#now accepting betas to absolutely shred this. and I mean

[ohyoufool]

Not me sitting down and cold writing 3k in an hour !!

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,” Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

[girlofmanyfandoms]

You Get What You Give

A/n: This is to half-apologize for the back to back angst yesterday. Special thanks to @a-lonely-tatertot for beta-reading!

Warnings: Della is about to blow your minds

Word count: 2,620

Tag list: Tag list:  @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @bookwyrminspiration @holesinmyfalseconfidence @percabetn @an-absolute-travesty @linhammon-roll-bromance101 @linhamon-roll @ anyone who cares

_________

Alden burst out of his office and headed straight to Everglen’s gate without a word to any of the other Vacker’s present. Fitz and Biana only glanced up for a moment before returning to their breakfast, chatting to each other idly without acknowledgement of the outburst. Della sighed exhaustedly, and quickly wrapped up a lunch for him, rushing to give him it. She barely caught him before he reached the gateway, grabbing his shoulder to stop him.

“Alden, dear,” Della forced herself to say. Her teeth were gritted, but she managed to fake a pleasant smile. “You left your lunch. If you’re going to be gone all day, you’ll need some food to keep you going.”

“Ah, yes, about that-“

“Are you not returning?” Della attempted to hide her giddiness, before realizing what her previous sentence implied. “Soon, I mean.”

“No, I’m afraid not, the Council wants me to check in with Queen Hylda,” Alden huffed, taking the food from her, and not meeting her eyes. He seemed bored with the conversation and opened the gates, closing them rather harshly in Della’s face. “See you later, dear,” he called as he walked away and pulled out his leaping crystal. In a flash, he was gone; Della was ready.

She pinched herself to make sure what had gone on before her wasn’t some fever dream. Clapping her hands excitedly, she skipped back into the house, humming a melodic tune. Fitz and Biana looked at her oddly for a moment but brushed it off as Della being Della. She winced a bit, realizing that she still had the children to navigate around. But being a Vanisher has its pros, and Della decided to use them now, heels gilding up the stairs silently. She climbed up to the 4th level, crouching at Alden’s bedroom door. Of course, he had his own room. Alden had never shown much affection unless it benefited him.

“Should’ve married Alina, bastard,” Della spat bitterly, pulling out a bobby pin and unlocking his door. She pulled on a pair of fresh silk gloves and kicked open the door. There could be no trace of what had happened leading back to her. But where to start? Della ruffled through his nightstand before she found something cold that felt like a thin metal box. Her fingers wrapped around it instantly, and as she pulled it out, she realized it was a lighter. Della smirked to herself, these had been banned at the same time Pyrokinesis had been banned. Even the Councillors weren’t allowed to have them, much less Emissaries.

Quickly, she pulled all of his clothes out of the closet, organizing them into one neat pile for her to burn in a moment. But if she wanted to truly frame him, she needed to raid his office. But first things first. Della grabbed the golden plaque that rested on his dresser, it was given to him when he was given the title of Emissary. Tossing it gently in her hands, she tested its weight.

“Perfect,” she grinned. Della eyed the windows on either side of his bed. They took up the entire wall, allowing for plenty of natural light. Propping the plaque up in her hands like a baseball bat, she swung it back and forth, gaining speed and force before crashing it into the left window, breaking it. She laughed maniacally, doing the same to the other window. Della shifted through the drawers under his bed for more, finding a dagger, a seemingly new burner phone, and a stack of American dollars. The door creaked open, but Della was too busy slashing the curtains to notice. She spun around with the shreds in glee, but this came to an abrupt stop when she saw Fitz hiding behind the slightly opened door, with Biana undoubtedly vanished behind him.

Della attempted to hide her findings behind her back, but a cool breeze reminded her of the rather open concept of the room.

“Mom,” Fitz started, feeling he was treading on dangerous grounds. “W-what are you doing?”

“Um.” Della sank slowly onto Alden’s bed, hands resting in her lap. She couldn’t say she regretted it. No, she was practically euphoric when causing all the chaos. What she regretted was the fact that her children had seen her recklessness. “Have a seat over here, Fitz. You, too, Biana.”

Biana revealed herself and followed Fitz into the room. Fitz sat rather stiffly next to his mother, but Biana was comfortably sprawled across the other side of the bed. They all sat their quietly for a moment, Della trying to find the right way to put this.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your father tends to have ulterior motives in his actions,” Della began.

Fitz scoffed, “You can say that again.” Biana nodded in agreement.

Della looked up a bit. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t be as difficult as she had imagined. “For years, I haven’t appreciated how your father has been treating all of us. I begged him not to send you to the Forbidden Cities, Fitz. You were a child, and your father sent you into a world that was strictly off-limits to our society. He forced you to do something intensely illegal, and he put your life at risk for what? This girl he called special, that would change the world. This girl who he would be praised for finding because it would save the elven race. Now, I love Sophie, she’s a charming girl. I’m glad that you found her because that made us all who we are today. But that doesn’t make what he did any better.”

Della reached for Fitz’s hands, and he accepted. His mother’s hands were warm, though that might have been from holding the lighter. But her hold was gentle. Loving. Understanding. And that’s what mattered to Fitz. “You tried, Mom,” Fitz said, his voice cracking a bit from the effort it took to hold back the tears. “You tried. You did more than he ever did.”

“But it wasn’t enough.” Della’s cobalt eyes met his teal ones. Filled with tears that didn’t quite have the energy to spill. “I should’ve fought more. When he pushed me, I should’ve pushed back. I let him step all over me, I let him neglect you, I let him emotionally abuse us all. I can’t undo what’s been done, but I can try to stop it from happening again.”

She turned to face Biana, who was now sitting up, shoulders slouched. Della opened her arms for a hug, and Biana rushed into them, sobbing deeply into the crook of her mother’s neck. Della played her hair softly, swaying back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Biana. I’m sorry you’ve been in the shadows of everyone else for so long. You’re so strong, you deserve to be acknowledged for your accomplishments.” Della motioned Fitz to join the hug, and he did, in an attempt to hide the silent tears cascading down his face. It didn’t work, and he wrapped an arm around his sister, joining in her crying. Della rubbed circles on their backs, holding them just like she should have all along.

It felt like years had passed, though it was probably only a half-hour when they had finally dried out. They held each other for a moment before sitting back again.

“I feel so... light,” Biana pondered aloud. “Or maybe free is the word.”

“We’ll be free when your father comes back.”

Biana perked up. “Are you-“

“Yes,” Della scratched at her neck nervously. “I’m filing for a match fail.”                                                                                                                                                                  

“I don’t know how to feel about that,” Biana admitted, pulling on her fingers to crack them. “I mean, he deserves it, and it’s the right thing to do but... he’s still our dad.”

“Blood makes up your genetics, your family is those who are there to support you,” Della advised. “He isn’t there for us, or you.”

“But we are.” Fitz wrapped an arm around Biana, and she leaned on his shoulder. “Now, what do you say we prepare a special surprise for him when he gets back?”

Della raised her eyebrow, to which Fitz responded with a shrug. “He won’t be living here anymore. Might as well prepare for renovations.”

Biana grinned mischievously. “I have some ideas. But first, let me call Dex, so he can be on the lookout. I’m sure he can cause a distraction with his alchemy skills if D-, er, Alden, returns.”

Della knew she was supposed to be the responsible one, but after a lifetime of mistreatment, a little fun wouldn’t hurt anyone. “Biana, you do that, then take over for me in this room. Fitz, break the wedding china in the cabinet downstairs but be careful not to cut yourself. I’ll take his office.”

They nodded and departed to their stations. Fitz reached the room at superhuman speeds, as Della could hear the smashing of china and porcelain by the time she had left the room. She tested the doorknob, and, surprisingly, it had been left unlocked. He must have forgotten to lock it in his haste. She nudged it open and staggered backward in shock.

His office was a mess, with papers strewn across the floor. Two of the three chairs in the room were turned over, and a strange electrical humming sound was coming from the corner of the room. Della followed the noise, leading to a silver plate by the side of the aquarium. Blue wires spilled out of the wall, some cut and lying dead by the entrance, other plugged in and resting on the floor in coils, producing the humming sound.

Della went cold in panic, a theory forming in her mind. She felt the cords in her hands, following their trail all the way to the aquarium’s tank. The animals, they were fake! Powered by this cord in the wall.

“But why would Alden leave it here in the open? It’s not like him,” Della murmured to herself.

“Good question, Della,” a feminine voice called from behind her. “Too bad you won’t be around long enough to find out.” Della tried to move, but the voice was so entrancing, she couldn’t do more than blink. She was fixed in place, and not a muscle could move. The person took their time, pacing through the room before putting Alden’s office chair upright and resting in it. They were just out of her eye range, though through her peripherals it was as clear as day who it was: Alina.

“You know, you’re a smart girl, just not smart enough. If you were, you wouldn't have stayed with Alden this long.” Alina got up suddenly, standing behind Della. With her right hand, she held a melder to her head, and with the other, she straightened Della’s choker for her. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take the children and leave and you will not say a word. Understand?”

Della knew she couldn’t keep Alina talking, and she frantically tried to come up with ideas to escape when she heard a loud creak in the floorboards. Alina spun her around, not trusting that she wouldn’t try something while her back was turned. The door was open.

“One of the children escaped,” Alina scoffed, before turning to her captive, smirking. “Well, I guess that gives me one way to send a message.”

It all clicked in Della’s mind. Alden’s rush to leave, how easily she was able to break into his bedroom, his mess of a room, and the recordings that had gone on for who knows how many years. And it all came back to Alina. Beguilers were never to be trusted. Della was so caught up in her genius, she nearly missed the blatant threat. And that’s what pushed her over the edge.

The next moment happened, quite literally, in flashes. Della broke out of her trance, blinking in and out of sight. She slammed Alden office chair into Alina, crashing her into the aquarium. Biana revealed herself and, grabbing a stray cord, tied Alina up. Alina opened her mouth to use her ability, but a slightly disoriented Dex came bursting in, pouring an elixir down her throat, pinching her nose so she would swallow. She choked down the syrup and yelled curses at the group.

Della held the cords in a tight knot. “Where’s Fitz?”

“Still tied up downstairs,” Dex informed her. “I tried to get him out, but he insisted I go after Biana.” Dex rubbed his jaw. “She can throw a punch!”

“I’ll get him, “ Biana volunteered. “Dex, you call your Council contacts, tell them to come here immediately.”

He nodded, and they went to work. Della picked up one of the “fish.” If they were cameras, they would come in handy for evidence.

Alina gulped but held her head up defiantly. “What do you think you’re going to do to me?”

Della smirked. “I’m going to get you to talk.”

_______________

Clarette and Noland, Dex’s Council contacts, arrived first, but Bronte was right on their heels, steam rising from his pointy ears.

Dex shrank back a bit, but Bronte put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You’re not the one at fault, child. Where’s Alina?”

“Ms. Vacker has her restricted upstairs,” Dex told him. “She’s gathered loads of evidence to help you at her tribunal.”

Bronte raised an eyebrow. “And what of the Vacker children?”

“Fitz and Biana are in the kitchen, applying some balm to the skin that got damaged by the rope constraints.”

Bronte whispered something to Noland, who nodded and went to meet Della.

Clarette crossed her arms. “Is there something I should know?”

“Yes, call Emery, tell him to schedule a tribunal for Alina,” Bronte directed. “And tell him we’ll be needing a new Emissary.”

Clarette furrowed her brows but did as he asked, pulling out her Imparter and walking to the side. In just moments, Emery arrived, not seeming to be very happy about being summoned.

“So you call me on a case of a treacherous Councillor and one of our most trusted Emissaries deviating without any evidence, dear Bronte? I’m disappointed.”

“I think you’ll find that Ms. Vacker has that figured out.”

“The child?” Emery scoffed. “I thought you knew better than to place your trust in children.”

“I was referring to Radelle,” Bronte corrected. “She is filing for a match fail due to the double-life her husband has been leading, which you will find out all about once you listen to her. Make haste, I’m sure Alina won’t enjoy waiting.”

Emery’s jaw tightened, but because he didn’t want to cause a scene, so he followed Noland’s path into Alden’s office.

______________

“So, I’m sure you understand how this all correlates,” Della finished.

Emery was speechless. Oralie, who, along with the rest of the Council, had arrived in time to hear Della’s speech, smiled proudly at her. “I agree with Della, but let’s take a vote. Shall we, Emery?”

“Ten in favor of Della, two against,” Emery stated after a moment of Telepathic discussion.

“Well, in that case, I believe we should start planning ahead,” Bronte began. “We’ll require only one joint-tribunal, but we are short of one Councillor and one Emissary. I have a very clear suggestion for a candidate for the latter. That is if Ms. Vacker would be willing.”

Della laughed, more out of shock and disbelief than ridicule. She paused to consider this. She didn’t want her children to face neglect again. And she certainly didn’t want to become the monster that Alden had become.

But for the first time in her life, Della felt strong. Empowered. And she was not going to let that feeling go anytime soon.

“Sign me up.”

[multisuperfandom]

I Don’t Know

Part 3 of the True Omega series

Pairing: Scott McCall x reader

Summary: You’ve known him almost your entire life. You were close enough to call acquaintances, but not nearly close enough to be called friends. Then again, you weren’t close enough with anyone to call them friends. You were an omega. The absolute definition of an omega. Being born out of an affair, your mother, one of the greatest alphas ever seen, Talia Hale, rejected you. Your father, her former emissary, and almost all of your half siblings hated you for it. You ran away from Beacon Hills when you were 13, after the abuse you had gotten from your father became too much. But the news of an alpha in your home town has lured you back. An alpha comes with a pack, and now the boy you were never close enough with, is a freshly bitten beta. Now you are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Between helping the boy you always wanted to be friends with, and finally having a pack. What will you do?

Warnings:Angst, language, unrequited feelings, sad reader, misunderstandings, Scott being a dumb ass, sad scott, scott’s pov

Word Count: 1k

Tags:  @nostalthicc

A/N: This series is going to be posted every Tuesday.

The True Omega Masterlist

~~~~~~

“Three,” While Stiles let’s go of Scott’s arm and scrambles away, you run into Scott, letting your body press his against the wall. With both your hands on his wrist, he has nowhere to go.

“What are you doing?! He’s going to rip you to shreds!” Stiles yells behind you. He doesn’t see that Scott isn’t struggling as much as he was when Stiles was holding him.

Shaking your head, you say, “He won’t hurt me.”

You stare into his golden eyes. He won’t hurt you. In the entire time that you have been teaching Scott, he never made a move that would suggest that he would harm you, but he’s tried to rip off Stiles head countless times. He won’t hurt you.

Scott's breath becomes shallow and not as heavy as before. “Are you thinking about your anchor?” You mumble, tilting your head like a confused dog. Nodding his head, you release his wrist and take a step back from him.

“I told you he wouldn’t hurt me,” you snicker at Stiles, whose mouth is so wide it looks like he’s trying to eat a sandwich from Scooby-Doo.

“How did you know that would work?”  

“When a male wolf and a female wolf wrestle, the male wolf will let the female win so that she will like him.” Your eyes follow Scott to his locker, making sure he is ok. “I’ve seen it a couple of times in werewolves. I don’t know if it’s because the boy likes the girl, or if the boy doesn’t want to hurt his friend.”

“Either way, thank you, Maison,” Scott mummers from the other side of the locker room, it’s faint but you are pretty sure that you are the only one that heard him.

“Y/N,” you say, silencing the two boys. “My real name is Y/N L/N, and there’s a lot about me that you don’t know.”

Once Scott comes back to you and Stiles, you tell them everything. Everything about your family, your mother’s affair with her emissary, the reason Deaton was her emissary before she died, everything that you hadn’t told them before.

And they listen silently as tears stream down your face. But it was time that someone knew who you were. It was time that you were Y/N again. It was time for you to stop lying.

~~~~

Two months later

“You did what?!” You shout, pacing around Scott’s room as he tells you about what happened in the school. “You brought the alpha to the school? With the youngest member of the most famous hunting family inside? And you almost got my brother killed?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” He nods nervously, watching you pace the floor of his room.

“What the hell, Scott?” Your hands move around frantically as you try to express how angry you are. “What about the plan? What about trying to get this alpha to accept both of us in his pack? What about us being together?”

“Y/N-”

“Because if you keep pulling shit like this, then he won’t want either of us!” you scold him.

“Y/N, we can’t be in his pack.” This made you stop pacing. You stare at Scott, trying to crawl inside his mind and understand his words.

“He wants me to kill my old pack,” He whispers, hating how you retract every time he steps toward you. “Stiles, Allison, Lydia, Jackson.....you.”

With your back against the wall, Scott cages you in. “I won’t hurt you,” he whimpers, holding the side of your face. Over the past few months, you and Scott have gotten really close. Moments like this weren’t uncommon. He tries to make you see that he cares about you and won’t hurt you. Most of the time, the two of you end up just like this, so close that it physically hurts when he’s gone. And that’s exactly why you hate moments like these. They always hurt the most.

“I know,” you whisper when his thumb traces your lower lip. The other hand finds its way to your waist. His body is pressed so tightly against yours that if you were to be any closer, you would have to become the same person.

He leans his head closer to yours, dipping his head down until his lips touched yours. In a couple of seconds, your shock wears off and you kiss him back. You keep kissing until you both run out of air.

“Wow,” he pants, taking a step back.

“You kissed me,” you whisper, touching your lips.

“yeah,” He says running his hand over the back of his neck, nervously.

“Why did you kiss me?” You instantly regret asking. Nothing good can come out of asking.

“I-I don’t know,” he winces. hurt, you nod. Keeping your head down, you walk toward the door so he can’t see that you’re upset.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” You know it's a low blow but the sad look on his face makes you feel better.

~~~

“He kissed me.”

“What?!” Stiles exclaims, jumping off of his bed to pace around his room.

 After leaving Scott’s house, Heartbroken and sad, you somehow ended up at Stiles, who over the past two months has become your confidant. You told everything to the spastic boy.

“He kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?”

“‘Why did you kiss me?’“You lay your head in your hands. You’ve liked Scott for as long as you can remember, and hearing that he kissed you ‘just cause’ hurts more than anything.

“And what did he say?”

“’I don’t know’”

“What? You gotta know what he said!”

“No, Stiles, he said ‘I don’t know’.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Stiles sits down next to you on his bed. Pulling you into his chest, he lets you cry without saying a word. You ended up falling asleep in your best friend’s arms.

Whatever that kiss meant or didn’t mean, Scott McCall sure knows how to break your heart.

~~~~~ "Y/N, please," Scott catches up to you in the hall the next day. You try to shove your things into your locker before you have to talk to Scott.

"Scott, whatever that kiss was, let's just forget about it." You zip up your bag and turn to leave.

"Please, I don't want to lose you." You stop in the middle of the hall. Maybe that's why boy werewolves let girl werewolves win, they depend on them so much that don't want to hurt them and end up losing them. Except, this time Scott didn't let you win at wrestling. He kissed you and then regretted it. He promises that he won't hurt you, then he turns around and breaks your heart. But even a broken heart can still love.

"You won't lose me," You turn to look at him. He looks terrible. His hair is messy and wild like he's been pulling it. His clothes look like a ratted mess like he forgot that he was popular and should care about his clothes, or how he should look. But what's worst is the devastating look on his face. He really is scared to lose you. "Look, Scott, the relationship between teacher and student in our world is highly respected, especially by the two of us. The reason you feel this way is because you feel you disrespected me. And to disrespect, your teacher is worst than disrespecting your alpha. You feel guilty because I'm your teacher. Nothing else."

"I feel this way because you're my friend and I hurt you."

"If it helps you, just blame me and my stupid heart." With that, you walk away, leaving Scott in the hall alone.

~~~~~~ Scott's POV

I can't move. I can only watch her walk away from me. Over the past two months, I've been trying to get close to her, to make her trust me, and just as she begins to I hurt her.

Blame me and my stupid heart, what does that mean? Did she like the kiss? Did she think about all last night? Did she play it over and over in her head until she could almost see me in her room? Did she sleep with the jacket I left in her room just because it still had my scent on it as I did with hers?

"what the hell are you doing, McCall?" Jackson asks, seeing me not move for a while. I just lost her. All because I couldn't keep my fucking emotions together. Why would she want me? She's beautiful and smart and caring and strong, and I'm just an idiot who can't seem to do anything right.

I won't hurt you,

I know, I play it in my head again, hoping it would give me the strength to move, but it just breaks my heart more. I hurt her. How could I hurt her?

"Scott, what's wrong?" His voice is muffled but I can tell it's Stiles that's talking to me. With his hands on my shoulder, I quickly realize that I can't catch my breath. I can't breathe. Losing Y/N is going to kill me.

He pulls me into the locker room and shoves my inhaler in my face. Taking a few breaths of it, I can start to breathe again.

"What the hell was that?"

"You had a panic attack," Stiles says, "I used to get them a lot when I was younger."

"I lost her." I bang my head against the wall. I don't deserve her but knowing she's gone hurts more than anything.

"Who, Allison?"

"no, Y/N"

"Scott-"

"I fucking lost her!" I scream before putting my fist through the wall. Stiles jumps but I don't care. I don't care about anything. "I want her, Stiles. I need her!"

I start to cry like a big baby, but I don't care. I didn't know how much I need her or wanted her until she didn't need or want me anymore.

[queennicoleinboots]

Taco Mac with Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr., part 6

Colonel Mac, FreeLee the Banana Girl, and I were back at Publix to pick up ingredients for vegan Taco Mac. Michael the Great Arc Angel of course flew around and followed us. It is important to note that Colonel Mac wore a white MAGA mask: Make America Godly Again.

Colonel Mac was rattling off ingredients from his long list: corn tortillas, black beans, pinto beans, great white beans, brown rice, white rice, spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, jalapenos, onions, cilantro, Annie's vegan macaroni and cheese, Daiya cheddar cheeze shreds, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, orange bell pepper, green bell pepper, limes, ground pepper, green tomatillos, red tomatillos, tobasco, and whole golden kernel corn.

"Are we getting more margarine?" FreeLee the Banana Girl asked.

"Oh yes, I forgot," Colonel Mac said.

"But we are not getting Blue Bonnet," I clarified.

"No, but are we getting Smart Balance with olive oil?" Colonel Mac asked.

"No," FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

"Really? That's the kind I usually get for Mr. Williamson and his wife," I said.

FreeLee the Banana Girl then stared at me as we were picking up all necessary items from produce: spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, jalapenos, onions, cilantro, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, orange bell pepper, green bell pepper, limes, green tomatillos, and red tomatillos. She said, "You need to repent."

"Everyone's been saying that lately," I said. "And it is a process."

FreeLee the Banana Girl sighed. "Let's go to the margarine aisle. All of life's questions will be answered there," she said.

So we travelled clear on the other side of the store to the margarine aisle.

She pulled out the Smart Balance Margarine with olive oil from the refrigerator and read the ingredients. "Vegetable Oil Blend (Canola, Palm, Extra Virgin Olive, And Flaxseed Oils), Water, Less Than 2 Percent Of: Salt, Pea Protein, Natural And Artificial Flavors, Sunflower Lecithin, Vitamin A Palmitate, Beta Carotene (Color), Vitamin D, Monoglycerides Of Vegetable Fatty Acids (Emulsifier), And Potassium Sorbate, Lactic Acid, TBHQ and Calcium Disodium EDTA (to Protect Freshness)."

"TBHQ? What's that?" I asked.

"Precisely," FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Colonel Mac looked up what TBHQ was on his smartphone. "Tert-Butylhydroquinone (TBHQ, tertiary butylhydroquinone) is a synthetic aromatic organic compound which is a type of phenol. It is a derivative of hydroquinone, substituted with a tert-butyl group," he read.

"So basically it's an oil we have no business eating it in the first place," I said.

"Exactly!" FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Michael the Great Arc Angel said, "Wow. What the fuck? Thank Goodness I don't get that. But I must check my butter at home to ensure that there is no TBHQ in it. I shall return." He then flew out of the store.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Crickets with Angel wings chirped as they flew through Publix. When we walked by the free sample booth, a FreeLee the Banana Girl video popped up on the screen: https://youtu.be/ZRuytGHlpNc

Too long didn't watch: It is about what she eats on a high-carb fruitarian diet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael the Great Arc Angel then screamed as he flew to the margarine aisle.

Everyone in the store looked at Michael the Great Arc Angel and gave him their undivided attention.

"Fucking hell! I had Smart Balance! So what if it is on sale?! It is poisoning humankind! I must burn it! XARA! Open the glass door with the Smart Balance margarine in it!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted.

I opened the glass door with the Smart Balance margarine in it.

Michael the Great Arc Angel shot blue death rays out of his eyes and burned all products related to Smart Balance margarine and screamed.

FreeLee the Banana Girl screamed. Everyone in the store screamed.

"But remember. Save the Earth Balance margarine. It's legit," FreeLee the Banana Girl said in a normal voice. She then grabbed the Earth Balance Soy Free margarine and put it in the cart.

The Grinch then hobbled over and screamed. "Smart Balance is a balance of over-price and chemical deathhhhhh," he said. Then he hobbled away.

Michael the Great Arc Angel then announced, "If we were not making vegan Taco Mac with Count Colonel Mac-"

FreeLee the Banana Girl, Colonel Mac, The Grinch, Paul the Goat, Smeagull, the cast of PeeWee Herman, and everyone in the store screamed. "Taco Mac with Colonel Mac" was still the phrase of the last four months. Wait?! He said "Count Colonel Mac." When did Colonel Mac become a Count?

Michael the Great Arc Angel then continued, "Then I would prefer butter or a buttery spread."

"Agreed!" Colonel Mac, other non-vegans, and I said with authority. "Wait? I'm a Count now?'

"Not that I use much butter, but I know better than to use margarine on my own account. It is evil," Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. "And yes. I dub thee Count. It's Halloween. Colonel is not sufficient for your caliber."

Paul the Goat bleated loudly.

"In that case, am I granted vampiric powers?" Count Colonel Mac asked as he rode around Publix with Michael the Great Arc Angel.

"Absolutely!" Michael the Great Arc Angel said with a salesangel smile as he pointed his two index fingers at Count Colonel Mac dramatically. "And a cape to boot!"

"Oh boy! Grant me vampiric powers!" Count Colonel Mac spoke with excitement.

"As you wish," Michael the Great Arc Angel said with a huge smile before he chanted in a dark angelic language.

All shoppers were watching with awe.

Michael the Great Arc Angel continued to chant as Publix was getting darker.

Count Colonel Mac was smiling widely, and his teeth were getting sharper. He growled with excitement.

Michael the Great Arc Angel continued to chant before he sang and danced to Voltaire's song of "Brains.": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpLRJyWe814 He was definitely a character of the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy when that show was popular.

OH SHIT!

Michael the Great Arc Angel stopped everything after he sang the last note of "Brains" for just a liiiittle too long.

Count Colonel Mac turned into a gray vampire cub who wore a cape. He was just sitting in his chair.

Everyone gasped.

Michael the Great Arc Angel looked over and gasped in horror. "OH SHIT!!!! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. I held that note for just a liiiiiittle too long. Oh God I gotta reverse this!" he spoke quickly and frantically.

Count Colonel Mac looked down at his paws before his glasses fell off and grinned widely. "COOL!!!" he said in a high-pitched Southern accent.

"You're okay with this?" Michael the Great Arc Angel said with his eyebrow raised

"YEAH!" Count Colonel Mac said as he jumped out of his chair. "I can walk! I can walk! I'm not in pain!" he started to skip. "And I'm wearing a cape, motherfuckers!" He skipped around the store and growled cheerfully. His black cape swished behind him.

"Awwwww!!!!" everyone in the store said.

"Count Colonel Mac is so cute," I said.

He turned around, skipped over to me, and looked up to me. "I am not a Colonel. I have no affiliation with the military. I only accepted the name because you needed a Colonel to replace Colonel America. So I took the honor. Also, KFC is an insult to chicken," he spoke with a cute cub growl.

"YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. "Keep going."

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Count Mac(?) said. "Also, Popeyes is a much better option for fastfood fried chicken."

"LOVE THAT CHICKEN FROM POPEYES!" Aunt Jemima sang. She's still relevant?

"Yes, I do. Anyway, like I said, I am not affiliated with the military, nor do I ever want to be. I'm a gray cub first and foremost. We are the most passive species of bear, next to the white bear. But... I was cursed with gray fur, becuz you know, I am a vampirebear... vam...bear. Vambear! Vampire creatures can't be blessed. Anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway, I am now..." the gray vambear cub said before he took a deep breath. Then in a booming voice, he said, "Count MACULA!!!!!" He then laughed an evil laugh.

Everyone, including the cast of PeeWee Herman, screamed.

"I dig it!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted.

"So the story should now be called "Taco Mac with Count Macula, part 6?" I asked.

The cast of PeeWee Herman, FreeLee the Banana Girl, the Grinch, Seagull, and Paul the Goat screamed.

"Is that a yes?" I asked.

"Yes," Count Macula said. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."

"No!" Michael the Great Arc Angel protested.

Count Macula blinked. "But... I've been the title character for the past five stories. Why would this one be different?" he asked.

"I AM THE ONE WHO GRANTED YOU THE POWERS!!!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. The foundation of Publix shook.

"I don't mean to be rude, but Taco Mac with Michael The Great Arc Angel is kind of a long-winded title," Count Macula said.

"I AGREE!!!" Michael the Great Arc Angel said. "But who says I am keeping this title?"

"No one," Count Macula said.

"Exactly! I am Count MACRULA!" the angel said before thunder, lightning, and darkness came upon him. He transformed into a dark angel. His wings were as black as night. He now wore a black tie with fire on it, a black dress shirt, black slacks, black shoes, and a long black cape. His skin was as white as snow, and he had a fiery red beard. "Happy Halloween, Mother Fuckers!"

"Happy Halloween, Count Macrula," Count Macula said.

"Thank you. Also, I dub thee Count Macula, Jr.," Count Macrula said with a booming voice.

"OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!" Count Macula, Jr. shouted. "I am only seven after all."

"I have spoken!" Count Macrula said.

"There should be a story called 'Count Macrula Has Spoken,'" Count Macula, Jr. pointed out.

"Absolutely! But this is NOT that story," Count Macrula said.

"No. But Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing has a story with a title of him speaking. If he can have it, you should have one, too," Count Macrula, Jr. said.

"You are goddamn right!" Count Macrula said.

"THAT'S GREAT! WHAT ARE WE CALLING THIS STORY!?" FreeLee the Banana Girl yelled.

"Taco Mac with Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr.," I decided.

"Part 6!" Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr. shouted.

"Part 6," I confirmed.

"Can we get on with the shopping then?!" FreeLee the Banana Girl asked.

"Yes," Count Macrula said.

FreeLee the Banana Girl, Count Macula, Jr., Count Macrula, and I continued to shop. We picked up Annie's vegan macaroni and cheese, canned pinto beans, canned black beans, canned great white canned beans, corn tortillas, bags of brown rice, bags of white rice, and Daiya cheddar cheeze shreds.

FreeLee the Banana Girl then looked around the canned vegetable aisle to look for the canned whole golden kernel corn.

FreeLee the Banana Girl looked frantically for the golden whole kernel corn while I was absent-mindedly putting the other groceries in the cart.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY CORN?” FreeLee the Banana Girl screamed loudly to the point where the whole store could hear. Count Macula, Jr. dropped the list because he was shocked at the random loud volume of FreeLee the Banana Girl's voice. “Count Macula, Jr., find the fucking corn now. What the hell? Where the hell’s my corn, Count Macula, Jr.?”

“I don’t know! I'm trying. Stop yelling at me!” Count Macula, Jr. said as he was crying and slumping his shoulders.

I was slightly shocked when a Jewish Karen joined in with her voice. “Yeah, where the fuck is ze corn? You’d think canned corn would be easy to find in a fuckin’ grocery store,” she yelled.

A store associate rushed to the scene in a panic. “What kind of corn are you looking for, ma’am?” she asked.

Another woman sales associate chimed in, “We’d love to help.”

“Golden kernel,” FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Everyone in the store was looking for the corn she mentioned. Even Count Macula, Jr. and I were in on looking for it. I wanted FreeLee the Banana Girl and the Karens to shut the fuck up. I lifted Count Macula, Jr. in my arms as we looked for the corn.

“No, no, not here, dammit,” the Jewish Karen said. “Son ov a bitch!”

“Not here,” Count Macula, Jr. said.

“Is this it, ma’am?” one of the customers asked her.

Count Macula, Jr. randomly farted. It smelled like too much tacos. 

“No! I said ‘Golden kernel,’ you stupid mother fucker!” FreeLee the Banana Girl yelled. “I already told you. ‘Golden kernel’ ‘Golden kernel’ Goddammit!”

“Sorry, ma’am, Jesus Christ, please help us find this ‘Golden kernel’ corn,” he said.

“Jesus Christ wasn’t born yet,” the Jewish Karen interrupted. “SHIT WHERE THE FUCK IS FREELEE’S CORN?”

“All of a sudden my corn is gone. It has been on this particular aisle for ages. Why is it gone? Where the fuck is the CORN?” FreeLee the Banana Girl ranted.

Count Macrula carried several cans of whole golden kernel corn as he flew to the carts we were pushing. Angels and Lord vampires literally sang as he flew. It had no added salt, so the angels and Lord vampires sang even louder.

He saved Publix.

"Really Publix saved Publix. It had this corn in stock. And I found it. They didn't move it 40 feet down like the Publix on 11 did two years ago," Count Macrula pointed out. He flapped his wings quickly for effect.

"But you still found the corn and saved Publix," I said.

He stared at me. I stared at him. We blinked. There was a moment in which I was honored by his darkness.

"Thank God Publix can stay alive. Now can we pleeeasssse get out of here!? I would like to get over this Taco Mac with me series and move on," Count Macula, Jr. said. "And if I have to listen to ingredients ONE TIME, I am going to scream."

Count Macrula, FreeLee the Banana Girl, the cast of PeeWee Herman, the Grinch, Smeagull, Garfield, and everyone in the store screamed.

"At least no one is reading ingredients. Ugh!" Count Macula, Jr. said as he ran like the cub he was to the check-out.

"In non-GMO, organic, gluten-free corn tortillas, they have WATER, STONEGROUND ORGANIC YELLOW CORN MASA FLOUR, ORGANIC GUAR GUM, and LIME," I said as I read the ingredients just to troll Count Macula, Jr.

Count Macula, Jr. screamed so loud that everyone else started screaming. "THAT'S ABUSE!!!!!" he shouted.

Paul the Goat even walked back in the store and bleated.

Then we went to check-out because Count Macula, Jr. just couldn't take anymore.

[paigenotblank]

The Age of the Wolf (2/?)

Pairing: Eight x Rose

Rating: Eventually Mature (this chapter is teen)

Written for @doctorroseprompts and Eight x Rose August. Prompt: Dimension hopping!Rose meets Eight / What if Rose was with Eight or met Eight during the Time War?

Huge thanks to @fleurdeneuf for the beta (any mistakes are my own as I tweaked it after she got it back to me).

Read it on Tumblr: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

AO3  TS

The Doctor stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking out of the window high above the domed city. He silently noted the changes wrought by war. There was more activity on the streets, but there was a frenetic energy to it. People were out, but none enjoyed the beauty around them. They scurried along the streets, heads down, ignoring each other in passing, minds focused inward and on surviving another day.

Fabric rustled and footsteps approached the Doctor. “We’re in the midst of war. You know she can’t be here.”

He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Romana, it’s not negotiable.”

“The Time Lords will not accept you bringing your companion, your human companion, here. I know it’s been some time since you’ve last visited, but-”

He turned to face his old friend. “She’s not exactly human and she’s not my companion.”

Romana’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean by that? She is obviously both human, 21st century London if I am not mistaken, and she arrived with you on your TARDIS. Doctor, you’re making even less sense than usual, and that is saying something.”

“I...I’m not exactly sure what she is, but she’s more than human, and she’s from my future. She’s a future self’s companion, not originally mine.”

“Doctor! Have you gone mad? As if this war hasn’t nearly shredded the fabric of time, you...oh! She absolutely cannot be here if she has any knowledge of your future! You know that. She must be returned to her proper timeline immediately.”

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “I can’t.” At Romana’s screech of indignation, the Doctor held up his hands. “I’ve tried. I know how dangerous it is for her to be here. In the last few weeks that we’ve been travelling, since leaving Karn, I tried no less than 6 times to get her home. The Old Girl fought me every time and when it came down to it, she wouldn’t let me do it.”

“Are you still referring to your Type 40 as ‘Old Girl.’” Romana tsked at him. “Can you be serious for once?”

“You travelled with me; you know how she gets.”

The door to Romana’s office whooshed open, and Rose entered with a tall Time Lord and an older Time Lady. With a dismissive glance, Romana continued, “I know you are entirely too easy going on that ship. I can enlist a Type 97 for you to use with the sole purpose of returning your future companion to her correct time.”

“A Type 97? They shouldn’t even be considered TARDISes. No personality.”

Rose sidled up next to the Doctor and took his hand in hers. She turned to Romana and told her, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know what it’s like to travel with the Doctor, but humans are not permitted here right now.”

A deep voice interrupted from the doorway. “She’s not human.”

Romana looked at surprise at the Time Lord that had come in with Rose. “You can’t be serious, Braxiatel.”

“I took the liberty of running a few tests-”

Rose gasped. “You had no right!”

The Doctor squeezed her hand and faced his brother. “And what did you find, Brax?”

Braxiatel cleared his throat. “Well, it appears your young friend has many of the same attributes as humans, it’s even likely that she was born human, but she has high levels of artron and huon particles in her system and the rate of her cellular decay is practically non-existent.”

“Huon! Huon is ancient.”

Romana looked suspiciously at the Doctor and asked Braxiatel, “Cellular decay similar to a Time Lord?”

“Less even than a Time Lord. It’s as if she’s a frozen moment in time, but yet...not. Without further testing…”

“I forbid it!”

“...we have no idea what that means for her body’s ability to repair itself or just how long lasting her life will be.”

The Doctor snuck a look at Rose. She appeared tight lipped and angry, so it was a surprise when she spit out, “I heal fast.”

Braxiatel waited for her to elaborate, and at her continued silence turned to the Doctor with a raised brow. The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Before coming here, we were in a gunship crash. Rose died.”

“I didn’t die...obviously.”

“Appeared to die, but she came back and healed herself...and me too as a matter of fact.”

“She regenerated?”

“No, not as such. I...I don’t know exactly what it was, but it wasn’t a regeneration as we know it. Now, Brax, if that’s everything, we’re just-”

“It’s not. Her timelines are completely unreadable...to everyone, even the readers and Visionary. It’s as if she’s seeped in time and holds every possibility around her. It’s completely impossible.” Rose rolled her eyes. “I think she should stay; she might be a...valuable addition to the war effort."

The Doctor bristled and moved closer to Rose. “She’s a person, not a weapon to be used. Don’t even think about-”

Rose stepped forward. “What’s your job here?”

Braxiatel was taken aback. “Pardon?”

“Your...position. Do you have the authority to permit me to stay? Not as a weapon for the Time Lords, but as a helpmate to the Doctor.”

“Well, I hold a seat on the Council, same as Romana. We can petition on your behalf.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a guarantee. So get this through your arrogant Time Lord head: I’m not goin’ anywhere, ‘cept where the Doctor goes. Figure out a way to make that happen or I’ll figure it out on my own.” Rose let them see a portion of the power she held as gold flashed through her eyes.

Romana took a step back in alarm. Braxiatel simply looked rather bored.

A gentle throat clearing had them all looking at the other person in the room. The elder Time Lady, who thus far had remained content to observe, motioned for the Doctor to join her.

As the Doctor made his way to her side, Brax pounced. He jumped on the Doctor and wrestled him to the floor. Rose moved faster than a human had the ability to move. One second she was by the window and the next she had flung Braxiatel across the room and into the wall.

“Doctor!” Rose ran her hands over the Doctor, checking for injuries.

“I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t faced from him before, though I must say, Brax, not since we were children.” Rose helped him to his feet.

Brax started laughing from his position on the ground. He dusted his robes off as he stood back up. “I just wanted to see what your...Rose was capable of, Thete.” He bowed to her. “More than even I had hoped for, my dear.”

“Oh, do stop antagonizing your brother.”

Rose gasped and looked from one to the other. There were no similarities at all between the two men.

Braxiatel lowered his head. “Apologies, mother.”

Rose glanced in shock at the Time Lady now smiling at her. “Don’t mind either of my boys. They’ve been competitive since they were loomlings. They would, however, do anything for the other, don’t let them fool you.”

“I…”

The Doctor’s mother took Rose’s hands. “Don’t worry about the High Council. I will stand for you and make sure you don’t have to leave his side. You just watch out for my son.” She looked at the Doctor and smiled sadly before looking back at Rose. “You’re good for him. And thank you.”

“For what?”

The older woman leaned forward and whispered in Rose’s ear. “For loving him. He’s never belonged here, always wanting more...desiring to be loved like you love him.” She pulled back. “I tried to find balance between being a good Time Lady and a good mother, and in doing so was neither. I leave my son in your capable hands.”

She stepped away from Rose and walked over to the Doctor. After a whispered conversation, she slipped something into the Doctor’s hands and turned to leave. “Rose. Remember, you won’t have to leave, therefore it’s your choice. Follow your heart.”

“I don’t understand. What’s my choice?”

The Doctor’s mother smiled and left.

“Doctor? What’s she talkin’ about?”

He stood there quietly and just when Rose thought he’d never say anything, he blurted out, “Bond with me.”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”

“Bond with me, Rose. As my bondmate they have to allow you to stay with me.”

“You want me to bond with you so that, what, the Time Lords are forced to accept me here?”

The Doctor’s cheeks pinkened. “No, I want you to bond with me because you love me. I was just hoping you’d see the logical reasons to do it and agree before you made me admit to any feelings.”

Rose’s heart fluttered in her chest. “You still haven’t admitted to any of your feelings; all you did was tell me my own.”

“Ah, is that what I did?”

“Doctor...I love you. I do. An’ I’m pretty sure, no...I know that in the future you love me too, even though you’ve never actually said it. An’ maybe that’s why I feel like it would be betraying you. I mean neither of your future selves were ones for...um, such overt statements of our relationship. I can’t imagine you’ll be very pleased when I get back to that you."

“But there would be nothing to be displeased by. When you return to me, you would have always been wife, well, for as long as he’s known you anyway. What if it was always meant to happen this way?” The Doctor wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “To push you away after my memories come back would do you a grave disservice. And honestly, I’ve known you a short time and already cannot imagine myself doing any such thing. I admit I have loved, in some fashion, almost all of my previous companions, but nothing compares to the feelings that I have for you. My hearts beat for you alone. I swear I was yours by the time you grabbed my hand and said, ‘Run.’ Please, Rose, bond with me...be mine?”

“I’m already yours.” Rose bit her lip. “Are you sure it wouldn't mess up our future? You already being my husband when we meet for the first time? My first time? I mean, you didn’t seem to know me any more than I knew you.”

“I'm a Time Lord; I'll forget what I have to in order to preserve our future, and your past. It won’t be much more than I’d have to anyway since you insist on staying with me, silly girl. But I need you, Rose.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You won’t regret it one day?”

“Rose...I am the same man, your Doctor, and I’m sure I haven’t wanted anything more in my lives. I could never regret wanting you for my bondmate.”

Rose nodded. “Okay.”

The Doctor looked at Rose in question. “Okay you believe me or okay you’ll marry me?”

She laughed. “Both.”

The Doctor whooped in joy and picked Rose up and spun her around. He looked over his shoulder at his friend. “Romana, grab a length of ribbon. We have a handfasting to perform.”

Romana stood there worrying about all the potential repercussions of the Doctor’s impetuousness.

“Romana!”

“What?”

“Fetch a ribbon.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. I’m marrying my Rose.” He wrapped his arms around Rose and pulled her closer to him. She smiled her tongue touched grin. He groaned and leaned in for a kiss.

Romana frowned at the Doctor; such intimate displays were unbecoming of a Time Lord. Braxiatel cleared his throat to get her attention, and when she looked over at him, he was holding a red ribbon edged in gold. “Where did you…? You knew!”

He quirked his lips. “From the moment I met her.”

Romana took the ribbon with a sigh and approached the happy couple. “Doctor, are you sure-”

“Yes, now get on with it.”

“Very well.” Romana took a deep breath and adopted an air of solemnity. “Time Lords of Gallifrey, honored members of the House of Lu-”

“The abridged version, if you please?”

“It doesn't please me. You are a son of two of the oldest houses on Gallifrey; it is only befitting that-”

“Abridged...but the full marriage bond ceremony.”

“The full…? But we...those simply aren’t done anymore.”

“Romana…”

Romana let out a growl of frustration. “Vey well...Rose, Doctor, do the both of you come freely and willingly to this handfasting? For the purposes of binding yourselves together by the ancient and sacred rites of time everlasting?”

The Doctor smiled at Rose. “Yes.”

She blushed and nodded. “Yes.”

Romana turned to Braxiatel. “Braxiatel, son of the House Lungbarrow, do you stand for your brother and consent to this marriage?”

Braxiatel bowed to Romana. “I consent and give it readily.”

“Rose, since you don’t have a member of your family present, we can-”

“But I do.”

Romana looked at Rose in confusion. Rose motioned to the Doctor. “The Doctor’s a part of my family.”

“Not quite yet.”

“He’s my chosen family. Has been since his ninth self, even before we were properly together an’ still jus’ best mates.”

“None of that has happened yet.”

“It’s happened for me...ages ago. An’ the big things don’t change in regeneration, right? So he is an’ always will be my family.”

“But...but he’s the groom!”

“So?”

Romana huffed and mumbled under her breath. “Lord Rassilon, but the two of them are going be the cause of my next regeneration.”

Braxiatel laughed at her side. “They really are perfect for each other.”

“May the Eternals help us all, if they ever engineer progeny.” Romana took a bracing breath. “Doctor, son of the House Lungbarrow, do you stand for your, er, for Rose Tyler and consent to this marriage?”

The Doctor bowed to Romana. “I consent and give it gladly.”

Romana stepped before the Doctor and Rose, ribbon held aloft. “The vows you pledge today will be as veritable as the ribbon that binds you physically. Do you understand and wish to continue?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

Romana directed Rose and the Doctor to face each other and clasp hands. Raised at chest level, she bound their hands and wrists and tied the ends with a flourish.

“You have both laid claim to a desire to weave the strands of time that plot your path into one. Will you allow the promises you make to each other here today to be the foundation of a union that stretches across all of your years and lifetimes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Do you vow to hold in honor your partner’s timeline, past, present, and future?”

“I do.”

“Yes...I do.”

“Do you vow to respect each other as equals within and notwithstanding the regeneration?”

“I do.”

“I do.” Rose gently squeezed the Doctor’s hand, and he gave her a knowing grin.

“Do you vow to share your responsibilities, especially those of being time’s protectors?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

“Do you vow to tend to the garden of each other’s mindscape as you would your own?”

“I do.”

Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she thought of her future Doctor being alone in his mind, and she vowed to herself fiercely, ‘Never again.’ “I do.” If the vehemence of her statement surprised the Doctor, he didn’t let on.

“You have bound yourselves physically and spoken your vows al-”

Braxiatel cleared his throat, interrupting Romana. She looked at him askance. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“That's not part of the-”

“I believe it is traditionally part of most Earth ceremonies, and in deference to the bride’s origins…”

“Very well. Doctor, Rose, do you vow to...love and cherish each other?”

The Doctor’s look turned heated. “I do.”

Rose blushed under the Doctor’s gaze. “I do, too.”

“You have bound yourselves physically and spoken your vows aloud before both time and Time Lord. May your timelines run together always.” Romana stepped back from the couple and the Doctor tugged Rose by their bound hands toward him. His free hand dropped to her waist to steady her.

He spoke so softly only she could hear, “The next bit is just for the two of us,” and leaned his forehead against hers. He slowly raised the hand at her waist to her temple. Rose mirrored his action and closed her eyes. She felt a gentle press against her mind as he asked, “May I have entry?”

No sooner than Rose nodded did she feel a swirling presence in her mind. Rose was surprised that on a visceral level she immediately recognized the Doctor’s mind and soul. It was so breathtakingly beautiful, so familiar, so right. She wanted to weep at the feeling of completeness it brought about. It was as if she hadn’t known she was missing him in her mind, until he was there where he belonged.

Rose… His mental voice sighed her name and she felt filled with him, which was a bit strange, but not unpleasant, not at all. Not unlike… She blushed as she made the connection with another type of intimate act. She heard his chuckle spread through her thoughts. There’ll be time for that later.

Promise? She thought the question at him before she was quite cognizant of it. She felt her face heat up further, and embarrassment radiated off her.

I know this is new for you, and I swear I’ll teach you how to control sending through thoughts you don’t want to, but don’t be embarrassed. I vowed to honor, respect and cherish you, and I meant it. You’re safe with me.

I know and I trust you, Doctor. Just caught me off guard is all. But...do you? Promise that...we can...later? LIke this?

Oh, yes. He shared with her his desire for her. She let it flow over her and then tried to send the same back. She was successful if the squeak she heard from him was anything to go by. Later. He managed to get the word out before he withdrew slightly from her mind. She could hear him breathing heavily and could feel him pulling his emotions in order. We...we still need to finish the bonding ceremony.

Rose recalled the presence of others in the room with them. Oh!

The Doctor once again allowed himself to enter her mind, though this time with a tighter rein on his thoughts and emotions. Without either the Doctor or Rose realizing it, Bad Wolf closed the door on Rose’s knowledge of the Doctor’s future.

He made a small home for himself in a corner of her mind and showed her his awe, respect and love.

She followed the bond back and into his mind to try and do the same for him. She heard him gasp and felt his surprise as she entered the cathedral of his mind. How…? You are amazing, my love. She could feel the vastness of the shared Time Lord consciousness, and it made her feel tiny. You’re anything but tiny. Rose, you’re incredible. I’ve never experienced a mind so bright and infinite. You truly are a goddess.

I create myself… The memory echoed through both their minds and they shivered at the small glimpse of the power running through Rose’s veins.

My Rose, you gave me something to believe in, when I thought there was nothing. I love you and I give myself unto you. Mind, body, and soul. The Doctor’s presence in her mind flared brightly and then settled to a soft glow. A chiming melody sang out to her and seared itself across her heart.

Wha’? What was that?

My true name and my vow to you. It is yours, to only be spoken by you, as I am yours, only to be loved by you.

Happiness swelled in Rose until it overflowed and caused tears to trickle from her eyes. My Doctor. You showed me a better way to live and made me believe in myself. I love you and give myself to you. Mind, body, and soul. Forever. At her vow, the Doctor was given a glimpse of their entwined timelines running without end. There were periods of knots and twists, but it always managed to smooth back out. A little of the fear he’d held so firmly to regarding the future eased, and he let the peace of being connected to his soulmate wash over him.

So focused were the two on each other, Romana’s voice as she ended the ceremony sounded far away. “You stand here united by fabric made of fiber, but it is not those strands that will keep you bound together. It is the promises that you have given each other that weave the fabric of your past, present, and future. By the strength of your convictions, I pronounce you bound as one.”

The Doctor and Rose stood wrapped up in each other, and Romana glanced uncomfortably to Braxiatel. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “You may kiss your bride.”

The Doctor eased back from Rose and when her eyes fluttered open, he leaned forward and captured her lips in a hard kiss. She sighed into him and moved her free hand from the side of his face to the back of his neck. At the first brush of her fingers through his hair, he pulled her more firmly against him and deepened the kiss.

“Doctor!”

They broke from the snog, and Rose buried her face in the crook of the Doctor’s neck. He kissed her on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her. “Sorry, Romana. If you don’t need anything further, my wife…” He couldn’t keep the smile from his voice. “...and I will continue this in our own set of rooms. Come, love.”

“Doctor, aren’t you forgetting something?” Braxiatel stood waiting patiently.

His confusion must have been obvious because Braxiatel mouthed, “Mother’s gift.”

“Ah!”

The Doctor untied the bonding ribbon and slipped it carefully into his pocket. When he removed his hand, he brought with him a small charm. Rose could see that it was inscribed with writing, but it wasn’t English nor the circular Gallifreyan that the Doctor preferred. “What’s it say?”

The Doctor ran his thumb over the surface of it. “It’s Old High Gallifreyan. It’s the mark of the Lost House of Gallifrey.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “It’s my mother’s gift to you. It’ll afford you a certain measure of protection among the Time Lords.”

“Lost House?”

“Time Lord society was founded by the original three: Rassilon, Omega, and a Time Lord known only as the Other. Omega was killed while bringing the Time Lords out of the Dark Times, so Rassilon co-ruled with the Other. Well, Lord President Rassilon was power hungry - still is truth be told - and didn’t want to share power for very long. The Other knew a plot was afoot to kill him, and so he threw himself into the looms. Afterward, Rassilon had the Other’s true name stripped from the records. Now it’s lost to time. His House, however, was powerful.” The Doctor held up the charm. “Powerful enough to raise empires and destroy gods...or give safeguard to one of its claimed members. That’s why my mother wanted you to have it. You’ll be under the shield of one of the most ancient founding Houses.”

“Is that, erm, Longbarrow?”

“Lungbarrow, but no. That’s my father’s House. My mother is one of the last descendants of the Lost House of Gallifrey. The name of the house is as lost as its founder’s.”

“If there aren’t any people left, except a very few, how does that keep me safe?”

“Old High Gallifreyan, even in its written form, holds a power of its own. You are protected, Rose.”

The Doctor found a length of twine in his jacket and used it to attach the charm to Rose’s wrist. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. “Come, we should move the TARDIS to our quarters, and get ourselves settled. And then I believe we had some unfinished business.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her to make her laugh.

Rose rolled her eyes at the Doctor, but couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face as he escorted her from the room.

--

Rassilon strode into his private Council Chamber with a scowl. “That idiot had the nerve to bring a human here and bond with her. If his house hadn’t chosen semantectomy years ago, I’d have his name ripped from every record on Gallifrey!”

“Lord President, sir, by all accounts she isn’t fully human.”

Rassilon spun on the Lord Chancellor. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

The smaller man cowered and hung his head. “No, sir. Apologies.”

“And now to hear she’s been claimed as a member of the Lost House. It’s a travesty. She’s unworthy of the status. I want you to have my Guard set up a detail to watch their every move while in the Capitol. I don’t trust any of them.”

“The Doctor and his wife?”

“All of them. That Renegade and the Abomination known as Rose Tyler, but also his brother, mother, and known associates such as Romanadvoratrelundar.”

“But, sir, that is highly irregular! Romanadvoratrelundar is a distinguished former Lady President and the Mother is an esteemed member of the-”

“I can replace you like that.” Rassilon fist met his gauntleted hand. The other man gulped as the Lord President pinned him in place with a glare. “Now, is there a problem?”

“N-no, sir. I’ll have it done straight away.”

“You are dismissed.”

The Lord Chancellor fled the room to do the Lord President’s bidding.

“How dare he!” Rassilon banged his hand on the table and a throat was cleared behind him. He turned to find the General.

“You sent for me, Lord President?”

“Yes. I want you to get rid of the Doctor and his...pet.”

“Get rid of?”

“Find some outpost to send them to. The more dangerous the better.”

The General bowed to his president with a slick grin. “I know just the place, sir.”

[artandteaandstuff-blog]

Can u write a prompt where person A and person B like each other but they are too scared to admit it but then person A discovers they have the power to travel back in time so person A makes a move on person B and it doesn't go well, so person A continues to redo it until they realize that in every situation person B is just shocked but after letting one time play out they are both happy?

I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS OMG. Thank you so much for the wonderful prompt, it gave me so many ideas! 

Also thank you for @irishswanff for your on-point beta duties. I’m blowing many kisses your way

Also, I was so proud of this one, I popped it on FF.NET. So let me know what you think!

Third Time’s a Charm

Captain Hook was not afraid of anything.

He had faced beasts beyond imagination, pierced their scaly grey skin and slimy green tentacles until they’d fallen at his feet. He’d sailed through storms where waves towered to the top of his masts, and spray made it almost impossible to see. He had felt the icy chill of the sea air. He had killed a man. He had killed many men, good and bad. Not many things could turn his stomach after seeing his own severed hand on the deck below him.

Killian Jones, however, was an entirely different matter altogether.

Just ask her out, he told himself. What was the worst that could happen? And isn’t that what modern people did - asked out those who caught their attention? It was much simpler than the ways in his own realm. Usually a lengthy courting would take place. Or, if one was a pirate, a drink and a good old shag in the Captain’s quarters would do it.

But he suspected Emma Swan would want to be treated properly. And she deserved it. God knows, she deserved it. If he had his way, he’d treat her like the princess she was. He wouldn’t mind courting her at all, even if it took months. Years, even. As long as she was his in the end.

But according to a good old book he’d borrowed from the library so named, “How to pick up that chick you really want”, courting wasn’t the style anymore. Dinners were deemed more more appropriate.

According to the book, he’d done everything all wrong. Dinners always came before kissing. Yet, he and Emma had shared a brief but passionate kiss in Neverland when they were trying to save her boy. It was true that he hasn’t instigated the kiss, but he still should have put a stop to it. He should have pushed her away with his hand and hook (gently, of course) and insisted they begin the courting period immediately.

The only thing was, he couldn’t exactly work up the courage to ask Emma out to dinner.

He’d had many chances of course. He saw her all the time, either chasing after some sort of monster with her faithful crew behind her, or on her own, running errands. He often caught her in Granny’s. He’d open the door to the delectable scent of coffee and doughnuts, basking in the wave of warmth the place admitted. But then he’d spot her. She was always sat at the bar with her back to him, her ruby leather jacket stretching around the curves of her body. Her golden hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She’d flip it behind her, so casually, and it would stun him.

And then he’d run for it.

Now, Captain Hook had never run away from anything. Not anything. But Emma Swan could send Killian dancing all the way across Storybrooke.

That was until he’d think of her again. Missing her would come in waves, then stronger, and soon missing her was like a storm he couldn’t best. He’d find himself thinking about her smile, and the curves of her cheeks and the light in her eyes. He’d just want to hold her and protect her.

Not that Swan needed protecting.

One particularly frosty Sunday morning he’d ran all the way back to his ship. He threw himself up the stairs to the deck, collapsing on one of the wooden crates, letting himself deflate. He was sweating, the leather sticking to him. He shredded off his coat and wiped his forehead.

God, she was going to be the death of him.

“Running from the Swan girl again, Captain?”

Killian gave a start, almost falling off his wooden box. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He drew his sword and slashed it in the air. Smee ducked to avoid the fatal blow that would deem him headless.

“You!” he yelled when he saw who it was. “What do you think you’re doing, bloody sneaking up on me?”

“Not sneaking up, Captain, never sneaking up,” said Smee, removing his red hat, mopping his forehead with it. He turned it in his hands. “Just scrubbing the deck, as you asked me to do this morning.”

“Get to it, then!”

“Certainly. But uh… Captain?”

Killian glanced over at his second in command. Smee looked more nervous than usual. Ever since Killian had found a way to turn him back into a human after Gold magicked him into a rat, he’d been more twitchy than ever. Killian noticed he never killed the rats he found on deck anymore. He let them scurry free.

“Think carefully about what you’re going to say.” The warning in his voice was enough to make anyone quiver. He had to admire Smee’s bravery.

“Of course. Yes. Always.” He swallowed and nodded, still twisting that hat in his hands, twisting until it became a deformed lump. “It’s just… I think I may have a way to help you.”

Killian’s gaze snapped to his. “Help me?” he asked, sharply. “How could you possibly help me?”

“With the- with the Swan girl, Captain.”

Killian couldn’t help it, his face flamed. He’d never been particularly careful when it came to Emma, but he hadn’t expected Smee to say anything. Smee should have learned after all those years together that the Captain could do many things and be sure the crew wouldn’t speak of them.

There was only one thing Killian could do now. Deny, deny, deny!

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t need your help.”

“Of course.” Smee ducked his head. “But Captain, I really think this could help.”

Killian sighed. Was Emma really such a hopeless case that his own crew were offering their assistance? As stupid as Smee was, perhaps he did have something that could help. He’d been useful over the years. And he seemed determined that Killian should hear what he had to say.

“Right then,” he sighed. “Out with it.”

Smee drew in a breath, averting his eyes to the wooden deck. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice the book in your cabin. The book about women.” He cowered under the look Killian gave him. “And- and I don’t think it’s very helpful, Captain. But I- I have something that might help. It’s a time pod-”

“A what?”

“A time pod, Captain. I found it in the Dark One’s office.”

“You’ve been in the crocodile’s office?” Killian didn’t think he had it in him. The crocodile was dangerous at the best of times, let alone when people tried to steal his things.

“Aye, Captain. I noticed you haven’t really been yourself, so I just wanted to help you. I knew that the Dark One must have something. And then I found this time pod left out over an open book. The book said it can help you go back in time.”

Killian froze. “Go back in time? How would that help me?”

“You can only go back for a few hours at a time. It works like a magic bean. You throw it and you get a portal, but it doesn’t go away. You pick it back up and you can use it again and again. I just thought-” He paused, colour rising to his cheeks. “You could use it. Court the Swan girl. And if it doesn’t go to plan, or if she doesn’t return your affections…”

“I can go back in time and pretend it never happened,” he murmured.

He’d never have to go through the embarrassment and humiliation of being turned down by her. He could try and if it should fail, he could go back in time and Emma wouldn’t have to know a thing. It was brilliant. Ingenious.

He accepted the time pod from Smee almost gleefully and shoved it in his coat pocket, which he’d left strewn across the deck. He was going to do it. He was going to win the affections of Emma.

After he bathed, of course.

A few hours later he stood outside the door of the Charmings’ residence, smelling as fresh as a daisy. Though he’d washed and combed his hair, it stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck, where he felt the hottest. If he were honest with himself, he felt hot all over.

And his heart. After Milah died, he had to question whether he still had one. But God, how it raced, like it was trying to jump out of his chest. He could feel it in his ears and his neck. The relentless beat filled his head. He wiped his hands on his leather coat but they slipped off as easily as if he’d coated his hands in butter.

Bloody hell, he was a mess.

And she was a Goddess.

He was just about to turn and run again when the door swung open. It was Emma - and it would be, wouldn’t it - eyes widening slightly in surprise. Her eyes were so beautiful, with flecks of green and yellow. He could spend hours gazing into them.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said. “What do you want?”

The indifference in her voice gave him cause to turn around. But he didn’t. He leaned against the doorway, assuming the position of smooth pirate, and looked at her through hooded eyes. The hooded eyes always worked on women. That was, if the leaning hadn’t already entranced them.

“Swan,” he said. “I must say, you look divine.” Did she notice the slight tremble in his voice?

“Hook. Tell me what you want and make it quick. I’m busy.”

That was it. The moment. All he had to do was get the words past his lips, even though his tongue felt thick in his mouth and her perfume was intoxicating him. He had the strange, overwhelming desire to pull her close and kiss her into an oblivion, like he had in Neverland. Or had she kissed him into an oblivion?

Perhaps doing so would have been a smarter move than what he actually did.

“Well, love, I was wondering if you were free - and by free, I mean available - I think that’s what you modern people call it, available, in the sense that you’re doing absolutely nothing and by absolutely nothing, I mean-

Her eyes widened, just a touch, and then she narrowed them. “Just spit it out.”

“I was simply thinking that perhaps, if you are indeed available that perhaps we could spend a night together-”

Her eyebrows flew up. “A night together?”

Oh, shit.

“Not in that sense!” he rushed out. “Though you are very beautiful, very very beautiful and a night with you- well, darling, let’s just say I wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And I have been with plenty of wenches-”

“Wenches?” she asked, voice sharp.

His eyes widened. “Bloody hell. I’m not implying you’re a wench.”

She folded her arms and leant against the doorframe herself so she was inches from him, lips curling into a smirk. Was she mocking him? “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to- I’m trying-”

Just say the words, he screamed at himself. How hard was it? He’d faced krakens and dragons and yet, here he was. Emma Swan had managed to turn him into a stuttering, blushing mess in a matter of seconds, and she hadn’t even done anything.

“Are you trying to ask me out?” Her tone was nonchalant, though her eyes were mysterious and that smirk was still playing around those gorgeous lips of hers.

She was definitely making fun of him. Back when he was a pirate, he would have took her head off for that. Instead, he had to fight the urge to kiss the smirk away.

“No!” he all but shouted. “Yes. Bloody hell. Goodbye.”

He turned and bolted down the stairs, leather coat swishing behind him. He heard her call his name, but he ignored her, jumping down the stairs three at a time.

Only when he was outside, could he breathe again. He gulped in generous amounts of fresh air, thankful for the breeze. It cooled his forehead and his neck. He could think clearly without that flowery smell penetrating his nose and turning his head to mush.

That couldn’t have gone any worse. He couldn’t have messed it up any more than he had. It would have been fine if he’d simply asked her out, and she turned him down. He could live with that. But he’d humiliated himself completely and utterly.

Captain Hook, a name which once struck fear into the hearts of men and women, a bumbling buffoon.

He was on his way back to his ship, red faced and ashamed, when he remembered the time pod. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out. It was bigger than a bean, more like the size of a peach stone, though it was a vibrant red.

What harm could it do, he asked himself. He could throw the pod down, disappear into the past, and try again. No-one would have to know. Not Emma or the rest of the heroes, who would probably try and stop him if they knew what he was about to do. Even he knew messing with time could be dangerous.

But all for a good cause…

Before he could change his mind, Killian threw the pod down onto the ground. A purple whirl appeared in the middle of the dusty pavement, full of stars and light. Here goes it, he thought and jumped down into the darkness.

After the sensation of being pulled through a tight rubber tube, Killian hit the same spot he jumped from, gasping for breath, palms scraping against the concrete. He already knew it was a few hours earlier. The ground was wet from a fresh shower of rain, the scent of mud filling his nose.

The portal disappeared, leaving the pod in its place. Gathering his bearings, Killian jumped to his feet and swiped dust from his leather coat. He was amazed. He wasn’t sure if it would actually work, being property of the crocodile, yet there he was. It must be his lucky day, he thought as he scooped the pod from the pavement and dropped it back into his pocket.

It was time to woo Emma, far more successfully than he’d done a few moments ago.

He climbed up the chipped stairs to Emma’s flat a second time. He was so elated from his journey through time, he didn’t even stop to consider what he was doing. Instead, he rapped his hook against the wood. The door opened almost immediately.

She looked exactly the same as she had a few moments ago, her hair cascading down over the cream jumper she wore. He had to stop himself from leaning in when he caught a whiff of her perfume again.

“Huh, it’s you,” she said. “What do you want?”

He found himself frozen again. Why? Why? What had this woman done to him? Was she some sort of enchantress, able to bewitch him with every movement? No-one had affected him like this, not even Milah, whom he had shared years of his life with.

“Hook?” she asked, raising a perfectly arched brow. “I haven’t got all day.”

“I WISH TO COURT YOU.” He didn’t realise he’d shouted the words until they’d escaped his lips and by that time, it was too late.

With one last panicked look thrown in her direction, he found himself running down the stairs again.

“Hook!” she called. “Hook, wait!”

When he got outside, he didn’t even consider it, he just threw the pod down onto the ground and jumped into the portal. Going back a few more hours wouldn’t do serious harm.

He made his way back to her flat again, but it was her same-age mother, Snow White come Mary Margaret, who answered. She told him that Emma was probably at Granny’s, getting her usual lunch of coffee and grilled cheese, whatever that was. He shuffled under her gaze, which seemed a little too understanding. When she offered to “call” Emma, and pulled a rectangle box-like thing from her pocket, he slowly backed away. When it started beeping rudely, he told her he’d just check Granny’s and if she wasn’t there, he’d call it a day.

As it turned out, she was at Granny’s, though she was just leaving. He caught her in the doorway, holding a paper bag in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“Hook,” she greeted, with a nod of her head.

And then she did something he hadn’t seen in so long. Something that made his heart ache and his stomach flip. She smiled at him. Genuinely smiled at him. God, if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed, he didn’t know what was.

So he took her by her shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft, just like they had been in Nerverland, and her perfume was even stronger when he was this close. He had all of two seconds to bask in the feeling before she pushed him off her.

He expected to see a look of true love (or, more realistically, uncontrollable lust) but instead she looked- she looked-

Well, she looked pissed off, to say the least.

“What the hell was that?” she yelled at him. Her hair whipped around her face, which was lined with anger. He’d never seen her forehead pucker like that.

Without hesitation, he disappeared through the portal.

It continued much like that.

He’d either kiss her, and she’d push him away and shout (in some cases, obscene curses) at him, or he’d try and ask her to dinner, but he’d mess up his words. Sometimes he’d accidentally call her a wench again, or a slag, or another thing which didn’t mean the same in Storybrooke as it did in the Enchanted Forest.

So he knew it was time to come up with a different plan.

He didn’t need to be Killian. He needed to be Hook. Instead of kissing her outright, he needed to make her want to kiss him. And if there was anything he was truly talented at, it was the art of seduction.

The next time he made his way to her flat, he’d stepped into his alter ego. Killian Jones was abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. Killian wouldn’t mess it up for him this time. Hook would prevail.

She was alone that time. The Charmings had taken Henry out to the park for ice cream. He asked Emma if he could come in, because he had something incredibly important to discuss with her. To his utter amazement, she disappeared into her home, leaving the door wide open.

He sauntered into the room.

“So, what's so important you had to come all the way here for?” she asked, as she made her way into the middle of the room. She turned to face him, arms folded.

He closed the door behind him. “I’m not sure you could handle it,” he said slowly, looking at her through his hooded eyes.

She froze. “Huh.”

He took a slow step towards her. “It’s a… delicate situation.” Then another. And another. And another until he was only inches away from her. She didn’t move but became incredibly still, looking up at him. The light cast shadows under her eyelashes. He’d never noticed how incredibly long they were. “I want to talk.”

“Talk?”

“About us.”

“There is no us,” she said at once, but she averted her eyes to the floor.

“Oh Emma,” he began, lowering his voice just right. He found if he could get it at the right octave, it would become as smooth as honey. He’d used it on her at the beanstalk, to see if she’d flirt back with him, as many women have. Of course, she didn’t. But that was then. She didn’t even know him back then. This was now. “You can’t deny that we have a connection.”

“We don’t have-” But her voice faltered. She swallowed. Then, hardly a whisper, “A connection.”

He’d never seen her like that before. Usually she looked him straight in the eyes, feet planted firmly on the floor, arms crossed. But the way she moved her eyes away from his was almost shy. He knew he was treading dangerous water, but he had to know. He had to try.

“Emma,” he murmured. “Darling,” he purred. That made her blush. He’d never seen her blush before, not even when she spoke about being in love that one time. His stomach did that weird flippy thing again. He fought to remain composed. “I admit, I have been quite immoral-”

“A villain.”

“- in the past. But I believe that I can change.”

“I don’t believe you can change.” But her voice was soft, almost pleading.

“Is that why you’re going to let me kiss you?”

“I’m not going to let you kiss me,” she scoffed.

He pressed his lips gently to hers. This time instead of taking her by the shoulders, he took her into his arms, holding her with the softest of touches, as if she might break. She seemed to melt as he kissed her softly, tenderly.

It was everything he imagined it would be and so much more. It was embarrassing how many times he’d imagined this moment, how many times he’d played it over and over in his head. When he brought his hand up to her head, her hair was softer than he’d ever thought it would be. He hadn’t really took in the softness of her hair during their intimate moment in Neverland.

Neverland wasn’t like this. Neverland was passionate and quick. This was slow and sweet.

And the soft noise that she made when he pulled her closer still. God, he could get used to this. He’d never heard anything like that from her before, but he might die if he never heard it again. Yes! God bless Smee and that pod. He’d never say another bad thing about Smee again.

BANG.

The door flew open.

They jumped apart. Killian felt her leave like she’d been ripped from him. Embarrassingly, he reached for her but she was halfway across the room, not looking at him.

David stood in the doorway, his expression murderous.

“PIRATE,” he yelled.

Killian was already pulling the pod from his pocket.

…

“Have you ever been kissed by a pirate before?” Killian asked between feverish kisses.

“No,” Emma murmured against his lips. Her hands were in his hair, her fingers dragged along his head, making him feel like he was losing his mind. “But I thought you were-” Kiss. “-not real-” Kiss. “-a fairytale.”

“I assure you darling, I am very much real. Would you like me to prove it?”

“If you think- Oh God,” she gasped when he gently bit a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been worrying about how he could ask her out and yet there she was, liquefying in his arms as he’d imagined so many times. He only dreamed he could have this effect on her. Yet, she seemed to respond to his every touch. It was a bloody miracle.

They shifted so they were lying down on the sofa, her hands still in his hair.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“Kiss now, talk later,” she rushed out. He pressed a kiss to her throat. He could do that forever; press kisses to her skin and wait for her to respond to them. It was the most glorious-

BANG.

“PIRATE.”

…

Killian knocked on the door a little too desperately and breathlessly, but God, he needed to get back to that place where she was under him and she was whispering things he never thought he’d hear her whisper.

“Hook?” she asked, when she opened the door.

“Use my God-given name.”

The look on her face was enough to find that pod again.

“This is just- it’s, uh-” He chuckled nervously, shaking his head. “I apologise for my stunted words, it’s just that I’ve never… done this before.” That much was true. He’d never asked Milah out. She’d practically begged him to come away on his ship.

He scratched the back of his head. “I just think you’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I have never been so entranced in all my life. I am unaware of what spell you’ve cast over me, but I’m not sure I want it to end. I know that perhaps this may seem all too sudden, which is why I propose we go slow. I shall go at your pace. You cannot deny that we have a connection.”

Silence.

“Come on, love. It’s bad form to make a man wait like this. Please. Say something.”

David stepped into view, wearing a very confused expression on his face.

“I’m, uh, sorry Hook, but I’m a married man! And you’re- well, a pirate.”

Bloody hell.

The next time Killian made sure that he wouldn’t run into David. He avoided him at all costs. He actually liked his head where it was, and he wouldn’t be surprised if David took it clean off. Thank God for the pod, he thought as he skipped back up the stairs to Emma’s apartment. At least David wouldn’t remember their conversations, even if Killian knew he’d never forget them.

But he didn’t run into David. Or Emma, for that matter.

It was Mary Margaret who answered. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, and it was so like Emma, he felt his heart pick up at the image. Or perhaps his heart was picking up because he knew she wasn’t too taken with him.

Alas, he couldn’t blame her. He was still struggling the whole villain-hero thing. Perhaps there was a group for that.

“Emma’s not here,” she said, with a small smile.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. I see.” He nodded.

“Why do I feel like we’ve done this before?” she asked with a thoughtful head tilt.

“We haven’t!” he said too quickly.

The time pod felt heavy in his pocket. He expected it to jump out and reveal him. Magic had always seemed alive somehow, like it had a mind of its own. Afterall, didn’t magic always come with a price? He wondered what his price was.

“Should I give her a message for you?”

“No, love. I suppose I’ll just find her.” He scratched behind his head. “Thank you anyway.”

He turned, his coat flapping behind him in the self-made breeze. He’d only just reached the top of the stairs when-

“Keep trying, Hook.”

He turned, forehead crinkling. “Sorry, what?”

“With Emma,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “She’s not the type of person to kiss someone on a whim. Not someone she knows, at least. I think… something’s there. I’m not sure what, but there’s something. Between both of you, I mean.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking-”

“Oh, I think you do,” she said, with a sparkle in her eyes. “And… you’re not a villain anymore. Are you?”

“I-” He looked away, abashed. “I suppose I-” He shakes his head. “I’ve always been a Pirate.”

“We’ll see.”

Without any further explanation or comment, she closed the door. Hook was left to stand there, looking around, not really sure he believed his ears. Was this because he saved the prince’s life? Perhaps being a hero really did have it’s perks.  

He found Emma stood outside Granny’s, a coffee in her gloved hands. She looked as beautiful as ever, with her hair rippling gently in the breeze. Her leather jacket was zipped up to her throat. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and surveyed the street around her with a calculating expression. His heart fluttered in his chest.

This time, he knew what he was going to say to her.

He was going to be honest with her. And if she said no, he was going to tell her he would fight for her. Until his dying breath.

He started walking towards her.

Henry got there first. She smiled and draped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Killian would have kept walking -afterall, he liked the boy- if it wasn’t for Baelfire. He seemed to come out of nowhere, walking straight for Emma. Her face lit up when she saw him.

The expression, which would have usually made him smile, pierced him. It was like he’d had the breath knocked out of him.

It was all too like that damn cave in Neverland. He had felt happy that Baelfire wasn’t dead. After what happened between them when he was a boy, he couldn’t deny he owed him something. Anything. And yet…

And yet, the selfish part of him ached to see his return. The way his arms curled around Emma in that cave, how he held her close and how she hugged him like she’d never be able to breathe if she let go. She had never held Killian like that.

Hell, she hadn’t even held Killian. She’d never smiled at him like she smiled at Baelfire. Watching them walk off together, he knew where her true affections laid.

Feeling ashamed, he drew the pod from his pocket. He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment. It was almost like he could feel its heart ticking away. Or was that his? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the pod was dangerous. It had to go.

With a heavy sigh, he threw it into the pavement. He watched as it bounced and rolled, eventually tumbling down the drain.

There. Now he would never be tempted to go after Emma again. He’d never be tempted to get back into that cycle of asking her to be his over and over and over. Not when he knew she was happy elsewhere.

Perhaps that was the price. Perhaps it was for the best.

Shaking his head, he turned around and headed back to his ship.

It wasn’t until years later, after the time portal, after Camelot and after the Underworld, when Emma was lying so soft and sweet in his arms, that Killian recounted the time pod and his antics to win her affections. He stroked his fingertips down her back, murmuring into her hair that when he saw her with Neal, he just ran.

He would never be worthy.

Of course, Emma told him that he was stupid. Of course he was worthy. Look at everything he’d done for her! Look at everything she’d done for him. They were worthy of each other. He’d suspected she’d say that.

But what he didn’t expect was her telling him that if he asked her out to dinner, as he’d planned, simple and plain, she would have said yes. She might have cancelled a few times, screamed at herself that he was a Pirate, but she would have said yes. Because deep in her heart of hearts, she knew.

Satisfied with that answer, Killian pulled her close.