#most everything has come in handy at least once for my own or others' aid

[seaglassandeelgrass]

(Nonexhaustive) Contents Of My Emergency Car Kit:

AAA card & insurance info

jumper cables

tire gauge & pump

spare tire, jack, & tire iron

tow-straps

pop-up triangle reflectors

wiper fluid, coolant/antifreeze, & motor oil

fire extinguisher

ice scraper/snow brush

small shovel

traction aid

first aid kit

basic tool kit

flashlight (magnetic, to stick to frame), old headlamp, & batteries

hi-vis vest

leather work gloves

spare boots

shop rags

tarpaulin

yaktraks micro-spikes

protein bars, gallon emergency water, & empty nalgene

gazetteer maps

compass

knife/multi-tool

duct tape, spool of heavy-gauge wire, E6000 & JB Weld (for things that shouldn't move, but do)

PB Blaster penetrating oil (for things that should move, but don't)

phone charger

blanket & retired sleeping bag

chemical hand-warmers

hat, gloves, wool socks, extra jacket, change of clothes

pads & tampons

Sundry other Small Items: emergency cash, hoard of quarters, pencil & paper, bandana, spare glasses, lighter & matches, hand sanitiser/wipes, tissues, needle & thread, crossword puzzles, emergency tea, field guides

[sharkneto]

From Cease-fire on the Cleveland Express:

Five’s jaw clenches. Hard. “Question for you,” he says, not looking at her. “How’d you figure out your power? You copy us, right? But how did you find someone like us to figure that out?”

Lila tilts her head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He barely looks at her.

“You.”

He turns to look at her fully, brows furrowed.

Not sure why, she tells him, “When I was five, Mum was walking me through the medical wing to test me on my first aid. She stopped at a bed to talk to someone, see how they were getting on. I sneezed and ended up in a broom closet down the hall.” She smiles despite herself. “She was so pleased.”

Five’s gaze is distant, a little haunted, when she glances at him. “I’d just gotten out…” he mumbles. Very slowly, he closes his eyes and lets a long breath out. “And the other times?”

“On and off through the years. Mum would spring a training day and we’d go to the Agent Fitness Wing, go in the room next to the one you were being graded in and she’d run me through drills. I didn’t know I was copying you for years, I thought it was something special Mum was doing until I was like, ten. That’s the first time I got a glimpse of you. Through the window of the training room. You did have a very nice mustache, I understand why you’re upset to have lost that.”

He’s brought a hand up to rub at his eyes as she spoke, pinching in until he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“There was a trip to 2016, too,” she adds. “When I was a teenager.”

He stiffens. The hand drops so he can look at her, something almost fragile to his blank expression. “You saw my family?”

Surprised by the emotion Five is trying hard to clamp down on, she nods. More gentle, she says, “Not all of them. Luther. Allison, at a premier for some movie. Klaus. He was too high to notice me. I didn’t know their names, then. I had nightmares about ghosts for weeks.”

I'm obsessed with this concept and i want to know everything about your thoughts about it

We've talked a little bit about this on our own, but for you my friend I'll put it all here - What Was Lila's Power Training Like.

The little bit I touch on in Cease-fire on the Cleveland Express you've put above, very helpful, thank you. I'm obsessed by the potential of how much of Lila's life has looped around Five's couple years in the commission. I headcanon her to be a few years younger than the Umbrellas (25? 26? somewhere around there), and thanks to time travel those 25 years dot through Five's four-ish Commission years and a couple points with the other Umbrellas. It's delightfully mind-bendy.

But the Handler obviously knows that Lila has a power, and probably what it is (most likely thanks to the Infinite Switchboard, my least favorite plot device but I'll allow it). She uses Five to obtain Lila so she has a handy piece to pull should the two of them ever try to team up against her (and it would have worked, too, if she wasn't so fucking awful lmao). Once she has Lila, it's just a matter of training her to be a good little solider-daughter and waiting for her powers to manifest via regularly and discretely walking her past Five until something kicks in and Happens.

Once Lila is up and operational, the Handler just has to schedule Lila's training next door to specially designated reviews for Five (that none of the agents have to go through but why would Five ever know or check that). Five gets reminded that he's Always Being Watched and Judged and Lila gets practice with using Five's powers and feels special for this one-on-one time with Mummy - a fucking win-win for the Handler. I don't think Lila fully understands that what she's doing is innate to her or that it's tied to her vicinity to Five for a few years. She knows of Five, thanks to his reputation and the fact that he does pop up relatively frequently in the sidelines of her life - he's leaving her mom's office when she's coming, she's waiting on the other side of the door until the Handler is done with whatever she's talking about with him (aka mindgames). I'd say she's around ten or so when she gets her first Real Look at him and he teleports away - allowing her to put the pieces together that he can do what she does and she can't do it now that he's gone. This random little kid doesn't even register as a thing to remember for Five, he's got missions and time travel and betrayal to think about.

From there, as Lila gets older and the Handler feels comfortable enough that she has control of Lila and Lila has control of her powers, it's time for little field trips through time to try on other powers. After all, what good is Lila if she's only comfortable with Five's power (I mean, a lot, actually, but that's not good enough for the Handler)? Lila is most useful if she can try on and immediately use any power she comes across. Luckily for the Handler, she knows where there are six (...five, RIP Ben) people with powers that Lila can try on for size. Lila doesn't get to see or know who's powers she's borrowing - the Handler can't afford any sort of connections to be made there, no temptation for camaraderie or bonding - but her mum does find her superstrength, the power to control people with a simple phrase, and some fucking ghosts. None of these are as comfortable as Five's teleporting that she's been playing for years now, but she can do it and use them. Later, landing in the 60s and suddenly getting faces to these powers is a trip, even after her briefing for the job.

Lila is such a fascinating character, in part for me in how entwined her life is with Five's, for better or worse. I'm so glad they're frenemies in the show, the Commission fucked them both up in similar ways and it's nice they get to have someone who understands that.

send me ~500 words from one of my fics for director’s commentary

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request an imagine where a victim “escapes” from the slashers and hurts s/o in the process. What would the slashers do during and after? Thank you!!

Hi! I wasn't sure which slashers you wanted for this, so I put my list into a randomizer and went with the first 5!

Walter Sullivan

Thomas Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Erik ("The Phantom")

SLASHERS WHOSE VICTIM HURTS THEIR S/O

cw: mentions of suicide, reader being injured/in mortal peril, mentions of torture and killing etc etc

--

Walter Sullivan

Oh no. Oh dear.

You are possibly the only good, pure thing in this world or the Otherworld and someone hurt you? Walter is ... not happy, to put it lightly. The only person who should ever hurt you is him, and he won't do that unless it's for your own good.

This only enforces his belief that the world and everyone in it are monstrous. It drives home the truth he's already convinced of - this existence in terrible and torturous and needs to be destroyed if anything holy is ever going to be allowed to blossom again.

Whether The Victim is pre- or post- Walter's suicide, he's already stopping at nothing to go after them. He doesn't view it as personal, he doesn't hold any particular hatred for most (most) of his victims; they're simply links in a chain. But this person, the one who hurt you ... it's personal. They'll die in absolute agony.

If the victim in question is pre-suicide, Walter will bring them down and find somewhere to keep them for later. This will not be a quick death.

While they're bound/gagged or knocked out, he'll check on you. You're special, possibly even the Mother Reborn, and he can't let you die until the time is right. If you're seriously injured, he'll see to it that you're taken to the hospital, and pray to a dead God if he has to that you'll be alright. If you're not seriously injured, he'll do his best to patch you up - he lived on the streets for many years and had to take care of himself, so he knows basic first aid.

Once he's certain you're safe, he will put you somewhere where you won't witness what he's about to do. Even if you want to see it, he'll insist you stay hidden, saying the sinner doesn't deserve to be in your presence. You'll have to really convince him if for some reason you want to watch.

Their torture will depend on what they did to you. If it was just a few scrapes and cuts, he'll let them feel every ounce of pain before they die. If they really hurt you, their torture will be prolonged. In his mind, and according to his religion, death is a sacred sacrament, and this evil being doesn't deserve its release. If they did something to seriously traumatize and/or sully you ... the crime scene he leaves behind is going to be grisly, to put it lightly.

If the victim in question is post-suicide, the results will be similar, but he has absolute control over the Otherworld - and he will utilize that. He will have his creations take care of you and keep you somewhere safe ... they may be terrifying, but they won't hurt you unless he wills it. As for the victim, he can twist them into their worst nightmares over and over again before killing them. He will make them see their wrongdoings and pay for their evil. They will beg for mercy and there will be none.

After it all, he will simply move onto the next one, with you somewhere safe ... until it's time. Until it's time. You are so perfect.

Thomas Hewitt

Dammit. If he'd just been quicker or smarter, he could have caught them before they escaped and hurt you. He immediately blames himself.

There's no time to beat himself up over it, though. He briefly checks to make sure you're not bleeding from anywhere vital and sends you (or locks you up) somewhere safe before going after the victim. You're on your own for first aid for now - unless you're literally dying, he can't let them leave the property.

If you are literally dying, he's staying and doing all he can to help you. But if Hoyt yells, he may have to pawn you off on someone else and hope they do a good job taking care of you. He'll hold your face and give you tender kisses goodbye - whether you want them or not - because this might be the last time he ever sees you.

He chases the victim in a fever, much more erratic than you would expect from him. He's faster, less careful, more inclined to put himself at risk just to get a swing in at them. It's not generally anything personal when he kills someone - it's something he does for the good of his family, and because he was told to. This one he's not interested in saving for meat. They hurt you. You, his special person. He's going to grind them into the mud, and he's not even going to let Hoyt have a go at them.

Sometimes, sometimes, he struggles to see the animals in his victims. But this one ... he doesn't even feel the urge to twist them into an animal. That's a whole human, an evil one, one he wants to kill. It's a different feeling for him.

Once it's all over and everything's calmed down, he's rushing directly to your side. People don't come around all too often, so he's comfortable putting down the chainsaw for now. He neglects any skin projects he planned and lets someone else do the butchering, focusing on taking care of you, especially if you're seriously injured and put up in bed.

If you're not as seriously injured and tell him you're fine, he's still keeping an eye on you ... and making sure you're well-fed. You've been through a lot and it was all his fault. He doesn't want you to be exposed like that again. Next time someone comes around, he'll insist you hide somewhere.

Jason Voorhees

It's a toss up whether or not he'll actually notice you're hurt. Not because he doesn't care or anything, but because Camp Crystal Lake is a lot of ground to cover and there's a low chance he'll be in the same area as you at any given time.

For this imagine, though, let's assume you've found your way to him or he's sensed you're in trouble and has rushed to you.

You were supposed to be safe in the cabin, so he's a little irritated that you wandered out, but that's completely overshadowed when he realizes you're hurt. He stops everything he's doing and clinically and thoroughly pats you down, identifying every solitary injury.

Just like his mother before him, he is a vengeful soul, so he is not letting this go even if you're just scraped or bruised. If you are critically injured, he'll at least get you to the cabin and get a tourniquet on you.

Otherwise, he leaves you behind. Not very mindful, but you should know that he wants you to get back to the cabin or at least stay out of the way. He is no longer thinking of you - he has established his target and knows what he has to do. He's laser focused and decisive as he stalks after them, using anything at his disposal to get to them.

Their death is quick - he doesn't play around - but he has a lingering sense of irony and playfulness. If there's a particularly interesting weapon nearby, he'll take them out with that; or perhaps he'll hurt them in the way they hurt you, just, you know ... more fatal. And a lot gorier.

After that, he'll move onto their friends, until every last one is dead. Once his objective is completed, he is returning to you directly and finishing the job of patching you up.

He can't help but feel a little guilty that you were hurt. You shouldn't have left the cabin, true, but perhaps he should have been watching for you. He should have locked you up. Pamela might say rude things in his head. Then again, she might comfort him. If she doesn't like you, maybe she'll even wish he'd left you to die.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Well ... you usually keep him around to scare off other Ghostfaces - something he's very handy at - but you don't usually run into trouble with his victims.

He doesn't really tell you to go anywhere in particular when he's killing. He knows you can take care of yourself. But now he feels stupid for not having a backup plan. Of course some asshole was gonna eventually identify you as his loved one and try to get cute. He should've had something prepared for that.

But, if he's good at anything, it's improvising. He skids into whatever room you're in, drops his weapon, and pulls his mask off right away to check you over. If you're only mildly injured, he's visibly relieved, and tells you to stay put while he deals with whomever hurt you. If you're more seriously injured, he'll grab your phone and shove it in your hand. "Get in the car, get the fuck out of here. Drive to the emergency room if you have to, just leave."

If you're unable to drive, he'll make you call emergency services - or call them for you, if he has to. The game is over, he's done playing; this isn't fun if he's not winning. Everyone in this place is gonna be dead and he'll be long gone by the time the ambulance shows up for you.

The one who hurt you is going to get an extra special surprise. A particularly grisly death, and a bunch of selfies/short videos of Ghostface with the corpse - taken with the victim's own phone, posted to their instagram, tiktok, facebook, sent to any discord groups, and any other social media they have. If he has the time, he'll even make them in meme formats (definitely posting with meme captions, the fucking troll). He'll probably send a copy to you as a "hey, look what I did!"

If there are survivors, especially if that survivor is the one who hurt you, you better believe he is immediately doxxing them. Since he's had a little time to cool down, he might even play the long game, maybe catfishing and blackmailing them. Ruining their pathetic little life even further would be pretty fun. In the end, though, they'll die like all the others.

When all is said and done, he's going to be there for you, helping you recover any way he can. He'd suggest rest (for an amount of time relative to your injury), some movies and candy, maybe some video games. And time spent with your favorite Ghostface, of course, right?

He'll never forget what happened, though. Even though the person is dead, he'll be stewing and pissed off about it for a long, long time. And he won't let something like that happen again, or at least, not without a contingency plan in place.

The hash mark/tally mark he stitches into his costume to symbolize this kill is gonna be twice as long and large as the others, maybe in the place you got hurt as a reminder.

Erik

You already know what's about to happen.

If anyone so much as hurts your feelings they're getting menaced and receiving a strongly worded letter - actually physically harming you? That's suicide.

If he can't immediately kill this person, or if you're seriously injured, his primary objective is helping/comforting you. He has to push down a lot of wrath to do it ... every instinct tells him to immediately dispatch the fiend responsible ... but you are more important to him than anything in this world, even revenge. He will administer any first aid you need and may even drug you with ether to ensure you rest.

Don't think that means your attacker is off the hook, though. As soon as he decides you're well enough, he will put you somewhere safe - lock you away if he has to - and kill them. His preferred method is the Punjab lasso, but if they did something particularly egregious, he'll knock them out and take them to his torture chamber. They have a lesson to learn before they go to Hades.

Another option is, like Deacon, playing the long game ... playing with his food, stalking them, making them live in fear before they die. But he has a lot of wrath in that skinny little body, so it's a toss up as to whether or not he'll actually be able to follow through with that for very long. It depends on his mood, really!

He will keep the killing and torture hidden from you, of course ... unless you express an interest in seeing the vengeance being carried out. He would be worried for you, however, and advise against it. Those sights are not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for someone as beautiful and good as you.

Once all is said and done, it's as if it never happened. As if that person never existed! What a happy thought! Sometimes you even think Erik has completely forgotten the incident ... until he's stalking another victim and he locks you away again, and you remember you are always on his mind. He will never, never let that happen to you again.

[shywitchyfangirl]

Tips for Beginning Spirit Workers!

Me? Posting something useful instead of just memes? GASP!

1. Plan communication and housing methods in advance. This is your responsibility, not the spirits’. Housing can include binding them to an object, binding them to yourself, letting them wander your house, or (my personal method) building an astral temple for them. Communication can take all kinds of forms, including dreams, hallucinations, Ouija boards, body sensations, intrusive thoughts, and telepathy. When starting out, you’ll probably be working with sensations and intrusive thoughts, and work your way up to other forms. An important thing to remember is if you’re ever unsure if something was them, assume it was. False negatives do far more harm than false positives when you’re trying to learn how to communicate. Assuming your spirit said something they didn’t might annoy them, but denying real messages will prevent you from developing your senses and harm your relationship with them.

2. Set boundaries and keep them! It doesn’t matter who they are, how powerful they are, or if they’re a literal god. You have rights, and they do not own you. Take no excuses, make no compromises. You don’t need to explain anything. If you give some spirits an inch, they’ll take a mile. I have a rule that no one can possess me while I’m on my period. Why? Because I don’t want them to, end of discussion. If anyone throws a fit about your boundaries, you don’t want to work with them anyway. If you’re planning to let them stick around, setting house rules is also very important! (”Don’t mess with the other human residents” is always a good starting point.)

3. Doubt happens. Even the most experienced spirit worker has moments of “Oh gods, I’m just crazy and talking to myself.” Don’t beat yourself up over it! Healthy skepticism is what keeps us sane. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad spirit worker. Try taking a moment to reflect on the times when your spirits did something that proved themselves to you, because I promise, those moments will happen too! One of my earliest moments was when a spirit possessed my and drew a bunch of dicks in my notebook before I even realized what she was drawing. If you haven’t had one of those moments yet, just remember the golden rule: You can’t be imagining it, because your imagination should never surprise you.

3.5 Know your craft, not others’. Related to the above, a big source of doubt is when you read about other spirit workers’ doing things differently. Remember, the term UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis) exists for a reason. Your Mileage May Vary! Every spirit worker experiences spirits differently. Different doesn’t mean wrong. Figure out what’s best for you and your spirits, and have confidence in your craft.

4. Don’t trust just anyone. Not every spirit you contact will be on your side. Some have their own agenda, others just want a plaything. Some spirits will pretend to be someone else to get past your defenses. The best way to stay safe is to always trust your instincts. If a spirit gives you a “bad vibe,” DITCH THEM. Never give them the benefit of the doubt. There is not a single spirit you NEED to have in your life, and thus there’s no reason to give a sketchy spirit a chance. Aside from that, don’t just assume any spirit you contact will be friendly and benevolent. Most spirit workers go through a “vetting” period of at least 3 months before deciding if a spirit is truly good to join their team. Yes, THREE MONTHS. You don’t want to allow just any powerful astral being into your life, do you? Remember, spirits have power, and they CAN hurt you. If you wouldn’t allow any random stranger into your house, don’t allow any random spirit into your life.

5. Do your research! Spirits aren’t human, and they don’t have the same wants and needs as humans. Research in advance what the particular species you’re summoning wants and needs. If they’re from a pop culture series, research the series. Research their friends, family, and enemies. Know who they will or won’t work well with. If they’re a nonhuman character, pay special attention to their species’ attributes, such as behavior, communication, and any unusual needs or weaknesses. You are responsible for your spirits’ safety while they’re with you! Remember, there’s no such thing as knowing too much. The more you know, the better prepared you’ll be!

6. Respect their boundaries. Not every spirit wants to be worshipped, especially pop culture ones. Some find it flattering, others find it creepy. Similarly, not every spirit wants to be your best friend forever, and not every spirit is eagerly waiting for your call every second of every day. Spirits may be cool, but don’t be a stalker. Give them some dang space. Also accept that many spirits don’t plan to stay with you forever. There may be a few that will be with you until you die (or even follow you to your next life!) but the vast majority have lives outside of you just like humans do, and there will be a time when you don’t need them or vice versa. Don’t feel bad about them leaving, and don’t try to force them to stay. Spirits come and go, and it does not mean you’re a bad spirit worker if you lose a few allies. Your closest friends will be the ones who choose you, and those are the ones you really want in your inner circle.

7. Don’t call up what you can’t put down. Always always ALWAYS have a banishing spell ready, and be sure to start small. Practice with a simple Pikachu before you go summoning Arceus. And keep that banishing spell handy during the vetting period! Many spirit workers suggest doing a banishing spell after every summoning unless you plan on letting the spirit stay permanently. It’s also always a good idea to have some kind of restraint the first few times you call on a spirit, even if it’s just a circle of salt. Personally I like to keep one of my stronger spirit family members around to babysit the new guys.

8. Always stay protected. Shield spells are your best friends. Use them. Keep them updated. There is never a reason to not be shielded. There is also never a reason to not have your house protected. At least once a month, update your wards, cleanse and banish everything, and recharge your home’s energy. Don’t worry, you can set your wards to whitelist your approved spirit family and any specific spirits you want to lure in, but it’s best to not allow just anyone in off the street. Consider placing sigils around to mark your territory as your own, or you may find someone or something trying to move in and claim your house for themselves! 

9. Know the facts about spirit attacks. The first rule is that you’re probably NOT being attacked. If you have to think “Was that a spirit? Am I being attacked?” you’re definitely not being attacked. Spirits are empowered by your fear, they WANT you to know they’re attacking you. One time when I was attacked, the spirit broke my rainbow fountain right in front of me in a way that made both separate lights simultaneously only glow blood red. That doesn’t just happen. And then they immediately and obviously tried to pull me out of my body so they could take it over. The other two times, the spirits tried so hard to suck me out of my body that it made me disoriented and felt like someone was vacuuming my head while my body felt cold. Spirit attacks are always obvious because they’re trying to scare you. Which leads to the second rule: NEVER PANIC. The more afraid you are, the more power they have over you. Stay calm, put up a shield, call a trusted alley to aid you, and banish their ass to next week. Remember, most spirits who attack are just bullies looking for a new toy to torment. Even a simple “fuck off” can give them the message you’re not worth the trouble.

10. Be prepared before opening up to possession. Possession is real, and it can be dangerous. With a trusted ally, it’s tons of fun, and you can even ask them to handle things like chores for you. With literally anyone else, you’re putting your life at risk. There is nothing stopping a strong enough spirit from throwing you off the nearest bridge. The good news is that forced, full possession is rare. The bad news is it can still happen, and it’s very hard to stop when it does. This is why it’s so important to vet your spirit allies before allowing them close to you, ESPECIALLY before letting them possess you. If a spirit shows any sign of not respecting your boundaries, get them the hell out of your life. Luckily, partial possession is much more common (when you’re still in control but either being influenced, or only your limbs are moving without your input). This version can be fought off via internal struggle or countered with a cleansing spell or an ally’s help.

11. Get creative with offerings. Offerings are Spiritwork 101. You won’t be getting a lot of help from spirits if you don’t pay them back. But the important part is knowing exactly what to give them. There are certainly things that are standard, and things that are easy enough to guess (Moon water for the moon goddess, flowers for the nature spirit, etc.) But the best offerings are ones that are personal, creative, and meaningful. Your fairy friend probably has a thousand flowers, but have they tried your pancakes? Would your familiar like a friendship bracelet in their favorite color? Hell, does your ancient ancestor want to try Starbucks? Also note that offerings can be experiences, not just gifts. Some spirits love to hear new music. Jevil loves to possess me and play games, or even just watch me play them. And Seam likes to be cuddled while he possesses a body pillow, or to be read to. The better you get to know your spirit friends, the more ways you’ll find to make them happy.

12. Recognize a spirit calling, but don’t answer them all. As you progress in spirit work, you’ll start receiving “spirit callings”. Callings are different for everyone, but they’re generally feelings of obsession over a certain spirit. You may find yourself thinking “everything would be okay if X was here” when you’re having a bad day. You may find yourself wanting to know everything about them. You might notice signs of them, such as feathers if they have wings.  If it’s a pop culture spirit, you may start obsessively tracking down fanworks of them. If you can’t get a spirit out of your mind, you’re probably being called! This means that good things could happen if you work with this spirit (though it does NOT mean the relationship will last forever!). However, this doesn’t mean you should answer ever single calling. It’s always important to know your limits. If you already have lots of spirits hanging around, adding one more won’t benefit you or them, no matter how strongly you’re called to them. Remember, there will always be another calling. 

13. Know your limits. Speaking of which, remember that you’re responsible for your spirits, and you should never take on more than you can handle. Spirit hoarding is a real thing, and it’s harmful to everyone involved. Know how many spirits you can handle at once, and know how close you can get to each of them. My astral temple is designed to let dozens of spirits come and go as they please, but of those, I’m only comfortable getting truly close to exactly two at a time. There is no shame in letting a spirit you no longer need go before bringing in a new one. There is also no shame in not being perfect. If you need some space for a few days, take it. If all you can muster today is a halfhearted “hello” to your familiar, do it. Your spirit allies will always be there waiting once you’re feeling better. If they’re true allies, they’ll understand if you’re not feeling well and need some time to yourself.

[anfie-in-the-box]

X-tra Dark Cream Teaser

Notes

I’m still very much not participating in Dark Cream Week, yet somehow this thing is done right in time, so I’m posting it with respective tags.

The story of X-tra Dark Cream is going to be pretty big and serious. Like, plot-wise, lore-wise, so-many-other-aspects-wise, you have no idea what you’ve got coming. And I just really hope you all will enjoy the ride.

What you need to know now is that I’m kind of getting back to my very own idea that you can find right here. Though it’s a different timeline, not Genocide Route. What they share is a concept of both Dream and Cross being villains, at first sight their atmosphere and aesthetic are kind of similar, but that’s it. What exactly is happening here will be explained in the story, and let me tell you, Dream and Cross have a long way ahead of them before they reach the point described in this little teaser.

So I’ve got a question for you. Answer honestly.

Would you like your Cream extra dark?

。。。

Just a Bad Dream

Once the portal is safely closed and there’s no more negativity pouring right into Dream’s cursed soul, he hurries to Cross’ side, hugging him tightly. Dismissing his huge knife, Cross hugs Dream back with a weary yet content sigh. “My greatest hero, once again taking down the whole world in my name,” Dream murmurs, ever so appreciatively and very, very gently. Cross caresses his spine through the clothes and the gloop, and, although he never really bothers to use words after a foray to one AU or another, the tremble of his hands is telling Dream enough. So, as much as the fallen guardian wishes to hold Cross like this forever, he lets go.

“I believe you are due for a good rest now.”

Dream cannot help a smile when Cross doesn’t argue, merely lingering to give his spine one last stroke. One could say they are finally figuring out their routine, grasping the ways to make their complicated lives easier, if only a little bit. For Cross it’s definitely lots of sleep and lazing around after all the work he’s done; no matter how much he doesn’t like it, and despite all the bad dreams that he’s most likely to have with all the LV, both old and new, still raging in his soul.

Dream, on the other hand, won’t be sleeping any time soon. It would do him no good at all — this lesson he learned the hard way. There isn’t much to be done when Dream’s whole being is brimming over with shattered positivity of the whole AU, — agonising grief and fear from those who survived; absolute despair from the last moments of those who died; guilt of those who were supposed to protect their people, parents and rulers all the same; at last, contempt and helplessness of every single soul. Oh, the two of them truly are beneath contempt, aren’t they? Breaking entire worlds, taking away a mere possibility of them functioning like they are supposed to. Monsters who only seek to twist and corrupt.

That’s what they say, Dream knows it all too well, both from careful whispers that no one else was supposed to hear and from straightforward, provocative screams right in his face. It’s good, exactly how he wants it to be, but right now he couldn’t care less. Dirt on Cross’ clothes matters more than this.

Actually, that’s what Dream’s going to busy himself with. Cross’ new uniform is piled up beside their bed, soaked in humans’ blood and covered in monsters’ dust. There’s no doubt washing these will be a real pain in the neck, but that’s exactly what Dream needs right now. Something basic yet not too simple. Easy enough for Dream to be able to pay more attention to Cross, whose even breathing and serene expression bring peace to the fallen guardian’s rotting soul, too. This way his hands are occupied, all of the energy he’s gathered is guided in the non-destructive direction until it settles, and his troubled mind is resting even without sleep. It’s a nice bonus to be able to look after Cross, ready to help him break free from yet another nightmare, for the dreadful, horrific visions are always haunting him in reality as well… At least in the first moments after waking up, although sometimes it takes Cross much longer to snap out of it, even with the aid of Dream. Hopefully, this time won’t be so… troublesome.

It’s so obvious that Dream isn’t in the slightest used to doing the laundry — any laundry at all, let alone something as tricky as washing all this blood and dust out, — it’s almost funny. Although, to be fair, it really isn’t supposed to actually be useful — a mere distraction, nothing more, nothing less.

Cross will overwrite his clothes anyway. And, if that fails (though lately the number of failures has lessened significantly; the thought makes Dream’s chest tighten with warmth and pride in his most loyal ally and dearest fiance), they’ll just trade new armor in some AU for the delusive sense of safety. Material needs don’t concern them anymore.

Dream’s progress on washing the uniform is still close to none when he feels a sudden powerful wave of severe distress, and merely a moment later the air gets heavy with magic. Bones and blasters are everywhere, there are so many of them there’s no speck of whiteness left, everything bright red and purple instead. It’s not the first time — neither it is the last one, Dream’s under no illusion about that part, — yet it’s no less mesmerising. If only it weren’t so dangerous for both of them.

Dodging all the attacks, getting closer to Cross is the easy part, that Dream’s doing effortlessly, without sparing it much thought; it’s not like Cross is able to properly hurt Dream, neither in his sleep nor while being fully conscious. Especially not like that. Cross wouldn’t gather enough harmful intent, and considering Dream’s nature is far from ordinary…

It’s even easier to throw Cross out of their bed, his body light, though trembling violently. He jolts awake the moment Dream’s hand touches his chest to grab the fabric of his shirt, but his mind is still very far away. Out of reach. It’s only the lack of resistance that shows Cross has recognised him, if only a little, on some kind of subconscious level. Nothing other than that — just pure black hate pouring down his cheeks and LV raging on within his soul. No way Dream will stand such a state of affairs any longer. Cross is his and his only, he doesn’t belong to whatever hell he’s seeing. And so the fallen guardian growls, as if his own life depended on it, “Wake up!”

Please, please let this one end quickly. Dream hates hurting Cross more than needed.

“Wake up!”

Of course that doesn’t work, it rarely does, but Dream has to try anyway. Besides, it’s usually when the struggling begins. Not this time though; good. Dream feels every single bone directed at his back, oh so clearly hears the Gaster blasters charging. Nothing ever comes. Nothing ever would; not when he’s close enough for Cross to feel the familiar warmth and weight of his body, that Dream knows for sure.

Holding Cross’ hands tight, chanting “Wake up, wake up, wake up”, as if it were a spell (or a plea,  or a prayer), Dream reaches out to Cross’ chest with one of his tentacles, pressing firmly right in the middle of the ribcage, forcing his soul to appear. Cross sharply inhales, obviously in pain, and even tries to arch his back, — only Dream doesn’t allow it, keeping him in place. That’s when his tentacles come in handy…

Other than that, nothing much happens. “Thank stars,” Dream thinks, taking a deep breath. From now on, he needs to be extremely careful. Souls are not to be toyed with. Or, well, the souls of those he loves are not to be toyed with. All the others are perfect but hollow dolls to be filled with oh so very hurtful fragments of their shattered dreams.

That’s what Dream and Cross do. That’s what they’ll continue doing, and no haunting visions would ever take Cross away. They’re together in this.

With his gloved hand Dream cautiously touches the soul, pulsing with LV and shining red and purple, no trace of it ever being one of a monster. Cross’ eye sockets and mouth open wide… It’s almost like he’s screaming without a sound, or maybe the sound merely goes just as far away as his mind is.

Dream’s never asked. He’s not going to ask this time, either.

The charged blasters fire all at once, and the bones are falling behind his back, yet none of the attacks ever land as Dream bawls, “I am Dream, and you are the one who swore an oath of loyalty and love, the one who saw through me, and accepted me, and stayed by my side! You are Cross, and whatever hell you’re seeing, you do not belong to it!” Cross’ mismatched eye-lights get a bit less blurry for a second, and that’s Dream’s cue to finally act with all he’s got.

And so he lets Cross go, leaving utterly motionless body lying on the floor, only for all of Dream’s tentacles to hit the soul at same time before it disappeared once again.

This time Cross actually screams; there is unparalleled agony in his voice, unexpectedly hoarse, as if he’s been screaming like that for hours. It hurts so much to hear it.

Dream is certain it’s better than whatever Cross has just broken free from. As Cross himself once said, “At least in reality I’m in this mess with you.” Very vividly Dream remembers his own response — a warm smile and quiet, confident “Likewise.”

That was then. Now Cross is looking at Dream with lost, pained, vulnerable expression, and his eye-lights, though faded to white, are still blurry — only this time from exhaustion, not because he’s seeing something too much different from reality. That Dream knows how to deal with. He doesn’t help Cross get on his feet, picking him up instead, holding him with hands and tentacles the same.

It’s nice to feel Cross’ weight, and his soul beating more and more steadily. Soothing, really. And that is why Cross only squeaks a little, otherwise showing no signs of discomfort or desire to argue about his position. Not like an argument would lead him anywhere, even if he had enough energy to start one.

They don’t talk until both of them are back in the bed, so close to each other it’s still very easy to hear their souls beating, their breaths warming what little space is beetween them. Dream squeezes Cross’ hand and offers a smile. It’s a tender one, if only a bit teasing.

“Hush now, Cross. It was just a bad dream.”

No words can ever describe his immense relief when Cross smiles back. And all too clearly Dream sees the moment some kind of mischief sparks in his love’s eyes.

“Oh? Well, then I definitely woke up,” Cross says, almost nonchalantly, though there’s no way that would fool Dream, who knows exactly how much he weighs every word. “Because what I see now is not 'just a bad' dream but the worst Dream ever.” At that the warmth in Dream’s chest is blooming like a flower, bursting like thousands of fireworks. Then Cross adds, so gently, as if the two of them might break — and take the whole world with them. “You are my worst.”

And places a kiss on his forehead. Like a final blow.

That weird, silly fool. That wonderful idiot. Dream loves him so, so much.

It takes the fallen guardian a moment to find his words again, and to be sure his voice won’t be trembling as soon as he starts talking. For a moment Dream simply stares at Cross, who just looks back, so calm, so sure, so present.

“Good one,” Dream finally says. “Though if you're feeling fine enough to make flirty puns, we should go back to sleep.” It’s a perfect moment to return the kiss, only on the cheek. Cross seems content anyway.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He chuckles. “Won't summon any more bones. Or blasters. Promise.”

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dream © jokublog

Cross © jakei95 / xtaleunderverse

Shattered!Dream © shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream © zu-is-here

X-tra Dark Cream © me (anfie / anfie-in-the-box)

Link to the Russian version will be here!

。。。

Notes

I'm too sleepy to write down the references, but there are quite a few! I'll update them later.

But god and stars, do I love Cross' wordplay in the end. That's the first thing I got to know about this story. Then it became "Two villains who have the whole Multiverse terrified being idiots in love". Then I blinked, and suddenly it's huge and super serious. That was fun. It still is.

[sazc94]

Bad Idea, a Bucky Fanfic

A/N Sensitive themes including injury, smut and kidnapping/suggestions of abuse. 18+ Also I'm still new at this so any feedback is appreciated.

Requested by @lannycleave

Prologue Part 2

Words: 3153

Part 1

6 Months ago: NYC Avengers Tower.

You rocked up to the tower with a duffle bag, Natasha had text you to say they had a mission for you, and it would be a 3 day one so to bring clothes. You were an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D not an Avenger. That being said Sometimes when agents were needed you got to go along on their missions thanks to your Friendship with Miss Romanoff and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers. The rest of the time you were on your own missions or helping to train new recruits.

“Hey Y/N, long time no see, did Mr. Roboto scare you off” Joked Sam as he clapped you on your back. You weren’t as good as FitzSimmons when it came to tech, but you held your own, you’d recently helped Sam with some upgrades to Red Wing, that was when you’d been introduced to The Winter Soldier, Sargent Bucky Barnes. You couldn’t help but stare at him when you met him, he was just so, well hot to put it bluntly.

Of course, he had barely acknowledged your existence other than polite conversation before he got called away to a mission.

“Ha, if anyone was going to scare me off it would be you with your creepy obsession with red wing” you winked at Sam before taking a bite of the apple you had swiped from the fruit bowl. Before Sam even had chance to think of a comeback, Tony walked into the communal dining/living area, followed closely by Nat and Steve. Nat nodded her head in the direction of the small briefing room. “That’s my cue” you smiled at Sam before following along.

“Agent Y/N, good to see you again, as your aware we require your assistance for a mission, I’ve been given clearance from Commander Hill, and you come highly recommended from the team. I’ve seen you in action in the training rooms and you seem like a capable candidate,” Said Tony. Your eyebrows shot up, it appeared Tony was running point on this mission, not unusual for the Avengers sure, but all your previous missions with the Avengers had been overseen by Nick Fury or more recently Commander Hill.

“This mission is off the books, I got the intel from Morgan actually, we have reason to believe there is a small cartel family, trafficking young children to Hydra” Tony continued.

“Morgan noticed a new kid at school, acting suspicious, they reminded her of how Uncle Bucky, and Steve are when lifting heavy things” Said Steve. “Morgan said they joined her class out of know where, quietly slipping in as if they’d been in her class all along, then a week later, they stopped showing up.” Concluded Steve.

“So, why do you need me?” You asked. At that moment, the door to meeting room opened and in walked Bucky, he didn’t move to sit down instead pressing himself into the corner of at the back the room. “We need intel” Said Nat. “Basically we need someone who’s not recognizable like me, but is someone we trust, and Y/N if Steve and I trust you then that’s good enough for Tony”. She continued. “Intel, right I can do that, so what’s the plan and where am I going” you asked.

“We’re going to Boston” said Bucky, your eyebrows shot up, you had presumed you were going by yourself. “I may not be The Winter Soldier anymore, but I can still remember some hotspots for HYDRA activity and Boston is their most obvious choice as a few higher ups from HYDRA own property out there” he continued.

“Y/N, we know we are asking a lot of you here, but we trust Bucky to keep this under wraps and we trust you,” Said Tony.

So that was how you ended up in Boston in the middle of October in a small one-bedroom apartment with Mr. Bucky Barnes. There was a fold out couch which Bucky took and left you the bedroom. You had been given Three days to gather as much intel as possible before reporting back to Tony, Steve and Nat on day 4

. Day one had been a bust, you and Bucky had split off to follow separate trails, your paths meeting at the same spot where the trail had gone cold. Day two had gone much better, as your paths had already crossed once you both decided to work on the same lead. Stark had been on to something with the human trafficking, you tracked a lot of vehicle traffic coming into an old gym/leisure center.

Day 3 was when everything changed. You had agreed with Bucky that he would stay back at the apartment whilst you tried to get into the building, you couldn’t risk Bucky being discovered by Hydra and whilst you knew what intel you already had would be a huge lead for Nat and the rest you decided you had come this far you might as well try and see inside.

“You promise you’ll get out of there the second you feel like you’re in danger?” Bucky asked. “Stark might trust me to keep this under wraps but that doesn’t necessarily mean he trusts me and if anything happens to you, I’m sure he’ll find a way to blame me” Bucky said, his blue eyes flickered over with confliction and pain. Before this mission you hadn’t really had much interaction with Bucky, but you could tell he regretted his actions as The Winter Soldier. I put your hand on Bucky’s Vibrainium arm and smiled at him softly.

“ I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, but if I’m about to get caught I will high tail it out of there” you said. (Spoiler alert you didn’t)

“For Fucks Sake Y/N!” Bucky shouted slamming the apartment door shut behind him, he looked pissed, like really pissed. His usually clear blue eyes had thundered over, turning them a deeper shade of blue almost black.

You’d had every intention of getting out of the building if you felt you were in trouble, but then you’d gotten cocky thinking that this could lead to a promotion, even if the mission were off the books if Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were impressed with your work then that would mean something.

Unfortunately, this attitude had nearly cost you the mission. You had let your guard down and not only that you had actually fallen down. You had been creeping along a ledge outside what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary on the first floor. You head voices coming from two windows along and had inched further to try and get a clearer listen, however you hadn’t realized the brick was in poor condition and had already started to crumble away from the wall. T

hat was the moment you knew you’d fucked up because you went barreling down. Thankfully, there was a balcony to break your fall or else you’d have done some serious damage. You also hadn’t exactly been quiet as you fell down the face of the wall, so you didn’t exactly stick around, you snapped a few pictures of the building entrance from the balcony, hearing the voices around the building getting louder you decided to jump from the balcony to the ground floor and just hightail it out of there.

“I know, I know I fucked up” you bellowed. You were in pretty rough shape and you’d had to text Bucky 911 when you were a safe distance from the gym. “I let my guard down thinking I could get enough intel to finally get a promotion within S.H.E.I.L.D or at least get enough recognition to be considered for a position within Avengers” you continued.

The black turtleneck shirt you were wearing was starting to stick to your side. You headed to the bedroom desperate to get the top off. “I don’t need you telling me how badly I fucked up” you shouted slamming the bedroom door behind you.

“Fuck” you hissed, you were in pain and felt utterly humiliated. You pushed your palms into your eyes to stop yourself crying. With a deep breath you whipped of your shirt, deciding to treat it like a band aid and that ripping it of would be better than an agonizing slow peel.

You were bleeding, thankfully not an amount that would require medical attention but enough that you were going to have to put some gauze over it. You really didn’t want to ask Bucky for help so decided to be a martyr instead and clean yourself up in the mirror using the first aid supplies you had packed into your duffle bag.

Thirty minutes later you were admiring your handy work and the feeling pretty pleased with your hard work when Bucky knocked on the door, he didn’t wake for you to respond before opening the door. “Look Y/N I know…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as you stood there in your underwear, in your anger and rush you hadn’t locked the door.

Everything in that moment seemed to go in slow motion as you went to grab a jumper off the bed at the exact moment Bucky’s eyes trailed your body taking in all the scrapes, cuts and injuries on your body. He knew you’d been injured but not to this extent.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s clear blue eyes had thundered over again this time a mixture of anger, concern and (all though you didn’t know it) lust swirled in them. You went to pull your jumper over your head but before you could even pull it on over your arm’s Bucky had closed the distance between you, pinning you to the wall with one arm above your head and the other to your side. You felt your breath catch in your throat, even though he was clearly pissed you liked the feel of him pressed against you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I cleaned myself up and patched it up fine, we don’t need to tell Nat about it”, you said turning your head away from him, you were protecting your reputation as much as his. Bucky’s eyes softened, loosening the grip on your arms just a touch, you felt a delectable burning sensation where his pressure had eased.

You could feel yourself growing farm under Bucky’s gaze. You’d fantasized about a moment like this since you’d met him that day helping Sam out, sure you’d imagined it would have been under better circumstances and he would have also had less clothing on. Suddenly all you could think about was how much you wanted Bucky. Bucky seemed to sense the change in your demeanor as he gulped. His eyes met yours.

“We shouldn’t… we really shouldn’t” he said his voice coming out at barely a whisper. “Oh, but we should” you said a sly grin on your face. Before Bucky even had time to respond you were kissing him. Bucky’s lips parted slightly welcoming your kiss, deepening it as your tongues crashed against each other.

Bucky released the grip on your arms as his hands danced their way down your body, the contrast between the cool metal arm dragging down your right side to the way his right arm left a blazing trail down your left side. Bucky crushed himself against you as your fingers tangled in his brown hair. You couldn’t help but moan as you felt Bucky’s hard cock pressed against you restricted by his jeans and underwear.

How you longed to reach out and grab his cock and release it from his jeans. Bucky was taking this torturously slow fingering the waistband of your underwear, leaving a trail of blazing hot kisses along your neck.

His cool Vibrainium arm cupped your ass. Something in you snapped and you decided you couldn’t wait any longer, so your hand moved to Bucky’s waistband. Before you could even undo the button on his jeans Bucky had your arms pinned above your head with his Vibrainium arm. He chuckled.

“My my, my, impatient little thing aren’t we” he said between kisses. “You should know by now Y/N I’m the one in charge here, that goes for the bedroom as well as the mission” he said, before you could even process what he’d just said Bucky pushed his hand down the front of your underwear Bucky shoved two fingers in making you gasp at the shock, the pain and how good it felt to have Bucky warm fingers inside you. You whined as Bucky’s fingers did nothing. He let out a slight moan.

“Holy fuck you’re dripping already, just from a few light kisses, just how long have you been imagining a moment like this” he asked. When you didn’t answer Bucky flicked his thumb over your clit sending shivers down your spine, you let out a moan.

“Don’t make me ask again Y/N” said Bucky. “So, so long, since I met you” You said between gulps as Bucky started gently pulsing his fingers in and out of you. Your admission seems to stir a hunger in Bucky, has his thumb finds its way back to your bud, Bucky gently swipes his rough thumb over it, making you whimper, suddenly he’s pushing his two fingers into hard and fast whilst his thumb swipes ferocious circles on your now throbbing bud, your hands clawing at Bucky back.

You feel your cunt tighten round his fingers. Your so close and Bucky can tell. Which only encourages him as he pushes a third finger inside you slowing his pace right down back to slow agonizing strokes. You’re putty in his hands and he knows it.

“You’re only allowed to cum when I say so Y/N” he says as his pace quickens once again, hitting that sweet spot. You had never been so fucking turned on before, but the way Bucky’s fingers played you like a fiddle and had you dripping was something else. It was taking everything in you to hold back your orgasm.

Suddenly just as you felt like you couldn’t hold back any longer and your legs were about to give out Bucky withdrew his fingers, you instantly felt empty. However, you didn’t have to wait long, as Bucky sank down onto his knees, pulling your legs up over his shoulders.

“Now what did I say Y/N?” he asked as he started peppering kisses and gentle bites along the inside of your things. You could barely think straight, and the sudden change had you gasping from the shock and delight.

“I – I’m only allowed to cum when you say so” you stuttered. “Good girl” he replied before picking you up by your thighs. You thought he would have perhaps moved to the bed, but no Bucky pushed your back up against the wall, standing tall with you sat on his shoulders with one hand still holding you up he removed your underwear which was soaked and took one slow lick up your slit, his tongue gentle yet rough at the same time.

“Fuck. Bucky” you hissed. Your eyes fluttered close. “Mm that’s right doll, you just enjoy the ride” he chuckled before he started licking at your bud, Bucky’s pace was frantic like he couldn’t get enough of you, you felt like every single nerve in your body was on fire. You could feel yourself getting close still sensitive from the feel of Bucky’s rough fingers pumping you. You weren’t used to being denied your orgasm, hell most of your escapades had very rarely even managed to get you one orgasm let alone deny you it.

“Please Bucky,” you whispered hands tangled in his hair you weren’t sure how much longer you would hold out. Bucky didn’t respond instead slowing his pace right down again his tongue dragged across your hypersensitive bud you opened your eyes to find Bucky’s blue eyes dark with hunger and lust staring straight at you as a small smirk tugged on his lips, it was almost as if he was staring straight into to your soul.

With Bucky’s tongue still slowly swiping your bud Bucky entered one finger into you, curling up to hit that magic spot, Bucky’s rough finger combined with the licking and sucking was almost too much and just as you felt like you couldn’t take any more….

“Y/N cum for me” said Bucky, that was all it took and suddenly you were screaming his name as you felt your orgasm crash over you, wave after wave as your cunt pulsed round Bucky’s finger.Bucky lowered you from the wall onto the bed, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Keeping his eyes on you Bucky popped the button on his jeans and unzipped them shimmying them along with his boxers down his body. His cock sprang out and you couldn’t help but lick your lips, it was magnificent, and you wanted nothing more for it to fill you.

However, Bucky had other ideas first. He leant down and pulled you towards the end of the bed when he straightened up you were at eye level with his waste, Bucky noticed the glazed look in your eyes and how transfixed you were with his dick, he chuckled all though the look you were giving was shooting straight to his cock, he was going to enjoy all you had to offer and make you work for it if you wanted his dick to pound your insides.

Bucky nudged your mouth open with his cock, you parted your lips and Bucky slowly pushed his cock into your mouth he was bigger than you realized and it took you a moment to adjust you took a breath and then slowly you dragged your tongue all the way up his shaft, lazily sucking his length you brought your and up to the base of his shaft moving in tandem with your mouth, your pace started to quicken hollowing your cheeks. Bucky moaned.

“Fuck Y/N you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, so fucking pretty” Bucky said tangling his Vibrainium hand in your hair whilst his right had gripped your shoulder, Bucky bucked his hips fucking your mouth. You drew your head back and licked his throbbing dick with little gentle kitten like licks before taking him back in all his glory into your mouth. Just then your phone rang you were going to ignore it until Bucky’s started ringing from the front room, Bucky seemed to snap out of whatever haze had taken him over and removed his cock from your mouth and quickly pulled up his boxers and jeans before walking out of the bedroom avoiding your gaze the entire time.

You felt your heart plummet and tears started to gather in the corner of your eyes, you furiously swiped at them taking a deep breath before getting up to answer your phone. Tony’s name flashed up on the caller id.

“Tony…” you said

[catsnkooks]

Mandalorian Elegy

Commander Cody x Obi-Wan Kenobi

summary: Obi-Wan heads to the Mandalorian countryside to aid the Fett family farm to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the city. He expects a few months of hard, simple labor, but his plans complicate when he finds himself falling for the simple hardworking farmer instead.

rating: G

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none for right now!

a/n: i got sucked into this bc @new-anon makes too good art.....i love it

click here if you want to be added to my taglist!!

here it is on ao3!!

next chapter

Obi-Wan tugged his suitcase closer to his legs as he watched another car roll down the dusty road. It was only the third one he’d seen since he’d arrived and that was about, oh, thirty minutes ago. He didn’t mind the quiet; it was refreshing, actually, after so many years living in the city. Boga, his trusty service husky, sat beside him, watching the car disappear down the road. He stroked her head and she broke into a happy grin, her tail beating a rhythm into the concrete floor of the train station waiting area.

“What do you think, girl?” he asked her. “Quite different from the city, hm?”

Just then, a truck pulled to a stop in front of them, and a man jumped out of the driver’s side. He waved to Obi-Wan and he waved back.

“Are you Mr. Fett?” he asked, standing and shouldering his backpack.

The man laughed, and Obi-Wan decided right then that he quite liked it. “Please, call me Cody. Mr. Fett is my dad. Are you Mr. Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan smiled and held out his hand. “Yes, however, I must now insist you call me Obi-Wan.”

As Cody came closer, Obi-Wan studied his host. He was just slightly taller than Obi-Wan, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off deep bronze tan skin. He had on a wide-brimmed hat, shielding his brown eyes from the sun. What Obi-Wan found most peculiar, however, was the thin scar that curled around his left eye.

Cody extended his hand and grasped Obi-Wan’s in a firm, warm grip. “Nice to meet you, Obi-Wan. I'm sorry I'm late. There was a little bit of an emergency. And who is this?” He knelt down beside Boga, who sniffed his upturned hand then smashed her face against it.

“That’s Boga.” Obi-Wan grinned at Cody’s laughter as Boga jumped into his lap to lick his face.

Cody stood again after giving a few more pats to Boga and motioned to Obi-Wan’s suitcase. “Is that everything?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Just the essentials.”

While Cody loaded Obi-Wan’s suitcase into the back of the truck (with just one arm, Obi-Wan noted, impressed), Obi-Wan took a seat in the passenger side, convincing Boga to sit in the middle. Cody climbed into the driver’s seat and, giving a reassuring pat to Boga, started the engine and drove them away from the train station.

Obi-Wan listened intently as Cody described the Fett family farm. They had a mix of almost everything: beef cattle, chickens, pigs, ducks, and a few horses. His younger brother, Bly, was dipping his toes into plant farming and had a sizeable garden and a greenhouse. It all sounded so homely to Obi-Wan.

In turn, Obi-Wan told him about his life in the city. He nodded along politely as Obi-Wan described his work with his organization, how he worked most of his life helping those displaced by war or other conflicts. He laughed when Obi-Wan described Boga’s favorite activity in the park; chasing the squirrels.

Soon, they arrived at a large farmhouse; wood paneling with a wrap-around porch, large windows, and a brick chimney at the back. A younger man with short-cropped blond hair stood in front of the front door. Obi-Wan assumed it was one of Cody’s brothers, based on their similar appearances.

Cody parked the truck and killed the engine, allowing Obi-Wan and Boga to step out. Boga hopped out of the truck and eagerly sniffed along the perimeter her leash allowed her. Cody grabbed Obi-Wan’s suitcase from the bed and motioned him forward.

“This is where I grew up,” Cody said. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” Obi-Wan knew he was trying to stay humble, but he could detect a little pride in his voice. He nodded toward the other man who was coming off the porch to greet them. “That’s my little brother, Rex.”

Rex scoffed and punched Cody in the arm. “Not so little anymore.” Indeed, they were about the same height and build. If Obi-Wan didn’t know any better, he would assume they were twins. Rex held out his hand to him. “Nice to meet you. I'm surprised you didn’t run screaming as soon as you met this idiot here.”

Obi-Wan laughed at their brotherly antics. “Oh, I'm quite enjoying myself so far.”

A boy popped his head out from the house. He had the same complexion and dark hair as Cody, though his fell in gentle curls down his face. He turned to yell into the house, “Dad! The city slicker is here!”

Cody sighed next to Obi-Wan while Rex went up to the boy and put him in a headlock. “That’s Boba,” Cody explained, looking exasperated. “You’ll have to excuse him, he has chronic teenager syndrome.”

Obi-Wan smiled and nodded sympathetically, remembering how Anakin was as a teenager. “Weren’t we all like that in our teenage years?”

Cody smiled ruefully. “I think I was a little more behaved.”

“No, you were worse.”

Obi-Wan looked up as another man stepped out of the house. He assumed this was their father, Jango Fett. He was perhaps a few years older than Obi-Wan, though a life of hard work and war had weathered his features to make him look much older. Obi-Wan could tell where the Fett brothers got their resemblance. He nodded to Obi-Wan and held out his hand.

“Jango Fett,” he said, succinct.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan said, clasping his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

He wrinkled his nose at Obi-Wan’s epithet. “Just Jango is fine, son. Now, come on in and get comfortable.” He turned and made to go in the house, but first pointed a finger at Boba, who Rex had released from a headlock. “Be nice.” Boba just huffed and rolled his eyes.

Obi-Wan walked into the house. It was just as homely on the inside as it was on the outside. Simple wooden furniture and decorations indicative of a rural, farming lifestyle dotted around the rooms and a large staircase dominated the area, leading up to the second floor. Obi-Wan was shown to his room (right beside Cody’s so if he ever needed anything, he was handy) with Cody insisting on carrying up his luggage for him, and was told to come down to the kitchen for lunch when he was done.

Boga made herself comfortable on the bed while Obi-Wan unpacked their things. He put his clothes in the drawer and set his few knickknacks on it, arranging them to his liking. He pulled out his phone and plugged it into the outlet beside his nightstand, sighing at the lack of service. He would have to ask Cody later for the Wi-Fi password, but for right now, it was…freeing to be away from the hustle and bustle of the wider world. He set out Boga’s bed beside his own (though it would be fruitless because she always found herself on Obi-Wan’s bed eventually) and put on her harness, deciding to leave her leash unclipped and sitting on the dresser. She followed behind him as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Obi-Wan knew Mandalorian food smelled wonderful, based on his experience in Little Keldabe in Coruscant, but it was nothing compared to the smell of home-cooked food. His mouth watered and his eyes stung just a little from the scent of heavy spices in the room. Even Boga whined at the delicious smell coming from the stove.

“We thought we would start off easy with you,” Cody said, offering a plate to Obi-Wan as he sat down at the table. “Didn’t want to kill you on the first day.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I appreciate it.” He took a bite out of the dish and groaned. It had been too long since he’d had anything this good. The spice wasn’t overwhelming, probably very tame to Mandalorian standards, but it still warmed his face. He noticed Boba looking disappointed over his own plate, and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry; you’ll get me one of these days.”

Conversations flowed easily as they ate. Jango talked about the day-to-day duties around the farm while Cody explained the logistics. Obi-Wan told them about his organization, what they did, and how they could help while he was stationed here. Boba left halfway, complaining about boring adult talk, and said he was going to go find Din. When they finished, he helped Cody wash the dishes, listening closely as Cody told him about his newest project.

“I found her while I was looking for a lost calf,” he said. “She’s beautiful. Gorgeous color, nice build, and her mane is so soft. I don’t know if she belonged to anyone before, but she’s pretty wild. It was a miracle I could get her into the lot.” He motioned out the window with a soapy brush. “I want to get her saddle broke before the fair. She’s already taking the halter well and if she’s feeling good, I can lead her around. But she’s kicked me more than once if I try anything else.” He sighed and rinsed off a cup, looking forlorn.

Obi-Wan nodded. “I suppose things like this take time. But, if you're half as stubborn as she is, I think you’ll get it.”

Cody turned to Obi-Wan, surprised shortly before he gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan fought down the blush that he knew was invading his cheeks. He could not think about how adorable his host looked after Obi-Wan had complimented him. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Have you named her?”

Cody sighed again and shook his head. “No. Rex keeps telling me not to in case I can’t tame her. If you have any suggestions, I’ll take them.”

Obi-Wan hummed. “I'm sure I could come up with something.”

Suddenly, there was a crash from the other side of the kitchen. Both men whirled around and found Boga shamelessly cleaning off the leftovers. Obi-Wan shouted at her and pulled her out of the kitchen and outside while Cody laughed, clutching his stomach with a wet rag. Obi-Wan apologized but Cody waved him off.

“At least let me make it up to you?” he asked. “I may not have cooked many Mandalorian dishes, but I can follow a recipe well and I’ve been told I'm a good cook.”

Cody tilted his head, considering his offer, and then nodded. “Alright. But next time we put the leftovers up first.”

---

Later that night as Obi-Wan laid in his bed, listening to the crickets and frogs chirp outside of his window, he considered the events of the day. It was definitely…different from what he expected. Sure, he had done his research before he had even considered coming, but nothing could compare to actually experiencing it in Obi-Wan’s book. Part of him considered he’d spent too much time around Satine and her cohort.

He wrinkled his nose at that, turning around in bed and wrapping an arm around Boga, ever faithfully by his side. He had called her once Cody gave him the Wi-Fi password, as he knew she worried about him. He’d told her about the train ride down and his initial glimpse of the farm, how her description of her homeland hadn’t really prepared him for what to expect. She’d laughed and only then confessed that she actually hadn’t spent that much time in the Mandalorian countryside.

“But Satine,” he’d said, frowning “in your book you said—.”

She’d waved him off. “You know everyone embellishes a little in their autobiographies.”

Yes, he supposed he’d spent far too much time in the city. It would do well for him to be out here, in the fresh air and the vast fields.

And with farmers with strong, tan arms and brilliant smiles and dark hair that curled softly at the edges and eyes so deep, you could get lost in them.

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Angazhan, the Ravenous King

Chaotic Evil Demon Lord of Apes, Tyrants, and Jungles

Domains: Animal, Chaos, Evil, Plant Subdomains: Decay, Demon, Fur, Growth

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 18~19

Obedience: Ingest hallucinogenic jungle plants and then beat a complex rhythm on a large drum made of human skin and bones while chanting prayers to Angazhan. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws against diseases and poisons caused by exposure to the jungle or inflicted by creatures native to jungles.

Heurgh, Angazhan has some pretty restrictive requirements here, and his Benefit really only works against a single environment, making Angazhan one of the most environmentally-locked deities since Dagon! It’s fitting, considering Angazhan is basically only worshiped in Darkest Africa the Mwangi Expanse, a massive and terrifying jungle he’s had his six-fingered hands buried deep into ever since humanity began settling the land. Since worship rarely ever leaves a jungle home, any player character wanting to serve the Ravenous King had better make sure they’ll be sticking close to the vine-draped homeland, or they’re just completely out of luck! Not just because they lose out on the benefit above, but because they lose out on a good number of Boons too!

anyway, it’s a difficult alignment to set up for and keep a secret, if you’re trying to hide your worship of the Tyrant King. You COULD pass off the drum as being made of animal tissues, but the loud chanting to a known and famous Demon Lord and the fact you’re likely to be seeing stars and colors due to your Hearty Breakfast is much harder to explain if someone kicks your door in. The fact you need both jungle drugs and a drum means this Obedience is utterly ruined if you get robbed or have your equipment stolen, though at the very least it’s easy enough to replace your belongings... if you’re in a jungle. If you’re not, getting a new drum is simple, but a visit to the black market may be necessary to restock on your Hearty Breakfast.

The benefit is notably weaker than other benefits of a similar theme; a few deities are generous enough to give universal protections from poison and disease, but Angazhan punishes you for going where he cannot tread. Fitting for a tyrant who likes having people under his thumb, but annoying for someone trying to actually extend his reach. In a jungle area, however, it’s MUCH more impressive than it looks in a vacuum; many, many, many, MANY horrors within the deep and mysterious tangles rely on poisons or disease to fell their enemies and their prey, so the added protection will always come in handy!

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 7; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead. Servants of demons may also take the Demoniac Prestige Class; you don’t get the Boons any faster than E/E/S, but you may select which Boon set you get, and you get cool demon-related powers!

------- EVANGELIST -------

Boon 1: The Jungle Consumes. Gain Pass Without Trace 3/day, Tree Shape 2/day, or Spike Growth 1/day.

‘Consumes’ indeed; Spike Growth can render a frankly offensive amount of terrain completely inhospitable (ten 20ft squares!), shredding 1d4 HP off every creature trying to pass through a single 5ft square and threatening to halve their movement speed for a full day every time they take damage. As anyone who’s played as or fought against a Druid can attest to, Spike Growth is useful for exactly two things (slowing an enemy’s retreat or advance) but it’s amazing at doing so. The sheer amount of terrain the spell covers and the length of time it covers for (an hour per level) makes useful for stopping everything from a charging dragon to a charging army... provided your foe has less than 4 DR. In order to halve someone’s movespeed they need to actually take damage from the growth AND fail a Reflex save, meaning even the meager DR 5 you’re likely to encounter at levels 10+ is enough to make Spike Growth completely irrelevant.

If you can use it against a foe who’s not immune to it, though, it’s absolutely stellar. Moving through even a single 20ft square triggers four separate Reflex saves to avoid having one’s movespeed halved for a full day, and--as written--the halved speed can’t be undone with Fast Healing or Regeneration, the victim MUST find a Cure spell. Perhaps the biggest downside is that using it to its fullest potential--that is, to cripple a charging swarm of foes--is unlikely to happen, delegating it to crowd control versus a small amount of enemies.

It’s leagues better than the niche Tree Shape, but Pass Without Trace also has its merits, hiding up to 10 people from sniffing noses and prying eyes for half a day, letting you and your allies effortlessly vanish into the foliage. Indeed, all three of these spells are extremely useful in the jungle setting Angazhan demands you remain in, so if you ARE actually hiding around in the Mwangi Expanse, all three of these can be genuine picks depending on if you plan to be a trapper, a stalker, or a sentree that day.

Boon 2: Canopy Crawler. Your feet become prehensile and apelike, allowing them to act as a second pair of hands for every purpose except wielding a shield or weapon, such as to execute somatic components, to aid in climbing, to hold objects, and to maintain your Dexterity bonus to AC while climbing. In addition, you gain a climb speed equal to your walking speed +10, and can attempt a Climb check in place of the following checks: Acrobatics checks to swing or leap between branches and vines; Stealth checks to remain hidden within trees, and you can move at full speed through them without penalty; and Stealth checks to snipe from trees, the penalty for doing so reduced by 10. 

The way this ability is written in the book is kind of a mess, so I tried my best to shuffle it into a more easily digestible form.

Anyway: Freaky monkey feet! For all your freaky monkey feet needs! One of the more unique Boons in the game, and unlike most highly unique Boons, this one is still highly useful! While your handfeet can’t wield weapons or shields, you can use them for more or less anything else while your actual human hands are occupied. Sleight of Hand? No, my friend, I’m on a completely different level.

The big star here is the free climb speed, which automatically gives you a meaty +8 to Climb checks, making the various skill checks it replaces much, much easier to exploit. You become an expert of gorilla... guerrilla... Gorilla Guerrilla Warfare, soundlessly moving from tree to tree and hurling spears or firing arrows with nary a peep but for the whoosh of the weapon through the branches and leaves, moving from position to position as easily as playing hopscotch. Even if you never invested in Stealth at all, you can suddenly pour ranks into Climb and become an ersatz Rogue for the party, leading a silent charge against the foes of the Ravenous King’s cult. 

Side note, this ability combines beautifully with all 3 of the spell-likes from The Jungle Consumes, as your brachiating movements put you above Spike Growth, Pass Without Trace makes you utterly impossible to nonmagically track if you attack at night, and Tree Shape lets you become a horror movie villain that vanishes the instant it appears you’re about to be ‘caught.’

Boon 3: One With The Jungle. While in the jungle, you gain blindsight to a range of 60 feet, you gain a +2 insight bonus to AC and on saving throws, and you are never flat-footed or surprised. You ignore cover and concealment caused by natural features of the jungle, as the very plants and stones twist out of the path of your attacks and spells.

An eternal Diet Foresight if your reward for remaining in the Ravener King’s grip, but this ability--unlike Canopy Crawler--is entirely blank if you adventure outside of your god’s chosen locale, a punishing loss of an otherwise incredibly strong defensive ability. Being impossible to catch by surprise is good enough on its own, especially at levels where enemies can have Sneak Attacks exceeding +4d6, poisons that cause people to hemorrhage ability scores, or fatal grappling embraces, to say nothing of what happens if a spellcaster gets the drop on everyone. The +2 to AC and universal bonus to saving throws will struggle to make a difference, but it’s a rare insight bonus and will thus stack with all your existing bonuses... and, of course, it lasts forever so long as you remain in a jungle.

I enjoy that the jungle will shuffle aside to let you shoot and swat your enemies without penalty, making my ‘treetop sniper’ suggestion in Canopy Crawler even more viable. Now, as long as you can see even the smallest portion of your target, the natural world will bend and sway to avoid your blows so that they always strike true, letting you attack enemies without the possibility of them retaliating unless they begin cutting down the whole jungle... at which point they’ll have much bigger issues than just you.

------- EXALTED -------

Boon 1: Jungle’s Wrath. Entangle 3/day, Bull’s Strength 2/day, or Summon Monster III (1 fiendish ape, 1d3 fiendish advanced baboons, or 1d4+1 fiendish baboons) 1/day.

Bull’s Strength is always nice to have to give the beefy members of your party, giving them an extra +2 to attack and damage rolls for ten or so minutes at a time, among other bonuses. Strength bonuses are some of the most boring but practical things you can hand out, because you never know when you’ll just need to do something as simple as moving a large rock or hit something for 2 more points of damage than normal. Having it at twice a day means it’ll likely carry through the most important battles or puzzles you’ll face.

Entangle, however, tends to be the better option here. See everything I said above about Spike Growth? Paste that here, as well, but trade off the damage for the ability to grapple everything trying to move through the 40ft radius(!) of plantlife you’ve affected. In some ways it’s better than Spike Growth, utterly halting the movement of anyone heading through it if they fail their save rather than halving it, and being difficult terrain even if the victims succeed, which halves their speed anyway.

Seeing summoning abilities on a Boon is usually good, but the painful limitation of only being able to summon various demon apes means it severely lacks its normal Swiss Army application. It’s only really good if you need either a distraction, or something heavy moved, both of which could be accomplished with Entangle and Bull’s Strength without it being tied to a creature with subhuman intelligence. At the very least, apes have humanoid hands and can thus perform tasks very few other summoned creatures could do, such as wielding weapons.

Boon 2: Summon Child of Angazhan. 1/day as a swift action, you can summon an Advanced Fiendish Girallon, 1d3 Advanced Fiendish Dire Apes, or 1d4+1 Advanced Fiendish Apes as if you had cast Summon Monster VI.

In spite of my mockery of the Boon above, the ape restriction here is anything but painful. ... well, it’s painful for anyone who’s not you, mind. An Advanced Fiendish Girallon is a CR 8 monstrosity with enough damage output and resilience from the Fiendish template to punch above its weight class. A Girallon is a four-armed, Large-sized ape beast with five attacks (and Rend!) a round, with enough agility and maneuverability to run down fleeing foes or chase them through just about any terrain easily.

It’s also your best option among the summons; the Dire Apes and normal apes are nice, but the chance of summoning a single Dire Ape or a meager 2 fiend apes means a Girallon is the best go-to unless you need a lot of bodies rather than one large one. The Fiendish template is really what gives this ability the oomph it needs to shrug off most of my criticism of Jungle’s Wrath, granting even your normal apes a bit of Spell Resistance and elemental resistance to Fire and Acid... though, notable, both the normal ape and the Dire Ape have too few HD to gain the advanced benefits of the Fiendish template, and none of the creatures here have high enough Charisma to make the Smite Good ability granted to them useful, even with the +4 to all ability scores from Advanced.

Perhaps the biggest gold star this power has, however, is the fact that it can be used as a swift action. You can instantaneously flank an enemy with a murderous gorilla and then stab them in the back when they rightly turn around to look at said murderous gorilla in disbelief, or you can blast them with another spell, or you can do any number of other things with the distraction you’ve just created. Don’t forget that Summon Monster VI also has a range of Close, letting you hurl a demon gorilla at an enemy from 25+5ft/lvl away. The downside, however, is that SMVI also has a duration of a meager 1 round/lvl, meaning you’ll often run into the issue of saving the use of this ability, often until you no longer need it.

Boon 3: Jungle’s Might. You gain a +2 profane bonus to your Strength score and a +2 bonus on Fortitude saving throws.

Useful but boring. It’s moderately better than most stat-buffing Boons thanks to the additional Fortitude bonus, but final Boons typically give +4 bonuses, not +2. There’s no flash or pizazz here, nothing to really expand upon, so lets move on!

------- SENTINEL -------

Boon 1: Tyrant’s Roar. Gain Command 3/day, Sound Burst 2/day, or Suggestion 1/day.

I almost got mad because I mistook Sound Burst for a different, much worse spell. Nope! That was sonic scream or whatever, one I’m so unimpressed with I didn’t even bother looking it up. Sound Burst is significantly better, anyway, able to stun a small crowd of enemies in a single casting, which is exactly what you--as the Sentinel--want to happen. Either because you’re holding back an enemy(/ies) for your allies to get into place, or because you’re holding them still so you can get in close. The damage it deals is pitiful, but it’s automatic even if they succeed against the stun effect, and you never know when 8 damage to up to a crowd will make a difference!

Like most of Angazhan’s blessings, it gets better if you’re in a jungle, as the hostility of the Mwangi Expanse means invaders are likely to be clustered together as tightly as possible to prevent attacks from all angles. Punish them, hard.

Command is in-character for the Tyrant King, and it rewards creative uses beyond the ‘come,’ ‘stay,’ and ‘drop’ commands, though those serve their purpose well enough. I’m quite partial to KNEEL, which fits Angazhan rather well! The only problem is that its low saving throw scaling means it’s unlikely to affect enemies that matter, and in combat it’s often much better to just rush in and start slapping. Out of combat Suggestion is king, though it’s an odd choice for someone who tends to force people to follow his orders through violence and threats rather than relying on coercive and subtle magic. Personally, I’d let the Face of the party or the dedicated enchanter rely on Suggestion, and carry Sound Burst around for those times you need to explode people’s eardrums.

Boon 2: Reign of Terror. You add your Strength modifier to Intimidate checks (this does not stack with Intimidating Prowess or similar feats and abilities) as well as your Charisma modifier. Once per minute, you may use Intimidate to demoralize a single creature within 30ft as a swift action, or all creatures within 10ft as a move action. When using Intimidate to demoralize a creature in this way, if your result exceeds the DC by 5 or more, the creature is frightened for 1 round and then shaken for the normal duration; if your result exceeds the DC by 10 or more, the creature cowers for 1 round, then is frightened for 1 round, and then is shaken for the normal duration. When you use Intimidate to demoralize an ally, instead of being shaken, that creature gains a +2 morale bonus on attack rolls for the appropriate duration.

While normally Boons are built to be taken advantage of by any class within the margins of those who can enter the Prestige Classes in the first place, sometimes you get one that forces you into a specific path. This one highly, highly rewards having both a high Strength and a high (or at least neutral) Charisma, and focusing a feat or two into making your Intimidate as high as possible can see you sending squadrons of enemy combatants scattering and trampling one another to get away from you. I love, love, LOVE that there’s no per-day use restriction on this power, only that it can be used once per minute, meaning you can bring it out in more or less every fight you encounter.

Exceeding the victim’s Intimidation DC by 10 or more causes them to cower, a status affliction barely above paralysis in how terrible it is to be suffering, opening them up to a whole round of being beat on without any ability to retaliate. Even if they survive the round of helplessness, they’re forced to run from you and use whatever resources they have available to get as far away from you as possible... which can be a blessing or a curse depending on what they were carrying and how badly you wanted it.

Being able to Intimidate a single foe as a swift action or a whole crowd surrounding you as a move action is strong, especially if you can bolster your prowess enough to always score 10 higher than their DC (a challenge, but not an insurmountable one)... And even if your enemies are immune to being intimidated either because they’re mindless, starved, or immune to fear, you can use this ability to give your whole team +2 to attack rolls for 4+ rounds. It’s more of a consolation prize than anything else, but note that the final sentence does not say “in this way,” meaning you can use Intimidate normally without needing the 1/minute bolstering to give your allies a bit more accuracy! Wasteful, but viable!

Boon 3: Unchallenged Tyrant. When you perform your Obedience, designate a number of present and willing creatures equal to your Charisma modifier; these are your Thralls. This designation lasts for 24 hours or until you next perform your Obedience. 3/day, you can infuse all Thralls within 50 feet of you as a swift action, granting them a +4 bonus to their Strength and Constitution scores and a +2 bonus on initiative checks, and granting any teamwork feats you have as bonus feats *for an number of rounds equal to your hit dice. If a Thrall dies within 50 feet of you at any time, you gain the effects of Death Ward (CL = half the Thrall’s Hit Dice, to a maximum of CL 20th).

*this ability originally had no listed duration, making it quite awkward and insanely powerful. I’ve added one that makes sense.

Oh, not bad! Another reward for buffing up your Charisma! Even if it’s just to a +2 bonus! And it’s a fine one, too, letting you enchant your allies with a discounted Barbarian Rage, including a bonus to initiative checks to help them move before your enemies even know what’s happening! THREE TIMES a day!!! And--wait, wait, there’s more? You also transfer ALL your teamwork feats to your Thralls? Teamwork feats are pretty powerful but wholly rely on your allies being willing to give up their own feat slots for them, and they utterly fail to work if you aren’t working together or become separated by enemy shenanigans. This ability (along with the Inquisitor’s Solo Tactics) turns those empty feat slots into something truly game-changing due to applying them to all of your Thralls at once. This means that, even if you don’t or cannot join in the fight, they can still use teamwork with each other, and all you need is one of them to be nearby to make use of feats like Lookout (if one of you can act during the surprise round, all of you can), Precise Strikes (+1d6 damage if you’re flanking an enemy)... or, perhaps the most useful of them, Coordinated Charge, allowing you and your allies to all charge the same target.

It doesn’t take a genius to see why Coordinated Charge is one of the best you can use with this ability, as the +Strength and Con bonus means you can turn even the weakest member of the party into another source of damage however small. It also means all of your melee battlers can get into the fray immediately, and if used in combination with Lookout, it can turn an enemy ambush into a pile of severed limbs and broken armor before they even realize what they’re up against.

I also like that if any of your Thralls die, you get a free Death Ward. If you know you’re going up against a necromancer or an Undead with Energy Drain, making an incredibly weak but tasty-looking creature one of your Thralls and sending them in to die is one less spell slot your Divine caster needs to use on you. I’m amused by the idea of blessing one member of your Sack Of Rats and just crushing it in your hand if you ever need a ward. If you have the Charisma for it, definitely try it out!

You can enter Monkis World here.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

Things Duggan could do/could have done with Pyro in Marauders:

This list is partially me being bitter, but it’s also just kind of a creative exercise, thinking about the development potential that Pyro has.

1. Redemption arc - This seems obvious.  Pyro is already hanging with the good guys, but is he actually undergoing a redemption arc?  Is he actually changing his views or becoming a better person?  We don’t really know because we barely see anything from his perspective, and it’s usually shallow comic relief when we do.  The groundwork is there to give Pyro a redemption arc.  He was already regretting his actions and questioning the Brotherhood’s methods when he had the Legacy Virus, leading up to him saving Senator Kelly.  Why not follow up on that?  Does he still feel the same way, or is he disillusioned because Kelly was killed right after he saved him?  Are the Marauders (all of whom are better people than Pyro) rubbing off on him a bit?  Maybe he’s starting to enjoy helping others or learning to trust humans?  (Or not?)  In today’s issue, Iceman was confronted by a Reaver that he had previously maimed, which was interesting, but that’s another storyline that I think would also fit Pyro.  Pyro has surely been maiming some people - maybe being confronted with the results of that would help him reconsider his actions.

2. Legacy Virus stuff - Pyro hasn’t said a damn thing about the way he died, and I understand him not wanting to talk about it.  But again, that sparked a semi-redemption arc for Pyro back before he died.  And now he’s on a ship that is taking medicine to humans that need it, and just built a hospital in Madripoor.  Maybe his experience being sick has given him a greater sense of empathy, and a desire to help sick people.  If Masque can find meaning using his powers to help humans, you’d think there would be space for Pyro to say something serious about his Legacy experiences while they are dedicating a new hospital.  Even just a throwaway line.  Hell, Storm was dying of some kind of nano-virus for part of Marauders (although it was never mentioned in the book at all), maybe he could have sympathized with her over that?  Maybe having Yellowjacket inside him - another case in which his body has been invaded by something microscopic that can kill him - triggered some Legacy feelings?  We could have explored that, instead we got a “funny” scene of Magneto pulling Yellowjacket out of Pyro, and Pyro wanting to kill him. 

3. Team bonding - Pyro has been accepted on the team surprisingly quickly.  Faster than I would expect, really.  And of course, he’s small-potatoes evil compared to even some people on the Council, but I’d still expect a little bit of friction between him and his team-mates, given that he used to try to kill them.  Even without that history, he’s still the odd man out on a team that already knows each other, and are friends, or at least former team-mates.  We had that kind of friction with Emma and Storm, why would we not get that friction between Pyro (the former terrorist criminal) and the others?  I would have expected at least a little bit of distrust, followed eventually by some kind of bonding issue where Pyro is more accepted by the team, and in turn accepts his place with them.  Who does he even consider a friend when he refers to them as “his friends”?  He seems to like hanging out with Bishop and Iceman, but we’ve mostly gotten that through wordless background panels and a couple of “funny” scenes.  Do any of them even like him or consider him a “friend,” or do they just tolerate his presence?   

4. Writer - One of the things I find most interesting about Pyro is that he had a whole-ass career before joining the Brotherhood.  He traveled around Southeast Asia, he was a journalist in Indonesia and Vietnam, he wrote romance novels.  And most writers don’t explore that at all, but you’d think it would come up when the Marauder is traveling around the ocean.  Maybe he speaks another language that would be helpful.  Maybe his investigative skills as a journalist come in handy.  Maybe he takes them to an old haunt or meets up with an old contact he knew in Vietnam.  Maybe he spends his spare time writing smutty historical pirate-themed romance.  I would have enjoyed that much more than the goofy “dream sequence” that Emma planted in his head, at least that would have felt like authentic character development rather than something being pushed upon him from the outside.  Most comics writers don’t really get into Pyro’s civilian career, but as a regular on a book, I’d expect it to come up at least once, even as a thowaway line.

5. Brotherhood and past history - Pyro has had absolutely no contact (that we know of) with his old Brotherhood pals.  He doesn’t even mention them.  Why is that?  Why isn’t he hanging around the bar with Blob when the Marauder’s at Krakoa?  Why isn’t he texting Avalanche?  Has he become estranged from them after saving Kelly (which would be an interesting plot point if Duggan developed it), or is he just hanging out with them off panel?  You’d think there would be some mention of his past history at some point.  Even in today’s issue, when he, Iceman and Bishop got attacked by Reavers.  Pyro has a history with Reavers!  He fought them on Muir Island as part of Freedom Force, and the team lost both Stonewall (which happened right in front of Pyro, and he seemed broken up about it) and Destiny (which completely destroyed Mystique).  The Reavers in this issue were not the same ones, they were a new breed, but you’d think Pyro might have something to say about encountering Reavers again. 

6. The gay thing - This is more my own personal preference, but Pyro WAS deliberately queer-coded in his earliest appearances, and John Byrne intended for him to be gay.  They couldn’t openly write him that way back in the day, but nowadays I think no one would bat an eye if Pyro, a fairly minor villain, was somewhere on the LGBT scale.  He wasn’t always queer-coded, but he had an ambiguous relationship with Avalanche, his sexuality was never firmly established (he was never in an open romantic relationship anyone), and he died a lingering, painful death from the virus that was intended to be an AIDS metaphor.  It would be quite interesting to see Pyro as a closeted gay (or bisexual) man resurrected in a world where different sexual orientations are far more accepted, and slowly opening up about it to Bobby and Christian (or even Shinobi).  Not to mention, it would give Bobby and Christian more to do, and Christian could talk about his own traumatic experiences without it being all swept under the rug.

7. Doubts about Krakoa - When the team first met Pyro, he was trying to steal a boat and run off, because he’d realized that his resurrection was mostly just a lab experiment to test the process.  Now he seems to be all-in, and dedicated to the Marauders’ mission.  What changed?  Does he harbor any doubts about the Quiet Council, or is he a true believer now?  Does he EVER talk to Mystique, to whom he used to be extremely loyal?  Pyro can be written as dumb at times, but more frequently he comes across as one of the more intelligent and thoughtful Brotherhood members.  Maybe he’s decided that everything on Krakoa is so new and confusing, he’s just gonna turn his brain off and enjoy his new life?  That would also be fine, if it was actually treated as character development.  

8. Divided loyalties - If I’d expect anyone to betray the team, it would be Pyro.  And that doesn’t necessarily mean I want him to do that, but I’m surprised it hasn’t come up.  You’d think Shinobi or Sebastian Shaw would approach him to act as a mole in exchange for lots and lots of money.  Hell, I half-expected him to be spying for Mystique when he first showed up.  And again, it could still happen, but there’s been no lead up or suggestion of that at all.  I would honestly find it disappointing if Pyro suddenly turned on the team or was revealed to be a spy, because he hasn’t bonded with them well enough for it to be meaningful at all. 

The thing is, any of these ideas could be explored, and still keep Pyro as the comic-relief party animal that Duggan is currently writing.  He wouldn’t even have to have significantly more focus (although some focus would be nice).  This could be accomplished through small scenes, little asides, throwaway lines.  Duggan wastes so much page time setting up “moments” and atmosphere (Kitty and Emma riding horses up to Sebastian’s castle comes to mind).  He spent a whole issue beating up Sebastian Shaw without any other significant plot advancement (then crams all his plot into the issues that feature other characters).  He spent a few pages on a goofy fantasy dream sequence that told us nothing new about Pyro, and again, turned out to a falsely manufactured dream that Emma planted in his mind.  We could have used those pages to show Pyro writing something, or show a different side of him through Yellowjacket’s spying, and it STILL could have been comic-relief.  If Duggan actually wanted to explore Pyro in a more serious way, there’s both the space and potential for it.  He just.....doesn’t. 

Anyway, this is all wishful thinking of what could be.  I’ll just have to write fanfic or something. 

[schrijverr]

Buried Truths

During a moonquake Jonny and Tim get buried under the rubble together. Jonny tells Tim about his immortality as they try and dig themselves out and they grow closer.

On AO3.

Ships: Bertie x Tim in the background, but this is a Tim & Jonny fic

Warnigs: Jonny gets crushed by boulders two times, it’s not graphic, but watch out. Tell me if I missed anything or if you’d like me to tag something!!

~~~~~~~~ 

Moonquakes, no one had told them anything about fucking moonquakes when they’d signed up.

They didn’t tell them about a lot of thing of course, but Tim was actually pissed off at this, because you didn’t think of moonquakes when you thought of a war. Most he could have come up with if he’d thought through the patriotic haze, but this? This fucking sucked.

The moonquakes wouldn't have been so bad if they weren’t fighting in literal tunnels, so every single shudder of the moon could be the one that buried them.

Tim hated it, he would rather be microwaved or chocking on gas.

He had told the others that one day, earning him a slap from Bertie, who’d told him he shouldn’t die at all, but Jonny had agreed: “Yeah, getting buried alive fucking sucks, not a pleasant way to go.”

Which had been a strange way to phrase that, but Tim had just been glad to have someone on his side to complain to about the moonquakes.

Something he was doing right now, while they marched: “I just don’t get why they didn’t tell us any sooner, you know? I mean, of course, I get why they didn’t put it into their propaganda, but at least mention it during training instead of explaining it when we first experience one.”

“Are you still on about that, love?” Bertie rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I am British, okay, we don’t do quakes in any way, shape or form and it fucking sucked and I hate every second of every moonquake and the least they could have done was give us a warning beforehand.” Tim pouted indignantly.

Jonny was once again on his side: “He’s right, I have lived most of my life on a solid spaceship, the worst thing is turbulence, not the roof crashing down. A boulder crushing you fucking hurts and I do not need that in my life right now.”

“Exactly, thank you, Jonny.” Tim gave Bertie a triumphant look, again ignoring the strange phrasing of Jonny, just chalking it up to the weirdness that was him.

“You two, I swear, one braincell.” Bertie sighed.

“I don’t know if that was an insult, but-” Tim squinted at Bertie.

“I do, it fucking was, I’m not associated with this dumb fuck.” Jonny interjected, earning a squawk from Tim who immediately went to defend his honor.

They weren’t even a few meters further, still squabbling, when the ground around them started to rumble and shake. The company cursed and tried to find a good refuge spot.

Tim had been carrying a torch and now shone it on the ceiling, to try and gauge, where it would be coming down and where they would be safe. The light hit a quickly loosening boulder directly above Jonnys head.

He cursed again and jumped, trying to get Jonny out of the way, knowing he most likely wouldn't make it.

His hands made contact and Jonny let out a confused yell, but he would not simply budge. It seemed he had quickly figured out what was happening and instead turned them, mid-fall, so that he would be on top, shielding Tim from the down poor of rocks by taking the blows himself.

Tim was about to shout at Jonny, when a rock hit him and the world went black.

When he came to, the world was still black, but in the familiar dark way of the tunnels he’d gotten used to.

It took a moment before he had adjusted enough to try and take in his surroundings. He was lying in the sand of the moon, but the usually cramped tunnels were even tighter. The events from earlier came back with that thought and he realized he must be in a small space underneath the rocks that had fallen on them.

Them. Fuck, Jonny.

He tried to move his hands, so that he could feel if the thing, presumably Jonny, on top of him had a heartbeat he could feel.

After some wiggling he managed to put one hand on what he thought was Jonnys chest, right where his heart should be. His blood froze in his veins. Jonnys chest was cold to the touch and there was no thumping to be felt.

It almost seemed impossible. Tim had seen Jonny survive so much of this war, both suicidal rescue missions and his own stupidity, so the thought that he might not be there anymore was jarring to say the least.

He laid there for a second after that revelation of Jonnys death. It hadn’t really sank in yet and he was mostly shocked, unable to move or think.

When his mind had pushed it away enough, he started to check how hurt he was and how likely it was that he would ever get out of here, or if he would die a slow death by himself. It seemed he was incredibly lucky (because Jonny took the stones, his mind helpfully supplied), because he was mostly in tact, save for some bruises and scrapes.

He should be unharmed if he was able to get out, which was another hurdle. The others would assume they’d died and maybe even leave them here, no rescue mission for corpses. God, Bertie must be so upset right now.

The thought of Bertie lodged something in his throat and he wanted nothing more than to be held in his strong arms, while he whispered to him that everything was going to be alright. Jonny would gag at them and make a face, but they would mind.

A single tear slid down his face, because that would never happen again.

Jonny was gone, he was buried under a pile of rocks and Bertie probably thought they were dead and no one would come for them.

God, Bertie, the man would be heartbroken, but they’d force him to march on all on his own. Tim knew he would break if the roles were reversed and he feared the worst as the seconds ticked by in the dark hole under the rubble.

At one point he had started to dig himself out halfheartedly, but he’d quickly given up and had started to yell, but had stopped that after a long while of nothing as well.

He was just lying there, accepting his slow death, when the form on top of him suddenly jolted, nearly startling him into a heart attack.

Jonny gasped right in his ear and then started to cough into it, much to Tims disgust: “Gross, mate.”

“What?” Jonny sounded like death, which was probably what happened, or at least he had been close to it.

With that reminder, Tim shrieked: “How are you alive?”

“Luck?”

“I felt your heart, it was cold and not beating!”

“It never beats.”

“THAT’S NOT HELPFUL!”

Jonny was quiet for a moment, then he casually asked: “Where even are we?”

Tim opened and closed his mouths for a few times with the sudden topic change, then he sighed and said: “Under the rubble, we got buried during the quake.”

“That fucking sucks.” Jonny answered after a beat.

“Yeah, I’ve made peace with dying, because I think the others have already moved on. So, coming back from the brink of death isn’t going to do you any good.” Tim told him.

“I didn’t come back from the brink of death, I’m too cool to survive.” Jonny replied.

“What?”

“I fully died and came back. I’m immortal.” Jonny said.

“You’re what?” Tims voice was an octave higher.

“Immortal.” Jonny repeated, “It usually is pretty handy, but I’m not looking forwards to dying a bunch of times here, before I get out and if you die, your body will rot and it will stink.”

“That’s- You’re being really casual about the chance of me dying, you know that?” Tim told him.

He could feel Jonny shrug as he said: “Hey, almost no one I meet will outlive me, I came to terms with you or Bertie dying before I even knew you all that well. It happens, but if it will also stink, it’ll double suck, you know?”

Tim thought about that, then replied: “That’s sounds really fucking sad and I really don’t want to pity you on my deathbed, you’re too annoying for that.”

“It’s not your deathbed.” Tim could feel the eyeroll in Jonnys voice.

“Why not? We’re trapped here, we’ve been here for a long time and nothing has happened yet. Lets face it, the others are already gone.” Tim sighed, defeated.

“Well, I’m not wasting a good war stuck under some rubble, so as long as I’m alive, which is going to be forever, we’re getting out of here.” Jonny said stubbornly, “Besides, I’ve seen Bertie, that guy has a too big case of hearteyes to leave you here, so you better buckle up and start helping me dig us out of here.”

Tim felt Jonnys elbows dig into his stomach and let out a groan, while the annoying asshole on top of him wiggled around until he could start moving rocks from on top of them to the small space they occupied.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tim hissed.

“Getting us out of here.” Jonny answered.

“Yeah, but one mistake and the whole thing comes crashing down on us, you moron.” Tim exclaimed.

“And I’ll live and shield you, we’ll be fine.” Jonny waved his concern away, “Now, start helping me move this and start yelling. They’re far more likely to come to your aid then mine.”

“What makes you say that?” Tim asked, concerned for his friend, as much as he tried to deny they even were friends.

“Oh, they all still owe me money from when I cheated them out of it with some card games.” Jonny explained.

“You menace.” Tim grinned, before starting to yell and help Jonny out.

An hour later and they had moved about half a meter. It was tiring work and slow going. Where at first they had worked with vigor and yelled loudly, they now were going even slower and working in silence.

Tim was just about to tell Jonny they should give up when a rock above them came loose and crashed down on Jonny. It was too dark to see, but Tim could hear a sickening crunch as Jonny went limp above him once more.

He swallowed heavily and tried not to think about the fact that this was the second time today that the other had given his life to shield Tim and also the second time Tim had the corpse of his friend lying on top of him.

It took a few seconds before Tim had gathered himself enough to remove the rock from Jonnys head. They’d gotten lucky enough that it wasn’t an important rock that kept their ceiling in tact, but just a stray one that had gotten loose in their effort to get free.

While he worked he kept repeating to himself: He’ll get back, he’s fine, he might be dead, but he’ll come back again, he’s fine, he’s immortal, it’s all fine.

However, that was hard to believe and with every passing second that Jonny lay there as still as the corpse he currently was, Tim got more worried.

He’d just stopped digging them out to try and wake Jonny up, illogical as that might be, when Jonny stirred again.

Just like before he suddenly jolted, before gasping a big breath and coughing. Once he’d gathered his bearings, he sighed and casually said: “That never gets pleasant. Any news about our freedom yet?”

“No,” Tim answered with a tight voice, “not yet.”

“Ugh, why can’t they work harder, I hate this.” Jonny complained, even if he did go back to digging them out immediately.

Suddenly the blood in Tims veins froze with a realization he didn’t have before and in a small voice he asked: “What if they got buried too? What if they didn’t make it?”

Jonny stilled his actions at the question. The silence that hung over them was tense and heavy, it was clear that Jonny hadn’t even thought about the others dying, probably so used to them coming back or him not caring.

“They’ll be fine.” it was curt and Tim wasn’t sure if it was him or Jonny himself that the other was trying to convince.

Jonny started digging again, this time more urgently and with less jokes or comments. It was just putting away stone after stone in the dark, hoping that against their worst thoughts that grim possibility wasn’t true.

If the slow going was annoying before, it was infuriating and frustrating now. Inch by inch they moved closer to freedom, closer to an answer about the faith of their fellow soldiers, of Bertie. This time, however, neither slowed down, even as they got tired and it seemed like they made no progress.

With every rock, Tims lost hope.

With every inch, Jonny heart hardened.

In the darkness it was hard to picture anything positive ever coming, there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

Tim chocked out: “I don’t think they made it.”

“Don’t-” Jonny said accusatory, “Just don’t, you don’t get to say that, okay? You’re the mortal one here, I’m told it gives you endurance and hope, so keep hoping, you motherfucker.”

He couldn’t see Jonnys expression in the dark and he didn’t know if he should be grateful for it. Throughout the whole war Jonny had been a rock of unending optimism and fun to cling onto when things seemed hopeless, but now he sounded so vulnerable as well and Tim didn’t know if he wanted to see the other being anything but fun, even if it might be manic.

So, he just kept working and started yelling again, hoping that they would hear a response. He called out: “Bertie? Bertie? Anyone? Sarge? Hello? We’re here!”

Tim took a break to take another deep breath to continue shouting when he faintly heard a very familiar voice call out: “Tim? Tim is that you?”

“Bertie! Bertie, over here!” Tim yelled, shaking Jonny slightly in excitement.

Jonny rolled his eyes and said: “Yeah, yeah, I heard him too,” before yelling: “Start digging, you asshole. We’re fucking stuck here.”

Soon after they heard more exclaims, before rocks started to shift above their heads. It still look a while, but then the final rock got lifted and they found Bertie grinning at them, before paling.

“What? What’s wrong, dear?” Tim immediately asked.

“You two are covered in blood, are you hurt?” Bertie asked, concern lacing his voice.

With the light Jonny and Tim now could look at each other properly. Indeed they were covered in blood and dust. Jonnys hair was absolutely caked and Tim knew he would be complaining about it for days.

“It looks worse than it is.” he told Bertie instead, the truth would come later, when they were clean and safe, “We got lucky.”

“And that you most certainly did.” the sarge stepped up, crossing her muscled arms, “If this weren’t such an important route, we wouldn't have even tried to dig you out. How you even survived in the first place in a miracle.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.” Jonny shrugged, before holding out his hands and asking: “Is anyone going to get me out of here now?”

After that it all happened quite quickly. They were out the dirt and into a convoy back to camp, Bertie by their side, then into the cleaning area, before finally being able to rest.

He had been right that Jonny would complain about his hair, but he also found that he didn’t seem to mind as much as before. He’d already had a soft spot for Jonny, annoying as he might be, and it seemed it had only grown. The bastard.

Tim was going to regret this, he could feel it in his bones, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The little shit could use someone to watch his immortal back.

[loki-hargreeves]

Geralt of Rivia x Vampire!Reader - The Prize of Blood [PART 1]

[PART 2] Warnings: angst, mild gore, vulgar language, mentions of blood, guilt, hurt/comfort Word Count: 5,5K Summary: You have accompanied your old friends Geralt and Jaskier on a mission, guiding them through an enchanted forest to a mage who is in hiding. Geralt needs to find the mage, because of her knowledge of destiny and the law of surprise. During the few days you spend together, you and Geralt get closer to each other. One night, you disappear. You get taken by a vampire, but Geralt stops it from killing you. Geralt doesn’t find you until it’s too late, the vampire has bitten you. The only way you could stay human is by getting help from the mage. You must find her before it’s too late to reverse your changes. Author’s Note: This is the first time I’m writing for the Witcher fandom, so please excuse me if I make mistakes! Enjoy! :) Also I know how vampires work in the Witcher universe, but I have chosen to ignore one simple fact for the sake of the story

THIRD POV

It had been quite an ordinary day. Y/N was currently working at a pub in a small village which was the perfect cover up for her past life. Nobody knew her, which was exactly how she wanted it to be. She woke up, got ready for the day and got to work. Sure, the pub wasn’t fancy, but she met plenty of interesting people and they always slipped a few secrets that they should’ve probably kept to themselves. Whenever people would stay at the village overnight, they ended up at this pub. It seemed to attract everything from commoners to mages, knights and even criminals.

So far, no one had recognized her as the human woman who cast spells. She was expelled from her kingdom after she was caught and as Y/N had left, the king had sent two assassins after her. After a battle she nearly lost, Y/N had no choice but to kill the men. It was the first time she killed people and she didn’t fancy it, but she was left with no choice. People believed her to be evil and after she killed for the very first time, she sure felt that way. Y/N had felt terrible about it until she met Geralt and Jaskier for the first time. Somehow, the Witcher had made her feel much better about herself.

The day had been quite ordinary until Geralt and Jaskier waltzed through the heavy wooden doors. Y/N nearly dropped the empty mug she was right about to fill with ale. It had been at least three years since she last saw the two of them and she feared the day would never come again on which their paths would cross. Quickly, Y/N filled the mug and handed it to the weary customer. Then she dried her hands on her skirt and nearly ran towards the duo she so dearly cared about. “Geralt! Jaskier!” She wanted to catch their attention, saying their names ever so cheerfully and possibly grabbing the attention of the customers as well.

A head of long, white hair turned first and a moment later, Y/N stood right in front of him. Geralt’s golden eyes looked at her from under his dark hood and he seemed relieved to see the woman. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Geralt let the tiniest smile slip.

A loud gasp made both of them turn to face Jaskier. “Y/N! Now tell me this isn’t destiny at its best. We were looking for you all over this village and now you just appear out of thin air right under our noses! How convenient is that?”

He hadn’t changed at all. Jaskier was still the same old chatty and cheerful him that he was three years ago.

A chuckle left Y/N’s lips as she pulled Jaskier into a hug. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not here for fun. We need your help,” Geralt revealed, hating to break the happy reunion.

It was strange to hear that from the Witcher. Frankly, it worried Y/N. He rarely needed help so she knew this was likely something as dangerous as it was three years ago when they first met. “Follow me then,” Y/N knew right away that it had to be serious if they came to her for aid. She let go of Jaskier and decided to lead them to a table that was more private than the spot they stood on, right in front of the door, in everybody’s view. They reached the corner booth and she let them sit by the tiny window. Y/N sat down next to Geralt.  “What can I do for you?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt nervously, probably expecting him to explain it to Y/N. He didn’t enjoy being the bringer of bad news, not when Y/N was the one to receive them.

Geralt wanted to keep a low profile. He felt several eyes on them, but it was loud enough in the pub so he hoped they wouldn’t hear him if he spoke quietly. Asking for help didn’t come easy for him, but he had no choice, “We need to find a mage. We’ve been told she is hiding in the enchanted forest. We would get lost by her spells if we went in blindly.”

“You want me to guide you?” Y/N smiled as excitement began to bubble in her veins. Sure, she had enjoyed her stay in the village, but she felt like she had stayed for way too long. An adventure like this was exactly what she craved. It made her wish to leave right away, but she didn’t want to be too eager.

Jaskier was now meddling with his lute, pulling the strings either in search for inspiration or just for the sake of it. “We were hoping you’d like to come with us. The last time you did, you came in handy.”

“I came in handy,” Y/N raised her eyebrows playfully. Jaskier sure knew what to say.

“Oh, come on! I don’t know what it is about you and how you become immune to spells, but that’s exactly what we need. Besides, I see that you want to come. You can barely stay in your seat,” Jaskier smirked as he noticed how excited she was by her body language. But he had to speak so loudly, making people eavesdrop on their conversation now.

Geralt didn’t like that. “Jaskier, shut up!” He growled, hoping he would for once in his life try to keep a low-profile.

Y/N giggled softly, feeling overjoyed by their company. It didn’t mean she would be easy on them. “What’s in it for me?” She wondered and rested her jaw on her palm, eyeing Geralt with a soft gaze.

Her question seemed to take him by surprise, as if he didn’t expect it. Last time, she had practically begged them to take her with them. Now she seemed much harder to get. The change in her made Geralt happy for her. Someone like her should stand her ground. “We’ll pay you.”

“How much?” Y/N kept playing this game, glancing at Jaskier who was following the situation closely.

“How much are you asking for?” Geralt wondered. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was fairly nervous that she would decline for whatever reason. He had no idea what they would do if she wouldn’t take them to the mage.

That’s when Y/N couldn’t keep a straight face. “I’m not going to take your coin, Geralt! Of course, I’ll help you. You’re my friends.”

Friends. Geralt didn’t like that word, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about that. He was glad she was coming with them.

“I knew it!” Jaskier chirped, happy as a bird.

“We should leave at dawn,” Geralt declared bluntly. It would be safer to leave early, for the nights were the most dangerous.

Y/N stood up from the booth all of a sudden. “Let me grab you two something to drink. It’s on the house! We can talk more over drinks,” She suggested kindly.

Geralt watched as she walked through the pub towards the small bar. As he noticed how the dirty old men looked at her, he felt his gut twist in anger. Their eyes lingered on her body a little too long. Suddenly, Geralt noticed how a group of soldiers pointed at her and whispered. He clenched his strong jaw as he witnessed this. How long had she worked here? In Geralt’s mind, the place was a disgrace, full of scumbags. But on the other hand, he couldn’t blame them too much. Y/N was a sight for sore eyes, and she was beautiful – inside out.

“Hello? Geralt? Is anybody in there?” Jaskier poked the Witcher’s shoulder after a brief silence. Geralt tore his eyes off Y/N and turned to face Jaskier who had a smirk growing on his glee face. “You still fancy her, don’t you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up, Jaskier?”

Somehow, that seemed to be a confirmation to Jaskier. “So, you do! This is amazing, Geralt. I could totally see by the way you looked at her. That said, do you think these people would mind if I played a little something for them?”

Geralt would be lying if he said he truly wanted Jaskier gone. Whatever it was, friends as Jaskier liked to call it, they cared for each other. But he would also be lying if he said Jaskier never got on his nerves. Right now, he didn’t mind if he would grab his lute and perhaps to entertain the villagers. “Hm,” Geralt hummed and decided to look out of the window, ignoring him. Just like that, Jaskier got up and a few moments later, he was pulling the strings and singing a tune Geralt knew a tad too well.

Toss a coin to your Witcher…

Y/N returned to the booth with a tray and tree pints. She seemed to enjoy Jaskier’s performance since she mouthed the lyrics too. As she sat down next to Geralt, she handed him his drink. “That tune gets stuck on my brain. It’s catchy.”

Geralt took a large sip of his ale, watching Jaskier who was resting his foot on the table full of strangers. If it wasn’t for the women that seemed enthralled by him, Geralt was certain the men around the table would’ve knocked him off already. “Once you hear it as many times as I have, you wouldn’t say that.”

             Dawn arrived soon enough. Y/N owned a small house in the village where she had taken Jaskier and Geralt. because she lived alone, she only owned a bed and a couch. For the night, she had slept next to Geralt as Jaskier took the couch. Three years ago, they shared a bed as well, but it felt much more intimate now that they were under her roof in her home. The bed wasn’t too big. Geralt, on the other hand, was huge. They slept so close that Y/N could feel his body heat dancing on her skin. His mucky scent filled her lungs and somehow lulled her to sleep. It awoke feelings she had tried to bury long ago.

By the time morning came, Geralt was already awake, sitting on the bedside. Y/N rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and focused on Geralt. Seeing him confirmed that she hadn’t been dreaming. They were actually there. “Good morning,” She muttered tiredly, yet she was happy.

Geralt was already fully dressed, she noticed. “Good morning, Y/N,” Geralt replied. Just like that, he got up from the bed. Y/N watched for a while as Geralt shook Jaskier awake. “Get up, Jaskier. It’s time to leave.”

Y/N decided to get dressed and fill her bag with anything she suspected they would need. Everything ranging from food to potions. Geralt didn’t question her at all.

Roach was in her backyard. Y/N’s neighbor was an elderly woman who also owned horses, which was quite convenient. After paying her, the woman agreed to look after Roach until they would return. According to Geralt, the enchanted forest would scare the horse too and he didn’t wish to put it through such stress.

Just like that, they were on the go.

                  The first few hours of the day seemed fine. Y/N guided them further into the enchanted forest that was rich of tall trees and beautiful plant life. The flowers might’ve looked harmless, but Y/N and Geralt knew some of them were toxic. A sniff of the wrong flower could make someone hallucinate very vividly, keeping them from reaching the heart of the forest where the mage was likely hiding. Jaskier was just about to grab some berries, until Y/N stopped him.

“Jaskier dear, unless you want to see your worst nightmares unfold before your eyes, don’t eat those berries,” She told him ever so calmly.

Jaskier dropped the berries on the ground and hurriedly walked away from the bushes. “Is anything edible around here?”

“Once we reach a pond or a lake, we could fish. The living prey is safe to eat. Keep your eyes open for fruit trees. If we’re lucky, we’ll find these fruits that resemble peaches, but they’re much sweeter,” Y/N told Jaskier like it was common knowledge for a human to know.

Geralt was impressed by her knowledge. For an ordinary human, she knew things she shouldn’t have. It was why she was so often on his mind. Geralt loved knowledge. He would’ve loved to know more of her and how she ended up being the woman she was now. “We should get as far as we can before nightfall. This can take a few days,” Geralt reminded them. This wasn’t a one-day trip.

After walking for a while, Y/N’s curiosity got the best of her. “Why are you after this mage?” She wondered innocently.

Jaskier nearly choked on thin air. It made Y/N wonder if she had said something wrong. “Well you see, Geralt and I visited Cintra and got in cahoots with the royal family. Long story short, Geralt ended up saving a princess and her fiance, husband, whatever. He lifted a spell and for his reward, Geralt here proclaimed the law of surprise! Can you believe that?”

Y/N was surprised as she listened to Jaskier. The law of surprise? Why would Geralt choose that? She didn’t know he believed in destiny whatsoever. “And how does that tie in with whatever we are doing here?” She wondered furthermore.

Geralt didn’t seem too keen to explain. It seemed like Jaskier was doing a wonderful job at that already, so he let him continue. “The princess got pregnant after that. Thanks a lot, Geralt! And after the child was born, the queen tried to kill Geralt. It seems like she’s hiding something, besides the obvious. Then one day we overheard these lovely gentlemen talking about this mage. Apparently, she knows all about destiny, the law of surprise. Hopefully, she also knows the answers to Geralt’s questions. He thinks the child is in danger, or something.”

Jaskier’s story nearly shocked Y/N. It was the last thing she had expected! Geralt had a child? A Witcher had a child! It blew her mind to think about. It made sense why Geralt would go through such a hassle to find a mage. Whether Geralt admitted or not, he cared for the child. “So, you have a child.”

“By the law of surprise. Now Jaskier, I think you’ve said enough,” Geralt seemed upset for some reason. Clearly, he didn’t like to talk about it too much, so Y/N decided not to push his buttons.

Just in time, Y/N noticed the glimmering water, hiding behind a row of pine trees. The sun was shining brightly above them which Y/N noticed by the calm waves that reflected the golden rays. “Hey! We should stop. There’s a lake over there!” Y/N pointed at the water that was nearby. It was the perfect distraction from the conversation they just had.

The three of them turned to their right and walked towards the lake. Geralt would’ve liked to continue, but he knew that his companions would get hungry and thirsty much faster than him, so it was only fair to take a break. Once he ignored the fact, they were in an enchanted forest full of traps and dangers, it was quite a beautiful day. The sun was shining, it was warm and so far, it had been rather peaceful.

But Geralt couldn’t relax. He knew that if he lost focus, even he could get trapped. The enchanted forest’s spells could sneak into his head and make him wander off into the distance and never return to Jaskier and Y/N. It was the same for Jaskier, which was why Geralt had to keep him in sight at all times. Y/N on the other hand seemed to be unbothered by this. She could probably walk through the enchanted forest all on her own without getting lost. How? Geralt had no idea, but he wanted to know.

After a while, they had caught fish and Jaskier filled their bottles up with water from the sweet lake. They continued their journey much further into the forest. Hours passed and it got dark. As the sun disappeared from their sight, the air around them felt much colder. The shadows were darker, offering shelter to whatever dangerous creatures lurked around. Geralt knew they had to seek shelter for the night. They ended up stopping by a cliff that kept the wind from blowing through their clothes and making them cold. There were trees all around them and it felt safe. Geralt set up a bonfire as Y/N and Jaskier made the beds for the night. It felt almost too calm when the three of them sat around the bonfire and cooked the fish from earlier.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t wait to hit the hay!” Jaskier mumbled and yawned right after he finished his sentence. He had barely slept last night, since he spent so much time at the pub. It was understandable that he was tired. They had been walking since dawn.

“How are we going to sleep?” Y/N wondered as her eyes lingered of the flames that offered them heat and safety from certain predators. “I mean, to be safe we should keep close. If any of you two wake up in the middle of the night, I want to notice that. If you get lost from my sight, I can’t assure I’ll be able to find you.”

“Wait- what?” Jaskier suddenly didn’t sound as tired as he did a moment ago.

Geralt knew Y/N was right. He didn’t like the idea, but to be safe, they would have to sleep right next to each other. Hopefully, Y/N wouldn’t mind being sandwiched between the two of them. “I have rope with me. We could tie our wrists together. It should alarm anyone if we got up, right?” The Witcher suggested wisely.

“That’s perfect,” Y/N smiled. She seemed relieved now that she heard Geralt’s suggestion.

“Did you imply that the forest could make us wander off into the distance?” Jaskier still didn’t forget what Y/N said.

So, he didn’t know. “It can do much more than that if it sees you as a threat,” Y/N confirmed what Jaskier feared. The man didn’t look too excited anymore.

“Great!”

 As they got to bed, Jaskier fell asleep like a child. It meant that Y/N and Geralt were the only ones awake in the middle of an enchanted forest. It was a full moon night which meant it was cold. The blanket they had struggled to keep her body warm and she hated it when she felt how she trembled.

“Are you cold?” Geralt wondered with a soft voice.

“A little bit,” Y/N admitted. She knew there was no use in lying.

What the Witcher did next was surprising. He raised his arm and the blanket, “Come here,” He offered her to warm up right next to him.

Y/N’s heart leapt to her throat and she had to look away from him. Had he no idea how flustered he just made her? She nodded and then shifted over, immediately noticing how much warmer she was by his side. Geralt wrapped the blanket tightly around them and then he rested his arm on her waist, checking her facial expression to see if he had gone too far. She didn’t seem to mind. With that in mind, Geralt traced small patters on her stomach.

“Geralt?” Her voice was so small now. They were close enough that they could whisper and hear each other. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

“Hm?” He simply hummed, encouraging her to go on.

Y/N seemed shy for some reason. Her body was relaxed under his touch, so Geralt didn’t suspect it was that. “I missed you,” She finally admitted ever so quietly, but Geralt was certain he heard right. Three years ago, they parted rather unfortunately. They had been close. He knew it was unfair how things ended back then, but he believed they hadn’t lost that spark.

Her words made his heart swell. For someone who was known of having no feelings, he felt a lot right now. “I missed you too, Y/N.”

Geralt was the last to be awake. Y/N and Jaskier were fast asleep right next to him and surely enough, they were tied to each other by their wrists. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be attacked during the night or else they would find themselves in a clumsy situation. The full moon hung heavy above their heads as twinkling stars were scattered all across the dark sky. The fire was keeping them warm. If it wasn’t for the dangers Geralt knew of, he would’ve enjoyed the day. But he struggled to relax when he knew that the enchanted forest was full of threats.

He shifted his gaze from the moon to Y/N. She was right next to him. Her soft body was pressed against his chest and she seemed quite comfortable being so near to Geralt. She had fallen asleep very fast as Geralt had wrapped his strong arm around her body ever so safely.

Hoping to catch some sleep, Geralt nuzzled his face closer to Y/N. Her sweet scent pushed through his nostrils and it was almost scary how it relaxed him. Slowly, but surely, he fell asleep next to her. Geralt believed sincerely that nothing could harm her when she was in his arms. But nothing made sense in an enchanted forest. Anything could happen.

When he awoke, it only took him a few seconds to realize Y/N wasn’t in his arms. Jaskier was snoring lightly and Geralt realized that the rope was cut. Panic jolted him up on his feet and he searched their surroundings, hoping to see Y/N nearby. When Geralt realized she wasn’t around, he felt sick. Anger, worry and even fear spiked in his veins, making it feel like his blood was turning into ice. He knew she wouldn’t just leave them like this! Something was wrong. Geralt didn’t understand how he hadn’t woken up when she had! Was it the forest?

Afraid to leave Jaskier alone, Geralt woke him up. “Get up, Jaskier! Y/N’s gone,” He informed his travel companion almost in a panic.

Jaskier got up and looked at the piece of rope that hung lazily from his wrist. “What happened?” He wondered as he took it off. It only took a moment for Jaskier to feel frightened. “She’s gone?! Oh no, this is bad. This is really bad, Geralt!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Geralt growled. He didn’t like to raise his voice, but he was so worried and angry at himself for letting this happen that he couldn’t help himself. Without Y/N, it was only a question of time before the forest would possess them. They had to find her! “Fuck!”

An ear-piercing scream caught the two men’s attention. It didn’t come too far away, and it definitely sounded like Y/N. Without hesitation, Geralt ran off into the direction of her scream and Jaskier was fast to run after him. “Wait for me!”

Geralt, whose pulse was always extraordinarily calm, was now much harder. He looked all around him in a rush, barely acknowledging Jaskier who was struggling to keep up with him. She’s in danger, was the only thing that he chanted in his head. Geralt wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself if something happened to her now. It would be all his fault!

“Y/N!” Geralt called her name, his raspy voice echoing throughout the forest. Some birds that had rested were startled and they flew away from Geralt.

The smell of blood surprised him. It was fresh. It smelled like her and it made him sick to his stomach. Geralt took a sudden turn to his left and followed the scent of blood. He pushed his way through bushes. The spikes tore his clothes and his skin, but he didn’t care. Geralt had only one goal in his mind and it was to find Y/N.

Finally, he made his way through the plants and he found her. Y/N was forcefully pushed against a tree as some creature had dug its teeth deep into her neck. Tears were rolling down her face and she could hardly breathe because of the pain she was under.

It was a vampire!

“Get the fuck off of her!” Geralt growled angrily and ran towards the vampire. He noticed right off the bat that it was a higher vampire, easily someone you could mistake for a human. It smiled viciously at Geralt as it pulled its sharp teeth from Y/N’s neck that was now oozing with crimson red.

Geralt attacked the vampire swiftly and luckily, it let go of Y/N. He nearly grabbed it, but the vampire was fast. It dodged the Witcher’s attack and then ran towards Jaskier, possibly seeing his next target.

In a hurry, Geralt grabbed a silver dagger and he threw it towards the vampire, watching as the blade sunk into its back. The creature screeched in pain and fell on the ground clumsily. Geralt was ready to kill it, but he knew vampires were hard to kill. They were able to regenerate. Even if he cut his head off, that bastard would slowly but surely be fine. It didn’t mean Geralt couldn’t make it squirm in pain.

From his bag, Geralt grabbed a tiny bottle of vampire oil. “You should’ve kept your fangs away from her,” He said in a low voice, sounding haunting to Jaskier who was now by Y/N’s side, pressing his hand on her bleeding neck.

“How could I not taste the blood of such a special little mortal, hm? Not only is she a virgin, but there is something magical. She tasted so delicious!” The vampire grunted in pain, but it didn’t stop him from mocking Y/N.  Geralt pulled the dagger out of its back and stepped on its shoulder blade, keeping the vampire from getting up.

A special little mortal. A virgin. Geralt felt disgusted by the vampire for revealing that about Y/N. It was her private matters and this fanged lunatic was talking about it as if being a virgin was simply an ingredient of its meal. “You’re a higher vampire! You don’t need blood to survive. What were you thinking?” Geralt wondered as he poured vampire oil on the silver blade. The vampire could smell the oil and all of a sudden, it tried to free itself from Geralt’s grasp – hopelessly.

“Forgive me, Witcher! She was too tempting to resist!” It seemed ready to beg in order to be set free.

Geralt’s rage was too great in order to have mercy for this vampire. The consequences it had now put on Y/N’s shoulders were unforgivable. Without hesitation, Geralt grabbed the vampire’s dark hair and pulled it against his chest. “Crawl back into the little hole you came out of and never, I mean never ever get in my sight ever again or else I’ll be sure to mutilate you, so it takes centuries for you to regenerate!” Geralt threatened the vampire with a burning passion, surprising Jaskier who had never heard Geralt this enraged by a monster.

An eye for an eye, Geralt thought as he pushed the sharp blade, coated in vampire oil, deep into its neck. The vampire tossed and turned in pain as the vampire oil took effect, bringing great pain upon it. It cursed in an unknown language. Geralt couldn’t find pity for the creature that could’ve easily killed Y/N for no good reason! He retreated his silver dagger and then got up, watching as the injured vampire made its great escape. Once it was gone, he rushed to Y/N’s aid. His anger was faded and was replaced by deep worry.

Y/N was crying uncontrollably. Her entire body was shaking in fear and from the shock as blood poured out of the bite marks on her neck. Geralt noticed that she had put up a fight as well. her palms were bleeding and she had skin underneath her nails. There was a bruise forming on her cheek and on her knuckles. The sight of her was heavy on his heart.

Silently, with his mind full of guilt, Geralt got down next to her and decided to tend to her wounds. He grabbed a bottle of dark liquid from his bag, popping it open and then he put the neck of the bottle on Y/N’s lips. She didn’t resist it as Geralt made her drink some of the nasty liquid. As she had drunk enough, he pulled it away. “This will hurt,” He warned her, feeling sorry for what he was about to do. Y/N grabbed Geralt’s wrist and he felt how warm her blood was against his skin. It sickened him. Then he poured the rest of the liquid on the bite mark, watching how her skin bubbled around it and the blood made a fizzy sound. At least, the bleeding stopped, and her wound was clean. She wouldn’t bleed out. She whimpered in pain and her nails dug into Geralt’s wrist, which he didn’t mind at all. It was nothing compared to the pain she felt.

Jaskier could hardly look at her. He had witnessed terrible things, but it hurt much worse to see a friend in distress.

Once Geralt was done tending her wounds, he pulled the frightened woman into his arms. Her body rested on his lap and she hid her face against his chest. Geralt was beyond relieved that they found her, but he felt physically ill because of the guilt. He was the one who dragged her into this forest. If he had let her live peacefully, she would be fine! It seemed like whenever Geralt cared about someone, something bad happened to them.

Y/N sobbed against his chest for a while, until she finally began to calm down. It took her a while to realize she was safe. The pain in her neck eased and she allowed her body to relax against Geralt’s. He saved her.

“We’re leaving,” Geralt made up his mind.

Despite her pain, Y/N decided to argue against that. “No,” She whispered, sniffling as she caught her breath. “We can’t l-leave now.”

“You almost got killed!” Geralt protested angrily, but it was clear his anger was directed at himself.

Y/N locked her eyes with his. For a moment, she wished she could just hold him, kiss him and tell him that everything is alright. She didn’t want him to dwell in guilt. After all, he had saved her. It was all that mattered!

It was clear Y/N wasn’t going to say anything, at least not yet, so Jaskier joined the conversation. “We’ve come quite far, Geralt. If she wants to continue, perhaps…perhaps it’s not too silly of an idea. What are the odds of another vampire attacking us?” Jaskier had been alarmed too, but he somehow managed to see the bright side of any situation.

Geralt clenched his jaw, holding himself back from snapping at Jaskier.

Y/N took a deep, shaky breath, “He’s right, Geralt. I’ll be fine.”

“The hell you will! Once the changes are beginning to take place, you’ll wish you’d be in the safety of your own home – not here!”

The changes?

“What are you talking about, Geralt?” Y/N was almost too afraid to ask him.

His golden eyes softened up and it almost looked like he pitied her. He braced himself to explain it by holding onto her a little tighter. This wouldn’t be easy to deliver. “You were bit by a higher vampire. You didn’t die. The poison is already in your system and it reached your heart only a few seconds after his teeth sunk into you. Y/N-,” Geralt stopped, struggling to finish what he was saying. She looked at him with wide eyes full of fear. She even held her breath in anticipation as she listened to the Witcher. “You’re going to be a vampire, Y/N.”

“Woah!” Jaskier bit his fist in order to shut himself up. Geralt shot him a nasty glare and the man had to take a few steps back.

Y/N felt her entire body stiffen on Geralt’s lap.

She would become a vampire?!

The realization struck every nerve in her body. She felt terrified! Every rumor and tale she had ever heard of them would now become her life. Would she too crave blood? Would she ever be able to stand under sunlight again? She had so many questions running in spirals in her head, but not a single word left her mouth.

Geralt noticed how shock took control over her entire body. The poor woman could hardly breathe properly.

“I’ll take you home. You don’t have to see us ever again if that’s what you want,” Geralt offered reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to walk away from her again, but he understood her wishes if it was what she wanted. All of a sudden, Y/N wrapped her arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

“P-Please don’t leave me! Not…Not again, not like this!” Y/N pleaded almost desperately. She didn’t want to be alone again nor did she want to go through major changes alone. Y/N knew that Geralt knew what was happening to her body. If only he could guide her though it.

“Guys,” Jaskier tried to get their attention. At first, neither of them heard him. 

Geralt ran his large hand up and down her back in a calming manner as she held onto him for dear life. 

“Guys!” Jaskier tried again, only gaining the Witcher’s attention. “Can’t the mage help Y/N?”

Jaskier was a genius! There was a chance a mage could remove the inevitable changes that could take control over Y/N. If anyone could do it, it would have to be a mage. It would be worth a shot, right? 

[PART 2]

A/N: Yay! Here’s my first ever the Witcher fic! If you’d like to be tagged in part 2, let me know :) Your feedback would mean a lot to me! Especially now that I’m new to this fandom.

[ozymandiascezn]

schrei es in die winde ||1|| chapter one

fandom original pairing original oc x original oc warnings potential/references to depression and dark thoughts - “What are you staring at?” “You.” “Why? You see me every day!” He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, his eyes remain on her, on the dress she wears and how she twirls in it. How she smiles when she’s wearing it. She’s the air that he breathes. “I know.” She’s so drastically different than him, smaller, petite, but filled with so much fight. Brown hair curls around her shoulders, long and wavy, eyes doe-like and brown, filled with love that only she could harbor for him. The dress is red, a compliment to her pale complexion and dark eyes. It’s his least favorite color, but when she wears it, his whole world topples upside down and robs him of his breath.

He remembers the red dress vividly, the last dress she had worn. He despises it now, he despises every color, but not nearly as much as he hates red. It was the last thing he saw her wear. He doubted he could ever look at a single thing of hers and feel the love and adoration he once had — it’s all replaced with voices that say it’s his fault. The study is quiet, the room is dark. The curtains cover the windows and not even the lanterns are on. It’s the only comfort he can afford himself, the only grief he can allow himself to feel. The tears he has cried so far burn, denting his skin with their bitterness. They followed the creases in his skin, leaving a trail of fire. The saltiness of his pain burns, it burns far more than he ever wanted it to. Papers on his desk draw his attention; business papers that need resolving and responses. A textile factory and several printing presses are all under his name and they need funds, ideas, plans on where to go next. What new clothing pattern is “in”, what is going on in the world, all of it belongs to him. And all of it needs him to be at his best. There’s no time for grieving, no time to just sit and wonder how it all fell apart. “She’s all settled into her new room.” The voice startles Andrej more than he’d care to admit, but when he recovers and notices Victoria standing in the doorway, he relaxes. “Lovely,” he coughs, returning his gaze to the papers before him, “can you take a look at these samples for me? The factory wants to know what to go with for the summer styles.” She approaches, quietly, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You just suffered a great loss and you’re working? I’m sure all this can afford to wait.” “The world doesn’t wait for those who grieve, we just accept our fate and move on.” He replies gruffly, and though his heart shatters a little more at his own words, he knows he’s right. The world continues to move, he can’t afford to stop while everything else carries on. Weakness makes him easy to prey on. “I appreciate your concern, but work must continue. Now, which sample should I send back?” Frustrated, Victoria just points to one of the samples and watches as he tosses the other two away. She can tell he’s hurting, it’s in the way his hands shake, it’s in the way he won’t meet her gaze, and it’s in the way the room is so dark. “At least take some breaks, okay? The world needs you, but we need you more.” She sighs softly, eyeing him for a moment longer. “You should come down to dinner. Get acclimated with the things shifting around.” He looks up, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment. “Vic, I appreciate whatever it is you’re aiming to do, but I just want to be alone. Please.” “Okay, okay, just… just remember to look after yourself. I’ll be up to bring you something to eat around dinnertime.” She leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. He’s alone again and it’s something he hasn’t felt in such a long time. The loneliness is soul crushing, especially when you know just under this roof is someone you once held so dear. But he’s done what he can do, now he must work. Ink meets paper, twirling to meet words that fall from his fingertips like a lie falls from the lips of an experienced thief. He’s done things like this a million times that it now all feels so natural to him. It’s clockwork. If the amount of fabric exceeds the amount of money they have, he siphons money from Engelbrecht Printing to pay for whatever they can’t, and vice versa. Though people could afford to go without the newspaper, but clothes were a much needed necessity. Sometimes people needed favors, be it through opening a tab or sharing information. On occasion this information has aided him in freeing many mutants from a fate worse than death. They were a hunted species, one whose only crime was being born with powers beyond the general public’s understanding. Time and time again he had witnessed his brothers and sisters be murdered in their homes, in the streets, anywhere they were found. You could be accused of being a mutant and if you had no means to silence such

accusations, you would be. Andrej was the Jack of All Trades. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t do — though it all comes at a great price. He’s learned long ago to keep everything under wraps, but the randomness of his mutant ability comes in handy when he rescues others like him. Especially when he smuggles them across the border into Canada. Though he isn’t lucky enough to decide what ability he gets to use, it is still a useful tool regardless. Oftentimes it’s set at the ability to control the final destination of a bullet. It’s what he’s known for. He’s grown tired of it — reasonably so. He’s been fighting the fight for mutants ever since he was old enough to understand the severity of existing as a mutant. He fought to protect mutants in Germany, now he has to do the same in America. But after the fall of New Tech after the twenty-first century, having to constantly monitor what goes into the daily paper before it’s put out has its toll. He controls what the people see, typically only making sure everything is propaganda free, but oftentimes, something slips by. To the untrained eye, the things that slip by are just jumbled messes, but to Andrej, they’re threats. They’re hints at where to find bodies, where they’re going to strike mutants next, etc. All of which has puts a large burden on his shoulders. The papers can wait, he decides, heading out of the study and downstairs. Papers like that can always wait. He’s never been one to enjoy the sights they had to offer anyways. She’s down there, with Victoria, and the paperboy he often uses to deliver most of his messages. Elizabeth, Victoria, and Philip. They’re playing a game of chess with Philip watching, but the moment he enters the room, they look at him. “Oh! I got a letter for you, boss!” Philip is on his feet, rummaging through his pockets to produce a slightly crumpled letter. “Came all the way from Germany, Sir! Just for you!” Andrej eyes him with suspicion before taking the letter. “Have you had coffee today, Philip? It’s not healthy for you. You get too hyper.” Philip is a little over a foot shorter than he is with golden hair and dark green eyes. He’s freckled, but his face is covered in dirt from his run to the shared home. He’s content with fulfilling his duties though, sparing Andrej a sloppy grin. “Maybe, Sir, but it looked tasty!” He retorts, keeping his lopsided grin. “Whatcha gettin’ letters from Germany for?” “It’s nothing of importance,” he tucks the letter away, “most likely in regards to my sister, but I’ll read it later.” “Sister? You have a sister?” Elizabeth perks up and he tenses incredibly. She’s beautiful, a lot more than he ever seemed to recall. But he forces his mind to think of her as average. She has average brown hair, average brown eyes, average voice. Nothing outstanding about her. He purses his lips, as if deciding whether she was worth talking to or not. “I do. She writes often.” “Then shouldn’t you read it and respond to her? I’m sure she’d be eager to hear your response!” She’s bright and happy, a complete opposite to everything he’s become. To everything that stands in Old York. She doesn’t belong here. “When I read and respond to my mail, is not your concern.” He returns, sharp and quick with his words. “She can wait a while until I have time. For now, there’s stuff to be done.” “Not more work is it? You’ve been working way too much for someone who lost the love of his life.” Victoria warns, eyeing him suspiciously. “I guess we’ll never know what I’m up to, then,” he retorts, returning her warning gaze, “I have to go drop by the factory and after that a trip to the main printing shop. I’m looking at buying more property, a bar, maybe. Can never have too much alcohol, besides, people talk when they’re drunk. We need that information.” Victoria leans back, brows raised. “Don’t make any quick decisions on the bar, then. We should look at locations that’ll provide a higher chance of accurate information.” “I’ve got a few places picked out, they’re in a folder on my desk somewhere. You’re welcome to look through

them,” Andrej nods, distracted almost, “and while you’re at it, there’s a few pages I pulled from printing that mention some young mutants. I’ve found where they are, just bring them here so we can get them set up.” She watches him curiously. “Can I take Elizabeth? Show her how we roll around here? Philip can come too, they’ll probably trust him more if they’re near his age.” “Take who you like, Vic. Just keep an eye out. Things have been getting rough all around.” He pulls out a watch from his vest pocket, opening it to check the time. “Three hours. I’ll need you back in three hours. Not a minute later unless you’re looking for trouble. I’m short staffed already, I don’t need more.” Philip lets out a small whoop of excitement much to Andrej’s utter dismay, but at least someone was enjoying themselves. He’s only thirteen so Andrej can’t quite fault him for the excitement, even if it’s a little false and wrong to feel such an emotion in a time of great turmoil. Not like people were dropping like flies every day. “Andrej, you’re doing the thing again,” Victoria snaps her fingers in front of her eyes, “you zoned out again. You should see someone about that, you’ve been doing it pretty often recently.” “It’s just stress, I’ll be fine. A little rest is all that can cure stress, I’m afraid, and right now I can’t do that.” He shakes his head, though, every part of him whines for him to just stop and rest. He can’t let his mind wander to darker spaces, not when there are still people who need to be saved. If he falters once, he might not come back from it. “I’ll rest when I can, okay? Just give me some time.” “Alright,” Victoria relents, smiling, “you should take a stop by O’Conner’s when you come back. Pick up some of that good bread, and maybe, just maybe some sweets? We all deserve it.” He snorts. “Yes, yes. I’ll bring back some good bread and sweets. You’re all a bunch of addicted fools, but I’ll do it anyway.” He can feel Elizabeth’s eyes on him, but he shakes the uneasy feeling as he finally heads out. He doesn’t like being looked at like that, nor was he a fan of her, really, but the staring made him feel like he was in some sort of freak show. It robs him of everything in one fell swoop, as if he’s nothing but a freak to throw things at.

[allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup]

Love is History

*taps mic* is this thing on? (I stole that from Obama. He was still in office last time I posted my writing). 

So fun thing I did - write an angsty sequel to Love is Fiction. If you’ve never read it, it just got over 300 notes this past week. I figured it was time to dust this off from my drafts and complete it. 

I hope you like it and my voice sounds similiar to the last election year when I put this out. Honestly I’m so different now and I think this captures the changes I’ve gone through and the way I view relationships now opposed to four years ago. 

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters.

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing.

She thought she’d never write their break up.

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US.

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment.

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/-

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed.

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas.

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga.

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind.

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay.

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find.

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to.

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy.

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.”

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name.

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/- “Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week.

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand.

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days.

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth?

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months.

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid.

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him.

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut.

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence.

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment.

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.”

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place.

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth.

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart. Finally, an email came in.

Emma, I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart. Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop.

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention?

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.” She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing.

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. Are you up? It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word.

-/- She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it.

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.”

-/- He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. “Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness.

“Killian...”

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it.

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil.

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps.

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book.

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end.

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold.

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love.

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other.

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters. 

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing. 

She thought she’d never write their break up. 

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US. 

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment. 

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/- 

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed. 

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas. 

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

 -/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga. 

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind. 

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay. 

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find. 

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face. 

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again. 

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to. 

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her. 

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career. 

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy. 

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal. 

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?” 

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden. 

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.” 

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.” 

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name. 

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later. 

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/-

“Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today. 

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR. 

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week. 

“We had a meeting at 2:30.” 

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly. 

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand. 

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle. 

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days. 

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called. 

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off. 

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth? 

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months. 

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him. 

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid. 

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him. 

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut. 

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence. 

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating. 

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?” 

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?” 

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about. 

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment. 

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged. 

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye. 

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness. 

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break. 

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion. 

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received. 

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall. 

She is less. 

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before. 

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone. 

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.” 

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place. 

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do. 

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.” 

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth. 

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart.

Finally, an email came in.

Emma,

I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart.

Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is? 

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.” 

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.” 

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop. 

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention? 

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

 “Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.” 

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way. 

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay? 

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove. 

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly. 

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it. 

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.”

She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs. 

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing. 

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured. 

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history. 

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.” 

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. 

Are you up?

It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man. 

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.” 

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door? 

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart. 

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it? 

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.” 

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word. 

-/-

She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word. 

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it. 

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.” 

-/-

He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. 

“Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous. 

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.” 

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness. 

“Killian...” 

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.” 

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls. 

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it. 

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil. 

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his. 

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand. 

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. 

Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps. 

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear. 

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before. 

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book. 

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’ 

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end. 

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold. 

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love. 

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other. 

[miguel-manbemel]

Thomas’ Spooky Halloween-y Date

It’s Halloween, and as I promised, here’s the Halloween one-off special Sanders Sides story I promised two weeks ago. It is out of the main narrative of the Aspects & Fanfics story, and it’s also formatted in regular prose instead of the habitual script format the main story follows. Before you read it, know that the plot is set two months after the latest Sanders Asides, “Flirting with Social Anxiety”, so if you haven’t watched it yet, don’t read any further until you watch it or you’ll get spoilered right from the first line. But it’s been more than two weeks, so I won’t be marking it as spoilers anymore. I hope you enjoy this spooky but romantic story and I’ll see you in two weeks, back to the regular posting schedule with the main story. Happy Halloween!

WARNINGS: It’s a romantic story featuring moments of drama and death mentions. It’s impossible to avoid them if we set the story on Halloween, though, and expect also mentions to ghosts and spooky creatures.

Thomas parked the car in front of Nico’s door. There were children everywhere, going from door to door with their trick-or-treat. He always loved that day of the year, ever since he was a child. He would always enjoy that day no matter what, but this year, it was his first Halloween since he started dating Nico, and the first Halloween he wouldn’t spend single since he had forgotten how long. He knew this year would be special. When Nico phoned him to come along for Halloween, he wouldn’t even hesitate. He always enjoyed his company and spending Halloween with him couldn’t be a better plan.

“I wonder if he’s prepared something for Halloween.” Thomas thought to himself “Nico is the most romantic guy I have ever met in my life and I’m sure he’s gonna make this day spookily fantastic. He loves Nightmare before Christmas, I’m sure he enjoys Halloween just as much as I do.”

“Of course he does, Thomas!” Roman said from the backseat.

“Oh, Roman, you startled me!”

“Sorry. But what are you waiting for inside your carriage, Thomas? Go to his door already and knock! Don’t keep him waiting!”

“Easy, Roman.” Virgil said, appearing next to him. “First, Thomas must check that he’s looking his best. You don’t want Linda to ruin his appearance in front of Nico, do you?”

“I checked myself already, Virgil. I combed my hair carefully and used gel so that Linda doesn’t visit us tonight. Wow, I made Linda sound as if she was the Oogie-Boogie Man.”

“She can be more terrifying, Thomas, especially in romantic occasions.” Virgil said “Are you sure you look okay? Check yourself again in the mirror.”

Thomas sighed and looked at himself in the driving mirror. There was no sign of cowlicks. At Roman’s suggestion, with the telephonic guidance and advice of Talyn, he had put a little dash of natural-looking makeup on his cheeks, and his face looked brighter and healthier than ever, with no visible trace of the ugly green pimple in the middle of the forehead he had woken up with that morning. Nope, he was looking his best and there was nothing to be worried about. Nico already liked is regular appearance, and tonight he was going to fall in love with him again.

“I look fine, Virge, please settle down, at least for tonight. I wanna have a calm and lovely Halloween date with Nico and I want everything to be perfect. Please, I beg you, grant me that wish, at least for tonight.”

“Okay, Thomas, I’ll try. You know I don’t work like that, but I’ll try for you.”

“Thanks, emo friend.” Thomas said, smiling at Virgil through the mirror. “Okay, my face and hair look fine, I just put on my best perfume, and I brought a little bag of Halloween candy that doesn’t include candy corn. What could go wrong?”

Thomas got out of the car and walked to the door. He rang the bell and waited there. He couldn’t help smiling when he noticed a bunch of creepy pumpkins next to the front window, full of cobwebs.

“He truly lives Halloween just as passionately as I do.” he thought “If soulmates do exist, I think he could be my own soulmate, or at least the closest to a soulmate I could ever get. We’ve been dating only for a couple of months and I’m feeling closer and closer to him each and everyday. I… I love him.”

The door opening interrupted his train of thought. Nico appeared there, with a skeleton makeup and a tattered black suit full of dust. The gloomy makeup couldn’t conceal the brightness of his smile. Thomas smiled back.

“Uh… trick or treat?” Thomas said, handing the bag of candy. “You should have warned me to come in a costume.”

“It’s okay,” Nico said “I wouldn’t have wanted you to come any other way. You look gorgeous as usual.”

Thomas smiled bashfully. He had forgotten the feeling of his appearance being complimented on a regular basis and Nico always knew how to boost his moral and make him feel like the handsomest man in the world. Since he had met him, he had started to forget the feeling of doubting his self worth. Nico always reminded him of how important he was, how much worthy of love he was and how much his presence in the world mattered, no matter what, and that’s what he loved the most about his boyfriend: that first and foremost, Nico reminded Thomas of all the reasons he had to love himself on a regular basis and pushed him to love himself above all else. Thomas felt really lucky to have met him at the mall. It was a chance in a million and Lady Luck, for once, had been generous with him.

“Thank you, I guess. You’re gonna make me blush.”

“I’m only saying the truth, Thomas. But don’t stay there, come in… if you dare…” he ended this phrase with a creepy voice and an over the top spooky laugh that made Thomas chortle.

“Of course…” Thomas said entering the house. “Did you have any plans for tonight?”

“First and foremost, dinner will be ready in no time. I made pizza rolls. Didn’t buy them, I made them from scratch. They’re in the oven right now.

“Homemade pizza rolls? That sounds delicious!”

“I know they’re your favorite food and since you’re now following healthy habits and you don’t eat them as often anymore, I wanted to make them just for you, for this special occasion. I just hope I haven’t messed up with the recipe and that I don’t end up burning them.”

“Gosh, Nico. You’re always thinking on me and on what’s best for me. I really feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

“I am the lucky one, Thomas. Your sunshiny disposition always makes my day a thousand times brighter. Of course I want you to have the best of the best, because you’re the best of the best for me.”

“I love you, so much.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

“Is this a competition about who loves who more? Because I intend to win it.”

“I won’t make it easy for you, honey.”

Nico kissed Thomas. Then they stared at each other for a couple of seconds, as if the world had stopped around them. Roman and Virgil, a couple of steps afar, watched the scene. Roman was crying out of emotion. Virgil’s eyeshadow couldn’t be shinier in purple.

“Gosh. Could he be any cuter?” Roman said, squealing.

“I really think Thomas’ life has only got better and better since we met him. I wonder if there’s a top for this turmoil of excitement he makes me feel every time Thomas is with him.”

“Glad to have you aboard the romance train, Virge. This wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for you, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Roman. I don’t regret that push at all, and…” suddenly Virgil became really serious and his eyeshadow suddenly turned black. “Wait, wait a second… What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Roman inquired.

“Don’t you sense that smell?” suddenly panicking “Something’s burning! Quickly, set the alarms! Everybody save yourselves! Thomas!”

Thomas’ suddenly perceived the smell too.

“Nico, something’s burning!”

“Oh, no!” Nico said, scared, running to the kitchen.

Thomas followed him. There was black smoke coming out of the oven. Nico quickly tried to open the oven, but in the rush, he forgot to wear a glove and burned his hand.

“Ouch, my hand!” he yelled, in pain.

“Be careful!” Thomas said, grabbing the glove on the counter next to the oven. Then he opened the oven and took the tray out. All the pizza rolls were completely charred and black. He left the tray in a safe place on the counter, coughing a little bit out of the smoke. Then he opened the window to let the smoke out and turned the oven temperature off.

“Aw, my hand…” Nico said, grimacing in pain. “This looks like a bad burn.”

“Let me see” Thomas said. There were blisters on Nico’s palm. “This doesn’t look good. Put your hand under the running tap. Cold water may be helpful to relieve the pain.”

Thomas opened the tap and Nico put his hand under the water stream.

“I’m so sorry, Thomas.” Nico said with a sad face, also grimacing in pain at times “I think I lost notion of time and I messed everything up…”

“It’s okay, Nico. It was an accident, and the most important thing for me is that you’re okay.”

After a couple of minutes, Thomas turned the water off and dried Nico’s hand carefully, then they both went to the living room. Logan appeared next to the couple and examined the wound.

“The burn doesn’t look bad enough to call 911, but it’ll need a little bit of care. Has Nico got some bandages?”

“Have you?” Thomas asked.

“Have I what?” Nico said, confused.

Thomas remembered that Nico couldn’t hear or see Logan as he was in his imagination.

“Oh, sorry, I was thinking to myself and forgot to speak aloud. I meant if you have some bandages.”

“Oh… Yes, in the medical kit, on that closet under the stairs.”

“Okay, you sit down at the table and I’ll go fetch the medical kit.”

“Do you have medical knowledge, Thomas?”

“Only the basics, you know, first aid assistance and all. I took a couple of courses when I was in college studying chemical engineering. Cause you never know, they could come in handy at any time. And see? The time has come.” Thomas got the medical kit from the closet and carried it to the table, then examined its contents. “Aha! Here are the bandages… and look, here’s some burn cream.”

“An aloe vera burning ointment… A wise choice to treat burns,” Logan said, “much better than the traditional oil-based burn ointment which can do more harm than good depending on the type of burn.”

“You really got this thought out, didn’t you, Nico?” Thomas said.

“Well,” Nico said, bashfully, “let’s just say that this is not the first time I burned myself while trying to cook. I wanted to step out of my comfort zone by trying to cook something for you but I messed everything up. I should have simply ordered a pizza, but I didn’t want to do something so dull for our Halloween date, I wanted it to be special.”

“Don’t worry, Nico. I’m not the best cook either and I appreciate the love you put into this… Okay, here I go. Are you ready? This might hurt a bit.”

“I’m ready.”

Thomas applied the burn cream, spreading it over the burn as gently as he could. Then, he started wrapping Nico’s hand with the bandage. Sometimes, Nico grimaced in pain, but most of the time, he just stared at Thomas with a loving glance. Thomas didn’t notice as he was focused on applying the bandage as painlessly as he could. When he was done, he tied the edge and secured the bandage.

“Done. You should see a doctor, though, as soon as you can so that they can advise better on that wound.”

Nico didn’t answer. He just leaned over and kissed Thomas on the cheek, staining the cheek with his white skeleton makeup.

“Thank you. Sorry I stained your face.”

“You’re welcome.” Thomas said, smiling back. “Well, it seems that we can’t eat these little pieces of coal in the kitchen. Do you want me to order some pizza?”

“I’d be glad. I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

“For the last time, I don’t need you to give me more. I came here to spend time with you, not with your food. And besides, I adore pizza, I don’t mind at all to have it for dinner. So…”

Suddenly the sound of the oven bell ringing startled him.

“What was that?” Thomas said.

“That… that was the oven… the sign that I should take the pizza rolls out…”

“How much time did you program on the oven, Nico?”

“The time specified on the recipe. Look.”

Nico showed Thomas his phone and Thomas read something on the screen. Logan read the screen too.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Thomas.” Logan said, “The time specified on this recipe is totally safe. It would have been impossible that the pizza rolls had got burnt if they’ve been in the oven for this time only. If anything, it would have been the opposite, they would have come out a little raw and would have needed a little more time.”

“How is it possible that the pizza rolls got burnt when they spent so little time in the oven? Are you sure you didn’t introduce something wrong on the timer?” Thomas said.

“Yes, I’m sure, Thomas. I’m not the best cook, but I can read, and I double-checked that the timer was right.”

“Then, how could the pizza rolls get burnt? This doesn’t make any sense…”

Suddenly all the lights in the house turned off.

“What the…?” Nico started saying.

But he was interrupted by the sound of something made of glass crashing on the floor in another room followed by a creepy voice laughing and yelling with a squeaky voice: “Who broke this vase!? Hehehehehehe…”

“Okay…” Thomas said with a trembling voice “…if this is your idea of a creepy Halloween, I commend you for your creativity… but I beg you to stop right now, this is too scary for me…”

“I don’t have any part on this, Thomas…” Nico said with an equally trembling voice “I don’t know what is going on.”

Logan looked around.

“All of this has a strangely familiar look, just like that voice. I think I know that…”

Suddenly one light turned on in the middle of the table where Thomas and Nico were sitting. Remus was there, dressed as a zombie, with one eye hanging and blood all over his body.”

“AAAAAYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!” Remus screeched demonically.

Thomas screeched, scared, before he recognized Remus. Nico just stared at the apparition, and with the same gesture and no words coming out of his mouth, he flopped down on the table, unconscious.

“Nico!” Thomas yelled “Nico, are you all right?”

Thomas checked Nico. He had simply fainted.

“What is going on here!?” Thomas yelled.

“Hahahahaha! I surely scared the sh*t out of your boyfriend, didn’t I? Both of you in fact, you should have seen your faces! Hahahahaha!”

“Shut up, Remus! For starters, how in the world could Nico see you!? I thought you were just a figment of my imagination and that only I could see you!”

“Well, you thought wrong, Thomas! Not tonight at least! Tonight is the night where all nightmares become real, and tonight I’m your worst nightmare, Thomas!”

“Remus, will you stop these ridiculous antics!?” Logan said. “You could have killed Nico out of a heart attack! You know we’re not supposed to interact with other humans, it’s against the rules of Sides!”

Remus shifted back into his normal form.

“Oh, to the hell with rules! No rules can bind me, and you know it!”

“Wait, so all of you can become visible at will?” Thomas said “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.” Remus said with a mocking grin.

“It’s a little complicate, Thomas.” Virgil started saying, until he was interrupted.

“Nico, are you all right!?” Patton yelled after rising up, with a grimace of fear and an over the top concern “Please, talk to me!”

“Okay, okay, guys, enough is enough” Janus said, appearing “What will happen if now Nico starts seeing us? You’re endangering Thomas’ relationship, and bearing in mind his streak of luck, he’s not in a position of wasting relationships…”

“Yeah, I want to keep Nico as our final prize, I don’t want to lose him!

“Oh, brother, you don’t have to worry about anything. You, Light Sides, didn’t know it, but for us, Dark Sides, it was a secret common knowledge that if we never shared it with you, it was because Janus wouldn’t let us.” Remus said.

“What do you mean, Remus?” Roman said. Logan and Patton also looked at Remus, in confusion.

“Can I, Janus?” Remus inquired.

“Only if Thomas wants, Remus, you know the rules.” Janus said.

“Oh, I do want,” Thomas said “I want to know what Remus means.”

“Okay, go ahead Remus.” Janus said.

“Thank you, snake boy. If Nico can see us, then that means that…”

Suddenly, Nico rose his face from the table. Everyone stared at him in silence. The first thing he saw was Janus and his snake face.

“Hi, Mr. Floresssssss” Janus says, hissing with his forked tongue.

Nico immediately fainted again.

“Guys!” Roman yelled “Are you trying to make Thomas a widower before he even marries!?”

“Preposterous.” Logan said “To be a widower you need to be married beforehand, at least legally.”

“That’s the intention,” Roman said “if he reaches the altar alive, that is!”

“Enough!” Thomas yelled. “Everyone get out of sight, now, before he sees you again!”

The Sides shrugged and turned invisible for Thomas, all of them except Remus.

“You too, Remus, you’re the cause of all of this and I don’t want you here! Well, I never want you around but much less right now!”

“Aww, too bad that you’re not my boss, Tommy Boy! You can’t force me to do anything as you remember.”

Thomas sighed.

“At least, could you please become invisible for Nico? Please, he’s survived two strong impressions in a row. He has a young heart, but still, a third shock like that could be fatal for anyone!”

“Okay, I will. But only because I think Nico’s hot and I don’t want him to die yet, not at least before you two…” and he completed the phrase with a lot of… expressive words that this narrator is not willing to quote.

Thomas ignored Remus and started fanning Nico with his hand.

“Nico, are you all right? Wake up, please! Nico!”

Nico started waking up. At first he showed a face of confusion. Then he suddenly showed a face of fear and looked around, anxious.

“Where are they? Where are they!?”

“Uh… where are who?”

“That zombie on the table, and then the snake-man! I remember very well I saw them, and so did you!”

“Uh… well…” Thomas said with a stuttering nervous voice.

Nico looked at Thomas right in the eye, then he went serious and started speaking.

“You’re hiding something from me, Thomas. I can feel it. You always get into that nervous attitude when you’re trying to conceal something that bothers you. You’re not a very good liar, no matter how hard you try.”

Janus watched the scene a few steps behind, invisible for them, frowning at Nico with an offended face.

“Listen, I wouldn’t push you to tell me secrets you don’t want anyone to know, but if I know you, and in just two months I think I know you well already, you only put that face of remorse when you think I should know something but you don’t tell me because you’re afraid or ashamed. If that’s the case, please, open up to me.” Nico held Thomas’ hands “I love you. You don’t need to be afraid and your secret will always be safe with me, I promise. No one will know through my lips. Please, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Nico. And I don’t want to have secrets with you. It’s just that I never thought I would ever need to tell you this, to you or to anybody at all. And I never told you about this, because I feared that you would think you were dating a weirdo. What am I saying? I’m probably a weirdo anyway…”

Nico frowned at Thomas.

“Thomas, I forbid you to speak about yourself in these terms! You’re not a weirdo! You’re the sanest man I’ve ever met and I will physically fight you if you say otherwise!”

“Heh… physically fight me? It’s not the first time I heard someone say these words. And it’s only appropriate that you mentioned them just now. Maybe it’s true we are soulmates after all…”

“You’re diverting, Thomas. Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Well… promise you won’t freak out or think I’m mad?”

“I’ve already promised. Go ahead, please.”

“You see, all of my life there’s been this exercise I made when I wanted to put my ideas in order, or I wanted to analyze my train of thoughts carefully to find solutions to the dilemmas I regularly face in my life. I imagined that the different aspects of my personality, you know, my morality, my logical thinking, my anxiety and my creativity and romanticism, where, like, different people. I visualized them in front of me and sustained conversations with them, and imagined that the thoughts in my head were actually words said by them. It helped me to externalize these thoughts and view them critically and as objectively as I could.”

Nico just looked at Thomas in silence.

“Well, up to a minute ago… I thought that all these people, who I called the Sanders Sides, you know the sides of my personality, were imaginary and only in my head. But Remus… that’s the name of my forbidden creativity, the thoughts I try to repress in my mind which show up as intrusive thoughts… decided to prank us… and showed up in the middle of the table dressed as a zombie. I thought only I could see him… until you fainted out of the impression. I never knew other people could see them if they wanted to. Heck, I don’t even understand how they can do it at all. I’m so sorry, I should have told you earlier. I’ll understand if you’re mad at me, and if you don’t want to date me anymore, it would kill me, because I love you with all my heart, but I’d accept your choice. Well? What do you say?”

Nico kept looking at Thomas. Slowly a face of surprise started appearing on his face. Thomas showed a face of fear.

“You have Lados too?”

“What?” Thomas said, stunned. He didn’t expect that answer at all.

“Yes, Lados. That’s how I call them, it’s the word in Spanish for Sides, which is what you call them. I… I thought I was the only one who had them!”

Roman, Logan and Patton stared at Nico, with their mouths wide open. Remus just smiled mockingly and said:

“That’s the secret I was trying to tell you before he woke up. If Nico could see me, that means he also has the ability to turn his thoughts into Sides, which means he has his own Sides too. Not all humans can see us, only those who have Sides can.”

“Wow, I should have known earlier, you know?” Thomas said, looking at Remus.

“I’m sorry I should have told you… Wait, who are you talking to?” Nico said, confused, noticing Thomas was staring at an empty space.

“Oh, I guess he’s still invisible to you now… I was talking to Remus, he’s over there, even if you don’t see him.”

“I see… That’s an expression, of course. Remus, wherever you are, that was a good prank, you really scared the crap out of me.”

“Thank you, Nico!” Remus said, startling Nico after suddenly becoming visible for him “I love that you’re a guy that can take pranks, unlike other people I know, and I’m not looking at anyone.” Remus said, looking at Thomas right in the eye.

“Yes, today Remus seems to be in a mood for pranks.” Thomas said “But, Remus, even though I know you never listen to me, you could be more careful, look at Nico’s hand, he burned it because of you.”

“Wait, what?” Remus said, confused “What are you talking about?”

“That joke with the oven, accelerating it and making the pizza rolls burn before they were made? You could have set the whole house on fire, and I would have never forgiven myself. Don’t do that again.”

“I recognize that would have been a very funny prank, Thomas…” Remus said, still confused “…but I didn’t take part in that.”

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I’m not, Thomas. You know me well, you already know by experience that I would never hide anything to you. For once in a lifetime, I’m an innocent little lamb.”

“You wish.” Patton said.

“No, I don’t, daddy. Feeling innocent is disgusting and it’s not like me at all, you know? That’s more your thing, not mine. Me, I’m more of a guilty-pleasure addict.”

“I’d rather not think what you mean by that…” Patton said, uncomfortable.

Thomas looked at Remus, totally confused.

“But… if it wasn’t you… then who…?”

A demonic long screech started resounding all over the house, and the lights started flickering on and off.

“What is going on!?” Thomas said, scared, yelling over the screech to make himself heard. “Is it one of your Sides… of your Lados, by any chance, Nico!?”

“No, it isn’t, Thomas!” Nico also had to yell to make himself heard. “I don’t know where that screech is coming from!”

“Ugh, that screech is hurting my ears…” Remus said “I’m getting out of here.”

Remus sank down.

“Ugh… this is so horrible, not even Remus could stand it…” Thomas said “But then, what is going on?”

The screech stopped. Then, a demonic voice started speaking.

“You will regret coming into my house… Both of you… will pay… with blood!”

Thomas grabbed Nico, shaking from head to toe.

“Nico… I’m scared…” Thomas said.

“Me too…” Nico said, hugging Thomas.

Then, the lights went off. Roman’s female scream was heard.

“What was that!?” Nico yelled in horror.

“Roman, was that you!? Are you okay!?” Thomas said.

“Yes, it’s me, sorry, Thomas.” Roman said with his own voice “I still hate the dark…”

A demonic laugh startled everyone in the dark.

“A… a ghost… It’s a ghost!” Patton’s whining voice said in the dark.

“Okay, guys, everybody calm down.” Logan’s voice said “There has to be some logical explanation for all of this.”

“Don’t try to explain this rationally, Logan!” Roman said “For once, there’s something not even you can explain, so don’t pretend to know better, Teach!”

“There’s only one explanation” Virgil said “This house is haunted and there’s a ghost living here. Our only hope is to get out of this house, get in the car and drive as far away as the gas level allows us, and pray that the ghost doesn’t follow us to torment us for the rest of our lives.”

“I can’t just leave my house… whoever you are.” Nico said.

“He’s Virgil, my anxiety, always a source of positivity as you can see.” Thomas said, ironically.

“Have you ever experience this kind of… paranormal activity in your house, Nico? And my name is Logan, by the way, I’m Thomas’ logical thinking.”

“Well… no, Logan, I haven’t. Up until today, this house was perfectly normal, no sign of spirits meddling around in my life.”

“How long have you been living here, if I may ask?”

“Well… I moved to Gainesville at the end of last year. I got this job in the University of Florida, teaching Spanish, you know? I got this house around November, to start the semester in January, and I’ve been living here happily and peacefully, until now.”

“So you didn’t live here by Halloween last year, right?”

“Right. Back then, I still lived in Orlando, although I was already preparing to move to Gainesville and looking for cheap rent houses.”

“Then that explains it. The ghost that lives here only shows up on Halloween, for some reason.”

“I thought you were looking for a logical explanation, Logan.” Roman said. “Have you changed your mind about paranormal events?”

“I got a logical explanation. If you’re meaning a “rational explanation”, well, that’s a different story. This isn’t rational at all, but with the information I’ve got, I must bring up any possible theories, even if they go against the scientific method.”

“You do realize that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

“If it doesn’t, it’s because we lack information to understand this phenomenon, Roman. But to try and retrieve the missing data, we must explore any possibilities, no matter how mad they may sound.”

“So you’re saying that you need me to complete this theory, right? Thanks, Teach, I knew you wouldn’t resist my talent one day or another.”

“No, I…” Logan started saying, but then another demonic screech interrupted them.

“Guys” Thomas said “While you’re here theorizing, that demonic entity is still wreaking havoc. Stop trying to find out what it is and start looking for a solution to get rid of it!”

“Yes, even if it’s only for one night, or so you say, Logan, I don’t want an evil spirit on the loose in my house! I’d never sleep in peace at night ever again!” Nico said.

“My house!” the demonic voice said “This is my house and you are intruders! Go away!”

“I’ve already paid a good year of rent!” Nico said “This is my house until I can’t pay my landlady anymore!”

Another short screech was the only answer.

“Did your landlady ever tell you about this happening?” Thomas said.

“No, she didn’t. But Mrs. Howard is a very nice, old lady, she would never hide anything like this to me on purpose. I’m sure she doesn’t know anything about this.”

“Then tell her! I want her to come here!” the voice said. Except that this time it was the whining voice of a child.

“Wait a minute…” Thomas said “The ghost is… is a child?”

The lights turned on, and the couple and Sides saw a little boy dressed in 1960’s fashion. If it wasn’t for the paleness of his face and his anachronistic outfit, nothing would have distinguished him from any other boy like the many others doing trick-or-treat outside. Well, to be fair, he could have indeed blended in with these boys now that they were disguised as spooky creatures. The ghost child stared at them with sad eyes.

“I want her back… Why did she leave me behind?” he said.

“Who left you behind, kiddo?” Patton said.

“It’s weird to hear Patton using the word kiddo right for the first time…” Virgil said.

“My mom.” the ghost said “That Mrs. Howard he mentioned… She’s my mom.”

“My landlady is your mom?” Nico said, in shock. “Oh, my goodness!”

“She promised she would never leave my side. She promised she would always be with me until I got better… but she left me. Why? Why did she lie to me? Why didn’t she want me!? I feel so alone and lost…”

“Oh, gosh…” Virgil said, emotional. “He doesn’t know he died. His mom probably was by his side as she promised, until the kid passed away, but he doesn’t remember the moment when he left his body and he thinks his mother abandoned him. Oh, this is so sad…”

“Okay, kiddo, what’s your name?” Patton said, after concealing his tears, with his most tender fatherly voice.

“Patrick.”

“Nice to meet you, Patrick, I’m… Patton. And these are my friends. We’re sorry if we have bothered you. It wasn’t our intention. Could you accept our apologies, kiddo?”

“Stop calling me kiddo! I’m eight years old, I’m a strong grown up!”

“Of course you are, Patrick!” Patton said.

“Eight years old…” Thomas said, emotional “It isn’t fair, no one should die so young.”

“My mother needed me to be strong, because she’s all alone and has to take care of us, me, my little brother and my little sister, and I need to get better to help her. But where is she? How can I help her if I don’t know where she is?”

Patton looked at the others. He was clearly overwhelmed by the emotion and getting choked up. He silently begged the others for help since he couldn’t speak anymore. Janus decided to step forward.

“Listen, young man. Because as you said you’re a young man, correct? Your mom had to… get away from this house, you know? She had to move somewhere else to take care of your siblings.”

“Then why didn’t she take me with them? Didn’t they want me anymore, because I was sick and they thought I would be useless?”

“No, of course not! Uh… I’m sure your mom loved you with all her heart. It’s just that she couldn’t take you with her because… um… the place where she moved to only allowed two kids, and she had to choose… and she chose your two little siblings, because they were younger and more in need of her care… and you are a strong and capable man, aren’t you? She knew you could take care of yourself better on your own than your siblings, that’s why she left you here, because she also needed someone to help her take care of this house while she was out, you know? She loves and trusts you so much that she left you right here in this place to fulfill your duty. You should hold that trust she has on you with pride.”

“I… I guess… but why didn’t she tell me? And why doesn’t she ever come here, at least to visit me? I miss her so much.”

“She can’t right now, young man. But rest assure, she would love to visit you. And in due time, she’ll come for you, when you least expect it, and then she’ll release you from your duty and take you to a place where you’ll never be away from her ever again, and then she’ll give you all the love she couldn’t give you all these past years and more, you’ll see.”

“Dag nabbit…” Thomas said with tears in his eyes “This snake is making me cry.”

“Me too…” Nico said, also crying, with foggy glasses.

“I… I understand.” the little ghost said. “Will I have to wait for too long until she comes for me?”

“It may take her some time… but each year that goes by will be a year closer to her, so wait for that day with hope and one day, you’ll have your reward. You’ll see.”

“Okay… thank you sir.” the ghost spoke to Nico “I’m sorry for burning your food, sir, and also that you hurt your hand because of me. That was rude and I apologize.”

“It’s okay… totally okay, don’t worry.” Nico said with a trembling emotional voice.

“I feel so much peace now that I know that I’m going to see her again…” the ghost said while he started becoming translucent “I think I know where I truly need to go to wait for her… I think I remember it all now… Thank you so much, kind people. You listened to me when nobody else would and freed my soul. I’ll forever be grateful to you for that.” he smiled with a face of peace and happiness “I can see my dad! He’s there with open arms, calling me! I gotta go, I missed him so much too! Goodbye, everyone! Dad, I’m so happy to see you again! Are you proud of me?”

And with these words, the ghost disappeared. They all stood there looking at the empty space for a few seconds in a silence only broken by Thomas and Nico’s faint sobs.

“I don’t know if his dad will be proud of him, even though I believe he totally is…” Patton said “but I’m certain of who this dad, and I mean me, is proud of. I’m so proud of you, Janus.”

Janus snorted trying to act cold.

“I was only being me, telling the kid a bunch of lies to fool him and push him to the other side, where he wouldn’t bother us anymore, that’s all.”

Thomas smiled at Janus.

“You’re a liar…” he said “…but you’re my liar and I love you, liar and all.”

“Eh… whatever.” Janus said, with his human cheek blushing red and his human eye full of emotional tears.

Nico looked at Thomas with a tender smile.

“What is it, Nico?”

“It’s nothing” Nico said. “It’s just that I’m so thankful that you decided to overcome your fears and talk to me at the mall. Otherwise I would have missed knowing you.”

“Oh, well… I…” Thomas said. “Why are you saying this right now?”

“Your Sides are you, aren’t they? Just like my Lados are me. And your Sides are all so great, each and everyone of them, therefore so are you. I love you so much.”

Thomas got emotional and smiled lovingly at Nico.

“And I love you too, Nico.” he said.

And then they kissed. After the kiss, Thomas said:

“Speaking about your Sides… I mean, your Lados, when am I… are we going to meet them?”

“In time… but tonight, I want this night to be just for us, if that’s okay with you. We’re still on Halloween date, aren’t we, and I don’t have the intention of squandering it.”

“Okay with me?” Thomas said, blushing again “Being with you will always be okay with me. I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else in the world ever again.”

They kissed again. Remus appeared rising his arms in triumph.

“Yes! Finally!” Remus yelled “I was beginning to lose hope that they two would…”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Remus.” Roman said. Now the couple couldn’t see or hear the Sides anymore. “I’m sure after so much agitation and horror today, not to mention Nico’s wound, their only plan for the night will be getting a well deserved romantic dinner and watching some Halloween light horror movies.”

“But after the dinner, there always comes the dessert, doesn’t it?” Remus said, wiggling his eyebrows. Then he sighed in frustration. “If only Thomas wasn’t so romantic-driven that he needs to feel that romance in order to go to the next base. It’s boring having to go through all that long process and waiting for him to be ready before we get to the juicy stuff.”

“Well, romance is also good for Thomas’ soul and well-being,” Roman said “and I know, deep inside, you also want what is best for Thomas, even if you try to get it through your gruesome ways. On the other hand, we are brothers and part of a whole, Remus. As much as it is a pain for us both, if we want Thomas to be happy with Nico, we’ll have to work as a team, and our task is to help Thomas find out when he’s ready to move forward in the relationship. And who knows, maybe working as a team will give us an opportunity to rebuild our relationship as brothers?”

“Don’t build your hopes too high, Roman.” Remus said “Right now you can consider yourself lucky that we can work together without me having to pull out my mace.”

Roman chuckled.

“It’s a first step.” Roman said “and all the best adventures always start with a first step. I wonder where this adventure will take us both, brother.”

“If you say so…” Remus said, shrugging. “…brother.”

Roman smiled while Remus pretended he didn’t care. Then they both sank down with the others back to the Mind Palace, giving the couple some well earned privacy while they started ordering a pizza and checking Nico’s collection of Blu-Rays to find the perfect movie for the night.

[sincerelyreidburke]

Ok I don't mean to be dramatic but I love Quinn and I would literally DIE for him. I just want to know literally everything about him

Anon, SAME. Quinn is my child and I love him so much. You know how the other day, I had someone ask for Rhodey facts, so I made this post? I’m using your ask as an excuse……… it’s time for Quinn facts!!!!!!!!!

(The newest installment of the cricket series, which can be found right here, features Quinn’s introduction.)

Anyway!!! Facts time.

TW: addiction (not him but a relative); difficult family situation

- Quinn is from Grand Rapids, Michigan, and he’s at college on a full-ride academic scholarship. He wouldn’t be able to go to college without help, because he……….. sort of comes from a very broken home. He lives with his grandparents on his dad’s side, and while they give him a place to sleep, they aren’t the greatest guardians.

- The reason he lives with his grandparents is because his mom has gone off the map after several stints in rehab and his dad is serving a pretty hefty sentence in prison for something related to drugs.

- Quinn is a fantastic actor because he’s spent his entire life pretending everything is okay when it’s not. :)

- I’m so sorry. Okay, enough about his depressing home life. Or at least let’s make the transition out of it. Quinn emerges from a troubled childhood surprisingly stable in terms of his mental health, mostly thanks to the escapism that art like music and acting provided him with during his formative years. We won’t do a deep psychological dive on Quinn right now, but once he gets to college, he’s much better off.

Wooo! I promise this will get a lot less heavy. More Quinn facts under the cut!

- Quinn is deaf! There’s a tiny little tidbit in his introduction fic where Nando realizes he’s wearing hearing aids. This was a part of his character that sort of hit me out of the blue, and once it came I knew it was going to stick. He used to be able to hear a little, but his hearing loss got worse as he got older, so he can’t hear pretty much anything at all without the hearing aids in. He has a medically-mandated single dorm room, which may become important later, :), and he has a lot of really lovely ways of experiencing his other four senses which I’d honestly like to write an entire fic about, so more on that soon. I think.

- He’s a chemistry major, which comes out of left field when it’s the second thing you learn about his interests after theatre, but theatre for him is very much a passionate hobby that he could never see becoming a job. He’s very academically gifted, and his plans after college include medical school.

- Because I’m a headass, apparently, I’ve amassed a brief (non-exhaustive) list of roles Quinn has played in musicals, so, in no particular order:

- Barnaby in Hello, Dolly!, Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors, Bert in Mary Poppins, maybe even the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz at one point, and then during his freshman year of college, because this is my party and I said so, he gets cast as Evan Hansen. I will write about that at some point because I need it in my life.

- Quinn is…….. sort of a pain in the ass, but in the most unintentional way possible. I mean this to say that he is small but mighty, and he’s sort of…. formal to the point of being a little fussy sometimes? He has Felix from The Odd Couple energy. Also Edna Mode energy.

- Like, seriously, if he’s on the crew for a show instead of the cast and you don’t have your shit together backstage and you’re holding up the productivity of the production, he will stand on a chair and chew you out.

- Not to be like, haha, spoilers, but since he and Nando do in fact become a couple, I can step in here and say that Nando is slightly terrified of grouchy Quinn for this reason, but in a healthy way. Quinn will, for example, chide him for trying to get into bed to cuddle when he still smells like hockey. Like, “no, no sir, not in my bed, Sebastián”—

- — and yes, by the way, Quinn refuses to call him anything but Sebastián.

- But anyway, Rhodey says Nando is whipped. This isn’t “Nando & Quinn facts” (I’ll do that if someone asks in a heartbeat, though), but Rhodey and Nando definitely have this conversation:

Nando: I am not whipped.

Rhodey: Dude, yes you are. If you look up ‘whipped’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of Quinn dragging you across campus by the ear.

Nando: >:(

- He is extremely handy with a sewing machine (he made that Warbler costume!!!!!) and he can knit. He wears scarves religiously in the winter, and I mean religiously; you can’t find him going to class without one. He’s the kind of person who would wear dress shoes on a plane. (He hates to travel, but. You get the picture.) He doesn’t own a pair of jeans, and the most informal he will ever get is stealing Nando’s big hockey sweatshirt.

- He’s literally like five foot five.

- Nando can pick him up with one arm.

I definitely could have more to say about him, but I should stop for this post before it gets out of hand. My ask box is very much open if you want to say/ask anything or just shout at me about any of these boys. And I’m going to tag Quinn under “crickets” from this point forward, because, as we have discussed, he’s pretty much one.

Thank you very much for the ask!!!!!!!!

[allegra-writes]

Living Proof

Irondad & Stark daughter!reader

General audiences

Warnings: Starks like to swear

The request:

Hi!.. Can you make a fanfiction reader who's from our world and gets transported into Avengers Endgame or another one about injured daughter Stark and father Tony because she accidentally spilled boiled hot water onto her hand?.. Thank you!

"Miss Stark, your father and the rest have arrived" Friday's disembodied voice finally put you out of your misery, halting your pacing in front of the massive windows of your bedroom.

" Oh, thank the gods!"

You made your way to the elevators in ten seconds flat, which was quite a record considering how huge your penthouse at the new Avengers Tower was. But you just couldn't help it: It was only a few weeks after The Endgame Incident, as you and Peter had come to call it; only a few weeks after you had gotten your whole universe back just to almost loose the most important thing in there, your father, that very same day.

You ran through the platform ignoring Friday's warnings about your untied laces until you crashed a little too hard with the still armored chest of your dad, but his strong arms (one of them even stronger now) stopped you from falling.

"Hey, kiddo" He said holding you tight and burying his nose on top of your head, breathing you in.

" How did everything go? Is everyone alright? Are you hurt?"

"Woah, slow down kid" He broke the hug but still hold your shoulders at arm's length, "everything's fine! I'm fine! Just a little bit tired, that's all..."

"Ok" The breathe you didn't know you were holding finally came out. Still you couldn't let go of him completely, so you both made the walk back inside arm in arm.

"Pepper called, said she and Morgan were running late so they'll spend the night at the lake house. I made you dinner, it's in the oven"

He smiled down at you,

"You spoil me too much, heartie"

Once inside he let go of you but not before kissing your temple.

"I'm going to shower and then we can eat all together. You should take one too, you look stressed, it'll help calm you down just like when you were little, remember?" He gave your hand one last squeeze and disappeared down the hallway. You frowned. Last mission you had been on together you had literally watched him die, could he really blame you for having anxiety now every time he wore his Ironman suit?

"You truly do look awful, y/n" Peter’s voice said right beside you, making you jump. You knew it was true, two weeks of restless, sleepless nights were bound to catch up with you eventually. He didn't look all that better than you but that actually didn't surprise you: You could remember more than him, that much was true, still he was awoken at night by the same nightmares that plagued you. You knew, you could hear his muffled screaming late in the night from your bedroom.

"Parker, jeez! I didn't see you there! And thanks, you do know how to make a girl feel special..."

"Pfft, like you're one to talk, Stark! You didn't even noticed me until two seconds ago" he took a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"Now you guys know how we feel all the time" Sam quipped coming to a stand in front of the elevators with an exhausted looking Bucky by his side.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know" Sam pretended to wonder, "Barnes, we did come through that door too, didn't we?"

"You know what, Wilson, I think we did..." To your surprise, Bucky played right along.

"Funny how none of them seemed to notice... I mean I wasn't expecting a hug but maybe a 'Hello Mr. Falcon, are you ok too?'"

"Maybe Stark upgraded these suits, made us invisible" Shrugged Bucky. "And speak for yourself, I was absolutely expecting a hug"

"We don't ignore you! Come have dinner with us!"

"We already ordered Thai, sorry kids"

"Yeah, we don't need your pitty food!" Wilson called out, without stopping his way.

"Aw, c'mon guys, don't be like that!" But this time you were the ignored one, as the elevator arrived and they stepped inside, still complaining about gen-Z kids not paying enough respect to elder war veterans.

Peter and you exchanged a look.

"Well, at least they're talking to each other..."

...

"Heartbeats, would you pass me the juice?"

You furrowed your brows a little, the juice jar was actually closer to your father than it was to you. Maybe he was afraid to break it with his new arm, or was still a little self conscious about it. You hated to think he might be feeling such a thing, to you that metal arm was a testament of his bravery, of the sacrifices done in order to defeat Thanos, of how much more he had been willing to sacrifice. But you knew your dad was a vain man...

In any case, it wasn't that much of a bother so you reached for the juice. But as soon as you did, Tony snatched your hand and pulled back your sweater sleeve, revealing the bandage that covered your whole forearm.

"That's exactly what I thought I had seen", his voice was hard, "Care to tell me how did you get hurt and why were you hiding it from me?"

"I wasn't hiding it, dad, it's just a little burn, it's no big deal"

He was having none of that.

"Just a little burn? I don't think so, this thing covers half your arm. Who patched you up anyway? This gauze things are prehistoric!"

"I did it myself, I know how to treat a burn you know?" You were trying not to get offended, you wanted to become a doctor and had plenty of practice in first aids, thanks to your housemates's line of work.

"You didn't even had it looked? Peter, call Strange"

"Already texting him"

You didn't even have time to send him a betrayed look before a portal opened up right beside him in the kitchen and Doctor Strange stepped out of it in all his wizardry paraphernalia.

"Stark! What happened, who's hurt?"

You could feel your cheeks burning, mortified.

"No one's hurt, I just spilled some boiled water on my arm while I was cooking, it's not important!"

Stephen exchanged a look with your father, and next thing you knew, the three of you were standing in the med bay.

"Dude, you left Pete on the kitchen? Rude much?"

"Shut up, kid" Strange snapped his fingers and suddenly no sound was able to leave your lips. Indignated, you turned to your dad, only to find him trying to conceal a smile. And poorly, you might add.

"Neat trick, useful. You have to teach me how to do that..."

"Yes, I imagine it might come in handy while dealing with teenagers" Stephen's tone was as crisp and laconic as always, but his eyes betrayed his worry as his hands tenderly unwrapped your arm. "Now if you could make yourself useful and tell me what exactly happened..."

"Sorry, Dumbledore, I was on a mission, you gonna have to ask Cher Horowitz here."

With an eye roll and another snap, your voice was back.

"Thanks!" You imbued the word with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Stephen was unperturbed.

"Anytime. What happened to your arm?"

"I was in the kitchen, boiling some potatoes, everything normal. And then, when I went to strain them- I just..." You stuttered, "When I went to strain them my hand just slipped"

"So the water was at boiling point, not just hot. That's not good. What did you do next?"

"I opened the faucet and put my wrist under cold water"

Strange continued his examinations,

"That was a good call," He approved, "How did your hand slipped exactly? This looks like a splatter...?"

You knew you were turning redder and redder,

"I heard a loud noise," you mumbled barely audible, "and I kinda jumped a little bit"

It must have been loud enough, because you saw your dad flinch at your words. You tried to diffuse the tension. "So what's the verdict, doc?"

"These looks second degree. You did a good job but I do believe your father has something a little higher tech to patch you up. Tony, I think you can take it from here."

Doctor Strange stood to leave and you hurried to apologise,

"Sorry to bother you, doc. I told my dad it was nothing but he wouldn't listen" you side eyed your afored mentioned offending parent but strange interrupted you.

"Nonsense, Tony you did the right thing, from now on I want you to call me for the most minimal scratch your daughter might get."

Your dad smirked,

"I wasn't planning on anything different."

"What? Why?" You said confused. Strange gave you a look that let you know exactly what he thought of your intelligence,

"Why? Because we worry about you, you dim witted child"

"'Dim witted'?" You quipped, "Careful there, Strange. Your Benedict is showing"

He threw you a wink over his shoulder before stepping into another portal, leaving alone with your father.

Tony pretended to busy himself with rummaging through a draw to get whatever the "higher tech" for treating your wound was but you could see the little frown of concentration that betrayed there was something more important on his mind.

"Look, sweetheart" He finally started "I'm not going to ask you why my daredevil of a daughter suddenly is so jumpy that she actually gets scared by loud noises, or why she traded her high hills and designer clothes for jeans and sneakers" He sat down on the stretcher next to you and lift your chin with a finger, to make sure you were looking at him in the eyes when he talked. "And, the most important one, I won't ask you why you traded your Stark melodramatic flare, for hiding your injuries. Don't give me that look, ever since you were a little Morgan sized squirt you came running to me with any boo-boos for me to kiss them better, you always loved attention. I won't ask any of that, you'll come to me when you are ready.

... What I am going to tell you, however, is that if you think even for one second that anything that happens to you is unimportant, or somehow less significant or worrying to me compared to my own wounds or whatever is going on inside that head of yours, you are sorely mistaken.

Baby girl, I just spend five years of my life.." his voice broke a little but he braved on "I just had to spend five years if my life without you. And it was four years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes too many. And Strange told me that time passes differently inside the... Soul realm or universe or whatever that place you were trapped was, so how much was it for you?"

You lowered your gaze and tried to collect yourself a little before answering.

"It was... Longer." You admitted.

You could see he was taken aback.

"Longer... It was longer for you, that's-" he had to clear his throat and swallow a couple of times before he finally was able to put his ideas in order. You hated to cause him more pain but you couldn't get yourself to lie about it. Not to him.

"Right, it was longer than five years to you. Don't you think we have enough things to make up for already then? Too much time taken from us, too many hugs, too many family dinners, too many boo-boos to kiss?" He added with a small, sad smile, "isn't that why you are cooking for me? Why you are taking care of me, of all of us?"

You gave him a small nod, since the knot in your throat wouldn't let you speak your affirmation loud out.

"Then, my iron heart, no more secrets, ok? No more... Hiding things, no matter how small they seem. Because five years without hearing the little things and happenings from my daughter's life was more than enough for me. Ok?"

Once again you nodded, trying to find the words to say. Finding none, you use the Stark's favorite diversion tactic: Sarcasm.

"Really dad? Tegaderm? That's the high tech Dr. Strange was talking about?" You said once your father had wrapped your wound in a transparent film.

"You of little faith" He scoffed, "wait and see, you sceptic little brat."

It took only a handful of seconds for the film to light up in some kind of luminous grid that a second later took the exact color of your skin and disguised the burn completely. Even the edges of the film were indistinguishable from your own skin.

"Cool, huh?" Your dad proclaimed proudly, "Banner and I designed them, in just seconds they analyze your skin tipe and kind of injury and release antibiotics and painkillers accordingly. They shorten in half the healing time too."

"I stand correct, dad, these are... Pretty awesome" you admitted, still admiring your arm.

"That's all I wanted to hear" He stood up to leave. You chew your lip.

"Dad, wait." You stopped him. He turned around.

You weren't completely ready to talk, not about everything. But it was time you started to lean on each other a little again. Time to start being the thight knit unity you guys once were. You both wanted that back. You deserved to have it back.

"Dad, it's different for me. Different not only from Peter and the rest but different from how it is for Strange..." You tried to explain. "Dad, I remember everything. Clear as day."

Tony sighed and went to sit down again next to you. He rubbed his face with his good hand to try and dry them without you noticing, but you saw the tears filling his eyes.

"Yeah... Strange mentioned something like that. Can I ask you about it? About the soul world"

"I'm not sure that's what it was. I think we were transported to a different universe. Or transferred. Like, our souls were send to our bodies there. We... Had whole lives there. Different lives. We were other people. And I remember everything, not only what it was to be there, but what happened before too... To this other y/n"

"So now you have..."

"Two sets of memories, yes" You confirmed.

Your dad took a deep breath, obviously trying to keep it together.

"Well... I always said that eidetic memory of yours was a superpower"

You let out a small bitter laugh.

"More like a curse, I would say."

"How was it? This other universe?"

You looked at the floor. You had to tell him, he deserved to know.

"... Mom was- Mom was still alive."

You heard his choked sob and wondered if maybe telling him was a mistake, but he was soon taking you in his arms, holding you tightly, and you knew it was as much for him as it was for you.

"I'm sorry, baby girl, I'm so so sorry"

"What? Why, dad?”

“For taking you away from that” He kissed your head and hold you even tighter if that was possible.

You shook your head.

“No, dad, you don’t understand” you tried to explain, “She was still alive, but you weren’t my dad. You weren’t even Tony Stark, and I missed you. I missed you so fucking much!” You didn’t realize you had started crying until your dad started to dry your tears with his hand.

“Oh my heart, I missed you so fucking much too!”

You sat like that, holding each other (and holding onto each other) until both your sobs subsided.

“What do you mean I wasn’t even Tony stark?” your father asked once you both were calmer, and his curiosity had had the best of him.

“You were just an actor in a movie.”

“Was I still cool tho?” he joked. It worked, because you couldn’t help but laugh as you thought of Robert Downey Jr.

“You are always the coolest guy in the world, dad. No matter what universe.”

“Oh yeah? Were you a fan?” He teased.

“Of course I was.” You replied honestly “Your last movie? I watched it at least three times.” That’s how I knew how to save you, you didn’t add.

“Anyway, if- If I seem different…” you tried to explain, “that’s why.”

“Its ok, sweetheart, I understand.” He kissed your head again, but still didn’t let his grip on you go. It finally gave you the courage to ask the question that had been on the back of your mind ever since you got back.

“Daddy?” You tried to control your voice but it still came out little. You hated how needy you sounded. “Do you still love me? Even though I am… changed?”

“Oh, y/n!” He pulled away only to look you in the eye. “Do you know why I am always calling you “my heart” and stuff like that?”

You shook your head no.

“Because that’s what you are. From the very first moment they put you in my arms, after you were born” He cupped your head, remembering how he used to be able to cup your whole tiny little body in his hands like that, “Long before the arch reactor, you were living proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”

You couldn’t help to start crying again, which caused him to start crying again. Still, he carried on, because he needed to say it, and you needed to hear it.

“And now, you have literally given me a new heart” He touched the new, star shaped device on his chest. “And after what now I know you went through, are still going through… God, you are so strong, you truly are my iron heart. And I couldn’t be prouder. I couldn’t ever stop loving you. Not even if you went vegan.”

Your laugh was a little wet, but it was real this time.

“Ironheart. I kinda like it, has a ring to it…”

Your father smiled, knowing exactly what you were thinking about.

“We’ll see.”

You finally stood up to leave, but on your way out of the medbay…

“Ouch!”

“What happened, what is it?” Your dad panicked.

“I just stubbed my toe on a table leg, dad. Don’t freak out!”

You heard his blaster charging.

“Which table??”

“Dad, no!!”

The End.

(For that table as well)

Wow! This turned out way more emotional than I was planning to, but I loved every single minute of writing this request, so thank you, @huggeygirl I hope you like it as much as I do. This one is for you.