door finally swings open, Vanessa is knocked off her feet by the sight of the room inside.

Brooke’s classroom is nothing short of a winter wonderland. It’s clear that the kids have been working hard, probably since even before December, and every decoration, every craft, seems to have a theme. In lieu of the construction-paper alphabet that usually lines Brooke’s walls, there’s a glittery string of winter-themed words, Achoo, Brrrr, Cold, and December tracing a path leading from the front of the class all the way to the door. The kids have drawn and their own mitten-shaped nameplates, leaving a rainbow of hands on every table. The windows are covered in paper snowmen and cotton-ball hills. And at the very front, attached to the chalkboard, is a poster of numbers up to 20, only instead of apples or stars, there’s clumsily-cut snowflakes that sparkle with silver glitter.

“Brooke, this is…” Vanessa trails off, unable to quite find the right word to describe it. Beautiful , maybe, or amazing. Wonderful. Jaw-dropping. Incredible.

“Holy shit.” Her words land there instead, but from the way Brooke beams at the praise, it seems that they’ve more than conveyed how Vanessa feels.

“You really like it?” Brooke brushes a piece of hair back behind her ear, blushing, and Vanessa’s heart almost breaks at how the blonde’s voice wavers, sounds so hopeful and yet still unconvinced.

She takes a deep breath, then takes a chance.

“I love it.” Vanessa grabs Brooke’s hand, still cold and red, squeezes it gently, barely holds back from bringing it to her lips.

That’s not what this is about. No matter how badly Vanessa wants it to be.

“Thank you.” Brooke breathes, and for a moment, Vanessa wonders if the look in Brooke’s eyes, the sparkle and warmth that it sends over to Vanessa, means what she thinks it does. Hopes it does.

But at the last minute, her fear comes crashing back in, and so she looks away, blushes, drops Brooke’s hand and takes a step back before she notices anything is up.

“So, um…” Vanessa scrambles for something else to say, something to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind.

Well, something does, but she regrets it the minute she blurts it out.

“How come you won’t let your kids participate in the school concert?”

This time, it’s Brooke who takes a step back, and when Vanessa feels her face grow hot, it’s with a whole different kind of embarrassment, one that makes her want to disappear. Brooke doesn’t look hurt, per se, or even upset—just disappointed, somehow.

Fuck . Perfect, absolutely perfect. Vanessa had created a perfect moment with a beautiful woman, and now she’d ruined it.

“Brooke—“

“No, it’s okay.” Brooke sighs. “That’s just—it wasn’t what I thought you’d say, is all.”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in, for their implication to come together in Vanessa’s mind. But by the time they do, it’s too late for Vanessa to dwell on them, to ask what Brooke thought she would say, if she was right about it.

“I didn’t stop them,” Brooke shakes her head. “They chose not to. Those two girls who are Jehovah’s wouldn’t have been allowed to participate, and when they told their friends, the whole class agreed and told me quite firmly that they didn’t want to do the concert if Jane and Annie couldn’t.”

“Oh.”

Vanessa’s an idiot, an absolute idiot. She should have known that Brooke would give her class a choice like that, respect their decision and accept their reasoning. She should have known that Brooke’s kids would propose doing something like skipping a concert to show solidarity with friends, because that’s the kind of kindness and acceptance that Brooke teaches her kids. She should have known that this is all something Brooke would not only allow, but encourage, because she herself would do the same.

“You’ve done a great job with your kids, you know that?” Brooke blushes at Vanessa’s compliment, a shy, excited smile growing on her face, and Vanessa can’t help but smile too. “Seriously—I’m… I’m sorry for believing the rumours, Brooke. You’re amazing, and you care more than any teacher I know.”

She looks up at Brooke, hoping to see the hurt dissolved from her face, but instead, when the blonde looks back at her, she’s biting her lip, chewing back that soft, brilliant smile Vanessa would give anything to see again.

“Can I show you the craft I’m gonna give my kids tomorrow?”

Vanessa’s heart speeds up, and she nods. It’s not just that Brooke is creative and a good teacher, and so Vanessa knows it’ll be a good craft. It’s that somehow, seeing something Brooke is still planning, something that makes her eyes light up despite the hesitation on her face, feels special. Like Vanessa is special. Like she’s important enough, safe enough, liked enough by Brooke for the blonde to open up to her.

It’s not easy for Brooke to do that, Vanessa knows, so the fact that she gets to be someone Brooke lets her down around is an opportunity she’s incredibly grateful for.

“I’d love to.”

Brooke lets out one of her famous happy-claps, and Vanessa feels like her heart might explode–but before it can, Brooke is leading her over to her desk, rooting through one of the doors before slapping sheets of handwriting paper down on its surface.

“Letters to loved ones.” Brooke announces proudly. “I’ve been telling my kids, winter is a time to do good deeds, ‘cause letting people know you love them warms both you and them up from the inside out.”

Vanessa isn’t sure why she does what she does next. Maybe it’s the lighting in the room, the way it glows a soft orange while still warming up, still not taking on its full fluorescent glow. Maybe it’s the snow outside, stirring some kind of romanticism within her that makes her want to get close. Or maybe it’s Brooke’s words and the meaning her voice carries when she says them, the implication they might hold.

Maybe it’s just the way Brooke’s eyes stare back at her, green and bright and shining with passion, admiration, and some kind of softness that holds a potential Vanessa is dying to explore.

All Vanessa knows is that in one breath, one moment, one flash of impulse and adrenaline, she makes her move.

“Want to write one for ourselves?” Vanessa asks, the question coming out so quickly she’s not even sure Brooke hears it. “Or, like, for someone else, I mean, but like, we write it?”

It might be just Vanessa, but there seems to be a gleam of understanding that lights up in Brooke’s eyes, and she nods shyly, blushing a little as her eyes glide to the floor.

“I’ll get out some pens.”

Vanessa writes in red and Brooke in black, both huddled on the floor in front of the space heater so close that their shoulders are practically touching. It makes Vanessa’s already-difficult task harder, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe if Brooke looks over her shoulder, sees what she’s writing, Vanessa won’t talk herself out of writing what’s really in her head.

Dear Brooke,

From the first time I met you, I knew we’d get along. And the more I got to know you, the more special you became to me. Your creativity, humour, and intelligence have always impressed me, but it’s your kindness, empathy, and quiet determination are what truly dazzle me. You love your kids so much you’ll bear any hurt on their behalf, and you love your job with a passion I wish more of the staff still had.

I can’t take my eyes off you, because your spirit burns so bright there’s nothing I’d rather watch.

Vanessa stops, her breath catching in her throat.

She can’t do it. No matter how much she wants to, she can’t say the words that her heart wants to scream. Because it’s not right, not fair to put Brooke in that position, and because if Brooke doesn’t return Vanessa’s feelings, then she doesn’t know if she can survive the heartbreak.

Vanessa is just about to cross out her last sentence when Brooke interrupts her, triumphantly announcing that she’s done before folding the paper in half and handing it over to Vanessa.

“Oh.” Vanessa feels a sinking in her chest, half hope and half preparing herself for the worst. There’s no way Brooke could return her feelings. No way she could write anything close to what Vanessa has. It’s not been enough time; if Brooke was going to write that she loved Vanessa, she would have taken more time.

Wouldn’t she?

“Um, you don’t have to read it now, if you don’t want to.” Brooke’s courage fades as the moments pass, Vanessa still unsure of what to say, what to do. “You read it later, or just throw it out, if you want…”

Vanessa whips open the letter without another moment’s hesitation.

Vanessa,

I’m not great at opening up, you know that. But you make me want to change that. You make me want to yell and laugh and clap and get excited. You make me want to be with you all the time, just so I can see you smile and smile back at you.

You might not feel the same way, in which case I’m going to be embarrassed and probably not going to be able to look you in the eye for a while. In that case, I hope you’re as patient with me as you always are.

Point is, I can’t say I love you yet, because even though I think I do, we aren’t together, so I don’t know for sure.

But I want to say it. Want to find out if I do for certain.

If you want to find out too, let me know?

XOXO,

Brooke

“I’m–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

But Brooke’s stammering is cut off at the pass, because fuck it, why write anything in a letter when Brooke is right there, eyes hopeful and lip worried raw from biting? Why wait, when Brooke is still wearing her coat and Vanessa’s heart is pounding and there’s a perfect moment right in front of her?

She grabs Brooke by the lapels of her coat before she can stop herself, and pulls the blonde in for a kiss.

Brooke tastes like mint and cigarettes, her lips soft but commanding and body melting into Vanessa’s every touch, and in that moment, the room feels incredibly warm.

–

“They’re here!” Brooke hangs up her phone excitedly, announcing the news like it’s the best she’s heard all day. And it is, in a way–the tow truck has arrived, and they’re going to take Vanessa and Brooke home. At the same time, though, Vanessa can’t help but feel a sinking disappointment in her chest.

The tow truck has arrived to take Brooke and her home, which means that their time together is coming to a close.

The two of them had spent the remainder of the two hours together giggling and kissing and talking, the air between them lighter and filled with almost schoolgirl-like nerves and excitement. In-between embraces, they had laid in front of the heater and talked about everything under the sun, the ice between them fully broken at last as they chatted about shows they were watching, music they listened to, funny things their pets had done recently. By the time Brooke had received the tow truck company’s call, they had agreed that Vanessa had to come meet Brooke’s cats, and that Brooke would definitely need to play with Vanessa’s dog in turn.

It’s a promise that still makes Vanessa’s heart soar, one she can’t wait to realize.

“You’re not excited to get out of here?” Brooke frowns as she tosses Vanessa her coat, no doubt noting the disappointment and hesitation that Vanessa is sure she’s showing on her face.

“No, I am, it’s just–”

But before Vanessa can finish her sentence, Brooke has crossed the room again to embrace her, pull her close and tip her chin up to plant a comforting kiss on her lips.

“Let me take you out this weekend, yeah?” Brooke soothes, but her face is genuine, if not a little nervous, as if Brooke is actually doubtful that Vanessa wouldn’t jump at the chance to go on a date with her. “We can keep this going, keep getting to know each other. Without being, you know, snowed in at work.” She winks, and Vanessa giggles, nodding.

“Now, come on, Ness.” Brooke grins as they separate, sneaking in one last kiss before they do. “Our chariot awaits.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #fluff #writworm42

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rhabakoli · 5 years ago

Text

Infinite White - 11

It’s kinda all over the place, probably full of typos, but I just want to get this up and then go to bed I think I might just collapse.

Precious chapters here

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

“Do you have the posters?”

“Yes.” “And your charger?” “Yes.” “Where are the extension cords?”

“Big bag, left pocket.” Fenja sat in the passenger seat, legs dangling out the open door, backpack on her lap and watched Ragnar be a nervous mother hen. Ingrid stood by the trunk, focused on her phone, probably typing an email to some colleague, and answered her brother without even glancing at him. “Ragnar, I think we have everything. You’ve gone over it three times already.” “Yeah, it will be fine, big brother.” He glanced between them, then sighed. “Yeah, okay. I just want it to go over without a hitch.” “It will. And now get in or we’ll be late and all your overchecking will be for naught.” Ingrid just nodded and gave her brother a push, before getting into the back. “Get in, dumbo.”

The drive to the convention hall was not long, but apparently long enough for Ingrid to get nervous. Fenja was turned to her side, talking to Ragnar about the YWA - who still owed her an answer, by the way - and kept glancing back at the teen. She mumbled to herself, going over her presentation one more time. “Sweetheart, you will smash it.” Ragnar was looking at his sister through the rearview mirror. Fenja felt her heart squeeze at their connection, their familiarity with each other. It was stupid, but she still tended to get moody. She didn’t have family like those two did. Sometimes it hurt to be around them.

Ragnar seemed to be super-sensible today; he touched her knee, glancing over at her. “You okay?” Fenja nodded, forced a smile to her face. She’d not bring herself into focus. Not ever, and especially not today. Today was sweet baby Ingrid’s day, and hers alone. So she turned around, peeked at the girl and asked: “Is the rest of the team joining us?” “No, most of them have important plans, some have family outings they couldn’t get out of, and Beatrice is scared of crowds.” “Oh. Well, you’ve got us, at least.” “That I did.” She looked down at her power point again, forehead in creases. Fenja couldn’t let her suffer by herself: “Want me to test you?”

The hall was bustling with con-goers and presenters, all ages and sizes, from big corporations to small one-person businesses. There were booths everywhere, neat and square in rows, the odd food vendor sprinkled into the mix. Ragnar took the bags from the car, not even thinking about letting either of them carry anything heavy - what a gentleman, Fenja rolled her eyes - and was currently looking for their booth. His girls were trailing behind him, elbows hooked together, taking in the loaded and busy atmosphere. Seeing Fenja fit so well into his family, being loved by them, really struck a chord within him, made him feel all warm and cozy inside. He hadn’t yet stopped to think about what it meant, but he knew, at some point he would be forced to. Either by circumstance or Aslaug. He finally found their booth, set down the bags and promptly decided he didn’t like the neighbours. Not even 10 seconds there, and they already were checking out his friend. He tried not to be to obvious about it, but he very much felt like holding their heads under water until the bubbles disappear. Ingrid and Fenja were already starting to empty the bags, hang up the posters, get their setup together. All the while, they were conversing and giggling, and Ragnar forgot all about the neighbours. Those two were important, and that Ingrid’s presentation would go over smoothly, and nothing else.

“Where’s Fenja?” “Spreading the word. Organizers allow posters everywhere, and she’s not going to let that opportunity go.” Ingrid was on her phone, her laptop next to her. Ragnar grinned at her laser-focus as she was typing away, little giggles coming out here and there. “How’s Ginger doing, eh?” “Her internship-mom wants a puppy but Internship-dad doesn’t and now Ging has fighting Internship-parents.” Ragnar halted for a second, blinked and then turned to his sister. “At some point you’ll have to explain the whole Internship-parent thing to me again.” “She lives with them during her internship, and they remind her of her grandparents, just younger, but she already has those and parents, so Bert and Lisa are her Internship-parents.” “Oh, yeah. Sure, makes sense.” He heard Fenjas laugh and turned around, mouth already open to ask something. But he snapped it shut again, eyes squinting and anger growing in the pit of his stomach. She was walking next to a stocky, blond guy, laughing at whatever he said. He was carrying the remaining posters under his arm, hands the pockets of his pants and eyes trained on his best friend like she was a steak. He did not like that. At all.

Ingrid looked up at the deep growl sounding through the booth, eyebrows raised in surprise. Who the hell brought a dog? She searched for the source of the noise, but could only find her brother at the edge of their designated spot, murderous look on his face as he stared off somewhere. Not a dog then. Ingrid took in his tense stance, his white knuckles and flared nostrils, his chest practically vibrating. Concerned, she followed his line of view. Oh boy. She got up, quick on her feet and hung onto Ragnars arm, lest he try to go and kill the guy. Last time she’d seen that kind of a look on a man in her family, her aunt had to haul Bjorn out by his hair. “Rags.” He grunted at her, still squinting at the guy. Very subtle, that one. “Ragnar, wipe that look off your face, you’ll scare Fenja.” His face relaxed at that, but his eyes were still terrifyingly, piercing blue. They came closer, Fenja now grinning at the siblings and bounding over to join their huddle. “Why are we hanging off Ragnar’s arms?”, she asked Ingrid. Ragnar hadn’t moved much, except raising a hand and putting it over Fenja’s on his arm. “Are you satisfied with the posters now?”, he asked her, but still fixed the stranger with a mean look. “Yep..” She pointed at the guy. “Alvin here saved me from breaking my neck or destroying something.” Alvin shrugged, hands still in his pockets.”Thought you could use some help there.” “Yeah, thanks.” Fenja tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, an overly pitiful look on her face, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The world is harsh, when you’re tiny.” Ingrid watched the exchange with worry; how Alvin’s eyes raked over Fenja, and how she was completely oblivious and Ragnar’s barely suppressed anger. This would end badly. She let go of her brothers arm, stepped closer to Alvin and extended a hand to take to posters from him. “Thanks for the help, we’ve got it from here.” “You’re so very welcome. Anything else you need?” “No, thanks, I’ve got my helper.”, she said, and pointed at the tall guy at her back. Alvin was not the brightest, or maybe blind. Ragnar was not someone you’d just overlook. Ingrid took the posters, grabbed her brothers hand and pulled him and Fenja along, while throwing an excuse over her shoulder: “Sorry, we’ve got to go through our presentation again.” Ragnar took a deep breath, as soon as Fenja was out of Alvin’s sight. He blew the air harshly through his nose, making Fenja raise an eyebrow and look up at him. “You okay?” “Yeah.” Didn’t sound like it. Fenja let go of his arm and instead stepped in front of him with her hands up, when he tried to leave. “Are you sure?” She felt his stomach flex under her hands, his eyes trained on hers as he tilted his head to the right. “I’m good.” Then he turned, left the booth and didn’t look back.

Ingrids only response to Fenja’s questioning look was a shrug.

The rest of the day was going over relatively smooth. If one didn’t mind a tall, broad, viking looking guy following one around and growling at any guy coming close. Fenja ignored him for the duration of the presentations, and instead just concentrated on little Ingrid going up there, and looking like she might just vibrate out of her body, mightily terrified and wide eyed. But as soon as she started talking, got to show her know-how, and her passion and telling an interested crowd about the project she had been working so hard for, everything else went away. She stood tall, she walked around the stage, gestured, made the perfect amount of eye contact. “She’s so good up there.”, Fenja whispered at some point, leaning into Ragnar, who was sitting beside her. “She’s got a knack for public speaking.” He just grunted, and nodded, and shifted in his seat, angling his body more towards her. His arm was over the back of her chair, caging her in, and he kept playing with the tips of her hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes. And now shh.” He cut her off harshly and pointed to the front of the room. “Pay attention.” Ingrid was at the end of her presentation, her hands clasped behind her back, the presentation on it’s last slide - a picture of the whole team, bunched together in a room, the huge table covered in papers, laptops, chinese take-out boxes. Half of them seemed to be asleep at the desk, one or two were stretched out on couches in the background. It showed the hard work, the close bond of the team and the love that went into developing this programme. It also gave the crowd something to laugh at, so there’s that. The teen smiled at the room, did a little curtsy and raised her voice one last time: “Thanks for coming to my TED-Talk.” Laughter all through the crowd, some amused head shaking here and there. “If you’ve got any questions I couldn’t answer just now, we are at booth 128.” Fenja grinned and clasped a hand on Ragnars thigh, getting his attention. “Let’s go.” He nodded, stood and followed her closely. So close in fact, that she could feel his warmth through her sweater, even though he wasn’t even touching her. “Let’s get out of here.”, he rasped, eyes skipping over the crowd, looking for his sister. She joined them just outside the lecture hall, talking a mile a minute, like a freight train without brakes. Fenja was paying attention to her, just let her rant until they were back at the booth.

Where Alvin was waiting for them. Great. Ingrid tried to keep the mood light, as she could sense her brother getting all tense again. He really didn’t like Alvin. Fenja was as oblivious as ever, telling him about the presentation, how proud she was of Ingrid. She did not notice, that the guy was undressing her with his eyes. But Ragnar did. And he did not receive it well. “If he doesn’t stop looking at her like that, I’ll smash his face in.” His sister blinked twice, then looked up at him. She was honestly afraid he’d do something stupid. And at the same time she was amazed, because he’d never looked more like their father than he did in this very moment. There was a very dark, sinister storm brewing behind his eyes, his posture was coiled, shoulders pulled up slightly as he leaned forward and fixed the guy with a look. Okay, shit. And, of course, before Ingrid could do anything, Alvin made the mistake of touching Fenjas upper arm and leaning in. To be fair, from their angle it did look a bit like he was trying to maybe kiss her? But that was neither here nor there, because Ragnar would have gone off in any case. Fenja was in the process of leaning back - because, wow, personal space much? - when she was pulled back and against a wall of muscles, shaking in anticipation and the effort not to actually do any bodily harm. Alvin looked at Ragnar with such distaste, he might have just bitten into a lemon. Fenja felt it more than she heard the growl rumbling through her friend. “You may want to fuck off, buddy.” “Or what?” In the back, Ingrid groaned. What an idiot. Her brother actually took a step forward, but a hand to his front stopped him. He fisted the material of her sweater, trying to anchor himself, to not attack this sleazy fish physically. “You really don’t want to know, man.” Fenja felt like she had been sucked into some romcom, or a telenovela maybe. Or some best-friend-to-lovers-fanfiction. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure that this was really happening. But even if she was passed out somewhere because she hit her head, she didn’t want Ragnar to get in any fights. So she interfered, pressed a hand against Ragnar, trying to keep him from lunging. Then she looked at Alvin, still standing there, all puffed up and a steely look in his eyes. “Could you please just go?” “Why? Just because some guy says so? He can’t decide over you, he’s not your boyfriend!” Ingrid facepalmed. Yeah, wrong move, man. Fenja straightened, let go of Ragnar and stood in front of him. “Are you serious? Yeah, buddy, you better go now, because if he doesn’t punch you, I will.” “But-” “Shut up and go, Alvin.” She could feel Ragnars hand folding over her hip, holding onto her, and it made her feel more secure, stronger. “Fuck off, beanbrain. I don’t want you.”

Part 12

#iw #infinite white #best friends to lovers #slow burn #vikings #a dreamwritesimagines production #ivars kids #foh #faint of heart #jealousy #no kiss yet im so sorry

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years ago

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*cracks knuckles* ok who is the smingrid second child tell me everything (please..... pls....)

I kept trying to answer this all weekend but kept getting distracted but yes, I need to talk about this, because it’s ridiculous. And super long.

So we know that Ingrid is baby crazy, and she was lucky to stumble across a baby and even luckier that her girlfriend and girlfriend’s dad was cool with that, but her baby crazy doesn’t go away, especially when her siblings start having multiple children and like…she wants more.

And then it’s interesting because while Ingrid has no interest in being pregnant or associating with any of the activities required to get pregnant in like 1000AD, upon bringing the topic up with Smitelout it is discovered that she’s not quite of the same opinion. In fact, she’s a Jorgenson, and as the only Jorgenson, it’s kind of weighed on her for her entire life that it’s the end of the line because it was always assumed that she’d get married and change her name and that would be that. But she’s with Ingrid, still very much a Jorgenson, and Finn is great and she loves him and he’s her son, but she was also raised with a very deep and unique sense of family pride and she wouldn’t mind one of her own. In fact, she’d like that, but wasn’t going to risk making Ingrid feel bad about it by bringing it up, but as it comes up organically, it’s good that it’s out there.

So then it gets even more ridiculous, because once Ingrid gets a scent there’s really no chance in deterring her, and this is a unique opportunity because Ingrid has brothers so it’s even possible that the kid could be blood related to them both, which again, loves Finn, not about that, it’s just a thing Ingrid also thought she’d never get to have ever since she realized she was gay and even more after what happened to her.

And Eret III is only Ingrid’s half brother, plus the line of succession is wild enough already and also no one wants Fuse to murder them at the insinuation so he’s out, leaving Rolf and Arvid. Who are both married. But it’s Ingrid and she’s gonna ask anyway. And it’s Smitelout, who is relieved by the instantaneous exemption of Eret, because eww, and who immediately rejects Rolf as an idea too, because Super Eww.

So that leaves Arvid. Who, again, is married. And it’s 1000AD, there are no clinics with weird little rooms full of supposedly stimulating posters. There are no turkey basters. There is one delivery method. And Ingrid, being Ingrid, is going to ask anyway.

And then as for what’s been going on with Arvid and Aurelia, they’ve just had their first kid and it was a tumultuous time full of surprise and unwelcome visits of long lost mothers and the complications that arise from a general incompatibility of the size of the partners. Not a good time for Aurelia in particular. She’s pretty dead set on not doing that again and she feels guilty about it every time she sees Arvid with the feret litter, which is probably coming up on 4 now.

And Ingrid isn’t an idiot, she knows to ask Aurelia first, and they’re pretty tight because when Eret was dealing with all those warlords, Ingrid was pretty exclusively on Aurelia guard detail, given they were the only two without dragons. Aurelia was there shaking her head when Ingrid obtained a baby, she gets that Ingrid has the motherly compulsion Aurelia doubted she herself had for a long time. And maybe it shouldn’t, but it kind of seems like an idea…

Arvid is less convinced, initially, because this is stupid and absurd and shouldn’t his wife like…not want him to do anything like this? But it’s Aurelia and she’s flippant at all the wrong times and probably says something like it never bothered her before that he narrowly avoided procreating with every other girl on Berk their age (which it did bother her, but whatever, this is the time to project wifely guilt away from herself). And Arvid wants more kids, so much, because he’s the fixer who wants to do the big family thing right and it’s for Ingrid and Aurelia is devoted to her solutions past the point of rational and he agrees to talk it out with Smitelout and Ingrid.

Which is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever imagined because Arvid and Ingrid are attempting to have an emotional conversation about him doing her the biggest favor he conceivably could but they’re both these big murder jocks hiding behind their bravado so it probably goes like:

Arvid: “Mostly, I’m just worried Smitelout will fall in love with me”

Ingrid: “really not worried about that”

Arvid: “Aurelia can back me up here–”

Aurelia: “not going to do that”

Ingrid: “Trust me, I could not be less worried”

All the while Ingrid is just hoping and Aurelia is trying to stick to this decision because she doesn’t know what will happen if she stays so averse to having more kids and Smitelout is just…the most embarrassed human on the planet because she had a crush on Arvid for like a decade before she realized the source of her antagonism with Ingrid or the fact that being bi as hell exists. But she can’t be embarrassed in silence, so she’s probably insulting him pretty much non stop and somehow, despite all the stupid concentrated in one room, they come to an agreement.

And so Smitelout and Arvid bang Once. Which is just so deeply hilarious to me on so many levels. Because it’s so awkward. Ingrid and Aurelia are probably chilling in the other room having a drink. It’s super silent. Smitelout doesn’t know what to do when she has to stop being mean because apparently dudes aren’t just constantly armed with the ability to impregnate people, you actually have to be compassionate with them when they’re nervous (being a lesbian is so much easier oh my gods). They both love their wives a lot and that makes it even weirder, because they’re both doing this in roundabout ways for their wives and also their shared desire to make more kids. Smitelout probably thanks him for being tall. They vow not to make eye contact for a decade, probably.

Then, because this is so fucking stupid and Aurelia left all her braincells at home while making all of these decisions, everything blows up. She has to come clean about how guilty she felt but at the same time she doesn’t like the feeling that he was with someone else, however emotion-less and awkward (and hilarious) it was. And they have to actually talk shit through and all that mature stuff, but also, can’t take back the past and it totally worked, Smitelout is totally pregnant.

#festerverse #eret iii #smingrid #arvelia #the hilarity of sperm donation in the middle ages

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coloursflyaway · 6 years ago

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Dirk+Todd: 57+24 - Thor+Loki: 100+4 - Harry + Eggsy: 60+70 (You don't have to do all of them, but I'd be so happy :D)

Dirk/ Todd, 57: Forgotten First Meeting and 24: Soulmate AU

Oh Jesus, I actually kind of started to write a fanfic about that and never finished it!But anyway. This is like, almost but not quite what you asked, but I hope good enough after all (: (Meine Deutschlehrerin hätte es wohl trotzdem eine Themenverfehlung genannt)

They’re younger still, Dirk has just come to America, and everything is new and bright and loud and beautiful and he loves every second. He’s scared, too, also every second of it, but that doesn’t matter quite as much, not when everything is so exciting. He buys new clothes, and incredible amounts of pizza, and life is good, at least for now. Sometimes there are cases, sometimes he even solves them, and it should be enough, but after a while, it isn’t anymore. There’s has always been this itch inside of him (if Dirk had ever known a home before, he’d call it homesickness), and back in England he had learnt to live with it, but now, in this new, strange land, he finds that it gets worse with every beat of his heart, every breath he takes. He doesn’t know why, or what causes it, but one night he wakes up, choking on it, and there is just one thought left in his mind; he needs to walk. And walk he does, without knowing where to, only that with every step he takes, it gets a bit easier to breathe. The city around him turns dirty, run-down, but he keeps walking, until he’s standing underneath a window that’s brightly lit, open although Dirk is fairly certain that it’s dangerous to keep it that way in the night.A moment passes in which he doesn’t know why he has stopped, then a guitar starts to play, and a voice belts out two, three, four words, and Dirk is home. He knows that voice although he never heard it before, he knows the person behind it, although they never met. And he knows they’ll meet, someday, somewhere, and that he’ll look at them and never leave again. It takes another five years, seven months, two weeks and twenty-eight days until he finds out that the band he listened to under that window was called Mexican Funeral, and seven days less than that to find his soulmate.

Thor/Loki, 4: Coffee Shop AU and 100: Accidentally Savingthe Day

(I’m really bad at getting these topics right 100%)

It’s not that Thor wanted to start working in the shop, it just happened. The world is quiet after all, now after Thanos has only left half of them alive, too many empty spaces to be filled. Thor tries not to think of what is left of him, or his heart, or what used to fill it, so he spends as much time as possible outside, sometimes just walking, sometimes helping, sometimes finding a spot in this empty city that’s loud enough to make it impossible to think. One of those is a small café, which used to be run by a couple, now only one woman who looks twenty years older than her age, and cries in the kitchen when she thinks no one notices, clutching a tattered photo to her chest. At first, it’s only supposed to be a small act of kindness, because Thor knows she needs the money, and there is a man, who has been waiting to be served for ten minutes at least without her reappearing, swollen eyes or not. So he gets up from his seat, walks behind the counter and makes the best cup of coffee he possibly can. It must still taste bitter, but the man just thanks him, hands him a bill and leaves. Thor doesn’t need his dead brother’s magic to know that the man he just served is as broken, as splintered inside as he is, as the woman running this café is. And it doesn’t help to help him, not really, but it is something to do and something to forget yourself in, and Thor figures that, if any of the Avengers needed him, they’d find him eventually. So he stays.

He doesn’t come to work every day, and if, he doesn’t always help, but the owner, Ingrid, he learns, and he find an understanding without ever talking about it. Sometimes, she leaves for hours on end, comes back drunk, or crying, or not at all; sometimes he flinches when someone with green eyes comes inside, or cannot speak when a young man smiles with just enough mischief in his eyes. Once, he punches a hole into the wall when a young woman asks him how he is holding up. Ingrid just puts a poster up over it.

Then, one day, there’s an attack. Nothing special, at least not by his standards, some other race, come to enslave humanity once more, and Thor could fight them, should fight them, but he’s tired. He has lived millennia and suddenly he feels each year weighing him down, and he knows Ingrid feels almost the same, so while he could try, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a punch, takes a second, finds that the pain gets easier to bear with every drop of blood they beat out of him.

His nose splinters under a fist, his lip splits open, and suddenly the air next to him moves, swirls, tastes tart and familiar on his tongue. Thor opens his eyes, although the blood makes them sting, watches the air turn golden and green and black in front of him. It shouldn’t be possible, not until he’s stepped foot in Valhalla, and yet Loki is there, his armor glistening in the sunlight and his expression screaming murder. Slender fingers thread themselves into his hair, pull his head back until Loki can look at him properly. There is something like pity in his eyes, or maybe it’s just pain; Thor only has a moment to recognise it. Maybe it’s love. “Stand down”, Loki hisses, and although his words are hardly loud enough to stir the air, no one dares to move. “He’ll be mine to kill once Ragnarök comes.”

Harry/Eggsy, 60: Poorly TimedConfession and 70: Locked in a Room

“Oh, you have got to be kiddin’ me.” Eggsy tries the doorknob again, pushes his shoulder into the door, but it won’t budge, just like the last time he tried this. Or the one before. Or the one before. It’s not his fault, though, not really, because the Statesman HQ is huge, and he has gotten lost more often than not, and there are four different doors to choose from in the kitchen. Usually, he chooses the right ones, too, but apparently not in a panic.

“Eggsy?”, comes a voice from the other side, Harry, who sounds genuinely concerned. “Are you alright?”It’s a difficult question to answer; physically, yes, psychologically? Not quite. Not after he unthinkingly told Harry, “G’night for now, love you”, before realising what he had said, tried to run out of the room, but instead got himself locked up in the supply closet. “Yes?”, he tries anyway, finds that he sounds as unconvincing as he feels. “Mostly.”

There is a pause, loaded, it feels at least to Eggsy, who stops jingling the doorknob and instead just sinks down onto the floor to wallow in misery there. He doesn’t think Harry is going to hate him for this - he can’t call it crush, not when it’s so much more - this thing, but he will try to talk to Eggsy about it, and everything between them will be incredibly uncomfortable from now, and at the moment, that sounds almost as bad.

“Is there something you would like to tell me?”, Harry finally says, every word pronounced carefully, slowly, like Eggsy is a small animal he is trying not to frighten. “I really think saying it once is bad enough”, Eggsy responds, and there is half a chuckle in his voice, born of desperation, not mirth. “It hasn’t changed much in the two minutes you haven’t seen me, bruv.”Again, a pause, the shuffle of shoes and a mumbling that sounds like Harry is talking to himself, then, “So you did mean it.”

Harry says it with wonder in his voice, something almost sounding like amazement, and Eggsy won’t hope, he won’t, he - “You know, dear boy”, Harry says, and his voice still sounds the same, just warmer, softer. “I quite return the sentiment.”

It doesn’t take a moment for Eggsy to understand the words Harry is saying, it doesn’t even take a minute, or two, it takes a year at least, a century at most.“You what?”, he asks back, halfway through it, and Harry, still hidden behind that blasted door, laughs. “Love you too”, he replies, and Eggsy’s brain short-circuits, has him on his feet, pressed against the wood within a second. “What?”, he asks again, like it‘s the only word he’s still able to form. “Do I really have to repeat myself?”, Harry asks instead of answering, “The answer hasn’t changed much in the few seconds you haven’t asked.”“Kinda. Yeah”, Eggsy mutters, rests his head against the door; if he has wished this door to hell before, now he’s ready to carry it there himself. There’s a tentative happiness starting to blossom in the back of his mind, lighter than anything else he has ever felt, and so overwhelming Eggsy isn’t sure he’ll be able to take in all of it at once.

“I love you, then”, Harry says again, softly now, as if he was pressed against the door too. Eggsy really hopes he is. This time, the happiness almost washes him away, makes him dizzy. It still hasn’t quite sunken in that he could really, truly have this, Harry by his side, holding his hand, kissing him, but it will with time. As soon as he can get past this door, and look at Harry while he says those words again.

“Get me the fuck out of here, Harry”, he says, no, demands, closes his eyes and tries to imagine how it’ll be to be with the only person he never thought he could have a chance with. “And I swear, if you don’t kiss me so hard I’ll see stars once I am, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”“I think I can do both.”

Send me two tropes, a ship and I’ll write you a far too long ficlet about it

#ficlets #thorki #brotzly #hartwin #sorry this took forever btw #mattmurdick

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the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt · 6 years ago

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You’re Killing Me, Swan - Chapter 3/3

This is it, the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who has given it a read. Thanks again to the @fallforcs project for giving me the opportunity to write this monster and experiment with being posted anonymously. I’d absolutely participate again! Thanks to my beta, @theonceoverthinker, for dealing with 60 pages of fluffy baseball-themed Captain Swan falling in love. Thank you to @sailingcaptainswan, who created the poster I know we’ve all enjoyed seeing for this story. It is seriously too cute! And now, the last chapter. Rating: G Also on Ao3

The team didn’t have a game today. Even the sandlot crew couldn’t play baseball everyday. So with no game tying up the day, Killian invited Emma over for the whole day. She got up early so she could walk over and maximize the amount of fun they could have before she had to go home for the night. After throwing on a tank top and an oversized plaid shirt and jean shorts she can’t really wear for playing ball, she ran downstairs to walk to Killian’s. Ingrid and Arthur had already left for work, and they knew Emma would be headed to the Jones’ for the day. She grabbed the house key from the end table near the front door and practically bounced out the door, only to run into someone on the porch. She apologized as she bent down to pick up the key, only to find the other person had beat her to it.

“Thanks,” she took it, her gaze finally landing on the other form. “Killian? I was just leaving to go to your house.”

He scratched the back of his right ear. “I thought I’d walk you.”

“How long have you been here?” She turned to lock the front door before pocketing her key.

“Not long. Few minutes maybe.”

“We never agreed on a time.”

“I would’ve sat here until you were ready.”

“Really?” She gestured in front of them as a cue to start walking as they talked.

He shrugged. “It’s a nice morning.”

The two walked in silence for a few feet before Emma spoke up, looking at Killian as she did. “You know, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you without a baseball cap on other than that time at the pool.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, well, no game.”

“No jersey either.” He was wearing a teal t-shirt and jeans. It was a change from his usual baseball jerseys and black athletic shorts, but not an unwelcome sight.

“They’re in the laundry.” Emma chuckled. Killian smiled. “How long can you stay?”

“Ingrid said to be home by 10:30 since it’s still summer and I don’t have to be up for school or anything.”

“We can work with that.”

“What are we going to do today?”

“Whatever we want.”

“Great!” Emma linked her arm with Killian’s as they walked the rest of the way to his house sharing jokes and laughter. ----- “So, Swan, where would you like to start?”

“Um, could we use your swing set? I’ve never had a swing set before.”

“As you wish.” He led her to the backyard, and Emma sat on one of the swings. Killian sat on the swing to her left. Emma found it so easy to just talk to Killian about absolutely nothing as they swung side-by-side. And after they decided they’d had enough swinging, they played pirates with the monkey bars and the little shelter above the slide. Even Liam came out to play with them a little. Emma and Killian hid out near the slide while Liam approached their “ship” from above the monkey bars, and they took turns dueling with foam swords Liam found in the basement, all while making sure Liam didn’t fall between the bars. They didn’t care how stupid they looked or sounded, they were just so happy to be playing.

By the time Liam had to go to work, it was only a couple hours before lunch time. Killian brought Emma up to his room where he shared his pillowcase secret stash of Apollo bars with Emma. He stocked up after he found out they were her favorite. They sat on his bed eating their respective chocolate bars.

“Your room is so cool.” Her eyes studied the baseball wallpaper and his huge baseball card collection on his dresser. Even his lamp was baseball-themed. His bed sheets, however, were pirate-themed with little skulls all over them.

“My mum let me pick out everything.” He glanced around his own room, smiling.

“I hope I get to decorate my room like this one day.”

“You will, Swan.” She met his gaze. “Especially with Ingrid and Arthur. I think they’ll be it for you.”

“I have some pictures up on my wall, but nothing like this.”

“How do you want your room to look?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe something with books or art supplies. Maybe Ingrid would let me paint my own room.”

“I think she would.”

“And Starry Night sheets. That would be cool.”

They sat in comfortable silence as the chocolate bars disappeared. Killian threw their wrappers away and grabbed something from his bookshelf.

“Here,” he handed her two books.

“What’s this?”

“These are my favorite books. I think you’ll like them.”

She read the titles: Peter Pan and The Princess Bride. She hadn’t read either before.

“Thanks, Killian. I’m excited to read these.”

“I want to know what you think.” Emma nodded in acknowledgement. She was always excited at the idea of new books. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Does Liam still have the Nintendo hooked up in his room?”

“Aye.”

“MarioKart?” She smirked.

“You’re on, Swan.” ----- Over microwaved chicken nuggets and fries, Emma decided to tell Killian about her unwanted visitor last week.

“Killian?”

“Yeah,” he got out with a mouthful of fries.

“Neal came over the other day.”

Killian froze.

Emma shook her head. “He asked me to join his team.” She sipped her lemonade as she waited for Killian to react. He just blinked.

“I said, no, obviously.”

“You did?”

“Does that surprise you?”

Killian put down the chicken nugget in his hand. “Well, no. But he gave you the chance to play on a real field.”

“I like the sandlot.”

“His team can make you better.”

“You make me better.” Killian blinked rapidly again. “I wouldn’t even be playing if it weren’t for you.”

“You’re good, Swan. You just needed a push.”

“You guys are my friends. I don’t abandon my friends.”

“I - thank you, Swan.”

“Neal and his friends aren’t the kind of friends I want.”

“Don’t tell Liam I said this, but Neal’s a bloody wanker.” They both laughed. “I can’t believe he tried to steal you.”

“He’s just bitter I stole home when he could never.” Killian bit his lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“Seriously, Swan, you could have said, yes, if you wanted.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to. I’m happy where I am.”

“Good.” ----- Emma and Killian continued playing until Killian’s mom and Liam came home from their respective jobs. Together, the four of them helped make potato chip-crusted chicken, asparagus, and mac and cheese.

“Ms. Alice, this is so good,” Emma complimented the dinner she was trying very hard not to just inhale like a vacuum.

“We all made it together, love. It wouldn’t be as delicious if you didn’t help.” Emma smiled at the red-headed mother of her best friend. “And,” Alice leaned in closer to Emma, “you are more than welcome to come over for dinner any time you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, really trying to make sure how much that meant came through her voice.

“Any friend of Killian’s and Liam’s is alright in my book, especially if there’s another woman to balance out all this testosterone in this neighborhood.”

Liam and Killian looked at each other. Emma laughed.

“Do you cook together every night?” Emma looked between the three Joneses.

“Sometimes, but mostly on special occasions.” Liam looked between Killian and Emma as he took a large bite of mac and cheese to hide his smirk. Alice saw through that and elbowed her son lightly, eliciting a snort from Liam.

If Killian knew what was going on, he pretended not to. “My mum is a fantastic cook.”

“Yeah. She is.”

“Thank you, you two. Emma, if you can stay a little longer, I can make Killian’s favorite fudge brownies for dessert.”

“I just have to be home before 10:30, Ms. Alice.”

“Perfect. When you and Killian are done eating, you can go hang out more while I make the brownies.” Emma and Killian nodded their agreement.

“Thanks so much.”

“Any time, Emma. I’m glad to have you here.”

“Well,” Liam starts, “I’m finished my dinner.”

“Great,” his mom smiles, “you can do dishes so Emma and Killian can enjoy themselves.” Killian tried to hide his laughter as Liam frowned. Emma took another bite of chicken as she took in the family in front of her.

Both Killian and Emma rushed to finish eating so they could have more time to hang out together. When they finished, Emma offered to do her own dishes even though she knew Killian’s mom would never let her. When, as predicted, Alice said “absolutely not” to her guest, Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and brought her to his backyard.

“What are we doing out here?” They were still holding hands.

“It’s a clear night. It’s dark. We should get lots of fireflies.”

“Fireflies?”

“Have you ever caught fireflies before?” He asked her, tightening his hand on hers.

“No.”

“You’re killing me, Swan. Okay, I’ll teach you.” He glanced around his yard until he found a group of fireflies under a tree. He led her over there before dropping her hand.

“They’re so pretty.” Emma took in the sight before her, dark blue sky, bordering on black, with balls of yellowish-silver lights flickering and flying all around the space in front of her.

Killian leaned down to the base of the tree and grabbed a jar. “Can you hold this while I show you what to do?”

“Sure.” She took the jar and he adjusted her hands so the opening was facing him.

“Okay, Swan. You have to come up to one gently with one hand,” he said quietly as he demonstrated. “Then, when you’re close, bring your other hand to the other side of the firefly quickly so it doesn’t get away. But don’t clap your hands or you’ll squish it. Cup your hands together.” He brought his closed hands closer to her so she could see the light peeking from between his fingers. “And then,” he stopped talking as he guided the bug into the jar Emma held, covering the top with his hand. He held the jar up to show Emma.

“Wow.”

“Can you grab the lid?” She knelt down to where he got the jar and picked up a lid with lots of holes poked through it. Killian put the lid on the jar carefully. “When we catch more, the jar is going to be full of them. And then when we’re done, we let them go.”

“Can I try catching one?”

“Of course!”

Killian held the jar as Emma came up to a firefly with one hand, and brought her other hand down quickly. She caught one on the first try, but she immediately let it go as the light crawling feeling freaked her out. She was happy it was dark so Killian couldn’t see her blush.

“It takes a couple tries.”

“Yeah,” she barely got out.

“Try again. You can also come at one with both hands if you’re gentle. Nudge it into your hands.” She nodded as she took a breath. She knew to expect the crawling this time, but she missed her first firefly as she clasped her hands too slowly. However, Emma was a fast learner, and it only took her one more try to get one and keep it between her cupped hands. “Well done, Swan!”

“That was so cool!”

Killian approached her with his hand covering the top of the jar. “Put it in here.” They worked together to get the firefly in the jar without either of the two escaping, and Killian was fast to get the lid on. “Look at that, Swan. We have two now.”

“This is amazing.” She was mesmerized by the flying lights.

“The closest thing to magic.” Emma chewed on her bottom lip as she looked back to the group of fireflies.

“Your turn.”

“Go ahead and get another one. I can wait.” Emma nodded and moved closer to the bugs. Between the two of them, they caught 14 fireflies before the small jar became crowded. They spent about 15 minutes watching them move around the jar, lights going on and off throughout the small glass container, before Alice called them in for brownies.

“We should let them go before we go in.” Killian nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to do the honors?” He held out the jar to her.

“Yeah! Thanks!” She took it and positioned the opening toward where they caught the bugs. Making eye contact with Killian once more, he nodded to cue her to open it. She carefully worked the lid open before watching the fireflies pour out to fly free once more. Emma thought they looked like little stars in the dark night. They were little stars they could catch and hold. She put the jar back at the base of the tree and walked with Killian to the back door. “Thanks, Killian. That was…”

“Magical,” he finished for her.

“Yeah. Magical.” ----- The group only played one night game a year, and it was on the Fourth of July.

They could only play this night because the sandlot had no lights. But on the Fourth of July, the field was lit up as the entire town of Storybrooke lit fireworks to celebrate.

They played their best then because they all felt like the big leaguers under the lights of some great stadium. Emma was willing to bet that Killian felt like that all the time. They all knew he was gonna go on to bigger and better games because every time they stopped to watch the sky on those nights like regular kids, he was there to call them back.

However, no kid could really resist the draw of fire in the sky. Emma sat on the ground and rested her head on her knees as she stared up into the sky absolutely mesmerized. She smiled as she took in the bright red bursts, followed by the golden weeping willow pattern. It was easy to lose track of time as she gazed up into the dark sky, which for this night was a perfect canvas for the colorful explosions of fire.

When Killian could no longer keep his team from being distracted by the blinding lights in reds, blues, whites, and greens, he gave into the magic himself. But this Fourth of July game was special. When his team turned their attention to the sky rather than the game, he ran over and grabbed Emma’s hand, to which she responded with a barely noticeable gasp in surprise.

“Come along, Swan,” he whispered into her ear as he tugged on her hand.

“But everyone else is here. Shouldn't we stay?” In reality, she just wanted to watch the fireworks with her friends. She'd never seen a fireworks show quite like this.

“You're killing me, Swan! Just trust me.”

Looking back at her teammates all ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the fireworks, she turned back to the kid rubbing unconscious circles onto the back of her hand and let out a quiet “okay.” He grinned. She smiled in return and followed him as he ran out of the sandlot and to his own backyard.

“Follow me.” He let go of her hand as he started climbing the biggest tree in his yard. Emma was right behind him. He crawled into a treehouse. Emma paused outside. “What’s wrong?” Killian poked his head out the hatch that served as both entrance and exit into the small dwelling.

“It says ‘no girls allowed,’” Emma pointed to a sign just above where she would climb up into the treehouse as she tried not to laugh. Even in the dark, she could sense the tips of Killian’s ears turning pink in embarrassment.

“I think I can make an exception.” He extended his hand for her. She took it and climbed into the structure. Killian scratched behind his ear as Emma looked around. “I haven’t been up here in years. Apologies for the sign.”

“It’s fine, Killian. I get it.” She pretended not to feel the sigh of relief that he let out against the back of her neck. “But it doesn’t feel particularly sturdy.” Emma shifted slightly and felt the whole structure shake a tad.

“Maybe, but I promise the view is worth the risk.” He crawled carefully to a small and crooked window cut out of the paper-thin wall. “I spent my first Fourth of July up here. The view of the fireworks is the best.”

Emma crawled over and peeked out the tiny window next to Killian. “Wow.”

Even without looking, she knew he switched to watching her instead of the fireworks.

“I didn’t even notice this when I came over.”

“It’s pretty high up. And the leaves tend to hide it. No one would see it unless they were looking for it.”

“Yeah.”

“I meant to bring you up here when you came over, but I thought I’d wait for the fireworks. It’s worth it.” Neither of them said anything for a while as they watched the fireworks. “You know, the rest of the team doesn’t even know this treehouse exists.”

Emma turned to look at him. They didn’t have much room since the window was so small. They were both overly aware of their movements and those of the other person. “Really?”

“Liam and I built this together when we got here. That’s why it’s not-so-sturdy. But he never really came up here. It was mine. I came up here to be alone and think.”

“It’s nice for that.”

“It is. And I want you to share it, too. You’re welcome any time. If you ever need some time to yourself, just know it's here. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thank you, Killian.” She hoped that thank you said much more than just the simple words themselves; she really hoped her true appreciation for the gesture came across. Emma was happy with Ingrid and Arthur, but it could still be overwhelming sometimes. She wasn't used to the whole family thing, and it could be a little suffocating never really being on her own anymore. And when school starts, she could picture herself coming up into that shaky treehouse to read or do homework. Emma looked at her friend to find he'd turned his attention back to the fireworks. She followed his lead, jumping in surprise slightly when he spoke again.

“And I’ll get rid of the sign.” They both laughed and watched the fireworks together. Emma felt entirely content sitting there with Killian. She was comfortable with his company. Something about the fireworks made her time with Killian in that treehouse even more special that night. And if Killian intertwined his fingers with Emma’s, well, he could say he was caught up in the magic. ----- “Okay, guys, last game of the summer. Make it a good one.” Killian glanced around the team huddled in a circle around him. The expressions on all their faces were somber, though they all seemed to be doing their best to hide it. It was the last day of summer before school started up, and while this was far from the last game they’d play even that week, the mood just changes with the start of school.

Killian nodded for the group to break and head to their spots on the field, and they did on his cue, like clockwork. “Swan! Over here. You’re batting first today.”

Emma stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“You improved our team this summer. You should bat first in the last game of summer.”

“Go for it, Swan.” Will gestured toward home plate. “It’s an honor. Jones doesn’t let us bat first in a game like this.”

Not finding the words, Emma nodded and switched places with Killian, who gave her a wink as they passed each other.

Emma took her stance at home plate and adjusted her new baseball cap to block out the sun. She pulled the bat up over her shoulder and braced herself for the pitch. Emma focused on the feel of the bat on her shoulder, the tight grip she had on the bat, and the ball headed her way. She heard the crack of the bat before she registered she hit the ball, and she looked in her hands to find the bat had shattered. The ball fell as the team stared.

“Whoa, Swan,” Will came over to inspect the bat himself.

“We’ve been playing with the same bat all summer. I mean, it was bound to happen,” Emma stared at the frayed wood. She looked up to find Killian running over.

“That is pretty cool, Swan. Major league players do this to their bats.”

“I mean, it’s an old bat.”

“Nolan.” David jerked his head up to look at Killian. “Run home and grab your extra bat.” David nodded, dropping his mitt and literally running off the pitcher’s mound. “Swan, you should keep it.” He put his hand on hers on the bat.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” They lingered in each other’s space for a moment, until Killian cleared his throat and let his hand drop back to his side.

“Um, yeah. Okay.” She put the bat behind home plate and off the field.

“Alright, guys,” Killian addressed the rest of the team. “Break until Nolan gets here with the bat.” The boys left their places to talk amongst themselves.

“Killian,” Emma started. He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to come over after the game? I want to show you something.”

“Sounds great, Swan. I’ll tell Liam.” Killian ran over to his brother, then immediately back to Emma. “It’s a-go.”

“Cool.”

“Any clues to what you’re showing me?” His eyebrows bounced up and down with excitement. She laughed.

“It’s not that exciting for you. More for me.”

“It’ll be exciting for me then.”

Emma shrugged. “We’ll see.”

When they looked up, David was running back to the field, bat in hand, nearly out of breath. He handed the ball to Killian.

“Swan needs to run the bases first. She did get a home run after all.” Killian nudged Emma toward first base, and she flashed him a smile before taking off. It was a great start to the last game of summer, and the momentum lasted the whole game. They were even more carefree than usual, and the kids all played their hearts out.

----- When the team was sweating, partially sunburned, and could no longer keep the sun from their eyes, they called it a game.

“Well done, mates. Play this weekend?” Killian’s question was met with nods all around. Sneezy sneezed. “Have a great start to school, guys. Wish we could all be in the same classes.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sneezy added.

“Yeah,” Grumpy chimed in gruffly, kicking the dirt at his feet.

“Liam’s in his last year of school, you lucky bastard,” Scarlet slapped Liam on the back.

“Careful what you wish for, Scarlet. Senior year means college applications and SATs and AP classes. I might not be able to play as much as I could this summer.”

“Oi, don’t talk like that, Liam.” Killian’s voice was more defensive than he probably meant it to be.

“We’ll see, little brother.”

“Younger.” The team laughed.

“See you guys around?” Emma looked at her group of friends, not wanting to separate from them for the school year.

“We all go to the same school,” David told her, “so we’ll probably run into each other.”

“Cool.”

“Alright, guys. Go get ready for school.” Killian was anxious to get some time with Emma before they would be separated by grades at school. The boys all walked - not ran, for the first time all summer - back to their houses. Emma grabbed her shattered bat in one hand and Killian’s hand in the other and took him to her house.

She said a hello to her parents before taking Killian up to her room.

“Ready?”

“For what?”

“Ingrid and Arthur let me decorate my room, just like you said they would!” She was grinning ear-to-ear.

“Swan, that’s incredible! I can’t wait to see it!”

“Okay,” she bit her lip to keep from smiling even harder. “Here it is.” She opened her door to reveal her newly decorated room. She put her bat down behind her door and shifted her focus to her guest.

She got Starry Night sheets, just like she wanted. She had some pictures she drew framed and displayed across the walls, and her desk was covered in art supplies. The balls from the game they went to together were proudly sitting on Emma’s windowsill by her bed. But the coolest part of her room was the one wall in her room with no closet, no door, and no window. On that wall, she drew the sandlot. All her friends were represented. Killian stared in awe, eyes wide.

“Swan, that’s amazing.”

“I drew and painted it myself.”

“You’re so bloody talented. I knew you liked to draw, but this - this is something else.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the mural. Emma glanced over the details. She saw the moment Killian realized where he was in the painting. He was at home plate, hitting a home run, wearing a major league jersey with “Jones” written across the back. She had made his number his birthday. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, you are the best one on the team. It’s pretty accurate.” She shrugged even though he was still looking at her wall.

“How long did this take you?” He finally pulled his attention off the artwork and looked at the artist.

“I stayed up way past when I should have. I’m pretty sure Ingrid and Arthur knew, but they let me. I wanted to get it done before school.” She sat on her bed and watched Killian get closer to the wall to examine the details.

He laughed. “This is going to be on your wall forever.”

“I hope so.”

He turned around and joined her, elbows knocking together gently. He still could barely peel his eyes off the wall.

“This was the best summer of my life. I want to remember it.”

“You should be an artist.”

“I like keeping my art for fun.” He nodded in understanding.

“You’re…” he let out a breath “...incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Love it, Swan. I love it so much.”

“Thanks, Killian. This summer never would have been so amazing without you.” She looked at him. He was still looking at the wall.

“No, Swan.” He turned to look at her. “You’ve made this the best summer for me. Thank you. I found a best friend.”

“We both had pretty great summers, huh?”

“Aye. The best.”

“The best.” ----- While the group played together for many summers, Emma's first summer was the most magical. But as they continued their game for years, the kids grew up along the way.

David met a girl his first day of school that year, and the two of them started dating almost immediately.

Liam was working full-time while looking at colleges, but Emma could sense that he wanted something else.

The young teenagers grew into older teenagers, and the gang all got together for games even when school and jobs tried their hardest to separate them.

And Emma and Killian grew inseparable. As Killian got older, his brown hair darkened into black. He started to grow facial hair, which made him look much more his age as he matured. Emma loved the way his scruff was still brown, lighter than his hair, and she loved the red peeking through. But as she got closer to Killian and developed clear feelings for him, she knew she could never tell him and risk breaking up the group. For Emma, after having been sent back from foster homes one too many times she thought it was because of her, and Killian, whose father left his ailing wife and two sons to avoid criminal charges, the group was a comfort. This group of boys (and Emma) was solid. There was no danger of abandonment on the sandlot. They were a family. And to risk messing that up over a teenage crush just wasn't worth it in Emma's eyes. ------ The group spent a few more summers together, but eventually, they did all move away from the sandlot. Emma and Killian were the last to leave, actually. And this time, every time someone moved away, they didn't replace them. There was a permanent empty space where that person had been. The group remained a group, even after circumstances forced their separation.

Squints got contacts, so he no longer had to squint all the time. He actually ended up marrying Ariel, the lifeguard from that pool day. Turns out she admired the bravery of a teenager willing to do anything just to kiss her. They had a little girl and a little boy, and they spent every weekend at the pool.

Grumpy and Sneezy became miners, finding a group of five other men to work with even past retirement age. Grumpy ended up with a girl named Astrid, but they never married. It didn’t matter. She countered his grumpiness, and she called him Dreamy. Sneezy eventually found allergy medication that took care of his excessive sneezing, but the nickname followed him into mining.

Robin became a businessman at Mills Inc., eventually marrying his CEO, Regina. The two adopted a kid together, who Robin taught to play baseball, sandlot-style. Regina was dubbed “the Evil Queen” by Grumpy, a name that stuck with the rest of the group - as long as Robin wasn’t around, anyway. Roland Locksley is still young, but Killian claims he’s going to be an MLB pitcher one day.

Will stayed solo for much of his life, enjoying the single life until he became infatuated with a librarian who was tricked into coming to the bar Will frequented. After settling down with Belle, his life calmed down, too.

Liam joined the Navy - a lifelong dream. He rose to rank of captain before taking leave to spend time with a girl he met overseas. Liam, Elsa, and Killian spent every holiday together. Killian was there for every naval medal ceremony, and Liam was extremely highly decorated, so he and Killian saw a lot of each other despite the overseas distance between them.

David married his high school sweetheart. They got married their freshman year of college, and they had a baby not long after graduation. While Mary Margaret stayed home with their son, David went to the police academy and became an officer. He and Liam lorded their power over the group every chance they had. David's life ended up being fairytale perfect, and his son was Killian's biggest fan when, as predicted, he became an MLB player. Killian’s first team, the Mets, assumed he had a son because the wallpaper on his phone was little Leo Nolan, proudly wearing an official MLB Jones jersey.

Drafted right out of college to the Mets, Killian Jones moved to the city to play the game he loved. He and Emma had gotten close over the summers playing ball together. In fact, when Emma got into NYU, she and Killian decided to become roommates, seeing as NYU was exactly 24 minutes from Citi Field. Emma spent her days in journalism and sports management classes, and she attended every night game to watch Killian play baseball. It was Killian who encouraged her to take up journalism after reading one of her creative writing assignments - a written account of that first summer she spent with the group. In the big leagues, Killian started in left field, then moved to second base. Emma made signs and everything when she went to the games. And Killian made sure she kept drawing, letting her design their shared apartment.

The whole team went to every wedding, and they reunited every few years to play the occasional game of baseball in the sandlot, always picking up right where they left off. These games got larger and larger as all their families grew, and the sandlot became a place for everyone to catch up. Leo and Roland became friends, starting their own sandlot game with Eric and Ariel’s kids. They would all say the thing they were most proud to pass on to their kids was that sandlot. ------ Emma was terrified things would change when Killian got traded to the Pittsburgh Pirates. He had been slowing down in the game and striking out more, so the Mets were happy to trade him. And the Pirates were happy to sign him. However, PNC Park was way more than 24 minutes from where Emma and Killian shared an apartment.

But Killian had a contract, so with unshed tears threatening to spill, he hugged Emma goodbye in the airport with promises to “see you soon,” and, “hit lots of home runs for you.” Unable to hold back her own tears, she responded with a shaky, “you better,” and she kissed his cheek before they both turned away and went in opposite directions.

They had both known what was happening between them over the years, but they both individually decided that emotional involvement would hurt the game, so to speak. And both knew that if they turned back at this moment in the airport, they could never find the strength to walk away again. So they both went on, not looking back at the other. ----- He came to her graduation. He sat with the Swans, the foster family that decided to adopt her. After hugs from her parents, she turned to her best friend, both of them wearing matching beaming smiles.

“I'm so proud of you, Swan.” They moved in simultaneously to hug each other, the reunion long overdue. Between classes, a job, and her internship, Emma didn't even know what free time felt like anymore. And Killian was busy as part of the main lineup for the Pirates, as well as with his nice promotion to shortstop, where he excelled. But between home games, away games, training, practice, and workouts, he spent his free time sleeping. He never got used to switching time zones so often.

But all that was forgotten as the two hugged outside NYU’s stadium. Diploma in one hand, Killian took Emma's other hand as they walked behind the Swans to their car before a celebratory dinner in Emma's honor. And throughout the night, she just kept thinking how much it felt like old times. ----- “And up to bat is Pirates number 2, shortstop Killian Jones. He may be new to the Pirates, but he’s already changed the way this entire team plays. No other man could take a near-last place team and turn them into a World Series contender. What a huge loss for the Mets, trading the league’s star player when he was only in a bit of a rut.” Emma smiled to herself, proud of her best friend for everything he’s accomplished. He looked up at the media suites as he exited the dugout and practiced a couple swings. She knew he couldn’t see her, but the fact that he knew she was there made her borderline giddy. She would swear she saw him wink her way as he strutted to the left side of home plate. “And the man himself steps up to the plate,” Emma announced.

The pitch was thrown, and Emma watched Killian jerk backwards to avoid being hit by the 94-mile per hour fastball.

“And the pitch will be taken as a ball.” Emma let out a sigh of relief as she looked down and confirmed he wasn’t hit. Away from the microphone, she muttered, “jeez. You don’t have to try to take him out.” The radio reporter next to Emma laughed at her murmuring, sending her a knowing look. Emma flashed the reporter an appreciative smile as she sat up again to reach the microphone.

“And the second pitch,” she paused as Killian hit the ball impossibly high, but into the stands behind him, “will be taken for a foul. Strike one.” Sitting back as the pitcher and Killian prepare for the next pitch, she whispered to herself, quieter than before as not to be overheard again, “c’mon Killian. You’ve got this.”

When Killian stepped back up to the plate, Emma straightened her posture and got ready to get back to her job.

“The score is 4-3, the tying run is at first, two outs, and the count is 1-1 at the bottom of the 11th. A place in the World Series is at stake. Jones steps up to the plate, and this pitch is again taken as a foul. The count is now 1-2 for Pirates’ star player, shortstop Killian Jones.”

Killian took another step back and took a few practice swings. Emma held her breath as the next pitch soared straight into the zone, only to be met by Killian's bat. He followed through on the swing and watched as the ball flew.

“Jones hits the ball. And it's going, going, still going, gone,” Emma screamed into the microphone. “Goodbye home run!” Emma smiled and laughed along as the entire media suite cheered. As Killian finished rounding the bases, she took her seat again. “And Jones gets both the tying and winning runs home with an impressive home run. That's the ballgame. The final score is 4-5 Pirates after 11 innings of gameplay.” She paused so the excitement could build. “And the Pirates are going to the World Series!”

The crowd had been cheering consistently since Killian's home run, but the idea of a World Series run made the people in the stands scream even louder.

“Thanks for joining us at PNC Park tonight. We hope you'll see you soon. Drive safely everyone.” And with that, Emma's job was done. She sat back in her swivel chair as Killian signed some baseballs, mini-bats, and hats from some fans in the stands before heading to the locker room to, no doubt, shower. Emma couldn't go without seeing him, so she checked her phone while fans filed out of the stadium. The radio and tv announcers around her all left before her, and she acknowledged each of their departures as they left.

Hoping she wouldn't get kicked out for being there so late, she snuck down to the field and wandered over to home plate. Standing next to the plate, she took in the night sky in front of her, the stadium’s blinding lights still on.

“So, Swan, first woman to announce a Major League Baseball game live. I knew you could do it.”

Emma jerked around when she heard him. She couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face.

“Although, I don’t know why you went to university for journalism all those years when you were perfectly capable of calling a baseball game at 15.” He paused for a moment before adding, “still impressive nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m no shortstop for the Pittsburgh Pirates.” Emma watched Killian’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. Her gaze dropped to her shoes in the dirt as she pretended not to be affected.

Apparently, he had the same goal in mind. Avoiding the topic on both their minds, he said “I know I made you work extra tonight. Sorry about that, by the way.” He adjusted the strap of his gear bag.

“Yeah,” she fiddled with the ends of some of her hair that fell over her shoulder. “You know I don't get paid extra for extra innings, right?” She teased. He laughed.

“I really am proud of you, Swan. They started you on a really high-stakes game.” He paused. “And they really should pay you extra for those two innings.” They shared timid smiles, making it known to each other that they were both aware of their connection and both unsure whether to acknowledge it.

“I could never have gotten here without you. All those years ago, you took a chance on a teenage girl who didn’t even know how to play catch.”

Killian shrugged, but the meaning behind his words was anything but casual. “I just introduced her to the greatest game in the universe. She did the rest on her own.” Emma could see the pride in his bright blue eyes - pride for her.

“You know, PNC Park is a lot bigger than the sandlot.”

“Aye. That it is.”

“You certainly seem right at home.” Killian shrugged again, the tips of his ears tinged light pink. “Think you’ll stick around on the Pirates another season?”

“I hope so. I like it here. And I quite fancy the Pirates’ new announcer.” He scratched that spot behind his ear, just like he used to do when they were teenagers. It was in this moment - looking at Killian and seeing the same kid from the sandlot - that she made her decision.

Emma smiled and replied, “good,” before reaching up and removing her baseball cap, tossing it behind her. She tangled her fingers in Killian’s hair, still wet from his post-game shower, and pulled his face to hers, though pull may have been an overstatement, as he went right along with it without complaint. The moment their lips touched was magical. It was better than playing baseball with fireworks as a light source. It was better than stealing home. It was better than hitting a grand slam. They pulled away for air, but they kept their foreheads pressed together. Her eyes were closed as he opened his and brought his fingers up to his lips, which were still tingling.

“That was…” Emma interrupted herself with a short laugh. She opened her eyes and her green ones met his blue ones. She bit her lip as he sighed in contentment and disbelief. Killian brought a hand to her cheek, caressing her face so his thumb landed in the dimple in her chin.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re killing me, Swan.”

#fallforcs #fallforcaptainswan #fallforcs 2018 #you're killing me swan #the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt #classiczebra #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #sandlot au #theonceoverthinker #sailingcaptainswan #thank you everyone #i hope you loved it

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spartanguard · 7 years ago

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chasing gold

captain swan figure skating AU. I started plotting this years ago, but the Olympics paired with the discovery of Hubbell and Donohue finally gave me the push to finish it. I know I’m not the only one who’s done this, but I spent the last week consumed by this and had to let it out.

11k | rated PG, but coarse language | AO3

2018

Emma had to catch her breath, not for the first time this week. She was here—really here! All around her was the din of the crowd speaking countless languages, the chill air of the rink, and that iconic five-ringed logo. As she stared at it where it was painted at center ice, she pinched herself through her bejeweled costume.

The dream had finally come true. She was competing in the Olympics. This wasn’t even the first time she’d taken the ice here—the third occasion out of three, actually—but there was some truth to the saying “saving the best for last”—or at least, the most important. They were minutes away from taking the ice in the pairs’ free skate competition, sitting in second place with the gold medal easily within grasp.

It was hard to believe that not even two years ago, there was a moment when this all seemed impossibly out of reach. But honestly, that made this all the sweeter, and she wouldn’t have it any other way, or with any other partner at her side.

2016

"Bastard!" Emma shouted, slamming her hand against the locker. "That no-good, fucking bastard!"

"Emma, calm down."

"How am I supposed to calm down? How can he do this, on the day we're supposed to start training again?"

A text. That was all she'd gotten from Neal to let her know that it was over. They'd skated together for 7 years, won two US championships, and just finished 4th at Worlds. They were already a favorite to medal at the PyeongChang Olympics, even if that was a couple years away.

But just like that, he leaves her for another skater, Tamara something-or-other. Saying that he's "only thinking of his future" or some bullshit.

"This is bullshit!"

What no one else knew was that he wasn't just leaving her as a skating partner; he was leaving her altogether. They'd kept their romance on the down-low, even from Ingrid, their coach; so this was a double crowbar to both knees.

"Emma, we'll figure it out." How Ingrid could keep her cool right now, Emma couldn’t understand, but she supposed that was why some called the woman “the Snow Queen.”

Unable to deal with the rage-fueled adrenaline coursing through her body, Emma stormed out of the locker room toward the ice. (Of course she already had her skates on by the time he bothered to text.) She barely registered Ingrid's shouts of "Emma, wait! Be careful! You could hurt yourself!" as she took to the fresh, frozen plane.

After a few warmup laps at breakneck speeds, she did a few spins before heading into jumps; that was usually how she worked off anger. First, a couple axels, then into toe loops; she nailed a few doubles before she realized she was being watched. She and Neal weren't the only ones who trained in Storybrooke, but she'd never seen this dark-haired guy here before. Whatever. Let him watch.

She continued on through salchows and flips before working on her loops. After landing a particularly nice one, the stranger began to applaud. She rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Trying to practice here."

"I see that, love. And doing quite well you are."

She glanced over at the man, registering the familiar accent and not sure how she didn't recognize him in the first place: Killian Jones, the poster boy of figure skating. It was said that no one could resist his combination of blue eyes, scruff, and skating skills.

But Emma just gagged. Ugh. He was the last person she wanted to see today.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, hands on hips as she came to a stop in front of the boards he was leaning over (and kicking up extra snow in frustration).

“It’s nice to see you too, Swan,” he replied, far more polite than she felt like being. He was right, that it had been a while since they’d seen each other—not since his last partner (and girlfriend), Milah Gold, had tragically died of an aneurysm in practice a few years ago and he’d gone solo. And honestly, she was fine with that. She’d always gotten on well with Milah whenever they saw them in international competition, but Killian? Not as much, not with his cocky demeanor and the way he flirted with anything in a skirt and skates. It was too much like someone she was trying not to think about.

Apparently, the feeling was not mutual, and he continued to be a gentleman. “You skated fantastic at Worlds,” he commented.

“Thanks. You too.” Though he’d only been a singles skater for a couple years, he still managed to take 6th place for the UK. It was impressive. And she probably would have told him then, had she not been still avoiding him, while also spending every free moment either training or taking advantage of exploring her hometown of Boston with Neal. If only she’d known…

“Where’s Cassidy?” Killian’s innocent question broke her train of thought and soured her already-awful mood; she couldn’t even reminisce on what should have been a highlight of her career now without thinking of that yellow-bellied asshole.

“Fuck if I know,” she muttered. “Wherever he and his new partner are training.”

Jones’ eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Emma answered by staring at the ice and stabbing it with her toepick. “What a monumental arse.”

“Takes one to know one,” she spat back, without thinking. He visibly deflated at that, and she felt kind of bad. But only a little.

“Aye, you’re probably right,” he conceded, surprisingly genuine, as he stood up and grabbed his skates from the bench behind him. “Right then, I’ll leave you to it. I’m training here now, so...see you around.” And he took off without another glance.

As she watched him walk away, part of her screamed to apologize; her shit mood didn’t have to become his. But the other part—the part that was angry and was okay with feeding that anger, at least for today—reminded her that she didn’t need Killian, or Neal, or any guy. Maybe she could try her hand at singles, too—that was how she started way back when, right? As long as she was skating, what did it matter?

Turned out, it mattered a lot. Ingrid fully supported her rash decision to give singles a try, even if Emma hadn’t skated on her own since high school. Her friend Elsa, who trained with her and Ingrid in Storybrooke (but skated for Norway), was right on board and giving her tips. But after only a week, Emma felt a sense of loneliness sink in that she hadn’t felt since she was a kid in a group home. The ice just felt too empty with no one else there. She tried to find some sort of empowerment in that—be the one to fill it up, or some other cheesy endearment—but she knew it wasn’t that. It just felt...off.

But she’d be damned if she admitted it. Emma Swan didn’t give up. That’s why she was here, at the rink at 10 on a Tuesday night, trying her damnedest to get her triple toe loop. She would need that if she wanted even a hope of succeeding on her own. But she couldn’t get that last half rotation, and she was pretty sure it was just mocking her now every time she came down facing the wrong way.

“You need to start lower.”

She nearly had a heart attack at the man’s voice; she’d been certain she was the last one in the building (they’d given her a key years ago). Turning to face it, she found Killian, in the same place he’d been last week, wearing the same smirk.

“Excuse me?”

“If you want that extra half rotation, you need to start lower; bend your knee more.”

She tilted her head to assess him. Was he actually trying to help, even after the way she treated him last week?

He apparently took her confusion to mean she didn’t understand the instructions, and took that as an invitation to hop on the ice—the fact that he was even still wearing his skates surprised her, but probably not as much as it should have. He glided over, stopping gracefully to stand alongside her. “Show me your takeoff.”

“Why?” was all she could say.

“Humor me,” he answered with a wink. She rolled her eyes but did as asked, pushing off and away from him to go into her jump prep, and he watched her, critiquing, if the furrow of his brow told her anything. Was he trying to make fun of her?

“Hold it right there,” he commanded, and she held the pose until she lost her momentum and was just standing on the ice with one leg extended behind her while he skated over. “See, you’re not bending deep enough to get the height you need. See how low I get?” he asked, going into a similar pose. “I know my legs are longer, but try to match this angle.” She bit back the urge to protest and complied, bending her knee just a bit more. It felt odd, but not unachievable. He stood and directed her to “Go on; try that.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye; just what was he trying to do? It wasn’t unheard of for skaters to help each other out, but unsolicited? To be fair, though, she hadn’t turned him away yet, so it couldn’t hurt to try. She took off again, skating in an arc around the rink, and began the prep for the jump, going just that bit lower before bringing her toepick down for liftoff...and there it was: a perfect triple. She was so astonished that despite the flawless landing, she fell right over.

“Woah! You alright?” He was in front of her in an instant, hand extended to help her up. She took it and let him help haul her to her feet, but she must have stood up too fast because suddenly, she was in his (very firm, very nice) arms. “Did you hit your head or anything?” He seemed genuinely concerned—that was a surprise.

“Yeah, yeah—I’m fine. Just shocked I landed it,” she brushed off with a chuckle. It felt good, but it sounded almost hollow, the slide of her lone blade on the ice. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be—or maybe it was just time to call it a night.

“How about we take one together? That might make it be less shocking,” he suggested.

She was a bit too caught up in her enthusiasm over getting it to think much about his offer, but she took him up on it without second thought. They broke apart, and then he counted them down from three to start.

On “one,” they skated away in tandem, steps nearly in sync. He called out “prep,” and they did the same steps to start the jump. And on “go,” they leapt, rotated, and landed almost perfectly and very nearly at the same time, blades hitting the ice within milliseconds of each other and cutting congruent curves in the surface.

It felt even better than the last. She let herself slide backwards into the boards, almost overcome with how great that jump had been. It felt like when she had been back in her peak a few months ago, but somehow even better.

Killian came to a rest next to her. “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan,” he started, nodding at their matching paths in the ice, “but I think we make quite the team.” He winked, and then pressed his arms against the edge of the boards to skate back to the rink exit, but his words lingered.

Maybe he wasn’t the “monumental arse” she thought he was.

She found him early the next day near the entrance to the locker room. “First off, I’m sorry I called you an asshole last week.”

He shrugged. “I probably deserved it.”

She wasn’t going to argue, so she took a breath and moved onto her next point. “And I think you were right. Let’s be a team.”

A slow smile took over his features. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

2018

While waiting for the okay to enter the ice and hearing the audience cheer for the previous pair, Emma felt a dark, warm presence at her side. Killian wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight.

“You alright there, Swan?” he whispered, his warm breath on her ear a sharp contrast to the chill of the arena that sent a shiver down her spine—though, she’d had to stop denying that it was only his breath that had that effect on her.

“Never better,” she answered honestly. How could she be anything but? She was about to compete for a medal with the man who had become her best friend over the last two years. Sure, there’d been plenty of ups and downs, both literally and figuratively, but despite what she’d once thought, she couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

“Shall we, then?” He stepped aside and held his hand out to her, ever the gentleman.

“Let’s do this.” She grabbed his hand, shivering again at the sparks she felt whenever they touched, and they made their way toward the entrance to the ice.

2016

Whatever nerves Emma had before her first day training with Killian, they quickly melted. Well—maybe not that quickly, in the grand scheme of things, but for Emma: pretty damn fast. She didn’t trust easy, especially with her recent history.

When they first started attempting lifts together, there was a learning curve on both ends. For Emma, Killian was just enough taller than Neal that she was freaked out by how high she was. Conversely, Emma was just enough shorter than Milah that Killian wasn’t used to lifting anyone smaller, and may have pulled her up quicker than expected. Needless to say, the first lift—and the third, and the seventh, and the tenth—ended with both of them on the mats of the training center.

After yet another fall, Killian frustratedly barked out, “Perhaps you should try something new, Swan. It’s called trust.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t throw me in the air like a rag doll!”

Thankfully, Ingrid was there to mediate, as was Killian’s longtime coach, Smee. And the first time they executed a clean lift, it felt better than Emma could have even expected. When he easily flipped her down from it, as if they’d done it a million times before, she was relieved to see that his grin matched hers.

Partnered jumps and throws had a similar learning curve, but Emma was trying—damn, was she trying. She was determined to make this work, and she could tell by the fierce set of Killian’s eyes and jaw that he was, too. At least spins came easy; those felt like they’d been doing them as a pair for years with how naturally they fit together.

Overall, it was a better start than she expected. Most people didn’t change partners like that in such a quick time span and have anywhere near the success they were achieving. They knew they still had a ways to go, and a lot to prove—the announcement of the partnering switchups was met with mixed reviews by the skating community at large, and Killian would have to sort out his citizenship to skate for the US—but if the excited glint in their coaches’ eyes was anything to go by, they were on the right path.

She was still reeling from Neal’s betrayal, though, even if she refused to acknowledge she was. Throwing herself into practice was the easiest way to take her mind off of it, but every now and then, she’d hit a familiar pose or come out of a side-by-side jump and expect to look over and see Neal there, but he just...wasn’t. He was gone, like so many other people in her life had been. So it was nothing against Killian, but she was very hesitant to let another person in who had the potential to do that, both from a skating and a personal level.

Killian, however, wasn’t abiding by that. She could sense his growing frustration with her when they were practicing late into the evening, both determined to get their twist lift right. But Emma had a mental block on adjusting to Killian and kept bungling it, whether it was under rotated or lacking height, and forcing Killian to catch her in odd positions that sent them to the ice more than once.

“One more time, I can do it,” she insisted, sitting up from where they’d wiped out to give it another go.

From his seat on the ice, he grabbed her wrist to keep her in place. “No. Hold up—we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she brushed off, pulling her wrist free.

“I know this is new to both of us, Swan, but at some point, even though we’re quite different, you’ve gotta trust me.”

“That’s what you think this is about? That I don’t trust you?”

“Is that not it?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Then why won’t you let me in?”

Everything she’d been avoiding focusing on for weeks now came bubbling up. “Because everyone leaves me. My parents abandoned me as a baby; I spent my first 6 years shuffled from home to home in the foster system because no one wanted me; and it wasn’t until I found skating and Ingrid that I found any sense of belonging. And then I spent the last 7 years working with a man who promised to be there with me, who made plans with me, only for him to leave me at the drop of a hat, break my heart, and remind me that even if people know my name, I’m still the same little lost girl I’ve always been. Everyone I love leaves me, and I can’t take that chance with you, too.”

“You think you’re the only one with a sob story here, Emma?” His voice was laced with anger; it took her by surprise. Most people reacted to her story with sympathy or pity, but Killian wasn’t having it. “My mother died when I was a boy, father left not long after, and then my brother gave up everything for me to have the chance to skate, until he died. And then I found a partner, a woman I loved, and she died in my arms, too. I never thought I’d share the ice with someone again—that I’d be able to move on from her. Yet here we are. So don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

He didn’t even give her a chance to respond before standing and tearing away, exiting the ice and disappearing toward the locker room, leaving her speechless where she sat. That was a lot to take in, and explained so much about him.

And he was right—he was totally right. She knew she hid herself behind emotional walls; it was one of the first things she could remember learning how to do. Few people had broken through them, and they usually ended up just building them thicker, like Neal. Killian obviously had his own, but he was clearly willing to make a window in them for Emma; the least she could do was the same.

A clunking noise pulled her from her racing thoughts. Killian was back in the arena, on the other side of the wall, setting two beer bottles on top of it. Confused, she got to her feet and skated over. “Pretty sure they don’t allow booze on the ice.”

“Who’s here to stop us?” he asked rhetorically and took a sip. It was true; once again, they were the only people in the building. So she took the other bottle and followed suit. “Let’s face it, Swan: we’re both broken and beat up in our own ways, and the whole world is just waiting for us to fail. If we’re not on each other’s side, then who else will be?” He punctuated his question with an arch of his eyebrow.

How he always managed to get to the center of a situation was impressive, and she’d probably get tired of it someday, but right now, she couldn’t help but agree. “So it’s us against the world?” she offered, tilting her bottle towards him.

“Cheers to that,” he answered, clinking the lip of his beer with hers. And as they drank in companionable silence, something settled between them—an understanding of sorts, and for some reason, she felt more confident than she thought she had a right to feel. And for the first time in weeks, she was truly excited.

From then on, things started to click. They weren’t perfect, of course—there were always going to be falls when trying new things, and technique was constantly under scrutiny—but they were able to figure out how to fix issues faster through more open communication and their discovered sense of camaraderie. Emma quickly figured out that the cocky demeanor she’d known in the past was merely a front for a man who was constantly worried with being good enough and expected the most of himself and everyone around him. As it turned out, he’d long had a similar misguided opinion of her: that she was stiff and humorless, when in actuality she’d had to be to counter Neal’s distractedness and lack of focus. With Killian, that was never a problem, so she was able to loosen up and have a bit more fun with her skating.

And just like that, everything fell into place. Killian’s citizenship was granted—his years of training in Michigan counted towards the residency requirement—and they were cleared to skate for the US. Their programs started to come together and were equal amounts fun and challenging. They played it a bit easy when it came to scheduling competitions, electing to not do the Grand Prix this year, but were still invited to a couple events and figured those would be good chances to get in some international competition.

It had been a long time since Emma had been this excited to skate. Obviously, she’d loved it when she was with Neal, but it had always felt a bit more like a job with him. With Killian, she was rediscovering her love of the sport through his own passion and enthusiasm. That didn’t mean that every day was new and exciting and fun, but a hell of a lot more of them were.

Even Elsa noticed it. “You seem a lot happier lately,” she observed one night while they were watching TV in their apartment. “This change has been good for you.”

“Yeah, it really has,” Emma agreed, surprising herself a bit. There were still plenty of moments when Neal’s rejection stung bitterly—he had never replied to any of her messages asking to talk about things—but the closer they got to competition, the fewer those were.

October brought their first competition, Skate America in Detroit. It also brought a return to Killian's old training center for practices leading up to the event. In the hallway outside the locker rooms hung all the pictures of the champions who had trained there in the past; near the end, in a large frame, were Killian and Milah with their bronze medals from the Vancouver olympics. He looked younger then, his face cleanshaven and hair neatly styled. He was even wearing a crewneck top; a far cry from the chest hair-baring V-necks he preferred now. But that sparkle in his blue eyes was still there, and she’d noticed it more and more lately.

She heard him coming down the corridor, waving goodbye to yet another person he knew here. It was definitely a homecoming of sorts for him—everyone greeted him warmly, told them they missed him, and wished him well. The two of them had never discussed why he moved to Storybrooke, and after just a day here, she found her curiosity needed to be sated.

“I’ve got to wonder why someone would leave a place where he was so loved,” she lightly teased as he arrived at her side, but they both knew, given her childhood, that it was a serious question.

He stared up at the picture and sighed. “That’s exactly why, actually. I needed to not be the center of attention anymore,” he answered, more honestly than she’d expected. “All eyes were on us here in Detroit at all times, and even when they were just on me, it still felt like they were on both of us.”

“Skating with a ghost?” she pondered aloud. Seeing this—a reminder of what he’d lost—every day couldn’t have been easy for him; it hadn’t been for her that week after Neal left, and his departure was at least voluntary.

“Something like that,” he agreed quietly.

“I think I know what you mean.”

The week and competition went by in a blur after that. As it turned out, Neal and Tamara weren’t doing any Grand Prix events, which had relieved Emma to no end. Instead, she got to focus on reconnecting with her American teammates, Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, and their former teammates Regina Mills and Robin Locksley, who now skated for Robin’s (and Killian’s) home of the UK.

“So they traded you for me?” Killian quipped to Regina, drawing a rare laugh from her, to Emma’s surprise, but she was glad that he fit right in with everyone. It was so nice to hang out with all of them in between practices and competition events; Emma didn’t realize how much she had needed that social connection within the activity right now, and knowing they were there supporting her and Killian meant more than she could express.

They were nervous before their short program (“Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen—hey, it was fun!) and had a couple minor slips, but nothing major, and the crowd reaction was incredible. Their free skate, set to music from The Princess Bride, didn’t go quite as well—they both made mistakes on an assisted jump, resulting in Emma falling—but overall were pleased with their performance and managed to finish 6th. For a first competition for new partners, that was almost unheard of.

At Skate Canada, two weeks later in Mississauga, they skated even better, saw their score jump 10 points, and finished fourth—ahead of Regina and Robin. And suddenly, they were the buzz of the skating world—no one could believe how well they were doing and how well they skated together; everyone thought it looked like they’d been partners for years instead of months.

More than a few speculated that there was something else going on behind the scenes, but they just laughed at that. Entering a new partnership was one thing; entering a new relationship—given their respective histories—was another thing entirely. Yeah, Killian was hot. But he also had figured out just how to push her buttons when he felt like it, so no matter how good of friends they became, or how much she’d come to rely on his support, she doubted it would ever go past that, or that he’d even want it to.

Competing in Skate America gave them a bye through the New England regional, but they still had to compete in the Eastern sectional competition to attend US nationals. That was where they took their first win, on the ice at Madison Square Garden, with their cleanest run yet. They both could list a million things they still needed to work on—their spin timing still needed some cleaning—but a victory was a victory.

Emma didn’t think a thing of it when she threw her arms around Killian after their free skate score was announced, and he didn’t hesitate to pull her in tight. Long gone was that initial animosity, but that was still their first real hug—not just one for show as part of a routine. It didn’t hit Emma until much later that that was the case—or that she actually quite liked the feeling of his arms around her like that.

They buckled down on training in preparation for Nationals, save for the few days they took off for Christmas. With Elsa back in Norway with her family, it ended up just being her and Killian left in Storybrooke, watching holiday movies and eating frozen pizza in his small house by the sea. It should have been lonely, considering neither of them had any actual family to spend time with, but it was surprisingly nice to hang out with him outside of practice. And it had been ages since she laughed so hard, listening to him talk about his childhood antics.

“So I pulled his pants down and skated away as fast as I could, jumping over a fallen classmate in the process and somehow managing to stay perfectly upright.”

“And that’s how Killian Jones got into skating? Being a little asshole?” Emma teased through her laughter.

“Pretty much,” he shrugged with a smirk. “It was that or hockey, but Liam thought I got in enough fights already.”

“Sounds like,” she agreed, chuckling.

“And how did little Swan find her way out of the nest and onto the ice?”

“Oh, the usual: saw the Olympics on TV and fell in love. Oksana Baiul left quite an impression.”

“Better her than Tonya Harding.”

“Definitely,” she giggled (god, when had she last done that?) “But it wasn’t until Ingrid became my foster mother that I really got started; I wouldn’t be here without her. And after that, it was all I ever wanted: to compete at the Olympics and win a medal.”

Killian gave her a soft little smile she had never seen before; she kind of loved it. “We’ll get you there yet, Swan.”

His assurance did more for her confidence in attaining her dream than a week’s worth of practice.

Mid-January found them in Kansas City in the middle of the chaos of Nationals. It was nothing compared to world championships, of course, but there was still a level of insanity and a new set of nerves settling in. Because this was the first time they’d go up against Neal and Tamara, who’d posted similar scores to them at their sectional competition. But mainly, Emma wasn’t sure she could face him.

She spent the week making sure they wouldn’t cross paths anywhere: not in practice, not in the hotel, and as little as possible at the competition venue. But just before the short, as she and Killian came off the ice from their warmup, she got a glimpse of him that set her heart racing and froze her in place.

Ever perceptive, Killian pulled her from her raging thoughts and feelings—asking herself why she was even there, how did she think she could go up against him?—with a gentle squeeze on her wrist and “You alright, Swan?”

His warm hand on her skin brought her back to reality, and reminded her who was at her side now. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“Alright then. Let’s go kick some ass.”

They skated almost clean; just a couple missed edges and Emma wobbled a bit coming out of their side-by-side triple toe loop. But when it was all said and done, that was enough to set them in third after the short, with David and Mary Margaret in second and Neal and Tamara in first.

She forced herself to wear blinders the next day; anything outside her and Killian didn’t matter. Even in warmup before the last round of competition, when she was actually sharing the ice with Neal for the first time in almost a year, her energy was completely directed on their performance. And it paid off: they set a personal best score in the free skate and claimed the silver medal, ensuring they would go on to represent the US at Worlds. Neither she nor Killian could keep the grins off their faces, and she was starting to think she might do anything to keep his there permanently; the way it cut dimples into his gingery scruff was absolutely adorable.

After the medal ceremony, during which she had pointedly ignored that they were standing next to Neal and Tamara, they stepped down to exchange congratulations with the other competitors and friends and she somehow got separated from Killian. She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned, expecting it to be him, but no—Neal.

Instantly, her mood soured. “Congrats,” she offered half-heartedly.

“You too,” he said, though there were clearly other things on his mind.

“Spit it out, Neal. Why did you come over here?” After what you did hung unsaid but understood.

“Just...it didn’t take you long to move on.”

She felt her hackles rise. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You didn’t even wait a week, huh? Or did you just throw yourself at the next man who gave you any attention?”

“You’re the one who left me and you’re trying to lecture me about how fast I found a new partner?”

“You just can’t stand being alone, is all. I thought I’d be doing you a favor, leaving, but I guess not.”

“Fuck you.” She didn’t waste another moment talking to him and immediately skated to the exit, ignoring the varied shouts she heard of her name behind her on her path back to the locker room. Thankfully, it was empty, and she collapsed on a bench—and then let the tears roll free.

How dare he. How dare that asshole even look at her! She was finally to the point that she wasn’t reminded of him at every turn and then he had the nerve—the gall—

“Emma, love, what’s wrong? What happened?” Killian was suddenly kneeling in front of her, hands tracing a comforting line up and down her biceps when she looked up at him with her swollen eyes.

“Neal,” she coughed out, and that was all she could say before emotion took over her again. In just one interaction, he’d reduced her back to that little orphan girl who felt so unloved and alone in the world, and she hated that he had that power over her.

“Shh, Swan, it’s alright,” Killian told her, voice barely above a whisper as he pulled her to his chest. She breathed him in deep, the warm, spicy smell of him she’d become so used to these past months, and managed to calm her breathing from within his sturdy embrace. “Whatever that bastard said, it’s not true. You are absolutely brilliant and no one can tell you otherwise.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, but she’d stopped crying.

“Look at me,” he commanded, guiding her back up and lifting her chin with his hand. She’d never seen him more serious. “Have I told you a lie?”

He’d figured out her instinct to know when people were being untrue pretty fast. And he was right—or, at least, he completely believed what he was saying. And that was enough for her. She shook her head.

“Right then.” He nodded and wiped her tears with his thumb, still holding her face and her gaze. And something shifted then, or maybe it sparked; a charge filled the air, and she found her eyes flitting down to his lips at the same time his made a similar move. The already-short distance between them became nearly nonexistent, as if they were pulled together by an invisible magnet.

And then their lips were on each others, soft and warm and like they should have been a million years sooner. Emma’s hand drifted to his side and the other somehow found its way into the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck. It was a moment that seemed to last forever.

Until she realized that she was kissing her partner in the women’s locker room at the Sprint Center—and honestly, wasn’t that what got her into this position in the first place? Oh, but it was such a good kiss. Reluctantly, she broke it, settling her hands on his trim waist and resting against his forehead.

“That was…” he started, breathless.

“...A one-time thing,” she finished. Because it had to be. Gently pushing him away, she directed, “Go on ahead. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“As you wish,” he murmured. Slowly, he stood and backed away; she couldn’t watch—couldn’t see the expression on his face as he left, because if it was anything similar to how she felt, she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to resist. And there was no way she’d let herself get involved with a teammate yet again.

But as she changed out of her costume and into her warmup clothes, she wondered if it might be too late for that.

2018

Side by side, Killian’s hand clenched tight in Emma’s, they approached the entrance to the ice and stopped to take their skate guards off. Behind the adorable little girl who was going to hold onto them while they performed, Neal and Tamara were coming out of the green room; they were on next, the last pair to skate.

Emma stiffened a bit at seeing them, and she could feel Killian do the same. Terse nods were exchanged, but that was all she let happen before turning her back to them and facing the ice. If she’d learned anything in the past year, it was that she didn’t need Neal anymore and was much better off without him, but he always managed to dredge up that old feeling of insecurity.

Killian knew what she was feeling, though, and squeezed her hand. “Hey—I’ve yet to see you fail,” he whispered, and that was enough to press back those tired thoughts. She smiled up at him; there was no one else she’d want to be doing this with.

“You ready?” she asked, excited.

“Aye,” he answered with a grin.

They stepped out onto the ice hand-in-hand to thunderous applause.

2017

As it turned out, Emma was pretty good at pretending like things never happened, and so was Killian. The events in the locker room in Kansas City never came up again in their next couple months of training for Worlds, and after another whirlwind week—this time in Helsinki—they found themselves in 4th place, just points behind Neal and Tamara.

Which, heading into an Olympic year, meant they were not only favored to medal in PyeongChang, but now found themselves in the midst of a rivalry. They couldn’t say they were surprised, given the situation, but it was kind of funny to see how the media was so quick to pit them against each other in an attempt to stir up interest.

However, she pointedly ignored the speculation that there was more going on between her and Killian. Every pair had that, and every pair had likely pursued that line of thinking at some point, but it actually didn’t happen that often. However, given their histories, the odds were a bit higher in their favor...which made Emma even more resolved to avoid those thoughts and feelings.

Killian made it hard for her, though. He was just so supportive and caring and passionate about what he was doing, and it hadn’t been until Nationals that it really sunk in how different he was from Neal, in all the best ways. Killian wasn’t just in this for himself; he wanted her to succeed as well, and not for his sake, but for her own. “Bloody brilliant, Swan,” had quickly become one of her favorite things to hear.

Once they got back into training for the next season, and started pushing themselves harder, it became even more evident that he was in this for the long haul. It wasn’t just an experiment anymore, and it really hadn’t been in quite some time: they were definitely a team, and completely on each other’s side. There was no way Emma was going to risk messing this up with something as silly as feelings.

She could fight through being hyper aware of his presence at all times. She could handle the heat of his hand on her waist every time they touched, as near-constant as it was. And she could totally stand that earth-shattering grin he gave her after each step forward in their Olympic journey, and the way it made her heart jump as high as she did when he threw her.

Well, maybe she did have a hard time resisting that one, but she’d certainly try. She had an Olympic medal to win, after all. Scratch that—they did.

They threw themselves into training, doing whatever they could to maximize their own potential and skills for the season ahead. They knew what they needed to work on to get an edge over the competition—not just Neal and Tamara, but globally. The Russian pair, siblings Ava and Nikolai, handily won Worlds, and the team from China, Mulan and Li, were just as incredible. There was no time for slouching if they wanted to reach the podium in PyeongChang.

Summer was nothing but ice time, dance class, and strength training, and getting an early start on planning their schedule and routines. Getting a quad jump would be the hardest part, but they were determined to bring that element in to get a competitive edge. They had some early success with it, but decided to hold off on adding it into their program until Nationals for a late boost in scoring.

Before they knew it, they were in Russia for the first Grand Prix event—the first in what would be an 8-week tour of the world, save for skipping the Cup of China to give themselves a week off and make any changes to the program they’d need.

Somehow, they drew the first performance slot in the short program. Emma hated going first, but Killian loved it, for some reason.

“The ice is totally clean and we get to set the bar for everyone else to reach. What could be more thrilling than that?” he effused, bouncing on his toepicks. She just shook her head and chuckled; he had the enthusiasm of a 5-year-old sometimes, and in moments like this, she let it carry her along.

A hush fell over the audience as they took their opening pose. She could feel her stomach start to turn with nerves but Killian, ever observant, just cocked an eyebrow at her and they all melted away just in time for the music to start. Besides, it was hard to do anything but have fun when the score to Pirates of the Caribbean was playing in the background.

As usual, Killian was right: they not only broke their own first-competition record from last year, but they set the highest score overall until Neal and Tamara performed almost at the end.

“Told you,” Killian smugly boasted as they left the kiss-and-cry area. She just elbowed him in response.

At the end of the day, they were third after the short program—Mulan and Li were there, too—and stayed there after a solid, but not perfect, run in the free skate. All in all, a good start. There was a slightly awkward moment when she crossed paths with Tamara in the locker room, but otherwise, the competition was without conflict.

Well, mostly. Killian seemed oddly pissed when he flopped down on his seat in the back of the van taking them to the airport. Right away, she asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Your ex is a bloody wanker, that’s what.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A dimple briefly appeared as he smirked, but quickly disappeared. “He was just going on and on about how he and Tamara had this season in the bag, and no one could touch them. That it would be smooth sailing from here to Korea and no one else stood a chance, least of all us.”

Emma’s mouth tightened to a thin line, but she wasn’t quite as angry as she expected to be—though she briefly wondered if Neal did that when they skated together. “He’s an idiot; just ignore it.”

“Oh, I know he was talking out his arse. Just makes me want to kick his all the more.”

“I can drink to that,” she agreed with a smile, putting one back on Killian’s face. (And drink to that they did at the airport bar.) They both knew Ingrid would probably admonish them for setting a target on Neal’s back, but honestly, it was just a stepping stone to the top.

And it paid off. The next weekend at Skate Canada, they actually edged ahead of Neal and Tamara in the short program. The other pair had an incredibly solid triple-triple combination in the free skate that made it hard to beat them, but if Emma and Killian could get that throw quad worked out, it would give them the boost they needed. They continued to practice it, but were just a hair shy on the rotation, enough that it would count against them in scoring.

The following weekend was their one break in Grand Prix season, and they decided to spend it training in PyeongChang. Obviously, they couldn’t use the Olympic facilities, but they managed to find a quiet rink nearby to practice in. It was nice to get away from everything and just focus on them; even in Storybrooke, there were always other skaters peeking in or needing the ice before or after them. They weren’t the only ones here in PyeongChang, but it was much quieter.

One evening after rehearsal, they found themselves wandering the city and ended up outside the construction of the Olympic stadium, where the opening and closing ceremonies would be held. It wasn’t quite done yet, but the lights that lit the scaffoldings around it already made it look magical.

“What’s it like?” Emma asked once they settled onto a nearby bench. She’d been through Worlds and was used to that kind of international competition, but the Olympics were a whole other thing. She might as well know what she getting into from someone who’d been there before, even if it was a while ago.

A small, wistful smile took over Killian’s face. “It’s...simply magical. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. The energy is incredible; the sense of camaraderie. There’s nothing like it.”

“Were you nervous?” Eight years is a long time, especially for a skater; he was almost always cool and collected now, but there had to be a point when he wasn’t.

“Oh, aye, couldn’t help but be. Even thinking about the potential of making these ones gives me butterflies,” he admitted, looking up from the ground to her. “But I knew I had the best person possible at my side, and I trusted her. That was enough.”

She swallowed at the sincerity of his words and the intensity of his gaze. Even if he was talking about Milah, she could pick up on his double meaning. But there was something else there—something she didn’t want to identify, so she looked away lest they have a repeat of Kansas City. They sat there for a few more minutes, until a text from Ingrid summoned them back to the hotel.

On the walk back, Emma’s fingers accidentally brushed against Killian’s, and that same old spark felt like a lighting bolt. She shoved her hands into her pockets and kept them there until she was in her room.

That week in PyeongChang was just what they needed to power through the rest of their Grand Prix schedule. They went back and forth with Neal and Tamara in scores—finally finishing ahead of them at the Internationaux de France—and never finished off the podium at any event. Their first gold medal was Skate America, which also marked their personal best score.

There was a week off of competition in between for Thanksgiving, for which Killian joined her, Ingrid, and Elsa for the first time. It had long been the ladies’ tradition and they were more than happy to bring him into it.

Elsa, however, saw another angle into it. While Ingrid and Killian were working in the kitchen, she cornered Emma. “So, when are you going to admit to yourself that you’re in love with him?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma answered coolly. It was well-rehearsed because she knew Elsa was going to comment on it at some point; she just figured it would be some random night at home instead of right before Thanksgiving dinner.

“You certainly do know! Did you forget that I live with you, Emma, and I had to watch you and Neal make out on the couch countless times.”

“Ugh, why are you mentioning him?”

“Because I remember how you looked at him, and I see how you look at Killian. You’re even more infatuated with Killian than you ever were with Neal.”

Elsa had an infuriating knack for pointing out the glaring truth at the most inopportune times, especially when it was something Emma was firmly trying to ignore or deny. But she was right: the intensity of her feelings for Killian, whatever they were, was far deeper than anything she’d felt for Neal, and it honestly terrified her. A quadruple axel scared her less, or whatever that made-up move was in Blades of Glory that killed a person. She may have let Killian in as a friend, but letting him in as more was something she wasn’t ready for yet.

Elsa continued, softly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want to pressure you. But maybe after you two win that Olympic medal, take him back to the apartment and shag him senseless, okay?”

“Elsa!!”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think he wanted it, too.”

They finished third in the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya. There was a rough spot on the ice that messed up Killian’s takeoff of their double axel in the short program and he ended up on the ice; Emma quickly helped him up and they finished the rest of it without flaw, as with the free skate, but that deduction was just enough to hold them back from overtaking Neal and Tamara in second. The Russians were practically untouchable, but the quad jump would put Emma and Killian in contention with them—if they could get it.

Success was coming much more often as they worked on it in the couple of months before Nationals, but Emma had the tendency to overthink it, and that was usually when she found herself facing away from Killian instead of towards—or worse, face-first on the ice.

It was another late night in the rink and they were there by themselves, much like that night months ago when they’d first struggled with these jumps and ended up spilling their life stories to each other. But this time, the animosity was gone, replaced with a mutual understanding—but there was still a sense of frustration.

After her last mess up, which left her splayed on the ice yet again, Emma just stayed down, mentally berating herself for her inability to get that last half rotation. She was doing everything right, wasn’t she? What was it missing? Or was she trying to force it too much?

Killian’s anxious voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Swan? Emma? Are you alright?” He was on his knees next to her, his hand gently shaking her back. She turned her head to look up at him and was surprised to see him panicking and biting his lip. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen with him, not by a long shot—but then she remembered what happened with Milah, and suddenly felt terrible.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she assured him, pushing up to sitting. “Sorry; didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Without warning, he pulled her into a hug. “Damn right, you’re sorry. I can’t lose you, too, Emma.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words as her arms wrapped around him. “I’m fine, I promise,” she murmured into his shoulder, and he squeezed her just a bit tighter. It reminded her of that night in Korea, of the heaviness of his words when she least expected it. It made her want more than she’d ever allow herself to.

If he realized what he’d admitted, he didn’t acknowledge it and broke away. She was relieved to see that his features had relaxed, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Just let the jump happen, Emma. You’re trying to force it too hard; I probably am, too. It’s there. Let’s just calm down and do it, okay?”

Her mind briefly traveled to other places on his use of “do it,” but she nodded and let him help her up to standing.

“Just imagine you’re a swan, Swan,” he joked, making her chuckle (and likely succeeding in loosening her nerves).

“I don’t think I’ve done that since I skated to Swan Lake when I was 10.”

“Good thing you got that out of the way early.”

“Oh yeah. And don’t get any ideas.”

Then they took a deep breath and went for it, letting the prep flow from them naturally. She let her feet fall into place, felt Killian grip her hips—just a tiny bit firmer than normal—and then her feet and his body were moving in tandem and she was flying, if only for a moment, twisting through the air and gracefully landing on one leg, looking back at him. He was grinning.

“What’d I tell you? I’ve yet to see you fail,” he shouted as he caught up to her. They did a few more for good measure, landing each one flawlessly.

Part of her couldn’t wait to see the look on Neal’s face when they landed that—but there was no way it could top her thrill at seeing Killian’s smile.

They planned to unveil the jump at Nationals in San Jose. The commentators were buzzing with the news that they had a quad planned for their free skate, and a clean short program had them sitting first headed into the final part of the competition.

Before they took the ice, Killian again was bouncing on his toepicks, but the way he was clenching his jaw betrayed his nerves.

“I’m guessing you don’t share the same feelings about going on last as you do about going first?”

“No, not quite.”

It was her turn to calm him down. “Hey,” she said softly, grabbing his shoulders and stilling him. “We’ve got this. Right?”

He exhaled quickly, as if trying to get the negative thoughts out of his body as fast as possible. “Aye, we do.”

“So let’s go kick some arse.”

He smirked. “Let’s.”

And they did—almost. But there was a different kind of energy and nervousness that came with performing last, and the crowd had cheered awful hard for Neal and Tamara before them. It didn’t faze Emma and Killian much, but enough to only do a triple instead of the quad. The rest of the skate went flawless, but that tiny miss left them ever so slightly behind.

Neal and Tamara took the title again, and Emma and Killian the silver, but only by a point and a half. The most important part, though, was that they were going to the Olympics.

“Are you ready for what comes next, Swan?”

“Hell yeah.”

2018

After a few independent warmup laps of the rink, Emma and Killian met again at center ice, taking their positions on top of those five rings. They wrapped their arms around each other and slid into their opening pose; the feel of his deep breaths against her did more to calm her than anything he could say, but she gave a quick squeeze of encouragement anyway and he did the same.

And then the opening notes of their free skate music, “The Words” by Christina Perri, filtered in, and they were off. All their training, everything they’d been working toward for months—years, even—was on the line, and it all flowed from them naturally and beautifully. Every jump, every lift, every spin felt perfect and organic. They’d had some flawless run-throughs in practice, but with the audience’s energy feeding them, it was something else entirely. Emma had never been one to shy away from pouring her heart into a performance, but that energy combined with her connection to the lyrics and how perfectly they mimicked her own feelings about her partner gave her all she needed to take it to another level. Based on the quiet energy in Killian’s eyes paired with the surety of his every move, she could tell he felt it, too.

And then came the quad. Like everything, they’d rehearsed it so many times, but nerves always threatened to come up. But then she thought of his ridiculous swan analogy and it worked. Time seemed to slow down as she rotated through the air, but then she was solidly back on the ground and her thoughts were drowned out by the audience seconds later. Yet all she noticed was the unstoppable grin on Killian’s face. God, she loved him.

She loved him? Oh, hell, she did. It probably wasn’t the ideal place or time to realize that, but she couldn’t deny it anymore. She loved him.

She couldn’t let that revelation ruin the rest of their program, though, even if not much was left at that point. But she made a point to relish every moment on the ice with him: she held him tighter, reached farther, and gave everything just that extra little bit of finesse that she could, down to the very last second, when she was back in his arms at center ice as the music came to its conclusion and the program ended.

In the background, she was vaguely aware of the audience on its feet. But nothing else registered but the incredible man in her embrace, who was shaking with emotion at the incredible skate they’d just had. She probably was, too, but the only thing on her mind was seeing his face. He pulled back a moment later, laughing with joy and tears brimming at his eyes and there were probably some in hers, too. And she kissed him. She fisted her hands in his dark shirt, tugged him back to her, found his lips, and poured every unsaid word and feeling into that connection. It was like time stood still again, and she could feel his shock as he stiffened next to her but instinctively held her tighter. She broke it before she got too lost in it—the whole world was watching, after all—but damn did it feel good; almost as good as that performance.

He stared at her a bit wide-eyed and slack-jawed for a moment, searching her eyes for an answer to his unasked question. She was an open book to him, she knew, and he quickly found it, but a slight nod said they’d talk about it in a moment. They had other things to finish first.

Whoops now accompanied the general cheering—especially from the performers’ sitting area, where their friends were going nuts (particularly Mary Margaret and Robin). As they took their bows, she knew that somewhere in the audience, Elsa was screaming and blowing up her phone with I-told-you-sos.

She found herself wiping tears from her eyes as she skated towards the ice entrance, completely overcome by everything. She’d just had the performance of her life with the man she loved. How did anyone handle that?

Suddenly, a single rose was in front of her, and a shyly smiling Killian behind it. Laughing—because she knew he’d picked it up off the ice—she took it, and he wrapped his arms around her as they stepped off the rink. Before they grabbed their skate guards, he pressed a firm kiss to her temple that she unconsciously leaned into. She could tell there were so many words on the tip of his tongue, but they were also anxious to get their scores and he was settling with that for now.

Ingrid and Smee were waiting with huge hugs and congratulations in the kiss and cry, but Emma didn’t miss the knowing looks they exchanged before they got there. Emma made sure to thank Ingrid for everything she’d done for her over the years and she knew a similar conversation was happening next to them. And then they settled into the plush chairs to wait for their scores. On an average day, that was almost as nerve wracking as just taking the ice; the feeling was tenfold now.

Finally, the announcer started speaking. “The scores for Swan and Jones of the United States…”

Killian grabbed Emma’s hand while the Korean announcer translated, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. He’d never done that before, but hey, what was another first today?

And then the number came up. Emma actually couldn’t remember it exactly, but all she knew was that it was not only their best ever, but also an Olympic record and had them in first by several points. They were guaranteed a medal—all she had come here to do (though, technically, they did already have a silver with Team USA, having taken first in the short program then). But, she had to admit, their proximity to the top had her desperately hoping they’d hold on to first.

Event workers quickly ushered them out of the kiss-and-cry and directed Emma and Killian to a green room, where cameras would be on them until Neal and Tamara got their scores. Mulan & Li and Ava & Nikolai were already in the room, so any conversation with Killian would have to wait. They greeted their competitors—who had all skated fantastic—and then settled on the loveseat in the middle of the room to watch the final performance on a large monitor.

Neal had a tense look on his face as the pair hit their opening pose, but Tamara seemed unfazed; good for her. Emma could already tell, from personal experience, that it was going to take Tamara keeping her cool for the pair to succeed—Neal had never done well under this kind of pressure.

They started smooth, and Emma could tell they both relaxed as they got going. This was really the first time she’d let herself watch them without figuring out how to beat them, and she had to admit: they fit together really well, better than she ever had with Neal. But not as well as she and Killian.

It was a nearly flawless skate, and Emma found herself getting a bit nervous. But then, on a side-by-side jump late in the routine, Neal missed a good chunk of the rotation—more than what was allowed by the judges. It was a common mistake of his, and he probably deserved it given the mouthing off and boasting he’d been doing. But that would hold them back a few points—points they had needed if they wanted to overtake Emma and Killian.

Killian’s hand found hers again as they watched the rest of the performance, and they wordlessly waited for Neal and Tamara’s scores; it was almost as stressful as waiting for their own.

Minutes seemed to drag waiting for the announcement, but finally, the numbers were up on the screen, and—it wasn’t enough. Neal and Tamara took third. Emma and Killian took gold.

She turned to Killian, breathless. “We did it. Oh my God, we did it.”

He was grinning again, making her heart race with both adrenaline and love. “I told you: I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She didn’t waste another moment to wrap her arms around him, and then everything set in and she just started crying and bouncing in her seat. Olympic gold. Olympic GOLD. What was her life?

A hand on her shoulder made her pull away; Mulan was there, offering congratulations, so Emma quickly stood to hug her and offer her own on their silver medal. The room just turned into a mess of friendly embraces and well wishes, and she knew more would await them outside, but once the other pairs left the room, she was quick to get back to Killian’s side.

He was still smiling, cheeks rosy with joy, and she held his face in her hands and wiped his own tear streaks away with her thumb.

“I need to tell you something,” she started, finally not scared of her own feelings.

“What’s that?” His face and voice softened, realizing the gravity of the moment.

Confidently, she answered, “I love you.”

“Do you actually mean that, Swan, or is it just because of all of this?” he lightly teased, gesturing around them.

“No, for real—I love you.”

“Good. I love you, too.”

And they kissed again, and she didn’t care if the cameras were on them or who could see. Let them watch. She’d just medaled at the Olympics with her best friend and she was going to celebrate how she saw fit.

Later, as the national anthem played and she stood on top of the podium, the wonderfully heavy weight around her neck had her reflecting on everything that had brought her there. This journey may have started off with a broken heart and a far-off dream, but it ended up bringing her gold and something even more precious than it: him.

(They kissed one more time for the crowd, under the flag and the lights. And then she finally took Elsa’s advice and took him back to her Olympic Village apartment. The rest was history.)

thanks to @optomisticgirl for beta’ing!!! tagging some other friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @flipperbrain @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @jackieorioncat

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs figure skating au #my ff #my manip

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thesundaymorningpost · 7 years ago

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The Sunday Morning Post

July 9, 2017 2nd edition

Current News:

@paxohana, beloved author of the now published Met by Accident is taking a hiatus. Having dealing with PTSD, Pax is taking a well needed, and deserved vacation. This is the message she left in her many loved stories on Ao3:

I just wanted to give everyone a head's up that I am taking a month off of writing and social media. Most know I'm going through an absolutely horrendous PTSD relapse that is ripping my mind to shreds. Add to that some callous and inconsiderate individuals in the YOI fandom that have left me speechless, I've decided it's time for a break.

I promise I'll be back and you'll have more content to read than you know what to do with. I need time for me or there will be no more content. No, that's not a death threat or a suicide promise. That's a Pax throws her hands in the air and simply walks away. I don't want to get to that point. So I'm going to get my mind under control and get back to my happy place. I'm going to re-evaluate what I will and won't do for this fandom. I'm going to think about the behavior I will tolerate from others, though that won't take long. All I ask is please don't leave. I am nothing without you guys. You've made me what I am and I want to continue the journey with you. If I come back and it's gone, there's nothing left to pick up. Please stick with me. It's only a month. So I wish you well and hope you enjoy your month. Viktor and Yuuri still have the play in Moscow along with other situations that may arise while they're there. Oh, and the flight back ;) I love you guys and I'm going to miss you, but I know you understand I need to make me better. ~Pax Her other works include, Bound to Please, Agent Twelve-Twenty Five, Inked, Sixty-Nine Degrees of Heat, and her most resent which gives us an inside look at depression, Darker shades of Grey. We wish her the best, and to do what she needs to heal. We all extend our love and well wishes for a fast recovery.

Story Recommendations:

Be My Chef, Yuuri by @n3rdlif343va (Yuri on Ice)

Mature rating

When 28-year-old Victor loses his parents and inherits his family's five-star restaurant, he learns that working for a living is much harder than he anticipated. That's when young, talented chef, Yuuri Katsuki unexpectedly arrives, providing hope in the midst of Victor's chaos.

Can these two work together? Bartender Chris, manager Mila, and sous chef Phichit can't wait to laugh at them as they try to navigate their instant attraction in the most awkward of ways.

This is a brilliant story of finding love while having to deal with hardships. It has 14 chapters, and over 88 thousands words, and it is well worth the read. Please enjoy this story and make sure to show your love in kudos and comments.

Artist Spotlight:

by Eda Kaban @petiteturk

Comics:

@yurionicebabe How many Russians does it take to kill a spider

Support:

Here’s this week’s Ko-fi shout-out: otayuriistheliteralbest

Otayuriistheliteralbest is an author on Ao3, and also an avid poster of all things OtaYuri on Tumblr. Please feel free to buy her a coffee to support her and her stories.

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trasheddie · 8 years ago

Text

Help Me Out

(A/N: so this is a little fic about the Holy Trinity because I love them and I need all three of them to be okay. Also, the fight scene fallout is based on the headcanon I posted for it on here earlier. Can also be read on AO3.)

ONSDAG 12:25

Isak wasn’t there when she walked into class.

She’d known there was a good chance he wasn’t going to be, considering he probably had a broken nose and she hadn’t seen him around the previous two days, but it still hurt when her eyes landed on his empty seat. Sana had spent the better part of the weekend drowning in guilt over what happened at the karaoke bar. Visions of sticky, blood-covered hands stained the backs of her eyelids every time she closed them, along with ones of Noora’s disappointed face and Yousef’s frame pressed against hers. It had been a hellish way to end what was supposed to be a nice afternoon.

Sana sighed and plopped down at the table. It felt empty without the blond boy next to her. She never realized how much she enjoyed their friendly banter until he wasn’t around, and it left her with a sick feeling in her stomach knowing that it was her brother’s fist that was responsible for his absence. She hadn’t bothered trying to talk to Elias about the fight. He had already shut himself in his room by the time she’d gotten home Friday night, and at that point she’d been too drained to bring it up anyway. He wasn’t acting like himself lately. Instead of being the sporty, fun-loving big brother that she knew, Elias was getting drunk and starting brawls with teenagers. Sana was officially worried about him.

The teacher called the students’ attention up to the board to begin class. Sana pulled out her textbook and resolved that, at the very least, she could take some notes for Isak so he wouldn’t fall behind. The boy was ridiculous when it came to passing biology, even if he liked to pretend that he never stressed about anything school related. Sana remembered seeing him nearly blow a gasket the one time he missed a pop quiz on a sick day. She rolled her eyes at the memory and smiled a little. Maybe focusing on work would help take her mind off her disastrous social life for a while.

ONSDAG 13:30

Sana headed straight to her locker when the bell rang. Usually she would grab a bite to eat and sit with her friends, but the thought of facing Noora and Vilde after everything that happened made her gut twist unpleasantly, so she decided against it. She considered looking for Eva, or possibly Chris instead. They had been distant recently and she missed them a lot. Out of all the girls, those two were the easiest to talk to and right now she could use a distraction.

Sana walked out the front doors and in the direction of the courtyard where most kids hung out for lunch, but stopped short when she heard a familiar high pitched giggle. Her gaze zeroed in on the blonde hair and pink jacket immediately, situated in a sea of similar looking girls, all with trilling laughs. Vilde looked like she was having the time of her life. Noora and Eva flanked her sides, with Chris not far away, smiles bright and gleaming. Another ten of the twenty Pepsi-Max crew sat around them in a circle, including Ingrid and Sara, who completed the ensemble.

Sana felt a vicious stab in her abdomen as she looked at the scene. This was her worst nightmare. Tears gathered in her eyes and she had to tilt her head up to keep them from falling.

They don’t need you, she thought.

They don’t want you.

She quickly turned and rushed for the gate of the school. She couldn’t be here, it was too much. She needed to get away.

ONSDAG 14:00

Wandering around the streets of Oslo proved to do very little for Sana’s mood. It had started to rain about ten minutes into her escape and she hadn’t brought a coat or an umbrella, meaning she was now completely defenceless against the chill that was setting in. Her makeup was running from tears and her shoes were soaked through to the point where her socks had gone soggy. She’d also somehow managed to walk in the opposite direction of her house, giving her nowhere to go for shelter other than a local coffee shop. She was debating on whether to just brace herself and walk in looking like a mess when the street sign caught her eye. Sana thought she recognized the name from somewhere. Skovveien, huh.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and flicked through her messages, trying her best not to get more droplets of water on the screen. Sure enough, there it was in a text conversation with Isak from just a few weeks prior.

(Fra Isak)

Heiii

(Til Isak)

What do you want?

(Fra Isak)

Rude. Are you helping us move today?

(Til Isak)

Depends. What’s in it for me?

(Fra Isak)

My everlasting gratitude?

(Til Isak)

Haha no but really

(Fra Isak)

Free pizza? :)

(Til Isak)

Hmm… I’ll think about it

What’s the address?

(Fra Isak)

The Kollektivet first

But then Bygdøy allé

Right off of Skovveien

There’s a little back alleyway

(Til Isak)

I’ll check my schedule

(Fra Isak)

How kind of you Sanasol

I’m honoured

(Til Isak)

You should be, I’m very busy you know

Sana bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Isak and Even more trouble; they had enough going on as it was. One of them was injured physically, and the other was probably dealing with the emotional trauma that comes from seeing one’s ex-best friends in public, but Sana was freezing and wet and really didn’t want to catch a cold. She grit her teeth together. It wasn’t like her life could get much worse anyway. With as much composure as she could muster, she steeled herself and walked in the direction of the apartment.

She reached the door within a minute. Sana didn’t have to guess which buzzer was theirs; there was a rainbow flag on it, right next to the number 408. Despite the swirling chaos inside her head, she found herself grinning. To think that six months ago Isak was the kind of guy who kissed girls in bathrooms during parties and acted like a stereotypical hetero bro. He’d changed so much in such a short period of time and Sana was secretly very proud of him, even if she had trouble showing it.

She hesitated with her finger over the button. Would they let her in if she called up? They might ignore it all together if they were trying to hide from the world. They didn’t come to school for a reason, Sana. Luckily, she didn’t have much time to stew in her thoughts, because suddenly the door to the stairwell was being pushed open by an elderly lady. She looked crotchety, with an old cable knit sweater wrapped around her shoulders and a face that said, “I’m old and not afraid to complain”. The woman made brief eye contact with Sana, giving her a once over and Sana had to hold her breath for fear she might say something to set her off. However, instead of making an ignorant comment, the lady shot her a small smile and held the door open wider for her. Sana blinked, but tried her best to grin back, nodding at her as she passed through.

With what was left of her nerve, she began to climb the stairs. It almost felt as if she was having an out of body experience. She was aware of her feet moving, of her heavy breathing and the constant dripping of water onto the carpeted floor, but she was simultaneously detached; like she was watching herself in a movie. Before she knew it, she was already at the door and her hand was poised to knock. She gave the wood one quick rapt with her knuckles and let her arms fall limply at her sides. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed like a terrible idea. She was only going to inconvenience the boys. What were you thinking?

There was shuffling on the other side of the door, a slight thump like someone had tripped and then the entrance was swinging open to reveal a very disheveled, very tired looking Even Bech Næsheim. He was wearing a pair of striped blue pyjama pants and a t-shirt that must have been Isak’s because it was a bit too short for his torso. His blonde hair was sticking up in several different directions, obviously lacking its usual product, and his blue eyes were sleepy.

“Sana,” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Sana tried not to squirm under his gaze. She hadn’t thought of what to say when she got to this stage of her plan.

“I, uh- well Isak wasn’t at school and neither were you and I just- I have biology notes for him,” she tried.

“Sana, you’re soaking wet,” Even said.

His eyebrows were creased with concern and it made guilt flare up in Sana’s stomach again. She didn’t come here to worry him. But why did she come here then? She started to back track as fast as she could.

“You know what, it’s no big deal, I can give it to him another day. I’ll just go.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Even said, grabbing her shoulder lightly to stop her from turning away. “It’s fine. Come inside before you make yourself sick.”

He opened the door further and ushered her inside the apartment. She’d seen a few pictures of the place on Instagram and Facebook, but it looked much smaller in person. There were piles of boxes stacked throughout the living room and front hallway, teetering dangerously, like miniature models of the leaning tower of Pisa. The walls were cream and mostly bare, save for a few movie posters that were obviously Even’s, (the amount of Baz Luhrmann merch he had was almost concerning), and a lamp stood in the corner next to an old but comfortable looking couch that had a Star Wars blanket thrown over one of the arms. It was a little messy, and cramped, but very much Isak and Even.

Even disappeared for a moment and leaving Sana to drip awkwardly onto their hardwood floor. When he returned, he had an armful of towels and a sweater in his hands.

“We don’t have tons of clean clothes right now because there is something wrong with the dryer,” he said, huffing out a laugh. “But this should at least be a bit warmer than what you are wearing now.”

He smiled kindly at her and Sana’s heart swelled with gratitude.

“The bathroom is just down the hall if you wanna go change,” he said, pointing around the corner and towards the kitchen.

“Thank-you,” Sana said.

She quickly slipped inside and switched out of her wet shirt. She also tried to ring out her hijab the best she could and re-wrapped it so that it wasn’t clinging to her neck anymore. After washing her face and wiping away her streaky makeup, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, tired and numb. She wasn’t sure she recognized the girl in front of her anymore. With a sigh, Sana hung her shirt over the side of the tub to dry and walked back out into the living room.

Even was waiting for her on the couch when she got there, two mugs of tea balanced on the edge of the coffee table. He glanced up at her, a tentative smile on his lips and patted the spot next him. Sana quietly obliged.

“Where’s Isak?” she asked, picking up one of the cups gingerly.

“He’s just in the other room sleeping,” Even said. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

Sana grimaced. She knew the other boy was probably exhausted. She still didn’t know the extent of the damage, but judging by the look on his face when she’d pressed her fingers to his nose, he had definitely been in a state of shock. He probably had a mild concussion as well.

“Is he… alright?” she asked.

Even nodded, but a shadow passed over his face.

“His nose isn’t broken, thankfully. He took a couple of good hits, though. He’s also slightly concussed, but apart from that it’s mostly just bruises and cuts.”

Sana felt tears well up in her eyes again. Things were never supposed to end this way. She felt so incredibly stupid for inviting her brother and his friends. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Isak and Even would be there with their school mates. If she’d just thought ahead, none of this would have happened. She was about to open her mouth to say so when another tiny voice called down the hall.

“Evi, who is it? Where’d you go?”

Isak’s lanky frame came into view and Sana’s heart stopped all together. His face was a mottled canvas of blues, purples and blacks. His left eye, which was usually a clear moss green, was cloudy and nearly swollen shut. Burst blood vessels ran down his cheek in crisscrossed patterns, matching a nasty red gash that split his lip. He looked very pale and tired and a whole lot smaller than someone over six feet should. Sana had to force herself not to look away.

Even stood up and went over to him, pressing a feather light kiss on his forehead.

“Sorry, baby,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. Sana came for a visit and to drop off some notes for you.”

Isak’s eyes drifted over to the slightly damp girl sitting on their couch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his lips broadened into a soft smile.

“Ah, Sanasol. How sweet of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have put on something nicer,” he joked, gesturing to his sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt.

Sana shrugged her shoulders.

“I didn’t really plan it. It just sort of happened,” she said.

She turned her gaze down to lap and fiddled with the string of Even’s hoodie. She didn’t know what to say or how to act. A large part of her was shocked that neither of the boys were yelling at her or telling her to leave. After all, she was the reason Isak’s face looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. She watched her hosts exchange a worried glance out of the corner of her eye. She felt Isak settle onto the couch next to her and saw Even’s feet move to do the same. A careful hand came up to her shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“Is everything alright, Sana?” Isak asked.

Sana wanted to laugh. Things had never felt less alright in her entire life. One of her best friends was pissed at her and another had stabbed her in the back. She was being ousted from her own bus, ostracized by her classmates and her crush had gone ahead and kissed another girl after making her think that he liked her. Not to mention her brother had slammed his fist into one of the only people she felt she could trust and she had managed to bring up ugly past aggressions between Even and the balloon boys. The world had been crumbling around her for weeks and now it was all just laying at her feet in a giant heap. She didn’t realize she was crying again until Isak’s grip got tighter.

“Hey, hey, Sana, what’s wrong?” he asked, worry seeping into his voice.

Even shifted from where he was sitting and kneeled in front of her, offering up a box of tissues. Sana pulled a couple out and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Isak asked.

Sana did laugh this time, but it was devoid of humour.

“For everything,” she said. “For your face, for the karaoke bar, for showing up at your doorstep and dumping my shit on you when you’ve already had a hard week.”

Isak shook his head vigorously and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“You don’t have to apologize for any of that. What happened was not your fault, okay? It had nothing to do with you.”

“But it did,” Sana took a shaky breath. “Elias is my brother.”

Isak let out a chuckle and tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

“You know?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, Even told me.”

Sana glanced at the boy kneeling in front of her. He was staring up at her with big, incredibly blue eyes, apology and regret written all over his face. For someone so young, he had experienced more than his fair share of pain and heartbreak. Sana cared about him an exuberant amount.

“You…” she started.

“Not everything,” Even said, his gaze landing on his boyfriend. “But most of it. An overview, at least.”

“I shouldn’t have invited them,” Sana said. “I didn’t think about it. I was being selfish. I wanted to see… well either way, it was stupid and I’m sorry.”

Even put his hand on her knee and gave her a soft, sad smile.

“There we go with that word again. Sana, listen to me. The fight wasn’t your fault. That was me and Mikael and Elias. You couldn’t have known that was going to happen, so please stop blaming yourself for it.”

Even punctuated the last part of the sentence by making her look directly into his eyes. Sana sniffled and accepted yet another tissue. Isak gently kicked out his foot to tap his boyfriend on the leg, catching the older boy’s attention.

“Okay, don’t you go blaming yourself either, dickhead,” he said. “I was the one who shoved him and Elias was the one who started throwing punches, so you had no part in it.”

If it had been anyone else saying it, the words would have probably sounded rude, but coming from Isak it only sounded fond. Leave it to a seventeen-year-old boy to make an insult seem endearing. Sana smiled a little despite herself. She really did love these boys.

“Alright, good. So now that we have that out of the way, do you wanna tell us why you skipped class and took an impromptu walk in the rain?”

ONSDAG 17:00

After pouring her heart out to the two of them about the Russ bus and Vilde and even about Yousef, Sana felt marginally better. Isak and Even had listened intently the whole time, offering noises of indigence and confusion at different moments and graciously not commenting when her voice cracked over certain parts. It was nice to let it all out and more importantly to have someone care enough to pay attention. By the time she had finished it had begun to grow dark outside.

“Screw them, Sanasol,” Isak finally said, his long fingers playing with Even’s pant leg.

At some point during her speech, Even had migrated back to the couch and wrapped himself around his boyfriend, so that they were now in a tangle of limbs. Sana usually hated PDA, but they looked so cozy and happy that she couldn’t even fault them for it. There was something about their interactions that made all her qualms about relationships melt away. Sana liked that they gave her space while simultaneously making her feel welcome and she liked that even though they were stupidly in love, they didn’t shove it down her throat the way Vilde and Magnus did. She was comfortable around them.

She smiled at Isak and his outburst.

“That’s easy for you to say, Isabell. They aren’t your friends.”

Isak spluttered and put his hand on his chest in mock offence.

“They are too my friends. Eva and I are best buddies. And Noora was my roommate not even a month and a half ago.”

“Yeah, but you don’t see them every day. And you have other people to hang out with. Like Jonas and Mahdi.”

“So, come hang out with us.” Isak said, pushing his toe into Sana’s thigh. “We’re your friends, you know.”

Sana fake glared and poked his foot, but felt her heart warm at the offer. Maybe she didn’t have to do this alone after all.

“But what about Elias and Mikael and Yousef?” she asked, risking a glance at Even.

He met her gaze softly. There were obvious nerves showing in his expression, but he still grinned at her. He brushed his fingers through Isak’s hair gently.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “We can deal with it when the time comes. For now, let’s just worry about the next minute.”

He and Isak shared some sort of private smile at the words and though it should have made Sana feel left out, it didn’t. She just smiled along with them.

“Okay,” she said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

#sana bakkoush #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #evak #the holy trinity #the girl squad #skam #skam fanfic #brotp: biology buddies #otp: kardemomme #brot3: the holy trinity

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