#maybe its because it finally stopped snowing and its sunny out but WHATEVER

[cluepoke-archive]

Hold on I can feel my brain chemistry changing again I think it's time for my duck era 2 electric Boogaloo

[le0watch]

A Flower for Your Thoughts

The night is still young, the palace filled to the brim with young women hoping to catch the prince’s attention. Each young lady has her own dress, and the colors range from white to black, and the sizes from large and puffy to thin and flat.

They’re all so loud and persistent, and hardly give Prince Langa the space he desires. He doesn't even want to be here- it was a decision made by his mother and chamberlain back in their Kingdom of Snow. His mother was beginning to get worried that he was too lonely, and his chamberlain had suggested that they come here to try and find him a suitor. Because then, with a wife, Prince Langa wouldn't be lonely again.

And while Langa would love for a wife, this feels too forced, and not natural. The women here only care that he's a prince, and for the enormous amount of wealth and fame that comes with marrying him. None of them actually care for him… just his title.

He sighs heavily, sitting on the edge of a fountain somewhere in the large palace garden. He's been here a while- no one has been able to find and annoy him as of yet, and the sound of the trickling water was soothing compared to the yelling and calling of the women in the castle. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, the loneliness he'd come to know so well back him settling in his gut.

“It's the same here…” he mutters quietly, staring at the cracks in the ground and the ants crawling through the grass.

Suddenly, someone flops down beside him on the fountain’s edge, her dress a brilliant blue that spills around her legs and feet. It splays out across the edge of the fountain, some of it brushing through the water beneath them. He flinches, ready for yet another suitor to try and woo him for his wealth.

“Where is everybody?” the girl says, and Langa is struck by how cute she sounds. He hasn't looked at her yet- afraid if he does, it’ll break the spell and she’ll start fawning over him. He feels her eyes on the back of his head a moment later, staring at him. “Did you get lost?”

A reflection of light catches his eye, and glances down at the ground eyes widening as they land upon a gorgeous pair of glass heels. He's never seen glass slippers, or shoes for that matter, but they go wonderfully with her dress.

“Pretty…” he mutters, before he realizes what he's doing.

“Huh?” the girl says, taken by surprise.

“Your shoes. I've never seen any made of glass before,” he explains, and finally works up the courage to look at the girl’s face. He nearly gasps, because she's even prettier than the shoes or dress she is wearing.

Her bright red hair is pulled into two braids that trail behind her shoulders, the rest of it a mess of curls on the top of her head. Her eyes are a gorgeous honey amber color, and they sparkle even in the dark of the night. Freckles pepper her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's looking at her lips, a soft, plump pink.

He has to tear his gaze from her lips as they turn upwards into a bright grin. So bright, Langa momentarily believes her to be the sun, and that morning had come early. Her beautiful blue dress contrasts prettily with her red hair and eyes, sparkling gently beneath the stars.

“Oh, you meant the shoes,” she says sheepishly, chuckling lightly. What a beautiful sound. He almost wants to take back what he'd said, and tell her that no, he'd actually meant that she was pretty.

“Yeah,” he responds instead, because his brain is slow and sluggish as always. This doesn't phase the girl, however, but makes her tilt her head to the side with a crooked grin.

“How long are you gonna stare?” she asks, making Langa jump out of his skin. Oh, great. She’d caught him staring at her like a buffoon- very unprincely indeed. But she instead exclaims, “Let's dance!”

That takes Langa by surprise. She was being so bold- she's not even asking him, she's just saying it like it would be the natural thing for them to do. “With me?” he asks, quite stupidly. Who else was there for her to ask? He blames his short circuiting brain on her and how pretty she is.

“Is anyone else here?” she says pointedly, her grin only widening. She sounds excited, and she grabs his hand, hopping to her feet and pulling him along with her.

He lets out a noise of surprise as he stumbles to his feet after her, surprised by her straight forwardness. Wasn’t he supposed to ask her to dance, if at all? Yet, he doesn't pull his hand away, nor does he say anything negative in response.

Once they're both standing, the girl waits patiently for him to get ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet. When he rests one of his hands in her hand and the other on her waist, her face flushes a pretty red, and she sheepishly chuckles.

“I uh- I’ve never actually danced before,” she tells him shyly, and he blinks down at her. She’s shorter than he is- but not by too much. Her head reaches just above his chest, and is peering up at him through her pretty red lashes. “So uh- could you teach me?”

Langa’s cheeks grow warm at her shy but excited demeanor, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her pretty face. She flushes, and squirms a little under his gaze.

“I'm sorry- I shouldn't have asked if I didn't know how-” she begins to apologize, slowly pulling away from Langa.

But the prince quickly catches her, keeping her close. He smiles down at her warmly- the first time he's smiled in years since his father died- and gently guides her hands to their proper places, one on his shoulder and the other lightly gripped in his. His body buzzes from their intertwined fingers to his toes, a warm happiness settling in his gut.

He hasn't felt so infatuated in a long time- or ever, for that matter. But somehow, this adorable redhead had caught his attention. Maybe it was from how she treated him like an equal, or maybe it was due to her sunny disposition. Anyway, Langa feels as if his heart is going to burst from his chest at any second.

He's never felt in love before, nor has he ever experienced a crush. These are new sensations and emotions he's experiencing, but he's highly enjoying them.

“Your hands go here,” he explains, meeting her amber gaze. Her eyes seem to glow, like a pair of stars in the night sky above them. “And I will lead. Just follow my steps, and you'll catch on pretty quick.”

“Oh- okay!” she exclaims with one of her bright grins. He nearly melts under its warmth, but begins the most basic of waltzes, as to not overwhelm her for her first time. He listens to the faint music playing from the distant castle, taking the first few steps. She stumbles for a moment, and trips over his feet, but he steadies her each time. She flushes and apologizes sheepishly when she steps on his feet, but he reassures her with a small smile.

“Wow, you're a good teacher.” She sounds whimsical, and it makes him smile again.

“You're learning it on your own,” Langa points out. “I'm just guiding you through it.”

“Guess you're right about that!” she exclaims with another bright grin. He loves when he smiles and grins; she smiles with her whole face, eyes scrunching at the edges, the tips of her lips stretching to both of her ears. “Now, who might you be, anyways. I've been dancing with a stranger this entire time.”

“Wait, you don't know?” he asks in surprise, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. Everyone who’s come to the ball is merely there to meet him and hopefully get him to pick them as his wife. Does she really not know- or is she just acting?

But no, in the short amount of time Langa has known this mystery girl, he knows for a fact that she wasn't acting, somehow. The genuinity shining in her eyes coupled with her curious smile proves that to him.

“Should I?” she asks, a teasing edge to her voice. She draws in a sharp breath of surprise when Langa twists her outwards, before pulling her back close to himself again. He smiles down at her, and she smiles back up at him, holding tightly to his hand. Her hand seems to fit almost perfectly in his.

“I suppose not, if you don’t,” he replies. She doesn't have to know right away, right? That would probably break whatever magical spell has set over them, and turn her from a fun young maiden to one just as desperate for his wealth as everyone else. “But you may call me Snow. That's what my mother calls me. And your name?”

The girl hesitates, her dress fluttering around her legs when Langa twirls her, holding his arm high to allow her room. When she’s pulled back in and they fall back into step, she finally says, “That isn’t too important.” Her smile dropped while she said this, making Langa’s heart plummet into his stomach. Oh no, he had upset her. Or, she just feels as if she is inadequate beside him. He has to remedy this instantly.

He opens his mouth to do just that, but the girl beats him by saying, “Why don't you tell me more about yourself, hm? Like why you're outside all alone.” She smirks up at him, her previous negativity disappearing in an instant. She's masking. Langa’s familiar with masking. He was basically raised to always have a princely mask over his face. He doesn't like her masking one bit. But he also knows he can't force someone to stop.

“Needed to get some fresh air,” Langa replies honestly. “It was much too crowded and loud inside, so I stepped out for a moment.”

The girl doesn’t respond until he's finished spinning her through the air, gaining a beautiful burst of laughter from her. Once she’s on the ground again, her laughter tapers off, but a smile remains on her face.

“And what are you doing here, hm?” she asks, and Langa's mind instantly begins rushing for an answer. “I thought only the maidens of the land were invited to the ball, not the men.” She’s teasing him, fluttering her pretty lashes at him.

He swallows heavily, butterflies in his stomach. This girl has to have magic, how else could he be feeling so much because of her all at once?

“That is true,” he says, wetting his lips nervously as he dips her low. She gasps before giggling, latching onto his arm to keep herself from falling. Even though he would never drop her. He doesn't want to tell her he's the prince, yet. Soon, but not now. Just a while longer as another random guy at the palace. He is enjoying it. “I work here. In the palace, I mean. I'm… an apprentice!”

Her eyes widen and she grins up at him, her flowing dress brushing against his knees. The blue of her dress contrasts amazingly with her bright red hair, and he thinks the color suits her.

“Snow the apprentice,” she says. Langa likes the way she says his nickname. Or maybe he just likes her voice. Maybe a bit of both. “I like it.”

Langa lets out a breath of laughter, and dips her for the final time in their waltz. They break apart, and he bows while she courtesies low to the ground. Her dress is like a halo around her, and she looks much like an angel on earth.

Once they've both straightened back up, Langa glances towards the palace, biting his lower lip. He’s sure that he is not yet missed- he could show her around the garden. Maybe even give her that flower… yes!

He holds up a hand in offering, and asks, “May I show you around the garden?”

She hesitates only a moment before she takes his hand, dipping her head shyly. He smiles, and she smiles back at him. He leads her through the garden, pointing out the plants he knows the names of.

“Those are my favorite flowers,” he says, pointing to a patch of blue flowers. “They’re called forget-me-nots. The story behind them just makes them all the more special.”

The mystery girl looks down at them, before releasing his hand to crouch in front of them. She picks one of the many buds, before turning back to him. A light flush colors her freckled cheeks as she stands on her tiptoes to slip the stem of the flower behind Langa’s ear. His breath catches in his throat at her close she is- her breath mingling with his, and he can see each time her pretty lashes flutter, and the way her lips hanging slightly open.

Once satisfied, she draws back, looks over her work, and then grins brightly. “It matches your hair!” she exclaims, and he's taken by her all over again. She retakes his hand, and he has to draw in a deep breath before he can speak again.

“Th- thank you very much,” he says, clearing his throat. He's sure he's blushing. His face is hot enough. He then tugs on her hand, “Now I want to show you something.”

“Haven’t you been showing me the garden?” she teases, but follows after him obediently.

He doesn't answer her, looking this way and that for the flowers he has in mind. Finally, he spots them: red hibiscus flowers. He tugs her along quickly, and she lets out a surprised laugh, stumbling a moment to be able to keep up with him. Once he's reached them, he gestures for her to sit down. She raises an eyebrow at him, but does so anyways, her dress pooling out around her on the grassy ground.

“Hope this doesn't ruin my dress,” she mutters, more to herself than Langa. He hums in response, but focuses on the task at hand. His father had taught him how to do this as a gift for his mother when he was younger, and they constantly did it for her when Mother’s Day rolled around.

He gathers a hand full of the brilliant red flowers before he steps to stand behind her, dropping onto his knees to reach her hair. He sets the fistful of flowers on the ground beside himself, and takes his gloves off. He then combs his bare fingers through her puffy hair, eyes widening at how soft it is beneath his fingertips. She stiffens at first, before relaxing as he gently cards his fingers through her hair.

Langa begins to part bits of hair into two sections, throwing the right side over her shoulder. She stays silent as he works, and when he looks at her freckled face, he finds her eyes lightly closed as she soaks in his soft touches.

He smiles softly at her relaxed expression, before beginning the braiding process. Each time he loops one large strand of hair over the other, he weaves a flower or two between them. He continues this until he's finished the first braid, smiling at his work. He guides the large braid over her left shoulder, and then quickly picks another handful of hibiscuses.

As he focuses on the right braid, the pretty girl in front of him hums softly. “Didn’t think you knew your way around a woman’s hair,” she says softly, lightly tracing the braid with her finger. “This is beautiful.”

“Just as you are,” Langa says before he could think it through. He hears her take in a sharp breath of air out of surprise, looking at him through the corner of her eye over her shoulder. He smiles at her with a wink, and her face turns a deep red similar to the flowers weaved into her hair. “My father taught me, so I could do this sort of thing for my mother. She's always loved it when I do it, so I thought you would as well.”

“I think I do,” she whispers, running her finger along one of the flower’s petals. Langa watches her for a moment, getting caught in how gorgeous she is just looking at the flowers in her own hair. Then, he shakes himself inwardly and gets back to work, weaving more and more flowers into the second braid.

When he's finished, he guides the second braid over her right shoulder. She traces this one as well, before turning to face him, grinning brightly at him, blinding him all over again. “Thank you very much, Mister Snow!” she exclaims, and grabs one of his hands. Their fingers weave together, and he looks at their interlocked hands with wonder.

“And thank you for letting me do it, fair maiden,” he answers courteously. She giggles at him, and he slowly brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the back of her hand. Her breath catches, her face flushing an even deeper red. Man, red really is her color. “I've had such a wonderful time with you- please, I must know your name.”

She wets her lips nervously, her amber eyes sparkling with anxiety. He lowers her hand, and begins to lightly trace her knuckles with his thumb. She watches this for a few seconds, before drawing in a deep breath. She steels herself, before meeting his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says, and he unconsciously scoots closer to her, his knees brushing through the grass. He stops at the edge of her dress, not wanting to drag his knees across the well sewn stitching or fluffy layers. She leans in close, like she's about to tell him a secret, and he leans towards her without noticing, holding his breath with anticipation. “My name is-”

She cuts herself off when the loud bong of the nearby clock tower sounds, her eyes going wide, grip on his hand tightening. He stares at her questioningly, still waiting for her to say her name, only for her to suddenly be pulling away, pushing to her feet while brushing the front of her dress off.

“I have to go,” she says, taking Langa by complete surprise. His mouth falls open as she begins to quickly walk back they way they’d come, dress swaying around her wildly. Her expression is one of regret, but she doesn't stop going, turning back for one moment to tell him, “It was a fun night. Thank you very much.” She does a small curtesy before taking off in a full on sprint.

Langa almost can't do anything at first. All he could do was stare where she'd just been, his hand, now empty, held out uselessly in front of himself. The grass where she'd been sitting has an indention in it from the grass laying across it.

Then, he snaps out of it, and scrambles to his feet, taking off after her. “Wait!” he calls after her. His heart is hammering in his chest- they were having such a good time, why did she have to suddenly leave? The ball isn't even over for another two hours. They had plenty of time, and he wanted to get to know her more. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“I'm sorry!” she calls back, disappearing around a corner. Langa runs as fast as his legs could take him, and finds her already halfway down the steps of the palace. Her dress flares out behind her in a mess of blue, brushing across the tops of the steps.

At one point, Langa’s heart stops when she seems to stumble and nearly trip over one of the steps. He hardly even notices the large amount of noise growing behind him; everyone inside must have taken notice of his plight.

But the girl catches herself, pauses to look back, and then takes off again. Langa stops at the spot she had- spotting one of her beautiful glass slippers. His eyes widen and he crouches down to pick it up.

Bad idea.

Because the girl manages to get into her carriage and the carriage takes off as soon as the door is closed. His heart plummets and even though he knows it's in vain, he still gives chase after the carriage as it pulls away.

“Wait!!” he shouts after the receding carriage, to no avail. He glances around for his horse, but is stopped when his mom appears beside him, panting.

“Who was that?” she asks breathlessly. Langa’s mind buzzes; no no! He doesn't have time to talk! He has to get his horse and get to her before he loses her! But his mom catches his wrist before he could run, stopping him in his tracks. “Snow!”

He snaps out of his daze, and looks down at her desperately. Kojiro suddenly appears beside his mother, looking between them with confusion. “She- I- She's the one, Mom! And she hasn't even told me her name!” he manages to exclaim.

His mother’s eyes widen, and she looks at Kojiro, who seems to understand her look. He peels away from them towards the palace guard, hopping onto his horse.

“Calm down, sweetie,” she tells him soothingly. He's trembling, he realizes. He doesn't want to lose this mystery girl and her pretty face and kind personality and the things she makes him feel. He’d just met her and started smiling again! “Kojiro and the guards will go and bring her back, alright? Just wait right here. They'll be back soon.”

Langa wets his lips, biting his lower lip anxiously. He tightly grips the glass slipper she’d left behind, the only connection he has back to her.

His mystery princess.

[lilchibi-chan]

Hewwo! How r u doing??🧐 I would like to ask for a little something where the reader is easily distracted and goes off the path (chasing a butterfly, seeing a dog, etc...) and the boy doesn’t notice until later. 🥰🥺 The bois: Todoroki, Kirishima, and Shinso (BNHA/MHA) ✨✨

Aww I love this! This is so cute! I will try my best for you 🥺

Todoroki

It’s Friday evening and you are on your way home from UA because you wanted to go home for the weekend and Todoroki decides to go with you being the protective boyfriend he is.

It’s spring and the cherry blossoms have just bloomed. The path you’re walking is lined with cherry blossom trees. You stop to take in the soft pink petals, but Shouto doesn’t notice until he reaches the end of the path and sees that you’re not next to him.

He freaks out thinking someone might’ve taken you when he wasn’t watching or maybe you just went off to a convenience store or something. He decided to walk back up the path, asking any and everyone if they had seen you, showing them pictures of you, saying how tall you are, etc.

He finally makes it to where you were, hair sticking to his forehead since he basically ran the whole time.

You were standing under the trees, slowly spinning as the petals fell into your hands. You felt like you were in your own little world, like you were a fairy and you could stay in this moment forever.

You hadn’t noticed him standing there yet, but he was watching as you twirled beneath the flower petals, falling like snow around you. He took out his phone and started recording you and snapped a few pictures. You looked so beautiful to him in this moment and he wanted to capture if forever. The way the sun shone on your skin and your warm smile melted him and he realized just how much he loves you in that moment.

When you finally notice him standing there, you feel your cheeks heat up and you know instantly that you’re blushing.

He makes his way over to you and grabs your hand in his. He looks at them and smiles for a moment. He pulls you close to his chest and kisses you on your forehead.

“I love you...y/n”

You look up at him surprised because his words caught you off guard, but hearing them made you happy, so the as quick as the shock hit is as quick as it left and you just smiled from ear to ear.

You hug him and nuzzle your face into his chest.

“I love you too, Shouto”

You both walk up the path, this time he’s hold your hand and make your way to your house where dinner is already waiting.

Kirishima

It’s summer vacation and your family has decided to go to the beach house that has been in your family for decades. They tell you to invite Kirishima along and whoever else you wanted to come along since there was enough room. It was a private beach, so you basically had it to yourselves whenever your family did go there for whatever reason, whether it be a small gathering or just wanting to get away from the city for a little bit.

When you reach, everyone unpacks and you decide to head down to the beach with Mina, Yaoyorozu and Uraraka. Denki, Kirishima, Bakugou, Sero and Deku all meet you on the beach a little afterwards. You all swim for a while and play games, until your dad decides to barbecue. Once everything is taken off the grill, you all eat together. Your mom bought fireworks and sparklers for you all to end the night with and celebrate your first day on the beach.

After all the festivities are over, you all head inside to rest for the night, but you and your friends decided to have a mini sleep over in the living room and watch movies. You cuddled with Kirishima on the couch while the rest of your friends took the floor. You all end up falling asleep in the middle of the second movie that was put on. You wake up around 3:30 to the tv still being on. You get up to turn it off then realize you can’t fall back asleep. You decide to go out and take a walk along the beach to calm yourself to the sound of the waves. You notice that the waves are glowing due to the bioluminescent krill in the water and you become so entranced that you take a seat on the rocks to watch the beautiful sight before you.

Kiri wakes up an hour later and pops up when he realizes you’re not next to him anymore. He carefully gets up, so that he doesn’t hurt any of the sleeping people on the floor and makes his was upstairs to see if you decided to go up to your room. The thought made him sad, but he could understand if your bed was more comfortable than the couch. He opened the door quietly, as to not wake your parents and saw that your bed was untouched. He decided to make his way to the balcony on the second floor to think about where you could’ve gone. Something told him to use the telescope that was on the balcony and he searched for you along the beach. He finally saw that you were on the far end by the rocks, sitting on them. He made his way back down the stairs, again quietly, and made his way along the beach to get to you. He took a blanket with him, just in case you would be cold.

“Hey pebble,” he says with a soft smile, startling you a bit

“Hey,” you say with a soft smile back

“I���m sorry I scared you,” he says with laughter in his voice,“but you can just consider it a little bit of pay back since I woke up and you weren’t there.” He finished, taking a seat next to you.

“Sorry about that,” you say blushing

“Why are you sitting here anyways?” He asked curious

“Well, I can show you better than I can tell you,” you say picking up a flat rock, then skimming it across the water to reveal the plankton

“Woah, that’s so cool, pebble. I see why you stayed here so long,” he says smiling his big smile

“How long have I been out here,” you ask, kinda freaking out

“Little over an hour,” he says smiling

“We should probably head back before my parents wake up,” you say about to get up

“Wait,” he says stopping you,“five more minutes, then we can go back.”

You nod and he takes a seat next you and wrapping the blanket around both of your shoulders.

After the five extra minutes, you both head back to the beach house, cuddle on the couch and go back to sleep.

Shinso

Shinso and you are out for a picnic date that you had planned for a while. The weather is warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. You make it to forest/site you wanted to have the picnic and it’s even more perfect than you imagined. There’s the perfect canopy to sunlight ratio and you’re not too far from the river, causing there to be a comfortable coolness in the air. You set down the blanket and Shinso put some rocks on the corners, so that it wouldn’t lift up in the wind blew. You both start unpacking the basket and you realize you forgot the drinks in the car. You offer to run and go get it, but he protests.

“I’ll get it, kitten. You stay here, I’ll be right back,” he says leaving you there by yourself.

A couple of minutes pass and you start to hear rustling in the bushes. You were definitely a little frightened, but waited to see if anything would come out before you just to any conclusions or scared yourself by jumping to said conclusions.

Just then a bunny comes out and it’s limping. You slowly crawl over to it, as to not scare it.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you cutie. I just wanna help.”

You continue to slowly crawl toward it, extending your hand so that it can get used to your scent. Once it finally puts its guard down, your able to pick it up. You figured it’s borough couldn’t be too far from where you were since it came this way. You decide to walk off, eyeing the ground for any holes.

When Shinso finally returns to your picnic area, he sees that you’re not there. He decides to call for you, but receives nothing. He decides to take the path you took, not knowing that it’s the way you went, but something inside him told him to go that way.

After a few minutes of walking, he decides to try calling for you again. The first time he receives nothing, causing worry to start building. He walks up some more and tries again.

“Y/N!!”

“Over here!”

He walkruns over to the direction he heard your voice come from.

“Shh,” you say, so that he wouldn’t startle the rabbit in your arms. He makes his way over to you slower. You tell him what happened and he helps you find the bunny’s home.

You finally find the borough at the bottom of a tree. You decide it might be best to back away and let the bunny hop in on its own. You crouch down and Shinso follows. You set the bunny on the ground and it’s hesitant to head home.

“Go ahead, it’s okay,” you say encouraging it

The bunny takes a couple hops before fully going for it and going home. You decide to capture this moment by snapping a couple of pictures. While you’re busy doing that, Shinso just admires you and smiles.

“Ready,” you say smiling and catching him off guard

“Y-yeah, lets go,” he says blushing

You both make it back to your picnic and enjoy the food and snacks that were packed.

All of a sudden it starts to rain. You both hurriedly pack everything and try to find shelter somewhere.

You come across a shed and decide to knock in the door. An older woman opens the door.

“Hello ma’am, is it okay if we stay here. It’s just started raining out of nowhere and we don’t have an umbrella,” you say nicely and slightly apologetic

“Of course dears. Come in.”

You and Shinso do as she says and she lights a fire for you both to sit by. She also supplies you with a blanket and leaves to make tea for you both. Shinso wraps the blanket around both of you and he can see that you are shivering a little, so he moves closer to you, causing you to blush.

“Kitty,” he says, grabbing your attention

“Yes”

“I’m sorry the picnic got ruined,” he says apologetic

“It didn’t get ruined,” you say with laughter in your voice,“this was the best day ever.”

“R-really,” he asks expectantly

“Yes, we helped a bunny find its way home and we did still get to enjoy the picnic, it’s just got cut short and that’s okay, cause I got to spend the whole day with you.”

“This is why I love you, kitty. Your so good and optimistic. You see the great in every situation. I wish I could do that more. You’re so perfect and I-I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me and you’re perfect too. Maybe not perfect to you, but perfect to me and that’s the most important thing,” you say smiling

He pulls you in and kisses you softly and full of love.

The rain finally clears and you thank the woman for her hospitality. Shinso drives you to your house and before you exit he grabs your hand and kisses it. Then he pulls you in and kisses your lips. He watches you enter your house and then drives off.

I hope you enjoyed. Thank you again for submitting and keeping my asks active. You always give me something new and I really appreciate you letting my imagination run wild (more than it already does). 💖🥺

[clowniconography]

A couple weeks ago when it was still snowy I went for a walk in the cemetery and then preceded to start writing this short bit of prose about it. Now there’s no snow left on the ground and I’m already starting to miss it a little, but I finished the story. how about you come and take a little wintery walk with me?

When I entered the cemetery, I knew for a fact that I was the only human visitor it had seen in days. 

Among the many uses for snow, two of the most notable are “security system” and “clock”. No matter how much you disguise yourself, when there’s snow on the ground there’s no way of stopping your boots marking your every move, short of learning to fly. 

Weeks upon weeks of intermittent snow mean that on that particular day, everything that didn’t have a heartbeat wore its history like a neon sign. I could tell when every car had last been cleaned, when every sidewalk had last been shovelled, and when every unpaved path had last been tread. Every winter, I see the snow as a delightful opportunity to know things about my environment that would never be clear to me otherwise.

In that most prodigious of winters I had come to memorize my own boot tread pretty well, as generic as it was. I was able to competently distinguish my men’s size 9 ½ from every other men’s size 9 ½, although I have no obvious use for such knowledge.

On my way onto the cemetery grounds, the signs of human intrusion were apparent in places, but what individual footprints I could make out had been rendered toothless and near invisible by a good three or four inches of snow. No, I was sure that I was the only one there, and the first in days at that.

And before you ask; no, I’ve never been afraid of cemeteries. At a young age I experienced a series of funerals in quick succession, each for a different distant elderly relative who I barely knew. For me, these experiences turned cemeteries into normal businesses you run errands to like any supermarket, graves into simple rocks as mundane as address plaques, and corpses into inanimate objects.

I had taken a particular interest in a cemetery near to where I live. I’m not native to the area and no one I know is buried there, but that didn’t matter. I considered the cemetery simply a quaint and charming few acres of trees and pretty rocks amongst miles of suburban houses. It was a pretty place where solitude was easy to find, and as a bonus I felt a good samaritan when visiting and cleaning some of the older, more derelict graves.

I hadn’t visited the cemetery since the winter had started and the snow had begun to make itself a constant presence. Just as spring and fall had done in the past, winter put its own stylistic spin on the backdrop of graves. Great untouched white plains dotted with solitary black stones stretched out before me. It was a sunny afternoon, and whenever the sun peaked its head out of the measly clouds the landscape would transform into one giant dazzlingly reflective surface. Despite the frigid air there were a few varieties of bird that could still be heard chirping in the black and white striped treetops above. 

I took a rambling route through those of the cemetery’s paths that were still passable. A good few feet of snow stood between me and my favorite viewpoint in the place, but the view from the regular trail suit me fine. 

Over the course of the winter I had also learned how to distinguish the prints of a few of the cemetery’s nonhuman inhabitants. On the ground I would occasionally see the sticklike protrusions of the sparrows I could hear conversing above me. Long spidering trails criss-crossed the ground where squirrels dashed from tree to tree. Every once in a while I would even delight in finding a cluster of coffee-bean-shaped deer tracks. 

I meandered along the trail, taking in my usual sights, eventually passing by the small cobblestone building at the center of the property. I had always assumed it to be a storage space for maintenance equipment and such, but its appearance was so utterly commonplace and fitting that I usually took no notice of it. 

However, as I approached the building, I did become aware of something quite strange: a set of footprints leading inside. 

I didn’t notice the prints at first glance because of just how similar they were to mine. I stamped a print of my own next to one of them to compare and was surprised at how alike they were, Same size, similar design, maybe even same brand, but still definitely different. Like I said before, they were leading into the shed, with no visible set of footprints leading out.

This wasn’t that strange. Of course it wasn’t. How self-important could I be, surprised to see that someone other than me had breached the fresh snow? The cemetery wasn’t fenced in, and someone could’ve easily entered from a different direction without me having seen them. 

Pretending this was no detour from the original intended trajectory of my walk, I began to follow the footprints towards their origin. I retraced them away from the storage shed and along the path in the opposite direction. They followed this path deeper into the cemetery, and around a turn towards the trees on the edge of the property. The trees loomed like burnt skeletons, casting shadows over the otherwise blindingly bright snowpack.

As I neared this naturally-occurring boundary, the prints came to an abrupt stop. Or, more fittingly, they came to an abrupt start, since I had been following them backwards.

It was as simple as this: one moment the footprints weren’t there, the next they were, appearing clear as day on the pristine snowy ground. No other footprints save for my own invaded the spot for at least three yards in every direction.

I huffed audibly, annoyed that my search had brought up not just nothing, but less than nothing. I followed my own footprints back to the shed and was met with another shock: the door was open. 

While it was getting more and more difficult to distinguish the footprints the more I tread the same ground repeatedly, I could tell that there was still no set of footprints leading out. Eager to get the explanation for the footprints that I was sure existed, I powered forward into the shed. 

It was dark inside the shed, and it was just as cold as it had been outside but was tenfold more damp and uncomfortable. My initial assumption had been correct: the shed was full of maintenance equipment. Gardening shears, brooms, and hammers were among the objects I saw populating the walls. One thing that I was sure I didn’t see, was any people. I was alone.

I turned around a few times, inspecting the inside of the shed for any signs--signs of what? I felt incredibly stupid. I’m no detective, and spinning in circles inside a building I definitely wasn’t supposed to be in was getting me nowhere. 

Suddenly, as I was facing the back wall of the shed, I heard a loud dusty THUD come from behind me. I whipped around and was horrified to find that the door to the shed had slammed shut with me still inside. 

I rushed to the door and grasped the handle. It appeared locked, but there was nothing to indicate a lock on the inside of the door. The doorknob was smooth and featureless, an ancient and simple construction of brass. I pawed at it for a minute before coming to the conclusion that turning the knob was no use.

Fear and panic mounting, I began to slam my entire body into the frail door, which coughed up spouts of dust with every collision. I was beginning to worry I would have to call the authorities and ashamedly explain my predicament (I pushed aside any thought that suggested the shutting the door had been the machinations of anything more intelligent than a gust of wind). 

I was absolutely frantic by the time the door gave way as easily as if it had been open the entire time. 

Luckily, I prevented myself from falling directly into the snow. I stumbled clumsily out into the blinding white afternoon, cold winter air bracing my face. For the first time that day I was truly thankful that no one was around to witness me.

Determined not to let this experience shake me, I continued my twisting walk through the cemetery, making my best effort to let the cool air and soothing sounds of the forest soothe my nerves. What I didn’t do was turn back to look at the shed, to check if there really was a lock on the outside of the door.

After about twenty minutes of taking in the scenery, the snow blindness was beginning to get to me. More and more of my vision was filling with patches of white, and that which I could see appeared foggy and blue-tinted. I started back the way I came, and along the way I encountered my own footprints from earlier in the walk.

It was then I saw my last and final strange thing: another set of footprints, same as before. They were unmistakably the same prints as the once I had seen earlier, nearly identical to mine.

Just like before, these strange footprints started pure out of the blue, in the middle of the trail. Unlike before, though, they weren’t leading towards a specific destination. 

Instead, they seemed to follow my own, two steps behind. 

I stiffened my posture and quickened my walking pace slightly, not allowing this sight to get the best of me beyond that. I didn’t want to run, or yell, and by god was I not going to turn around. 

I only made it a few steps before I felt a shock run through my body. I don’t know what it was; an evolutionary failsafe, a message from a higher power, or even the most imperceptible sound of a boot heel compressing the snow somewhere nearby. 

Whatever it was, it caused me to immediately take off running towards the edge of the cemetery as a terrifyingly dark feeling began to overtake me. With every frantic footstep my boots sent snow flying, while themselves filling entirely with chunks of snow within seconds. My vision filled with more and more of that white static until I was barrelling forward entirely blind. I still feel thankful that I managed not to stumble or slip even once for the entire stretch, although what that thankfulness is for I still do not know. 

When I crossed the border of the cemetery and emerged on the sidewalk, The oppressive feeling ceased at once and all was normal again. I came to an abrupt stop and turned around to see nothing but my own messy bootprints leading to the spot where I stood.

I immediately began to scold myself internally for how irrational I’d acted. Standing outside the cemetery, inhabiting the world of the real and the logical, my own behavior from just seconds before felt shameful and childish. Dejected, I walked myself and my now extremely wet boots all the way home. 

I’m still not afraid of cemeteries. I’m not going to stop going to that same cemetery, either.

 I just think I’m going to wait until after all the snow has melted. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “Crowley’s Cheeky Christmas Holiday” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is not too thrilled with the plans Crowley has made for their first real holiday. But after a little interactive explanation, Aziraphale is more than onboard. (1346 words)

Warning for fluffy, naked canoodling and then wam! Sexual content xD

Read on AO3.

"Ho-ho-ho!" Crowley chuckles, practically skipping his way through the master bedroom.

"Hmm. Someone seems awfully proud of themselves," Aziraphale notes dryly.

“I am, angel. I am."

"Please. Elaborate. Don't keep me in suspense."

"All right. I just confirmed our flight for tomorrow,” Crowley announces, slipping off his robe to join his husband reading in bed. “Flight 344, leaving promptly at noon.” He claps his hands, beyond thrilled that they’re finally going on their first official holiday as husbands (aside from their honeymoon, which, to Crowley, belongs in a separate category). “So, tell me, angel - are you excited to see Verwöhnhotel Kristall?”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale says, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh as he turns to the next page, less than enthused.

“You suppose?” Crowley cocks a thin brow at him. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind? You just want to stay at home with your books and read? We decided that we would travel now that we’re both gainfully unemployed! We made that decision together!” 

“It’s not that, my dear,” Aziraphale assures him with eyes still firmly planted on his book. “It’s just that I’ve been to Austria.”

“We’ve been to everywhere, angel. There’s no avoiding going somewhere again.”

“Austria is a hop, skip, and a jump from here. Spending our Christmas holiday there …" Another sigh "... we might as well find a hotel down the road and book a room.”

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, lost for a response. But then he snickers madly. Aziraphale finally lifts his eyes from his page.

“What? What did I say that’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Crowley waves his laughter away. “You're being such a snob about this. I adore it.”

Aziraphale gasps. “I am not! I simply thought that if we are going on a holiday over Christmas, a traditionally cold and bleary time, that we could perhaps visit somewhere warm and sunny.”

“I’m sure the sun is going to make an appearance while we’re in Austria. The damned thing isn’t going anywhere ... yet.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes at how thoroughly his husband missed the point. “It’s still going to be cold. Tremendously cold.”

“You have a coat and scarf. It’s going to be brilliant, Aziraphale!" Crowley declares in response to his husband's huff. "I have it all planned out. Could you please trust me?”

"Trust you? Since you haven’t divulged any of your plans, I maintain my right to judge.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, but alrighty then. Have it your way.” Instead of sliding under the comforter with Aziraphale, Crowley pulls it off Aziraphale’s legs with a dramatic flourish. 

Aziraphale gapes at him. “What on Earth are you doing!?” 

“Since you’re so eager to judge, I’m going to go over our travel plans with you.”

“And you took off the covers why? To simulate the frigid temperatures?”

“Haha, no. I need you to lay flat on your stomach.”

The incredulity on Aziraphale's face grows to epic proportions. “Whatever for?”

“It’s sort of a presentation. You’ll understand once we get started.”

Aziraphale sets his book aside with a third, heavier sigh and complies. “Will you be requiring a wahoo afterward?”

“I might,” Crowley snaps, impatiently returning his husband’s snark with more snark. Because of that, Aziraphale takes his sweet time settling onto his stomach on the bed, dragging a pillow with him to rest his crossed arms upon, and then his chin.

“All right. I am in the proper position, I trust.”

“Yes, but you’re a wee bit overdressed.” Crowley raises a hand to Aziraphale’s view. “Do you mind?”

“Do you mean to undress me?”

“Yes.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“Wonderful.” Crowley snaps his fingers, and immediately Aziraphale is naked. He shudders self-consciously at the removal of his clothes but focuses on his husband instead, admittedly curious. “Okay.” Crowley rubs his hands together, warming them up before he begins. “First, I am taking you ice skating …”

“What a visionary,” Aziraphale teases. “We live in London. There are skating rinks a mere bus ride away. Why do we have to travel to Austria to go ice skating when we---?” Aziraphale’s voice cuts out when he feels his husband’s fingertips play over his shoulders, sliding in unison, mimicking the movements of two people skating. “O-oh ...” Aziraphale shivers beneath Crowley’s gentle touch. “This is an interactive presentation.”

“A-ha.”

“I see. What else is on your itinerary?”

“Skiing.”

Aziraphale wiggles as Crowley’s fingers slide down the slope of his spine, slaloming from flank to flank before launching off the end of his tailbone.

“Mmm, yes, yes,” Aziraphale says. “I can see the appeal. Anything else?”

“Snowboarding.”

Aziraphale snorts. “Right---eee!” He squeals when one of Crowley’s phalange snowboarders glides over a particularly ticklish spot on his back. “Since when have you wanted to go snowboarding?”

“Not until recently. I figure, after everything we’ve been through over the past few centuries, now is the perfect time to try something new. What d'you think?”

“Have you not known me for 6000 years? I am not an angel made for snowboarding.”

“Why not?” Crowley pouts, sending his snowboarders up Aziraphale’s back for the return trip. “Don’t angels Segway around Heaven?”

“Not me. Not once.”

“Aren’t you in the mood for an adventure?”

“If by adventure you mean eat at a new experimental fusion restaurant, then yes. I am definitely in the mood. But trusting life and limb to a thin plank of wood whilst careening down an icy hill at a hundred miles per hour, then no. I am in no mood for adventure.”

“But you’ll go skiing?”

“Yes.”

“How is that different?”

“First off, I have been skiing before. Cross-country mainly.”

“Skis are technically thin planks of wood.”

“Yes, but they give you two - one for each foot. So, it’s much more like skating. Even more like walking if you’re traveling straight along.”

“I see your point.” Crowley stops one snowboarder on Aziraphale’s right shoulder while the other tumbles to the mattress like he’s falling from a cliff.

“Crowley! How could you?” Aziraphale cries in mock horror, staring at the pair of fingers he assumes represent him lying unconscious in the snow. “You didn’t even try to stop me!”

“I did, angel. I could only save one of us, so I made the ultimate sacrifice.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Aziraphale says with a solemn sniff. “What's next? I mean, after I fetch a strapping young gentleman to fish you out of the snow and I miracle your broken legs back together.”

“Funny. You’re very funny.” Crowley crawls down the bed, straddles Aziraphale’s legs. “After all that physical exertion, we’ll want to get some lunch.”

“Sounds logical.” Aziraphale closes his eyes when Crowley’s lips brush the knobs of his spine, laying a trail of kisses along the curve of his back. “Mmm … my vote is for crepes smothered in loganberries and fresh cream.”

“I thought you might,” Crowley murmurs.

“Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Dunno. Thought maybe we could grab some ice cream,” Crowley mumbles, massaging Aziraphale’s arse, kneading with firm hands, and admiring the view.

“Ice cream?” Aziraphale scoffs. “In winter? Why would you want to eat freezing cold ice cream surrounded by all that snow---oh! My … goodness!” He yelps when Crowley’s hands part his cheeks, and a silky hot tongue begins lapping at his hole. “Yes! Yes, I see! Ice cream! Ice cream does sound fabulous, come to think of it! We can eat as much ice cream as you want!”

“So …” Crowley pauses to talk, toying with Aziraphale’s entrance with swipes of his tongue and barely-there kisses between words “… how are you … feeling about … Austria now?”

“I …” Aziraphale’s breath catches when Crowley’s tongue interrupts him, slowly circling, weeding its way inside. “I think … this may turn out to be … the best holiday … ever!”

“Can I get a wahoo?” Crowley says, then nothing else as he fucks his husband with his tongue.

“Uh … uh …” Aziraphale swallows hard, melting into the chilly sheets beneath him. “Wahoo …”

[let-it-raines]

Playing the Waiting Game

For years, Emma was told to stay away from pirates and others who did not uphold the integrity of the crown she was raised to represent. Emma was never particularly good at listening, however, and while she can still hear the words of her parents in the recesses of her mind, there’s a louder voice that keeps calling her to one particular pirate captain.

rating: a soft m

found on ao3 | here | 

-/-

Birdsong rings out from above her, wings whipping through trees and rustling the leaves, and Emma uses the sounds to keep her own footsteps quiet. There are too many leaves and stray branches scattered on the forest floor, and while she doubts there is anyone else out here when most everyone has work to attend to, she still likes to keep her presence quiet. She’s old enough to know that she’s never truly alone, and lately there seems to be some kind of danger around every corner.

Or, at least, that’s what her father was always telling her.

She was brought up with these never-ending senses of freedom and adventure and hope, and while remnants of those three remain in some of her choices, there are voices in the back of her mind reminding her to be careful with her actions.

And with her heart.

One of those voices is her father. The other is very clearly her mother.

Right now, she’d rather not hear from either of them for once.

After a few minutes of wandering, she finally finds the spot for which she was searching. Beyond the trees but before the cliffs, Emma walks upon a spring with water babbling and then rushing away as it travels to the ocean. It is not salty like the water of the sea, isn’t constantly filled with fisherman and Naval officers and the occasional pirate ship , and she seeks the peace of it and how refreshing it is to bathe without having to listen to the commotion that’s always taking place in the tavern. Emma will be forever thankful for Granny and Ruby for giving her a room and work with good pay, but the simplicity and lawlessness of the place is not what she’s accustomed to.

Well, it is now.

Looking around once more, Emma decides there is no one around, and she shrugs off her cape before working around the buttons at the back of her dress. She doesn’t have on a corset today, can’t be forced into one unless she’s trying to earn more coin at the tavern or at the docks when she sells jewelry with Ruby, but undressing still brings her a sense of freedom and a lightness that couldn’t be found for many years.

“That’s the ability to breathe,” Granny always says. “Men take it for granted because they can wear whatever they damn well please, while we have to wear torture devices to keep our waists trim and our breasts high. Bloody ridiculous.”

When Emma’s toes sink into the water, it’s chilled. The month is not yet March, but it’s a particularly sunny day. Emma assumed the waters would be fine, and after a few minutes of shivering, they are. The Summer Isles are never too cold. Misthaven used to freeze every year, frost and snow covering all of the land, and while Emma does miss the snow, she at least doesn’t have to worry about losing her toes to frostbite.

Humming to herself, Emma takes her hair out of its plaits and then wades beneath the water, letting every inch of her long, golden hair soak, before she swims to the shore and reaches over for the lotions she brought with her. This one smells of lavender, and while she knows that Ruby is not fond of the thought of becoming someone’s wife, Emma selfishly wonders if Ruby might marry Graham so that he can continue to bring soaps and lotions to the tavern.

Then again, Emma is sure she could procure these all on her own. She has some coin stashed away, could sell some of her finer dresses and jewels that she managed to bring with her, but doing that seems like erasing her parents.

Their voices pop back up again, such hope and optimism there, and she pushes them away.

Not today, not today, not today.

“If it isn’t Ms. Swan lazing about in the spring.”

Emma’s eyes spring open, and she sinks further into the water while her heart beats an erratic pace. What the hell is he doing here? How did he find her here? How did she not hear him walk over the crunch of the leaves on the ground?

“What are you doing here?” Emma finally manages to ask. He smirks, eyes looking downward, and she crosses her arms over her chest to cover her breasts.  

“Well, I was going to endeavor to take a proper bath without being hounded by my crew, but it seems someone is occupying the spring. You’re making a mighty fine show of it, lass.” He raises his hands. “On my honor, I have seen nothing below those delicate shoulders of yours. Wouldn’t be proper.”

Emma rolls her eyes and starts floating toward her things while keeping an eye on him. He’s in nothing but his leathers and a long, dark shirt today that is open enough that it barely covers any of his chest. That’s not unusual, though, and she finds that her eyes linger at the dark patches of hair covering the strong muscle before they move up to the multitude of silver chains around his neck. Finally, though, they settle on the sharp, stubble-covered jaw and the white teeth showing in a smile that always makes her skin pebble up in gooseflesh.

One part of her wants to say that’s in a good way while the other is not so sure.

“Killian Jones, since when are you proper?”

He scoffs and places his hand on his chest, affronted. “I am always a gentleman, milady.”

“If you’re so much of a gentleman, why don’t you turn around and allow me to get dressed.”

“As you wish.”

“And don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you for a second.”

He twists around and winks, the bastard. “I would despair if you did, but I promise to keep my eyes off of you, which is such a bloody shame.”

She has to bite her tongue. She doesn’t know if it’s to keep from laughing or scolding him, and since she seems to be at war with herself so much, she decides to keep her own mouth shut as she climbs out of the spring and moves to her clothes, pulling her shift down over her before dressing in more complete layers. The clothes cling to her wet skin, and her hair will take ages to brush through, but at least she’s no longer exposed to the elements and to Jones.  

She’s not a prude. Really, many around the village would call her a whore because she’s been in a man’s bed before marriage, but she’s not particularly interested in societal norms anymore. But she doesn’t have much of an interest in Killian Jones seeing her in the nude if it’s not on her terms.

Ruby would cheer her on for that thought. Granny would likely tell her to watch herself.

“You can turn around now.”

He makes a show of it, slowly turning and sauntering toward her, and when he’s standing but a few feet away, she gets a glimpse at overly blue eyes that she could swear he managed to steal from the sea.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress, Swan.”

“I’m not wearing a corset.” “I think it is apparent that you need not wear one.”

Emma rolls her eyes and reaches up to start braiding her hair. “So, when did you return to the Isles?”

“A few hours ago. I was planning on bringing the men to the tavern tonight. We had a successful voyage. Figured we all deserved a celebratory drink.” “There are other taverns.”

“Ah, but none with bar wenches as pretty as you.”

This time Emma can’t hold back her laughter, and even with her head tilted back to the sunlight, she knows that he’s smiling.

“I am not a bar wench, and you are not courting me.”

“Why ever not, love?” he asks with a wink. Even then, though, he steps closer to her, and she allows him to place his hand and his hook on her hip. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for them, and she knows herself enough to know that one day she’ll cave. Is it really caving when it’s what she wants? “I could court you. Believe it or not, I was taught how to properly court a woman. I simply believe my way is more thrilling.” “That’s because your way involves rum and sex.” “You forget the gambling.” Emma scoffs, and Killian leans in closer, dipping his head to her neck so that she can feel the softness of his lips and the slight scratch of his beard move against the sensitive cords of her neck.

Fuck, that feels good.

To think that at one time she would have never dared to utter that phrase nearly makes her giggle.

“How could I – however could I forget the gambling?” “Maybe you were distracted,” he teases as his teeth gently bite down before pulling away. Emma gasps before she can stop herself, and Killian’s chuckle is warm against her skin. “I have been told I can be a distracting man.”

“In your dreams.”

“Ah, well, you are indeed in my dreams.”

She allows him to trail his lips against her skin for a few minutes, letting the pleasure rumble over her and settle deep in her belly, but then the voices are back, telling her that she’s better than a pirate, that this isn’t proper.

She never did care much about proper. Why would she now?

“I’ll see you tonight,” Emma whispers as she pulls herself away, heart thumping. Killian’s cheeks are red, his chest heaving, and she knows if she looked down, his trousers would be tight. “I’ll find time to play cards with you, and you can tell me about your journey.”

“Your heart’s desire, Swan.”

And then she’s gathering all of her things and quickly moving away. By the time she’s out of the woods and back inside the perimeters of the village, she smells wood and salt, and she can’t decide if that is from the town or if it’s from Killian.

It’s been months since he’s been back. She doesn’t remember exactly when he left, but she always knows when the Jolly Roger is docked here. The tavern is usually the home to travelers and fisherman, but every few months, each bench and bed are filled with pirates. They may bring in a different type of man, but whenever they leave, Emma’s coin purse is always full from tips and Granny can afford to buy whatever materials she needs for upkeep.

They are all surprisingly well-behaved, but really, if one knows the captain, one knows that isn’t all that surprising at all. The man likes his rum and his card games, mostly because he keeps weighted dice and extra cards up his sleeve, and while a brawl or two does break out, it’s not what Emma thought to expect from a pirate.

“Pirates are no good, sweetheart,” her father once said as he paced back and forth in the library. “They come to our land and they plunder. They have been known to take women and ruin families. They threaten lives for gold. What could possibly be good about a pirate?”

What could be good about a pirate?

A part of her knows, but it’s her parents’ voices and their memory that keeps her from fully falling into finding out.

When she gets back to the tavern, Ruby is sitting in the corner on a bench with Graham, the two of them laughing at some private joke, and they don’t pay any attention to her as she sulks through and slips behind the bar and back into the kitchen where Granny is chopping up a few vegetables while water simmers over the fire.

“We’re going to be busy tonight,” Emma casually tells her, grabbing an apple. “I would get out the rum and whiskey.” Granny turns back to her and rises her brows. “How do you know that?” “I’ve heard a rumor the Jolly Roger is back.”

Granny puts her knife down and places her hands on her hips. “Did you hear a rumor, or have you seen that captain of yours already?”

Emma bites into the apple, and juices run down her face. “He is not mine.”

“Maybe not, but he’s sweet on you.” “And why is that a problem? Graham is being sweet on Ruby out there.”

“Graham is a respectable man.”

Emma opens her mouth to say that she knows for a fact that Graham isn’t quite as respectable with Ruby as Grammy thinks he is, but instead she takes another bite of her apple.

“Look,” Granny sighs, picking up her knife to cut her vegetables again, “you are a mature woman, and you are not my kin. But you also came here five years ago with a chest of expensive goods and not a lick of sense for how to live, so you cannot blame me for caring for you. That man is a sight for sore eyes, and if you want him to warm your bed over the next few weeks, I will not attempt to stop you. When he leaves, however, and he will leave, I don’t want to hear a word of melancholy out of you. Now help me cook dinner and then we’ll prepare for tonight, aye?”

Her parents would definitely be fond of Granny.

Emma helps cook and clean and knead the dough for the bread they’ll bake in the morning, and by the time the night falls and the tavern is lit by nothing more than candle and lantern light, every bench and barstool is full with the excess men leaning against walls and sitting on open window sills that allow the night breeze to waft in. None of them have had a moment to sit down or take a breath from constantly refilling drinks and serving food, and Emma’s feet are starting to ache from constantly standing. She should have had more time to soak them today during her bath, but there’s obviously something to be said about best laid plans being spoiled.

“You have an admirer,” Ruby tells her, nudging her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s been able to keep his eyes off of you all night.” “Yeah, well, we both know I’m his type. Look at all of the women surrounding him. He could easily pretend any of them are me.”

There’s a heaviness in the pit of Emma’s stomach when she looks over at Killian, at the way he commands his table with whatever tale he’s weaving and how the women bat their eyelashes at him and run their fingers over his shoulders.

“You are blind if you think any of them hold a candle to you, my dear. Why don’t you go talk to him, play a round of cards? It’s slowing down. If I need you, I can easily get you.”

“I don’t know, Rubes.”

“Why not? He’s handsome, he’s got a sense of humor, and he’s only ever here for a few weeks at a time. I know you’re not interested in a commitment. What else could you want?”

“I want,” she starts, but then she realizes she doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.”

Ruby sighs and turns to Emma, placing her hands on her shoulders and squeezing until Emma looks directly in Ruby’s eyes. “I don’t know who exactly you were before you came here, but I know you’re not someone who lets the opinion of others stop her from having a little fun. So don’t listen to my Granny. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And don’t listen to whatever part of you says you can’t be with him because he’s a pirate. It’s just a job, Emma. It’s illegal in some places and not the most clean cut in others, but nearly everyone who walks through here is doing something that’s a little…crooked.” “That’s one way to put it.”

“Go,” Ruby insists with a shake of her head. “Have a good time tonight, and if you hate it, which you won’t, I will not bother you at all. I swear of it.” “I will hold you to your word.” “I know you will.” Ruby moves her hands from Emma’s shoulders and then loosens the laces on the front of her dress, exposing the tops of her breasts. Leave it to Ruby to do that. “Enjoy your night, and if you’re fortunate, your morning too.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she listens…after she drinks a small glass of rum herself.

Killian isn’t paying her any attention as she shuffles through the tavern and moves to the back of the room where he’s sitting. He’s shuffling a deck of cards with his hand when she walks up while muttering something to the women ogling him, but he does finally look up when she learns over the table.

“What are you boys playing?”

He blinks, slowly, and his lips tick up to the right while his tongue flickers out, running over his bottom lip. It’s a look she’s seen before, but it’s not one she’s allowed herself to fully appreciate it.

That’s a damn shame.

“Smee,” Killian calls out, slamming the cards down, “come and take my place in the game.”

“But Captain – ”

“Smee – ”

“Aye, sir. I will gladly take over.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma chuckles. “I would have played with you.” “You would have lost,” he whispers as he stands and gets nearer to her. “It was rigged.”

Emma clicks her tongue. “I should have known.”

“Later, though, I might shuffle a new deck, and I give you my word that I will not keep any cards up my sleeve.”

“I make no such promise myself.”

He chuckles and dips his head until his lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Would you like to come back to my ship for a nightcap?”

Emma gulps.

“I don’t believe I can leave Ruby and Granny here alone when we have all of your crew.”

“Pity that. Still, have a drink with me. I did promise to tell you about my journeys.”

“That you did.”

They settle at a table in the corner of the tavern beneath one of the few closed windows. Ruby brings them a pitcher of ale and two small glasses, and before she walks away, she winks and makes a gesture that Emma hopes Killian ignored.

Or maybe she hopes that he saw it.

Emma does not know what she wants, truly, but she pushes down those thoughts and then downs a pewter of ale while Killian begins weaving a tale of his adventures. She can tell that he’s leaving parts out, that he’s curating this for her ears, and she tries to piece together the parts he is not sharing. He went to Misthaven, and she wants to know more.

How is it doing?

Are the people happy?

What about the flowers? Were any blooming despite the month?

Is there still a large rock with her name engraved in it sitting on the shore?

But why would he know any of that? He didn’t make the voyage there to quench her curiosity. He went to make a deal with another pirate captain, something about them both coming across an abandoned ship full of goods. She didn’t know pirate captains made deals like that. She thought they simply killed and attacked for what they wanted.

Then again, she’s starting to realize that maybe she doesn’t know anything about him past the rumors and few bits and pieces he’s shared over the years.

And yet she so readily lets him run his lips across her skin and was fully ready to share his bed tonight.

Emma sucks in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. Her heart is far from calm, and she suddenly can’t get enough air.

“Love,” Killian says, his thumb on her chin as he turns her attention back to him. “Are you quite alright, lass?”

Emma nods and swallows before plastering a fake smile on her face as her hand moves from her lap up to Killian’s hook, tracing along the metal. He watches her movements, and she knows she’s distracted him.

“I have a confession to make." 

"I find most women do."

“I want to know how you got the hook. You hear so many stories…”

“And what have you heard?” “Nothing that I don’t want to hear from you.”

His brows pinch together, but then he softens them while his lips stretch and she has a view of his pretty white teeth. “An enemy took it from me because he believed I took something of his.”

“Something more important than a hand?”

“More important, aye.” Blue eyes glance away before he leans in closer, his hand pressing down on her thigh. “If we’re sharing secrets, would you like to tell me how you became so educated? Or why your attention on me has increased when I was speaking about Misthaven?”

“I’ve read about it is all,” she lies. “My parents taught me to read. I was fortunate.”

“And where are these parents now? Do they know you’re associating with dirty pirate captains?”

“You bathed earlier.”

Killian tilts his head back with a big, booming laugh, and half of the tavern looks their way before he can contain himself and look directly at her, his eyes piercing. “I bathe quite frequently, but I don’t believe I could win the approval of any woman’s parents. So, where are Mum and Dad, love? Do I have to worry about dear old father want to chop off my other hand?”

“No, no you don’t.” A sob catches in Emma’s throat, and this time she can’t swallow it down. “What’d you take from your enemy?”

“That isn’t important for you to know.” “I want to know.” “Well, it’s none of your bloody business!” He picks up the jug of ale and takes a large swig directly from it, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I think I best let you get back to work, sweetheart. I’m suddenly not in a mood for a night cap.”

He moves his hand of her thigh and reaches into his pocket before tossing a small purse onto the table. “For your trouble. Have a good night, Swan.”

And then he stands and walks away, coat swishing behind him until he disappears out the tavern door and into the darkness of night.

-/-

When the crew of the Jolly Roger comes into the tavern the next night, Emma lets Ruby deal with the Captain’s table. She feels Killian’s eyes on her the entire night, and she knows they’re a darker shade of blue than they usually are.

‘Tis no matter. If he wants to push her and wants her to talk but she can’t ask him questions, then they’ll stay at this stalemate. He’ll be gone soon enough, and he’ll be nothing but a distant memory until he comes back.

If he comes back.

She doesn’t need to be sharing her bed with him anyhow. It would be momentary pleasure only to be left and disappointed again. If she wants someone to sleep next to at night with no connection, there are plenty of other men in the village. She doesn’t need him.

So Emma lets him come and go as he pleases, serves him when she has to, sells jewelry to his crew on the days she works at the docks, and he seems to be choosing to mind his own business as well.

Good.

Days pass before they turn into weeks, and the sting when Emma sees him has dissipated to nothing but the smallest of aches, and he seems to be coming into the tavern less and less. Ruby and Granny have both mentioned it, but Emma has brushed them off, not wanting or needing to explain any piece of her life to them no matter how good they’ve been to her.

She is allowed her own bits of privacy.

Tonight she is taking that privacy by sweeping the alley outside of the tavern while Ruby, Graham, and Granny work inside. It’s unsurprisingly busy tonight. With spring sweeping in, warm weather has come too, and it has allowed the ocean breeze to settle into the air, leaving a warm salt. There’s no need for cloaks and gloves and several pairs of stockings, and Emma longs for the summer even more now.

“Where are you taking me, Captain?” Emma hears a woman giggle, and she sinks back against the building, her heart pounding as loud as horse hooves. “Are we going to your ship?”

“I’m giving you your coin, you will tell my crew I had a nice time should the question arise, and then you may go and enjoy your night.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you, lass,” Killian mutters, his hook flashing in the moonlight. “Have a good night.” “Why don’t you want me to share your bed tonight?”

“My reasons are my own. Question them at your own peril.”

And then he turns and walks away, his boots crunching on the gravel.

Emma can’t quite believe what she’s just seen, and she swallows the ever-present lump in her throat before pushing off the wall and dropping the broom against the door. Her curiosity is going to get the best of her because instead of returning to her work, she follows the sound of Killian’s footsteps and then his shadow as he returns to his ship. She’s likely not welcome, but that doesn’t stop her from watching him bark at a cabin boy before he walks through the doors to his quarters.

She hesitates, lingering on her toes, and maybe she’s being dull tonight, but she quietly sneaks aboard the Jolly, making sure none of the remaining crew spot her, before she follows in Killian’s footsteps and opens the door that will lead her to his cabin.

“Jim, I said I was not to be disturbed!”

“My name is not Jim.”

There’s a clatter and a curse, and when Emma is able to climb off the ladder, she can see Killian picking up a stack of books, still muttering to himself.

At least he isn’t cursing at her. She would deserve it for having walked onto his ship without him knowing.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Curiosity,” she admits, taking in the small room filled with books and a small table, as well as a bed that looks more comfortable than hers at the tavern. He seems to have quite the collection of small goods, and her mind betrays her again by wanting to know where exactly he acquired each of them. “Frustration also. I don’t understand you, Killian Jones.”

“Not many people do. Few know me well enough to, and I don’t have most people call me by my name. Most use my more colorful moniker.”

“I like Killian better.”

He huffs and picks up a pewter cup, placing it on the table next to what looks like a map. Are these his plans for his next adventure?

“What are you frustrated about, Swan? Have I done something else to offend you? Pushed you too much? Gotten under your skin? Or are you here to pester me about my past once more?”

Emma shrugs and sits down at the edge of his bed, running her finger across the blanket. “My parents always warned me about pirates, you know?”

“I imagine most did.” “They said you were all despicable and dangerous and that I should never trust any of you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She hums, more unconvinced now than ever before. “But there’s this weird thing about you that makes me trust you despite everything in my head telling me not to. Would I be wise to assume that you haven’t been a pirate for your entire life? You noticed that I was educated. I have noticed the same of you. The Navy perhaps? But how does someone who was educated in the Navy become a pirate?”

“How does someone who knows proper grammar and etiquette start work in a tavern? How old are you, Swan?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two as of next month.”

“Twenty-six for me. In October.”

Killian clicks his tongue, and she snaps her head up to look at him. He’s not smiling, but he’s pleased. She can see the mirth in his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth twitches.

“You know,” he sighs, pulling the chair out from under the table. It screeches against the floor and then groans when he sits down. “I heard a rather peculiar tale when I was in Misthaven.”

“Did you?”

“Aye. You see, Misthaven has been under a new ruling for the past few years. It seems the King and Queen were killed while sailing to visit the court in Arendelle. Since the law had not passed for a woman to be able to take the throne without a King, the deceased King’s brother took the throne. It seems the princess had been unwilling to marry her suitor and ran away. It takes a clever lass to avoid that many palace guards.”

Emma nods and picks at a thread in his blanket, pretending not to care too much for his story even as her heart explodes within her chest.

He knows.

She knows that he does, that there’s no way he wouldn’t have figured it out, and maybe she should run away, should try to find some kind shelter. There has to be a reward out for her, and Killian may want it.

But if he did, he would have taken her already? He’s been here for weeks. He would have had his opportunities.

“It’s said she had hair made of gold and eyes made of emeralds, but to me, it almost seems that her hair is the color of sunshine and her eyes are comparable to only the ocean on a summer day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She finally looks up, her lips parted to refute his assumption, but she finds that the words die on her tongue. Instead, she decides to ask another question entirely.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the moment I heard the tale last October. It was your birthday. They have a celebration in the village square.”

“If you knew how I was educated, why did you pester me about it back in the tavern? How is it fair that you know so much about my life and yet I know none of yours?”

“’Tis not fair. Nothing about life is.” Killian stands from the chair, its legs scraping against the wood again. He shrugs off his coat, his shirt underneath clinging to his muscles before it loosens. She can see the way his shoulders heave, the way he’s taking deep breaths, and he’s still turned away from her when he starts speaking. “I have no interest in reliving my past, but I will tell you these truths for the sake of good form. I was in the Navy until I was eighteen. My brother was killed because of our corrupt king, and I turned to piracy. Sometime later I met a woman who was my first love, but her husband took issue with this. He took my hand and since she wasn’t interested in being with a broken man, she went back to her husband. Is that everything you need to know?”

“Killian – ”

“Don’t,” he sighs, turning around with his face buried in his hand. “I don’t tell any of that for sympathy. I share because I should have ages ago. I don’t enjoy being on unequal footing with a woman I fancy, so the moment I figured out your past, I should have shared mine. It’s only right.”

“Thinking you’re on unequal footing is inane. This is not a game.”

He drops his hand and smiles halfheartedly. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

Neither of them speak next, silence lingering in between the two of them, and she keeps waiting for Killian to break the silence and fill the cabin with words. He doesn’t. And the longer it goes on, the more she thinks that the air gets thicker, heavier even.

The more she wonders how she’s even breathing.

“If you enjoy being on equal footing,” Emma finally begins, standing from the bed and sauntering toward Killian until she’s standing directly under his gaze and can smell the leather from his clothes, “then I must admit that I fancy you as well.”

He blinks, and she knows that the corner of his lips tick up.

Good.

“Aye?”

“Aye,” she whispers before pushing up her toes to glide her lips over his.

Emma has felt Killian’s lips on her before, but never like this. It was always on her skin somewhere, sometimes brief, sometimes not, but she has never actually kissed him. She’s never felt how the softness of his mouth mixes with her own or how his beard would feel rough rubbing against her chin. She’s never felt the warm swipe of his tongue or the way that he knows how to push and pull, how to give and take, and how to keep the pace slow, almost reverent when she was fully intending for this to turn into something that would have a fire burning so brightly in her belly that the entire ship would burn down.

That fire is definitely there, warming her, but she thinks she might be able to contain it if this pace continues.

Then again, this isn’t what she was expecting, and the gentleness of it all might make her lose her footing more than if they were to strip out of their clothes right now.

Killian pulls back first, but he doesn’t stray far. His forehead rests against hers, and his thumb has moves from her hair to her chin, his thumb resting in the indent so that she can feel the roughness of his skin and the cool, smooth texture of the metal making up his ring.

“I imagine your parents wouldn’t be too fond of you kissing a pirate.”

“I imagine not, but at some point, I think they would come around.” She leans into him again, brushing her lips over his as she speaks. “Tell me more about Killian Jones, the man. I’d like to know him outside of the view of everyone in the tavern.” “I’m afraid you won’t find him to be as adventurous.”

“Try me.”

Killian chuckles, kissing her once more, this time quick and dirty and absolutely breath-taking, and for a moment, Emma almost tugs him back into her and pulls him down on the bed, but she’s not ready. Now she knows more about him, now she knows something past the physical frustration and the sexual desire, and she finds that she wants to talk to someone who knows about her past but isn’t trying to push her and pull her back into that life.

He’s got a past too, one as colorful and heart wrenching, and she craves knowing more of it.

If he’ll let her.

Killian nods and tells Emma to sit down. She settles on his bed, pulling her knees to her chest and watching as he pulls a series of leather-bound journals out of the ornate cabinet carved into the ship. He doesn’t say anything, simply sitting down on a wooden chair and flipping through the pages, reading a few words to himself, turning the page once again, and then he settles on a passage.

“Today, I set foot in Misthaven for the first time in over a decade. The journey here was full of calm, fall waters, and while a chill nips at my nose, I cannot deny how beautiful this kingdom is. Evergreen trees spread across the ground as far as they eye can see, but then, in the blink of an eye, there are vast stretches of white sand that link to the sea. It reminds me of when I was a boy, of the way my mother would take us to the beach before she died, and though I am here for work, I wonder of the possibility of staying here on a more permanent basis.”

Killian looks up to her, blue eyes cast in a hazy shade of gray, and she swears his cheeks may be shaded in pink.

“Though,” he continues, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I would be remiss to say that if I do not return to the Isles, I’ll never seen Emma Swan again. She’s fiery, that lass, and while I was first attracted to the curves that make up her body, I find that she is the only one who is not afraid to challenge me. I fancy that about her, even when she is yelling at me, and it would be a lie to say that I do not enjoy riling her up. Her cheeks turn pink, her lips press into a firm line, and then she shows me her wit that is purely unmatched.”

“You write about me in your journal?”

He doesn’t look at her. Instead he run his tongue against his teeth and flips through a few pages.

“With the information I’ve gathered today, I believe Swan to be the lost princes of Misthaven. This seems ludicrous, but I cannot turn my mind off to keep from thinking of this. The timeline, the description, the portraits of her in the village, all piece together. It is not my place to be intrusive, and while many would say that means I’ve gone soft, I cannot help but assume that she has run for a reason. She suffered a great loss, and as someone who has experienced many of those, I understand the urge to run. I live this life because of it.”

Emma studied anatomy in her schoolings, knows where each organ is supposed to be located, but she would be damned right now if her heart isn’t in her stomach, beating faster than it ever has while her throat constricts. Killian has obviously skipped over several pages and paragraphs in his journal, has not told her more than he has told her, but what he has told her is enough.

They understand each other, and maybe beneath the physical attraction, that has been there all along.

“Would you like to meet me by the river tomorrow?” Emma whispers as the ship rocks below them.

“Aye, love, I think I would.”

Killian meets her by the river a half hour pass noon the next day. The sun is beaming down on them, a gentle breeze whistling between the trees, and while the two of them share more than they have in the past, it is still but a bird pecking at the shallows. That changes, however, as more days come to pass. During the day, the two of them meet by the river, exchanging slow, lingering kisses that sometimes stay that way and other times leaver her entire body flushing, and at night, he comes to the tavern. There, life is almost as normal as it always is. He sits at his preferred table with his crew, women often trying to gain his attention, and while they are always unsuccessful, there’s a feeling of being unsettled that comes with it.

He has a reputation to uphold, and really, who is she to ruin that for him?

Captain Hook is who the world knows.

Killian Jones is who she is getting to know.

And as the spring melts into summer, that is who she is falling for in a way that she never allowed herself to expect.  

“Swan,” Killian whispers against the back of her neck, his breath warm as it ghosts over the expanse of her bare skin.

She shifts back into him, dragging her foot along the warm skin of his calf as he presses into her so that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest and the hard planes of a sea-worn body.

“Mhm,” Emma mumbles, tugging on his hand that is lying flat against her stomach.

“I’m afraid I have some news to share with you.”

The words do not truly settle in her mind. Instead, they stay on the outskirts, waiting and wanting to get in and settle, but her sated body and tired mind don’t allow that.

“And what’s that?”

“I received a letter a few days prior from an old acquaintance who says he has news of my old king once more trying to get his hands on the poison that killed Liam. I cannot let that happen, my love. He could kill thousands, and my men are getting restless. They need to be back on the sea before I have mutiny on my hands.”

Emma blinks and swallows while her stomach swirls, the words Killian is saying finally settling in her mind.

He’s leaving.

That is what Killian is trying to tell her, and she so wishes that she could fall back asleep and not hear any of it.

She knew this would happen, but she had allowed herself to feel comfortable, content even.

Emma had allowed herself to feel love despite knowing that it can be gone in the blink of an eye.

After her parents’ deaths and after many of her courtships in her youth, Emma always believed love to be fleeting, but in actuality, it is not. It seems that it takes no time at all to fall in the kind of love that would take a lifetime to get past, and she has allowed herself to do just that.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Emma makes an attempt to steady her breathing, to someone convince Killian that she has fallen asleep once more, but she knows that he doesn’t believe her when his lips press against her shoulder once more.

“I am a pirate, my love,” he whispers into her skin. “Tis the life I have chosen, and for now, I cannot settle down in one place. In the future, I am open to every possibility, but for now, I must go. Would I be a fool to ask you to come with me? I can show you a way of the world that you did not get as a child, and if you want, we can venture to Misthaven under the cover of the night and cloaks of disguise so you can be home once more.”

Emma opens her eyes again and takes in the soft glow of the candles still burning and the moonlight shining through the windows, a mix of a golden and silver glow, and she allows herself to imagine what leaving her safe haven would be like.

What going home would feel like even if that place is no longer hers.

“But it is your choice,” he continues, each word vibrating against her skin. “Everything is up to you, and if you choose to stay, know that I will count down every minute until I can get back to you.”

Nodding, Emma squeezes Killian’s hand once more. “How much time do I have to make my decision?”

“I will not leave until you have.”

She does not know what to say or how to put her thoughts into words, and while they are pressed together so that she can feel every inch of him, that is not nearly enough. So she glides their hands downward and shifts her leg back, hooking it over Killian’s calf, and he easily takes the hint, slowly touching her in a way that has her heart racing as his lips trail along her back and her shoulder, breathing her in as she does the same to him. The ship rocks gently below them in a soothing motion that Emma has grown to love, and the slowness of the ocean sets the slowness of their pace.

A gradual building that goes higher and higher and higher with each deft movement of Killian’s hand.

But then his hand is replaced, and he slides into her in a long, slow motion, heat radiating across her skin as he fills her. It’s familiar by now, and while she will admit that it is not always thrilling, there are times like this where she cannot imagine any other feeling beside being joined with him in the early morning hours.

The pace stays the same, sometimes slowing when Emma twists her neck to capture Killian’s mouth with hers, and she lingers in living on the edge of falling over, wanting to be there but being content to wait. She’s never liked waiting for much, especially good things, but with Killian, she’s found that waiting is always with it.

Waiting for him to flirt with her, waiting for him to be honest about who he is, waiting for him to come to the tavern, waiting for him to share his past, waiting for him to turn up in the markets with her favorite dessert when she thought he was working, waiting for him to fall in love…

And the thing that always gets her is that yes, she has bided her time and waited for him in certain aspects, but she has not sat idle. She has done her job, has spent time with those closest to her, has done things that she’s wanted to do. So much of her life was controlled, and she’s not yet done with experiencing the freedom of being the only person who has any right to tell her what to do. She may have been raised to wait for a man because he makes the final decisions, but that is not the life she is living now.

Heaven knows, she has made Killian wait for her as well.

Likely far more than she has ever waited for him.

And he is not making any decisions for her. That is all up to her.

Now, though, as Killian’s hand inches to where they’re joined, his fingers working what can only be considered magic, she knows that she is no longer waiting to fall over the edge into the bliss that leaves her warm and sated almost every time.

They do not move afterward. They do not speak either. Instead, they stay pressed together under the blankets in Killian’s cabin, and when they are ready again, they once again join together. This time is not slow. It’s hard and fast, and Emma can scarcely breathe as she holds on in desperation knowing that this could be the last time for a long time.

If not forever.

She wakes not remembering having fallen asleep, and she immediately knows she’s not sharing the bed with anyone else. The mattress is not nearly warm enough for Killian to still be here. When she blinks open her eyes, she sees him standing next to his dresser. He’s not yet clothed, but she watches as a finishes attaching his brace for his hook and then slips on one of his shirts, this one long and billowy and the darkest shade of black she’s ever seen. He doesn’t button the top, leaving his chest on display, and she finds that she can’t look away from him as he tugs up his trousers and tucks in the blouse before putting on his necklaces and rings on. Emma has grown so used to seeing a variation of his clothing nearly every day, of watching him methodically get dressed and then sit down over his logs, the official ones, not the ones where he writes about her, that she cannot quite imagine the day where she is not here to witness these every day moments that are the most ordinary she has ever had.

After a life filled with extravagant and extraordinary, Emma imagines that the thrill that runs down her spine at the thought of having her own normal is greater than any thrill she’s ever possessed before.

“Ah, good morning, my love,” Killian sighs when he sees her. He tugs one last lace on his leathers before sauntering toward her and leaning down to kiss her. He tastes of mint already, and she finds herself smiling about it. “Should I call to the kitchen to get you breakfast, or will you be joining the crew there?”

“Where are you off to?”

“First, to eat,” he smiles, scratching behind his ear before brushing his hair off his forehead. “Then I have preparations to arrange before we depart. Tonight, though, I am all yours, however you want me.” “Captain, that is quite the dangerous position you’re giving me,” Emma laughs before letting the blankets fall around her as she stands and walks to the wardrobe to grab one of Killian’s shirts. “However I want you?”

“Anything for you, milady.”

Emma shakes her head and then turns back around to him, pressing up on her toes in order to wrap her arms around his neck and brush her lips over his mouth as she speaks. “I want to go with you.”

“Swan – ”

“Don’t protest,” she whispers as his hand and his hook settle at her hips. “You asked me, and I’m agreeing. I don’t know if I’ll want to go to Misthaven, but I do know that I am ready for a new adventure with you, whatever that may be.”

-/-

-/-

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[jaskiersvalley]

TITLE: Summer Swift

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @jaskiersvalley

PROMPT DAY #: #4 Hurt/Comfort

SUMMARY: Over the years, Geralt had assumed Jaskier didn’t travel with him during the winter because it was too cold and tough on a fragile human body. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

WORD COUNT (if applicable): ~1k

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix show

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder.

RATING: Teen and up

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Written as part of @geraskierweek. This one is dedicated to @thefishmongersdaughter - you know why :)

That first fateful meeting had been years ago but Geralt still remembered it. His Summer Swift had deemed him home for the warmer months, only leaving him as the cold set it. It was something Geralt had come to accept, cold, hard winters by himself. Such a life wasn’t fit for a fragile human.

“Where will you migrate to this winter, little hummingbird?” Geralt asked as he set the fire, an early chill had settled on the lands this year.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’m welcome anywhere in particular this year and my coin is a bit thin to be able to put myself up somewhere.”

Weighing up the options, Geralt finally offered to be a companion for the colder months too, happy to pay towards rooms for cold nights and help with furs for Jaskier. It was quietly accepted with a warning that Jaskier might not be able to pay him back and that Geralt was not obligated to spend all his time with him. At that, Geralt only laughed a little and shook his head, reassuring Jaskier that he liked spending time with him, his happiness was infectious. For some strange reason, that only drew a bitter huff from Jaskier but it didn’t matter, Geralt was just happy he got to spend more time with his bard.

As the weeks went on, something changed. Watching Jaskier was like watching a fire die out, the embers blowing in the winds and trying to remember their former glory. He still played in taverns but a spark was missing. He sang, he smiled, he bowed and went through the motions of flirting. But Geralt could see how it all rang hollow, a poor mimicry of what Jaskier had been.

And Geralt didn’t understand. He tried to make it better, took Jaskier to better inns, bought him nicer furs, didn’t put any pressure on him to perform, he even stopped trying to cuddle him in case Geralt was the cause of his sadness. Maybe Jaskier only ever wanted a summer romance with him and now felt trapped. Pulling back from Jaskier hurt and it didn’t seem to help. If anything, it made him fall deeper into this fading disease of his. The smiles were empty, there were no new songs. In fact, Jaskier barely even touched his lute. Some days, he sat on the edge of the bed, lute in hand but after a restless plucking of one or two strings, nothing more came forth. It was a good day when he got half way through a song even if it had no soul.

Things got worse. Not even the finest foods Geralt could offer seemed to make the bard smile. And it was a worry. Especially when Geralt realised that he, as a Witcher, slept more than his human companion. He lost track of the amount of time Jaskier lay in bed, eyes open and staring when he should have been fast asleep.

“What ails you?” Geralt ended up asking in the middle of the winter. “Would you prefer to part ways?”

The fact Jaskier didn’t answer beyond a shrug was worrisome. Even worse was when he opened his mouth to actually speak. “It would probably be better for you. I’d understand.”

He probably would understand but Geralt didn’t. Especially not when a tear trickled down Jaskier’s temple where he was lying. His question about being allowed to approach was met with a silent nod and Geralt was padding across the room, sliding into bed like he had done so many times in the past. It took a little coaxing and moving Jaskier around until he could be held and then it was like a dam had broken. Human arms clutched at him and tears escaped along with apologies.

Over the course of the next couple of days, Geralt managed to tease the story out of Jaskier. Each winter, some curse seemed to fall on him where everything seemed pointless, nothing tasted good and it was like sunshine and warmth brought all his happiness. The winter robbed him of that. Left him a husk of who he used to be. So he made up for it in the warmer months, becoming larger than life in the hopes that some of it might be carried over into the winter. It never was. His winters were spent holed up in some room, either at a friend’s place or somewhere safe. Only, this year nobody had been willing to put up with him, nobody wanted him to haunt their halls with his emptiness.

Listening to it all only made Geralt hold him closer. It wasn’t easy. Some days he wanted to shake Jaskier and ask him what was so awful about winter when there were so many wonders it brought. Snow, a crisp chill to the air, beautiful sights, the wonder of a warm fireplace with hot chocolate to boot. But it didn’t matter. For whatever reason, Jaskier was blind to these simple joys. On the days Geralt wanted to rage, he simply went out, walked through the snow, tended to Roach and, by the time his annoyance had quietened, he felt bad. So he always returned with a small gift for Jaskier.

As early as winter had set in, it was just as quick to pass. Soon, the sun was brightening the mornings, snowdrops peered out of the ground. And, Geralt noted, it was like watching Jaskier wake up. Not a sudden spring back to his usual self, more like a steady, yawning stretch. Rather than sit on his bed, Jaskier could be cajoled to sit by the window and look out at the melting snow. His lute, which had been abandoned on the darkest nights of winter, found its way to his side again. The first time Jaskier laughed, it sounded like a blessing even though it was last heard so long ago, it might as well have been a myth from olden times.

By the time the weather warmed up and spring had announced its imminent arrival, Jaskier was smiling again. Not the bright, sunny smiles he had greeted Geralt with after a winter apart. No, in the previous years he wouldn’t have found Geralt just yet. But the echoes of it were there, growing stronger each day. When they set out on their travels again, there was a hint of a skip to Jaskier’s step that got stronger. As summer rolled around, Geralt was grateful to see that Jaskier was back to how he knew him, his migratory little bird. The pet names returned, only, this time, Geralt vowed that he would find something to make winters more bearable for his songbird. Thus, they started their chase of the summer across the continents, trying to always be one step ahead of winter and her curse.

[nose-bandaid]

bloom ✿ pt.3 — lilacs

Kino (Hyunggu) x (female) Reader | flower shop AU

february 11th lilacs — first love, love, passion

introduction | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | epilogue

=====

The next time you met Hyunngu, you weren’t even aware of his presence until he moved up to the front of the line and greeted you with that cheerful smile of his. In his hands was a large bouquet of a whole variety of flowers that came together to create a gradient of blue to pink to purple, much different from the other flowers he’s bought so far.

“Hello, y/n!”

You returned his sweet smile as you took the bouquet from him. “Chose something all on your own this time?” You teased. “What’s the occasion?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “The occasion is that my roommates saw the honeysuckles and then demanded that I get more flowers to liven the dorms because they were jealous.”

You laughed at his reasoning as you fiddled with the flowers to freshen them up. “Well I hope they like it then, this is one of our more popular bouquets — don’t forget to give it some water!” You smirked, handing it back to him and accepting the payment. “The honeysuckles are doing fine right?”

“Hey, don’t go around insulting me because of that one mistake I made” He retorted in a childish tone. “The honeysuckles are happy and well. They say hi by the way.”

“That’s good to hear! Please tell them I say hi back." You smiled.

Thinking that he would take his leave, you started to wish him a nice day, but he held his hand out to stop you.

“Wait, y/n,” He took a peek behind him to make sure there weren’t any customers waiting in line. “I was actually wondering if I could maybe... get your number?”

Your heart fluttered at his question and you had to will yourself to stop blushing or else your embarrassment would be far too clear. “And why would you need that?”

Probably just realizing how his advancement might’ve come out as, Hyunggu stepped back and blurted out his reasoning. “Oh! I was just hoping that we could become friends or something like that. I know we haven’t had the chance to talk much but you seem like a really fun person to be around so it would be nice if we got closer.” His eyes looked down at your expression. “Only if you want to!! I’m sorry did that sound weird?” He continued, panicked. “Of course you don’t have to give me your number that’s alright too.”

You silently gushed at his cute reaction and slid your phone across the counter. “Here, add yourself on my phone and give me yours.”

He beamed at that, putting his embarrassment aside, and the two of you proceed to exchange numbers.

“Maybe we can finally talk about something that’s not about me being stupid with flowers.” He laughed as you said your goodbyes. When he left, you noticed through the large windows that snow had begun to fall once again. The tiny snowflakes fell gently to the ground, and though that meant the next few days were bound to be chilly, the peaceful atmosphere kept you in a sunny attitude. It was nice to see the city decorated in white.

With the free time that you had, you decided to clean the counter which was lightly dusted in dirt after the numerous orders and checkouts you made throughout the day. One of the downsides of working at a flower shop is that everything was just bound to get covered in dirt at some point. And you unfortunately learned to never wear white shoes to work the hard way. As you wiped it down, your hands stopped when they came across a small purple flower that sat alone in the mess of dirt. 

A lilac. 

More specifically, it was most likely a lilac that came loose from Hyunggu’s bouquet and you recalled the dangling stalks that formerly sat on the table. You played with its petals absentmindedly, thinking about the boy. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the faint dimples that came along with it, the ring of his laughter, the soft tufts of hair that peeked out of his hats. Why was everything about him so endearing?

Your mind began to wander off, creating scenarios of you and him together, and you let yourself dream, too much in a bliss of happiness to even care. You didn’t know how long you were dozing off for, but you were suddenly brought out of your thoughts when you heard the door jingle, signalling the arrival of what you thought was another customer.

Instead, however, it was just your coworker, Joshua. which wasn’t the most exciting thing

“Shua!” You perked up and looked at the clock on the wall, which only read 4:30 — a whole hour before he was supposed to come. “You came here early, what’s up with that?”

“Boss said that we’re closing the shop a few hours early today for some maintenance, didn’t you see the chat?”

“Ah, no I didn’t, I guess I was a little too busy and didn’t get to check the chat.” Too busy thinking about a certain someone. You admitted to yourself. 

“Well, that’s what’s going on, so I thought I’d come in a bit early myself, get some of my orders done.” Joshua cocked his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about how your excuse didn’t match with the fact that you were doing absolutely nothing at the counter just now.

“I see...”

There was a short moment of silence as you watched him put on his apron, completing the simple uniform. “You can leave early if you want, I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now.”

You gasped in excitement, not even bothering to hide the fact that he read you like an open book, and ran up to hug him. “Thanks, man!” You rushed to the back to grab your bag, tucking the small lilac in your hand into one of its pockets. When you returned to the storefront, Joshua was giving you an odd look.

“Weird, I’ve never seen you this happy to leave work before, what’s got you so excited?”

You stopped in your tracks, not even knowing the reason why yourself. Your heart skipped a beat as your thoughts drifted back to the lilac and Hyunggu.

Was it really all because of him?

“It’s nothing.” You let out an awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just really happy today.”

“Wait, let me guess, you got a date or something? You didn’t tell me you were getting some action, y/n.” He covered the wide smile spreading on his face with his hand. “I’m so proud of you omg, it’s about time.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“So you DO have a date!” He concluded. “I know that look on your face, my girl has the exact same face whenever we go out on dates.”

“What? No! Josh I don’t have a date. All that happened was that I got this guy’s number but it was all just to get closer and be friends okay? Just friends.” You shot back, desperately trying to defend yourself.

“Mhm that’s what they all say.” He replied nonchalantly, grabbing a watering can to fill up.

“I’m being serious! I don’t even know if he’s taken or anything! We just shared our numbers because we’re always seeing each other in the shop. That’s it.” Your tone ended up a bit harsher than you intended for it to be, but it was too late.

“Woah, y/n you know I’m just teasing you right? Whatever happens — it’s all cool.” He paused to test the waters before continuing. ‘But if I could just say something, based on my experience, maybe think about why you’re so adamant on saying you’ll just be friends? Are your feelings for him actually just that?”

You simply sighed at his words. Why were you trying so hard to deny the feelings that were becoming painfully obvious to you? You definitely had some sort of attraction towards Hyunggu, despite only knowing him through a handful of visits. But as evident as the emotions were, you were still in the process of figuring out what exactly you wanted to do with them. The former excitement that filled you had suddenly dissipated and your gaze dropped to the ground in defeat.

Joshua came up to you and gave you a light pat on the head. “Hey, cheer up. Don’t think too hard about it yet, just go with the flow to see what happens.” From the look in his eyes, you could tell he felt a little bit guilty for making you overthink.

“Yeah... thanks, Shua. I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” You gave him a small smile and then left, the crisp February wind nipping at your cheeks as you walked to your car. The stores around you were decorated from head to toe with various decorations in preparation for Valentine’s Day, and all the pink and red hearts around you put you in an oddly bitter mood. 

Though you admitted some sort of infatuation towards Hyunggu was blooming within you, another part of you wanted to calm down. Your mind had jumped to conclusions far too quickly, and you’d gotten too hopeful about what could happen. What if his intentions were really just to be friends? You would still be happy, but it would definitely be quite disappointing as well.

When you arrived home, you immediately tossed yourself onto your couch, exhausted from the conflicting thoughts in your head. You scrolled on your phone for a while to take your mind off of the boy, but it didn’t help much. There were far too many ads for Valentine’s Day gifts being thrown at your face. Life was really laughing at you now. 

Plopping the phone on your stomach, you rubbed your face in you hands, trying to muster up some sort of reasoning within you. Feeling the phone buzz a couple times, interrupting your thoughts, you picked it up curiously.

[ unknown contact ]: hello!

[ unknown contact ]: this is hyunggu:)

Energy seeped back into you and you tossed aside your previous worries as you unlocked your phone to type back a response.

y/n: hi!

hyunggu: i wanted to send you a picture of the honeysuckles to prove that they were still alive but shinwon keeps on stealing them:(

hyunggu: ah sorry that’s my roommate^^

y/n: it’s ok! i know they’re actually dead

y/n: and that you can’t send a picture because of that:P

hyunggu: what

hyunggu: HEY

hyunggu: i’ll let you know that they’re all thriving beautifully

hyunggu: and that i live in a dorm full of thieves

y/n: mhmm. yep, i believe you. 

y/n: anyways... what are you up to right now?

hyunggu: currently getting yelled at for not participating in movie night even though we’ve all watched this movie at least 5 times before

y/n: your friends sure sound like a lively bunch

hyunggu: they are, but not always in the best way 😒

hyunggu: also

hyunggu: i wanted to ask you a question

y/n: yeah? shoot

hyunggu: hmm how do i say this...

hyunggu: i was wondering

hyunggu: if

hyunggu: oop i gtg sorry y/n now they’re threatening to confiscastesjg my phokjheskjg

hyunggu: let’s talk later !1j

y/n: huh? 

y/n: ok then

y/n: good luck with your friends!:)

“What an interesting guy...” you muttered as you reread the short conversation you just had. His sudden (albeit sketchy) exit left you hanging, and you speculated on what his question could’ve been. Would it have been something flower related? Probably not, considering the fact that he wanted your number to talk about anything but flowers. Maybe he wanted to get to know you better? But it sounded like he was going for a more serious question just now...

After finding that you were unable to come up with any reasonable ideas at this point, you decided to put your curiosity aside. You’ll just ask him about it sometime later. Somehow, even the most mundane interactions with him were able to put you in a happy mood, and as of this moment, that was enough for you. Putting your phone away, you looked at your tired reflection in the mirror and let out a quiet laugh.

“Hyunggu, I hope you know just how badly you’re messing with my mind right now.”

=====

please look out for part 4 which will come out sometime soon! :0

~ tiny

[in-my-head-i-do-everything-right]

Hallie - “you had it figured out since you were in school/everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool.”

you’ve had it figured out since you were in school. everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

Part of the reason why Allie even sends in that self-tape for that Disney show is because Cassandra tells her not to. She’s feeling rebellious. She’s thirteen.

Only then she gets a callback. And then a skype call with a casting director. And then another call but with the creator of the show. And then she’s across the country, out in sunny LA (it’s December, and it’s snowing back in West Ham, and this shift in weather is really freaking her out).

She gets through one audition. And then two.

She gets the part.

And maybe the show won’t even last a whole season. Maybe it’ll be cancelled before it even airs. Maybe she’ll hate her castmates. Or just LA in general. And, God, she can’t sing. Does Disney know that? Do they expect a music career out of her? Maybe this is all she’ll ever be known for.

But then Cassandra tells her to go for it, and then her family packs up and moves across the country, and suddenly… suddenly this is it.

-

Post-Disney, the first film she does is this small budget indie thing that films on location up in Oregon.

There’s a definite learning curve.

First of all, craft services sucks. Which makes her sound like a snob, but God, she is so used to these mini chocolate croissants available at all times. Like, on the last day of shooting that Disney show, she asked what bakery they were from. One of her co-stars had laughed at her like it was some kind of joke which honestly hurt more than the show ending.

Second of all, nature. As it turns out, shooting outside and shooting on a lot is a very different experience. And shooting out in the rain, which it is always doing in Oregon—twenty-four seven—is an… experience. But a fun experience. Really fun. Makes her think that maybe she’s doesn’t need the job security that Disney provided. Like, fuck that.

And, last of all, Harry Bingham. He gets a whole bullet on this stupid list because he’s the guy who thinks he’s somehow better than her because he got an Oscar nomination or something for a film just like this one. And he was twitter’s white boy of the month, something he is way too proud of. Like, he can’t even remember his twitter password, so why the fuck does he keep bring it up?

-

It’s really late and dark and a little cold. They’re sharing a fuzzy blanket because they could only find one and they both wanted it and when someone on set suggests they just share it neither could come up with an actual argument as to that’s a bad idea.

“You know,” he says, sort of out of nowhere, “my sister watched your show. I think she might be in love with you.”

“Oh,” Allie says, and she’s smiling at him. Not for the first time because, sadly, because he is way too funny for his own good. It’s upsetting. It’s not fair. “So, unlike you, she has taste?”

He scoffs, but he’s smiling too, very brightly. Maybe she doesn’t need the blanket. “I never said I didn’t like your show.”

She stares over at him, not trying to mask that look of surprise taking over her face. She’s just trying to picture him actually watching the show… and it’s not easy. It was a Disney show. It was stupid and immature and Harry fuckingBingham was most definitely not its target audience. She’s trying to picture him watching those commercials, the ones where she’d draw the logo with the fake wand.

Finally, she says: “Honestly, I wasn’t a huge fan of it.”

Harry lets out this light sort of snort, more an exhale than anything else. “Why’d you do it then?”

Allie shrugs. “It was a job. It was an opportunity. It was a chance that wasn’t gonna pass up just because I didn’t think it was some revolutionary thing.” She pauses, wrapping herself up just a little tighter in the blanket. “My family moved out here after I got the job. I was fourteen, and they gave up everything just so I could do this.”

“You’re good at this, Pressman,” he tells her, softly, and it’s stupid how much those words mean to her.

“Thanks, Harry.”

When they’re called back onto set, she swears his eyes linger a second longer than they probably should. That means something to her too.

-

They film a kissing scene in the rain, and she swears her heart stop for a half-a-second.

The director yells cut, and Allie can’t help it, the way she’s blinking up at him, a bit like he hung the stars in the sky, or whatever other sappy bullshit you feel when you start to realize—

It just didn’t feel fake for a moment there. On Disney, everything felt fake. She’s just not used to things being this natural.

(There are two fuzzy blankets waiting for them off set. They still share.)

-

Shooting ends on a Tuesday, and they fly back down to LA together on a studio provided jet.

Harry spends the flight tossing popcorn at her while she tries to watch Notting Hill.

“You’re being obnoxious, Bingham,” she says, one earbud out, turning to glare over at him.

He grins. “Just trying to keep you from falling in love with Hugh Grant.”

“Not possible. I’m already in love with him.”

“He’s old now.”

“Still hotter than you.”

“Not possible.”

“Verry possible.”

He scoffs. “And living vicariously through Julia Roberts isn’t healthy.”

“Oh, you know from experience, don’t you?”

“I actually met her once, at the Oscars.”

“God, everything with you always comes back to that Oscar nomination, doesn’t it, Bingham.”

He lets out this sharp, surprised laugh. She bites back a smile.

“I’ll introduce you to her one day,” he offers, it’s softer, more genuine than cocky. They’ve never talked about any sort of future, any sort of friendship that follows them past this film. Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart stops once again.

“I think I’d like that.”

-

She has a tiny guest part on some broadcast television sitcom. Craft services has those chocolate croissants. She wraps herself up in a fuzzy blanket and eats three.

She asks Harry if he’d want to grab coffee sometime.

He texts back yes almost immediately.

She wraps herself up just a little tighter.

-

She sits on the couch in Harry’s childhood home and watches her Disney show with his little sister.

“You’re even prettier in person,” Sarah tells her, almost unabashedly, and Allie blushes a light pink.

From beside her, Harry grins. “The Bingham’s have taste,” he says, his voice almost a whisper in her ear, and that makes her blush a dark pink.

“Sarah’s my favorite Bingham,” Allie announces, and the girl smiles and laughs and leans her head on Allie’s shoulder.

This feels a lot like family, she realizes, the soft familiarity of it all.

She likes it. She likes it a lot.

-

The morning Oscar nominations are announced, she wakes up beside him in his bed, wearing an old shirt of his, something warm and soft.

They lay in bed and eat chocolate croissants and wait for the call. And the sun hasn’t even risen yet—it’s so fucking early—but there’s something like adrenaline keeping her awake. God, it’s so stupid to be this attached to an award, a little statue that means practically nothing, but…

Harry lays his head in her lap. She plays with his hair.

“And if I don’t get nominated?” she asks, softly, carefully.

He stares up at her. “Then you find another script to fall in love with and do it all over again.”

“And if I do get nominated?”

“Then we figure out how to sneak snacks in the Dolby Theater and you write into your acceptance speech what an amazing guy I am.”

She’s laughing as the phone rings, and he’s sitting up to answer it. And then he’s smiling, smiling so wide, and that means—

Allie’s crying and beaming, and Harry’s holding onto her like he’s trying to keep her anchored, trying to keep her from floating away, and—

It feels a whole lot like everything was worth it.

She’s happy.

send me song lyrics and a pairing and i’ll write you a drabble

[mcfanely]

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon

Nothing ever really stays the same. Peace doesn’t last, it is simply the absence of turmoil.

Chapter 07 - Snow Fall, 2390 words

Fishing, Cole had to admit, was relaxing. Or probably the most relaxing part of his routine recently. There was just something enjoyable about standing on the riverside, listening to the water still flowing freely below the layer of ice that was acting as a seal over the top. Back in Ninjago, back at home, he'd never really understood the appeal of it, not really. Standing still for hours on end, staying as silent as possible, Cole found those things hard to do when his life wasn't dependent on it. His foot always tapped lightly to an internal rhythm in his head, he paced sometimes if he was bored enough. 

Silence, though. That was something he could do. Internally, it may have been a constant vortex of thoughts and songs and an incessant internal monologue that Cole used to keep himself occupied; with all that going on, externally, he was absolutely stone cold silent. Even his breathing was measured. 

The environment seemed to reflect this too. It had been a nice day when Cole had stepped out of the cave and for that he was grateful. Snowy landscape did not necessarily mean a biting and unbearable cold. The sun still rose in the east, it bounced off the white blanket in a beautiful way and it warmed the area to a degree. The snow didn't melt and the ice didn't get any thinner, but Cole didn't have a constant chill in his bones. 

Even though the sky had clouded over a bit back, Cole was still enjoying himself. Then when the snow had begun to fall in light fluffy swirls, he let out a small breath and allowed the calming silence to descend. 

Zane had explained it to him once, around a year ago when Ninjago was experiencing a white Christmas. Snow had descended and the world had quieted, and Cole had turned to his friend and simply gave the observation that the world seemed to fall silent when it snowed. 

Apparently, it was a thing that happened and he wasn't imagining it. 

Large flakes of snow take up the sky as they fall, Zane had said, Cole remembered fondly. This means that when there is a sound, instead of it travelling straight to your or my ears, it gets interrupted by these falling flurries. He'd reached out and caught one in his hand, the flake stayed solid, in perfect condition. All because Zane ran cold. 

When snow falls, the world really does become quieter. I, for one, find it calming.

It really was calming. Cole had situated himself on a low hanging branch of a tree, his leg dangling over one side and his fishing rod and line suspended over the other and in a large crevice broken into the ice by a solid stick and a few dropped rocks. 

He would fish for hours, but sitting down on the ground or finding a rock to get comfortable on would be stupid. The ground sapped away warmth like it was nothing, and Cole didn't have any he was willing to risk giving away. 

This was just routine, and feeling cold was always part of that. It was a constant presence now, even in the safety of the cavern where the mech was kept, where it was a slight bit warmer, it was nothing like home. Home with a heating system, working lighting, any creature comfort that Cole would never take for granted when they got back there. If they got back home at all. 

It was one thing waiting for a rescue, but a whole other thing hoping for one that probably wasn't going to come any time soon. The realisation that anyone's first assumption would be that Aspheera's magic had been the end of the both of them had been hard to get his head around. 

Cole was, in reality, still trying to accept it. 

But it wasn't all doom and gloom. If he could be anywhere in that moment, he probably would still pick the frozen wasteland they were trapped in. If only that it provided the knowledge that Zane was okay, Cole wouldn't trade that. He liked knowing that his friend was alive, anything was better than fearing him dead. 

Thinking that he'd given his life for yet another noble cause, that he was never coming back. Crouching down in the barren and frozen streets of Ninjago city with a part of Zane's facial plating held loosely in his hands, looking around and not finding him anywhere. Snow fell, everything was silent, and Zane was gone. 

Cole snapped sharply back to reality when he felt some resistance on the end of his line. He reached out and grabbed the wire, situating the wooden rod between his legs so he could reel the fish in the manual way, pulling on the wire until his catch was successfully out of the water. He had the method down, this process was basically muscle memory already. The amount of fish he'd caught over the past week or so was more than he'd ever thought he'd need to catch in his lifetime. 

Maybe he was getting tired of the mundane and repetitive action of catching the fish, scaling and slicing them up using a dagger that was made for combat and definitely not Cole's first choice of weapon in battle, using the blowtorch they had sparingly since that fuel wasn't going to last forever to heat it up just a little and hopefully kill off any bacteria. Rinse and repeat. Daily. 

Well, better to be bored of fish but have something to eat than have nothing and starve. 

He set the fish on the thick branch he was situated on, next to the others he'd already caught that day. 

Maybe he could figure out a way to dry them? Then they'd keep for a lot longer, which would mean less time being spent fishing. 

Which reminded him. 

Cole began wrapping the wire up; packing away his job for the day he used the last bit of its length to tie around the tails of the fish for easy transportation. 

Then he hopped down from the branch to continue with his day. 

Or at least, as much as he could do. A glance to the sky showed a nearing tundra of dark clouds that could only mean that a snow storm was coming. Though they looked fairly far off, Cole had faith that he had a little bit more time. 

More time to tread through the snow with his fishing pole resting on one shoulder, listening to the sound of the fresh blanket crunch and buckle under his weight as he made his way deeper into the surrounding forest. Though he wasn't going to get lost. He'd been this way already, if the deep score marks on the trees around him was anything to go by. They marked a path, a way home in a way. All he had to do was turn around and keep the marked trees on his left side, and he'd be back at the cavern in no time. 

The carved trees also marked out how far both he and Zane had trekked during their stints outside, each day they would go a bit further, score off a few more trees; yet currently, staying closer to their home base was more important.

As time went on, and as circumstances would evidently change if they got the mech working, they could venture further easier. 

For now Cole was content with walking around the area he already knew, specifically, searching for dead trees, or one with snapped and dying branches. 

If they didn't get the mech working, then they'd need other ways to get warm, and as much as Cole knew they'd gotten lucky with very few storms and generally nice days; he also knew that they had in no way experienced the worst of the cold this realm could bestow. 

Dying and dead wood meant it was already pretty dry, a few days out of the elements and it might have a chance of being firewood. Though it was an ongoing and long process. 

Cole had collected wood last week and laid it out uniformly over the cavern floor, yet any attempts to strike a flame and start a blaze had ended with very sore and tired hands and a pile of splintered wood. He'd tried the blow torch, that was the first thing he'd done. Everything was just so saturated with damp that nothing took.

It didn't mean Cole would stop trying, and by collecting wood today in order to dry it off for a later date, it meant that he and Zane could be better prepared for whatever the realm threw at them in the future. 

They were in it for the long haul, after all. What with no way home. 

No way home and no rescue team coming to get them. 

He sighed lightly as he used the dagger to sever an already hanging branch from a tree and held it under his arm as he walked over to another tree. 

Then another. 

And another. 

Until Cole was walking around with a substantial assortment of thin branches and some smaller fairly dry twigs in his hands, coupled with his fishing rod now being balanced on the opposite shoulder, there wasn't really much else he could carry without dropping anything. 

So he made the, most likely smart decision, to head back to the cavern for the day. Sure, there was daylight left and the storm clouds were still far off in the distance, but Cole wasn't going to do much more with full hands. 

He was stepping gingerly over the frozen lake when he felt the temperature take a sudden drop around him. The temperate weather of a sunny winter day took a stark and tangible shift. The wind picked up and blew through the torn gaps in his gi, pelted over his bare arms and made him involuntarily drop his carried items in favour of wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the bitter chill.

Cole felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up, and that wasn't just due to the cold. 

He glanced down at the branches that he'd dropped, at the strung up fish that laid on the top of the frozen river. Then he looked past them, looked past the surface ice and down to the flowing water below. Or at least, what had used to be flowing not a few seconds ago. 

Fish that had been freely swimming beneath the ice were now frozen in place, suspended in their final actions by the water that had apparently undergone a flash freezing. The river, once topped with both thick areas of ice and slightly more dubious spots were now a solid chunk of ice all the way down to the river bed. 

Then Cole glanced at the trees just as snow began to fall and a once clear sky was soon overtaken by a wall of darkened clouds. Frost was visibly crawling over the bark in frozen spirals, and honestly it was an extremely pretty sight. Watching as they grew and danced, creating pattern after pattern. 

Yet, it didn't stop the feeling of a lead weight dropping in his stomach. 

The snowfall was speeding up now, becoming heavier, thicker, more blinding. It was getting worse by the second. 

It was getting colder by the second too, he could feel the numbness edging into his fingers, the cold chill nipping at his face, reddening and numbing his cheeks. 

Then when frost started to form on the front of his gi, Cole didn't even take a moment to collect his belongings from the floor. He just broke into a sprint, running headlong into the snowstorm and the growing fresh blanket of snowfall. 

He needed to get back to the cavern. It didn't take a genius to realise that the weather wasn't natural. 

Snow didn't fall from a previously clear sky, clouds didn't form and blacken the sky within seconds from nothing. 

Water didn't freeze so suddenly. 

It required a catalyst for something so abnormal, a force behind it. 

Raw energy and power. 

Like an elemental master and the scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu. 

Zane. 

This time, finding his way back to the cavern was muscle memory. Cole didn't look around to see if he was following the right path of trees, he was just running. He had to get to the cavern, he had to prove himself wrong. 

This had to be just one huge overreaction; maybe this was a weird event that happened in this realm every once in a while? A sudden freeze. 

Internally, though, he knew that he was just lying to himself. 

The temperature only continued to drop the closer he got to their shelter, Cole didn't even spare a second thought to the giant bird that sometimes circled the area; even that thing seemed to be staying away. 

He could see why even through the blinding rage the storm had developed to. The sheer blue light was a guide towards the mouth of the cave, but also a sign of what was waiting for him inside. 

That knowledge didn't halt his step. If Zane was in fact holding the staff, if he was causing the shift in the weather that was so sudden and severe as it was, then something wasn't right. His friend needed help and danger or not, he wasn't going to go anywhere but the eye of the storm. 

He did slow at the entrance though, his footsteps falling silent as they moved from the crunch of the snow to the solid stone floor. Cole just walked inside, his hands pinned under his arms to try and get some feeling back into them now that he was sheltered from the wind and snow. 

"Would you advise me to do so?" Zane's voice echoed around the room, it had a dubious note to it. Confusion. 

Why was he talking to himself? He furrowed his eyebrows and was about to step out into the expanse of the cave when, 

In a gravelly tone, "Most certainly." 

An unknown voice. An unknown third person. 

Cole felt the hair on his neck prickle, and it wasn't due to the power of the scroll.

There was someone in there. With Zane.

-

From the beginning

Ch 06 > Ch 07 > Ch 08 

AO3

[secretstories]

Temporal Anomaly

This story is NOT canonical, but it was fun and I wanted to write it. Using a time travel trope for this one. Hope you enjoy :)

“Approaching temporal anomaly.”

“Admiral, maybe it's best if we get someone more… scientific to do this?”

Amidral Vir slowly engaged the jetpack in spurts costing through the blackness of space seriously glad he didn’t get vertigo as stars plunged into infinity on all sides leaving him floating in a vacuum of nothingness.

He knew people who had been driven mad by this experience, they used to call it cosmic hysteria before someone actually put a real name to it. He engaged his com, “That would be a good idea if any of you nerds knew how to use a jetpack. Just tell me what I’m looking for.

There was a pause over the end of the line for a moment before a voice came over the line slightly nasal making him think of pocket protectors and those little rubber things you put on the end of your finger to help turn pages, “Ok Admiral, when you get the the anomaly, I want you to hold up the device and press these buttons in sequence.”

He rolled his eyes. Ah yes someone more scientific to press a few buttons.

He floated a bit more forward stopping just short of something very…. Strange. From where he was it looked like he was staring into a fractured pane of glass where the individual pieces only remained together because there was no force acting on them. He could see the light on the front of his space suit being reflected back at him, and behind that his own silhouette.

“Are you guys sure this things is an anomaly…. Looks like someone just chucked out their broken mirror.”

“That’s what our scans are saying, Admiral.”

“Alright so I just” He paused, and sighed, “Which buttons was I supposed to press again.”

There was chuckling from the other end of the line as he walked through the instructions. He did as ordered only half listening to the chatter of the nerds on the other end of the line. Instead he got a closer look at the…. Whatever it was. The lite from his suit was too bright and scattered off the glass so much he couldn’t see his reflection, but, rather continued to blind himself.

“Some kind of warp tunnel?”

“No, warp tunnels are more volatile and tend to draw things into them. This would have already pulled the Admiral in if-”

He tried to tune them out and tilted his head this way and that

He shouldn't have let his mind wander. As krill had once said his rain was  like a small child, and if left unsupervised it was prone to doing things it shouldn’t. He reached up a hand fingers parallel to the glass.

He slowly moved his hand forward his brain imagining the cool, slick surface of glass beneath his fingertips.

He felt as his glove impacted something.

“ADMIRAL N-”

And he was sucked violently forward, so violently it felt as if his body was going to rattle apart. He was spun this way and that pulled apart in all directions and then snapped back together like a rubber band. His feet flew over his head, he worked desperately to fight against the the blackness at the edge of his vision as he plunged downard into what must have been an infinite well of gravity, and then with a jolt, it stopped.

His head spun and his body hurt.

His hands and arms floated out to either side of his fingers trialing in the air beside him. His feet were kicked up before him and his head spun circles, far worse than they had during flight training.

And then he was 

Gone.

Fading away with the stars overhead, and a bright light passing over his body.

***

“The suit is certainly huma, though I can’t say I have seen this model in a while.”

“And it has a jetpack! Hell yeah! Our mystery visitor has class.”

“Now, the real question remains. Who could it be? We are the only ship in this sector.

“Don’t tell me we are going to open it up and see a gooey corpse…. Eww.”

“No, the suit is broadcasting vitals. WHoever is inside is just fine.

Adam struggled to open his eyes but when he did he was blinded and the world spun around him. He tried to lift his hands against the light, but his suit felt like led weight was boring down on him.

“He’s waking up” Someone announced 

He groaned.

“Get the helmet off him or… her I suppose.”

There was a sharp hiss and the world around him was flooded with light. He grimaced and turned his head to the side.

There was a gasp from around the room.

“Well glaze my ass and call me a doughnut.”

“This is it, I have OFFICIALLY seen everything.”

“Holy shit!”

He grimaced past the light and managed to hold up a hand before his eyes. He blinked a few more times.

Someone stepped in blocking the light assailing his eyes, and finally he was able to drop his hand, and nearly leaped back in his skin. A man stood over him grinning from ear to ear, tall, broad shouldered snow white hair and…. An eyepatch.

“Well you are once handsome devil if I do say so myself.”

He sat up scrambling back a little.

The man grabbed his arms, “Whoa there champ, hold on before you crawl out of that suit.”

“Who the fuck are you!” 

“Come on, son, ever looked in a mirror.”

His mouth opened and then closed and then opened again.  He turned his head wincing at the light nearly crawling off the bed when his eyes fell on another shape. Small, brown grey, with large prismatic orange eyes.

“Fascinating.” Krill said. There was a loud snap as he pulled on a latex glove, “I guess probing is in order

He leaped to his feet pointing, “Hell no you little gremlin, keep away from me.”

“Wow, I remember you having a much better sense of humor.”

“Oh you boys stop harassing him, look he’s scared.” He turned his head towards the new voice falling upon wide bespectacled eyes, and long dark hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. The lines around her eyes had deepened and her skin wasn’t so tight but, he would know that face anywhere.

“Katie.” He said in confusion.

She smiled at him, “That’s right, now get down from there, we promise we won't hurt you.” She glowered at Krill, “And we CERTAINLY won’t PROBE him either.”

Krill huffed, “killjoy.”

Slowly Adam crawled down from where he stood on the bed stealing glances at the white haired man off to his right, who was grinning at him. As soon as he was down the other guy moved forward taking him by the shoulder and turning him this way and that, “Wow its like looking in a mirror, only, you know some twenty years younger.”

The other man tilted his head back, “Forgot how handsome I am.”

Adam pulled his face away, “W-what is going on.”

The other man grinned, “ well why don't’ you tell us your side of the story, and we will try to fill in the holes.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Well I was…. I was investigating a temporal anomaly and I.”

“You touched it, you touched it didn't you.” The older man interrupted.

He felt himself go red, “I…. no..”

“He he, looks so cute when I lie.”

“How do you know he’s lying.”

“How can’t you know. Look, his ears are all red.”

Adam reached up to cover his ears, “who are you.”

The older man rolled his eyes, “man I am dumb sometimes.” he held up his hands, there is only one explanation for this my young friend. He reached up wiggling his fingers through the air, “Time travel”

“Time travel?

He nodded, “Time travel. You see you are me and I am you just, you know older…. How old are you right now?”

“Twenty uh…. Twenty six?”

“Don’t look at me. I am Forty six and fabulous.”

Adam frowned, “But your hair.”

The older Adam frowned at him, “I go grey early, can you blame me. Look, I think you have some white hairs yourself. But you won’t find a man my age with a body like mine this side of Andromeda.”

“Sure you do.”

“Haven’t heard Sunny complain.”

Adam opened his mouth closed it and then, felt his face flush red again, “You….” He trailed off cutting the question short.

“Oh look at him, he's going red.”

Older Adam waved a hand, “Well that isn’t hard to do. Watch this.” he turned to look adam in the eye, “Sex.”

He felt his face flush even worse, and he turned away.

“Adam!” Katie scolded, “Stop tormenting him.”

Older Adam grinned, “But it’s so fun, I can finally understand why my brothers did.”

“I still think we should study him, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Krill was sayin. He didn’t sound like he had aged a day.

“Don’t you think that would be a little much, Krill. This is a lot to take in.”

Older Adam through an arm around his shoulders, turning his head to look at him, “Yeah we don’t want to do ‘science’ he wants to look at the ship.”

He took  a deep breath, “I… I….”

“That would be a yes, don't worry he’s just getting his brain to boot up. Takes a minute when he’s nervous. Now get out of that smelly suit and let's take the grand tour.”

What other choice did he have, and he was given the privacy to pull off his suit and undersuit, at least that is until someone threw open the curtain and barged in. he nearly squealed and fell over, grabbing something to hold in front of him.

Older Adam just laughed, “nothing I haven’t seen, son…. Ha ha, son, thats funny.”

He did not lower the pillow he was holding in front of his private business, “Do you have any sense of personal boundaries.”

“Nope, those fled with age.” he doessed him a bundle and Adam ended up dropping the pillow on reflex just to catch the clothing sailing towards him.” His older self nodded in approval, and Adam felt himself go bright red again, “Those should fit, i mean we are the same size, haven't started shrinking yet.”

Adam awkwardly pulled on the proffered clothes finding it strange when he identified his own smell.

With one waved hand he was led from behind the curtain, and out to where the others were waiting. They stared at him, and he looked down at his feet.

“Come on, I’m excited for you to see this. Plus I have some serious advice for you.” older Adam grabbed him by the arm and walked him into the hall.

He looked around in awe almost immediately as a large spindly creature trudged past down the hall.

“What was that?”

“Just some new friends we have made in the last twenty or so years.” They walked up the hall and took the stairs down. The ship was darker than it used to be, much more lived in, but it was familiar.

“Here this way to the rec room.” 

They turned a corner and the floor opened up into a familiar space, though it had more TV’s and even a vintage arcade game now. He nodded in approval, “Hey everyone, c’mere.”

The entire room looked up, and he sudden felt himself the center of more than a dozen eyes.

“Holy shit, is that?”

“yeah , yeah it is.”

Another man moved out of the crowd, and Adam felt his eyes widen, “Ramirez!” he looked up at the other man shaking hismelf, “You aged…. Really well, holy shit.” Ramirez grin, straight white smile lighting up his face, “That’s a compliment coming from you.

Adam snorted, “In your wildest dreams Ramirez.”

“ I’ve had wilder.”

He held out a hand, “Uncanny.” Adam took and looking down saw something glittering on his hand, “You’re married!” 

Ramirez laughed and held up his hand, the wedding band glittering bright on his finger, “yep going on about ten years now.”

“Who? Tell me.”

Ramirez shook his head, “No, I don’t think I will.”

Other faces popped at him from out of the crowd, “Mav/” He asked wide eyed. The woman moved forward grinning wickedly. He hair was short on the sides and long on the top braided back into a viking-esque haircut, “Oh look it’s baby Adam’ how cute.”

Old Adam patted him on the back, “doesn’t it just remind you of the old days.”

“When you were still a raging idiot…. Oh wait, I was thinking of right ow.”

It was at the same time that the two of them frowned and responded with near identical “Hey.”s 

The entire room laughed at that.

Ramirez looked at older Adam very seriously, “You know what I would do if I were you.”

Older Adam sighed, “Do I want to hear this?”

“If i was you.” Ramirez continued, “I would kiss myself/”

Adam blanched and old Adam roared with laughter, “Kiss yourself, Ramirez isn't that like…. Incest somehow.”

“Selfcest and I don’t think it counts, but seriously, thinking about it. You could know exactly how good you are at kissing and be able to work out any bugs.”

Adam backed away as older Adam looked at him contemplatively.. Adam backed into a wall, and older Adam just laughed slapping him on the back, “Oh stop looking so worried, I wouldn’t do that to you unless you wanted a go, but you aren't as fun as Ramirez.”

“But I am you.”

“I know, I remember what I was like.”

“What you ‘were’ like?”

He shrugged, “Yeah you loosen up as you get older, don’t worry kid. You can thank Sunny for that.”

He put a hand on his shoulder and led him out into the hallway.

“Sunny! Is she here?”

Older Adam beame, ‘I know that look. Lets see your 26 right, so you two are dating/”

He nodded a bit nervously.

“Yeah shes here, we’ll go see her next. She will want to see you for sure.”

Together they stepped down the hall and Adam nearly keeped ovr as a sudden shape appeared before them white and billowing in the hallway.

“And then there were two.” Conn Said, his dark eyes glittering rather maliciously.i the darkness.

“Convict.” Old Adam said.

He turned his dark eyes to look at Adam, “Same dumb different age.”

“Charming Conn.”

“You didn’t change much.” Adam muttered  as the two of them pushed past Conn down the hall.

“Don’t let him fool you. He has gotten better as time  has gone on. A real asset to this ship. Saved me from an assassin a few times.”

“Assassins!” 

Old Adam shrugged, “Yeah Assassins, “People don’t like what I…. what you and I represent.”

“What do we represent?”

“The union between humanity and alien life of course, or the GA in general. We are the face of the galaxy my friend.”

Adam frowned, “When does that happen.”

“It already has you are just a bit dense, but soon enough you will see. Right now you are a household name for humans, and it only takes a few more years for your name to become intergalactic.”

He felt himself go a little weak as white- hair Adam smiled at him, “yeah, the Stress will turn you white early, but it's a good life, and so far I don’t regret anything I have done….. Tough there is one thing….”

He paused, and Adam leaned forward  little to hear him feeling that this was important.

However, they were silenced rather quickly by a sudden massive shape scuttling towards them from across  the ceiling, and then dropping onto the floor. Henearly leaped out of his kin.

But then the thing came into view, a massive adaptid, with blond fur on its face, “POS garbage system gonna need fixing.” The voice was strange, echoing unnaturally like it was coming from a static radio.

The adapted stopped and sniffed the air, its eyes fixing in on him with a hungry expression, one that turned to confused a moment later, its bright green eyes widening with confusion, “Father.”

“Glados!”

She turned her head to look at white hair Adam, “What is this, some kind of joke.”

He shook his head, “No glados. I younger me has come to visit from the past.” She sniffed at him.

“Holy shit.” he muttered, “Wh-what are yo undoing here.”

“What does it look like I’m doing! She snapped, trying to fix this POS ship is what I am trying to do, but the coil drivers are going bad and Narobi’s people forgot to order morem, so now I have to finagle the things back together. Do you know how hard it is to fit down those dark cramped hallways, and then every now and again some asshole runs into me and screams, practically defines me every time.” She snarled, showing great white glittering K-9 teeth.

Older Adam patted her on the shoulder, “Deep breaths Glados, everything will work out, I promise.

With a deep sigh, Glados did as told, taking two great heaving breaths before calming down.

“Better?”

She nodded her huge head, eyes softening a bit, “Anyway. I have to go fix this. It was interesting to see you again, father.” and then she turned around and scuttled into the darkness. As she departed Adam was surprised to find a shape clinging to her belly …. An adapted male.”

“She…. shes…. uh  married? Dating?”

“Yes, though she's been looking for a third.” He chuckled, “She’s been trying to convince Conn, believe it or not.”

Adam snorted and nearly fell over, “What!”

“Imagine a bunch of baby adaptids who could survive in the vacuum of space. It would be one of the greatest evolutions their species has ever seen.”

He rubbed his head almost dizzy, “And is he considering it?”

Old Adam shrugged, “I don’t know. I think if we told him no directly to his face he might actually consider it, but I want to see if Glados can convince him first. I’d rather he agree on his own than out of spite.”

Adam held his head behind his back and shook his head, “This is all, this is insane.”

Old Adam snorted, “Not so much kid. This is your life.”

They were lead down through the next few hallways in near silence, “So what were you going to tell me earlier?”

Old Adam tilted his head, “What was…. Oh yeah! I remember now” he turned to look at him with a very serious expression stopping in the hallway and then laying a hand on his shoulder, “The one thing I regret.”

He waited on tenterhooks.

“Go on.”

“I regret not advancing my  relationship with Sunny sooner. You love her, kid. You love her so much you don’t know what to do with yourself, but for some reason you are so worried and embarrassed about it that you can’t do it. I gey your nervous and awkward, but she doesnt care, and no one else that matters will care.”

He felt his face flush and his hands go warm, “I…. I don’t know about that I, I’m not.”

‘Not ready? Well lets be honest, you will never be ready,and the longer you wait to feel ready is the longer that beautiful warrior is going to go thinking that maybe….. Just maybe you are going to turn away and pick someone else. The longer you wait is the longer she is going to wonder if she is good enough, the longer she is going to think you are going to leave her for some human.”

He stood on the floor stunned, “She thinks that? But she’s never…”

“Never said anything. Of course she’s never said anything. She doesn’t want to drive you away, and she loves you enough that she wants you to be happy even if that means her being miserable” he grabbed Adam by the shoulders and nearly shook his brain out of his head, “You found her, I promise you found her ok, no need to look anymore, no need to worry. She isn’t going to leave you, no matter what you do, and possibly despite everything you do.”

His heart was hammering in his chest as the other man lead him up the hallway hand gripping around his wrist.

“So….so you two…. I’m … I mean you and Sunny are.”

Older Adam turned to look at him over his shoulder, “I challenged her to trial by unarmed combat seven years ago, and every day I regret that I hadn’t done it sooner.”

Adam sputtered, “Trial by unarmed combat but that!.”

Old Adam frowned at him, “I know what it is. I am leader of a drev clan too.”

hIs head was spinning, his heart was hammering and he felt ready to fall over as they turned the next corner and down into a little workshop that he recognized well. It was more cluttered than it had been before,and the walls were practically plastered with schematics and blueprints, but the smell of metal and adhesive were strong.

Old Adam left young Adam at the back of the room and walked forward to where a lone figure was sitting on a bench busy tinkering with  a few pieces of equipment.

“Hey, hot stuff.” He said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, making Adam’s face flare red as he looked away.

The head lifted, bright light running over blue carapace, “Mmmmm hey snow white.”

“Never gonna let me live that down, huh.”

“Nope.”

“There is someone here I want you to see.’ He said, and the way he reached out, touching her arm tenderly made his entire body erupt into tiny fizzing bubbles. He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling.

Sunny looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened, freezing in place as she stared at him. He raised an awkward hand to wave, “Er…. hi.”

“No way…. Is this serious.”

Old Adam grinned, “yeah.”

Sunny shook her head in awe before the expression adjusted into a frown, “Great, now I have two children to take care of.” She looked pointedly at old Adam who just grinned.

She turned and looked Adam back over one more time, “I forgot how hot you used to be.’

His grin fell and he glowered at her, “Used to be!”

She grinned at him and shrugged, “What your old, and decrepit now.”

“I’m not even fifty!” 

She stood and walked over looking down at him. Was it just him, or did she seem a little taller?

She brushed a hand through his hair, “You are adorable. What would you say to a fight.”

Old adam frowned again, “Hold on, why do you want to fight him”

She looked over her shoulder, “I don’t know he's younger…. More…. spry .”

“Spry!”

She grinned, “And probably a little more flexible too.”

“Now hold on, I don’t recall you complaining before.”

“Hard to complain when you are trying your best, but you know things get old…. Not so much stamina anymore.” She grinned again 

Adam wanted to sink through the floor, and felt that he might if he got any warmer. As if he might sink through the floor and melt into a puddle.

“I’ll give you stamina, woman.” 

Adam resisted the urge to cover his ears.

Sunny turned her head back to him looking almost hungry, “You always had a nice body.”

“You keep talking about this in the past tense, and I don’t appreciate it.” Old adam lifted his shirt and patted his abs, “See all six still there.”

Sunny raised an eyebrow, “Bet he's a little more….” She tilted her head to the side, “Firm.”

Older Adam looked scandalized by the comment and Adam himself just wanted to die, “Can we NOT talk about that please.”

Sunny sighed, “Still haven't gotten over that have you. She patted his shoulder. Took me FOREVER to convince you and lord was it difficult, but I swear if you just do it, than you won’t have a problem anymore.I swear it vanished overnight.”

“Please stop.”

She sighed, “Alright fine, but you better give younger me a chance sooner before this idiot did, I swear he regrets it with every fiber of his being.”

“I get it! I Get it! I am hearing what you are saying and now we can go ahead and stop right now.” 

The two of them just laughed at his expense, and Sunny put an Arm around him, gently brushing a stray hair from his cheek, “I’m sorry, I know that makes you uncomfortable, we’ll stop.” He relaxed a little and a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Older Adam smiled a little, “Sorry, kid, guess I was having a little too much fun at my own expense.” He winked, though with the eyepatch it looked just like a blink.

Did he really do that that often?

“So…. aside form the other stuff, is there anything I should know? Any advice.”

Older Adam frowned and tapped his fingers, “IF you ever meet a cute little alien that looks like an eyeball with fuzzy hair, don’t touch it whatever you do.” he Shivered and grimaced.

“Um, turns out I am very very allergic to honey so any sort of scent or flavoring that involves it is not going to go well for me.” Sunny added, “So keep me away from it.”

He nodded.

“Also do not attempt any sort of inverted backspin with your jetpack. I was in traction for a month.”

Adam frowned, guess that sort of ruined his weekend plans .

Old Adam rubbed his chin, “Ad face it kid, you're going to get old, but that doesn't mean you should act old. I tried it once and it was miserable.” He prodded Adam in the chest, “Expect your left knee to give you shit  and the fucking heartburn is killer, but keep up your workout routine for your own happiness.”

Sunny paused and then went very quiet, “IF I insist on seeing my mother…. Let me go, but don’t let me do it again. NEVER let me go back again.”

WOrried he nodded again unsure of what to do.

There was another pause, “Also, my brother Kanan, give him some poetry books next christmas.”

Adam snorted in surprise, but from the look on her face he went quiet, “Yeah, I think I can remember all that.”

Older Adam put a hand on his shoulder, “looks like they found the temporal anomaly, and it’s time to send you home kid.”

Older Adam accompanied him into the docking ebay wearing a space suit. It was very strange to hear himself give orders, but partially exhilarating at the same time. He…. he didn’t hate how he sounded when he was giving orders. A group of others came t osee him off and he got to see other members of the crew.

Nairobi, with a colorful scarf tied up on her head, Jackie standing Next to Simon, who looked just as stiff as ever, but managed a smile at him. There was Katie and Krill, who wandered forward and leaned up. He leaned down to listen to his friend expecting another sarcastic comment, but instead, “Relax Admiral, relax and maybe you won’t go grey so early.”

Adam smiled a little and stepped back glancing over at his older counterpart, “All told…. It looks kind of good on me.”

Krill shrugged, “Stress doesn’t, now get back to your people before they freak out.”

“You mean before YOU freak out?”

“Oh I am already freaking out I assure you. That is a fact of life.”

Adam smiled and stepped back as Sunny walked over. She put her hands on his shoulders and then leaned down gently resting her forehead against his before pulling away, “Be safe and try not to do anything overtly stupid, which i KNOW is a tall order.”

He grinned and pulled on his helmet. “No promises.”

She then turned her attention to older Adam, turning her head so he could kiss her on the cheek, reaching down to squeeze his hand, “Same goes for you, you hear me.”

He grinned, “Here you are to ruin all my fun.” She took the helmet from his hands gently placing it on for him with a tight snap before checking the seal and when smacking him about the head.

“Hey!”

“Yep, it works.” She announced laughing as she backed away, and the two of them turned.

They stood in the airock as it was depressurized, and their feet lifted off the ground as the door opened. Together they engaged their jetpacks and slowly coasted forward.

The universe unfurled around them.

It hit him now just as fresh as it had the first time, and he turned his head to look at the older Adam, who was already looking at him, and he was under the impression that his older self still felt the same way, which made him feel right.

At least that was something he’d never lose.

The temporal anomaly appeared before them as they reversed thrusters and came to a slow stop.

Older Adam turned to him, grabbing him by the front of the space suit as they looked, “You gotta promise to do one more thing for me kid, just one more.”

“Yeah, what”

“Waffles…. You, you tell her she’s a good girl, tell her she’s a good girl from me.” The man’s voice was partially choked up, “Can you do that?”

Adam nodded, “I’ll tell her.”

“Good,” And then he was shoved back into the temporal rift and vanished.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 190

The location of choice this time, for such a short but much needed getaway, was a snowy mountain retreat. Large but cozy cabins littered across a picturesque village. Perfect distance from one another. Nobody came to places like these to interact with other people. They were isolated, distant, and perfect. Down to the last detail. That’s what money would get you. And that’s exactly what the both of you needed. 

You’d gotten in on the afternoon of the 24th after delegating all your duties that were important enough to be given to someone trustworthy (mostly Pepper), and the rest  got put on hold. Everything could wait. You and Tony needed this. He wanted to go. You had too. So you’d gone. And that afternoon that bled into evening was devoted solely to tossing the luggage in a corner somewhere and basking in one another. 

But as the next day dawned, finally, the day of your anniversary, you tried to keep your nerves at bay. No matter how it went, you knew you’d already been outplayed. Tony’s proposal had been so heartfelt and real. He’d waited for the exact right moment to give it. Had asked you more than once when he could, and respected your wishes up until that sunset at the lake. When you and he were both ready. How could you compare to that? 

It was too much to ask that you did. That you could even try. But… you did have some plans. It was unfortunate, that you had to keep your walls up, just so that he wouldn’t get a good hint that something was up. But even that was a little suspicious. The two of you shared everything. Yourselves included, in that intimate way that only the two of you knew how, you were sure. You tried to soften his curiosity by keeping his attention in other gentler ways. Lingering kisses, long passing touches. 

A whole morning passed by that way. Afternoon came. He’d started a fire. The two of you curled up. It could have been then, but it wasn’t. You sipped on cocoa, listened to the snow and the wind outside. Watched something meaningless. Talked about all the important nothings. Just enjoyed the sound of each other’s voices, each other’s company. Uninterrupted. Like it was supposed to be. 

But you knew. You knew he could tell something was off. He’d been thinking about it all day. Trying to mull over exactly what it was. And you bided your time. Waiting until the exact moment when it seemed like he would ask. That was just about as the sun was going down. Tit for tat, right? He opened his mouth, brow popped in that signature arch, but you stopped him with a well placed kiss. It soothed his nerves but only slightly. 

When you were finished, “I’m gonna go take a shower. Can you get dinner started, please?” 

That questioning gaze only deepened. You’d staved him off. But not really for that much longer- ...though you had asked him to do something. And so… “Yeah. Sure, honey.” Looking at you like that for just a few more seconds, thinking you might fess up to whatever it was that seemed to be on your mind if he did.

And maybe that would have worked normally. But not tonight. You left him with another kiss, disappearing into the bedroom. This was probably not a great setup. But… 

You hoped with all your heart that the payoff was worth it.

                                                               --- 

She left without another word and Tony sat there a little while longer, watching her go. The sounds of the shower turning on were not far behind her disappearance. Something was up. He wasn’t sure what just yet, but eventually he’d get to the bottom of it. As far as their anniversaries went, this one was extremely tame. ...could it be that she was disappointed? 

He doubted it. She’d never been high maintenance. Never had grand expectations or desires for large gestures of love. It was one of the reasons he loved her, in fact. She never expected much, which was why it was so easy to try and give her the world. 

So what was she thinking about that had her attention so far away? 

...probably everything else. They’d come up there to get away but. There really was no getting away from any of this. Tony hadn’t expected to see Coulson in her office two days ago. But the feeling he’d gotten- like someone had put an ice pick through his ribs- just before rushing up to her, he’d known something was very wrong. Sure, he wanted to get his hands on that book report Coulson had dropped off, but her well being was far more important. 

There just was no escaping any of this. And maybe running away was making it worse. A one-step-forward-two-steps-back kinda deal. Maybe she was worried about all the work piling up while they were gone. She was definitely stuck in a hole over… well, everything else. Herself. Something that killed him. He had no way of fixing that. And she’d made him promise to stop investigating. -which was a loose use of the word, and one he treated himself to. Because he didn’t want to remember that day in the lab. What it had done to her. 

Never again, he’d made that promise, and he was sticking by it. But what could he do now that he had? How could he solve her if he’d told her he wouldn’t do that? How could he make this better for her? It pained him to his core that he just… he couldn’t. By her own will. And his. 

He didn’t want to think of running off together for their anniversary as a mistake. It wasn’t. But- 

“Tony. Could you come here, please?” He had barely noticed the sound of the shower turning off. In fact, he’d been so far in his own thoughts, only the clock on the oven he was standing in front of tipped him off to the fact that he’d been on physical auto-pilot for far longer than was okay. She’d probably been out for a while. 

“Yeah-” A clipped answer in response as he turned off the burners and slid a pot lid atop his current offerings. He wiped his hands clean on a dishtowel before throwing it back on the counter and then turned around to make a straight line for the bedroom. They’d talk about this now. Get it all out in the open. He’d assure her everything would be okay. Promise, if he had to. And then- 

...and then- 

He was about two steps into the bedroom when he realized he’d been bamboozled. Which was a hard thing to do to him. Almost impossible. But he hadn’t expected she’d planned for anything- no, instead he’d just been worried about her- so… 

It was nice to see that she was okay, and had just been being sneaky. In fact, it eased him rather immediately to see her standing there in some long, slinky, black mesh robe. Fur around the cuffs and hem. Lingerie expectly picked to his tastes. He was sure there wasn’t a more beautiful woman in this entire galaxy. Not with the way she smiled at him- yes, in just that way, as their eyes met. The way that made his muscles go slack and his heart pick up double time. 

She was backlit by what had to have been two dozen candles. The shower had been a ploy. She’d just been doing setup. Which was fine by him. 

He put his hands on his hips. “Now- wait- don’t tell me. If this is my anniversary gift… there must be a marriage certificate in those robes of yours. Aaand… an officiant hiding in the closet? In which case I’m very sorry about our morning escapades.” 

Her gentle smile turned his heart into a puddle. “You’re one step ahead of me. Like always.” 

“Okay. Allow me to get back in line.” Excited very suddenly. She’d planned this all out- for him? He wasn’t worth all this trouble. That was for sure. 

...which was why when she produced a little black box his brain short circuited. Just a little. Yet another impossibility that only she could produce. He very suddenly wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. He no longer knew what was going on. That was… sort of exhilarating, in its own way. Because it wasn’t the usual terrifying unknown-

It was her unknown. Something she was gifting to him. And if he was just patient for a few moments longer, all would be revealed. ...he was just a little bit dizzy suddenly. And very hot. One stupid sound escaped him as he pointed uselessly, “...uh?” 

Then that smile of hers turned into a sunny grin and even in the low light he could see the heat touching her. Or- actually- he could feel it. Wrapped up in her. The way she felt. Soothing, calming- just… inexplicably the feeling over deep unfathomable love. “We got lucky, I think. The sixth anniversary is the iron anniversary, you know.” 

Despite himself, “Gotta love it when things line up just the right way.” And he was noticing- now at least- as he zeroed in on that box- it was brushed iron, in fact. Maybe it had… what could it even be? Cufflinks? A watch? -no, too small for a watch. What would she give him on their anniversary? ...because it was her it wouldn’t be either of those things, actually, now that he was thinking about it. 

That was too ordinary. She was too clever and too sentimental to just give him a random object- even though he’d treasure anything she got for him. But if not those then- 

He felt the little roundabout turn of his head, the squinch of his brows, the little hang of his mouth as she opened it. 

Inside was a ring. 

A ring.

And finally it made sense. 

She turned just a little bashful, and that touch she lent to him of that feeling, probably not intentional, had a blush rising in his cheeks, and stars opening up in his eyes. They weren’t there, he was sure. In a bedroom in an overly expensive cabin backdropped by a snowy mountain. They were… somewhere else. 

Far away. 

Just the two of them. The only people that mattered, at present moment. 

“Maybe it’s silly, and- sure, you proposing to me obviously means you’re ready to get married. You want to get married. And I already said yes, so I do, too. But. We never do anything halfway. I don’t wanna start now. And it’s not just for imagery, but it’s because you deserve it. You deserve to know that I love you as much as I do. You deserve to know how much you mean to me. -that you’re everything to me. And that I love you. With everything I have. Everything I am. And that I can’t imagine life without you- and that I’m ready to not just be your wife but for you to be my husband. 

I need that, too, I think. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.  I need you. You make life so much easier- and that’s saying a lot. You’re my rock. You’re my steadiness. You always put me first and I will never stop putting you first, either. I love you. I love life with you. I love knowing without a doubt that you’ve always got my back. And I love having yours. I love that we’re always a team. So- sure- we’ve already done this once but… I want to do it again.” 

She wedged the ring out of the box and then tossed the box onto the bed. Stepping closer to him, he felt like she was encompassing all of him as she moved into his space. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he was mostly sure he was still wearing that completely stupid, dumbfounded look. Brows now raised far up, eyes just a little wide. 

But her smile then set a calmness in him, and while he’d already been sure, more than once now- he knew he would never love anyone like he loved her. She was it for him. His home. His partner. His once-in-a-lifetime thing. 

...how could she not be, when she was proposing to him? 

“Tony Stark, will you marry me?” 

Because he’d asked her. He’d asked her if she wanted to get married to him, if she wanted to continue this crazy life with him, take it one step further, and she’d said yes. Now it was her turn. She was asking and so- 

There was no way yes would do it justice. 

He cradled her face in his hands, carefully but swiftly, tilting her up so that his lips could find their rightful place against hers. He held her like that. Really held her. Every part of her, he knew in that moment. Responsible for so much, yet gratefully so. They were trading hearts. 

He couldn’t have asked for a better one. 

“I love you.” Murmured against her when he finally found something important enough to say. Yes- important. Maybe one of the most important truths he knew. So he needed to say it again. “I love you.” He felt the wash of tears, not just his own, but hers, too. She mumbled something with a choked laugh and he didn’t catch a single word of it, but he knew what she was asking regardless. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against hers, resting the weight of his world against her so easily. Laughing then as he managed- “Yes. Absolutely, yes.” 

As if there were any other way to answer that question. 

When happy-tearful kisses turned more towards happy-tearful laughter, he found the strength to peel away. But only so he could hold his hand up. “If we’re doing this, we gotta go all the way with it.” 

She gave him a strong nod. “Oh. I agree.” They were bathed suddenly in that light. The one that belonged to her. Ethereal and odd. Beautiful and incomprehensible. The one that seemed to burst forward from her heart.

It was probably strange. The way he felt as she slid that ring into its rightful place. There was a wholeness- the same kind he got in those moments where they seemed to blend together. Just belonging to one another so fully. But then once it was seated, he couldn’t help but hold his hand up and really look at it- though the low light of the room made it hard. “Iron, I imagine? If we’re going with the theme here?” 

Her feline-like grin was almost a little too telling as she peered up at him. “Well- actually- it’s a gold titanium alloy…” 

Alright. She’d already been gunning for perfect woman award. But this? This was just over the top. 

...she really did own him, didn’t she? He just belonged to her so completely. And he was very fine with that. 

It was an elegant, slim black band with a gold stripe in the center. And swimming in that gold was what looked like a red line- almost like a heartbeat, but he recognized it soon after- “Sound wave?” 

“Matches the inscription on the inside.” She was daring him with this.

Maybe he’d rushed to put it on. Maybe he’d have noticed the words she’d carefully chosen had he taken his time. But a file like that? Maybe not embedded in the ring itself- but- “FRIDAY, a little help here?” Figuring she’d been up to all this- she must have taken it that far, too. 

“Yes, boss. Playing for you now.” Suspicions correct. 

The sound of her voice took over the room. Soft but sure. 

I need you. Then. Now. Always. 

That was his. That was his to keep forever. No one else would ever have access to that. No one else would ever know about it. No one else would ever hear it. Because those words belonged to him. That promise belonged to him. 

She belonged to him. Just as much as he belonged to her. 

If luck existed in this universe, he’d burned out all of his the day he’d met her. But so long as he held on to her, everything else would be okay. So long as he had her… he would be okay. Life would make sense as it continued to pull apart at the seams in ways he’d never imagined. But it was fine. 

Because he had her. And they were getting married. 

He loved her with every atom in his body. Every inch of his being. If souls were real, she’d long ago dipped her hands into his and just taken residence inside him. 

His hands had found her again. Just hanging on. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Each declaration paired behind a kiss and another and another. He was positively drowning in her. But that was fine. That was right where he wanted to be. 

[vivilove-jonsa]

The Field Where I Died

Jon watches over Sansa even in death...

@jonsa-week  Day 1 Prompt-Present

A gift for @chocolateghost because he likes pain please don’t hate me

Read below or on ao3

***

The field where they were to meet was off Highway 11. It was a large field but surrounded by trees. He didn’t like the isolated feel of this but his informant had said it was someplace he’d never be spotted. Edd had berated him about going, saying he shouldn’t go alone but this guy was nervous enough without pulling his partner along. This was also the break they needed.

Three months, Jon and Edd had been working this case. Three months of chasing leads and this was the best one yet. Organized crime would feel the ripples of this bust from the local thugs all the way up to the capos and the boss. Jon figured it’d give him a little more cred in the department, from detective to sergeant probably, maybe lieutenant in another five years if he was lucky.

That was good. The school year would end soon and Sansa had already said she wanted to stay home with the baby the first year. Four years they’d been married. They’d been together since they were kids other than one stupid fight first year of college that had busted them up for six miserable months. When he’d won her back, he’d sworn to himself then he’d never let her go again. Even if someday she didn’t want him anymore, his heart would always be hers. So many guys in the department wound up divorced but he could never imagine that for him and Sansa.

On the perimeter of the field, he spied a white shape moving along the tree line. It was dusk out already and it gave him a chill. But soon he realized it was just a dog. He whistled and the animal stopped, its head tilted to the side.

“Hey, boy,” he called. “Thought you were a ghost.”

The dog approached him, wagging its tail in a friendly way. Oh, to enjoy the carefree life of a dog.

Jon checked for a collar. There was none. “You’re a sweet boy. I’d take you home if I could. Sansa would spoil you rotten. Not sure tonight’s the best night though,” he said as he heard a car pulling off the road.

The dog slunk off towards the trees as the car pulled to a stop. His guy on the inside was running a few minutes behind, not abnormal for him. The guy was always so twitchy.

The doors opened, both driver and passenger side and too late Jon realized it was not his guy. His arm already felt heavy when he started returning fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how dark it was growing when he saw a flash of white moving through the trees again. He needed to get home. Sansa would be waiting.

 *****

Jon was working late. The doorbell was not expected at this time of night. She’d been a cop’s wife for nearly four years now. She’d told herself detective work was less dangerous than being a uni. But dread filled her in a heartbeat with the dying echo of that doorbell.

She glanced down at her left hand. The diamond ring and gold band Jon had given her winked at her under the light of the foyer. She had her hand poised protectively over her rounded belly when she opened the door.

Edd was standing behind Chief Mormont and another one she’d never met. A chaplain, she realized. Her blood seemed to freeze inside her. There were tears in Edd’s eyes. The chief was choking on his words.

The white stray she’d found sitting outside their home this evening when she’d returned from Jeyne’s nuzzled against her leg and whined. She’d brought it inside to feed and wondered how Jon would feel about keeping him if they couldn’t find the owner.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Snow,” the chaplain said.

****** 

 He’d come home to her. He’d never made promises about those things because it seemed like a foolhardy promise for a cop to make. But he’d raced across the field and through the woods and back home that night to find her. He couldn’t leave her. He loved her too much to leave her alone.

But she wasn’t the same with him…or he wasn’t the same. Things were different than they’d been somehow. She still loved him, he knew, and he loved her so much. His whole world lit up when she walked in the door and would be cast into darkness when she went away. But she’d come back. She always did and his heart would soar when he saw her.

She would touch him but not like before. She said she shouldn’t let him sleep with her. He didn’t understand. Because of the baby? Was she upset with him? But they were just sleeping, just lying together and that was enough for him. And in the end, she’d always call him to bed when she turned out the lights at night.

Her kisses were different. His were, too. She’d run her fingers through his hair and murmur things to him but it wasn’t intimate in the same way. It was affectionate but not intimate.

She was sad, very sad. She cried a lot. She told him the Celexa was considered safe during pregnancy but she couldn’t take the risk. She poured the bottle’s contents down the toilet. He didn’t understand. She said the baby was all that mattered now. Didn’t she know that she mattered too?

He’d do whatever he could to comfort her, to express his own grief, to show her he was by her side. And he knew she got it. She told him she didn’t know what she’d do without him. Her salty tears wetted his tongue and after a while she’d give him something to eat.

Edd came to visit often. They didn’t talk to each other like before but Edd would reach out and touch him. He hated seeing his partner and friend so sad.

“He came to you that night?” Edd asked, mystified.

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ghost.”

 ******* 

Even though school wasn’t out just yet, she was already off from work. She didn’t go many places but when she did, she took him with her.

“I need you with me,” she told him. “You make me stronger.”

He wasn’t going anywhere without her. She could have every ounce of his strength if she needed.

When the time drew closer, he heard her talking with her mom. They’d laughed at the idea of a home birth before but now Sansa was insistent. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to be home. I want Ghost near when he comes,” she told her mother who didn’t understand.

Something could go wrong and it worried him but it was ultimately her body that would be giving birth to his son. He would trust her judgment.

Then one night, he sat at the end of the bed, frustrated that he couldn’t see better and couldn’t understand it all. Her strained grunts and stifled cries made him feel sick, made him feel shaky, made him feel like pacing. He paced. Didn’t expectant fathers do lots of pacing?

“Go lie down!” her mother barked at him.

“He’s fine,” Sansa told her mother through clenched teeth.

The cry of their child was heard an hour later, just as he’d finally laid down with fatigue. He could only imagine how tired she must be.

He didn’t get to hold him but he saw him, grey eyes blinking at him with a scruff of dark hair. He smelled funny but he already knew he’d do anything for him, do anything to keep him safe just like Sansa.

“Darling,” his mother-in-law said, “Have you decided for sure about the name?”

“Yes. His name is Jon.”

******* 

At first, it was a never ending drudgery of forty-minute naps and feedings and diaper changes and crying, an endless cycle. He followed them everywhere around the house and, when Sansa would start to cry too, he’d be there to comfort her.

“Ghost watches over us both, Jon,” she’d say.

But soon, time had a way of speeding up on him. Little Jon would smile so big when he saw his mama or his daddy, those genuine social smiles that parents await so eagerly. Then, before long he was sitting up and soon he was crawling, it seemed.

He followed him everywhere. He’d curl up and nap by the crib if Sansa didn’t need him.

He’d watch over his son by day and lay by his wife at night. She’d caress his neck and shoulder until she’d drift off to sleep.

One night, a prowler came around. He could hear him outside. Sansa heard him, too. She grabbed the baby and was afraid, reaching for the phone. But he was there. He didn’t even need a gun, just his voice. He’d always protect them. He scared the prowler away.

****** 

Edd came over regularly to check on his wife and son. He was a good friend and a good partner. They’d always said they’d look after each other’s family no matter what. Edd had an elderly mother. Jon had a wife and son.

He wasn’t jealous that Edd could pick his son up when he couldn’t. He enjoyed watching his friend lift the baby up high in the air, getting belly laughs that would put a smile on that dour old face.

Some nights, Edd would stop by for coffee after Jon had been put to bed and they’d talk. He’d listen to everything they said but not all of it made since.

But one time, Edd took Sansa’s hand in his, speaking earnestly and he didn’t like that.

“Ghost, no!” Sansa said sharply.

He was angry and confused. He backed away at her command all the same. He always did what she told him. He loved her and wanted to please her.

But she turned to Edd the next minute, gently pulling her hand away from his. “I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t think of such things yet. Maybe not ever.”

 ****** 

Today was important somehow. He wasn’t sure why but Sansa had asked Edd to drive them somewhere. He enjoyed getting out once in a while. He got tired of always being at the house or in the yard.

He climbed into the back next to Little Jon and laid his head over the boy’s lap. He was nearly two now. He would giggle and tug at his ears. He didn’t mind.

“Are you sure, Sansa?”

“I just want to see it. I want to know where it happened.”

The car stopped and he got out. Sansa reached for their boy.

It was sunny out, not dusk like before. But he knew the smell of these woods. They woke something within him, some old hurt or fear, something bad had happened here.

Edd stood back a respectful distance with his hat in his hands and tears in his eyes again. He loved Edd and hated for his friend to be sad like this. But Sansa could never love Edd the way she loved him. They were meant to be together always.

Sansa was carrying their son, saying words the child didn’t understand. She just needed to get this out of her system. She needed to see it for herself.

“I know you don’t understand,” she whispered to the boy. “But this is where your father…”

She stopped speaking, too choked up with emotions, but Ghost understood at last.

 This is the field where I died.

***

{And then Sansa woke up from that awful dream, right?}

[cecilspeaks]

160 - The Weather

No man is an island. Some men are fjords. Most men are oxbows. All men are ravines. Welcome to Night Vale.

The news coming up. But first, let’s go to the weather.

[nature noises, birds cawing]

There’s a cold front moving through Night Vale. Temperature at City Hall is currently 63 degrees and sunny with wind gusts later this afternoon of up to 40 miles per hour. These winds are expected to bring cold air as low as 20 degrees this evening, and possibly dropping to below zero overnight. It’s unknown what’s causing this weather, is a statement I make every day, looking out into the sky. Is it God? P-perhaps it is the government. Perhaps Earth itself is, is it out of boredom that the weather exists? Maybe it is out of care. That would suggest the existence of a God who wishes us well, but it does not explain the fierce destructiveness of a blizzard, or a heat wave, or a tornado, or a tsunami. Is a tsunami weather? That is a question best left to oceanographers, meteorologists, or a Tarot deck. But why would God make a thing, then mar it? What mood change is this? what care can this god have for humanity? Ahhhh. And maybe that’s the point. Ah, that does make me feel better, to think that it all doesn’t matter. It really takes a lot of pressure off, doesn’t it?

Let’s have a look at agriculture. John Peters – you know, the farmer – says his orange crop this year is massive. He says the quantity of product has not deviated, only the quality. “Them oranges are huuuu-uuge!” John said, holding an orange the size of the 2002 iMac computer. ��I can’t fit this thing into one of them orange crushers (what that) I make the juice with!” he said, struggling to keep his back straight under the weight of the abnormally sized citrus fruit. But John says he’s excited for his orange grove, which has been doing great ever since he genetically modified his crop to no longer cause teleportation across existential dimensions when consumed. Despite his excitement for orange sales, John says he’s worried about next year’s crop of invisible corn. He said he looked up summer 2020 in his farmer’s almanac and all it said was, “Wellll crap. Good luck.” John plans to diversify his farm investment by raising cattle for slaughter. He’s vegan these days, so he does not want to sell the cattle for meat or dairy. He’ll just raise the cattle until they’re old enough to kill. Best of luck in all your endeavours, John! Hope you finally win that coveted Best Orange at the Citrus Festival this year.

Many of our listeners have written concerned emails about the temperature possibly falling below zero. Bob Sturm of Old Town said: “Zero is the lowest number, Cecil. I’m a big stats guy and I can tell you that you cannot have less than nothing, that’s impossible.” Well listen Bob, I’m a journalist, not a numerologist, so I don’t know what to tell you. Apparently there are many unknown numbers below zero, and as they are discovered, rest assured I will be here to report on them. (Reina Guerrero) from the west side asked if there’s anything we can do to better prepare ourselves for this weather. Well (Reina), here are some tips I just looked up online. One: bundle up. Yeah, your heater can only do so much. Two: bring your pets indoors, and if you have an agent from a Vague, yet Menacing Government Agency outside your home assigned to record your every movement, invite them in as well. You don’t want them freezing alone out there in their black sedan. Three: light a fire, if you have a fireplace. If you do not have a fireplace of pellet stove, try using a refrigerator or sink. Four: if you should lose power at any time, do not panic. Just curl into a ball breathing heavily and repeating: “Oh God no, oh God no, oh God no, oh God no”, through loudly chattering teeth.

Now, we’re not expecting precipitation tonight, but should it snow, I recommend making a snow angel. Yeaaah, that’s always fun. All you have to do is lie flat on your back, arms and legs outstretched, until you are called into celestial service to whatever greater authority rules these beautiful creatures. Thank you for your questions and comments. I’ll do my best to keep our town up to date on the latest weather.

But first, this Saturday is Night Vale’s annual Holiday Fireworks Extravaganza at the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area. There will be live music by local bands, including  a new band by Dark Owl Records owner Michelle Nguyen and her girlfriend Maureen. [quietly] Ah, my old intern Maureen. Their band is called The Funtastics, and it’s a folk country slash (trans) tribute band performing the acappella covers of Philip Glass scores. According to Michelle’s press release: “Please do not watch our show. I’m very angry you even know about it. I hate that our secret concert at the annual Holiday Fireworks Extravaganza, Night Vale’s most anticipated and attended annual event, was leaked to the press.” Following the concert, there will be a collective prayer to the [gong, echoing] Great! Golden! Hand! And then the fireworks will begin. Event organizers say they have a special fireworks display in store for attendees this year. Traditionally, the biggest explosions are reserved for the end of a half-hour long buildup of lesser explosions, but focus groups have indicated that people are tired of having to wait for the best part. So instead of normal boring fireworks, they will be blowing up old cars using the 18,000 tons of solid fuel they found at an abandoned missile silo on the edge of the Sand Wastes. The Holiday Fireworks Extravaganza would like to thank the Sheriff’s Secret Police for the vehicle donations, which are mostly cars impounded this past week for overdue state inspection stickers. Can’t wait to see everybody this Saturday at the Fireworks Extravaganzaa!

Brrrr! It’s getting pretty bad out there, Night Vale! The temperature has fallen dramatically to 20 degrees outside the radio station. I can hear the creak and groan of our antenna straining under the 40 mile per hour winds. I’ve seen three different minor accidents outside my window as drivers lost control of their vehicles. I’ve got my little space heater under my desk. Huh, but I can still barely feel my feet. [chuckles] I regret choosing today of all days to bike to work. [sighs]

Oh, I’m getting word that power is out in the Barista District, and dozens of leather apron wearing people have been forced to make torches out of Irish cream soaked biscotti stuffed into (-) [0:09:16]. And the only thing available coffee wise right now is cold brew. Gross.

Employees at the Night Vale power plant are working to restore power to that area of town, but they have run into some difficulties. The blustery winds and extreme cold have kept some of the workers from being able to drive to the plant, and the ones already on site re perplexed by how any of this works. “We are not sure if this is a nuclear plant or electric or coal or what,” said Mike Reiner, director of operations for the power plant. “We tried turning the whole thing off and back on like a computer, but the switch didn’t really do anything. Nobody labels anything around here, for crying out loud.” Reiner then began to cry out loud, as dozens of workers rushed to put their arms around the sobbing man. “We’re sorry, boss, we’re sorry,” the frantic workers all repeated. In the chaos of the consoling, a single worker was heard whimpering: “Oh god! Someone do something before he changes back into…” But that voice was quickly and fearfully shushed by the others.

More on the power outage and weather conditions soon.

But let’s get to some good news. Our population is booming, Night Vale! We have more people than houses. But thankfully, the good folks of the private land development industry are helping out. Ah, the altruistic hand of capitalism! A new housing development named The Final Destination is going up in Radon Canyon. New homes start in the 130’s for 2 bedroom semi-detached townhouses, all the way to expensive 10 bedroom estates with beautiful views of the blue..ish mist that settles every morning along the canyon bottom. Representatives from the EPA have warned against building residences in an area known for producing toxic gases, but the developers said they will equip each home with a large exhaust fan and provide a lifetime supply of rebreathers for the first 15 home buyers. The EPA has tried repeatedly to stop this development, stating that excavation of the canyon floor could lead to the release of more gases, which would catastrophically imperil not only the lives of those in the canyon, but the Earth’s atmosphere for hundreds, if not thousands of miles in all directions. “Who knows what’s beneath the shale in that canyon?” one EPA representative said. The representative was wearing a sports coat too large for his frame and comically out of date glasses. He continued: “We have been trying to declare Radon Canyon a Superfund site for years, but Night Vale doesn’t show up in any government database and so it cannot receive its projection. Didn’t you ever see the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, how everybody’s faces melted off, it’d be just like that.” When it was pointed out that the end of that movie was good because it was Nazi faces melting, the EPA representative said: “Yeah yeah you’re right, that was pretty cool but still, get what I’m trying to say right?” Nobody did, because it was a weird thing to bring up a 40-year-old movie about Nazis and museum artefacts. So, now we will have new housing in the heart of Night Vale’s most beautiful scenic attraction, beginning spring next year.

I’m getting word that the power is out now in Old Town Night Vale and at the library, and on the south end. The temperature has dropped to 5 degrees and I think it will continue to plummet throughout the night. People are doing everything they can to prepare. Before the stores close, I recommend driving out and picking up some water as well as canned goods, even some fresh produce and raw meat while it’s still there. I mean, people worked hard to grow that food ten states away and then drive it across the country right here to you and you haven’t bought it yet? Even if your refrigerator’s not working because of the power outages, it’ll be cold enough in your house to keep it all fresh. So get out there and spend your money on food! We have so much of it. Let’s use it, Night Vale.

But above all: stay warm! If you’re alone, visit a neighbor. Body heat and company can help a lot in weather like this. And if you have room in your home, welcome your neighbors in! There’s no reason to be alone at a time likes. Plus it’s the holiday season, why not keep each other warm with stories, with camaraderie, with good fellowship? [shivering noises] Yet, if you can’t be with others tonight, [groans] then I will do my best to keep you company through this brutal cold.

Ah, I’d like to tell you a story of my childhood. It’s a very personal story, one I‘ve never shared on the air before. [shivering noises] I’m a bit nervous to tell it to you all, but if ever there was time for a story to bring us closer together, now is that time. I will tell you that story in a moment, but first, let’s have a look at sports.

[“Suspension of Disbelief” by Victory Soul Orchestra https://victorysoulorchestra.com]

[beeps] Computer: The National Weather Service has issued a severe weather warning for the greater Night Vale area. Temperatures as low as -10 degrees are predicted with high winds gusting up to 16 miles per hour. Wind chills overnight may reach -30 degrees. Residents of Night Vale and the surrounding towns of Pine Cliff, Red Mesa, and Desert Bluffs too should seek shelter. They should band together around fireplaces with heaters at their highest settings. In cases where heat sources are not accessible or operating, residents should huddle in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. Come huddle with us. Come huddle with us. There is a barrel here. It is filled with trash and we have lit it on fire. It is so warm, the trash. The trash is mostly paper and cardboard, but it is also something greater than that. It is a symbol of progress of the great tower of industry (and need) [0:19:51], a ruined towel like Babyl, which just toppled down of the weight of its hubris, and in the language of flame it tells us things. It tells us so much, not through words but through visions. 

Here is a list of visions the fire has revealed to us. One: two spools of coaxial cable. Two: a single white bulb atop of an anthill. Three: an empty keg around squat cylinder of frosting, beneath which lies nothing, not even air. A void (cake). “Happy birthday,” echoes the choir from a good distance away. Four: a great black bird whose white wings brush along the castle turret. Five: a snake spiraled and asleep inside a leather boot. Six: a wheelless tractor in a vast wasteland of cracked earth. Seven: your brother. Not a brother you know, but a brother you once had. He looks like you and he repeats your name, but backwards. Eight: smoke clouds shaped like vice grips.   These are the visions of the flames in the barrel in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. 

Beneath our gaze and across our minds, beyond our consciousness, these are the remains of the great tower of humanity. Come huddle with us. You without heat. You without home. You without hope. Come huddle with us. 

This severe weather warning is in effect (through) 8 PM tomorrow, when the warm front is expected to move through the region bringing sunny skies and high temperatures in the mid-80’s, and everyone will return to their normal lives, satisfied that they have (-) [0:21:51] death once again, confusing accidental survival with competence and immortality. What doesn’t kill you only makes you more complacent. The National Weather Service knows this is but a night together with you, not a whole life. For what we have in this moment is (truer) than rain, but deeper than thunder. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Blah, blah, blah. I’m not saying the morning will not hurt. I’m only saying the joy of memory is stronger than the prick of any (plate) upon my heart. This has been a severe weather warning from the national weather service. Stay tuned to the station for further updates.

I love you. I have always loved you. And now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

[beeps]

Cecil: And that is what I saw in the mirror that day. And why I do not like to go near mirrors. Ever.

[sighs] I never told that story to anyone before. I hope it has kept you company throughout this treacherous night. I hope it has kept you warm. Just knowing you’re listening somewhere out there in the cold dark has kept me warm. Stay safe, wherever you are. Good night, Night Vale… [shivers] Good night.

Today’s proverb: Who called it Snowpiercer instead of Chris Evans’s Polar Express?

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (3)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader; Winter Soldier x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Heavy SMUT, so 18+ please.

A/N: The story of the last time they met arrives and it wasn’t exactly pretty, because that’s how life goes when the Soldier is involved. If you’re uncomfortable with smut or are under 18, feel free to stop by my inbox and I’ll give you a summary!

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

She takes the armchair across from him, as far away as she can get in the small living room, and tucks her hands under her legs. Bucky knows he’s unlikely to enjoy whatever she has to say, but he folds his fingers together and waits. She stares down at her feet, appearing to gather her courage before meeting his grim stare head on.

Her voice is steady, as she starts to speak.

“Paris was cold that December and it snowed early. It was New Year’s Eve in 1969.”

*****

31 December 1969 Paris, France

The deluge of snow pauses for a few minutes, long enough for her to hail a taxi from the steps of her apartment. Time, normally inconsequential and meaningless, seemed to blur that year. Cool wet spring and hot baking summer. Warm sunny autumn and now cold snowy winter. Through it all, a single thread loops around, knotting the months together. She feels the sting of bitter despair when she contemplates the fact.

After all these years, of running and hiding and starting from scratch again and again – here she remains.

Forgotten. Alone.

It feels exceptionally poignant tonight, as the end of another decade arrives. Clawing her way up from the self-loathing pit of her past feels utterly impossible. Why should she move on? The memories caged in her heart are more vital to her survival than anything else she owns.

Right there, that’s the key word - survival. This is not living; she knows that. The simple truth is that she’s forgotten and alone, because she chose this life. Self-imposed regression, isolation in the purest form. To live, feels insurmountable because she has no clue how the hell she’s supposed to simply let go.

She knows though. She knows she should. For him.

This is not the life he wanted for her.

She owes him more than the hollow shell she’s become.

Maybe this is it, she tells herself. Maybe this will be the year she rediscovers what it means to live. Maybe this year she can exorcise the ghosts of her past and finally move on.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. A fool’s mantra.

Lifting the hem of a black satin evening gown away from the grey slush, she steps carefully through the shoveled path to meet the driver. Sliding into the backseat, she adjusts her long, billowy black coat, tucking it under her knees.

“Moulin Rouge,” she requests and her voice is resigned.

How she allowed herself to be roped into a party tonight, she’s not sure. New friends, still bursting with sheltered optimism, insisting on making the most of their youth.

Youth. What a funny idea. Her youth disappeared long ago, but the hallmarks of age refuse to visit - no grey hair, no wrinkles around her eyes. Nothing to mark the passage of time, other than the ancient ache fused to her bones. She appears much the same as she did back in 1943, which is soul destroying all on its own.

The world keeps moving forward, but nothing about her wants to follow that same trajectory.

Foggy car windows obscure the lights of Paris as the taxi navigates the crowded streets. From inside, the world resembles a watercolor painting, dabs of muted yellow, smears of soft black.

Rolling down the window, she tips her face into the night, letting clean, cold air fill the car. The world returns in sharp relief, the smell of the city filling her nose, bringing a sting of wistfulness; chestnuts roasting in buckets, the heady scent of champagne from the tippling glasses toasting on the sidewalks, the piney smell of decaying needles from Christmas trees piled on street corners. The noise is deafening, as the whole of Paris flocks to the streets, celebrating the end of the 1960s.

Even now, 25 years after the Nazi occupation, the city remains hell bent on squeezing every last bit of living from the hours in their grasp.

Part of her wants to encourage them to calm down, to take a breath – it won’t happen again, it can’t happen again, the world won’t let it. But that’s what they said in 1918.

Instead, she smiles at the excitement, at the unwavering lust for life. Although she doesn’t partake, she still understands the desire. She just wishes she could feel the same.

The ride takes longer than usual, but that’s okay. She’s in no hurry to arrive and feign excited smiles through the long night. When the lights of the Moulin Rouge appear, the giant windmill flashing white and red and gold lights, she tries a pep talk, psyching herself up.

You can do this, she tells herself. It’s only one night. You can do this.

The driver pulls up and the attendant rushes for her door, offering a white gloved hand to help her exit. Stepping from the car, she adjusts her coat, lifts her chin and curves her lips into a reasonable replica of a smile.

Glancing to the attendant, she offers her thanks.

The words die on her tongue.

Above the sea of people clogging the sidewalk, she sees the back of a tall man striding away, shoulder length hair brushing broad shoulders. The shade is so perfectly familiar, a glossy chestnut hue she can see wrapped around her fingers, her breath stops.

Hope stabs her, so viciously consuming, she staggers and grips the car door tight.

Was that -

But in the next heartbeat, he turns the corner and disappears, and reality crashes down. She saw nothing, because there was nothing to see. Nothing more than her traitorous brain playing tricks, because that part of her life no longer exists. Sometimes there are just so many memories crowded inside, they have no where to go but back into the world. Some days she sees ghosts everywhere, their shadowy footprints stomping through her heart.

Stop. Please stop. Let him go, she pleads with herself. You have to let him go.

The impossibility of the request weighs her down, but she vows in that moment that she will at least try. Perhaps this will be the year she turns over a new leaf. The year she finally lets him go.

Resolve vibrating through her, she lifts her chin once again and marches into the club.

*****

Just a few more hours.

The refrain plays on repeat in her head. Louder and louder, the words throbbing in time with the headache she feels brewing.

In all fairness, she’s trying. The room overflows with bodies, stuffy and hot, and she swears to herself that she’s trying, she really is, but she can’t stop peeking at the gigantic clock situated in the middle of the ballroom. Just a few more hours until she can take off this gown and ditch these heels and crawl under her covers with a bottle of wine.

And contemplate how the hell she plans to survive another decade like this.

Plucking a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray, she gulps down the delicate fizz. Touching the cold crystal to her damp forehead, she closes her eyes and she smiles wryly when she considers one very important point.

If she has nothing else in this world - at least there will always be bubbles.

Minutes creep by, the crowd getting drunker and more exuberant as the clock ticks closer to midnight. She makes small talk, keeps the smile glued to her face, laughs at jokes that are thoroughly unfunny. All the while, counting down the minutes until she can make her escape.

Beside her, a group of Americans are telling a story, full of imitations and boisterous laughter. Leaning away, she tries to tune them out, focusing instead on the one highlight to the evening.

There, from across the room she hears lush, beautifully complex melodies floating from ivory keys. Piano music dances above the melee and the sounds of big band classics are nostalgic and comforting. The pianist is exquisite, rotating easily through a medley of old favorites, and she lets herself relax.

Contentment steals over her for the first time the entire evening. Maybe it’s not so bad here, she admits to herself.

But she really should realize - the world is not on her side. A jarringly familiar chord rings out.

And she freezes.

Oh god. No, she thinks. No. Move. Get out of here.

It strikes something broken deep inside and she wonders if the ghosts of her past are really, truly intent on wrecking her tonight. Whipping around, she searches desperately for an escape, but the ballroom is filling further, a veritable barricade of merrymakers preventing her from fleeing.

Like musical ivy, the mocking notes float around her, winding and twisting and tangling inside her head, wrapping tight around her throat. Around her heart. Although no words accompany the song, she fills the blanks perfectly fine by herself.

We’ll meet again…don’t know where…don’t know when…

For all her earlier promises to move on and forget the past, this party’s not doing a god damn thing to help. The song slices apart her tenuous resolution, opening up that place in her brain where she keeps them all, those priceless memories from her past.

On and on it plays, and she feels the hysteria begin to choke her.

Keep smiling through…Just like you always do…'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away…

There are no smiles for her. No blue skies. Only black clouds and black dreams and black death, waiting to consume her.

Get out, get out, get out, her heart screams. She shoves harder, fighting to break from the crowd and panic descends.

“Only sixty seconds until midnight!”

Climbing to a pedestal on the bar, a garishly dressed performer in a black top hat and high heeled boots screams and the waiting crowd roars in return. In the next moment, the music comes to an abrupt halt. The memories are still hot electricity crackling over her skin, but the harsh reality of the present floods back in and she breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

Party horns and streamers and bags of confetti are passed around and she accepts one distractedly.

Too much, she thinks. This is too much.

And from nowhere, too much, becomes something far worse.

Like the undulations of the sea, the crowd shifts and from afar, she glimpses the piano player who fired the bullet into her heart. Even seated, she can see he’s tall and broad shouldered. She feels a strange twist in her stomach and a shiver goes down her back.

Because from behind, she recognizes him from earlier this evening. When the light from above shines down on shoulder length, chestnut brown hair, her teeth begin to chatter.

He stands from the piano then, stepping around the seat. As he moves, she feels her body follow, as though he’s a puppeteer and she’s the marionette on his strings. The rapid flutter of her pulse hammers a staccato beat in her ears and she tries to push forward, her eyes trained on him. When a waiter stops next to him, offering a glass of champagne, he accepts it and takes a long drink.

She notices he wears black gloves. A peculiar accessory in the swelteringly hot room.

Sweat drips down her temples and she wipes it away, ignoring the light smear of make-up transplanting onto her fingers. The words are dancing in her head, rising from the surface, as she feels herself saying it out loud, although she cannot hear the sound of her own voice.

“Turn around, please, turn around.”

In the next moment, her wish is granted.

The man turns to the side. Perfectly straight nose. Plush lips lifted in a disdainful curve. There in the ballroom of the Moulin Rouge, while 1969 takes its dying breaths, she sees the profile of a man who has haunted her dreams for as long as she can remember.

Her entire world goes silent.

The last moments of the countdown begin.

10…he steps to the side of the piano…

9…carefully sets his drink on the shiny black lacquer and buttons his tuxedo jacket…

8…and picks up his glass to drain the remaining champagne…

7…he hands the empty glass to a passing waiter…

6…and she sees a woman reaching for him, vying for his attention…

5…but he moves his arm away, ignoring the insistent appeal…

4…he glances up to the massive clock on the wall…

3…and his cold eyes fixate on her…

2…he remains utterly still, eyes narrowing as he holds her shocked stare…

1…then sharp elbows are jostling her from every angle and suddenly she stumbles…

Happy New Year!

When she regains her balances, she pivots wildly, searching the blurry sea of faces, hoping, praying, shouting for him. The crowd swells and parts again and again, but it’s no use.

He’s gone.

Black and silver confetti rains from the ceiling and gold balloons bounce around the laughing guests. People are kissing, hugging, laughing, welcoming 1970 with open arms. In the middle of it all, she stands frozen. Confused tears slide down her cheeks and in the thunderous roar of happiness, she hears nothing but the familiar shatter of her heart.

*****

In her apartment, there is a juliette balcony in the small living room. The home is basic and utilitarian, nothing special, except for the view. It overlooks the city and the sparkling lights of Paris satisfy her desire for beauty like nothing else.

Curled in a worn armchair in front of the balcony window, she shivers against the icy night air, drinking a glass of gin.

You’re insane, she thinks, gulping down the burning liquid. It was the song, nothing else. It’s not possible. It wasn’t him.

No, it’s not possible. It can’t be possible.

But still – she waits.

And in that dark hour before dawn, someone does arrive.

Nothing more than a soft footfall, alerts her to his presence. She sets the glass carefully on the floor and rises slowly to her feet.

Behind her stands a dark shadow, holding a rumpled tuxedo jacket by the tips of his fingers. A beam of light strikes his chest and through the crisp white shirt, she sees hints of silver glowing luminously, a tinge of blood red at his shoulder, silver plated fingers balled in a loose fist. The top few buttons at his collar are undone, and through the gap she sees streaks of red marring pale skin.

Somehow, there is a metal arm bolted to the man’s body.

Blinking slowly, she looks him up and down.

“Is this a dream?” she whispers, searching for clues. “Are you real?”

He simply stares back, regarding her dispassionately.

“Jimmy?” she asks softly and he twitches at the word.

“No,” he growls, his voice pitched deep. Where she expected a lazy Brooklyn twang, she hears nothing but clipped consonants.

“Okay,” she agrees softly, while her heart splinters. “What do I call you?”

“My name is Soldier. That’s all you need to know.”

He looks like him. God dammit, he looks exactly like him.

With two steps, he closes the space between. A mocking smile plays across his face as she stands her ground. When she reaches a hesitant hand to touch him, he catches her wrist, twisting it in a cruel grip, not allowing her fingers to find his skin. Jerking her roughly to him, he turns her around, her back flush against his chest and shoves her forward until she hits the wall. Wrenching her other wrist up, he pins both above her head and leans into her. The metal fingers pinch her skin and his breath is hot in her ear. She feels every hard inch of his body pressed against her, and he smells like dust and sweat and something tangy she doesn’t want to know.

“I saw you watching me earlier,” he rasps in her ear. “I could see it in your face. Tell me yes. Tell me I can have you.”

She tries to turn, but he won’t permit it. The sinister edge in his voice stirs something wanton buried inside and when she whispers her answer against the wall, there’s no hesitation.

“Yes. You can have me. You can have everything.”

At her submission, his lips trail greedily down her neck to fasten on the skin over her pulse. He sucks hard, drinking up the heartbeat he finds thrumming against his lips. A faint, purely unconscious purr leaves his throat as he remains there, his tongue occasionally massaging the flesh he seems determined to ruin.

Dragging a warm, calloused palm down her chest, he tugs insistently at the sheer lace covering her breasts. Baring them to the freezing air swirling through the room, her nipples tighten as rough fingers skim over them.

Sucking hard at her skin, brushing gently over her breasts. Softly licking the tender spot at her neck, cruelly pinching her nipples. Each feeling elicits a sharp gasp of confusion, a strange contradiction of sensations.

The languid pace confuses her. He could take everything if he wanted, she’d accept it without question. But for some reason, he doesn’t. Instead, he seems content to stay there, tasting her skin, teasing her breasts, until she begins to beg.

“Please.”

Something snaps when he hears the word. It lights up something feral inside him and a low snarl rips from his throat.

“Good. I like that,” he grits out. “I like begging. Say it again.”

The blistering heat of his touch brands her skin when he grabs her hip, impatiently rucking up the flimsy nightgown. The patent leather of his dress shoes feels cool against her skin when she feels him nudge her calves, spreading her open and the metal grip on her wrists tightens as he slips his hand between her legs.

She stutters out a moan at the feel and he gives a growl of approval at the discovery, how wet she feels. He strokes back and forth, maddeningly slow, until she’s bucking her hips, chasing his hand. Hot breath fills her ear and the sound of his voice sends chills racing up her spine.

“I said, say it again.”

With no warning, he shoves two fingers inside her and sinks his teeth into her shoulder.

Tears sting her eyes and she cries out. It’s been so god damn long since she’s been with anyone, the harsh treatment does nothing to temper the need coiling in her belly. Just the simple feel of him, his thick fingers, blunt and rough, sends her instantly close to the edge. The moment his teeth release her, he licks over the deep indentions and starts fucking her with his fingers.

“Oh god,” she chokes out. “Please. Please, please, please.”

His heavy body keeps her captive against the wall, her cheek pressed to the cold plaster, allowing her to do nothing more than take what he gives. Faster, harder, he fucks his fingers into her, stroking his thumb over her clit and she relishes the way each sharp thrust forces her up onto her toes. It comes quickly and suddenly she’s close, so close, so precariously close, her body clenching around his fingers and she closes her eyes, holding her breath.

He stops.

Thick fingers buried inside her, the Soldier waits, curious for her reaction. She pants harshly against the wall, a brief rush of shame rolling through her, but heavy want grips her and she can’t help herself.

Pushing back against him, she wordlessly begs him to continue. Casting a heavy-lidded glance behind, she sees him peering down between them. Remaining motionless, he watches as she circles her hips, mesmerized by the way her body swallows his fingers as she rocks herself back and forth. He allows her to continue, taking her pleasure from him, until he looks up and meets her eyes.

Abruptly, he removes his fingers and her body jolts at the loss.

Mouth curling into a sardonic smile, he drops his hand to the front of his suit pants and she feels him fumbling with the button on his trousers, hears the ting of his zipper when he yanks it down. Her entire body shivers, waiting. He tugs the suit pants just low enough to free himself, his hand gripping his cock, the velvet softness brushing against her skin, an intense contrast to the unbreakable steel of his body.

The heat is immense, his skin feels like fire against her and she basks in it.

She’s been so cold, for so damn long.

Releasing her hands, he turns her roughly to face him and his mouth finally slants over hers in a bruising kiss. She feels his tongue tangle with hers, his lips manic. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she clings to him, meeting the punishing kiss with everything in her. He rubs his hand between her legs once more, strokes himself with the slickness he finds dripping down her thighs and lifts her up against the wall, settling her legs around his waist. Forcing himself impossibly close, his entire body touching hers, he buries himself inside her with a fierce snap of his hips.

Her head knocks back against the wall, but he chases it, fighting to keep her kiss. Metal fingers grind into the wall above them, pieces of pale green plaster showering down and she hears a soft whirring, a series of synchronized clicks rippling down his arm. The flame hot touch of his right hand clutches her waist and each pull out is a slow drag, letting him savor the wet heat. Each thrust into her is hard, driving himself to the hilt.

It hits her then, with his hips pressed flush against hers. Pleasure bursts through her and she comes hard, groaning into his mouth, unraveling against him.

The Soldier drinks up her soft cries, grinding himself into her. Slipping his hand between them, he thumbs over her clit and the sweet friction sends electric sparks sweeping over her skin, prolonging her orgasm. Without thinking, her teeth clamp down and she bites his lip so hard she draws blood.

He jerks back with a hiss.

Baring his teeth in a furious scowl, he stops moving, glaring at her. She stares back, wide-eyed in the face of his fury and waits for the axe to fall.

Part of him knows a desire to punish her for it, to make her hurt - she can see it warring behind his eyes. But another part, some hidden desire, tamps him down. Licking over his lip, the familiar taste of his own blood and the feel of her soft mouth creates a potent cocktail. He slams himself back into her, brutal, terrifying hard, and her back scratches painfully against the wall while he wildly chases his own end.

Clutching him close, in her blissed-out haze, she hears him panting in time with the slap of his hips. Whispered words flow from his mouth, broken syllables in unknown languages, but she thrills at the rough sounds. He drives into her harder, again, again, again, and one final time, before he goes still. The sound of his groan is nearly silent in her ear, and she feels the rush of warmth between her legs.

She closes her eyes and tucks her face into his neck.

This is not him, not the same man she remembers. But it doesn’t matter.

They remain locked together for a spell, until the Soldier’s breathing evens and he lets himself slip from her, lowering her feet to the floor. He steps away, tucking himself back in the trousers. She leans against the wall, goosebumps blooming up her shaking legs, the sheen of cold sweat drying on her skin. The lace nightgown ruffles up with a gust of fresh January air, clearing the heavy scent of sex from the air.

No words are spoken and he seems mildly reluctant to leave. She takes that as a sign then. Perhaps his business here is unfinished, because business is certainly what brought him to Paris tonight. She sees it now. The speckles of red, splattered lines across his shirt, and she asks the only thing she can conceive.

“Why did you come here? Are you going to kill me?”

The Soldier cocks his head. Cold blue eyes roam over her body and he answers her questions with one of his own.

“Do you deserve to die?”

She stares back at him. Watches him tuck dark hair behind his ear. Notices his silver arm catching the light from the streetlamps below. Sees the final remnants of emotion fade from the bright blue eyes.

Her answer is honest.

“Maybe. I don’t know anymore.”

The Soldier doesn’t respond. He picks up the tuxedo jacket lying on her bed and shrugs into it.

“I’m only authorized to kill those on my list. You’re not included.”

Bitter disappointment floods her features. Fat tears fall silently into the hollow between her breasts and then he clucks his tongue softly.

And there, right beneath the iron exterior, she finds it. The faded imprint of the ghost from earlier and it spurs her forward. Gathering her courage, she asks her question again.

“Then why did you come here?”

The Soldier smooths the sleeves of his jacket, hiding the blood-soaked cuffs of his white shirt. She can almost see his brain flipping through the answers he keeps on file, searching for the appropriate response.

His answer is honest.

“I saw you earlier tonight. I wanted you. I never get what I want,” he says, anger apparent in his voice. “There are always people available. Willing women. Willing men. I didn’t want them. I wanted you. I have no reason why.”

Hope surges through her. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe a man exists beneath the murderous exterior, something she can save. Someone she can save. Stepping toward him, she reaches for his hand.

“Then stay. You can have me, just – just stay.”

He frowns. Pushes her hand away. And then he tears her heart in two.

“You misunderstand. I’m not interested in staying. I don’t need comfort. I finished a job before I came here, and I wanted to relieve the stress. I needed someone to fuck and I wanted to fuck you.”

The words are a savage slap in her face and she recoils at his robotic response. Behind the murky veils in his mind, the Soldier hears a faint echo, a voice shouting. But like smoke on the wind, it fades before he can ascertain the meaning.

Grief emanates from her in waves and it triggers something in him. An excuse rises up before he can bite it back. There is no reason he needs to offer it; the Soldier does not receive comfort, nor does he offer it.

Until now.

“Besides, they would find me. They always find me. It’s better for you if they don’t.”

The callous statement is momentarily softened, but she knows better. Still, even with the coldness in his voice, she knows she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t try one more time. So, she reaches for him again.

And one more time, he catches her wrist, stopping her.

But now, he brings her hand to his mouth. Eyes drift closed, beautifully long lashes spiky black against his pale face, and he presses his nose to her skin.

Perhaps somewhere in his head, it could all be stored away - the feel, the taste, the scent of her skin. Something sweet, when the bleakness of his life becomes too much to bear. But like everything else in his mind, it will be scrubbed away. Memories do not exist for the Soldier. Hydra will steal them, hoard them, crush them. Every single time.

“Don’t go. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Blue eyes blink in confusion at her request and for one glorious moment, she believes he’ll listen.

Instead, he lets her go. Like the ghost he is, he moves so swiftly she barely sees it happen, but the door closes, and he’s gone.

And here she remains. Alone again.

Rubbing the soreness circling her wrists, she sinks to the floor. The delicate nightgown twists uncomfortably around her hips, but she ignores it. Silent sobs wrack her body as she curls into a tight ball, wrapping her arms around herself.

Cold. Always so god damn cold.

The sticky feel of him drying on her thighs is the only indication he was ever more than a dream. Hopeless tears fill her throat and after all this time, she wonders how there are still any left in her body.

It doesn’t matter.

They arrive like a tidal wave, breaking over her, destroying everything in their path and dragging her under.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

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[shadowsinsounds]

OUT OF CURIOSITY in crystal snow since the hunters are gone does that mean tae and koo sometimes go down to the cabin and chill there? :3 thinking of the past and all

Taehyung paused in the shadows of the pine trees a stone’s throw from the clearing, nose twitching at the fresh breeze conveying an old but familiar scent. Wicker, cedar, rosemary and basil. Lavender.

Scents that he had long forgotten, but at the first whiff, it all came rushing back. He danced on his paws, uneasy. He wanted to move forward, break through the trees, remember it all...but hesitation held him fast.

He wasn’t sure how to move forward.

An answer came in the form of a small furry black shape barreling through the undergrowth, huffing with exertion, pressing the brakes too late so that the crystal snow went flying up in a vivid spray. If Tae were in human form, he would already be grinning. As a wolf, he merely wagged his tail so hard it was a blur in the air.

Eunie, he cooed mentally, cuffing his adolescent daughter gently around the ear. How many times have I told you to check your speed when you’re sprinting through snow?

But Papa, whined Eun in response, dancing around her father, yipping, tongue lolling. You stopped running with us!

I, well...

Another small shape darted back, this one white as Eun was black. Eun! scolded Dae, her gentler voice a soothing counterpart to her twin’s more vivid excitement. 

Taehyung looked at his beautiful daughters, overwhelmed with pride. They stood as tall as his shoulders now, beautiful juveniles on the cusp of coming of age. He still missed the days when they were small enough to be picked up by the scruff of their necks.

Dae padded up to the pair with more deliberate strides, as decorous as her sister was hasty. Eun, you know Daddy asked us to give Papa a moment.

Jungkook. His mate, his alpha, the love of his life. Taehyung felt his heart could burst from the sheer joy of the thought of him. Ten years together hadn’t dulled their love.

No years would.

It’s okay, Dae. Taehyung licked along her spine. Your sister is right, I’m taking too long.

Take all the time you need, came a new voice, as another wolf joined them. One with a black coat as rich as Eun’s. An alpha, tall and strong with his head held high and proud.

His alpha. Jungkook.

Taehyung purred audibly when Jungkook walked up to nuzzle his nose against Tae’s cheek. The twins looked skyward before turning their backs in sync and moving along, groaning a simultaneous, Ugh. Gross, dads.

The mated pair chuckled, before Taehyung turned to his mate and cuddled against him with a soft sigh.

My Tae, murmured Jungkook, licking his ear, pressing in close so that their combined scents floated into the frigid air. Do you wish to do this another day?

Of course he would offer. How perfectly Jungkook.

No, protested Taehyung. No, baby, I’m okay. I need to do this. I want to do this. It’s been too long, anyway. Grandfather died nearly a year ago now.

He still felt a pang at the loss, no matter how much time had passed. After their reconciliation, they had a few happy years of visits, of laughs, of shared memories, of Sejin spoiling his great-granddaughters, before old age finally took its toll. Sejin’s family of loners-turned-pack had conveyed to him the news, on one deceptively sunny morning, that Sejin had passed away peacefully in his sleep.

They told him of the way that Sejin whispered Soomi’s name before his last breath. Tae could only hope that his grandparents were reunited again in whatever afterlife there may be. And maybe his parents were with them.

Grief was hard. But he had his alpha. And he had his daughters.

All that remained after the grief had eased were the memories. Of Sejin, of his parents, of everything that he and Jungkook had been through together, of his daughters growing up and...and the cabin. 

Soomi’s cabin.

Jungkook had asked him once, shortly before the twins were born. Asked him whether Tae ever intended to return to his grandmother’s cabin, now that the threat of the hunters had been removed. Looking back now, Tae thought that maybe the memories of the hunters, the memories of his time imprisoned in that godforsaken barn and experimented on like a lab rat, had been too fresh. He thought that the cabin, rather than serving as the memory of where he and Jungkook began their lives together, would instead give him flashbacks of Minwoo and the shots that had been fired, the line that had been crossed that day.

But enough time had passed that he had lately begun to wonder. Wonder if he and Jungkook could one day visit the spot where it all began.

When Taehyung woke that morning with a strange instinctive urge to see his old home, he ran with it. Timidly asked Jungkook to join him, who merely rolled out of bed and calmly told him, “Of course. Would you like the girls to come? Show them their great-grandmother’s home, the place where we met?”

Taehyung could only say yes. And hours later here they stood, just inside the tree line. Within a few feet lay the cabin where it all began.

Papa, Daddy! came Eun’s wheedling tone. Come on! It smells like Great-Grandpa!

Ignore her, she just wants to get back to camp sooner. She misses Sky! came Dae’s teasing addition.

Soon came the sounds of scuffling in the snow, and cheerful snarls of 

Do not! 

Do too! 

Do not! 

Eunie’s got a boyfriend, Eunie’s got a boyfriend--

There was a loud crack, then a softer thud, and then ominous silence. 

Then came a small, Um. Daddy? How mad will Papa be if we broke the armrest on this porch chair?

With an indulgent huff of breath, Jungkook got to his feet and shook out his coat. He looked at Taehyung for a long moment, then asked in a quiet voice, Shall we, my Tae?

Taehyung pictured that night ten years ago. The raging winds, the snapping of tree branches, the thuds of window shutters against the sides of the house. All the lights going dark, the cold seeping in, the shadows creeping tall.

A scratching at the door.

Had his old self known what he knew now, he would have leapt for the door before the scratching could sound again. Because on the other side sat a wolf. A wolf who would become a man to save his life. 

A wolf who would become the love of his life.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, and finally moved, breaking through the tree line to gaze upon the cabin where everything began. It looked unchanged. The same big glass windows, the same wide wooden porch, the same red Adirondack chairs. One with a missing arm now the subject of a playful tug-of-war between two adolescent wolves.

It hasn’t changed, whispered Taehyung, a pressure in his throat. A part of him had always feared Minwoo may have damaged it out of his prejudiced spiteful rage, or that the townsfolk may have burned it to rid themselves of the memories of the assumed witch who once lived there. If only they had known the truth. If only they had all known of the stories that this cabin could tell.

Stories of shapeshifters and the love between them.

I’m glad it hasn’t changed, Jungkook whispered back. He leaned over, licked Taehyung between the eyes. I want you to make me more of that pig meat.

Taehyung stared after him as Jungkook darted off, nosing playfully at his daughters to start up a big game of tag.

Bacon, Taehyung murmured to himself. Then he chuckled a little. And then the chuckles grew to laughter, laughter so loud and carefree that he felt the need to throw his head back and release a howl of pure happiness.

The howl carried into the mountains, ricocheted amongst the peaks and valleys, echoed on and on until it faded.

Then Taehyung ran forward to jump on his mate, to wrestle and tussle and play in the yard with their daughters.

Happy and loved in the crystal snow.