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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

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Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd.

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines.

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves.

It smells.

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole.

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back.

Hook lifts his eyebrows.

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop.

Quickly. Immediately, even.

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date.

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her.

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it.

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight.

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that.

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before.

That might not be the right word.

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here.

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

Her stomach noticeably sinks.

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook.

That’s more unimportant syntax.

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard.

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth.

He used her name.

Eventually that will feel very important.

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect.

God, he was good at kissing.

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling.

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now.

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once.

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again.

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore.

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her.

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room.

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing.

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement.

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on.

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then.

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet.

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand.

And one very specific finger.

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake.

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably.

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to.

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch.

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair.

Anywhere he can reach, it seems.

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least.

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good.

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing.

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous.

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing.

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream.

Ah, goddamn.

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch.

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked.

And who Hope is.

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain.

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all.

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds.

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth.

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent.

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips.

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland.

This has to be a dream.

So, it seems they live in a mansion.

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her.

That was never her strongest subject in school.

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion.

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint.

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter.

Emma presses her lips together.

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point.

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures.

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook.

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual.

It makes her mouth go dry again.

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers.

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really.

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them.

So as to stare at her incredulously.

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements.

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook.

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses.

Emma seriously considers dying right there.

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced.

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser.

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian.

That’s probably for the best.

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—”

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair.

He really likes to do that.

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him.

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly.

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality.

If her other assumptions are right.

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before.

His arm doesn’t move.

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here.

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway.

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly.

Not hers.

Not as is.

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face.

He tries to blow it away, several times.

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream.

She doesn’t want to know.

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly.

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too.

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like.

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue.

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks.

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here.

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses.

Noticeably.

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright.

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her.

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home.

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well.

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it.

As silently as possible.

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma.

In their bed.

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally.

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking.

Aimlessly, really.

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything.

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol.

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be.

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens.

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise.

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek.

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it.

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About?

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it.

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #i really will fill those other prompts now i promise #sorry i'm such a constant and consistent flake internet #also! this is apparently the 40th captain swan work of mine on ao3 #which is slightly skewed since there are so many collections but still #that's a heck of a lotta words #thanks for reading em

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mrsgreenworld · 4 years ago

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Sen Çal Kapımı Episode 14 aka The 5 Stages of Grief

This week brought us another SCK episode which was in one word just good. I had a lot of problems with and while watching the previous episode last week. There were so many questions to editing and the overall pace. I am no expert but even to my untrained eye the episode this week was easier and more pleasant to watch. However, for all the things I liked (which I will get to very soon) after rewatching the episode with the subs I am also left a bit disappointed. But let's start on the positive note.

The things I loved / liked:

☑️ Edser: even with this inevitable doom over their heads they're gorgeous, aren't they?

I love the consistency of the way they hold hands - palm to palm, entwining their fingers; not sure if this is the writers' decision or it was Kerem and Hande's acting choice or it's completely unconscious - whatever, it gives me all the feelings;

loved the gifts exchange and the choice of the gifts was so Edser; I know that Serkan's gift wasn't the most original or symbolic but it actually showed how attentive and attuned to Eda he is; he notices what she likes; a small moment when Eda said that there's nowhere she could wear such a dress and Serkan just easily responded with something like "We will find somewhere to go so you can wear this dress" - made me swoon 🥰 ; and then Eda's gift to Serkan - simple, may even seem silly and not functional but it's so Eda; because just like that world lamp it carries a meaning, it makes us and most importantly - Serkan - smile and laugh;

the next very important Edser moment is at the office terrace when Eda was planting flower seeds; I am not sure I got it right (feel free to correct me if you are a Turkish native speaker and I got lost in translation 🙂) but I think Eda said those were rose seeds; even if those were the seeds of some other flowers it's still very symbolic because flowers in general represent natural beauty and something devine; of course each individual flower has its unique meaning which can also differ depending on the colour (take roses for one: ⚪ roses mean purity and holiness, 💛 symbolise wisdom and joy while ❤️ roses are the representation of passion and sacrifice); roses in general symbolise God at work, the scent of these flowers makes us think about powerful sweetness of love, which is the essence of God; I think love is the first thing that comes to mind when we think about or see roses; so if Eda was indeed planting the seeds of roses it's very fitting because, as Eda said it herself, that very place is where everything started, where her and Serkan's love story began; plus these flowers have a very special and personal value - they represent Eda's connection with and love for her mom;

I loved seeing Eda open up to Serkan about her family, tell him her real last name... although it was bittersweet because we know how this conversation only served to cut Serkan more from the inside;

and speaking of Serkan - oh my god, the way he was looking at her in this episode 😭 we have seen a lovesick smitten look on him before but it's different now; it's painful longing; it's almost like he was committing her to his memory, wanted to imprint her looking at him with smiles and love ; because he believes that he doesn't deserve any of it and once she knows the truth she will never look at him the same way ever again;

I loved a bit of light-hearted moment between Edser in Serkan's office when they discussed evening plans and Eda suggested going to the cinema; Serkan's reaction - 👀; our boy is so social phobic 🙈😆; I love how Eda is showing him and teaching him these simple joys of life which he, unfortunately, never experienced;

and the cinema date itself - perfect; Serkan Bolat actually eating popcorn? - the planet must have gone off its axes🤣🤣🤣 Serkan asking Eda to put her head on his shoulder - swoon; his small kiss on her head - double swoon; him noticing her crying and trying to wipe away her tears - triple swoon; and finally - after the film, when he said that he would love to have the kind of machine they had seen in the film, the one that could erase bad memories, and he would love that for her, to relieve Eda from the pain of her past - I officially turned into a puddle on the floor after this;

I absolutely loved that throughout the episode Eda was very much attuned to Serkan; she immediately noticed that something was off about him; however, she wasn't pushy, she gave him space and time, she was waiting for him to talk to her when he was ready; her noticing his injured hand within the first millisecond and not believing him when tried to make up something involving Sirius - her stern "Are you really gonna feed me this crap?" look was priceless and his immediate surrender was even better 😏;

comments about Serkan's magic hands gave me all kinds of dirty thoughts 🙈😆🤣

and finally - Eda kissing Serkan's neck; it may seem a bit bold because, I think, neck kisses are considered a more sensual kind of kisses but Eda made it not about passion and desire, she managed to turn it into a show of her deep love instead and also forgiveness for Serkan's earlier outburst;

☑️ 5 stages of grief:

Call it a coincidence but just this week, on Monday, I posted a fic featuring future Edser where I actually wrote Serkan going through these stages. Fifi mentioned them as well in the episode. And finally - we got to see Serkan at very stage in this episode. Of course in reality it doesn't go like this - in just one or two days. If only that were true. But we all understand that we're dealing with fiction here so the process had to be accelerated.

As Meredith Grey once said: "There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us. But there are always five".

1 - denial: we witnessed Serkan's denial after seeing the documents that his parents showed him; even Aydan said something like this to Alptekin: "He's just found out about it, of course he's going to try and deny it";

the moment in Serkan's office when he said to Eda that they should run away, disappear, just the two of them - another attempt at denying, it's him trying to ignore this; the cinema date - a small fleeting moment of escape where they could be a normal couple enjoying a movie together, eating popcorn and cuddling;

2 - anger: the very first scene with Serkan and his parents when they came to check on him - he lost his temper and yelled at them demanding that they bring him the damn files because he needed to see everything with his own eyes; in that very scene he almost broke a coffee table but ended up smashing the world lamp that Eda got him; let's talk about symbolism here for a moment - Serkan's whole world is smashed into pieces right now, just like this lamp;

another small depiction of his anger - after his date with Eda he slammed his first into the poor coffee table and did break it cutting his hand in the process;

his passive-aggressive behaviour towards Efe and finally losing it and snapping at Eda;

3 - bargaining: the conversation with Eda at the terrace in the office and asking about letting go of the past and if she had ever considered forgiving her grandmother; him trying to talk to her - he even wanted to do this when they went to the cinema; him trying to make up for his shitty behaviour and coming to her house with flowers and every intention of telling her the truth;

4 - depression: there were small snippets of it - when he broke the coffee table and didn't even flinch; when he was sitting on the counter in the office and telling Engin everything; him walking out of his office after the terrace conversation - you can see the heartbreak written all over his face; him mentioning to Engin that this secret was eating at him and how Eda's kindness and goodness were killing him;

5 - acceptance: the first step I think was made during that fight when Serkan said to Eda that "loneliness is better for someone like him anyway" and then just walked away; in that moment he seemed resigned to this fate - of being forever alone; then of course overhearing Eda and Ceren's talk about Eda's grandmother; and finally - the breakup scene where Serkan was completely resigned, he had realised and accepted that there's no winning for him in this situation and in his mind he had chosen the lesser of two evils;

I believe that we will see a bit more of Serkan's resigned acceptance next week but in this episode I think we walked through all of the stages;

☑️ Engin: love what a great friend he is - he immediately noticed that something was bothering Serkan; he patiently listened to Serkan (also loved that Serkan shared this with Engin instead of keeping all of it to himself), genuinely empathized and said how both Serkan and Eda didn't deserve this shit; I also love that Engin urged Serkan to be honest and tell Eda everything and pointed out that Eda deserved to know the truth;

love how he doesn't let Serkan get away with anything, just like in that scene in Serkan's office - after Serkan's fight with Eda, in the evening Engin finds Serkan in his office and when Serkan says "don't say anything" Engin is like "sorry, bro, but I will" and he did tell him that it was a shitty thing to do - saying all those things to Eda; but he also managed to remain understanding and wasn't pressuring Serkan too much or yelling at him that he had acted as an a*hole;

also loved Engin's silent support to Eda after Serkan's outburst;

while I don't really care about Engin's romantic entanglements with Pırıl the moment during brunch when he basically shut Pırıl up by feeding her something was really funny 😆;

☑️ The Girls: loved the scene where Eda tells the girls that Serkan was going to Italy with her and how he had already bought a house and rented an office there; their genuine happiness for her and their support of each other never seizes to amaze me;

the scene in the evening with all of the girls lying in a circle and telling how their day had gone - another testament to how beautiful this female gang is;

☑️ a series of smaller moments:

Eda hanging a new picture of Serkan on the wall and drawing a ❤️ on it with a red💄- this girl is so in love 😏😁;

Eda / Selin ripping Selin's wedding dress together - a great bonding moment;

Melek showing Selin her support at the brunch;

Aydan tending to and dressing Serkan's hand and telling him her own love story - a nice mother/son moment;

Seyfi spotting Serkan's picture and the star certificate in Eda's room - his genuine happiness for Edser gives me life, he definitely is the captain of this ship 🚢💟🕺🤝💪😎 ;

I love the list of Serkan's friends: Engin (he's numero uno because he's Yoda Diggle 🙈😆), Pırıl and Sirius (btw, where the hell is Sirius??? Mom & Dad are fighting again, you better drag your ass over here so you and Seyfi can help them make up)

The things I didn't like / was annoyed with:

🚩Selin: I am not saying she has no right to be angry with Ferit; what he did wasn't nice but she was ready to dump him any moment and I am sure had Serkan whistled at her while she was at the wedding table, she would have run to him then and there; so I think she should get off her high horse and stop being so freaking selfish; she has to take responsibility for her own actions and instead of demanding something from Ferit (like leaving the holding, not coming to the Art Life office) try apologizing to the man for being a bitch of cosmic proportions;

the cutting of the pictures scene - way to go girl if that's your kind of therapy; but the moment when she stumbled upon some pictures of herself and Serkan and left them untouched - god, give me a break; still being hang up on the man who clearly doesn't love you and probably never loved you, the man who, as you claimed yourself, you were never happy with... I don't know but it wouldn't have hurt if the writers had made her love and respect herself a bit more;

what's with that face after having overheard the conversation between the girls in the restroom? she looked as if she had heard them bad-mouthing her while there had been nothing negative said about her and the focus of the conversation had been on Ceren and Ferit;

🚩Ceren and Ferit: the thing with them has been developing kinda unevenly; while I enjoyed their first meeting and running into each other at the office in the previous episode, in this episode there was too much of them and the tone of their scenes almost gave me a whiplash; Ceren's passive-aggressive behaviour over the phone and near the office was just weird, the brunch interactions - awkward at first and then everything ended with Ceren being all sweet and supportive 👀;

🚩while I liked the scene where Selin and Eda were ripping Selin's wedding dress together and didn't like how they ended the scene: when Eda saw the pictures of Selin and Serkan together; I know it's not pleasant to see the pictures of the man you love with his ex while at the said ex's house after having helped her rip her wedding dress... but it's not a good enough reason to turn hostile and cold; and while Eda was not hostile, the look she gave Selin made me think I had forgotten to close the window in the room 🥶;

🚩 Aydan: I know that her heart-felt story was meant to make her likeable but it actually made me understand her even less; for a woman who was in love, who fell in love with someone who wasn't from a wealthy family - and to give Eda so much crap how she was not the right fit for their family; of course that was something she said at the very beginning, in the first episodes but it still annoys me;

and that unspoken advice that she kinda sorta gave to Serkan - really??? what kind of advice is that??? maybe I got it wrong but did she actually advice her son to just carry this burden on his own? did she mean it was okay to disappear into thin air without so much as a goodbye???👀🙄🤯

🚩 Pırıl and Engin: while their bowling date was kinda cute I didn't like Engin's comment about him wanting to boast in front of his friends that he finally "got the girl" so to speak; and Pırıl's initial reaction to bowling was a bit extra;

🚩Efe: liked his new hairstyle, the man looked smoaking hot🔥but☝️he is becoming more and more shady; it's like he's doing nothing wrong, he's being polite and friendly, learning things about the staff and organising brunch but it seems like he's trying too hard and there's something behind of all this; also - I see what you did there with Ferit and all that shares talk, very subtle 🧐🕵️;

There was nothing I hated but there's something I was disappointed with:

💔 Serkan not telling Eda the truth; I understand the motives and we saw the struggle and how he came to this difficult decision through all those stages of grief; however, I feel disappointed that the writers decided to go down this beaten path; I think I had a tiny sliver of hope that they would surprise us so I was sorry to see this story becoming predictable like many others; this won't, however, stop me from loving these imperfect characters and this imperfect show; sorry not sorry but "Deli gibi aşık oldum" 😊😍

#sen çal kapımı #sen cal kapimi #sck #sck long post #sck episode 14 thoughts #edser #eda ve serkan #eda x serkan #eda yıldız #eda yildiz #serkan bolat

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dragonshoard · 5 years ago

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Charlastor Fic: A few months into their courtship and Alastor is convinced that it’s all still a game.

His heart had stopped beating years ago yet, somehow, looking at her made him feel something stir deep in his chest, a tiny ember lit aflame. At first, he had assumed that it was borne from amusement or perhaps even anger or annoyance; however, the unfamiliar feeling didn’t disappear. Instead, it festered inside of him, growing as the months passed.

One day, upon entering the building, he was hit by something. Well, two things to be specific. The first being the comparatively tiny slip of a girl he was courting (who was, in reality, rather tall and larger than life if she allowed herself to be). The second thing that hit him was not annoyance, as would have been his usual reaction to such an action, but what he tentatively recognized as fondness.

The... thing in his chest only seemed to grow larger the more he took in her smiling, excited demeanor, unable to help but wrap his arms around her tightly after dematerializing his cane.

“You’re finally here! I missed you!” The last part seemed almost unconscious and her smile faltered for a split second in a moment of hesitation before brightening the room once more with a small dash of hesitation. Despite the past few months they had been courting, she was still more than a little nervous around him (rightfully so).

The only thing that kept her from stepping out of the embrace was his own arms, wrapped tightly around her, and the claws that dug themselves slightly into her coat.

Alastor’s own smile grew bigger and brighter without his permission in response to her reaction. The flame in his chest grew unnaturally at the slip of tongue and he was quick to encourage the greeting.

“I̸ ̸m̶i̵ssed you too. Every hour I’m away from you is an hour I spend dreaming of you, my sunsh̶i̴n̵e̸.̵” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his static affected voice, pairing naturally with his charm.

“Ahh,” the blush on her face overtook the ghost white pallor of her skin. “I-I It hasn’t really been that long u h m, oh! I’ve finally got the list of improvements for the hotel ready for you to see!!”

And she was off like a rocket, taking advantage of his loosened grip while still grabbing his hand to pull him along. In the past, the action would have sparked an indignant anger at the audacity of anyone presuming they could touch him, much less move him.

These days, he looked on it as a sort of achievement of how far they’ve come. In the first month, Charlie had been extremely hesitant to even touch him, much less guide him or hold his hand. He found it particularly endearing and filed it away to tease her about it later when she was more comfortable with “them”.

Her previous hesitation came back full force when she seemed to realize that she was still holding onto his hand when she went to grab her paper.

Disappointment and annoyance nearly dimmed his smile when she took a small step away from him before he forced himself to smile wider. He neatly stepped back into her space, putting an arm around Charlie’s shoulder and leaning in under the guise of looking at the paper she had presented him.

Absently, Alastor skimmed the sheet of paper. The draft had some good talking points but was unorganized and had too many colors and drawings for Alastor to take seriously. Regardless, he gave a few comments, adding some points to consider, and gave suggestions for expansion on other topics. He relished in the fact that she often leaned back into him without realizing it when she was addressing him.

When he felt like they had gotten to a decent ending point for the moment, he led the conversation to what he had originally come to discuss.

“S̴p̵e̴aking of the futur̸e̶,̵” he paused to present a rose with flourish, lightly glowing green from the use of his magic, “h̸o̷w̵ ̷w̵ould you like to go out tonight. I found the most fabulous little restaurant in the east side of Pentagram city. It is absolutely to die̸ ̶f̴o̴r̷.!” He casually pushed the paper Charlie had shown him away and positioned them so that Charlie was inches away from planting herself directly into his chest.

“I... uh I had a great time last week!” She gave him a big smile that looked a bit too fake for him to believe. “But, I don’t think I’m ready for another restaurant after last time.”

Alastor cocked his head at that. “A̵h̴,̸ ̵m̸y apologizes. Was the food not to your lik̸i̶n̵g̶?̴” He made a mental note to visit the owner after he left the hotel.

His intentions must have shown on his face because Charlie was quick to respond.

“No! The food was great! There was just...” Charlie looked unsure, glancing down at the vibrant red rose with not a single spot of decay before looking back to his grinning face.

“T̷h̶e̴y̶ ̶h̸ave a band and it will be oh so fun my̶ ̶d̴e̵a̴r̷,̶” He teased, the arm around her shoulder squeezing slightly.

Charlie blinked and visibly seemed to struggle with herself. Alastor took it upon himself to take her arm and press the rose into her hand, carefully avoiding the thorns (though he wondered how gorgeous blood red would look against her pale skin, he preferred it not be her blood).

“A̴ ̶r̵o̴se for a demon beaut̵y̷.̴” He raised the hand that was around her shoulder to cup her cheek. “I̴t̴ ̶p̶a̶l̷es in comparison to your charm but, then again, I would be looking for an eternity if I were to try and find a flower that compared to your stunning smi̷l̶e̵.̷”

Hearts practically flooded her eyes as they gazed into his own. A charmed smile melted into her features, taking over nearly her entire face.

Pride and, to his chagrin, warmth overflowed within Alastor. It burned through him and he suddenly had the thought that, yes, he would do anything to have her keep smiling at him just like that.

Despite reason and how his heart had ceased to beat many decades ago, he found something of the like burning inside of him for this girl who was naive, yet had so much potential that she was practically brimming with it. The ember had turned into an inferno and he burned for this girl who had somehow taken a part of him that he didn’t know he had needed to guard.

He almost frowned at the stream of thoughts and shoved them out the figurative window. The demon wanted her the same way he wanted everything else: entirely. He would have her. All of her. It was as simple as that.

What did it matter if he lost a bit of himself if it just meant that he would get it back in the end?

(Hint: he doesn’t get it back)

#origin #hazbin hotel #charlastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbinh #1920sAU

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lia-jones · 4 years ago

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Growing Pains - Chapter Ten - Finding Solace

My doorbell rang at 6:30 sharp. Apparently the driver shared Victor’s punctuality, and for a moment I considered how effective Victor was on keeping everyone on their toes. Without answering through the intercom, I went downstairs.

The black sedan was parked on the curb in front of the building. I walked to the car and the front passenger window opened. I immediately recognized the bass voice coming from inside.

“Get in.”

I paused for a moment, startled. Didn’t he say he was going to send a car?

“What? You forgot how the door opens?” Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine.

“Good morning.” I said, getting in the car. Of course, I didn’t have a reply. He pulled the car from the curb and just drove, his eyes focused on the road.

“Your coffee is getting cold.” Victor finally spoke.

I looked down. In the cup holder, there was a paper coffee cup with my name on it.

“Thank you.” I said before taking a sip, the warmth and the caffeine making me feel a whole lot better.

“It’s nothing.”

He spoke without even glancing at me, his eyes on the road at all times. I looked closer at him, hoping he would feel my gaze and at the very least glance at me. After a moment, I realized he was lost in thought. Like the true daughter of a therapist, I studied his posture. He looked tense, his shoulders not all the way down, his grip hard on the wheel.

“You look tense.” I finally blurted out, not caring if he would like it or not.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ok, he didn’t want to talk. Tough luck.

“How did it go yesterday?” I pressed again.

Victor sighed.

“I spent yesterday’s afternoon with a forensic team. Ted embezzled almost two million dollars from the company. The lawyers pressed charges. He will be taken for questioning today.”

“I’m sorry. I understand it must be hard, you being friends and all.”

“It’s my company. It’s my responsibility.” Victor’s expression turned sour. “I shouldn’t have let friendship affect business.”

“You speak like this is your fault.” I said, in disbelief. Was he really taking the blame for being robbed blind?

Victor was quiet for a while, focused on entering LFG’s parking lot and parking his car at his reserved spot. He killed the engine and sat back on his seat.

“It is my responsibility.” He finally said, his voice low. “The people I hire, what and how they do, all of that is my responsibility.”

“That’s honorable, but a little pretentious as well. You can’t possibly know everything about everyone, know exactly what’s on their minds, predict every crappy thing life throws at you.”

“And even though it’s painstakingly obvious that I can’t, that is exactly what’s expected from me.” His eyes were filled with a painful resolve. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say. Victor was fully aware of how heavy the crown was.

Our ride in the elevator to the top floor was silent. Victor kept himself busy with his phone, and I spent the time counting up the floors as we rose through the tall building.

“Today will be a hard day.” Victor said, touching my arm slightly. “Dealing with the mess Ted left won’t be easy, this is more than just making payments, I need to clear the company’s name. I need to protect what took so many years to build. The partners already know you, they will trust you. I’m counting on your help.”

I smiled softly at Victor.

“I’ll do my best. Thank you for trusting my skills.”

“I do.” His eyes were earnest. “I do trust you.”

As I walked into the office, I was startled with the piles of documents in both desks. Victor followed me in and, without another word, took his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I said, not even bothering to sit. I took one of the files and skimmed through it.

Victor leaned on the desk and explained his strategy to fix that mess. Some of the partners were trying to back away from the funding, already seeking other investors. Every file contained an alternative investment plan, one more alluring to the partners, in order to keep them with LFG. Ted held the accounts of some major companies, and losing them would be a hard blow on LFG’s reputation and profits.

Goldman joined us shortly after, his hand busy with coffee and food to fuel our morning. I spent the entire time talking to the partners, apologizing for what had happened and offering a renegotiation of the contractual terms.

We never left the office, except for bathroom breaks, having lunch while working. One by one, the files on both our desks disappeared.

By the time Goldman took the last file, it was dark out.

“Are we done?” I asked, leaning back on my chair.

Victor was already leaning on his chair, staring at nothing. He has taken off his tie and undone the first two buttons of his shirt, and he looked exhausted, faint dark circles surrounding his eyes, his hair slightly disheveled.

“Yes. We’re done for today.” Victor said, getting up. “Get your things, I’ll drive you home.”

We left the office and walked in the elevator silently, the humming of the elevator motors the only audible thing. I was startled by Victor’s voice.

“You know, we deserve a treat after all this hard work. Have dinner with me.”

“Sounds good. I mean, if you’re not too tired. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense.” Victor shook his head. “I could use the company and the distraction.”

Victor drove us to an eclectic part of town, filled with buildings of odd colors and shapes. We could see art everywhere: in the walls, the gardens, the light posts. Everything was decorated with something original and beautiful, representing some culture.

“I have been here for what? Almost six months? And I have never visited this part of town, it’s beautiful.” I said as I looked around.

“It’s southwest Loveland, the artistic part of town.” Victor explained. “If you follow the street we just passed to your left, you’ll find Loveland’s Museum. A few blocks after, the Music School and Loveland’s Theatre, where Loveland’s Orchestra performs.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been here for months and haven’t properly visited the city yet?”

“Levi keeps inviting me, but work on my thesis during the weekend, so…” I shrugged. My life had been all work, no play. I had to do something about that.

“Levi?”

“My neighbor. He’s an immigrant like me, but he’s been here for years, so he knows his way around the city.”

“That’s ridiculous. You should visit the city with someone that is actually from Loveland, someone who actually knows the place.” Victor said, frowning. “I could give you a tour one of these days.”

“You?” I was surprised. “It’s fine, you probably have better things to do.”

“You don’t need to worry about what I have or don’t have to do.” Victor replied coldly. “I know every nook and corner of this town. I will gladly show you around.”

“Ok, thank you.” I nodded. He was probably just being polite, so there was no use speaking about it anymore.

We arrived at a secluded restaurant named Solace. It was totally decorated in shades of black and white, the walls covered with photographs of what the owner seemingly perceived as comfort: hands holding, two people hugging, a sunset, someone crying with joy.

“So, what do you think?” Victor asked, as we sat at a small table at the corner.

“I love it. The art is beautiful.” I said, still admiring the photographs on the walls.

“I knew you’d like it.” Victor picked up the menu. “The food is exquisite as well. You should try the duck, it’s delicious. Do you want to pick the wine, Miss “my-father-is-an-oenologist”?” Victor handed me the wine menu.

“You overestimate my knowledge of wine. Please do the honors.” I gave the menu back to Victor. He opened it, reading it carefully.

“So we’re both having the duck… How do you feel about… Beaujolais?”

“Fruity wine. I like the way you think.” I nodded. I didn’t have to be a connoisseur as my father to know Victor understood wine perfectly. I imagined how it would be like if Victor ever visited my parents’ house. He wouldn’t leave the cellar.

Our food arrived shortly, and Victor was absolutely right, it was delicious. The kind of food you’d expect from a 3 Michelin star restaurant, but in a small venue, where you could eat and just chill, listen to the music and enjoy the art, straight from work. Really my kind of place. Simple, elegant and with good food.

“How’s your meal?” Victor asked.

“Like you said: exquisite. And the wine matches it perfectly.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Victor said, filling my empty glass with more wine. “We need to toast.” He said, raising his glass. “To a job well done.”

“Cheers!” I smiled, as I raised my glass and clinked it with Victor’s. “You have to look me in the eyes while you drink, or you will get seven years of terrible sex.”

For the life of me, I don’t know why I said that. Maybe the wine was getting to me. Luckily, Victor found my words amusing, chuckling at my moronic statement.

“You believe in such a superstition?” He asked, holding his cup in the air, without drinking it.

“No, but… It’s seven years of terrible sex. Better safe than sorry.”

“Sure, nobody wants that. Let’s drink then.” He brought the cup to his lips and drank, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Your girlfriends will deeply appreciate it.” I nodded ceremoniously.

“What girlfriends?”

“Oh, please, a guy like you? Wealthy and good looking?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“We do have a whole department for girlfriends at LFG.” He stated, his face dead serious. “They have to fill an application, stating how they can make my wildest dreams come true, and occasionally I drop by to beat them off with a stick.” He paused for my reaction, which was a laugh. “Where have you ever seen me with a woman? Even if I did have women lining up for me, they don’t interest me. I prefer quality over quantity.”

“You’re in search of the one and only? When you find her, please introduce her to me? I want to see the girl that meets your very high standards.” My heart panged. I ignored it completely.

“I don’t think I have to search much longer, actually.” He looked at me meaningfully. My heart swelled. My head immediately stumped it down. Stop reading into things, Andrea.

“Well, what are you doing here with me, then? Shouldn’t you be with her instead? Go get your piece of heaven, be happy.” I wanted to sound perky and positive, but my tone came out all wrong, my uneasiness about the subject clearly showing. Victor smiled.

“I have to be patient with her. If I come out too strong, I’ll scare her away. Besides, she’s terrible at understanding the subtle hints I give her, so I’ll have to wait for her to put all the pieces together before I can actually be blunt about it.” She has to be incredibly stupid if she’s missing the chance, I thought.

“I don’t know, if it’s this hard to begin with, if you have to use such caution, maybe it’s not worth it at all.” My words sounded more bitter than I intended.

“It’s supposed to be hard. The things that matter to you the most usually are. If you’re not willing to give it your all, put yourself on the spot and risk losing everything, it’s because that thing wasn’t as important as you thought.” Victor looked me in the eyes and rested his hand on the table. I wanted to hold it, but refrained. He quickly took his hand away, taking his glass to drink more wine. I did the same.

“Enough about me.” He stated. “What about you? Besides that Lewis guy, any love interest?”

I almost snorted the wine I was drinking.

“Ok, first: Levi is not a love interest. Not at all, not once, not ever.” I said, gesticulating furiously. “Second: I don’t have the time to visit the city, where would I find the time to date? No dates.”

“Does that mean you’re off the market, so to speak?”

“It means I don’t even have a clue where the market is. I’m still finding my ground here.”

“Good to know.” Victor smiled.

“What’s good to know? The fact that I’m pathetic? I’m glad you enjoy it, always a pleasure to serve.” I spoke ironically, pretending to be offended.

“It’s good to know that you’re working hard on finding your ground. You have all these plans, your doctorate, launching your career, I hope you see all of those through.” Victor replied earnestly.

Me too. It was so important for me to get my life back on track after so much I had been through. To find my own solace. I promised myself that when I got my diploma I would take a picture of it and give it to the owner of this restaurant.

I waited by the entrance as Victor paid the bill. I hadn’t noticed before the huge photograph near the door, hands lovingly holding a pregnant belly.

“There’s no solace like your mother’s womb.” I hear Victor speaking behind me. “Where you find nothing but warmth and love.”

I didn’t reply. I was afraid words would let out the tears I was hiding. I got out the door.

“Is everything ok?” He followed me, watching me closely.

“Oh, yeah, everything is fine.” I tried to downplay it, but he could hear in my voice how tight my throat was.

“Everything is not fine.” Victor insisted, softly putting his hand on my back. “Tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is fine!” I laughed. “I just got emotional with the photograph and I didn’t want you to make fun of me. I admit, maybe I had too much wine.” Victor’s eyes were deep into mine, scanning my expression for any sign of deceit. “Do you mind taking me home? It’s late, and we had a rough day…”

“Sure.” Victor promptly answered, as he snapped out of focus. “You’re right, we’re both tired, we should get some rest.”

He seemed to find my excuse satisfactory, dropping the subject completely. But I suspected he didn’t really believe me, because his hand never left my back as we walked to the car.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingpains #mlqc victor #victor x oc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc li zeyan #love and producer #mister love queens choice

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ms31x129 · 6 years ago

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MSR/other/long winded responses

@likos064

This is from another blog discussion @likos064 responses in italics and then my thoughts. The other thread was getting long and the tumblr kept timing out for me.

‘Personally, I have no interest in Mulder or Scully/Other. Regardless of whether it is before they met, during the show pre or post relationship, though I ignore any breakup because I find it redundant, even though I understand the limitations of a TV show and Drama 101. What I cannot ignore, however, are double standards when it comes to writing these Other-relationships. Generally, when its Mulder/Other, regardless of whether he and Scully are involved or not, Mulder is portrayed as the bad guy. Excepting pre-X-files, but even that might be a stretch.

Conversely when it is Scully/Other she is portrayed to be in the right, a woman who is simply being true to her desires and taking what she deserves. It doesn’t matter whether she is involved with Mulder, at the cusp or committed she is still entitled to have sex with whoever she wants. But this only applies to her. Even in fics portraying a breakup she is allowed to move on while he has to wait for her to come back, if he wants companionship. And at that point, I don’t want them together any longer.

Retrograde as mentioned above is a good example. I don’t want her anywhere near him and I find it preposterous that he is completely alone so that she can prey on him in his weakness. People can write, like and headcanon what they want. But I am disturbed by the abuse that is so often encouraged towards him. Why make her as damaging as Phoebe and Diana?’

I agree with pretty much everything you said above and perhaps that’s why the ‘break-up’ eps have bothered me, I have trouble with getting into Scully’s mind – perhaps that’s a result of male writers? And no ‘show bible?’ I am a Mulderist through and through and I try not (I might not always succeed) to ‘cut’ Scully down in order to praise Mulder.

Through the seasons I think there have been hints as to Scully wanting a relationship/family – at some point, and it’s actually hard for me to pinpoint when she really chose Mulder – although running away with him in the Truth was a pretty good statement. Jersey Devil, Revelations (her instinct with Kevin,) Home are 3 right of the top of my head. (What’s wrong with a woman who doesn’t want children?) In the back of my mind I think I could always see Scully as being the one to move on and be just another person who left Mulder.

Mulder I think does want a family, I just don’t know if he thinks he deserves it? He really is so good with children in the eps – is that due to his psychology background – maybe? He didn’t ‘bond’ with Kevin in Revelations partly I think due to the Religion aspect although he doesn’t naysay Scully when she wants to keep Kevin with them either. In Home Mulder is telling Scully a happy memory of being a kid, baseball his sister – that dialogue stood out to me as well as the remarks about the kind of home he’d like to settle down in. Cliché it is, but I think he’s was searching for the family he lost the day Samantha disappeared. Even if he hadn’t believed it was Aliens I think Mulder would have kept searching regardless.

‘You’re right she did want to be with him. However, I don’t view the desire to be the same as action though there is definitely emotional cheating on Daniel’s part. A Platonic Romance can be just as threatening to marriage as one with a sexual component. Nevertheless, the fandom interpretation takes the relationship in a direction far different from the one that Gillian intended and that’s what I thought of when you complained about Scully’s involvement with a married man.’

Hmm… I could be wrong, but I thought GA said in several interviews that she intended for it to be obvious Scully and Daniel had been lovers. Even though she knows Scully’s character is Catholic and had been brought up to respect marriage it was one of Scully’s rebellion’s? GA doesn’t have a strict religious view point, so I thought this part of AT was more GA than Scully especially since she seemed to scoff at her sister Melissa’s more open / nature new age beliefs. At the same time within the ep I could view it as did knowing Mulder allow her to open up to other religions? Ideas? IMO it would have been nice to let Mulder know that occasionally.

I will confess that I too have some reservations over her behavior in all things. According to Frank Spotnitz and Chris Carter, Mulder and Scully are already involved in all things. The scene at the beginning with Mulder in bed was to indicate an ongoing sexual relationship not the start of one. Gillian knew this and still wrote Scully as deciding to leave Mulder, per the original script, only to change her mind again.

Well unfortunately we can’t take what FS or CC says for granted. I would love to read those statements though the only one I can recall is Frank S. reminding fans that AT wasn’t the first time M&S were in each others apartments overnight. How many times were we told William is Mulder’s son. For me that rankles as just another way to hurt Mulder, regardless all those years he thought he had a son out there.

‘My issue lies more in that this confirms Mulder’s fears, something that I see him being mocked over consistently; primarily when he runs away from her in Detour. I see numerous complaints about how he waited too long, but I always interpreted it, beyond TV show limitations and the patterns that existed in the 90s, as her not being ready for a relationship. Nor did I see an invitation of wine and cheese as a guaranteed sexual offer.’

I agree with this, I also wonder how much the whole experience with Scully almost dying affected him and wanting to be more, and of course Bill’s reaction I’m sure dug a little spot in his mind too. What is dying but another form of abandonment in a sense. I didn’t like ‘3’ either, but that was much earlier in their partnership so it was a little (very little) more palatable.

‘Nevertheless, I’m curious about your aversion to Scully’s attraction to older authoritative men. I don’t understand why you think she’s too smart for this. I always saw it as a father complex, an extension of the affection and more importantly approval she so desperately wanted from her father. Similarly, I viewed Mulder’s attraction to older women as a mother complex rooted in the affection his mother deprived him of following Samantha’s abduction.’

I know my aversion is mainly from a life experience and a friend’s story. I only took one college class and you could just see the professor eyeing up every girl that walked in until it landed on my friend. She was a straight A student, she wasn’t shy or outgoing we all thought her feet were planted firmly on the ground. He praised her, but you could also see subtle ‘put downs’ – you shouldn’t do it that way only an infant would things like that some worse. And all of us were shocked when she started a relationship with the professor who was 17 yrs older I think. Long story short he was married had 3 or 4 kids, she got pregnant he dropped her like a hot potato, she got an abortion and tried to commit suicide. We ended up finding out she’d been sexually abused as a child by her father or step-father. She moved and I haven’t seen or heard from her in over 30 yrs.

I know there wasn’t any hint of that in Scully and her father’s relationship, but the whole older-man/daddy issue has just always made me angry/disgusted in general.

’I see Daniel as an authority figure as well as a teacher who values her intelligence and makes her feel as though she matters. While Jack has a more obsessive quality towards his work, like her father who prioritized the navy over her. Both would have given her approval because they were teachers and she did her assignments. She mostly met their expectations. Until she didn’t.’

I agree with some of that. Mulder is different than those two men, I don’t see that many similarities. In NA when people say Mulder was treating Scully like her boss – jerk is the term I see most. Well technically he is the dept. head and he could assign her things. When they jointly investigate cases it makes sense to split up when their particular skills are better utilized – he thinks outside the box and she provides the facts/science when possible.

I always saw it as how much trust had formed that Mulder knew Scully would handle things. When he sort of scoffs at Scully handing off the case, I don’t take it as him not trusting/believing her – I think he was looking for any excuse to come back – I could be wrong.

And as I recall Scully has made jokes about Mulder’s dating or ala Jersey Devil Mulder’s “I have a life” reply to Scully. It seems okay when she does it but when he does it’s wrong.

‘Phoebe was manipulative but her mind games could still lead to rewards.’

I’m curious what rewards do you mean?

‘Diana I see as terribly accommodating but just as manipulative as Phoebe.’

Groan – I just hate the character of Diana for so many reasons. I hate when shows just drop in a character for shock value. I can’t believe in almost 5yrs of working together Diana’s name never once came up. That Scully never saw her name in a case file. That the LG never mentioned her before either you’d think there’d have been a comparison of the two, unless DF wasn’t a ‘work’ partner.

This is the man who opens up to Scully on their 1st case together and tells her about his sister in a very intimate way - even though he initially thinks she’s sent to spy on him. Yet when DF appears – initially its just generic basics about her, she gets shot and FTF come out with the whole ‘almost kiss’ scene. I’m sure DF would be too confusing for the ‘new’ fans Fox/CC were hoping to entice.

Then the Beginning – no mention of a kiss – Mulder appears so frustrated with Scully, but he trusts her completely with Gibson and it makes sense she’s the doctor. In the other eps with DF we never see Mulder seeking her out, yet he doesn’t seem to be sharing with Scully why he trusts Diana or the audience. To me that whole season (6) was Mulder making a choice to be with Scully at work and after work on cases like Dreamland.

I think the perfect time to introduce a new set of agents would have been right after FTF, are we to believe scientists worldwide wouldn’t have gotten notice of seismographs going off - tremors in Antartica they wouldn’t be down there investigating the cause.

Maybe that’s one of the problems with XFiles trying to straddle that line Aliens – but also real world cases happening in real time?

‘In both cases, Mulder’s need to please and be acknowledged would’ve been satisfied. I feel that Mulder and Scully partly satisfy these complexes in each other. Mulder is in a supervising role and Scully does want his acknowledgment and unless the script says otherwise, see Never Again, she gets it. Likewise, Scully acknowledges Mulder and appreciates him, unless the script calls for otherwise, like in all things. And if you decide to acknowledge the season 10-11 breakup.’

Quite the difference in DD and GA’s script(s), especially in the Unnatural it’s all about learning, a connection to someone, something even though neither M or S are in the ep, but for 7-8 minutes. I know some still get mad for the ‘ticking of her biological clock’ reference, but that is a common saying and Mulder was using it in that light-hearted way. Hollywood AD was a quirky ep and one of the ones that it’s hard to put in the XF ‘case’ universe, but even it had some poingnant moments and again M & S spending time outside of work together enjoying each other’s company.

And then AT – all about Scully, more of a character study. Mulder is flirty with his projector in the beginning and she’s stabbing her salad and snapping at him. I definitely didn’t care for snarky Scully. In the whole ep the only section I like is their conversation on the couch, the way DD plays Mulder and the way he looks at her – that man is in love, period.

S10-11 Breakup = stupid. As per the ratings immediate drop from week 1 to week 2 and kept on going. The idea that Mulder had to choose Scully over going back to work for the FBI – if that’s what he wanted to do is just wrong. And Scully just happening to work for a hospital and one or more of the patrons/dr.’s happening to experiment on his own children. There would have been the perfect ‘case’ to draw Scully back to working on the X-Files with Mulder and if they’d set up those other agents in S6 who knows how the series would have ended.

One other thing that bothered me as the show progressed is what I call the dumbing down of Mulder. In Deep Throat Mulder has the line about his hotshot pilot friend and asks a technical flight question in other eps he also would pull facts both unusual and technical out in dialogue. Then it seemed that slowly faded. Was it to prop Scully up as being smarter? I don’t know I just missed those little moments of Mulder’s brilliance.

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kianraidelcam · 6 years ago

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IT’S HERE. Day 6: “Panicking” for @whumptopia‘s RoboWhump 30 Day Challenge! I originally posted a preview of it which kind of didn’t happen...oops. This idea ran away from me. Full explanation for that in the link! Tomorrow’s prompt is “Temperature Regulator Damage” and I am researching how computers react to the cold. Full fic under the cut for those who prefer it! Reblogs are love!

Connor would later describe it as feeling as if he lost all control.

Red blood. Blue blood. Spilling over, combining into a macabre purple. Playing over and over again in front of his eyes. His fault, his fault, it was all his fault. Breath quickening, eyes searching for a danger that wasn’t there, systems scanning even though he didn’t tell them too. His thirium pump pounding in his chest, elevated past what was considered optimal. It hurt, why did his chest hurt, there was nothing wrong but everything felt wrong. He almost ruined everything and they know, they know it is all his fault and they’re coming.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

That couldn’t be right. He had what Hank called a gut feeling. He was in danger, danger, danger.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^80%}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

Connor grips his hair, pulling on the synthetic strands, while his chest heaves for air he doesn’t need ( air air where was the air ). A tingling sensation begins to fill his limbs, starting with his fingers before filling his hands, before weighing down his limbs with a static lead. Sumo, he needed Sumo. Hank’s dog always lowered his stress levels and if he could just get the warnings appearing bright red in his visual field to stop, he could find the danger, he could see the danger.

“Sumo,” he rasps into the empty living room, distantly aware that his voice echoes with a mechanical reverb brought upon by his systems working overtime, “Sumo, come.”

He waits for the clacking of nails on the hardwood floor, for the heavy panting from the Saint Bernard to announce his presence. Nothing comes. The only sound that echoes through the empty home is his labored breathing, his fans kicking into overdrive. Connor’s legs give out and he tumbles to the floor in front of the couch.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{REVIEW MESSAGE FROM LT. HANK ANDERSON: FRIEND}

{Taking Sumo to the vet. Try not to burn down the house or shoot anything while we’re gone.}

That’s right. Sumo had an appointment at the veterinary clinic today. But that had been at 11:30am and his internal clock told him it was currently 2:47pm. They should have been back by now, what if something happened? There could have been a car accident, an ex-convict with a grudge could have happened across the lieutenant, anti-android activists could have recognized him as the police officer with an android partner. There could have been a robbery gone wrong, Sumo could have tried to cross the street at the wrong time, things could have spiraled out of control like he was now.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR UNSTABLE}

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^90%}

{PROBABILITY OF SELF-DESTRUCTION: HIGH}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

Hank could be gone, what if he was gone, Connor wasn’t ready he wasn’t ready. And he can still feel the danger approaching like a freight train, ready to completely destroy him once it hit. Hank, he needs Hank, he needs his friend, his partner, his father.

{CONTACTING LT. HANK ANDERSON}

{CONNECTING…}

“Hey, Con. What’s up?”

The Lieutenant’s gruff voice sounds in his head and Connor’s systems immediately offer an analysis on the man’s tone. Calm, not out of breath, low levels of stress. There’s the faint sound of jazz music playing in the background, along with Sumo’s signature panting. Evidence suggests they are in the car, perhaps on the freeway. The relief that courses through his wires is even stronger than the relief he felt upon seeing Hank the day after the revolution.

“Connor, you there,” Connor can’t bring himself to respond, opting to scan the room yet again, “Jesus, can androids even fucking pocket dial?”

He must subconsciously switch his phone call to match his vocal unit because Hank is suddenly speaking, concern seeping into his tone, “Hey, kid? Is that you breathing like that? What’s going on?”

Everything, he wants to say. Something or someone is coming for him, even if he can’t say what. He feels like his needs to deactivate his skin and tear off his plastic chassis because here is static that won’t go away underneath it, bringing him down and rendering him unable to even get up. His memory files are playing back images of blood, both red and blue, that he spilled and it won’t stop. Gunshots echo in his head, almost drowning out Hank’s voice, along with screams sounding off in a rusted ship. Too much , Connor wants to say.

“I-I-I...I can’t,” is what he manages.

There’s a pause, then a curse on the other line before Connor’s auditory unit’s pick up on the sound of the engine revving. “Yes you can. I need you to talk to me, what are your stress levels at?”

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^90%}

{PROBABILITY OF SELF DESTRUCTION: HIGH}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

“Ninety percent…” Connor’s voice is hardly a whisper.

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

Connor’s shaking his head, despite knowing Hank can’t see him, “I-I’m home… I don’t know what’s wrong… they’re coming…”

“Shit...take a deep breath, Connor. Who’s coming,” Hank’s voice is like a tether, promising to secure him back to the ground.

“I don’t know, Hank, I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on with me,” his respiration rate picks up to 60 breaths per minute, “What’s...what’s happening?”

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^95%

{STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL: STASIS RECOMMENDED}

“You’re having a panic attack, Connor. I need you to take deep breaths and focus on my voice, okay?” Hank’s voice is low and steady, with a calming inflection. The part of Connor that is still capable, still logical, offers him the reasons why. Low, even tones helped to calm distressed people, building a sense of security and trust. His systems also offer him a definition for panic attack.

{PANIC ATTACK: A sudden episode of intense fear/anxiety that triggers severe physical reactions despite a lack of danger or apparent cause. Panic Disorder common in adults between the ages of 20-25}

But he wasn’t human. He’s a machine. He wasn’t designed to be capable of having a panic attack.

He must voice these thoughts out loud because Hank is suddenly speaking again in the same, reassuring manner, “You weren’t supposed to feel emotions either, but here we are. It’s alright, the feeling will go away soon. I want you to breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Connor hears the exaggerated breathing and makes a few attempts to mimic it. It feels as if his ventilation biocomponents are stuttering, hiccuping their way through his imitation of a breath. He can’t breathe, he doesn’t need to but he can’t fucking breathe where was the air?

{STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL}

{PLEASE SEEK A CALMER ENVIRONMENT}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

His snort would be derisive if it didn’t sound so choked. He’s home, it is supposed to be the safest, calmest place he had but he could feel the walls closing in. Threatening him. Trapping him. Suddenly, the open space of the living room leaves him feeling claustrophobic, imprisoned, trapped. He ignores Hank’s questioning and surges to his feet, static forgotten as he sprints to the front door, nearly ripping off the doorknob in his haste to get out, to escape.

It’s pouring outside, Detroit currently in the rainiest April they’ve had since the invention of androids. The rain soaks him in seconds, slicking the hair to his artificial skull and drenching his clothes. It feels nice and cool against his overheating body and he falls to his knees on the lawn. Connor’s fingers grasp at the grass, digging through old leaves and dirt. He’s always liked the rain. The way it washes the earth clean, making the smog of the city disappear for a couple hours. The way the world seems new, painting the soft greens and blues in more vivid colors. The way it smells fresh and how everything feels softer.

Rain is good. It’s nice. It paves the way for new life.

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

The prompt flashes in his vision like a neon sign. A failsafe against self-destruction Josh designed to assist deviants with their new, stressful lives, it gave them a way out that didn’t involve slamming their heads against whatever hard surface they could find. Once his levels reached 98%, his systems would automatically be forced into stasis, but at anything 80 or above, the prompt would flash until their levels either lowered or they powered down. Powering down, out here in the pattering rain, seemed like a better idea with every drop that touched his skin.

Connor disconnects the call with Lieutenant Anderson, despite the yelling coming from the other line, and he lies on the ground, looking at the gray sky. His limbs were once again replaced by static, terror threatening to wash him away. Images flashed over and over again and he wanted nothing more than the nothingness of stasis. He can feel the failsafe urging him closer and closer to the coding that induced stasis in androids.

Josh should be proud. He did his job and he did it well.

{INITIATING STASIS IN 3}

{2}

{1}

{GOODNIGHT RK800}

{MODEL RK800}

{SERIAL #313 248 317 - 51}

{BIOS 8.7 REVISION 2221}

{REBOOT…}

{STRESS INDUCED STASIS}

{LOADING OS…}

{SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK}

{INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK}

{INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK}

{MEMORY STATUS… OK}

{ALL SYSTEMS… OK}

{READY}

{STRESS LEVELS 20%}

Connor blinks, his LED switching from the calm blue of stasis to a puzzled yellow as he stares at the ceiling. He didn’t remember changing into dry sweatpants or putting on Hank’s police academy hoodie. He didn’t remember grabbing a blanket and laying down on the tattered, old couch. And he certainly didn’t remember Sumo coming home, even though the old dog was now laying on his chest, breathing heavily on his face. The RK800 looks around the room, brown irises searching until they land on a grizzled, older man sitting on the recliner, eyes intent on the TV screen playing the Detroit Gears game across from him. “Hank?”

It’s like a bullet goes off in the room from how high the man jumps, beer spilling from the bottle in his hand. “Jesus fucking christ, kid! Warn a guy before you scare the shit out of him next time.”

“Apologies.” Hank sets the now empty bottle on the glass table, still cursing as he wipes his sticky, wet hand on his pants. He looks at Connor with tired eyes, blue eyes nearly glowing in the darkened room. Connor checks his internal clock; 11:32pm. “How long have you been home?”

“I got home ‘bout five minutes after your shiny plastic ass hung up on me. Speaking of which, don’t you,” Hank points a finger at the android for emphasis, “ever do that again. Thought you went and shut down on me.”

If Connor were sitting, he would look down at the floor. As it is, he touches his chin to his chest and stares at the sleeping dog, unable to make eye contact, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

The human heaves a sigh and Connor can hear the sound of skin dragging over stubble, “Don’ apologize, kid. Shouldn’t have said that. You just scared me is all. I came home to find you passed out on the lawn, staring up at the sky. I thought you had self-destructed or some shit.”

“Josh designed a program to induce stasis in case my stress levels ever got too high,” he offers as a way of explanation.

Hank nods, snapping his fingers to get Connor to look at him, “Yeah, that’s what Simon said. Speaking of which, he left some solidified thirium for you. It’s shaped like fucking animal crackers, when the hell did that start happening?”

Connor ignores the question, raising his eyebrows at Hank’s statement, “Simon was here?”

“Yeah, well, I thought something was wrong so I called him over to help. Not as young as I used to be, Con, no way I was going to lift your metal ass back inside. He helped me get you inside and explained what happened after connecting with you.”

He looks away from the Lieutenant, watching the muted game instead. “So,” Hank says.

“So?” Connor questions.

“We gonna talk about what happened?”

Connor sighs, a habit he picked up from the man, “I don’t know what happened. I assume it was an error or malfunction.”

There’s a pause in which the Gears score and Sumo huffs softly in his sleep. Then, a napkin bounces off the android’s head, bringing his attention back to the Lieutenant. Once Hank is sure he has his attention, he speaks, his voice gruffly affectionate, “You know, for a walking supercomputer you sure are a fucking dumbass.”

“Lieutenant?”

“You had a goddamn panic attack. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it happens,” he raises his hand to stop Connor as the RK800 opens his mouth to protest, “I know the symptoms well enough by now to recognize one when I see..hear it.”

A frown finds its way onto Connor’s face, eyebrows furrowing, “It was…” he trails off, unsure.

Hank nods in understanding, “Overwhelming?”

“Yes. It felt like I was in danger, but I couldn’t find the reason why, then my systems went into overdrive.”

“Works the same way in humans, Con. Welcome to living, it fucking sucks,” Hank kicks his recliner back into its original arrangement, putting him into a sitting position, “But we can learn what triggers them in you, and how to make them shorter and less intense. You ain’t fucking doing this alone.”

Connor lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “How?”

“Shit, well...you know I’m bad about talking about my feelings but I ain’ half bad at listening. And I’m guessing it’s going to be trial and error. But we’re gonna see if what works for humans works for androids. Breathing and grounding techniques that I learned might help. Also, Simon told me to let you know he’s invited you to a support group he has going on at New Jericho. A lot of Tracis and military androids are supposed to be going to it.”

His stress levels decrease at Hank’s words and he offers the man a soft, half smile, “Thanks, Hank. I...appreciate it.”

The Lieutenant pats his legs, calling Sumo. The big dog sighs before lumbering off Connor and padding toward his owner’s side. Connor sits up, catching a box Hank tosses at him once he’s fully up. “Here, eat your fucking blood cookies, ya vampire. Here you are, going off on me about what I eat and then you go and stuff your face with blue shit.”

“The difference between thirium and what you eat is that thirium is necessary to my function, and therefore, considered ‘healthy’ for an android. Fast food, filled with grease and sodium, is not.”

“Hey, Con?”

“Yes?”

“Fuck off.”

#30 day robowhump challenge #whumptopia #panicking #panic attack #dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #connor whump #connor #connor rk800 #hank anderson #sumo #dbh sumo #Sumo is best dog

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narumi-gens · 6 years ago

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Weary Hearts Dazai Osamu/Reader Chapter 3 - Out of the Frying Pan

Read on AO3.

Dazai felt lighter than air as he walked through the bustling Yokohama street. With a small folder under his arm and what could only be described as a spring in his step, he whistled to himself some nameless song that had been stuck in his head since that morning. It had been awhile since he had felt this good and his mood could be traced to a missing girl connected to two murders and the thin folder under his arm.

Yes. He felt good. So good in fact, that he’d decided to put off his planned suicide until he could see this chase through to the end. Once the game was over and he had caught you, then he would finally take his own life. But for the first time in a long while, he had something immediate worth living for.

But he was jarred from his daze when someone bumped into him, the force enough to cause the folder to slip from under his arm. With reflexes that could only be honed through years of training and practice, he managed to catch it before the folder’s contents could scatter across the sidewalk.

Of course, his movements carried the same dramatic flair as was usual, the file bouncing from hand to hand as he exaggerated the possibility that he might drop it. Once he had the file back in hand, he let out a loud sigh of relief and placed a hand over his heart.

“That was close,” he said happily to himself and he quickly flipped through the papers inside of the folder, ensuring that he hadn’t lost any in the scramble.

“Sorry,” a girl’s voice—the voice of the person who had run into him—murmured and Dazai looked up just in time to see the girl slip into the crowd. The playfulness disappeared from Dazai’s features as he lost track of her amongst the throng of people.

His eyes narrowed fractionally before he shrugged dismissively. At this point, there was nothing to be done and so he continued on his way, turning his mind back to the chase he was on and letting his excitement carry him the rest of the way to Lupin.

As he descended the stairs into the bar, he found himself whistling again, his earlier mood having returned in full force. Odasaku was already seated at the bar, a glass of whiskey placed in front of him. He looked up curiously and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“You seem in an exceptionally good mood,” he noted and Dazai gave him a cheerful smile in return as he sat down at his side. A moment later, a glass of whiskey was set down in front of him by the old bartender.

Rather than replying, Dazai began to hum the melody he had originally been whistling and set his folder onto the bartop before sliding it to Odasaku. Odasaku looked at it blankly for a moment before picking it up so that he could leaf through its contents.

“What’s this?” he asked, pausing for a moment on the picture of you that Arata had sent him—the one of your blood-stained face.

“My next project,” Dazai hummed happily, picking up his drink and taking a sip. Odasaku could immediately see what had captured Dazai’s interest as he read over the police report on the death of a boy named Iwasaki Eiji.

“‘Drowned in his own blood’?” Odasaku read aloud, the confusion evident in his voice. One couldn’t be a member of the Port Mafia without hearing of odd deaths, but this had to be one of the more remarkable ones that Odasaku had come across. Especially when he turned the page and saw the crime scene photos, the bed that was covered in blood. “What, this girl did that?”

He flipped back to the photo at the front and couldn’t stop the wave of pity that washed over him as he looked at your image. Whatever hopes of a normal life you had went out the window the moment this boy had died.

“That’s not all…” Dazai teased, capturing Odasaku’s attention and he returned where he had left off, flipping past the crime scene photos until he stopped at a still that had been printed out from a security camera. The image was slightly grainy, but it was clear enough for him to make out what was happening.

A middle-aged man had you bent forward over the hood of a car as he stood right behind you. Odasaku frowned heavily when he saw that your pants were down at your ankles. He flipped the photo and his eyes widened at the next image. The man from the first picture was lying face-up in a pool of his own blood, which was also splattered across the white hood of the car.

“She did this?” he asked as his eyes continued to absorb the details before turning to the next photo.

“Yep. The cop was on the payroll. He was supposed to hand her over but when I went to pick her up, this was what I found,” Dazai replied and Odasaku glanced up to see that rather than dismay at the girl having disappeared, a sincere smile had formed on his lips.

“And you haven’t found her yet?” Odasaku’s brow furrowed in confusion and he saw Dazai shake his head in his periphery. “Shouldn’t have been too hard, should it? She would have been drenched in his blood.”

“Turn the page.” Dazai’s words came out in a sing-song tone and when Odasaku saw the next photo, an impressed smile found its way onto his own lips. It was another still captured from CCTV footage of you walking alone into a love hotel. The picture was stapled to a credit card statement in Arata’s name showing a charge from the establishment. “She rented a room at a love hotel.”

“Smart,” Odasaku noted. “Shower and a bed. No interactions with staff. Cheap. By-the-hour. Discreet entrances. No one would have noticed her.”

Dazai hummed in agreement. When Odasaku flipped the page, he was surprised to find nothing else. He looked up in confusion at his friend.

“You don’t have anything else on her?” He turned back to the credit card statement and looked at the date of the love hotel transaction. “It’s been a week.”

Dazai let out a noise of frustration at the reminder, but something about it sounded slightly false. Odasaku looked at him for a long moment before he realized what it was. Dazai was enjoying this. He liked that the chase had become a challenge.

“The last thing I have on her is that the day after she killed the cop, she pawned his watch and wedding ring. She got a decent price in cash, which unfortunately means the paper trail ends,” he sighed, slouching forward against the bar dejectedly.

“This is Yokohama. She can’t just go missing from the Port Mafia in this town,” Odasaku pointed out. “Someone will find her and it won’t be long before they do.”

Dazai dropped his head forward until his face was pressed against the surface of the bar and gave a dramatic groan.

“And then all the fun would be gone,” he complained, his words coming out slightly muffled as he spoke into the wooden bartop. He then turned his head to the side without lifting it up and looked at Odasaku and the man saw something dark in Dazai’s eyes. “No, no one else in the Port Mafia will be looking for her. I’ve made sure of that.”

Odasaku merely raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the folder, flipping back towards the front where a short section on your background had been written on one of the pages. His eyes skimmed over the information.

Born and raised in a small, fishing town. Parents dead. Raised by your grandfather. Taken in by your aunt in Yokohama when he died. Exemplary student. And…

“‘Winner and two-time runner-up of the National Youth Go Tournament’?” Odasaku read, surprise lacing his tone. He looked over to Dazai and the corner of his lip turned upwards in a smirk. “No wonder she’s got you beat.”

Before Dazai could argue, the sound of footsteps approaching caused the pair to look up and see the final member of their trio climbing down the stairs to the bar.

“Ango,” Odasauke greeted, Ango returning it genially—or at least as genially as Ango could really be. He then turned to Dazai who was still slumped forward in distress.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, taking the seat to Dazai’s left. He then made a gesture for the bartender to make his usual.

“Just a discussion on the difficulty of playing cat-and-mouse with a talented Go player,” Dazai sighed heavily before pouting petulantly. “They’re too far-seeing and can make too many calculations.”

Odasaku looked at Dazai thoughtfully for a moment.

“Are you any good at Go?” he asked the executive and Dazai shrugged as he sat back up properly, his posture still remaining slouched.

“I can play,” he replied modestly and both Odasaku and Ango scoffed simultaneously. Dazai may complain about the calculating nature of Go players, but with how much he thought through each plan before taking action, there was no doubt that he excelled at the game of strategy.

“You think you could beat her?” Odasaku asked, tossing the file back in front of Dazai and pointing to the picture of you—the same picture of your blood-stained face that Dazai had already spent countless hours looking at.

Dazai picked it up and examined it carefully, almost as if this were the first time he had done so. Finally, his lips formed a dark smirk and he slid the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I guess we’ll find out when I catch her,” he replied before taking a satisfied sip of his whiskey. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and turned to Ango with a look of smug joy. “And you! It’s time for you to pay up!”

Ango dropped his head back with an annoyed groan. Dazai laughed at the reaction and held out his hand expectantly.

“What’s this?” Odasaku interrupted curiously.

“Ango here was foolish enough to bet that I couldn’t get an assassin stupid enough to get himself caught to talk,” Dazai grinned triumphantly, answering on behalf of Ango when the man in question ignored Odasaku to grumble under his breath in displeasure as he pulled out his wallet.

Counting out the money he owed, Ango slapped the folded bills into Dazai’s palm, making Dazai laugh again. However, Dazai’s laughter slowly died down when he reached into his pocket and found his wallet missing. Confused, he checked his remaining pockets, only to turn up empty.

“Something wrong?” Odasaku asked, watching Dazai’s movements and the executive was quiet for a moment before he burst into laughter so unexpectedly that it caught both Odasaku and Ango by surprise.

“Dazai?” Ango cautiously ventured. Despite being used to Dazai’s odd behavior, this seemed like something else entirely. Dazai tried to explain, only to burst out into another fit of laughter that had both Odasaku and Ango exchanging confused looks behind Dazai’s back.

Eventually, his laughter seemed to die down and when he looked at Ango, the man was taken aback by the pure joy on Dazai’s face

“I was pickpocketed,” he finally managed to tell them, a wide smile on his lips.

Ango’s features immediately scrunched up in confusion.

“Somebody pickpocketed you?” Ango asked, clearly bewildered by the notion. “And you let them?”

Dazai suddenly remembered the girl who had bumped into him less than an hour ago. Had his clumsy act left him vulnerable? He hadn’t even felt her fingers in his pocket. Before he could ruminate on the interaction any longer, a slip of paper was placed in front of him on the bartop.

Blinking owlishly, he looked at the bill before his gaze travelled up to the bartender to see the old man’s eyes twinkling in amusement, clearly having heard Dazai’s predicament. Odasaku and Ango laughed at the man’s perfect timing and the playfully distraught look on Dazai’s face.

“Good thing you won your bet with Ango,” Odasaku noted with a sly grin on his face, making Dazai laugh again. And despite Ango’s scoff at the joke at his expense, even he couldn’t fully stop the way the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

You frowned as you searched the leather wallet in your hands. Its owner had been wearing a nice suit, one that looked expensive. You had hoped that it would be reflected by the amount of cash you would find once you had stolen his wallet. Instead, other than the two, thousand-yen bills, there was nothing.

No form of ID, no credit cards, nothing. At least, until you searched it one last time and found a folded slip of paper that was slightly peeking out. Curiously, you pulled it out and opened it, only to immediately furrow your brow in confusion at what was written on it.

Death by train (lie on the tracks?)

Drowning (the bay or the river?)

Poison (pro: poetic, con: easily cured)

Jumping (how high does building need to be?)

Hanging (need to be careful, could end in paralysis instead of death)

“What?” you asked yourself in confusion, rereading the short, numbered list in an futile effort to understand what had been written. You flipped the paper over, looking for some sort of explanation only to find nothing. Who took the time to sit down and list ways to die?

Perhaps you should have known. Despite the expensive suit, the guy had been covered in bandages. From what could be inferred from the list in your hands as well as their placement, they were probably due to failed attempts to take his own life.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, pocketing the cash before tossing the wallet into the nearest trash bin. You’d need to find someone else to target.

You had been trying to limit how many people you had been stealing from. The last thing you wanted was for an increased police presence due to a sudden rash of complaints about pickpocketing.

But you didn't need that much more. You’d been doing this for almost a full week by now. Just a little more money and you would be able to afford to leave Yokohama for good with enough money to get by on until you could find somewhere new to start over. Just a little bit more and you could leave this all behind. It would all become some terrible memory that you could force yourself to forget in time.

You could feel your desperation warring with recklessness. You suddenly heard your grandfather’s voice again.

“You see why you lost? It’s because you felt like I was closing in on you in this part of the board and you got reckless. There’s a time to be bold, but only when it’s the right time.”

You remembered when he had given you that piece of advice. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the cryptic words and sarcastically asked him to clarify what the “right time” was. He had given you a light smack to the back of the head for that one.

“The line between boldness and and recklessness is a fine one, my most beloved and ungrateful granddaughter. Don’t stray over it into the latter.”

Your fingers began to twitch at your sides anxiously. You needed to get out of Yokohama.

That last thought echoed in your head, eclipsing the wisdom that your grandfather had tried to impart to you.

‘Just a little more,’ you repeated to yourself.

As you returned to looking at the crowd to find another target, a man in a suit caught your eye. He looked to be in his late-twenties or early-thirties and was muttering something under his breath. He looked upset. More importantly, he looked distracted.

You watched him with hawkish eyes as he walked along the sidewalk. Every so often, he would bump into someone in the crowd and still he remained distracted by whatever was on his mind. Your fingers drummed against your thigh, already prepared to be nimble. Looking ahead of him, you realized that he was headed for an intersection and would have to wait for the pedestrian signal to change in order to cross.

That was your opportunity.

Taking a deep breath to steady your remaining nerves, you slowly made your way towards him, closing the distance between the two of you until you were standing behind him at the intersection.

You glanced up at him discreetly one final time, making sure that he was still distracted before you slipped your fingers into his pocket and smoothly pulled out his wallet. It felt thicker than the last wallet you had stolen and you smiled to yourself. The pedestrian signal changed colors, directing you to begin crossing the street and you wasted no time in making your escape. Slipping past the man, you walked past him at a leisurely pace. Being too obvious would only raise suspicions.

But just as relief began to wash over you, your heart stopped at the sudden commotion you heard from behind.

“Fuck! Fuck!” a man started screaming and you knew it had to be the man that you had just stolen from.

And then you made a mistake, a mistake that would end up being bigger than you ever could have imagine, a mistake that would profoundly change the course of your life—you looked back.

The second that you did, you made eye contact with the man and you didn’t know if it was the panic that seeped through your expression or if the man was just that perceptive, but the realization hit him that you were the one who had robbed him.

You broke into a sprint, desperate to lose him in the crowd.

“Get back here, you bitch!” he shouted furiously as he pushed through the crowd to follow after you.

The sound of your feet hitting the concrete as you ran echoed loudly in your ears. Your heart was racing with both exertion and fear. If this man caught you, you knew it wouldn’t just be a lecture or the police. The fate that awaited you if you were captured wouldn’t be so benevolent.

You took turn after turn, hoping to lose the man in the maze of Yokohama’s side streets. But no matter how much distance you thought that you were putting between you and the man, all it took was one look back to see that he was still on your trail.

“You can’t run forever! Just wait until I get my hands on you!”

Tears began to blur your vision and you furiously wiped them away. Crying could come later, when you were safely out of Yokohama and on to start your new life. For now, all it did was obstruct your vision and make it harder for you to breathe.

Catching sight of an alley, you unexpectedly rounded the corner and darted past the crates and dumpsters, hoping that the debris would slow the man down. There was a chain link fence ahead, but the small hole along the edge gave you hope.

“Fuck!” you heard the man cry out, followed by the sound of something crashing into the ground. He must have tripped on something and it allowed you the time that you needed to slip through the hole in the fence.

Just as you squeezed through the hole and went to run, you heard the sound of fabric ripping and were yanked back and realized that the fence had torn a hole in the sweatshirt that you were wearing. You pushed away the memory that surfaced of when you had tried to escape Arata’s hold and he had pulled you back by your shirt. Unwilling to make the same mistake, you slipped off the sweatshirt, leaving you in a cheap, Yokohama souvenir t-shirt.

You tried not to get your hopes up, but there was no way the man would fit through that hole. You had just barely fit through it. And it was too flimsy to climb. Had it worked? Had you lost him?

It was like you were tempting fate with just that one thought. Just before you reached the end of the alley, the man appeared, blocking your exit. His expression looked wild and you saw that he had a gun in one hand.

“You little bitch. You think you know these streets better than me ?” he spat and tears filled your vision.

You realized that the wallet was still in your grasp and you quickly held it out for him.

“Take it back. Please. I’m so sorry,” you cried, backing up slowly. “I just needed a little money. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re not sorry. But you’re gonna be,” he warned as he began to move closer to you. For every step he took towards you, you took one back.

If you could just get to the fence, you could try and escape back through it. He still had a gun, but there was enough debris on the other side of the fence that as long as you could get past the fence, then you could find shelter behind one of the dumpsters.

He was only a few feet from you. If he got any closer then you wouldn’t have room to run. It was now or never. And so you sprinted towards the hole, hoping to take the man by surprise with the suddenness of your movements.

You hadn’t even made it halfway there before you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head.

And then, everything went black.

Consciousness slowly dawned on you. A shooting pain in your head soon followed that had you groaning. Or at least trying to. You realized there was some sort of fabric between your teeth and when you tried to groggily open your eyes, you found only darkness.

“She’s up, sir,” a voice said and your mind was foggy but you recognized the voice.

Then it hit you. The pickpocketing. Getting caught. Trying to run. Being cornered. Pain. And then nothing.

“Good, good, good,” a second voice said, excitement lacing his words. “Sit her up.”

A pair of hands were suddenly roughly grabbing your upper arms to pull you up and your attempts to struggle were weakened by your sluggish brain. When you tried to lift your hand to push them away, you found that your wrists were bound together and the realization had you panicking.

A loud crack filled the space and there was a blinding pain across your right cheek that had you seeing stars behind the blindfold covering your eyes and crying out into the makeshift gag between your teeth.

“Ogawa!” the second voice snapped, the threat unmistakable.

“Sorry, sir,” the first voice, the voice of the man that you had tried to pickpocket, apologized and despite the daze you were in from the slap you had received, you could imagine the cold look he was receiving.

There was silence and then a light touch on your unmarred cheek. You flinched away from it out of both fear and disgust.

“There, there,” the second voice, the authoritative voice, tried to soothe you before the owner’s gentle hands were gripping onto the fabric covering your eyes and lifting it away.

You immediately tried to open your eyes, desperate to see your surroundings, only to shut them at the room’s brightness. Forced to wait until your eyes could adjust to the lighting, you lifted up your bound wrists and began to pull at the knot at the base of your head that tied the cloth between your teeth. The gentle hands quickly covered yours before you could tug it loose.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m sorry, but for now that will have to stay.” The voice sounded apologetic, like he actually meant it.

You finally managed to open an eye and saw that you were in a modernly decorated living room. A look around revealed that you were on a fine, leather couch and that this man—a thin man with salt-and-pepper colored hair who appeared to be in his early-fifties wearing a fine suit—was sitting on the edge of the glass-top coffee table and facing you.

Desperate for relief, you held up your wrists to him but knew the request was in vain. He shook his head.

“That too, I’m afraid,” he said but already his attention was on something else—your face. With the same, gentle touch as before, he took your chin in his fingers and carefully tilted your face to the right, then to the left. “Very nice.”

However, when he looked at the large, quickly-reddening spot on your cheek, he frowned heavily. His eyes shot up to focus on something behind you and you figured it must be the man who had slapped you.

“Almost perfect.” His words were pointed and his gaze never wavered from the man behind you. “Now, get out.”

There was a moment of hesitation and you saw the way something dangerous creeped into the eyes of the man seated in front of you.

“Yes, sir,” the man behind you finally replied. You could then hear his footsteps as he made his leave. Instinctively, you turned your head to try and see the man’s retreating figure, only to find your chin still being firmly held. A door opened and then shut and suddenly, you were alone with your captor.

“I’m sorry for Ogawa,” he said as he continued to examine your features. “He has a tendency to use his fists rather than his brain.”

He scoffed before something that looked like approval appeared on his face.

“But he does get results,” he conceded with a resigned sigh. He released your chin and you immediately sat further back on the couch in an attempt to put space between the two of you. “I should introduce myself.”

He then leaned in, erasing the gap that you had just created, and took your hands in both of his. His thumb began rub circles against your skin and you had to fight down the shudder of revulsion at the intimacy of the gesture.

“I’m Takada Hisashi.” He didn’t ask for your name. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

You flinched away from him at his words and he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek.

“Now, now. You don’t need to be scared,” he reassured you. He gave you a smile that was tinged with something dark. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He was promising kindness but you could see the lie in his eyes. Whatever mask he was wearing wasn’t going to last for long.

“Ogawa told me how he came across you. That you actually had to gall to pickpocket him. He was reluctant to admit it but he also told me that you almost got away with it.” He gave a genuine laugh, honestly amused by the chain of events. “Now, imagine that. A seasoned member of the Port Mafia getting pickpocketed by a teenager.”

Your eyes widened. The Port Mafia? How could you live in Yokohama and not have heard of the Port Mafia? Whether it was in the news or the rumors spread through your school, talk of the Port Mafia was never far.

“How old are you?” the man, Takada, asked as he returned to looking over your face appraisingly. You didn’t know how he expected you to answer him with the gag still between your teeth. “You can’t be more than 18.”

His voice was a murmur now and you could see something that had your fight-or-flight response running hayware creeping into his gaze. Suddenly, his eyes met yours and the kind and gentle facade fell away. Quicker than you could process, the hand that was cupping your cheek buried itself in your hair and pulled on it so harshly that you cried out into your gag. Tears prickled your eyes at the stinging pain.

You instinctively raised your hand to try and fight his grip on your hair but the movement caused the rope around your wrists to rub painfully against your skin, further feeding your tears.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me,” he said, his voice still as soft as before but the genteel tone was nowhere to be heard. “Can you do that for me?”

When you took too long to answer him, his grip grew tighter and you cried out again. You hurriedly nodded, wincing at how the motion caused more of your hair to be tugged in his hold.

“Have you been with a man before?”

The question had your stomach sinking like a rock. You stared at him with wide, teary eyes until one of your tears fell down your cheek slowly. From the tone of his voice and the look on his face, he expected an answer.

Slowly and so minutely that the motion could have been missed, you nodded. Your reply had Takada sighing heavily before he released you roughly.

“Shame,” he remarked and he sounded sincerely disappointed. “I wanted to be the one to desecrate you.”

You felt a nauseating wave of déjà vu wash over you.

“Fuck, I wish you were still a virgin. I got to you a couple hours too late.”

Takada’s sentiment echoed the words Arata had grunted into your ear only a week prior and you could feel your fear beginning to get the better of you.

“You teenagers can’t wait for anything these days, can you?” he asked bitterly before standing up. He then walked around the couch and you looked over your shoulder to see him stop in front of an expensive looking bar cart. He picked up one of the beautifully decorated decanters and began to fix himself a drink.

Now free from his gaze, you frantically began to pull at the bindings around your wrists. The rope burned your skin, but you knew that you needed to take advantage of this brief moment where you were free from Takada’s watchful gaze. The longer it took you to tug at the rope, the more desperate you could feel yourself becoming.

You weren’t going to be able to get loose. Takada was going to do whatever he wanted with you. And then after, maybe he’d let you go. Maybe he’d kill you. Maybe he’d keep you here until he grew tired of you and you became disposable.

Tears blurred your vision as you looked down at your wrists. The skin had been rubbed raw. It wouldn’t be long before they began to bleed. Time was running out.

You heard the gentle clink of glass touching glass and looked back to see that Takada has set the decanter back onto the bar cart and was lifting up the drink he had just made. You turned back around. Your time was up. Sniffling softly, you hurriedly wiped away any traces of tears from your eyes.

The sound of Takada’s footsteps returning to you had you trembling. You felt like you were on the executioner’s block and the man who controlled your fate was approaching with his axe.

Takada appeared in front of you once more and sat back down on the coffee table. You looked up at him and found more tears forming as you made eye contact with the man. When he saw how hard you were trying to keep from crying, a dark smile appeared on his lips and the kind front he had portrayed was nowhere to be found.

Setting his drink down, he cupped your cheek with one of his hands and when you flinched away at the contact, his hand immediately closed the gap.

“Let me see those tears,” he murmured, his voice low, and when you looked back at him you couldn’t help the tear that fell down your cheek, giving him exactly what he wanted. His smile grew slightly crazed as his eyes followed the trail of your tear as it crossed your jaw and slowly slid down your neck.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “I’ll do my best to make sure that’s not the last one you shed.”

The promise had you shutting your eyes tightly, no longer able to look at the man. Unfortunately, doing so only caused more of your tears to fall and Takada laughed maniacally.

Desperation reared its ugly head again as Takada’s laughter rang in your ears. You had to get free. Clenching your hands into fists, you took a deep, steadying breath.

There was a way—a way that you had wanted to forget. But could you do it? Could you kill him?

More tears escaped your closed eyelids as you asked yourself the question. Before...with the others...they had been accidents. Could you cross the line into intentionally taking someone else’s life?

But when you glanced up and looked at Takada through your tears to see the hungry look on his face, you realized that the question had been answered for you. If you wanted to make it out of here alive, you would have to use the ability that had already spilled more blood than anyone should have to see in their lifetime.

All you had to do was touch him, right? That’s how it worked with Arata. That was how it worked with...Eiji.

You would touch him and he would start coughing up blood. And then, once he was dead, you could run. You would be safe. You could finally leave Yokohama.

Looking down, you watched what felt like someone else’s weak, trembling hands, which were still bound together at the wrist with a piece of rope, slowly reaching out towards Takada’s.

But before you could touch him, his own hand grabbed onto your upper arm and yanked you up. His hold was tight enough to make you cry out into your gag and there was no doubt that he would be leaving behind a bruise on your arm.

You struggled not to trip over your own feet but the sudden movement had your head spinning, probably due to the likely concussion Ogawa had given you. As Takada dragged you along, it felt like you were seeing everything through a slightly hazy fog and it only served to feed both your fear and your desperation.

Your inner turmoil grew worse when you reached the threshold of Takada’s bedroom. As the horrific reality of your fate stared you in the face, you began to struggle wildly, trying as hard as you could to break free of his hold while simultaneously trying to dig your heels into the expensive hardwood floor.

This seemed to break whatever remained of Takada’s patience. Suddenly, his hand was closed around your throat and he used the new hold on you to slam you back into the wall, paying no regard to the framed painting already hanging there nor to the way the glass shattered from the force of your body hitting it. You cried out again as the glass dug into your back, shredding parts of your t-shirt and cutting into your skin.

His grip grew tight and the pain of the glass digging into your back faded away as you began to struggle for oxygen. You tried to bring your hands up to grab onto his own. If you could just touch his skin, you could stop him, you could get free. But with the rope still binding your wrists together and his body pressed up against yours, the closest that you could get was the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“This is good,” he said coolly as he kept you pinned to the wall. His hold on your throat remained just on the right side of keeping you from passing out—loose enough so that you didn’t lose consciousness, but tight enough that you were still in pain and having difficulty breathing. “Iwant you to fight. This would be boring if you didn’t.”

His hand squeezed harshly, making you see spots before he pulled you away from the wall by your throat and dragged you until he could slam your back onto his bed. Tiny shards of glass that had dug into your skin cut deeper at the pressure but you were too busy gulping in deep breaths of oxygen to pay attention to the pain as he released his hold on you. You heard him opening and closing a drawer and you rolled to your side and pushed yourself to sit up with shaky arms.

But just as you brought yourself to sit fully upright on the edge of the mattress, Takada was back. Only this time, there was no sign left of his temper. When he knelt down before you, there was an eerie calmness to his expression that had your heart hammering in your throat. You were still panting heavily now that your flow of oxygen was no longer being restricted.

Reaching into his jacket, Takada pulled out a knife and you immediately stilled. You watched with wide eyes as he brought it up to your neck. The blade was so close that you held your breath, worried that even breathing would cause it to pierce your skin.

“I could kill you,” Takada murmured and tears blurred your vision. “But I don’t want to. No, I think I want to keep you.”

He looked at you strangely for a long moment.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked and when you didn’t answer him, he moved the knife away from your neck just a fraction. “Give me a name, pretty girl.”

Not wanting to tempt his wrath again, you whispered your name around the cloth between your teeth. Despite how quiet and how muffled your voice was, Takada seemed to hear it clearly enough because he let your name fall from his lips and a shudder of revulsion ran down your spine.

He then leaned down at pressed his lips to your wrist, just above your bindings. And then, unexpectedly, he brought the knife away from your neck and cut away at the rope. The sudden relief that came when he finally pulled away the frayed cords had you gasping softly. While your wrists weren’t bleeding, there was a deep and worrying redness left on your skin from both how long and how tightly the rope had been tied.

But you didn’t have time to relish being free from your bindings. It meant nothing so long as you were still in Takada’s clutches.

He seemed to have some twisted sense of awe for you. As long as you made no sudden movements, you might be able to take advantage of it. You would do anything to escape.

‘Now. You have to do it now,’ a voice deep inside urged you, drowning out the loud beating of your heart in your ears.

Carefully, with movements that were glacially slow, you lifted one hand up and reached for Takada’s face. He watched your hand in fascination, like he couldn't comprehend what you were doing. Your fingers were trembling furiously by the time they reached his cheek and Takada leaned into your touch longingly.

“Please,” you whispered desperately through your gag, wanting more than anything for this ability of yours to save you. When you felt that odd yet increasingly familiar sensation wash over you, you closed your eyes in relief causing a tear to escape past your eyelids.

Your ability, your gift, your curse—whatever it was—it had worked.

Takada groaned loudly, sounding like he was in pain and you heard the knife clatter to the floor as he dropped it. Opening your eyes, you saw that he was hunched over your lap. His face was buried in one of his hands while the other had gone to your thigh, where his fingers were tightly gripping onto the fabric of your jeans.

He looked like he was in agony and you wanted to hate that the sight made your heart soar. You wanted to hate that you were happy and relieved that this man was about to die—because of you.

You shook your head gently to chase away the thought, mindful of the way the motion had caused your vision to spin. There would be time to deal with your moral crisis later. Right now, you needed to get out. Bringing up your hands, you weakly began to push at Takada’s shoulders to get him away from you.

It happened before you could even comprehend it.

One second you were trying to shove Takada off of you and the next, there was cold metal on your wrist and the familiar clink of a handcuff closing. Looking down in horror, you realized that Takada had pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed one of your wrists.

“No, no, no, no,” you cried through your gag as you tried to shove Takada away yet again with every ounce of strength left in your body.

Your efforts were quickly hampered when Takada yanked harshly on the loose cuff to pull you to him. His free hand then went to the back of your head and he used his hold to bring your lips onto his. His fingers fisted in your hair and kept your head right where he wanted, leaving you no room to try and avoid his hungry and feverish kisses.

Panicking, your free hand continued to shove at his shoulder and you used your legs to kick at his stomach. He let out a grunt when your foot hit him hard but he remained steadfast. With nothing else at your disposal, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down hard.

“Fuck!” he screamed, jumping back and bringing both of his hands to his now profusely bleeding lip.

Seeing your chance, you shot up skirted around him, aiming for the door. But before you could even get fully past him, he had grabbed onto the loose cuff that was dangling from your wrist and pulled you back harshly. The force had you tripping and he used your loss of balance to his advantage by pulling again so that you fell forward onto your stomach on his bed.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine now. No one else’s.”

The most frightening thing about his words wasn’t their meaning, but Takada’s tone. He didn’t sound angry or upset. He sounded almost loving, like this was for your own good.

Moving just as quickly as before, he looped the free cuff around one of the slats in his wooden headboard and then closed it around your remaining wrist. Once the telltale clink echoed throughout the room, Takada paused, his breathing heavy.

Tears blurred your vision as the previous events caught up with you. You looked desperately at the handcuffs that were tightly cuffed around your wrists and the way you were now chained to his bed. Yanking harshly, you cried out when there was no give. All you got was the loud clanking of the handcuff chain as it ground into the wooden headboard and blinding pain in your wrists as the metal dug into skin that had already been bruised and torn by the rope.

Sobs began to rack your body as you buried your face into your upper arm. They only grew worse when the mattress dipped as Takada climbed beside you.

“Shh. There’s no need to cry,” he murmured as he began to yank your jeans from your hips and then down your legs until he could throw them to the floor. “I’ll take good care of you. I take good care of the things that belong to me. And I want you to be mine so badly. I want you more than anything I’ve wanted before. You’re special. Do you understand that?”

He then said your name like it was the most precious word in the entire history of spoken words and your sobs grew harder. His hands slid back up your thighs until his fingers hooked the bottom of your shirt and lifted it up and over your head, exposing your back to him. The motion dislodged some of the small shards of glass that had dug into your back, but the pain simply blended into the turmoil that you were already experiencing.

“Please, please,” you begged through your tears but it simply fell on deaf ears.

You felt something wet and warm moving up and down your back and when you glanced over your shoulder as best you could, you realized that Takada was licking the small trails of blood that had formed from where the glass had cut you with his tongue. Disgust, revulsion, helplessness, panic, fear, and desperation all violently warred with one another inside of you.

“Please,” you cried softly and Takada switched to placing open-mouthed kisses along your back as he abandoned lapping up the small, crimson bloodstains.

“Shh. My pretty girl. I’ll make you feel so good. I swear,” he promised against your skin. His fingers then slid along your sides until he reached the cheap, cotton bra you were wearing. He tore at the band, disregarding the clasp altogether as the fabric easily gave way, allowing him to slip his hands underneath your front and grab both of your breasts roughly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, your voice as broken as you felt, but your protest was drowned out by the groans Takada was making as he continued to squeeze you. You tried to yank at your handcuffs again, although at this point you knew it was futile. “Stop.”

When he released you, for just a second you were stupid enough to believe that he had heard you. Instead, he had simply let go of your breasts so that he could move his hands to your hips and drag you to your knees. He used one hand to keep you from collapsing while the other moved to his belt.

The sound of it jingling, followed by the sound of his zipper was barely loud enough to be heard over your panicked breathing as it combined with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears and your broken sobs. His hand was then at your underwear, tugging it down to your knees so that it was out of the way.

“My pretty girl,” Takada groaned at the sight before him.

When you felt him beginning to line himself up at your entrance, you tried as hard as you could to retreat to someplace else. You tried to remember the afternoons you spent fishing on the dock in your town. You tried to remember the flashlight you hid in your room so that you could read in bed when you should have been sleeping. You tried to remember the games of Go you played against your grandfather.

But the blinding pain of Takada thrusting himself inside of you was too much and you continued to cry weakly. And suddenly, the only memory that came to you was one that you didn’t want.

You heard your grandfather’s voice. His words of forewarning echoed in your ears and you would have given anything to have remembered them earlier. But now, they were useless.

“Don’t act out of desperation, my dear. That’s when you’re prone to make the error that will cost you the game.”

How had you ended up here again?

#weary hearts #dazai osamu fanfiction #bsd fanfiction #bsd #dazai osamu #fanfiction #writing #dazai osamu x reader

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crashdevlin · 6 years ago

Text

Bottle: Ch. 1 A Magical Lie

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 3123

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship, non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: Younger woman/older man relationship (past), non-con (past), mutilation (past), torture (past), PTSD, depression, alcoholism

Tony looked up from his tablet as security escorted a young blonde woman into his office. Twenty minutes before, he couldn't have picked her out of a crowd. He hadn't known her name, nor her position in his company. Now, he knew that Cassandra Campbell (no middle, that’s weird) had been working as a lab assistant for 3 years. Tony knew she was 24 years old, that she had an impeccable attendance record and, according to her file, she was on the fast-track to a promotion. He also knew she was a liar.

Tony stood and offered her a chair, which she took. "So, I've spent the last few days going over all the files Natasha Romanoff released to the internet. A lot of info to go through, most of which I already knew, but there was one can of snakes." He handed her the tablet. A picture of her, probably about 16 years old at the time, smiled up at her. "A completely redacted file that doesn't even name you. If I hadn't remembered seeing you in the lab last month, you'd've gotten away with it."

The green-eyed woman set the tablet aside on the opposite office chair. "Gotten away with what, sir? What are you accusing me of?" Her voice was soft, her tone polite and completely professional.

"Well, you're SHIELD, obviously. Fury send you to spy on me? Or maybe you're Hydra, sent here to Nazi up the place?"

"Mr. Stark, I would love to give you the answers that you're looking for, but I'm not allowed to discuss my situation without the express consent of a level 8 or higher SHIELD agent. Since most agents of that prominence were Hydra, or killed by Hydra when they took the Triskellion, all I can say is this: I am not a trained agent of any agency. I am not a spy. I am just a lab tech."

"Why don't you go ahead and tell him about it? It's been a while since I've heard the story." A familiar female voice said from the doorway.

"Agent Hill." The blonde stood, nodding at the older woman.

Maria shut the door behind her and walked over to the desk. "SHIELD doesn't exist anymore, Cassie. You don't need permission to tell your story."

"I doubt Director Fury or Agent Coulson would feel the same, ma’am."

"Well, unfortunately, they're both as dead as SHIELD." Maria countered.

*Exactly*. The younger woman thought, before shaking her head. She took a deep breath and turned to her boss. "Nick Fury found me in a lab. Somewhere in the mountains in Europe, I was never really told where. Fury called me an experiment, but I believe I was just supposed to be an heir, a less disappointing one than my sister was."

Maria stepped in, then. "She was created in a Hydra lab using Red Skull's genetic material."

"Fury named me 'Joanna Schmidt' so that everyone would know where I came from. I was just happy to have a name instead of a number. Phil... Agent Coulson took me to the Fridge. He made sure that no one was too hard on me since I was only 10 at the time. He brought me books, convinced Fury to let me learn. After educating myself quietly in my cell for 10 years, Phil brought my case to Fury. I'd shown no abnormal physical or psychological signs, nothing that would warrant keeping me locked up. Coulson convinced him that I deserved a place in society. The only concern was society's reaction to me.” The young woman scratched at the back of her neck, her professional exterior cracking a bit. “Steve Rogers was of particular concern. Fury and Coulson felt that Captain Rogers might... be... enraged by my very existence. He has very strong feelings when it comes to the Red Skull and Arnim Zola, who was the one who thought up the idea of making a test-tube heir."

"Cap doesn't seem like the kind to rage against a woman, demon-spawn or not." Tony replied, pulling a glass of scotch off of his desk.

Cassie swallowed and cleared her throat. "There are videos, therapy sessions from the year after they thawed him out, that prove our concern was founded. I'm sure you could find them on the 'net. They were SHIELD files."

Tony nodded, letting it go, for now. "Okay. So, what? Hide in plain sight?"

"Sorta. Phil had Pepper place me in your California lab because he knew that... if Rogers found out that I existed, you and Pepper wouldn't let me be... hurt."

"Pepper, maybe, but I don't know... your father was an evil bastard."

"And he was dead long before I was even a thought." She defended. "I learned about Hitler the same way everyone else my age did; through books and the History Channel."

"Let the poor girl go back to work, Tony. The lab will fall apart without her." Pepper said, walking into the office without knocking.

The girl straightened up, her complete professionalism sliding back over her form. "Thank you, Miss Potts. That's very kind." Cassie started walking toward the office door.

"Just, uh, one more thing.” Tony called out. “You said you were in California. When'd you transfer?"

A flash of despair crossed her face, then disappeared. "A year ago, sir. Just before the initial construction was completed." She answered, turning halfway to the door.

"So, you were here when the Chitauri attacked?" Hill asked.

Cassie swallowed hard, hoping it wasn't as audible to them as it was to her. "I'd rather not talk about it." She responded, quietly.

"You're not the only one. Company's got shrinks if you need one. Get back to work." Tony said, nonchalantly, but the young woman thought she heard some genuine empathy behind the words.

"Maria, may I have a word on the way back to the lab?" Cassie asked.

"Of course." Maria followed her.

They walked a moment in silence for a few moments before Cassie stopped. Maria turned to her. "We both know Phil isn't dead." Her professional politeness disappeared, replaced by a slightly insolent attitude.

Hill scoffed. "He was stabbed, in the heart, by an Asgardian. He died, Cassie."

"That doesn't mean he's dead, Maria. I've got one word for you, and once I’ve said it, I want no more lies or half truths." Maria waited, expectantly. "TAHITI."

Maria blanched. "He told you about TAHITI?"

"Yes. It seems he wasn't very good with orders when it came to me.” Cassie shook her head. “Look, I know Fury wouldn't let him die and I've heard rumors about a silver-tongued agent with a receding hairline, flying around with a small squad, looking into enhanced individuals. Finding new people for the Index. I've heard things about him being back. Took a long vacation to recoup, but he's just fine now… after being stabbed in the heart, by an Asgardian. Sounds shady to me." She said, snarkily.

Maria shook her head, derisively. "What do you want, Campbell?"

"A phone number. He ditched his old cell long ago, but I read some internal emails that I probably shouldn't have seen that were all about you helping Phil escape from the Yukon. You have to have contact info. Please." The blonde almost begged.

"Cassie... I don't think this is a good idea."

"I spent a year thinking he was dead, Hill. I just want to hear his voice. That's all.” The green-eyed girl caught the older woman’s eyes. “You aren't a SHIELD commando, anymore. Fury faked his death and fled, so you don't need to run interference for him, Maria. Besides, a pretty little cellist knocked me out of the game before Phil even died. I just want to talk to him."

"Fine." Maria said, pulling out her phone. "I will give you his SAT phone number, but... don't expect it to be like your remember it." The woman warned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie waited until she was home to dial the number. "Pablo Jimenez." The voice on the other end answered. She smiled, involuntarily.

"That's a pretty good accent for a dead man." She said, sarcastically. She was met with silence and as it dragged on, Cassie thought to what Hill said about it not being what she remembered.

"Jo?" Coulson questioned.

Cassie could swear she felt her heart fall. "No. It's Cassie, now. Don't you remember?" She knew he didn't, though, and she knew that Hill had been trying to warn her.

"I don't. Did you escape when Garret hit the Fridge? How'd you get my number?"

"They fucked with your memories when they brought you back, didn't they?" Her voice broke as she battled her anger and sadness.

"How did you... I’m sorry. I'm a little lost here, Joanna. You seem quite upset that SHIELD dug around in my head."

"It's Cassie, Phil.” She spat into the phone. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t angry at him, that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t remember her. “I know Fury didn't approve, but... I didn't think he'd take it all from you." She said, sliding down the wall to crumple on her tile floor.

"Take what? I'm a little hazy on a lot of what happened before Loki killed me."

"My name, Phil. My beautiful, alliterative name." She sniffled through her tears. "I came up with this alias while laying on my bed in your arms, after our first time together." She fought to compose herself, knowing the silence on the other end was not his fault.

"Together?" He finally whispered. "I... with you?"

"Maybe it's better that you don't remember." She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry I bothered-”

"No, wait. Cassie. I'm sorry. I thought they'd just taken my memories of Project TAHITI, which I remember now, but I don't remember anything about you past your 16 eval."

*Of course.* She thought. *My 17 eval was when Phil realized his attraction.* "You remember TAHITI? Then go from there.” She sniffled again. “You came to me, stressed that GH-325 was having such horrible side effects. Remember?"

A moment of silence was followed by a low gasp. "You convinced me to resign from the project. I remember. My god. Can... can I talk to you, face to face?"

"I work at Stark Tower. I live in the Bronx. Why don't you access some more of those memories and remember my name, come find me?"

As she hung up without a goodbye, she heard Phil say, "Skye, can you trace-."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night as Cassie was walking home from the subway, she heard footsteps behind her. She reached for her pepper spray, but dropped it back into her purse when she heard, "’Cassandra Campbell’, because alliterative names are more fun."

"You cheated." She said, turning to him. She couldn't help a smile. Same old Phil Coulson in his same old suit. "You had your tech trace my call."

"But the name reminded me. And the picture. Brought back everything... I think.” He stepped closer to her. “I remember coming back to Los Angeles after a mission to an empty apartment. Pepper told me that you'd requested a transfer... as soon as possible."

Cassie sighed, leaning against a blue post box. "When you left for Portland, I was in your eyes. You were defying orders to be with me, telling me about secret projects I shouldn't know about, because I was all you cared about. When you came back, Audrey had replaced me. She was what you really needed, anyway, I was just the girl who gave you the confidence to go after her."

Coulson's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ech, don't call yourself a girl. That just makes me seem skeevy in the whole thing."

"I was almost 21 at the time, Phil. Long past being a girl. But emotionally…” She shrugged. “I spent my life in a lab and a cell. I couldn't compete with a first chair cellist who had her act together. I left quietly, and I think that was better for both of us."

She could tell he agreed. "So, why the call? Why now?" He asked.

She pushed away from the mailbox. "Well, SHIELD has fallen apart. After everything you've given them, I wanted to make sure you were okay. And hearing your voice after thinking you might really be dead..." She shrugged.

"Well, here I am."

She suddenly found herself with nothing to say. "So... have you heard from Fury?"

"What, you didn't get his number from Hill?"

She started walking toward her apartment again. "Nope. She's still trying to convince me that he's actually dead. Not that I really have nice words for him especially knowing that he took us out of your head."

"He's off in Europe, somewhere, anyway." They arrived at the door of her apartment building in silence. "I remember I tried to stop and talk to you when I dropped off the files to Stark last year. I saw you in the lab. I wanted to... but you didn't seem... you were busy." He concluded.

She nodded. "I was the only tech back then. There was still construction so we were running a skeleton crew."

A look of recognition crossed Coulson's face. "You weren't in the building when Loki got there, were you?"

She swallowed and turned away from him. "I'd rather not talk about it." She said.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "You were, weren't you?"

"Phil, the bastard who killed you took the building. I'm lucky to be alive.” She licked her lips and shook her head, turning to him.. “I'm lucky to be sane. I maintain sanity by not talking about it. I bottle. I'm good at bottling. Just don't touch the bottle."

Phil sighed. "I'm working to rebuild SHIELD. You should join."

"I think that'd be a mistake. I'm just a lab tech. Can't shoot, can't fight. Don't have the big brains. And with my genetics and the Hydra infiltration and my history with you... it's just begging for trouble."

"You’re smarter than you think. I’ve got your file back on the bus.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Coulson just continued. “Well, you have my number. I have your address. You need me, I'll be here."

"Of course. Good luck, Phil." She said, patting his shoulder before heading inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie sat on her little brown couch, her head hanging low as sobs racked her body. Everyone seemed to be mentioning it, the worst day of her life. Her hand rubbed against her chest, over her heart. She stood on shaky legs as her mind involuntarily replayed the raven-haired Asgardian walking into the lab and pulling her from her hiding spot under the lab tables.

He'd flicked her name tag. "'C. Campbell'. I think not. Embarrassed of your father's works, Joanna? Too ashamed to wear your legacy in your name?" She'd been terrified, unable to speak. She didn't question how he knew her real name. "You think you're a scientist, but underneath that scared Midgardian exterior, beats the heart of the super-soldier who built Hydra from the ground up. His blood flows through you."

"No. I'm not him. I'm just normal." She'd squeaked.

Loki had shaken his head and clicked his tongue. "You truly wish you were. But that's just the morals SHIELD forced upon you. What's really in your heart?"

Cassie started hyperventilating as she remembered his scepter touching her chest. Her heart rate had skyrocketed for a moment as her muscles strengthened under her skin. Her mind had gone into overdrive.

"What is your name?"

"Joanna Schmidt."

"Who are you, Midgardian?"

She remembered smirking. "Daughter of the Red Skull."

"And what is it you want to do, Red?"

"I want to run analysis on my blood and reverse engineer the super soldier serum in order to give you an army of soldiers to command."

He grabbed her hair and twisted, his left hand moving to rest over her lower abdomen. "Later. I want my turn with you, first."

He had taken her, right there in the lab, beaten her, and used a small triangular blade to carve deep into her chest. The rough way he took her had given her pain for days. But she hadn't cared while enthralled. She'd woken from her daze the next day, in the lab surrounded by samples of her blood and random slides and printouts. She'd been deeply confused as to why an Asgardian prince had chosen her for that. Rape was usually a power play, but he most certainly was in power of everything at that point, so there hadn’t been a rational reason for it. As much as she tried to find a reason, she couldn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie walked out of her apartment and headed for the bar down the street. She didn't really want to socialize, but she knew she was much less likely to break down in front of other people. *Time to go use a bottle to help me bottle.*

"You ever miss it? The 'no thinking, no conscience, just follow the orders without a question' empty-headedness?"

She turned to the voice in her apartment's side alley. She'd never met him, but she recognized Clint Barton, Hawkeye, from the news. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"I spent a long while with him in my head. Sometimes, it feels like I'm still following his orders. Sometimes, I just wish I was. Because it was so easy to just give myself to him. And I hate that." Clint sighed deeply. "I can recognize the signs of someone under his thrall, though, having been under it for so long."

Cassie felt her face go pale. "I deleted the security footage for you. It was like watching a poor quality snuff film, except you didn't die at the end." He jumped down from the fire escape he'd been perched on. "I thought maybe he was just having his way with you, but when he left, you just poured some alcohol on your wounds like it was any other Tuesday. Didn't even flinch."

Her heart fell. She hadn't thought of the security footage when she destroyed all evidence of her awakened super powers. "Don't worry. I'm the only one who saw. And I'd count that as a blessing."

She nodded, relieved. "So, how can I help you, Agent Barton?"

"SHIELD is dead, it's just Clint, now." He cleared his throat. "I heard that the bastard is dead. I figured you would be the right person to take for a drink to celebrate."

She gave an awkwardly sad smile. "To mourn, you mean?"

Clint nodded, once. "A little of both."

"I was going to have a drink, anyway, so I suppose you can buy me one, Clint."

#fanfic #avengers fanfiction #agents of shield fanfiction #angst #slight fluff #loki (marvel)#non-con #torture #alcohol as a crutch #steve rogers #clint barton #the avengers save the ofc

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overwatchfanficbyevelyn · 6 years ago

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Heart Skips-Part One

Water rippled down the window as rain drops pelted the glass exterior, dew forming on the inside of the seal before racing downwards mirroring the outside droplets. Angela took another sip of her coffee before sliding her finger over the screen in front of her and looking over the content of her notes. “Hmm, I know it's here somewhere…” she thought out loud to herself, her eyes scanning vigorously. For months she had been working on improving her caduceus staff after it had been damaged while on the front lines of battle, and while doing the necessary repairs Angela decided to see if she could give it an extra boost. “Athena, pull up last week's notes on balancing damage boost, please and thank you.” The computer screen flashed, “Yes, Dr. Zeigler” the electronic voice replied as a new set of notes appeared before her. Angela sighed and took another sip of her coffee before returning to her calculations, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Oh, uh, come in!” Angela jumped as she hurriedly organized her workstation. The door clicked open and the familiar silhouette of Genji filled the doorway and entered the room. “Mr. Shimada! I apologize for the mess, I must have lost track of the time! Please come in and sit down.” Genji bowed slightly and began walking towards the examination table. “My apologies Doctor, I am early and did not mean to disturb you.” Genji looked curiously over Angela's shoulder to the staff sitting on the desk behind her, not used to seeing it not in action much less taken apart. “I did not take you to be a mechanic Doctor, though with all the skill you possess it does not surprise me.” Angela's face reddened, unsure whether to take Genji’s words as a compliment or not. “Thank you, Mr. Shimada I take pride in every aspect of my medical practices, even if my staff is used amongst violent circumstances. Now, let's get to work here. On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?” Angela washed her hands and turned to look and Genji who sat quietly on the table. “Mr. Shimada, is everything alright?” She inquired, her eyes brimmed with concern. “Yes, sorry doctor. My pain is… normal, for the most part. Nothing to serious I usure you.” Genji looked away uncomfortably, “my shoulder seems to be bothering me a little.” Angela smiled calmly as she pulled up his file. “Here let me take a look, shall we?” Angela looked closely, her fingers moving along the seam where his flesh joined his bionic parts. Red lined the scar tissue, and swelling pushed up against the cold metallic parts genji called his shoulder. “Hmm, I see why it would be bothering you!” She reached behind her, grabbing a small container and a slim pen like object with a small sphere at the end. Opening the container and dipping a cotton pad in the gel, she gently applied the ointment around the swollen tissue. “Are you experiencing any other pair?” Angela asked, now holding the pen and gliding the sphere over the redness of his flesh. The sphere lit up with a gentle and familiar yellow glow, ribbons of light melting off and absorbing into Genji's shoulder. “Thank you doctor, that is all I needed.” Genji looked the other way while the swelling and redness disappeared, the slow throb dissolving. “Mr. Shimada… Genji?” Angela set down her supplies and walked around to face him, his eyes distant and lost. “Genji, are sure you're alright?” Genji continue looking away and nodded silently. Angela looked over his cyborg form before returning her eyes to what little of his original body remained. “Genji I usure your shoulder is well, though it might still have trouble some days adjusting to such a drastic change. I am so very sorry if it has been so difficult for you.” He looked at her and let out a deep breath. “It shouldn't bother me anymore. I should be used to it by now, especially with all zenyatta has taught me. I thought that I was at peace with myself. Or at least what's left of me.” She saw him shudder in disgust before turning away again. “Did something happen today?” She asked, taking a seat on the stool in front of him. “Not really. I just went to town. But the way people stared, the way children looked on. With all the distrust and violence from the omnic uprisings, and then when the world turned its back on Overwatch I understand why they look at me with terror.” “Genji,” Angela sighed sympathetically and gently placed a hand on his human shoulder. “I cannot begin to understand the pain you must feel. But as hard as it must be, you must understand that they don't know you. How much they trust you or what they think of you doesn't change your ability to protect them. And regardless of what has happened to you, if it means anything at all, know that I trust you. I trust you with my life” Genji's eyes looked up at her for the first time since he came in. “With your life?” He questioned, not sure if she was serious. “Well of course! There isn't any reason I shouldn't, you've looked after me plenty of times in the worst of situations” Angela blushed and looked away suddenly, “in the worst and the best situations.” A surprised looked appeared on his face and he watched as the doctor tried not to let her embarrassment show. “Dr. Zeigler, may I ask you a question?” he sat up a little, curiously looking towards her. She smiled and nodded a little nervous about what suddenly interested him. “What do you think of me?” Angela blinked a couple times and thought carefully as if not sure what to say. “Well I think you are a remarkable agent, with a very developed skill and--” Genji interrupted, taking her by surprise. “No, what do you think of me, not what you think of my abilities.” Angela stopped for a moment, pursing her lips together in thought and shifting her balance on the stool uncomfortably. “Well, um…” she glanced back up at him, his eyes locked intensely on her face reading every bit of uncomfortable panic she displayed. “I think you are… kind. I don't know how to explain it, it is a very distant sort of kind. But you are somehow always there, making sure I'm okay no matter what is going on in your life. I feel that you are a very sweet, selfless person.” Genji continued watching her as she squirmed uneasily in reaction to her own words. “You think of me as a sweet person? Not a sweet cyborg?” Angela looked up at him, “Oh Genji of course I think of you as a person! Especially when it comes to how you treat me, and how you feel! Your feelings and emotions are yours, not part of some program or protocol.” Genji thought carefully before standing and moving towards the stool the woman sat on in front of him, catching her off guard with his sudden movement. Gently he took her chin in his mechanical hand and tilted her head up towards his face. Angela's eyes widened in shock and anticipation and her cheeks flushed when she felt the closeness of his face, the warmth of his lips less than an inch away from hers. Genji slowly released his gentle grip on her chin and moved away from her, turning his back and heading for the door. “Genji….” Angela said quietly not sure what had just happened. The man stopped and looked back over his shoulder towards her, “Why do you… what was the purpose….” She trailed off not really sure what to ask. Smiling slightly he turned to face her once more, “To see if you were telling the truth. Thank you for your help… Angela.” Genji turned and left the room as silently as he came, leaving her flustered and confused in her own thoughts. Her name… he had called her by her first name. Her heart skipped a beat as she replayed the sound of his voice articulating her name over and over again. Angela felt out of breath and slightly dizzy as she reflected on what had just happened. “What was that all about? Why do I feel so… so vulnerable.” She wondered out loud to herself, her hands shaking and her face hot. Slowly rising to her feet and making sure not to lose her balance, Angela walked back towards her desk and began moving the parts of her staff around, not paying attention to what or where she put them. How was she supposed to get any work done now, when all she could think about was Genji? His soft touch and warm expression, his gentle pale green eyes and the closeness of his face…. “No,” she thought, “I have work to do, and besides I must be reading more into this than I should. After all, he couldn't possibly….” She stopped, her heart and breath halting almost immediately. “Could Genji like me?”

#Evelyn Michaelis #hear skips part one #overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #Angela Ziegler #mercy #overwatch mercy #genji shimada #genji #overwatch genji #mercy x genji #Genji x mercy #gency #gency fanfiction #gency fanfic #gency overwatch

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tnlph · 7 years ago

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For Practical Purposes Only (Full Version - CS AU)

This story started a very long time ago with a snippet that people liked and wanted a longer version of - so after you all have waited for way too long, here it is. Thanks for being so patient.

For those who don’t remember, or who never read the original short piece, this is a “Emma asks Killian to marry her so that it’s easier for her to adopt Henry” story, now with the addition of bedsharing. 13,000 words.

“I found him.”

He saw the name Henry Mills on the manila folder she tossed onto the coffee table before she disappeared in the deep recesses of his couch. He racked his brain, trying to remember which skip this was, but nothing came to mind.

“And what was Mr. Mills’ crime, love? Are you anticipating a struggle?” He never doubted that Emma could take care of herself. The woman was a force to be reckoned with when it came to apprehending the men and women of Boston who felt they could skip out on their bail. But he wished that she took fewer chances all the same.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the Red Sox game, knowing Emma would fill him in on the details of the case, as well as her plan for luring the suspect into a meeting that would allow her to get the handcuffs on. She was brilliant at that.

Her silence at his question signaled that something about Henry Mills was out of the ordinary.

“Emma?” He turned, moving the side of the cushion away from her face to check and see if she hadn’t fallen asleep, but her semi-glazed over eyes indicated she was simply deep in thought. “Emma, what’s going on?” He picked up the remote and quickly hit the mute button, and pulled her to a more upright position.

“Emma, is this Mills person someone I need to be worried about? What can I do? Or anyone do. There are other bail bonds agencies you can call in for assistance, love. No need to go it alone.”

The panic in his voice had risen, snapping Emma out of the daze she’d allowed herself to drift into after entering his apartment.

“Calm down, Jones.” She settled back, but still nothing about her body language put Killian at ease. “He’s not a bail jumper.” She folded her arms over her chest, and rubbed her biceps a few times before continuing. “Just look at the file.“

He grabbed for the folder, ready to do anything that could stifle his concern. Worry turned to confusion when inside he found a photo of a pre-teen boy, Henry Mills, along with a birth certificate, school report cards, and a record of group and foster home transfers. It wasn’t until he noticed the date and location of the boy’s birth that he put the pieces together.

Phoenix, 2007.

Oh.

“Oh. Oh, Emma.” He put his arm around her, hoping that she would be alright with the comforting gesture. Obviously she didn’t want to be alone, or she wouldn’t have come over, but he didn’t know exactly what she wanted from him. “I didn’t know you were still looking. You haven’t said anything.”

She had become obsessed the year earlier, looking for the boy she’d given up for adoption as a teenager. Alone and in jail, she thought adoption would give the child his best chance at a happy life. Now leading a stable life of her own, she had started to second guess herself, and searched out the child. Having grown up alone, an orphan shuttled from one foster home to another, she needed to know that her son’s fate was better than her own. The previous year she’d nearly driven herself mad with looking, only to find dead end after dead end. He’d grown worried as he watched what the sleepless nights and fruitless searching had done to her, but she gradually had dropped it, and hadn’t mentioned it again.

Until today.

She made no mention of the ugliness of last year. “He’s here Killian. In a group home. Right here in Boston. He was supposed to have a better life.” He nodded in acknowledgment. He knew the world of group homes and foster care. There had been some time between his mother’s death and his brother coming of age, and with no other family, Killian spent the better part of two years shuttled in and out of different homes. It wasn’t something he talked about frequently, but early in their acquaintance, a bottle of rum and a late night brought the story out of him, and if he’d known how Emma Swan would have reacted to knowing his history, it would have been the first thing he told her about himself. The withdrawn woman who let no personal details slip, started to open up and their friendship was cemented.

There was no need for him to ask her what she was going to do. He knew what every orphan wanted. What every single kid he met at that home wanted. What Emma must have dreamed about every night. A family.

“So how are you going to handle it?” It wasn’t a question of whether she was going to get him out, but how.

“I called an adoption attorney this afternoon. She says I have a strong case for an adoption. Except for the fact that I have a dangerous job and that I’m single.”

They sank back into the couch, both lost in thought.

Hearing that her job was an obstacle to the adoption slightly delighted Killian. If there were something that would induce Swan to take something slightly less dangerous, he’d be all for it. Of course, he would never be the one to suggest it.

He’d un-muted the game, and watched as Emma ordered a pizza from her phone. Neither moved until she went to the kitchen to grab beers from the fridge, and as she handed him another bottle, she sank back down. He could tell something was still weighing on her mind, but was going to let her lead the conversation.

Finally, she came out with it.

“Killian.”

“Yes, love?”

“What if I didn’t have to be single?”

“How’s that?”

“Would you marry me?”

He choked on his beer when he heard the question.

“Just for the adoption process. I mean, once the paperwork is all sorted we can get a divorce or an annulment or whatever. But I don’t want anything to stand in the way, and you’re the only one I can ask. Please?”

Killian Jones had imagined dating Emma Swan over the years. He’d imagined every various scenario of asking her out, her saying yes, and finally her realizing she’d been in love with him all along. Some days, when he was feeling particularly good about himself, he’d let those fantasies progress to marriage.

Never once, in their eight years of acquaintance, did his imagination ever come up with a scenario like this.

“My case is strong, so they’re not going to look into it too much. I would need to show to his case worker that I’m married. There would likely be a home visit. Then a court date. Honestly, it’s a birth mother getting her own kid back. It’s going to be a slam dunk.”

He never dreamed that he would want to reject Emma Swan’s proposal of marriage. But if he were going to marry Emma, he wanted it to be because they loved each other. Not for any convenience. But when he thought about the boy in a group home, a boy who was Emma’s flesh and blood, there was no way he could refuse.

He took a sip of beer to give himself a last moment of consideration before turning to her. “Alright, Emma Swan. Let’s get married.”

Conflicted. That was the only way he could describe how he felt upon waking up the morning of their wedding. He took a moment in bed, scrubbing his hand over his face, to think that while tomorrow he would wake a married man, he would wake no less alone than he was this morning.

He’d spent the week since her proposal half ready to tell her he was in love with her and that to him this wasn’t just about helping her get her son. But every time he started he, he stopped himself knowing what her reaction would be. She would call off the wedding saying she couldn’t lead him on. She would explain she didn’t feel about him the same way, and couldn’t start anything if he thought there was a chance. His selfishness would leave her back where she was, unmarried, with a long road ahead before she could reclaim her boy.

He couldn’t do that to her. Not when he was getting what he wanted, just not exactly on his terms. So he proceeded to rise and dress, and face the fate he’d agreed to. A fate of having the woman he loved as his wife, if only for show.

And even if it was only for show, he couldn’t help but want to go all out. He arrived at her apartment in a suit and tie with a bouquet, insisting that they should at least look the part for a photo or two, and sent her back into her room to change into something presentable.

“Emma, what if someone asks to see a photo and we can’t produce one. Or worse still, you’re in your red leather jacket and boots stood next to me in my best suit. That won’t exactly look like we’re the happy couple we’re meant to be.”

She took his breath away when she finally exited her bedroom, a pale pink embroidered dress exposing a modest amount of chest as the full skirt swished about her knees.

The look she shot him dared him to laugh, but he had no intention. “Swan, you look…” he couldn’t complete the thought. “I’ve never seen you in this.”

“I found it at a thrift store. I was trying to catch a skip whose tastes veered more towards the demure. My usual dresses wouldn’t do the trick, and this one worked pretty well. Don’t you dare say anything.”

He had no words to describe what a vision she made, at least none he could share with her without inviting her wrath, so he complied, and led her out the door.

Their trip to the courthouse was in silence. He, who could usually read her like a book, couldn’t imagine what her thoughts were, but his were fully engaged in how different he would like their circumstances to be.

Years ago, as their relationship was taking shape, he’d often considered trying for more. Flirtatious by nature, Emma always rolled her eyes and rebuffed any advance as though he were joking. He assumed that at some point, if Emma ever really were interested, she would have let him know. So little by little, he focused his attentions where they might be appreciated, and stayed in Emma’s safe zone, friendship.

Some days he rued that choice, as it doomed him to live a life with what he wanted, but knew he could never have, just out of reach. If only Emma felt differently, today could be so perfect. They could be starting their family. If Emma’s son were anything like her, he would love that boy beyond reason, and the lad would be gaining not one parent, but two.

His silent reflections continued through their vows. As he looked her in the eyes and repeated the words the Justice of the Peace spoke, she couldn’t know how truly he meant them. She always claimed she could tell when someone was lying, and he wondered if she could see there was no lie in his pledge; for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parted them. He slid the slim gold band onto her finger, and waited as she did the same. He’d honestly forgotten the last bit of the ceremony, and held his breath when he realized what came next. He barely heard the words, focusing only on the look in Emma’s eyes and waited for the barely perceptible nod, before leaning in and pressing his lips gently to hers.

He was in a daze as they signed the paperwork and handed phones off to nearby witnesses for photos. Eight years of imagining what Emma Swan’s kiss would feel like, and he had his answer. For one brief second, everything in the world stopped, and life was perfect. He forgot where they were, or why she was pressed so close, and had begun to lift his hand to pull her in closer, knowing that he needed more when he felt her pull away, and crashed back to reality.

He searched her eyes for some sign that she felt the same, but her eyes told him nothing. She had shaken off the encounter and already moved on to the door. A moment he had wanted forever, and she couldn’t wait to get away.

“Humor me, Swan. Please?” He gestured toward the door as he opened it, and she proceeded, as though a lunch at a nice restaurant was an inconvenience. “I know you’re a woman of action, but we can’t just go pick up your son right now, and you may as well let me treat my wife to a nice meal out. After all, soon we’ll have a boy to think of, and I fear our short dating life will have come to an end. We need to enjoy it while it lasts.”

He loved when he could make her roll her eyes, all while trying to stifle a smile. Emma tried so hard to present a tough exterior to the world, but occasionally he could break through that shell.

He waited until their entrees arrived before breaking out the questions both had been avoiding since the moment he agreed to the scheme.

“Emma, you realize you can’t bring Henry home to your apartment, right?” He knew she was excellent at planning for all contingencies. He’d watched her plan stake outs and take downs on a regular basis. Emma Swan covered her bases. He knew that the woman sitting across from him had already realized her studio apartment in a somewhat dilapidated building was not an acceptable home for her son. If she’d gone so far as to get married, he knew she had something in store for their living arrangements.

“Yes.” It was one word, but he could tell from the slightly embarrassed look on her face that she’d been hesitating to talk with him on the subject.

“Well, what’s the plan?”

She clasped her hands, rubbing at the new band of gold circling her finger as he could tell she tried to process exactly how she wanted to address it.

“He’s ten.”

Not understanding, he was confused and waited for her to continue.

“He’s ten, and what if he tells someone we’re faking it? Before the adoption is final. He can’t know.”

“Alright, that makes sense. What do you propose?”

Again, she quieted a moment and he waited. “I’ll give up my apartment, and Henry and I can move in with you. That way, when the adoption is final and we tell him, he and I can look for a place together.”

Her plan made sense. All except for one thing.

“My place only has two bedrooms. Are you proposing you share with the boy? Or am I to sleep on the sofa in my own apartment for as many months as the adoption takes?”

She closed her eyes to say the next bit.

“We have to share, Killian” He froze. “Otherwise what’s the point? He’s not going to believe we’re happily married if we don’t even sleep in the same room. Please?”

He was silent as she continued to detail all the reasons that they needed to appear as happy husband and wife, and outlined the practicality of her plan. He was barely listening. All he knew is that Emma Swan was the one to suggest they share a bed. Months of her beside him as they fell asleep, pretending to be a happily married couple. Months of adjusting to the intimacy that sharing space would bring. Months of waking to her at his side.

Months for her to see through his facade and realize he was madly in love with her, and that if she’d just open her eyes, she felt the same way.

She was halfway through an apology for trapping him into the marriage before entailing everything she had in mind when he stopped her.

“Emma, stop, love. It’s fine. I understand.” He grabbed her hand from across the table, hoping the gentle touch would calm her down. “You’re right. Ten is too young to know the truth. And until we know your boy can be trusted, we have to maintain appearances.”

He saw her visibility sigh in relief at his words, and felt her squeeze his hand in return.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you?”

Rather than say that she wouldn’t ever find out, he put her off with a joke. “I know this much, Swan. You’d be eating a package of cold Pop Tarts for lunch right now if it weren’t for me. Now, enjoy your meal please before it gets cold. We can figure the rest out later.”

Now that she was married, she felt like she could finally go meet her son. Emma had wanted to wait until all the pieces were in place, and she felt like nothing could stand in the way. The last thing she’d wanted to do was to get his hopes up, if anything were to fall through. As they drove to the home Henry was currently staying in, Killian could see her nerves starting to show.

“It’s okay, Swan. It’s going to be fine.” He reached over and put his hand on her knee to stop the bouncing. He had an uncanny ability to know what was going through her mind, and was usually able to quench any fears without her needing to voice them. “He’s going to love you. I know that.”

“How do you know that? I’m not exactly the warmest person, Killian.”

“He’s your kid, love. He’s going to appreciate how much you’ve already done to bring him into your life.”

She rolled her eyes at Killian’s confidence in her. “What if I can’t do it? What do I know about being a mom? I’ve never even had one.”

He laughed. “Lots of people who had parents fail, Swan. The big thing here is that you want him. You want to save him from the childhood you had. You want better for him. That’s all you’ve ever wanted for him. And you’re going to do whatever it takes to make that happen. And I’ve never seen you fail at anything.” He squeezed her knee as he said this, and her only response was to purse her lips and stare out the window. He counted it as a victory that she didn’t fight back.

“We haven’t discussed my role in all of this, I mean, my role in your boy’s life?”

She understood what he meant. Killian wasn’t a part of the adoption process aside from the marriage paperwork. It was only her name on the form. She went to the Child Services group with the explanation that she was his biological mother, and that of course they wanted to be sure Henry and Killian took to each other before they were shackled together. It seemed plausible enough in her head, and no one had questioned it yet.

“I think we stay with the same story that we’ve told everyone else. I’m his mother. You’re my husband. But you’re not his dad. Less confusion when it’s all said and done.”

His heart sunk as it did every time she mentioned the end. Of course that’s the way it would be, but it was easier to keep up with the fantasy in his head when her words weren’t so concrete.

They’d pulled along the street in front of the home. It was an old brownstone in a more rundown part of the city, but looked well kept. He could see the relief on her face when she noted the bikes chained to the front railing. Bikes. That meant that whoever was running the place was at least putting money into the things kids needed, and some of it towards what they wanted.

As they walked up to the door, he felt his arm grow heavy when she reached for his hand. She was on the wrong side to actually get his real hand, and instead only ended up with his prosthetic, but it was one of the things he loved the most about her. She had no qualms about his missing appendage, or its metal and plastic replacement. It was probably best that she had the faux hand, as he was sure his hand would have been crushed so tight was her grip.

The door opened and a few children ran out before either had a chance to ring the bell. All were laughing and an adult voice called out after them. “Be back by 7 for dinner or you’ll be lucky if there’s even a plate to lick.” The voice tried to sound menacing, but there was definitely a joking tone. Killian knew that any child late would still find a full plate waiting. He had a feeling life would have been a lot different for himself, and definitely for Emma, if either had spent any time in this home.

A petite, dark haired woman appeared in the doorway as they arrived and greeted them.

“Oh, hello. Sorry about the hooligans. Hope none of them ran you down.”

Emma was quiet for a moment, still taking it in. Killian wanted to wait to let her speak, and was glad when she found her voice. He had only spent two years in and out of group homes, all that time being visited by his brother, knowing he was getting out. For Emma, this must have been like returning to your worst memories, and he was not going to push her.

“Um, no, hi. I’m actually hoping the kid I’m here to see didn’t just go past me. I’m Emma Swan. They should have told you I would be coming over.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Henry’s mother! Yes, yes. He’s upstairs reading. I haven’t told him anything about you, or that you were coming even. I didn’t want to get his hopes up in case you didn’t come. It’s just sometimes things fall through, and I know it’s my job but I can’t see them sad like that.”

The woman led them upstairs, and showed them to a small sitting room, full of worn out sofas, bean bag chairs, and full to the brim of books and board games and all kinds of things kids could amuse themselves with. Longways on the sofa was her son. She knew what he looked like. She’d found a few photos. She was already prepared to see his father’s eyes looking back at her. But now was the time to find out the rest. Was he going to have his father’s laugh. His voice. His carefree spirit? Or was he going to be more like her? She hoped he was his own person. The boy deserved more than what she and his father could have given him.

“Henry you have a visitor.”

He looked up from his book, and smiled. That smile killed her. 13 years of abandonment had left her scared and closed off to everyone. She would never have greeted anyone so openly, and here was her son, looking up at her and welcoming her.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She couldn’t say anything more. She looked to the woman, and then at Killian. Hoping one of them would say the words that needed to be said. Both remained silent.

“I’m Henry. Who are you?”

Again, she looked to the other adults for backup, but neither came to her rescue. It took her a moment. She’d faced criminals guilty of every crime imaginable, but the boy in front of her instilled her with more fear than anything she’d ever encountered. “Hi Henry. I’m Emma.” It took another deep breath, but she continued. “I’m your mother. Well, obviously not your mother, but I gave birth to you.” She felt the need to clarify. As a child, she’d imagined meeting her parents so many times. In those fantasies, she’d always thrown the words back at her. “You’re not my mother. You’re just the woman who gave birth to me.” She wanted to acknowledge to her son that she knew the difference.

She waited for his reaction. For screaming, for yelling. For the recriminations and questions of why she gave him away. What was wrong with him that she couldn’t keep him. All the things she wanted to do. All the things she wanted to ask and never gotten the chance. Now that she was in the other position, she was terrified.

Instead, she watched as his eyes went wide, and he got up from the couch to throw his arms around her waist. Her hands dropped to the top of his head, before she finally let herself go and hugged him back. This was not a scenario she had planned for.

She’d never been hugged so tight in her life.

It felt a little uncomfortable.

It felt good.

She looked up and saw Killian smiling, although she could see in his eyes the smugness she knew she was going to hear about later. He’d had all the faith in the world that the boy was going to be happy to see her. And how he knew he’d be right she’d never know. She was just happy he was right.

As soon as he let go of her, she heard the question she’d been dreading. But the boy asked without any hostility or blame, “So, why did you give me up?”

She’d already discussed this with Kilian, and they’d both agreed honesty was the best tact.

“I was really young, and your dad turned out to not be the best guy. He stole a bunch of watches and then framed me for the theft. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was in jail, but he’d already left me and I had no idea where he was. I figured you’d have a better chance in life with a mom who wasn’t a teenage jailbird with a GED.”

She watched as her son nodded, as though he understood everything completely. The report cards indicated that he was smart, but she knew there was more to being smart than just grades. It looked to her like her kid had both. “You wanted to give me my best chance.”

She smiled at him. Her first real smile, at knowing he understood. “Yeah. Exactly.” She turned to Killian for the first time. “I was in the foster system since I was born. And this is my husband Killian. He was a foster kid, too. Anyway, I was talking to him a couple years ago about being in the system, and after that I just couldn’t get you off my mind.” She noticed Killian’s head snap up at that. They’d never talked about their conversation being the spark that started her search for Henry. “I mean, I always wondered about you, knowing what my life was like. But Killian too. After that, I knew I had to find you. Sorry it took so long, kid.”

He took the keys from her as soon as they walked out the front door. There was no question than she was too emotional to drive. After she sat in the passenger seat, he knelt at her side for a moment, taking her hand. “Swan, you did a great job in there. He doesn’t blame you at all. That went better than could have ever been expected. And he’s a really great lad, love. “

He noticed the tear streaming down her cheek as she looked straight out the windshield. Nothing more could be said right now. He’d get her home. She needed time to think about everything that just transpired. She’d told him about how she’d fantasize about meeting her parents. Yelling at them. Badgering them with questions. And she had told him that she worried her son would do the same thing. That’s what she’d prepared herself for. So now that nothing went according to her plan, she needed to recalibrate. Of course, Emma Swan was good at that. She just needed some time.

About a block from the apartment when she finally spoke.

“Killian, how did you know to do that?”

“Do what love?

“Give Henry our business cards with our cell phone numbers.”

“Oh, that. I remembered that when I was living in the homes, it felt better to know that I could at least call Liam. Even if I couldn’t be with him, I could talk to him. And that way if Henry worries that we might not come back, he can call us. He’s not just left waiting for us to return now. He’s got some control.”

“Thank you.”

“T’was just a business card.”

“You know what I mean. Thank you for everything. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I mean, not just the adoption but even coming here today.”

“You could have. You know you could have. I’ve yet to see you fail at anything. And this certainly won’t be the first thing, Emma. Now let’s get you home.”

Initially Emma didn’t have any idea of how long it would take to get Henry into her custody. There had been some discussion that seeing as she was his biological mother, once a few background checks were done, they would let him go home with her and Killian while the adoption was formally processed. It was what she had been hoping for. But no one would tell her if it was going to take weeks or months. Killian cleared out his home office and made way for all the items necessary for a small boy. A bed, a smallish desk and a bookshelf. They found a few other odds and ends to make it seem a bit more homey. Emma didn’t want to do too much to decorate it though, knowing that it would all be work Killian would have to undo when they ultimately moved out.

Her stuff was easy to move as well. A few of the pieces of furniture Killian welcomed gladly saying they filled the holes in his living room. Her dresser went into his room to make way for her clothes. He’d made room in his closet and bathroom for her as well. It was better that she moved in early, as the home visit would happen before Henry even stepped foot through the door.

The home visit wasn’t what worried her. She knew they could fool anyone. They knew each other inside and out. She could handle day to day life with Killian as well. Eight years of friendship had prepared them for that. No, it was what happened at night that had Emma in a panic. As much as she was dying for the day Henry would come home to her, she knew she would need to move out of his small Ikea bed, and finally truly share space with Killian.

Now as she fell asleep in her son’s bed, she thought of the man on the other side of the wall, and how everything would change when he was only an arm’s length away. If that. His light snores would be the soundtrack as she tried to clear her mind of his presence. She imagined she wouldn’t be sleeping much in the coming months, too anxious about what she might betray in her sleep to truly relax.

There’d been an instant attraction when she first met Killian. It would have been impossible to deny the draw of his blue eyes and charm. She’d almost given him a chance. A late night and a bottle of rum, she had decided she was ready for a one night fling with the man whose constant flirtations were a temptation she no longer wanted to fight. All until the rum loosened his tongue and he started talking about his youth. His tale of abandonment so closely matched her own that she no longer saw him as he had initially presented himself, a shameless flirt. Now he was more, a kindred spirit. Another lost kid just looking for a family. A new friend.

And from then on, Emma could never do anything to jeopardize that. She could find company in any bar, any night, anywhere in the city. Friends were too few and far between.

Over the years, the thought of both would sneak in unwanted. What if he could be both? She would shake the thought from her head as fast as possible. There was no use. No one who had ever loved her stayed. She could never risk their friendship on the possibility of more. Sometimes getting rid of that thought was harder than others. Like the nights when he sat too close on the couch, and she could feel the heat emanating off of him, calling her to scoot closer until he would wrap his arm around her and pull her close. Or when she was at his place between stake outs, and he would come home from the gym and strip off his sweaty t-shirt, exposing her to the chest she so desperately wanted to touch. Or the nights she would catch him looking at her with this certain look in his eyes, like she meant everything to him, and she would have to convince herself that neither of them could act on it, or it would all come crashing to pieces.

Nothing in eight years could have ever convinced her it was worth the risk she was taking now. Living in his apartment. Sharing every meal. Sleeping in his bed. It was going to be near impossible.

It was going to ruin everything.

But she had to do it for Henry.

Visits to Henry at the Children’s Home became regular. She was there 3 times a week, without fail. Killian joined her for the first visits. Emma said she needed the backup. Despite her son’s complete understanding, she was constantly on the ready for an attack. But as she grew used to him, she felt less inclined to beg for Killian’s company on the visits. She knew that Killian would have come, and in fact Henry and her faux-husband seemed to be friends from the start. But she knew Killian thought it was important that she have time alone with Henry. And eventually, it didn’t seem as awkward.

It helped that Henry liked to talk. Emma would listen as he shared all of the details of his life. Her boy was smart and liked to read. There was always a new book or something that he was learning at school. The group home provided him with other kids to talk to. As much as she wanted to hate herself for what she had done, her son certainly didn’t seem too much worse for her decision, and certainly he wasn’t holding it against her. The more she came to understand that, the easier each visit became.

And so the day that she got the call from her lawyer Emma was ecstatic. It was a moment before the worries set in again. Would he miss his friends? Would he like his room? Would he like her enough to want to stay? Would he pick up on the fact that not everything was on the level with her relationship with Killian?

Henry could barely sit still on the way home. She and Killian were peppered with questions about how far away they lived and if they had any pets. It was all information Henry already knew, but Emma sensed he was almost as nervous as she was, and was trying to break the tension. She already knew her son had better interpersonal skills than she had ever developed. Killian’s suggestion of stopping for dinner somewhere was met with a quick dismissal from all sides, as though everyone was ready to pull off the bandaid and finally get Henry home.

He had never been shy, and that was completely apparent the second he entered the apartment and started opening doors and poking his head into all of the spaces.

“Hey, kid, that room is off limits. That’s mine and Killian’s bedroom. The one on the left is yours.” She made note that they would definitely need to be careful. He was going to catch everything.

He dumped his things in his room and came back out into the living room, more interested in his family than finally having a space to himself. Emma noted that it was always the opposite when she went home with a family. After so much time sharing, a room to herself was coveted.

Emma and Killian glanced at each other, not exactly sure what to do now. He had taken back up his study of the items in the house, but stopped at the framed picture from their wedding day.

“How long have you been married?”

KIllian was quick to answer. Emma was too startled by this being her son’s first question in his new home. “A month.” The truth was going to be the easiest to maintain, even if it were a slightly altered version.” We’ve been together forever, but it makes your mother’s case stronger for the adoption if we’re married.”

Henry accepted the answer and continued his inspection of the apartment as Killian and Emma both breathed a sigh of relief. Killian had to smile a bit to himself as he watched the boy take in the apartment. Emma never missed a clue, and it seemed Henry followed in his mother’s footsteps. “What’s this?”

“Ah, that’s a sextant. You use it for navigating at sea. Well, used to. Nowadays it’s all GPS. But every proper sailor knows how to use one of these. That one is old, more for decoration. I’ve got another on my boat.” They’d already discussed his love of the sea, and Killian was shocked to find out a boy growing up in Boston had never been out on the water. Promises had been made.

Emma sat on the couch silent as she watched her son and Killian talking as though everything were normal. As though tonight wasn’t some turning point that would change her life, and Henry’s. Killian was preparing dinner, answering Henry’s questions and filling in with bits of stories. As this new life was unfolding, she again had to appreciate just how much Killian was doing for her. She could have gotten the adoption without him. It would have taken longer, but eventually she would have gotten her son home. But this, bringing him home and having it feel right? She needed Killian for this.

Of course, not everything was going to be perfect right off the bat. Ten year olds didn’t come with instruction manuals. She had spent the past month reading books on adoption and internet advice columns on raising kids, but every bit of advice conflicted. And it wasn’t as though she had friends she could go to with questions. So as she had done with most everything in life, she decided to go with her gut. And that was to trust her kid.

“Hey, Henry. What time’s bedtime for you?”

“We have to go to our rooms at 9PM, but it’s not lights out until 9:30. Whenever I wasn’t sharing I could stay up late reading as long as they didn’t get reports from my teacher at school that I was tired.” That sounded right to Emma.

She lingered in the living room as long as she could on Henry’s first night home. He had long gone to bed, and Killian turned in as soon as the baseball game was over. But she wasn’t quite ready to face her new bed. The light still on in Henry’s room gave her just one more excuse to delay.

“Henry.” She said his name with a faint knock on the door. He needed to know that his room was his, and that this new life came with privacy. There was a sleepy reply on the other side of the door, and she opened it. Curled up in a tight little ball with a book still clutched in one hand, Henry was fighting falling asleep. She moved the book to the side and sat on his bed. “Hey kid, that book will still be here tomorrow.”

She wasn’t sure if it was normal, this push to stay awake or if it was something more. As she reached to put out the light, something stirred, and she let herself do something she hadn’t given herself permission to yet. She hadn’t earned the right. She leaned over and smoothed the hair away from his forehead, and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Mom.” Henry’s voice was sleepy, and she knew he wasn’t really awake. He didn’t mean to call her mom. But he had, and she started crying. She may not have raised him, but he was hers now, and she was going to do everything to protect him for the rest of his life.

Killian was still awake when she finally entered what was now their bedroom.

“Is the lad asleep?” “Yes.” She couldn’t hide the way her voice wanted to break. And Killian was too perceptive not to notice the tears that had welled up.

“What’s wrong, love?” He moved to stand up, but she motioned for him to stay in bed. She wouldn’t be able to keep it together if she talked about it. The weight of his gaze was heavy as she crossed the room towards the bathroom to get ready.

“It’s nothing. Really,” she said as she shut the door. She was glad to have a few moments to herself to clear her thoughts before facing what was to be their bed. She’d moved her things into the room earlier in the day, before they picked up Henry. Killian had left a nightstand open for her, and she noticed he’d made the bed up with clean sheets. It was another reminder of just how much her best friend had turned his life upside down for her and her son. She couldn’t mess this up by wanting more. And right now, she needed her best friend more than anything. When she was finally ready to exit, teeth brushed and dressed in carefully chosen pyjamas, she realized it wasn’t as awkward climbing into bed next to him as she imagined. Instead of picking up her phone to text him with whatever was on her mind like she usually would have done, now all she had to do was speak.

“He called me Mom, Killian. What do I do?”

He rolled to his side to get a better look at her before she turned out the light.

“You say ‘yes, son.’”

“But I’m not his mom. I haven’t done anything. I gave birth to him and then abandoned him.”

She slouched down into the bed and rolled towards him, glad she could just make out his face in the dim light shining through the windows.

“You came back for him, love. You’ve brought him home. You’ve been showing him you care every day since you walked back into his life. For him, that’s enough. If the boy thinks you’ve earned the title, let yourself have it. It will look good on you.”

He watched as she absorbed his words.

“You can do this, Emma. And remember, I’m here to help.”

Her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were about how grateful she was for Killian. Without his reassurances she would have tossed and turned all night over her new title. Now, she could tuck away her worries and fall asleep, listening to the steady rise and fall of Killian’s snores, knowing she could count on him for anything.

When Killian woke the next morning to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, he smiled at the weight of the head on his chest and the hand that had snaked its way under his t-shirt. If this is how he was to wake in the coming months, he would be a happy man. If there were feelings Emma fought while conscious, but it seemed her body had no issues while asleep. He took a moment to enjoy what could be before another clang made him think better. If Emma were to stir and realize she had found comfort in his arms while sleeping, she’d retreat from him all day. He had no desire to spend her son’s first day home with Emma skittishly avoiding him, and decided it was best to rise and join the boy in the kitchen.

When Emma finally joined them he handed her the cup of coffee he knew she would need, and watched for any sign of the previous night’s worries. There were no signs of worry or stress, only a happy woman who greeted her son with a smile asking what he wanted to do on his first day of freedom.

He didn’t know who was happier in the newly formed Swan/Mills/Jones household. From the stories Emma had told him of her childhood, he had been prepared for Henry to have inherited a little bit of a wild streak. Especially knowing what he did of the lad’s father. But Henry was made happy solely with a book in his hands, Killian’s friendship, and his mother’s love. None of which were in short supply. Emma was a different woman since finding Henry. She still worked too hard and was too hard on herself, but after righting what she had previously considered the biggest wrong she had ever committed, Killian couldn’t help but notice she seemed lighter somehow.

Emma had been transitioning to more of a desk position at the bail bonds agency. Even without her on the streets, they considered her one of their most valuable assets. But it still wasn’t ever a 9-5 job, and that left Killian with the task of greeting Henry when he arrived home from school every day. After a brief snack, and a reminder that homework needed to be completed before books or video games could be started, he could settle back in at his desk until the time came to start prepping dinner.

Killian would admit his life had changed for the better with the full time addition of Henry and Emma.

Emma would say the same.

In just a short amount of time life had become too good to be true. Every day she got home to home cooked meal and sat down with her kid and Killian to eat before they all turned on the TV or played a video game for a bit before Henry’s bedtime. Then he would turn in and she and Killian both would finish up some odds and ends around the house before turning in themselves. It had become too easy to crawl in next to him, no longer needing her phone clutched in her hand as she used to. Before Henry, she usually fell asleep mid text to Killian. Now more often than not, she fell asleep mid discussion, and woke up to find he’d already exited the bed and was up laughing with her son in the kitchen.

Sometimes something would wake her in the middle of the night. A dream. A noise. A feeling. And she’d realize she was no longer on her side of the bed, but on Killian’s, wrapped tightly in his arms, clinging to him every bit as much as he was holding on to her. As soon as she would begin to stir, she’d hear his sleepy voice mumble. “Shh, love. Go back to sleep.” And it would be one of the few times she would listen to Killian with no argument. By morning he was always up and out of the room, and she was back on her side, face down in a pillow. With the memory of what it feels like for just a few moments to have everything be perfect.

She was not prepared when the letter came from the lawyer saying all of the adoption paperwork was final, and all that would be required was a few signatures. She read through everything, and froze when she got to the lawyer’s note at the end asking about drawing up the divorce paperwork as well. It was all too fast. Not getting Henry. No, she knew he was hers. She had concocted a dozen scenarios in her mind where the courts had decided not to grant her custody, and every single one of them ended with her taking her son and running where they could never be found. Nothing would ever part her from him again. But it was too soon to give up Killian. Not the dinner he cooked. Not the after school care he provided. But just him. She had grown too accustomed to life with him at all times, and she didn’t know how to readjust to life without.

So she sent back the portion of the paperwork that the lawyer needed to turn over to the courts, but carefully stowed away the rest to take back to her office to hide. It wasn’t the right time. She needed to figure out how she would adjust to life without Killian before she told him. And Henry. Henry was going to have to learn the truth, and learn to live without Killian as well. It wasn’t fair to take away his friend from him just yet.

Every day Emma rationalized her decision just a little bit more.

And every day, she pretended to fall asleep just a little bit earlier, before rolling over and making her way into Killian’s arms.

“Killian, I’m home.”

He heard the door slam and feet racing across the hardwood floors until they stopped in the living room. He always got the impression Henry liked saying that. “I’m home.”

Killian working from his apartment meant no more after school programs for Henry. He rode the bus with the other kids, and spent his afternoons doing his homework at the kitchen table, Killian’s computer clacking away from across the room. They’d become friends in the hours after school, sharing snacks, recapping their days, and Killian was quite proud anytime Henry showed off the A on a paper or test he’d helped him prepare for.

The noise of the TV kicking on drew Killian’s attention away from the computer. “Homework before video games, Henry. You know the rule.” The boy’s response of “I know, I know,” barely covered the sound of the TV powering off.

“It’s not too late to send you back, you know.” He told the boy as he walked by the couch, ruffling the boy’s hair. It had been a joke between the two, something that could only be said one orphan to another. It was Henry’s response that surprised him.

“Yes it is. The adoption is final.”

“What’s that, lad? When did this happen?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders, and tried to act like it was nothing, but Killian knew there was more to it than that. “A few weeks ago I guess. I found the paperwork in my mom’s stuff when I was looking for a permission slip she had signed. There was a letter from the lawyer even confirming it.”

Killian sat down on the couch beside the lad, utterly confused. They’d talked about this day for months. The celebration they’d have, a big dinner out, a cake, Henry Mills becoming Henry Swan, as Henry had decided he also wanted to take Emma’s last name. “Why wouldn’t she have told us?”

Henry leaned forward and started going through his backpack, but answered, again still trying to act as though this was nothing.

“Probably because of the lawyer’s question at the bottom of the letter, about whether or not she wanted her to start working on filing the divorce paperwork for the two of you.”

His heart sunk in his chest. He’d honestly forgotten that along with the celebration of Henry joining Emma’s family officially would mean his leaving Emma’s family, their family, officially.

He couldn’t say anything to the boy. He had no intention of spoiling this wonderful event for the lad with any of his own misery.

“Seriously, Killian. You’re not going to say anything?” The boy turned to him with a raised eyebrow; the look Emma swore Henry had learned from him. “You love my mom, and you would let the divorce happen?”

He leveled his gaze at the boy only a little surprised that Henry had figured out their secret. But definitely surprised that Henry had seen what his mother couldn’t, or had been so unwilling to acknowledge.

“Henry, your mother and I got married because she didn’t want there to be any obstacles in her way when she was adopting you. It was not because we loved each other. We have to be realistic. She has custody now. You are hers. And she’s your mom, for good. There’s no reason for us to stay married.”

“YOU LOVE HER. You’re not even trying to deny it. Aren’t you going to fight for this?”

“It’s not that easy. Your mother and I have been friends forever. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“But she loves you.” Killian was caught off guard by that statement. He knew that Emma sometimes betrayed herself and let feelings she never wanted to show slip. She was good at hiding how she felt. Not just about him, but about everything. That Henry had already picked up on his mother’s feelings meant there had been a shift. Either the boy could read her exceptionally well or that she was no longer able to hide it.

No matter what it was, it was time they had a chat.

“Henry, your mother is an exceptional woman. I’m sure you’ve already come to realize that. But what makes her exceptional: her tenacity, her bravery, her strength, has also made her skittish and untrusting. If I were to tell her how I felt, you two would be living out of suitcases at a hotel while she looked for an apartment faster than you can blink. I can’t lose your mother from my life, and I’ve become quite attached to you as well.” He finished with a wink to add a bit of levity to the conversation, but Henry would not be distracted.

“So we’re just going to live like this? Pretending to be a family.” “Is this really so bad?”

Henry was quiet.

“What if it does end? What if my mom does find out, and makes us leave?” Killian’s warning about Emma’s actions should anything be revealed had cracked through his shell. Between Emma and Killian, he was the more likely of the two to remember that despite his maturity, Henry was still a kid at heart. He may be able to hold his own with the adults in any conversation, but there were feelings there he wasn’t equipped to process all the time.

“I won’t let it happen.” He pulled the boy into a hug. He remembered that even at ten, he found comfort in Liam’s arms when he was scared, and was there for Emma’s boy. “I fear you and your mother are saddled with me for life. I’ll never let her shut me out. And I promise I’ll never, ever leave you.”

Henry nodded. Killian’s words were enough for him. Between the two of them, they could figure this out. And in the meantime, things were good. He had a mom, a dad, a home, and a test the next day.

“Emma, love. Wake up.” She clenched her eyes closed. It wasn’t just that she felt like death. It was Killian. Every morning. The “love.” The gentle way he had of moving her hand from his chest every night that she’d crept to his side of the bed and curled up practically on top of him. The way he would get up early and get Henry out the door to school as though he was actually the kid’s father. The cup of coffee he would have brewed for her, knowing she was useless until she’d had at least two thirds of it. All of it.

Knowing she would soon have to give it all up.

And knowing how much she didn’t want to. It was eating her alive. The stress from the lawyer’s letter had formed a pit at the bottom of her stomach that nothing could ease. It took hours to fall asleep every night. Hours laying next to this man who had done nothing except to reveal himself as even more perfect than she could have ever imagined and show her a life she didn’t deserve. It was enough that she had her son. She needed to end it before something happened, and their friendship was ruined forever. Every day that she postponed telling him was another day she got to live out this fantasy life. But it was another day in which it could all go wrong.

When the flu bug hit, there was no chance her body could fight it off. Every defense she had was compromised, physically and emotionally.

“No.” she replied. It was a barely audible word, muffled by her pillow as she swatted him away.

“No, what, love? You’re not waking up?”

“No.” She rolled over and turned toward him, but couldn’t face him. Not truly. “I can’t. I’m sick.” She wouldn’t have been able to stand seeing the concern that crossed his face as he reached down to feel her forehead. It would have been her undoing.

“You’re burning up, Emma. Let me get Henry off to school and I’ll be right back in with something for you to drink and some aspirin.” She turned back over. Today had only gotten worse. Not only could she not escape him by leaving for work, but she would be completely at his mercy while he played nurse to her. He’d left the door open enough that she could hear his conversation with Henry as the two went about getting breakfast and ensuring he had everything he needed for school. It was too much. She pulled the pillow over her head hoping to muffle out their chatter, and was surprised when Killian pulled away the barrier.

“Here you are, love. Drink up.” He watched as she dutifully downed the medicine and drank more of the juice than she wanted to, figuring it was easier than fighting with him. “Anything else you need?”

She shook her head. She needed him to leave her alone.

“I’ll just be in the other room. Shout if you want anything. I’ll leave you to sleep.”

Emma curled back into the covers as he padded from the room. He’d left the door slightly open, and she could hear him in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes and then finally settling in at his desk in the living room.

As sick as she was, being left alone in Killian’s bed wasn’t going to help. His scent kept invading her defenses; his pillow calling her to use it for comfort. And as soon as she reached out to pull it to her, she would think about how soon it would end.

Her flu addled brain kept replaying the kiss from their wedding, their sham wedding she would remind herself, where for one moment, she had a glimpse of what it could be like. It was a memory she had stifled. Something she had kept so far buried she would never let herself recall. But the flu had compromised more than just her immune system. She blamed the virus for the tears that gathered in her eyes, and finally fell asleep.

Henry’s loud shout and the slam of the door was the first thing to really jolt her awake. She was grateful for what must have been 7 hours of mostly untroubled sleep. She had vague memories of Killian coming in to check on her, but mostly she woke with a renewed sense of energy.

“Killian, I’m home!”

“Shush, lad. Your mom’s still in our room asleep. Try not to wake her.”

Henry was already in the room crawling up next to her in bed.

“Henry, you shouldn’t be in here. I don’t want you getting sick.” Secretly she was glad of his company. That her kid wanted to come see her, and had no inhibitions about snuggling up with her in bed meant everything to her. Her admonition and instructions to leave were only half-hearted, as she put her arm around him and pulled him in to stroke his hair, ready to talk about his day before sending him back out to do his homework.

He didn’t even acknowledge her orders to leave as he settled in and filled her in on the day’s gossip. She got a full half hour download on his school day, and was a little jealous of Killian. Usually he got this time in the day with Henry. When she arrived home from work she got the Cliff’s Notes version of events, with Killian and Henry laughing over whatever jokes they’d already had earlier. Everything would change when they divorced. She would need to figure out what to do with Henry after school then. It was time to make the change. It would be easier, rather than letting the two continue to grow closer. She sighed.

Almost as though Henry could read her thoughts, Henry asked the question.

“What’s going to happen with me when you and Killian get divorced?”

He obviously knew something. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. Her first instinct was to comfort her son and to make sure he knew that she wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s you and me, kid. You know that right? I didn’t do all of this to let anything happen to you.” “I know that, Mom. But what about Killian?”

Henry wasn’t worried about himself. He was worried about Killian.

“What has he told you?” “He didn’t tell me anything. I found the letter from the lawyer saying the adoption was final. And then asking if you wanted to put the divorce paperwork through. Why haven’t you told me about the adoption?”

She pulled her son tighter, more to comfort herself than him.

“Because things were going so well. I was scared to change anything. But things have to change. Killian married me so that it would be easier for me to adopt you. It’s the most important thing that I’ve ever done. But now I have you, and it’s time for us to move on.”

Henry squirmed, and she loosened her grip. He asked the same question as he hopped down from the bed, clearly ready to be done with the conversation. “But what about Killian, Mom? This isn’t fair to him. He’s going to be left without us. He loves us.” Henry didn’t give her a chance to even reply before heading for the door, and turning to her with a last reproachful look. “By the way, Killian knows, too.”

The sound of the door being firmly shut triggered Emma into a panic. Not regarding her son. Henry was obviously disappointed in her, but would be fine in the end. It was the fact that Killian knew. He knew. What was she supposed to do now? How could she face him? How could she bring up the subject of the divorce without explaining why she had hidden it? With the door closed, she was cut off from all of the activity in the main room. She was desperate to know what was going on, and what they were talking about, but she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. As the evening drew on, she retreated further and further into her fortress of blankets and pillows, half grateful that Killian had the good sense to leave her alone. Half wishing he would come in and at least relieve her of her misery.

Finally as bedtime drew near, he did enter.

“Emma, love. You haven’t eaten anything. Would you like me to heat anything up for you before I come in for bed? Soup. Or toast. Whatever you’d like. You really need to eat something.” She shook her head, searching his face for any sign that Henry had mentioned their earlier conversation, but all it showed was concern for her wellbeing. And it broke her. He’d given up his apartment. He’d married her. He was raising her kid. And now, all he wanted to do was take care of her while she was sick. She needed to end it before she ruined everything. No matter how much it would hurt her in the end.

Killian climbed into bed and turned out the light, as though everything were normal. It wasn’t until his breathing settled that she found the strength to say what needed to be said.

“Henry and I need to move out.”

From Henry’s face earlier he could tell something had transpired between him and Emma, but he didn’t pry. The boy had come out of their room and sat down and started his homework without comment. Killian went back to work until it was time to start preparing dinner, and the afternoon passed much the same as their afternoon would have had Emma not been sick in the other room. But there was a definite change in the atmosphere, and Killian was sure he would eventually find out the cause.

Still, he had not been prepared for her abrupt announcement.

Ever since Henry had let him in on Emma’s secret, he had been wondering why she hadn’t told him. He knew that eventually they needed to talk about it. They couldn’t just stay married forever, ignoring that it was a marriage of convenience. But he hoped that eventually she’d let herself admit that there was more than just friendship. There was definitely something to the fact that he woke up to Emma in his arms every morning, nuzzled into his chest with her legs wrapped around his.

He didn’t know what scared her, but he was sure that something had. Such an abrupt announcement could only have been triggered by Emma’s fear.

“You know you don’t have to, love. You and Henry are welcome to stay as long as you want. I think it all works rather well with the three of us here.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Killian. I can’t have him getting any more attached to you. You’re not his dad. You’re not our family. We have to figure out how to make it on our own. You’re not always going to be here to take care of us, and we need to figure it out, the two of us.”

Just as he suspected. Something scared her, and she was going to cut and run. She had finally looked at how much she had let him in. This had nothing to do with Henry, and everything to do with her.

Eight years ago she pushed him away. And eight years ago, he let her. But now he knew how much he would be letting go of if he let her run. It wasn’t just Emma his best friend he would be losing, but Emma, the woman he loved. And she needed to know how he felt about Henry. There was too much at stake, and he needed to fight for this.

“You can’t let him grow any more attached to me, or you can’t let yourself? Because no matter how much you try to cut me out of your life, Emma, I will not let you cut me out of Henry’s. He knows that our marriage was solely practical, to make it easier for you to adopt him. He knows we’re supposed to get divorced, and I’ve made a promise to that boy that I will never abandon him. He doesn’t deserve that, Emma. He deserves all the family he can get.

“Yeah, he told me. I had to hear that he knows from him. You didn’t think to tell me that he knows and that there was no reason for us to keep faking it?”

“Just like you hadn’t seen fit to tell me the adoption was final and there was no longer any purpose to this charade? What was your goal there, Emma?”

She was lying with her back to him, but he was on his side facing her. He took a chance, and snaked his arm around her waist to pull her close. It was time to make her own up to her feelings. Eight years of space was enough. Eight years of letting her set the rules. His movements were slow and deliberate.

“Killian…” Saying his name wasn’t going to be enough. He was going to wait until she explained it. She wouldn’t turn to meet his eyes. “It’s just that Henry was…”

“Stop it, Emma. This has nothing to do with Henry and you know it. Tell me the truth.” He knew the truth. But he needed to hear it from her.

She finally rolled to her back and pulled his arm closer.

“What if this doesn’t work?”

He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t fully see it.

“Emma, I think we’ve spent the past months proving it does work.” But, Killian… “ She trailed off as Killian pulled her tighter, losing her train of thought as his hand wandered.

“But Killian, what?” he teased, knowing he’d won. At least for the moment.

“If it doesn’t work…” she trailed off again. She was unable to complete the thought.

“Emma Swan, I’ve been your best friend for 8 years. I’ve been with you through every up and down of those eight years. I’ve married you. I’ve opened my home to you. I’m helping to raise your son. Just what else do you think could happen that would push me over this edge that you have imagined?”

And that’s when she realized, there wasn’t anything. Nothing she had ever done had pushed him away. And now that she was trying to push him away, he was standing his ground. He made her happy. He made her son happy. And if all he wanted in return was her, that was the easiest thing in the world for her to say yes to. It was hard for her to believe that she could make someone happy or that she could be enough. But after seeing how easily Henry had accepted her, it was a little bit easier to believe that she could be someone else’s happy ending too.

She rolled over to face him, finally willing to fully let him in. She took a moment to appreciate the smile on his face before she leaned in to press her lips to his, and before being enveloped completely by the arms of the man she loved.

Breakfast was quiet the next morning. Emma got up and accepted the coffee Killian handed to her before returning to the bedroom and dress in something suitable enough to take Henry to the bus stop.

They walked in silence until they reached the corner. Emma knew Henry was still upset with her from the night before, and she was hoping she could say something to turn the boy’s day around before he left for school.

“I talked to Killian last night.” That got his interest, and he turned to her with a sharp eye.

“We’re not going to be contacting the lawyer just yet.” A sly smile started to spread across his face and she wanted nothing more than to tell him to stop smirking, but loved seeing her kid happy. “So we thought we would go out and do that big adoption dinner we were talking about tonight. Wherever you want. And we can get a cake. Balloons. You name it. This is special, kid. And I’m sorry I ruined it by not telling you earlier.”

One year later -

“Henry, come on. Dinner’s ready.”

A lot had changed. Henry had grown several inches. He was officially Henry Swan. And sometimes he was really, really embarrassed by how much his mom and Killian were not afraid to demonstrate just how in love they were. He’d mastered the eye roll early whenever Killian stuck up behind his mother to plant a kiss on her neck while she was doing her best to make pancakes. He’d groan outright whenever his mother would snuggle up into Killian’s lap for movie nights. Sometimes he regretted his role in fixing their messed up situation.

But when Emma suggested a big dinner and cake to celebrate a year since the adoption, he rushed to say yes. Yeah, his mom and Killian could be ridiculous but this was his home. And they were his family.

They waited until after dinner to surprise them with their announcement.

“So, lad. We’ve been putting this off, but I think it’s time your mother and I contacted the lawyer. But only if you agree to it.”

Henry was confused. There was no way they would be filing for a divorce, not with how evident it was that they were in love. And if they were just going to tell him they were having a baby, what would a lawyer have to do with it? And why would they need him to agree?

Finally Killian continued. “I know I’m not your real father. But I’d like to be, as far as the law is concerned. Emma and I have discussed it, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to put in the paperwork to adopt you as well. I want it all to be official.”

Even at eleven Henry couldn’t help but cry. His lips started to quiver and his eyes welled up as he stood and walked over to Killian. Rather than have the boy lean down over him, Killian stood as well and embraced him.

“You’re my son, Henry. Always will be. We’ll get the paperwork to make it official in other people’s eyes. But just know you and I don’t need it. Never did.”

As Emma climbed into bed, any inhibition she had of encroaching on Killian’s space was long forgotten. She curled up in his arms and ran her hand over his chest thinking about how everything in her life was perfect.

“You’ve made one little boy very happy tonight, Killian.”

He nuzzled closer to her, pressing his lips against hers. “And you and our son have made me happy forever, Emma.”

AN - hope you liked it. I hope this gets the juices flowing again. Thanks to @wingedlioness for being a constant cheerleader. This never would have happened without her. I would say beta, but all mistakes are my own and I don’t want anyone juding her for what this is. (unless you think it’s good then it’s all due to her. :-)

#captain swan #cs ff au #captain swan fanfiction #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #tnlph writes

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armoured-iron-geek · 7 years ago

Text

Tony’s Final Choice: Part 2

Follow up to Tony’s Final Choice

As requested by @pinksaphira11

It was Rocket and Quill who found Tony in the dust on that lonely cluster of leftover planet, broken and bloody and bruised...his heart beating no longer. The Iron Man suitcase armour dropped hopelessly from Quill’s hand, far too late to save and protect it’s creator.

As Quill stepped forward to further assess the body, Rocket raised a shaking paw to the communicative device in his ear that he and Tony had built their quick friendship over creating together. He passed along the grave message to Strange, who then spoke onto his own ear piece.

For the fighters in Wakanda, the planet seemed to stop spinning for a brief moment, a thick tension quickly building then bursting in a wave of shock as Strange’s voice reverberated through their very souls.

“Iron Man is down. Repeat: Iron Man...is down.”

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

Thanos had backed down for the time being, biding his time despite having nearly all of the Infinity Stones in his possession. No one was quite sure why he had decided that this break was necessary, but they weren’t going to waste an opportunity to lick their wounds, re-group and, most importantly, lay their loved ones to rest.

In some morbid way, the Avengers could be considered lucky to have only lost a single member of their team while entire families had been ripped apart and entire planets had lost their populations. And in another morbid way, Tony was lucky to remain an individual, to keep his name and not just become a figure in some statistic logged in a government file. He remained Anthony Edward Stark:

Genius. Billionaire. Husband. Philanthropist.Hero. Martyr.

Two weeks after his death, he and his beloved Pepper, who had perished in the act of evacuating Stark Industries during the initial invasion, lay peacefully side-by-side in a closed double-casket made from gold titanium alloy. The funeral itself was worthy of Mr and Mrs. Stark’s status, but there was a simplicity to it’s elegance.

The service was held in Green-Wood Cemetery, among the oak trees and upon freshly mowed green grass. The attendees gathered close to each other, a fairly large group, but restricted to distant family, friends, colleagues and members of the Stark Industries board. Memorials and makeshift candle-light vigils were held in the US and all around the world for the fans and admirers who wanted to say good-bye in their own way. People sang, danced and prayed, some clad in black, others in red and gold.

As both Tony and Pepper were openly atheist, there were no psalms or passages from any religious texts to be read, just stories and memories to be told and cherished. Eventually, it was time to lower the Starks into their final resting place, a melancholy song called River crooning them downwards.

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

Several miles away, a solemn teen rested against a mountain of pillows in a hospital, limbs in casts, IV’s in place and the steady beeping of a heart monitor for company. His aunt had disappeared to run a few errands, promising to return as soon as possible, but in all honesty, he was glad for the loneliness. No one can pity you if they don’t see you crying.

His sobs weren’t caused by any physical pain. His healing factor had kicked in perfectly and if it weren’t for the fact that his legs had been shattered so badly, he’d already be up and out of there. No, this pain was far worse than any broken bone, stab wound, bullet wound or burn could ever muster. It could only be brought about again by losing the one thing he seemed incapable of holding onto.

Family.

There were many wonderful things Tony Stark had taught Peter Parker. Their original conversations about science, engineering and superhero antics had gradually extended into general life, Tony passing on the wisdom and logic that could only come from a mind like his.

Peter would always remember his favourite conversation the mentor and protege engrossed themselves in one night, digging into greasy pizza in the Compound’s workshop.Tony had been taking Peter through the framework of each of his AI’s and robots, demonstrating how they were entirely different, but still connected through various characteristics. It had sent Peter on a vaguely related train of thought.

“It’s kinda like me and Ned,” Peter had pondered aloud.

Tony had sent him an inquiring look at that statement, giving him a ‘go on’ gesture since his mouth was currently shut together by an excess of cheese.

“It’s just- I mean-Ned and I are so different. We have different ethnic backgrounds, different living situations, we don’t have the same interests in different areas of science, but none of that matters in the end,” Peter clarified.

Tony smiled softly, seemingly happy to divert the original conversation by prodding further. He hastily swallowed his current mouthful, “It’s the few things that you do have in common that counts.”

That was neither a statement nor a question.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I guess. I’ve known Ned since I was little-”

“You mean more little than you are now?”

“Shut-up, you’re barely taller than me,” Peter lightly huffed, grinning at Tony’s laughter and giving him a playful shove, “Ned’s been my friend since forever and it’s gotten to the point where we do stuff for each other without questioning it. We help each other with homework, build Lego sets, I help him talk his parents into letting us go and do stuff, he helps me with Spider-Man stuff-”

“Right, he’s your guy in the chair. How could I forget? He’s only reminded me three billion times.”

“Hey, he just wants you to recognise him, “ Peter chuckled, “Having Tony Stark’s number in his phone is kinda a big deal for him.”

“I’m sure it is. Doesn’t mean I’m not second guessing whether I should have given it to him in the first place,” Tony teased, readjusting himself in his spot on the couch. He was silent for a few moments before shooting Peter a meaningful look, “Ned’s like a brother to you, isn’t he?”

Taken aback by the sudden mood-shift, Peter shrugged it off before replying, “Yeah...I suppose he is.”

Tony gave another soft smile, a rare occurrence. Quietly, he admitted, “Kinda like me and Rhodey. Couldn’t possibly tell you how many times that poor bastard’s had to haul my sorry ass back to safety. I’m telling you now, Kiddo, the people who are willing to save you from yourself no matter how bad things get- they’re the ones you hold onto. I’ve had to learn that the hard way.”

For a few moments, Tony went silent, a sobered look passing across his features as his eyes suddenly set on the storage cupboard Peter knew held Captain America’s shield. Peter was keen to move the conversation forward, but Tony bet him to it.

“The important thing to remember though,” Tony pressed on, “is to remember to give back. It took me longer than I care to admit to realise that and I nearly lost everyone. Never half-ass family, Peter. I’m sure I don’t actually need to tell you this, but at the end of the day, blood and genetics mean nothing. Especially for people like you and me. Our families consist of those who are just as weird and broken as we are because we need each other.”

Peter couldn’t help but grin at the genius’ honesty. The teen could have sworn, Tony was blushing, clearly not used to being this open in a single conversation. Peter decided to give something back. Like Tony said, you don’t half-ass it.

“You know you’re apart of mine, right?” Peter stated, causing Tony to swivel his entire body towards him in shock, “You came out of nowhere and gave me a chance to pursue something I was starting to think was far bigger than I could handle. Not only that, but you never left. Too many people have....”

Out of all the reactions Peter was expecting to get, a few moments of silence before abruptly being pulled into a tight hug was the best and most welcome of them. Tony never verbally responded, but Peter got the general idea.

“You’re apart of mine too.”

But now that precious part of Peter’s family was gone and just as irretrievable as those who had gone before him. Peter twitched in his bed, groaning and using his one good hand to wipe away the tears. He was bitter that the funeral was happening without him, but simultaneously relieved that he wouldn’t have to bear the memories of it.

A sharp glint of light was caught in his eye as the sun shone through the window. Grunting, he shifted his head to gaze at the ever-present sentry in the corner of the room. The Prime Iron Man armour hadn’t left his side, F.R.I.D.A.Y opting to stick to the final direction given to her by her creator. K.A.R.E.N had engaged her in a heated conversation, even attempting to take over the armour, declaring she was quite capable of caring for her directive, but Tony’s A.I was having none of it. Peter now had two bickering intelligence's at his disposal, much to his chagrin.

Their continuing arguments and constant doting frustrated him, but at least they were a distraction, preventing him from having to deal with his loss for a few moments at a time. He didn’t want to remember the moment of shock and the numbness that followed in the wake of being told his father-figure was dead. He wanted to escape the guilt that left him drowning and kept him awake at night as he tried to stop himself from screaming. He knew that wasn’t want Tony wanted of him, but how could he prevent himself from feeling what was true to his core?

A few weeks later.

Still stiff, but thankfully mobile, Peter sat by Aunt May on a leather couch across from one of the Stark lawyers in Stark Manor. The place was freshly cleaned and returned to it’s former glory, a bit stuffy and cold for Peter’s liking, but that could easily be changed if he wanted it to be so.

After all, the Manor was now his. As was several more properties across the globe, half of Tony’s intellectual properties and a third of Tony’s wealth and controlling shares of Stark Industries. Another third was split between Rhodey and Happy.

The final third of Tony’s wealth and the other half of his intellectual property was being bequeathed to another kid his age, someone Tony had told him about but never had the chance to meet before now. Harley Keener was seated with his mother and sister on the only other leather couch in the room, looking just as melancholy and nervous as Peter felt. That alone was enough to prompt him to approach the other teen once the formalities and paper work had been dealt with.

The two Stark heirs accompanied each other to the Manor’s pool area, settling down on old deck chairs, content to be next to each other in the silence for a while, just enjoying the cool breeze grazing their faces. Peter was happy to lay there for longer, but eventually Harley got curious and turned towards him, tilting his head.

“So you’re Spider-Man, huh?”

Harley gave a weak chuckle at Peter’s jerk reaction, giving himself away before he could even try to deny it.

“Don’t worry, Tony never blabbed. He would never do that to you. I kinda hacked into F.R.I.D.A.Y and found your file. Tony was both pissed and impressed by that...”

Despite himself, Peter laughed, hardly caring after several weeks of emotional turmoil,”Just don’t go spreading it around, yeah? Once we both turn 18, we’ll be sharing ownership of the same company. Best to not go pissing each other off.”

Harley chuckled again, “True. Shit. That shouldn’t be hard, should it?”

“What?”

“Owning the biggest tech company in the world. One of us is gonna have to run it eventually.”

“Ugh, I really don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t care,” Peter sighed, “I can’t even think about putting my suit on at the moment. Tony made that, y’know? He put so much effort into it...Parachute....Heater....A.I...Over 500 ways to shoot a web, how did he even...?”

“He cared about you, that’s how,” Harley stated as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. It probably was, “Just like how he tutored me in engineering despite not being able to visit me that much.....I’m gonna miss it...”

“Yeah,” sighed Peter.

The two heirs fell back into their shared silence again for several minutes before Harley once again broke it.

“Tony was closer to you than me.”

“What makes you say that? You knew him longer than I did.”

“Yeah, but you got to see him every week....I was just...”

“Family. You were his family. Tony said so.”

Harley looked apprehensive, but hopeful, “Did he really say that?”

Peter gave a grim smile, “Well...not directly, but it was implied. He said that his family consists of people who are just as weird as he was....”

“....You’re calling me weird?”

Peter chuckled, “Is that a bad thing?”

Harley considered it for a moment, “Nope, it’s not a bad thing at all.”

“Good. I guess....I guess we’ll just have to keep being weird together without him, right?”

“Right.”

#tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #aunt may #may parker #Iron Man #spider man #fanfic #The Avengers #Avengers infinity war

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 7 years ago

Text

Barrio Slums and More Ch. 9

Click Here for Chapter 1

Click Here for Chapter 8

Second part of Arin’s commission!!! Sorry it took so long! I ended up cutting it off at a break aha.

Feedback appreciated– Please reblog!– Let me know if you need translations!

*Remember to go to the Original Post if the READ MORE link doesn’t show!*

OR READ ON AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11558553

The Fourth of July barbecue was supposed to be the coming weekend after Keith’s “disappearance.”

Lance had called Beto and asked to talk to Keith shortly after the group had stopped by his house. Keith’s voice had become sharper despite Lance assuring him that nothing had happened. Keith had gotten in touch with Shiro through Lance the next day and assured him he was okay, but never told what had truly happened. He just kept repeating that he could handle it. Lance went over to Beto’s once more during the week and Keith had still been training. His cuts had healed, but were still very visible. His bruises had diminished enough that Nina could cover them with makeup.

Things at home had become routine again. Daniela would leave for work around nine, Lance would sit and watch cartoons with Emily and Alexia while Jackie and Jorge slept in, he’d make them a quick lunch, before going to help Tia Carla at the restaurant, and then return home at the same time as his mom. Jorge only left his room to eat, and even then would walk out with headphones, refusing to talk. The only time he acknowledged Lance was to let him know he’d watch the girls with Jackie while he worked.

That Friday, Papo and Buela had come over for dinner. He was still gruff and tense, but he was making conversation with Lance. They simply talked about everything except Keith and Lance’s sexuality. As much as it bothered Lance that they danced around it, seemed to want to pretend none of it had happened at all, he also knew that his grandparents had been raised completely different from him. And at their age, it would be near impossible to convince them to think more modernly. He didn’t want to keep arguing with them. For now, he would accept this much.

When Saturday night finally came around, Jorge had gone out with friends, Jackie had gone to see a movie with friends, and Lance had his barbecue. His mother was fine with staying home with the youngest girls, but she did give them each a curfew. Lance would be allowed home the latest, of course, and if any of them had trouble getting home or would be late, she expected a call.

Lance drove over to Beto’s where he was supposed to meet up with Keith and Nina.

Nina looked ridiculously beautiful with her tight curls and simple outfit of jean shorts and a crop top. She had the lithe body of a dancer. She had a natural beauty to her, and now that she had on some makeup, every pretty feature seemed to be enhanced.

Lance couldn’t help but gawk, and could only manage to shut his mouth when Keith jabbed an elbow into his rib. Lance blushed and apologized, but Keith only rolled his eyes.

Keith looked good too. He seemed emotionally and mentally better than he had a week ago, and it seemed to affect him physically too. He had on a thin black, long-sleeved shirt with torn black jeans and boots. The black on black was just something that Lance was always weak for, and had he topped it off with a leather jacket, Lance would’ve fainted right there. It was almost unfair that there were such beautiful people in the world.

And Lance got to go to this party with both of them.

“Okay, so I’m supposed to play your date, right? So flirty and stuff?”

Lance shrugged. “I mean, if you want. I just said I had a date. Whether you want to seem interested is your choice.”

“Don’t forget, your name is Selena tonight,” Keith added from the backseat.

“Her song was on!” Lance whined. “Whatever. Yeah, it’s Selena.”

Nina chuckled and nodded. “Okay. Well, we wanna make you look good, so I’ll pretend I’m into you too. Oh, and Keith, we can have like a little sign. So I know if I should reign it in or if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Lance glanced up at the rearview to gauge his reaction. Keith was blushing, that much he could tell. “Um, yeah. Sure,” he answered. “I mean, I don’t really think…. Um. Okay well, what kind of sign?”

“I dunno. Like… rub your nose or a code word.”

“I can just text you.”

“That works!”

Lance chuckled to himself and shook his head. “On another note…. Keith?” His violet eyes glanced up to meet Lance’s in the rearview. “You gonna be okay?”

He nodded, his expression absolute. “I’ve got this. I’m done running.” Lance nodded and looked back at the road, biting his tongue. A hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’ll be okay, Lance. Really.”

Every fiber of his being was telling Lance to make a U-turn and suggest a night in with movies and popcorn instead. But this wasn’t his battle. And knowing Keith, he’d find a way here anyway. As he pulled in to Shiro’s, he saw the familiar figures of Keith’s friends, as well as Allura. He didn’t see Michael, but he wasn’t that close.

“You guys go first. I don’t want them to know you were hiding me.” Lance sighed and nodded.

“If anything happens, or if you just want to go-”

Keith lurched forward to grab Lance by the shoulders. “Lance. Please relax.” He let his hands slip until he was holding Lance’s. “I’ve thought of every possible thing that could happen tonight, and I’m prepared.”

“I just don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish here. What’s the point of showing up at a party?”

“He won’t do anything to me here.” His eyes flitted to Nina who pretended to be busy on her phone. “It’ll give him time to cool off. I’ll go home and get my stuff and I’ll break up with him. I’ll be able to defend myself, I’ll get back to Beto’s, and… I’ll be okay.” He shrugged. “If we’re lucky he won’t even come here.”

Lance still didn’t feel good about this. Going to a party felt like the most ridiculous thing to do after everything. Still, he knew Keith also missed his friends. They hadn’t heard from him for a long time either.

Suddenly, Lance felt Keith’s lips on his cheek. “Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.

“I’m just worried.”

“I know you are. But I have to do this. With or without you.”

Lance rolled his eyes. He knew that much about Keith; he was a stubborn guy that didn’t back down because something was hard. “I know. So I’d rather be here as it is.”

“Good. Now let’s go have some fun, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Nina.” She looked over with a raised eyebrow. “Make him look good,” he said with a smirk. She smiled and gave him a fist bump.

“Pft, I always look good,” Lance muttered as he got out of the car. “I’ll lock it once you get over there.” Keith nodded and sat back as Lance and Nina walked over to the others. Nina wrapped her arm around his middle and moved Lance’s hand to rest across her shoulders.

As they approached the grill, the other’s smiled and greeted him. Hunk hugged him then shook Nina’s hand. “You’re Selena, right?” Lance fought the urge to grimace. Nina nodded. “I’m Hunk. It’s great to meet you. This is Katie. We call her Pidge. That’s Shiro, and that’s Allura. You guys want a beer?”

“I’ll take a Corona,” she answered.

“I’m good,” Lance said. He looked at Pidge who was tossing back a can of beer. “Why are you drinking?”

She raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Dude, I’m 17.”

Lance’s eyes went wide and bit his lip. “Holy shit, I thought you were like, 12 or something.”

She grimaced. “Yeah I get that a lot. Hunk, bring me another, please!” she called over her shoulder. “Oh, here’s some fold out chairs.”

Lance thanked her and sat down. He expected Nina to sit in the other, but she sat in his lap instead, which made Lance blush. He took a moment to regain his composure. “Have you guys heard from Keith?” he asked.

“No. We’re hoping he’ll show up tonight. I keep telling Shiro to file a missing person’s, but he says Keith will come back when he’s ready. Michael has just about torn up their place trying to get a clue on finding him.”

Nina decided to play dumb and asked, “Who’s Keith? Did he run away?”

“He’s our friend,” Hunk said, coming back with the drinks. “Yeah he… sort of did.”

“Why?”

Everyone shared a look. “We’re not entirely sure,” Hunk finally said.

“Well, people usually run away from something. That might be important to know if you want him to come back.” She shrugged innocently and wrapped her arms around Lance’s neck, leaning her head on his shoulder. Lance tried not to squirm.

Before long, Allura and Pidge started a conversation with Nina while Shiro flipped some pieces of sweet-smelling ribs that Hunk had prepared. Hunk sat with them, occasionally helping Shiro.

“Lance, how did you meet Selena?”

Lance stared at Allura, opened mouthed and racked his brain. He never thought to think up stories, and now he wasn’t sure what to say.

Thankfully, Nina came to the rescue. “Lance, don’t be so shy,” she giggled. “He was in the female hygiene aisle at the store. He looked so lost, I went to ask if he needed help. He was buying some stuff for his sister since she’s really shy about it.” Pidge and Allura hummed, sharing a look like they knew exactly what Nina was talking about. “It was so sweet, I couldn’t help but keep talking to him. I kept implying I wanted his number, but he didn’t get it.”

“Oh God, Lance,” Allura chuckled good-naturedly.

Lance managed a chuckle and laughed. “Hey, she’s here with me now, isn’t she? I had enough charm to get this far.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hunk laughed.

“Oh my God.” Shiro’s tongs clattered, and everyone looked over to see what had distraught him.

Keith was walking up, hands shoved in his pockets and a shy smile on his face. “Hey, everyone.”

Shiro was the first one to pull him into a hug. Keith looked surprised, but he managed a soft chuckle. The others followed suit, even Lance.

“Dude where the hell have you been? We were worried sick,” Pidge said. “You could have called us or something!”

“I had some stuff to figure out.”

“Michael’s been looking all over for you,” Hunk said gently.

Keith’s expression soured. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

That made the others hesitate and share looks with each other as Keith grabbed a beer. He looked at Nina and said, “Lance, you’re being rude. Who’s the lovely lady?”

Lance sputtered and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, this is- Selena. She’s my…. Um.”

Nina nudged him and took his hand. “You could say girlfriend if you just asked,” she said, scooting closer to him.

The others whooped and egged him on, but Lance was looking at Keith, gauging his reaction. Keith simply smirked, raising his eyebrows, as if to say What are you waiting for, doofus?

Lance chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Girlfriend…. If that’s cool?” It was a question directed at Keith. He smiled a little wider and winked so quickly, Lance wasn’t sure if it was just a twitch.

Nina threw her arms around Lance and giggled. “Of course it is.” She turned his head, hand at his cheek and brought him down. Lance panicked, certain that a kiss was much too far. Then he realized there was a thumb between their lips. Nina had place her hand so it looked like a normal kiss and allowed her thumb to intervene just before their lips met. Her head was tilted slightly so the others couldn’t tell, but they were too busy laughing and whooping and applauding anyway.

She pulled back and they sat back down. Lance saw Nina pull out her phone, typing a quick text.

No worries it was fake! Stage-kiss w/ thumb.

He glanced at Keith who was at the grill by Shiro. He noticed him check his phone and shake his head. A new message appeared on Nina’s screen.

Lol its cool. Ur doing great. So cute together ;))

Lance rolled his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

After a while, Lance started feeling more comfortable. He wasn’t so tense. There was no sign of Michael, Nina had easily assimilated to the group, Keith and Nina communicated over text and he didn’t seem bothered by the façade at all (though he did ask she refrain from kissing his cheek because that was their thing), and Lance even felt like this wasn’t a group of people he’d only met a few weeks ago. It was so easy, so fun, so silly.

Although they drank, no one was getting stupid drunk, the food was fucking delicious and not at all what Lance was accustomed to which made it fun. They even got in the pool, though Keith stayed out, claiming to keep Pidge, who was the only other person who didn’t want to get in, company.

Then the sound of a revving engine turned everyone’s attention to the driveway. Lance noticed Keith tense. Nina touched his shoulder gently, questioningly. A figure walked over, and it wasn’t long before Lance recognized Michael.

“Who called him?” Allura whispered.

“I didn’t,” Hunk swore. Shiro shook his head. Pidge glanced at Keith, a worried furrow in her eyebrows. At least, Lance thought, his friends seemed to be catching on.

“So none of you thought to tell me that my boyfriend came back?” he spat. He turned to face Keith and sighed, walking over to him, pulling him up. “Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? Where were you? It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.” His hands cupped his face and Lance’s stomach lurched as he watched Michael pull Keith into a kiss. Every word dripped with fake sincerity, and it made Lance’s hands shake angrily.

Nina’s hand gripped one of his, squeezing, reminding him to calm down.

“Michael, man, let me get you some food, yeah?” Hunk said as he got out of the pool. Michael wrapped an arm around Keith and followed Hunk. But it was… strange. He walked slightly ahead of Keith, making the gesture seem more controlling than loving. Keith had yet to say a word.

Pidge neared the pool and sighed. “Keith messaged him. He asked for my phone and sent him a text a while ago.”

“Then maybe he wasn’t running from Michael?” Allura whispered. Lance noticed Shiro look over at him, but Lance was busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that Keith had been the one to ask Michael to arrive. He gulped and took a breath to steady himself.

“Let’s get out of the pool. At least be sure Keith’s alright,” Shiro said. They regrouped at the lawn chairs. Nina sat on Lance’s lap again, and this time he was grateful for it. It kept him from standing and trying to get Keith away from the manipulative fuck across from him.

It was sickening to watch Michael treat Keith like he gave a shit, like he hadn’t been the one who had injured Keith so badly, he was nearly unrecognizable. Just remembering the night Lance had picked him up made him have to shut his eyes a few times to calm down. This was not his fight.

He wasn’t sure what Keith was trying to do. He hadn’t smiled or spoken to the others yet. But he allowed Michael to hold his hand and answered his questions in whispers, his lips barely moving, and didn’t seem to be anxious to move away. His eyes flitted to Lance now and then, guarded and levelled.

It wasn’t until Shiro suggested they start setting up fireworks that Lance noticed anything wrong.

The group had gone to the front of the house to set up fireworks in the street. Lance had excused himself to go to the bathroom, and when he was on his way back, he found Michael and Keith near the cooler of drinks.

With the music shut off and the earlier conversations farther away, Lance could understand more on what they were saying.

“With a friend.”

“Who?” Keith remained quiet and Michael gripped his arm tightly enough to yank him forward. “Who? That scrawny little shit with the beard? He can’t fool me, I know he wants you. I know-”

“Jesus, would you shut the fuck-”

Michael’s swing happened quicker than Lance could process, making Keith cower back with a hand at his cheek. He’d managed a grip on Keith’s neck, forcing him back against the tool shed.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from him,” Lance shouted, moving forward. He didn’t care if this wasn’t his business. Keith wouldn’t keep getting hurt.

Suddenly Keith kicked out and Michael buckled, letting Keith drop to the floor. He scrambled away and tried to push Lance back. “Lance, stay out of it, please.”

Michael yanked him back and eyed Lance. “You heard him, puppy. Stay out of things that don’t concern you.”

“Listen, you piece of shit-”

Keith shook himself free and stepped forward, hands on Lance’s chest. “Please, just let it go. I’ve got this.” Lance looked at him in shock, but Keith’s expression was resolute.

“No. No, he’s just going to keep hurting you. You don’t deserve this shit, Keith.” He placed his hands on his arms tugging gently, begging him to get away. “Come on-”

Suddenly there was a hand on Lance’s wrist, twisting his arm in a way that made Lance scream as he pulled away. “Didn’t Mommy teach you to keep your hands off other people’s things,” he snarled, shoving Keith back with one hand.

Lance felt his vision go red. This asshole didn’t even see Keith as a person. He was a thing. An object. For Michael, Keith was something he owned, something he could do whatever he wanted to with no regards for Keith. He wasn’t trying to keep his boyfriend to himself, he was trying to keep a plaything. He dehumanized Keith and still had the guts to pretend like he was a caring boyfriend in front of everyone else.

Lance wasn’t sure how he’d ended up on the ground with this guy, swinging without any technique, grasping at his clothes to maneuver his way around. He couldn’t even feel the impact of the hits he was given or the ones he gave. Everything was muted and all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, all he felt was the shaking numbness coursing through his limbs.

It wasn’t until he felt a solid punch in the nose that he became vaguely aware of screaming and a ringing in his ears.

Suddenly Michael was hauled off of him and Lance felt someone pull him up into a sitting position. He was vaguely aware of Nina asking him if he was okay. He hauled himself up to stand and his eyes finally found Keith.

He was straddling Michael, hitting him over and over again, but there were tears streaking his face. Shiro managed to pull him back, but he was still struggling to land a hit. “No more. No more!” Keith shouted after him. “I’m done. I’m done letting you push me around.” He turned to his friends, looking afraid. Until his eyes fell on Lance. “You guys wanna know why I ran off?” He pulled off his shirt and stood up. Lance saw Allura and Pidge gasp as the leftover scars from Keith’s injuries were exposed. “This is why,” he croaked. “Because he did this to me. Because this piece of shit spends his free time whipping me, beating me until I can’t move and then pretending that I’m the psychopath! Because he’s nearly fucking killed me because I wanted to break up with him. Because every time he comes to ‘visit,’ he’s just finding excuses to beat me and it’s never enough for him.”

Michael started for him. “Keith, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Hunk stepped in front of him. “You need to go,” he growled. “Now.”

“Hunk, come on, you know me.”

Hunk shook his head, eyes filled with disgust. Lance scrambled over to Keith, pulling him into his arms. He was shaking so much, that Nina had to help Lance lift him up off the ground. Shiro and Hunk managed to get Michael to leave. Pidge and Allura each brought ice for Lance and tissues for Keith. Hunk and Shiro returned, staying close but wordless.

Only Lance talked, holding Keith close, assuring him he was okay. Keith touched his new injuries lightly, eyes filled with horror, but Lance took his hand and assured him he was fine.

“Wanna go home?” Nina whispered. Keith nodded, still shaking, eyes on the floor.

Hunk touched Keith’s wrist gently to stop him. “Keith…. I’m so sorry. I’m so-” Hunk burst into tears, and it wasn’t a sight Lance ever wanted to see again. “It’s my fault, Keith. I should’ve never-”

“No it’s not,” Keith answered, sounding appalled. His voice was hoarse. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t do anything.” Hunk shook his head and engulfed Keith in a hug, apologizing over and over.

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s give Keith some time to breathe and rest. Lance, do you mind taking us wherever he’s staying tomorrow? I think we should all talk, if that’s okay, Keith.” Keith nodded and wiped his face.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’m gonna get them back though.”

The three of them walked back to the car and they drove over to Beto’s. As soon as the door opened, Beto’s eyes widened. “Shit, cuz what happened to your face?” he yelped. “Puta madre, the hell did you do?”

“He fought Keith’s ex,” Nina supplied.

“Ex?” Keith nodded and offered a small smile. Beto smiled and nodded. “Good.” He looked at Nina and gestured over to the couch. “Danny’s here by the way.”

Her eyes lit up and she walked over to the couch. “Manito!”

Beto looked back at Keith and Lance. “I wanna ask, but you look like you could use some rest, vato.” Keith nodded again and Beto gestured over to the hallway.

Lance walked with Keith to the room he was staying in. There was an inflatable mattress on the floor and a few worn boxes across the room. It looked like Beto had been using it for meaningless storage and stuffed a bed in it. Which he probably had.

“Could you… stay for a bit?” Keith whispered. Lance nodded and followed him to the inflatable bed, careful when he sat. “You’re an idiot, you know?” Lance blinked and looked over at him. There was a smile on his face, which told him he didn’t mean it maliciously. “You shouldn’t have fought him. But I don’t think I’d have gotten the guts to tell the truth if you hadn’t.” He sniffed and leaned onto Lance’s shoulder.

“Pidge said you messaged him.”

Keith nodded. “I wanted him to be there. I wanted to confront him. I wanted to be able to break up with him tonight.” He gulped and seemed to struggle to breathe. “Stay with me. Please.”

“Of course,” Lance murmured. Keith pulled him so they laid on the bed, facing each other, draped with a soft, black blanket. “You’re safe, Keith.”

Keith nodded and took a breath as he shut his eyes. Lance fell asleep rubbing circles into his back.

He woke up when Keith jerked in his arms and sat up gasping. Lance sat up, but Keith panicked and backed away from him, plopping onto the ground, tugging the blanket with him.

“Whoa, hey, hey, hey!” Lance whispered. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Keith took a moment to take in his surroundings and nodded. “Let’s go get some air, yeah?” Again Keith nodded. He followed Lance out of the room, their hands intertwined. The apartment was dark. Beto was asleep. Nina and the other boy, Danny, must have gone home. Lance opened the door to the patio and let Keith go first. They were still in the clothes they’d taken to the barbecue.

Keith leaned his arms on the railing and ran a hand through his hair. “I had a nightmare. He’d come to find me. Kept saying he’d kill me…. Hit me and tossed me down the stairs.” Lance shivered because even if it was just a nightmare, it could very well be a reality. “I don’t… really know what to do anymore,” he whispered. “For a long time, I was just focused on finding a way out. Now that I did… what am I supposed to do? Where do I go? Where can I go that he won’t find me? What if he sees me with you and tries to hurt you again?”

Lance walked over to him and turned him away from the street to face him. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll take it one step at a time. Right now though, you’re free.”

Keith blinked and a slow smile began to spread on his face. “Free,” he repeated. “How do you say that in Spanish?”

“Libre.” Keith hummed. “You want to learn a few more? Get your mind off of things?” Keith took a breath and nodded. Lance began reciting one of his favorite songs as a child. “Pollito- chicken. Gallina- hen. Lápiz- pencil. Pluma-”

Keith started laughing and he tilted his head. “Are you teaching me or singing to me?”

Lance rolled his eyes and interlocked their hands. “Okay, okay. These are simple, you’ve learned them before. Let’s see if you remember. Ventana.”

“Window,” Keith answered.

“Puerta.”

“Door.”

“Maestro.”

He paused and grimaced. “Something….”

Lance snorted and moved on. “Y piso?”

“Mm… floor.”

Lance nodded and smiled. “Three out of four. You passed. Wanna learn more?” Keith nodded, looking into his eyes with his own smile. He looked so… unreal in the moonlight. His black clothes and hair struggled to distinguish themselves from the night, but his eyes shone. It was like he was looking at his own personal galaxy. Lance recalled the day before, how small he seemed under Michael’s grasp, how distraught he’d been when he’d finally exposed Michael for what he was. “Calor is heat. Azul is blue…. Dolor is pain.”

Keith bit his lip, his eyes returning to the street. “What about to say, ‘hug me?’”

“Abrázame.” Keith nodded and repeated it as he slipped his hands around Lance. Biting his lip, Lance hugged him back, holding him tightly.

“Hey, Lance?” He hummed, rocking gently on his feet so they swayed as they hugged. “How do you say ‘kiss me?’”

Lance gulped and pulled his head back, arms still around him. He looked at Keith, and even in the moonlight he could tell he was blushing. “Bésame,” he whispered.

“Well, if you insist,” Keith said with a smirk. His hands slid behind Lance neck and pulled him forward.

It was simple. Their lips pressed together, eyes shut. Lance felt his entire body spark, the adrenaline stronger than what he’d felt during the fight. He was so distracted by what the kiss caused his heart to do, that he wasn’t even paying attention to the kiss itself.

Not until Keith pulled back enough to make the air feel cold on their lips and whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now. Can you at least kiss me like you mean it?” Lance chuckled and cupped his face before pulling him into a kiss far more fervid than their first.

Everything about it was new and clumsy and beautiful. Lance hadn’t kissed someone like this in a long time. He tilted his head, drowning in the bliss he felt as their lips clashed, as he gasped for air between the moments of biting Keith’s lips and tasting his mouth. He pressed himself closer, wanting to be completely enveloped in the warmth of Keith’s being.

He didn’t miss the small moan that reverberated from Keith’s throat to his lips. He couldn’t help but smile as he kissed him. Even as the kiss ended, it ended in several smaller kisses, like neither of them really wanted to stop- which they didn’t.

“Whoa,” Keith breathed, looking at him with flushed cheeks, glistening lips, and dazed eyes. He was beautiful. “That was worth the wait.” Lance smiled widely, bumping their noses together. “I want to stay in this moment. Right now. When it’s the middle of the night and everyone’s asleep and no one gives a shit whether we kiss or not and I’m not scared and it’s just us.”

“I’ll kiss you when the sun rises,” Lance whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone where, a week ago, there had been a dark purple bruise. “And as it moves across the sky.” He kissed the corner of his lip, where there was a fading scar. “And when it sets again.” He kissed his jaw which had sported a yellowed bruise just a few days ago still. “And all through the night. For as long as you want me to.”

Keith laughed, his hands playing with Lance’s hair. “Wow. You’re a total romantic, aren’t you?” Lance stuck his tongue out at him, but Keith simply took him by the chin and kissed him. “I don’t care what happens or who cares about us once the sun rises. As long as you’re with me.”

Lance smiled, responding with another, softer kiss. “Te lo prometo.”

Lance and Keith had returned to the air mattress after a few more kisses in the summer night heat. Even as they laid down, they were pressing lazy kisses to whatever skin they could touch- a nose, the bow of a lip, fingers, knuckles, a forehead.

Lance had fallen asleep to those kisses and he couldn’t imagine a better way.

But he had woken up to a harsh opening of the door. “Dude, what the hell?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily as Keith sat up with a gasp. “Pendejo, your jefa’s been calling me since like four in the morning.”

“Wh- Oh fuck.” He patted his pockets for his phone but came up empty. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He scrambled out of the bed, confused when he saw some guy sitting at the table with a coffee, scrolling through his phone. But he didn’t have time for introductions. He dashed to his car, fumbling and searching. He found his phone in the space between the door and the driver’s seat. It had five percent left, and he found ten missed calls from his mom and a few from Jackie. He looked at the text previews.

Mami: Call me. Now. (2)

Jackie: Mom’s pissed where the hell are…. (3)

“Fuck,” he breathed. He tried to send a text back, but halfway through, the phone shut off. He went back inside and gratefully took a cup of juice from Beto. “I’m so fucked, man. I totally forgot to call her. Shit.”

“You needa go home, menso.” He grabbed Lance’s keys and tossed them over. “She’s gonna freak when she sees your face, todo puteado.”

“Beto, you gonna introduce me or not?” came the voice from the dining table.

Beto sighed and gestured. “This is my cousin Lance. That’s Nina’s brother, Danny.”

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Lance said. “Where’s Keith?”

“Over here,” he yawned from the couch. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I’ll explain to my mom, it’ll be fine. I’ll call later, okay?”

Keith nodded, eyebrows furrowed in worry as he leaned up to kiss him. “Be careful.” Lance nodded and smiled, a little of the panic simmering down at Keith’s touch.

Lance walked toward the door and Beto followed after him. “Someone got busy last night,” he chuckled.

“Nah, it’s not like that,” Lance said. “Just made out.” Beto snorted. “Whatever I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Beto laughed and clapped him on the back. “Whatever you say, primo. Let me know if you die because of Tia Dani.” Lance rolled his eyes and got in his car.

As he parked the car in front of the house, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. All he’d needed to do was call. Instead, he let his mother worry for the entire night. He got out and went into the house. His brother, sisters, and mom were all in the living room.

“Jackie, take the girls,” Daniela said, eyes locked on Lance. Jackie sighed and took Emily and Alexia by the hand to the backyard. Daniela stood up and walked over to Lance. “Donde chingados estabas?”

“Ma, I know I should’ve called, but Keith-”

She held up her hand to silence him. “No. I’m done hearing your excuses, carajo. You listen to me. I gave you one simple rule- call if you’re late. And what do you do? You stay out the whole damn night without ever once thinking to call or send a text!”

“I forg-”

“Estoy hablando yo, cállate.” She fixed him with an angry expression. “Do you realize how hard it is for me to raise five kids on my own? Primero tu,” she said, looking at Jorge. “Going off to parties and getting drugged up. Then you start talking back and shutting us out.” Jorge rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “And you!” Lance grimaced as she pointed at him. “You drop out of college, and you hide it for months! Instead of coming to your family like you should! Don’t you realize we’re here to help? Y pa’ acabarla de joder, you come back saying you’re figuring out a way back in, but all you’ve been doing is going after this boy. All night, Lance! You were gone all night! I didn’t know if you got in an accident, or if there was a drive by, or if you’d decided to just run away-”

“You know I wouldn’t do that, Ma.”

“Do I? Because I’m starting to feel like I don’t know either of you.” Lance took a sharp breath and clenched his jaw. “Since when do you disappear and come back with a black eye? Now what the hell happened to your face?”

Lance sighed and swallowed. “I got in a fight with Keith’s boyf- um, ex-boyfriend.”

His mother stared at him with no expression, and it was honestly terrifying. His mother was a woman of expression. Anger, joy, sadness, it was all easily discerned on Daniela’s face. Now though she seemed completely void of any emotion. And then-

“You are not to see that boy again.”

“Mom!”

“Not until you get your shit together and show me that you’ve either been accepted to start college again or you have an actual full-time job!” she shouted over him. “Jorge thinks I favor you. Really, I just thought you were an adult and capable of handling yourself. You proved me wrong, mijo.”

Jorge snickered and she turned to him. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was for your friend to drive you back here with you stumbling over yourself? Hijo de la chingada, ya me tienes hasta aqui! You are grounded! No phone, no more parties.”

“Oh, please, how do you plan to do that? You’re barely even here,” Jorge answered.

“Because I’m working my ass off!” she snapped back. “I’m getting your buela to come watch you and if you give her a hard time, so help me I will look into the military school those people on TV always talk about.”

Jorge looked tired and annoyed. “Whatever.” He got up and went to his room, slamming the door for good measure.

“I can’t look at you right now. Go.” Lance wanted to stay. To explain himself, to talk to his mother. But he knew she wasn’t in the mood for it. And she was kind of right. Lately, Lance had completely forgotten about reapplying to schools. He was so panicked about the stupid party. He started for his room, but she stopped him. “Ah-ah. Phone. You don’t seem to use it anyway.” It felt so juvenile, and after so long on his own, Lance felt ridiculous giving into his mother’s child punishments. But he did anyway.

He went to his room and paced around, looking at the posters on the wall and the books on a shelf. He opened his computer and sighed, as he started redrafting a letter to the admissions team at his college. He looked into applying to others as well. He found himself looking into the community college and U of H, despite not applying there originally.

It wasn’t that these were bad schools. It’s the fact that his goal had always been to get the hell out. To leave Houston and make something of himself like his buela said he would. He’d worked so hard, purposefully avoiding applications to Houston universities to ensure he got away. He loved his family, but he needed to figure who he was. He needed to be on his own.

Lot of good it did him in the end.

The only thing was, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was looking into applying now. Was it to stay with his family for help? Or for Keith…? Could he live with himself if he stayed?

#klance #tw: abuse #yes this is inspired and based off in the heights leave me alone lol #keith x lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #VOLTRON #vld #au

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asteverogersfan · 7 years ago

Text

Steve Wins (Y/N) Back PART 2!

HELLLOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Omg I’m soooooo freaking sorry that it’s taken me this long to write the second part to “Steve wins (Y/N) Back”!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m literal trash and I’ll take all the hate you guys probably have for me. But I think it’s been a long enough time that everyone’s forgotten about me and doesn’t care :(

(omg my macbook was at an extremely low battery amount and I had such a hard time untangling my charger and getting it plugged in... Ugh, could you imagine)

Anyway! Here it finally is! I really do not have any good excuses, or any cool exaggerated stories my (obviously inconsistent) writer self could come up with as to why it’s taken me this long to post it… I pretty much completely forgot about it after the few times I actually took to sit down and write this. It’s weird that it’s finally written. It’s not just a vague concept I have in my head. That’s the cool part of putting in hard work into something you’re passionate about….

Says the person who legit just took, what like two years to write a second part?

I like to think of this as a novel series in which this is the second instalment to…. ahem

Anyway, TRY to enjoy. I know there’s no way I can make up for how long this one has taken me. I should really call this “ASTEVEROGERSFAN Wins Readers Back” because that’s what I’ll need to do probably :( haha

Really, the only abbreviations you’ll need to decode in here are (Y/N) = Your Name

and (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name

READ THE FIRST PART BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE!!! or don’t if you want some confusion in your life I guess…? k

—————————————————————————————————-

“Tony, what’s even going on?”

You complained while you were still carrying your briefcase and work files that Tony didn’t even bother helping you with in the first place.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll just want to see this as soon as possible, follow me!”

You struggled to keep up with Tony when he immediately jetted off in his Iron Man suit down the corridor and disappeared into a distant turn off.

“Yup, this is just some GREAT following going on.” You mumbled sarcastically.

You lost track of how many doors down the hallway it took for Tony disappear into one. You contemplated turning around and just giving him a call after you’ve settled into your dorm. You’d have a much easier time keeping up with Tony once you’ve packed everything away and washed up. It was a nuisance to haul your bag of S.H.I.E.L.D. reports and files down the hallway when the long days never ceased to exist in your life as of late.

You passed intersection after intersection of hallways to no avail. But as soon as you were about to turn around and give up looking for wherever Tony went, the in-the-flesh original man of the hour jumped out in regular attire.

“I thought you’d never catch me!” He exclaimed in your face.

You felt your heart jump out of your chest in your frightened state.

“Seriously, Tony! I’m surprised I haven’t ripped your eyeballs out yet!” You say, embarrassed that you fell for one of his unintentional jump scares yet again.

“I would just assign Banner and JARVIS to help me invent some mechanical super-sight vibranium eyeballs for me, anyway.” Tony replied, almost too casually.

“Yeah, and maybe THEN you’d be able to see how annoyed I’m getting at all of the heart palpitations you’ve caused me thus far!”

“Well, you won’t be saying that after l’ve shown you the surprise of the century.” Tony happily stated while stretching his arm out, gesturing you to walk ahead into the elevator he led you to.

“After you.” Tony said politely.

You just gave him a nod, not wanting to spit out anymore retorts in your current annoyance. You decided it best to just keep quiet and civil since you had no idea what Tony had in store for you. Or where such inspiration had come from for him to even do something of this supposed greatness for you. But Tony said it was good, and you trusted his judgement.

“Okay but seriously, you might even be tempted to actually let a smile creep up on that scowl you’ve got going on there.” Tony said with a lot more confidence than you thought was necessary.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath there, tin man.”

Okay, you tried to hold in the insults, but it’s TONY you’re dealing with so you had to let one out.

“OUCH! Right in the Arc Reactor!” Tony dramatically exclaimed while he placed a hand over the power core in his chest. You loudly scoffed in replacement for the giggles you were trying to hold in. You could try to be angry at Tony all you wanted, but he had a tendency to say the most ridiculous of things.

The elevator came to a halt as the two of you reached your destination a few floors up.

“After you, Mrs. Ray of Sunshine and Rainbows.” Tony jokingly said at your hostile attitude.

You would’ve uttered a retort because of your supposed anger at Tony, but decided to stay silent in compliance with holding in your laughter. You couldn’t let Tony know you found his insults funny.

————

Tony had taken (Y/N) away with him in order for Steve to hide a spa reservation package in the extra Stark Tower dorm she’d been staying in. He flew into a hidden closet to change out of his Iron Man suit and into regular attire. He used this bought time to over-ride some of (Y/N)’s S.H.I.E.L.D. business duties after he ran his plan over with Fury, who was willing to co-operate in operation “scatter all of (Y/N)’s tasks around to the other agents so they can complete them instead of (Y/N) so (Y/N) can have a break from work and have time to herself”. Since everyone at the tower knew the extent of the Steve and (Y/N) breakup, they were all willing to pitch in their help. As soon as Tony reached Fury’s office, he paged Steve the clear so he could get out of (Y/N)’s dorm room without getting caught.

————-

“Okie dokie, agent… Smoky…?” Tony trailed off, visibly not confident in his rhyming skills.

“Smoky?” You asked. “That’s the best you could do?”

Tony gladly changed the subject, “I’ll show you the best I could do! Here’s your schedule for the week.” he said as he slapped the tablet that showed the calendar week in your hand.

You initially thought this was just Tony being a smart-ass and re-iterating his rank above you. You expected a full schedule with an overwhelming amount of Avengers tasks and assignments.

“There’s nothing on it…” You suspiciously observed.

Tony waited for your reaction and a sudden realization came over you.

“What did I do?! Am I fired!?” You asked, worried.

“No, of course not, agent Smoky! You’re taking the week off! Well, I’m MAKING you take the week off.” You just continued staring at the empty schedule, not saying a word. This caused Tony to explain further. “You said you couldn’t function with all of those petty human emotions while having to deal with all of this S.H.I.E.L.D. crap. Now you don’t have to! Well, this week you won’t.”

You couldn’t even speak. You just stood there not even beginning to successfully process this unexpected event.

“Is that… Okay?” Now Tony was the one who was worried.

You suddenly ran up to Tony in excitement and hugged him as tight as you could.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’!” He painfully grunted, audibly struggling to speak under your death grip.

“Tony you don’t even know how much of a genius you are!” You said all too gratefully.

“Trust me kiddo, I do. Every day.” He said whilst admiring his face in a hand-held mirror. You didn’t even know where he randomly GOT the mirror from. But you didn’t care because your relief at this great news was the only thing you could focus on.

After thanking Tony before he took off to deal with his own Iron Man business, you decided to call it a day. You made your way down to your new dorm to officially begin your week off. Settling in without a care in the world, knowing that you had no other business to take care of or attend to was the best feeling to ever exist in your life in a while. You had begun your break by hauling out some snacks to accompany your upcoming afternoon Netflix session. In which you had fallen asleep to after the first 3 hours. Upon checking the clock that read 4:27am, you realized that you had finally awaken to a well-rested state of being that you hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages. You thought it an odd time to be awake, but since you didn’t have anywhere urgent to be anytime soon, you figured you’d just lay there. Thinking…

To yourself.

The inevitable soon took place and every memory of Steve came flooding back in. And with them, the conflicts you both faced when it came to his attempts at trying to prevent your participation in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s dangerous missions. You felt your chest become heavy as the reality of your situation sunk in. Steve was gone from your life. At your own doing, nonetheless. He had been gone for over a week solid, and you suddenly became fully aware of your loneliness. The love you once thought would never leave your life was now absent. You were no longer able to feel his presence, to hold his hands, to kiss his lips, or to cuddle up to him whenever you so desired. All you could think about was Steve. Everything about him. But the anger and betrayal you felt from him going behind your back and getting Fury to over-ride your placement on the last mission was also pushing it’s way up to the surface. This was a pain you had never felt before. You were angry at Steve, yet you knew deep down that you still loved every fibre of his being. You figured that was the worst way to have it. Being hurt was the worst way to feel love. And being in love was the worst way to feel pain. This time, you didn’t have anything to occupy your mind and to distract you from the situation at hand. All you had was yourself and your thoughts. You did not complain once about the overload of work S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned to you since the breakup because you were always busy. You always had something to do. The last thing you wanted was to be free of distractions from the pain you tried so hard to escape from. Now you weren’t so sure if you even wanted a break anymore. But you couldn’t hide forever. Now the real hardships began.

After what felt like the entire morning that had passed before your eyes, you checked the time to read 7:12 am. That was when you had cried your last tear for the time being. You were getting a little hungry and decided you should at least balance out the torture of heartbreak you let yourself feel by recharging with some fuel. You dragged yourself out of the living room area’s couch and began walking towards the kitchen behind it. That’s when you noticed an elegant gift basket on the granite countertop. A confused smile crept itself up on your face as you took hold of the card reading “(Y/N)”, which prompted you to open it up.

“Hey there, agent (Y/L/N)!

I hope this isn’t too much to ask of you after the long week you’ve experienced, but I would like to invite you to the prestigious Cornelia Spa at The Surrey this Friday morning! Among other amenities, I have booked a full day of opulent services to indulge in with yours truly. By the way, I won’t take ‘no’ for answer. However, I will take a ‘Tony Stark will make your life a living hell if you don’t get off your agent butt and attend this well-deserved treat from the both of us!’ I am expecting to hear from you soon. And I expect to hear a big, fat, YES.

P.S. Please just let yourself enjoy some girl time and treat yourself to this to-die-for facility. We’re all very worried about you and love you dearly!

Love, Pepper.”

She even ended it off with an elegant heart drawn beside her name. How sweet.

Even though there was nothing in you that wanted to leave your dorm room, you made a mental note of getting back to Pepper and accepting her invitation at a more acceptable time of day. You figured you needed some girl time just like she’d said, even though it was much to your own dismay.

——————

Four lonely days had passed and all of the post-breakup emotions and more had been a stinging rage of molten lava flowing through your body since. Now it was time for you to relax and undergo some soothing physical and mental therapy. You were dressed and ready to meet Pepper to take off to the luxurious facility by 8:00am sharp. Commuting to the destination, checking in, and getting set up for the services had taken almost an hour anyway.

“You’re going to do fine, (Y/N).” Pepper told you with a soft smile as the both of you were about the enter the building. This was her subtle attempt at comforting the nervous aura you’d been emitting all morning. You didn’t really want to reciprocate her eye contact and let her know she had successfully recognized your current mood that you’d tried so hard to hide.

After the first 15 minutes of the Cornelia Signature Massage, you’d already melted away into a puddle of relaxed bliss. You thought you could’ve stayed in this session for the rest of your week off but knew that Pepper wanted to treat you to almost everything else that the spa offered when the massage finished. This included The Purist: A Dual Detoxification Treatment, an Iridescent Pearl Manicure With Stem Cell Stimulator, and a Champagne Shimmer Pedicure With Stem Cell Stimulator. You were certain that Pepper enjoyed you accepting her and Tony’s eager help more than she enjoyed the spa herself. At the end of the day, it dawned on you that you’d never be able to pay them back in a way that was even 1/10th of that spa day’s greatness. Although, Pepper assured you that your acceptance of their offer was more than enough to even out the tally.

That was the best way you could’ve ended your week off and began your weekend. You thanked yourself for accepting Pepper’s invitation and getting some much needed rest and alone time on top of that. Of course you thanked Pepper and Tony a hundred times more for their unbeatable courtesy in selflessly treating you so prestigiously. You were back to your regular S.H.I.E.L.D. operations schedule that was nothing short of hectic on the following Monday. Within the first two days, you were already hungrily shoving your tasks and assignments into your hypothetical mouth of adrenaline. You realized that you actually missed the fast-paced hustle and bustle of the Stark Tower and the rest of the agents/Avengers. #BackToReality.

Come Wednesday morning, you’d woken up bright and early to gain a proper start to your day. You expected the usual meet up with other agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to combine your efforts in tracking a lead that could potentially be a threat some of Stark’s resources. You’d been assigned to check out suspicious activity at the abandoned Essex/Delancey station by the Williamsburg Bridge. You were to be discreet and sneaky. You were to blend in with the rest of the civilians.

The identity of the six suspects that lingered around the abandoned underground station was still a mystery. However, their every move had been closely monitored for over three weeks. Illegal trading was taking place and some agents had entertained the suggestion of one of those men being a friend of Stark’s. You were assigned to get up close and personal, that is, without being detected, to the supposed Stark “ally”. You had never seen any of the men wearing anything other than a lot of black clothing to cover their identity. It came as a surprise to you that this guy in particular had a bright red leather jacket that stuck out like a sore thumb. He had his face and head covered in a large, black hood. At least it was easier for you to keep an eye on him.

At first, he was exchanging words, money, and hidden substances with the other suspects. That made it easy to confirm his status in this entire operation. Then he began maneuvering away from the crowd and you noticed he might be on his way out of the abandoned station. That’s when you spontaneously decided to direct your focus exclusively to the red-jacket guy. This was a slightly easy mission, considering there weren’t any other public passerbyes that you could blend in with. You managed to keep yourself unseen and unheard in the echoey underground.

Your main goal was to follow your current suspect, to see where he was going, and what his next move was.

Your target quickly headed up onto Delancey street while you kept a short distance behind him. You followed him out onto the sidewalk to find him putting on a black, tinted helmet and getting onto a motorcycle. As he was speeding away, you noticed 3 other motorbikes parked 10 meters behind his.

“Well…” You thought. “I do like a good chase.”

As you ran up to the parked bikes, you relayed in your head how Steve had taught you to hotwire one. Luckily you got it going in 3 tries.

This entire ordeal happened in a matter of twenty-seven seconds, and you were soon turning right on the corner down Essex street and you began following your suspect. You were right behind him all the way down to where Essex turned into Rutgers Street at the the corner of Essex and Canal Street. A thought randomly popped in your head of why he’s not urgently jetting out of your sight and grasp, but you dismissed it as him not wanting to cause a scene. Surprisingly, some of your past suspects and culprits have avoided drawing other attention to themselves when they knew you were on the hunt for them. It could only be because they’d rather have individual private agents on their tail as opposed to a huge swarm of feds and swats.

As the-guy-in-the-red-jacket was approaching Madison Street, he made a left turn onto it, without a signal, no less. He made another left onto St James Pl which came as a shock to you because you could’ve sworn he would’ve kept going down Madison to make it onto the Brooklyn Bridge and then make his escape into downtown Brooklyn. You thought you’d have to follow him for a long time to find out where he’s sourced. At this point, the two of you were approaching Robert F Wagner Sr Pl and he you were positive he would’ve made a left turn to go up the road and somehow get onto the Bridge to confuse you. Yet again, he made a right turn onto it and that had confused you even more. He was slowly approaching South St and turned his right blinkers that signalled his approach into a random parking space. Which, yet again, made it clear that this guy was full of surprises and you weren’t sure if you were following the right lead anymore.

Reluctantly, you followed him into the parking space. As you turned into it, you couldn’t see where his motorbike had gone but you had seen all the other parked vehicles. You stopped yourself dead in your tracks in utter confusion, not caring if you weren’t being discreet at all. Out of no where, his motorbike sped towards you and before you could react and get out of the way, he abruptly stopped about 6 feet in front of you. You couldn’t see through his helmet, but knew he was staring directly into your unshielded eyes. The first thing you analyzed was his body language in search of any threats. But he just stood there on his bike, unarmed. Finally he shut off the engine and propped it in park. You were about to draw your handgun that was hidden inside your coat, until he held up both of his hands in protest to show you he meant no harm.

You didn’t know where this was headed or what to expect. You had never had a lead literally lead you to a destination so peacefully. Maybe he wanted to talk business? Maybe he wanted to discuss a few bribes to get you to keep your mouth shut? You wouldn’t have known until he began to take off his helmet and his hood and you immediately noticed the shiny blonde hair that had remained perfectly styled.

You heart skipped a beat and your mouth dropped wide open.

You froze for a good 5 seconds or so.

“Steve…”

He just stood there, but neither of you were able to produce any words or advance in any actions.

“Tony helped set this up.” He finally said.

“Set what up…?” You still didn’t know how to react or behave in this situation.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I just—“ You noticed Steve was trying to hold back tears and you could feel the lump in your chest increasing. “I didn’t know any way to talk to you.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“Please just hear me out—“

“Oh, so now you’re finally allowing me to be included in a mission? Is this the only way? You as the fake ‘suspect’? Are we just playing a little childish game of ‘Cops and Robbers’? Is that all this is to you?!” You angrily spat out at him.

“Baby, that’s not the point. I’ve missed you soooo much and I’ll do anything for you to take me back. Just trust me on this!” He desperately pleaded. He started taking a few steps toward you and that’s when you drove your motorcycle— well it wasn’t your motorcycle per se, but… You hit the gas and moved it a few inches over to show him that you weren’t afraid to speed off and get away if he over-stepped his boundaries.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)! Please don’t leave.” Steve pleaded again. The hurt in his eyes and on his face tugged at your heart. “Can we at least talk about everything first?”

He desperately searched your face for any sign of forgiveness or compliance.

“…Here?” You asked him, not pleased at all with your surroundings or the circumstances.

“No. Not here.” Steve said. “I have a place I want to take you to. I thought bringing you here would be a nice little preview.” He gestured at the Brooklyn Bridge.

You nodded and began to get into position on the motorcycle you had… uh, borrowed.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that stealing is wrong?” Steve said with a sarcastic grin.

You scoffed a little.

“Well, that certainly isn’t your Harley Softail, now is it?” You chimed back at him.

He laughed.

“I’ve missed that quick-witted sassiness.” Steve said with a warm smile that you willingly returned. “This is a new one that Tony got for me… He knew you’d recognize mine.”

“That Tony thinks of everything.” You said silently to yourself.

“Where would we be without him?” Steve had said, knowing that that was both a true and sarcastic statement at the same time. “I think if I owe you anything, the least of it is a ride to the place I’m taking you.”

“Nah…” You said dramatically. “I think I’ll just call an Uber.”

The both of you laughed and you hopped onto the back of his new motorcycle. As you had wrapped your arms around him, you felt him place his hand on yours for a moment before he started his bike.

Steve had set you two on your way to the North Cove Marina.

—————————————————————————————————-

OMG I HATE TO DO THIS TO EVERYONE, BUT THERE WILL BE A THIRD PART THAT ACTUALLY HAS THE BEAUTIFUL SAPPY ISHHHH!!!

Another reason why it took me so long is that I had to research a few things… Which I realize isn’t a good enough excuse, because it doesn’t take two years to research spa stuff and boat stuff… but that definitely did take up some time whilst writing this.

Please don’t hate me and don’t worry, once this one settles down a bit on my blog (or if I get inspired anytime sooner than that) I’ll get to writing PART 3, that I definitely have the concept to in my head ;)

Anyway, thank you for reading this one and the first part. It means a lot to me, especially with the overwhelming and unexpected response I got from Part 1. It makes me sooooo happy that you guys enjoyed it so much and Part 2 was highly requested :)

ENJOY YOUR LIVES AND DON’T HATE ME (again)

PART 3 WITH FOR SURE BE POSTED. IF MY TUMBLR PAGE WAS STONE, I’D WRITE THAT ON IT AND IT WILL BE SET IN STONE. BUT IT’S STILL SET IN STONE SO YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO ACCEPT THIS MEDIOCRE PROMISE FROM ME PLSSSS

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thebargainingchip · 7 years ago

Text

Blood Colors: Chapter 4

Masterlist

Pairing: Roan x Reader

Warnings: A child - the horror

Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

"The slight panic sets in when the guard leaves. You hadn't needed help bathing and getting dressed since you were fully potty trained. You tried looking around the room to see if you could find something to bar the door with but the chair would fit under the handle. The next thought flared up, maybe they can help pick out clothes, not that you had a wide selection, or give you what you needed if you only finished bathing before they arrived but of course there was no way to fill the tub from within your quatres. You were still frantically trying to think of an excuse when the door burst open only for young girls to file in with a small but not to friendly nod in your direction they walked over to the huge bath and started pouring the warm water to fill it. You were completely doomed now, the amount of stress the ordeal gave you was considerably more than your nerves to succeed at your task here Redak. The young women disappeared again and a few minutes later they were back, how were you supposed to stop any of it. You took a deep breath when they left again and thought over the words you would say, even going as far as to translate it in case the meaning was lost on them. "Ai gaf nou sisen in. (I don't need help)" You repeated quietly over and over until one of the women stayed behind. She must have been your age if not younger, a pretty face but clearly defiant eyes that maybe was only there because of you. The door closed and you stood suddenly startled.

"Ai gaf sisen in. (I need help)" You said determination in your voice but as the woman raised an eyebrow at you, you realised something you said was wrong. "Wait no! I don't-that's not what I- I can do it myself." Your words jumbled together.

"Ai nou chich op gonasleng. (I don't speak English)." She turned away from you glaring at the table as she set the clothes in her arms down on it. "Ban we yo bakkova. (Take off your clothes)" You were so caught off guard by the affair that your usual casual flirtatious reply was lost to you. You took a deep breath.

"Ai gaf nou sisen in." You repeated what you meant to say earlier.

"Haihefa biyo yu gaf sis au. (The King said you need help)" She turned to you with determination in her stare that dared you to challenge her.

Frustrated and not having the time think up a reply in the foreign tongue. "Look, I can bathe myself, I don't need your help." You said.

"Ai nou get em in yu. (I don't understand you)" She said with a roll of her eyes. "Ban we yo bakkova."

"I am not taking off anything."

"I don't understand that." The servant replied clearly frustrated and angry but the words made you pause. "I am not leaving. Take of that." She turned away from you again to pick up the bottles from the side of the tub and throw it in. Her accent was thick and unmissable. "You will be late, not me." She added finally

You huffed and pulled off the layers of clothing until you were let in your underwear.

"Yu laik son wima op ona rein. (You are wasting my time)" She declared as you hesitated.

"Twis raun. (Turn around)" You ordered determined to keep some modesty, she did as asked and you silently slipped off the last part and walked over to the tub despite the cold biting at every part of your exposed skin. Wearily watching the girl you slipped into the bath and drew your knees in close, the water now milky with whatever she had added to it. She turned around to face you and sat behind you at the edge of the tub, you watched her carefully still weary.

"My tagon (name) is Izabel." She said noting your uneasiness. "You are Jus Gona."

"I prefer (y/n)" You answered not really caring what she called but more to keep the conversation going as you faced forward. You could hear her scoop water, listening carefully for anything suspicious. You almost jumped when she poured the warm water over your hair wetting it.

Next, you felt a comb run through it, for now, the conversation was lost. Despite the circumstance, the bath was heavenly especially when you had gone the whole journey without one. Izabel didn't wait for you to wash yourself, apparently content with the fact that you had sat there the entire time stood and offered you a towel. You took it and she turned around apparently respecting your wishes. Once you had covered yourself appropriately she motioned for you to join you where she set out the clothes, it wasn't too complicated, simple thick hide pants with a jacket over, the clasps being the most detailed and intricate. She busied herself around the room while leaving you there, you took as the signal to get dressed and did so quickly. When you were dressed she pulled out a chair at the desk in the corner and you obliged when she waited for you.

Your hair had almost dried by then as she combed through it one last time and started putting in a few braids, you could feel her pulling the top half back into two braids and pinning it down and then braiding a lock of hair down past your shoulder. She ran her fingers once through the long hair till where it feel in your lower back.

"Odon." She announced and left without further instruction or word.

Your fingers skimmed the braids, there was no mirror to examine them so you trusted your hands. to braids along the side of your head and the one you could see more than half of hanging down your shoulder, you were pretty sure you didn't look too ridiculous.

Echo came to fetch you, eyes briefly skimming over your appearance just as the warm inner fur lining was beginning to thaw almost four days worth of frozen muscles. Only as you followed her brisk pace through the halls did the stiffness of the strain start to settle in. The young warrior said nothing, not even something insulting to you for the whole walk to the dining room. The king and his uncle were waiting for you when you arrived, immediately going for the open space across from his uncle, next to Roan at the head of the table. Roan looked at you relaxed, the antithesis of what he had been in Polis, you guessed it was because of the stress he was under. Everyone exchanged looks but no one said a word even as Roan's chair scraped across the floor when he sat and the two of you followed. You had barely made yourself comfortable when food was set out in front of the three of you.

"How are you finding our capital, Jus Gona?" The use of your popularised nickname made you realise that Thoff, wasn't as uninterested in you as he had let on during your first meeting earlier. You decided to let the name slide. You were at a loss, do you give your honest opinion and answer that it was cold or just fine or do you sugar coat it. Your time was quickly running out as you thought what Clarke would say.

"Foreign." You decided, for a moment the two men looked a little stunned. "The weather and the furnishing all contribute to a regal air, I haven't experienced before." Your explanation seems to make Roan relax and a polite stare settle on his uncles face. You don't for a second believe the friendliness that the unfamiliar man showed you but you know by Roan's reaction that your answer was acceptable.

"Had you not come from Polis where you stayed with my nephew?" He questioned further.

"Yes but Polis doesn't match the sophistication." Maybe the praise was a little excessive but his uncle didn't seem to care match, you wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't listening at all.

When Roan dug into his soup, silence settled over the room, stiff and tense as the two of you followed suit. Roan didn't seem to have anything to say as he concentrated on his meal.

"(y/n) I would like you to join in the council meeting starting tomorrow and that way you can get acquainted with the customs of Azgeda." Caught a little off guard by his request you nodded and continued with your meal.

It seemed the practice of knocking was practically foreign in Azgeda as a guard burst through the door. "Haihefa," he bowed low despite his apparent urgency, "Counsellor Larken has challenged one of the guards in one on one combat, he has threatened anyone who has tried come near him.

"Is he drunk again?" Roan's uncle asked before he can reply, the soldier nodded, uncertain if he should answer. Roan stood with a sigh, his seat scarping across the floor but Thoff was on his feet just as quick. "You sit, I will tend to the matter and take my main course in my chamber, tomorrow we have important things to discuss." Despite the apparent disrespectfulness, Roan doesn't stop his uncle as he leaves only hesitates and sits down as the doors close and the room grows quiet. Only Echo is in the room now.

"I'm not an expert in the minutia of a monarchical society but I'm pretty sure it's not a good thing if he tells you what to do and you let him." You say silently, more to try and provoke Roan and gain some information on his uncle, knowing he'd let the audacity of your statement slide.

"My uncle holds much more power than I originally thought when I returned, he has been turning the ears of the counsellors since my mother died and I am not the most popular in our family with the past Nia subjected me too." He explains.

"Do you trust him?" You question.

"Do you?" The question was simple enough, declaring that the nature of the man's intentions was obvious. That was all you wanted to hear.

"I need to make sure, my throne is mine and that the council is loyal to me. I will not be enlisting any of my uncle's suggestions no matter if he offers to save the planet. I cannot be remembered as the king who reigned only by the will of a puppeteer, it is exactly the reason my father ruled." Roan hadn't said much about his father since they time you've known him and new you could easily draw the conclusion to his statement. The two of you finished the first course in silence, it was much less tense now.

"Give us some privacy, Echo." Roan suddenly called, you didn't have to look at the women to know that it would have looked on her face like she had been struck. She left without protest, as always obeying her king to no end.

"One of my guards said that the help I sent you was only greeted with your stubbornness." You supposed if there was any time to be embarrassed it should have been now but it seemed you lacked the politeness to blush or look away. "You can trust the people I assign to you, I will not let anyone so compromisingly near you that I know has ill intent." You guessed his statement was to help you instal some of your trust him but those stores already been used up.

"That wasn't the problem." You point out before taking another bite of your food. Roan paused in his actions and looked you over with a scrutinizing gaze that you knew saw everything.

"I doubt you have anything to be ashamed about so it must be that you feel weak when someone wants to help you." You were ready for his statement but pointing it out like that made it seem foolish, for the first time in an eternity you actually blushed ashamed of the none too good trait. If Roan noticed he didn't say anything. "I see now why you and Clarke, you are equally stubborn." Roan declared taking a bite of his food. "Try not to bit off the heads of my servants, they are under orders."

"Elodi, bak op hir (get back here)." You heard Echo's voice as the door swung open, it had you both turning towards the entrance as a little girl stumbled into the room barely four, maybe five. She paused when her eyes immediately fell on Roan, who outstretched his arms to her, you had to do a double take to make sure you weren't seeing things. Her little face contorted as she burst into tears and rushed forward into Roan's waiting arms.

"Wait... what?" You couldn't help but ask as Roan cradled the little girl close to his body. Echo stood in the door a grimace on her face and next to another woman burst through the door immediately falling to her knees in front of the king.

"Moba, ai haihefa, ai don nou ai op em ron we. (I am sorry, my King, I didn't see her run off)"

"En's Ogud, Galia, Ai na hosh duan em. (It's alright, Galia, I will put her to bed)" Roan said, his eyes and voice soft. You didn't know what to make of the situation. The women, Galia nodded and left and Echo swallowed as Roan stood seemingly a little scared of what he would say that she had let a five-year-old get past her defences.

"Wait for me in my room." Roan said curtly, not sounding disrespectful but dismissive of the situation. The little girl's arms space Roan shoulder's her head turned and resting on his shoulder as he left. Your mind kicked into motion, whoever she was Roan seemed to have much affection for her if he let her get this close to him. You wondered if Roan had been married, or maybe if he was married. Finishing your food a little stunned and completely distracted as you were left alone in the dining hall.

It was only as you stood that you realised that you had no idea where his room was. You exited about to enlist the help of Echo but you swear the little devil had disappeared in total spite. You wondered the halls until you found a guard and asked him to lead you to Roan's chambers. The hallways of the palace were now much darker, a little early in the old building as it cast shadows in corners, easy enough for anyone to hide in, but you weren't stupid. You were armed even if it wasn't directly visible. The guard led you to a room with the largest set of doors you had seen to be used on such a personal living space and even held the door for you to enter.

Roan's room was almost like yours scarcely decorated, you could tell he didn't own much, much like you, the only thing you could make out to be his was a jacket slung over the back of the chair and armour, sitting on top of the chest at the foot of the bed. If this had been his mother's room before there were no signs of it. You were sure the late Queen would have some painted scenery or a tapestry depicting a gruesome scene maybe even deer heads lining the wall. You didn't know how long the whole affair what take with Roan so you settled on these at the edge of the bed, your muscles relaxing as soon as they didn't have to work so hard. Whatever Roan still wanted to discuss with you was important enough that it couldn't wait until morning but it was the least of your curiosity. You were surprised by the fact that there were no guards by the door but you supposed Azgeda thought a King who couldn't defend himself was weak.

Your eyes have almost started to slip shut when the doors creaked open and Roan strode in, you stood a little startled but still tired. "I am assigning a guard to you, to ensure your safety, he will show you sights of the city and castle tomorrow." He wasn't asking, but just to make sure you firmly knew he wasn't asking he turned to you and emphasised, "And before you say anything, I take the promise I made to the Commander and Clarke very seriously." There was no hesitation in his gaze and you didn't expect to find any. Clarke would have wanted you to be safe and careful, you remind yourself and then kept quiet. A little surprise at your absence of stubbornness a hollow silence followed.

"The girl..." You trailed off, curiosity overtaking your thoughts again.

"My sister, Elodi, the youngest of my siblings. Drink?" You nodded, it was a good way to keep out the cold. The frown on your face when Roan turned back had him raising an eyebrow at your confusion.

"I thought you were an only child." You stated in explanation, he paced to where you stood.

"I'm the eldest son of Nia, not the only." You took the goblet from his hand and took a quick sip.

"Are there any more?"

"Yes, I have a brother, he is a scholar, much to my mother's disappointment. I have another sister we don't really talk and I suspect she left when she heard I was coming. I use to have another sister, she was killed by the Splita. But there might be more, my mother had a history of long lovers." He explained.

"So they're half-siblings?" You asked.

"Some are, mostly the youngest, my late sister and I were a year apart and Tasha, the one who I don't speak with, she is from my father's lineage." He answered. "My mother tired easily of men and although my father was King he was no exception. Elodi was born before I was banished, much more hardened than when I was younger Nia never spent time with Elodi. She almost died one winter, if it wasn't for me. For Azgeda it's not good to have such an attached child and my mother was trying to right the balance but she was making it worse. I think it was part of the reason she banished me." Roan explained, despite the information his face never gave the emotion on much of his relationship with his family. Always guarded you supposed, you certainly couldn't really complain.

There was a pregnant silence as the two of you finished your drinks not making eye contact.

"What about you, any siblings?" It was a bit forced.

"Oh I don't really-" You paused at Roan's expectant look wanting to say you don't really have to share but realised he had answered now it was your turn. "People on the Ark aren't allowed to have siblings, but I was one of the few exceptions. I don't know my parents but chose to sacrifice themselves so that they could bring both me and my brother into the world." You paused, memories of the Ark flooding back. "I knew my brother well even though we were split since birth. A family had asked to take in my brother since they couldn't conceive their own child. Chancellor Kane volunteered to raise me but he wasn't a good person back then so I spent most of my time with the Griffins and my brother."

"Where's your brother now?" Roan asked.

"Not here anymore but he wasn't cut out for this." You said almost observantly. "If you don't mind, Haihefa, I am tired." You stood and gave one last glance at Roan then left.

It's almost pure bliss, the warmth of the sheets as you stir from your sleep, to stretch, it doesn't seem that morning had even begun to touch the sky, you notice as you turn to the window. Something glints in the corner of your eye as it moves, it's enough to set you on edge when you can't make sense of the dark corner. Your muscles strain against your movements as you pull the dagger from underneath the pillow.he movement you execute is quick and agile and before the intruder can react you have a knife to his throat. When a chuckle rumbles through the intruder's throat, you pull the curtains back with your free hand to let the moonlight filter into the room . The man sits with his hands slightly raised in surrender but an amused look on his face for the most part. "Who are you?" you press the cold blade further into his skin.

"Haihefa sent me." He says simply , you glare at him for a moment longer before you pull away and run a hand through your hair. " Yu laik meizen gon skaikru . Tel ai, laik yu otaim pri akluad? (Your pretty for Skaikru. Tell me, are you always somewhat naked?)"

"If you don't get out in five seconds, I will murder you." Maybe you were being a little dramatic but was the guy expecting you to be all rainbows and sunshine when he had just plucked you from the warmth of sleep in such a rude manner

When you exit the room, dressed in your own clothes, the man is leaning against the wall across from the door to your room. "You have some balls." You stop to watch him carefully .

"That's what Azgeda are known for, Jus Gona ." You asses him, he's caring a blade on his hip and two knives in his boots, the Azgeda scars on his temples indicate that he is a warrior and the quality of his blade suggests his high ranking or the fact that he is a good warrior at best .

"Yu na don stedaunon (You could have been dead), staining the carpets, how do you think that would have made Skaikru look ?"

" Ai nou (I'm not)." He shrugs his shoulders and follows as you start walking away, " Haihefa biyo ai beda shoun raun yu. (The King said I should show you around)."

"I am aware." You throw over your shoulder as you make your way down the steps of the palace to the outside. You needed new clothes suitable for the weather, here so that you could stop having to dress layer upon layer of your own clothes each day and start being able to move around without looking like a bloody penguin .

"Yo vaut azgeda gon the stegeda na sis au yu? Skaikru? (You think the people of the village will help you?)" You stop on the steps leading up to the massive front doors of the palace and turn around to look up at him. "Ai laik Oren, I am part of the King's personal guard. Come, I'll show you Azgeda life." He strides past you taking the lead, you consider it for a moment, deciding to go for it even though you don't trust him. You follow him through the busy market not listening as he rambles on about the sights, the people and the culture. Instead, you watch the people who observe you as they talk to others, checking behind you for any stalkers and note the faces, what they're carrying, they're built. You almost walk into Oren as he stops, he's already turned to you, watching you now. "Din du tel yu, yu don non-wich in? (Did someone ever tell you, you're a little paranoid?)"

" Nou thau sad op em chopa kom graun. (Not without picking up his teeth from the ground.)" Oren pauses for a moment at how casually you relay the sentence to him, the meaning not lost in translation and turns around to duck through the door of the store that you are standing outside of . He ignores you as you pause in front of the entrance glancing inside as if something will jump out and try to scare you, though he doubts you're the jumpy type and makes a note try you one day... when you're unarmed, of course.

He approaches the shopkeeper while you 'browse' the store watching them. You notice the shopkeeper glancing your way, her mouth pulled into a thin line but Oren quickly catches her attention as he interacts with her. You can't make out what he's saying to her as he speaks softly to her, but you can see his body language. He's submissive but the way he stands tells you he's trying to charm her. She glances at you one last time, shamelessly looking you up and down before she nods and heads into the back of the store. Oren comes to stand next to you as your fingers skim over the different coloured rocks put out on display on old moulded doilies. He smiles at you, which is just visible with the wrinkles in the corner's of his eyes as his beard covers his mouth, you roll your eyes. The woman returns, clothes bundled in her arms, she hands them to you taking caution to not get too close, or let your hands touch, she doesn't even care when you notice this, simply turns around to stand at the counter again. Oren is waiting patiently as you walk up to the counter and places an amount of money on the wooden table, you don't know how much you're is putting down but the way the woman's eyes flash up to meet yours, your figure it's not good so you place five more down . Oren grabs you by the shoulder and steers you out the shop, speaking while he pushes you forward. "Wow, Jus Gona , you just bought that woman all her meals for the winter." When you shrug off his hand, he continues: "See, this is why you need me." He calls a patrolling guard over and takes the clothes from your arms and places them in his after a short order the guard walks off to take them back to the palace.

Somewhere along the line, Oren had stopped talking when he noticed you weren't interested, you simply paced the streets now . It's much more empty, barely anyone outside, you turn to Oren to warn him when men step out from the small alleyways between the buildings . Both stop and watch the situation unfold. You note the scars on these men, they look sloppy and homemade, it must be some form of a gang. " Os sonop, lukot (Good Morning, Friends)." Oren says joyfully but two men quickly surround him and push him past the other men to the outside of the circle, he fights them, hand going for his sword .

"Nou teik disha tofon, Natrona. (Don't make this harder, Traitor)." The one man spat, Oren stood ready but didn't draw his sword as he looked past them at you. You don't touch the weapon at your side, you know they're looking for a reason to attack.

"Ai biyo disha gonasleng den bilaik yu get in (I am going to say this in English so you understand) This is our land, gada (girl), there is no place for the likes of you here." He spat on the ground at your boots. Your stare doesn't falter, nor does your expression change from its placid tone, you simply wait for the events to unfold, for your day to get more interesting. The crowd around the leader cheers him on in some sort of a mantra and he paces in front of you, a smile on his face. "Chit dula yu biyo nau? (What do you have to say now?)" He questions coming to stand in front of you, with no regards to your personal space what-so-ever. You hear the person that steps up behind you and listens as a blade slides from a leather sheath but it is simply a knife, the grind against its sheath quick. He jabs at your back, you feel the hit but simply struggle with balance for a mere second before you turn around to face the man. Th grin on his face fades into a stunned look as he glances from you to the blade in his hand and back up again. "Em nou drein au. (She doesn't bleed)" Someone in the crowd whispers.

"Yu gaf in sis au? (Do you need help?)" You ask the quite literal backstabber, almost sounding sincere, everyone freezes, the men and women around you whisper but no one dares move.

"Yu laik kripa. (You are a demon)"

"Ai sen in heard bilaik fou (I've heard that before), I don't really like it." You point out.

"What is happening here?" The king's voice travels through the streets, he is atop his horse, the crowd parting to let him through. "I was being welcomed by the citizens of Radek." You say when no one answers, the people start disappearing through the streets but for a moment the leader lingers, he bows dramatically to the king but keeps his glare on you before he turns and walks away . "I want a word with you when I get back." Roan is gone before you can even begin to say something in return. Great.

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#roan #roan kom azgeda #king roan #roan x reader #the 100

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