#sometimes you need to dig into trauma from eight years ago by making it into a song to really move on

[elliotremastered]

This is The Razor, an original track I made to represent a lot of feelings I have regarding my failed suicide attempt. It was really cathartic to make. played with some interesting ideas with the composition, generally felt like I did a decent job with mixing it, and I'm ultimately just glad it turned out decently.

[writingblock101]

Are You Fucking Kidding Me? (Jason Todd x Reader)

What is a short Jason Todd fic? I don’t know her, so I broke this into two parts, again. Also, you can pry italics from my cold, dead hands. I had so much fun writing this, I really enjoy this debate. After this, I have a Harley Quinn!daughter request to write, so keep an eye out for that one. 

Summary: As an ER nurse, you deal with a lot of shit, but Red Hood is not one of those things. 

Warnings: Injuries are mentioned? It’s not very gory, this is very dialog heavy 

Word Count: 4,000

You’ve seen a lot of shit working as a nurse in the emergency room. Last week, an eight-year-old who still wore pulls ups came in, despite being physically and mentally capable of learning how to use a toilet at an earlier age. Three nights ago, you watched a mother hug her teenage son and sob with relief after the doctor stitched his wrists up after a suicide attempt.  Yesterday, you performed CPR on a three-week-old only for the infant to die. Some nights were better than others. 

Then the Red Hood shows up in Gotham. 

He’s fighting crime, you guess, but geez, is killing people really necessary? You might understand if it was someone like Joker or a serial killer or something, but this guy isn’t even going after the masked psychopaths that run around Gotham. He’s going after drug dealers. And not just throwing them in prison, no, he’s murdering them. 

Seriously? Gotham is practically a superheroes’ playground, but this guy, this Red Hood is running around murdering drug dealers? Yeah, you understand what they’re doing is illegal, but come on, rape is also illegal and you don’t see rapists showing up dead on the news. Instead, you see some dude who was selling crack on the corner, dead. 

And yeah, you might be slightly biased against using death to solve problems as someone who entered a field dedicated to saving lives, but this Red Hood dude? He’s kind of an idiot. 

. . . 

After a twelve-hour shift ending at 6 AM, you head to your apartment, hoping to relax, but that plan is promptly thrown out the door when you open your apartment door to see no one other than the Red Hood sitting on your couch, pointing a gun at you, and holding his side. 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

“Shut the door,” He orders quietly, his voice sounding just as gravely and deep as you figured it would. 

You sigh, flick the lights on, and shut the door. 

“Pretty convenient for you to break into a nurse’s apartment when you’re bleeding out,” You state boredly, setting your things on the counter. “I have a feeling that wasn’t luck.” 

“You’re going to help me,” He threatens, cocking the gun. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me and bleed out on my couch? Stellar plan.” 

He slowly lowers his gun, probably hoping for more fear to be struck in your heart as opposed to sass. 

“Will you please help me?” He asks quietly. 

You huff to yourself and shake your head. Unbelievable. But, you go to your bedroom and dig out the trauma kit gifted to you by your sister’s military medic husband. Stupid murdering criminal or not, he’s trying to do some good in the city, you guess, so you’re not going to let this dumbass bleed out on your couch.

“Scoot over,” You command as you walk back into the living room then sit down next to Red Hood and snap on a pair of gloves. 

He shifts and removes his hand, letting you look at the deep stab wound which is oozing yellowish discharge and has scabbing gathered around the edges. It seems to be an old wound that got infected then reopened. A ripped Kevlar vest is discarded on the couch. How the fuck? 

“I wasn’t going to shoot you,” He mutters. 

“Really?” You retort sarcastically, digging for disinfectant in your bag. “You know, I was always taught that you only point a gun at someone you have the intention of shooting,” You glare at him, but he looks away sheepishly. 

“It was supposed to be extra motivation. It’s hard to tell who hates me and I’m kind of desperate.” 

“I wonder why," You mutter sarcastically.

You grab a pair of scissors from your bag and cut a bigger hole in his shirt to expose more of the wound then begin cleaning out the infection.  

“I’m guessing you’re not my biggest fan.” 

“Wow, you’d really give Batman a run for his money with that whole “world’s greatest detective” status,” You remark dryly. 

“Well, do I even get to hear your gripes against me?” 

You sit up and stare at him. 

“Why bother asking? I know you don’t give a shit,” You continue cleaning the wound, your teeth grinding against each other. 

He shrugs. 

“Yeah, not really,” Red Hood admits. “But you’re keeping me from dying so I could at least listen.” 

“How the hell did you do this?” You demand, ignoring his last question. “It looks like you got stabbed, but you were wearing Kevlar. Who gets stabbed in a gunfight?” 

“Someone that isn’t expecting the other guy to be carrying a knife sharp enough to cut through Kevlar,” He snaps. 

“It’s almost like people have started picking up on your M.O. and are arming themselves,” You roll your eyes. “Crazy.” 

“Seriously, what is your issue with me?!” 

You pause to put away the disinfectant and pull out a suture kit, but before you thread the needle, you stop to look Red Hood in the eye through his stupid helmet. 

“I’m in a field dedicated to saving lives. What do you think my issue with you is?” 

He scoffs. 

“Great, another person with the morals of Batman. Should I also toss down some pillows before they hit the ground? They’re drug-dealing pimps!” 

“Yeah, they’re pieces of shit, but out of all the shitbags in this city, you’ve decided that drug dealers are the ones worth killing?! I’d understand having them arrested, but murder? It’s overkill,” You grumble, beginning to stitch up his side.  

“You underestimate how much of the crime in Gotham is controlled by the drug trade.” 

You roll your eyes again. 

“Yeah, maybe I do, but who died and gave you the power to be the judge, jury, and executioner?”

“I’m cleaning up Gotham! I’m doing what Batman won’t do!” 

“Have you ever considered that the ideas of good and evil are subjective?” You snap. “It’s not always so black and white. Sometimes people make mistakes or get desperate and they’re scared. They think this is their only out and they’re too wrapped up in their own lives to consider the consequences. They don’t deserve to die! Send them to prison!” 

“You haven’t seen the type of evil that plagues Gotham,” Red Hood responds darkly. 

“Oh bullshit! I see the worst side of humanity every fucking night! Three hours ago, I helped a doctor stitch up a two-year-olds head because her mom’s shitty boyfriend grabbed her by the legs and slammed her into a wall because she was crying. Even I know that this shit isn’t black and white.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, send them to prison, then five months later they’re walking the streets again, doing the same shit! People don’t change.” 

“You don’t give them the chance to change.” 

“They’ve already proven they don’t deserve that chance!” 

“For dealing drugs? Come on, you gotta see that killing them is kind of extreme!” 

“I don’t.” 

You groan, shaking your head. 

“This is why I didn’t even want to bother to have this conversation. I know I’m not going to change your mind.” 

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m going after drug dealers right now to get someone else’s attention.” 

“So, what about all these people you’re killing to “get someone’s attention”? What are they? Means to an end?” 

“I don’t see one less drug-dealing pimp on the street being a bad thing.” 

“I don’t see one more drug-dealing pimp in prison being a bad thing. You murdered five people last night--”

Red Hood scoffs. 

“That they know about.” 

You roll your eyes and tie off the last stitch then prepare the bandages to cover the fresh stitches. 

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” You growl, wrapping up his side with gauze and tape. “You murdered five people, all under the age of twenty-two last night.”

“Your point?” 

“My point is they’re stupid kids who don’t deserve to die!” You snap. “They’re young and stupid and unaware! Let them go to prison! They don’t deserve to die!” 

“Like I said, all of this is to take out someone bigger.” 

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow. “And who’s this “bigger” person?” 

“You’ll see soon enough, and you’ll thank me,” He hisses. 

“Right,” You nod, placing the last piece of tape. “I’m sure I will.” 

As you pack up your supplies and gather any bloodied material, you walk Red Hood through the aftercare for his stitches. 

“Keep them covered for forty-eight hours and try not to reopen them. You really don’t want to stretch the skin too much. Don’t shower for twenty-four hours, then you can start washing them with soap and water. Rest and laying down will help with pain and swelling,” You glance over at him, slowly nodding along with what you’re saying. “If it gets infected again… Go to the hospital or something.”

Red Hood nods then slowly stands up, carefully puts his jacket on, and heads to your window. He slides the window open and rests a foot on your window sill. 

“Hey!” You protest. “What did I just say about not stretching the skin?!” 

“I don’t think your neighbors would be pleased to see me roaming the hallways,” He remarks dryly. “Besides, I don’t need some drug lord to know I have a loose end in this apartment complex.”

“Whatever,” You groan.

Rip your stitches out, see if I care, dumbass. 

“Thanks for the stitches,” He fully steps out the window then pauses and pops his head back inside. “Oh, and those five dudes you saw on the news? The ones under twenty-two or whatever? Yeah, they were dealing to twelve-year-olds,” Then he disappears with the last word. 

Twelve-year-olds? Even you will admit, that’s pretty despicable, but still. 

“Good riddance,” You mutter to yourself, going back to your bedroom for a shower. 

Red Hood is an asshole. 

. . .

Two weeks passed and as you hoped and expected, you didn’t open your apartment door to a gun being pointed at you. You figured that night was the last night you’d see the Red Hood unless he was on the news, and you were very content with that. While the news of killing the dealers who dealt to kids was surprising and slightly admirable, you had no desire to see him again. 

So, you can imagine your annoyance when you open your apartment door to see a familiar figure sitting on your couch. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You groan. “What, no gun this time?” 

Red Hood chuckles. 

“Well, I would just because, but I don’t have the means to hold my arms up right now.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you drop your stuff on the counter before walking over to him. 

“What the hell did you do this time?” 

“I uh… Dislocated one shoulder, which I would put back in place myself, but my other elbow and wrist are broken, so I kind of… can’t.” 

“Uh-huh…” You say slowly then eye his leather jacket, hiding his arms and shoulders. “Hopefully we don’t need to cut this off, because I’m not sure I have scissors strong enough to get through leather on hand.” 

“You better not cut my fucking jacket,” He grumbles. 

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before dislocating your shoulder and breaking your elbow and wrist!”

“Right, because I definitely left my apartment thinking you know what would be fun tonight? Getting my ass kicked!” Red Hood retorts sarcastically. 

“Who did you lose to?” 

“Nobody,” He snaps. 

“Really? Because this doesn’t look like a victory to me,” You gesture at his arms. 

“The other guys look worse,” He responds smugly. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure they do,” You mutter digging two splints, tape, and gauze out of your expansive first aid kit. “You bleeding anywhere?” You ask, sitting down on the couch next to him. 

“Not this time,” He grumbles. 

“How are your stitches healing?” You ask, unraveling the gauze. 

“Fine.” 

“Alright, let’s try to get your jacket off,” You focus on his right arm first, the one with the dislocated shoulder, and carefully push the jacket off his arm. 

He winces, barely audible, but you manage to get the jacket off his right arm. 

“Now this side will be fun,” You groan, moving over to Red Hood’s left side. 

You easily pull his jacket off his left shoulder, but once you reach the elbow, the jacket gets stuck. Understandably, his elbow has swelled so pushing the jacket down isn’t an option. 

“You really don’t want me to cut this?” You ask, frowning at the leather. 

“If it’s avoidable,” He responds in a pained voice. 

Although he’s been fairly quiet, you know he’s in a lot of pain. 

“Okay,” You sigh, thinking over your options. “Well, we’re not going to be able to push it off. Your elbow is too swollen… But, I could grab the cuff and carefully pull it off. It’s going to hurt really bad though--”

“Do you think you could get it in one yank?” 

“Um… Maybe? But that might mess your elb--”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to sit here for twenty minutes while you try to be gentle. Just yank the damn thing off.” 

“...Okay,” You blink. “Um… let’s see… How much can you straighten your arm?” 

He pulls his arm out at a slightly awkward angle.

“That’s the best I got,” He says through gritted teeth. “And I can’t hold it for long.” 

“Right,” You quickly stand up to get the best leverage, then grab the cuff with both hands. “Okay, ready?” Then you yank as hard as you can and the jacket comes off. 

Red Hood yells then doubles over in pain, his head against your coffee table. He continues cursing, banging on the table before finally sitting up, breathing heavily through his helmet. 

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about it hurting.” 

“Yeah,” You nod. “But it’s off and your jacket isn’t cut, so the next question is what do you want to be done first-- your arm splinted or for me to relocate your shoulder?” 

He groans. 

“Wow, they both sound like so much fun.” 

“Splinting probably won’t be that bad after pulling the jacket off,” You note. “I found an old wrist brace in my stuff so I’ll use that on your wrist then the splint for your elbow.” 

He nods along, probably still recovering from the force it took for you to yank his jacket off so you start splinting his elbow and wrist. 

“You’re actually going to have to rest,” You tell him, finishing up the tight wrappings. “Broken bones are no joke, you’re actually going to have to rest if you want to heal.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” He grumbles. 

You move to his shoulder and maneuver his arm into place. 

“Alright, you ready?” 

He nods. 

“Okay, I’m going to count to three. One, two--” Then you shift his shoulder into place, rolling the ball back into his socket. 

“Shit!” Red Hood doubles over. “I thought you were going to count to three!” 

“It’s a trick for putting stuff back in place,” You explain, putting away any extra supplies. “If I had put your shoulder back when I said I was going to, your body would tense up in preparation and make it harder to put it back.” 

“Right,” He grumbles, rolling his shoulder then stands up to leave. “Thanks for the help.” 

“Wait,” You call to him as he reaches the window. “Why did you wait so long to tell me that the dealers you killed were dealing to kids?” 

He shrugs with one shoulder.

“Does it really matter to you?” 

“Kind of! I’m not on board with killing people,” You remind him. “But at least it makes slightly more sense.” 

“I don’t go around justifying myself to people. You rather agree or get the hell out of my way.” 

“What a motto,” You roll your eyes. “Do you kill everyone you don’t agree with?” 

“You’re still alive,” He points out. 

“How reassuring. What, do you have only child syndrome or something?”

“Stop trying to guess shit about me, you suck at it,” He snaps. “See you next time, doc.'' 

“I guess I don’t get any say in that matter, do I?” 

“As long as I’m the one holding the gun, nope,” He winks, stepping out of your window. 

“Guess I’ll just have to invest in a gun then,” You retort. 

Red Hood snorts and fully steps onto the fire escape outside your window. 

“You won’t shoot me.” 

“You don’t know that!” You protest. 

“Yeah, I do,” Then he hops off the railing, already ignoring your advice to rest his injuries. 

“I might,” You mutter to yourself. “Go break your arms again, see if I give a fuck,” You mumble angrily, walking to your bedroom. 

Red Hood still an asshole. 

. . . 

Two months later, you open your apartment door to be greeted by a familiar gun. You sigh, locking the door behind you. 

“I thought we moved past the whole “threatening me with a gun” thing?” You roll your eyes. 

“Last time doesn’t count,” Red Hood reasons through a pained voice. You notice he’s laying down this time instead of sitting up. “I couldn’t hold up a gun.” 

“What did you do this time?” You ask boredly. 

“Got blown up,” He responds casually. “I think I got some stuff stuck in my chest.” 

“If you stain my couch, being blown up won’t be your biggest problem tonight,” You growl at him. 

“Love it when you threaten me,” Red Hood remarks with an eye roll. 

“Shut up,” You mutter, grabbing your trauma kit. “I don’t know how I became your personal “doc in the box”,” You grumble, sitting down next to him. 

“Because you keep helping me.” 

“I don’t know why I keep doing that either.” 

“Probably morals or some shit.” 

“How ironic of me,” You remark. 

Red rolls his eyes. 

“I have morals.” 

“Would’ve fooled me,” You retort, looking over the shrapnel lodged in his chest. 

“Last time I talked to you, you seemed impressed I actually killed people doing really shitty things.” 

“I know every drug dealer you kill isn’t dealing to kids. It doesn’t cancel each other out.” 

“They all have the potential to,” He points out. 

“Yeah, and every person has the potential to be a serial killer, but you don’t see me going around murdering every person I can find,” You snap on a pair of gloves then use a pair of tweezers to begin picking out shrapnel. 

“No, but you certainly wouldn’t let the ones holding a knife to people’s throats go free.”

You clench your jaw, already annoyed. 

“Who tried to blow you up?” 

“Batman.” 

“Nice,” You nod. “And somehow, you still think you’re in the right.” 

“You don’t know shit about Batman or the things he’s done.” 

“You sound like every other masked psychopath in this city with a vendetta against Batman.” 

Red snatches your wrist, squeezing tightly. 

“I am nothing like them,” He growls out. 

“Really?” You ask, unphased by his grip on you. “And what makes you different?” 

“I’m being what Gotham needs.” 

“That’s a pretty subjective answer, if you ask me. You don’t think someone like Two-Face at one point thought he was being what Gotham needed? Or what about Catwoman and Poison Ivy? They seem to be a lot like you.” 

“The villains that run around Gotham, they don’t fear Batman,” Red releases your wrist. “You wanna know why? Because they know he won’t kill them. But they’re scared of me because they’ll know I’ll finish the job. Gotham doesn’t need justice. She can’t even carry out justice. She needs an iron fist, vengeance.” 

“Gotham needs a lot of things, someone else going around killing people is not one of those things,” You mutter, dropping the last piece of shrapnel on a paper towel you laid out. 

“You’re right, we don’t need anyone else going around killing innocent people, so it’s a good thing I’m not killing innocent people.” 

“So, what happens when that line becomes blurred?” You ask, sitting up for a moment to look at Red Hood. “What happens when your judgment becomes clouded and it turns out the people you thought were evil aren’t actually evil? What happens when you start killing innocent people?” 

“I won’t let it get to that point.” 

“Nobody thinks it’ll get to that point,” You point out, beginning to clean out the cuts. 

“Yeah, well, I have certain… past experiences that set me apart.” 

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows. “And what’s your tragic backstory that sets you apart?”

“None of your business,” He snaps. “And also not what I am referring too. Didn’t anyone tell you about what happens when you make assumptions?” 

You roll your eyes then grab a pair of scissors and cut a small section of Red Hood’s shirt only to be met with the strangest thing you’ve ever seen in all your years of practicing medicine.

“Is this…” You stare at the scar longer, just to be sure. “Is this an autopsy scar?!” 

“Don’t worry about it,” He brushes you off quickly. 

“Holy fuck it totally is,” You curse. “Who are you?!” 

“You know, the whole point of the helmet is for you to not know the answer to that.” 

“You literally have an autopsy scar! And you’re not going to give me any explanation for that?” 

“Nope. It’s none of your business, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” You growl. 

“Then stay out of my business.” 

“You brought your business to my apartment when you broke in and threatened me with a gun!” 

“And?” 

“What do you mean “and”?!” 

“And none of what you just said makes me obligated to tell you shit!” 

“I’ve kept you from dying, multiple times!” 

“So? You’re not the only one.” 

“Are you fucking serious?! Dude, you have an autopsy scar! Do you know what that means?!” 

“I would love to hear your thoughts.”

“You rather got tortured by someone who is seriously twisted, or you straight up died and were dead long enough for an autopsy to be performed and are now somehow alive.” 

He pauses then slowly nods. 

“Yeah, that actually just about sums up what happened.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both.”

“...What?!” 

“I gave you an explanation! Can you just finish?!” 

“None of your explanation makes sense! How are you alive?!”  

“I don’t know!” He snaps. “And I’ve had a shitty night so I’d really like to leave so can you please finish?!” His voice cracks on the last word. 

You frown but know you’re not getting any further explanation. Instead, you finish stitching Red up without another word. He stands up and carefully puts his jacket back on and walks toward the window. Before opening it, he stops and glances back at you. 

“I’m… I’m not fully sure how I am alive. All I know is I woke up in my coffin. I died a few years back and a lot of shit happened and now I’m here, for better or for worse.” 

You stare at him for a moment then frown. 

“Are you… okay? Not physically, but mentally?” 

He chuckles humorlessly. 

“Not really. Dying kind of fucks you up. Coming here is fun though. You don’t take any of my shit and it… It makes me feel like myself again. Thanks for the stitches, Doc,” Then he opens the window and disappears into the night. 

You stare dumbfounded at the window. Red Hood is still an asshole, but he just got a whole lot more complicated.

Part two is soon! Wow, I went from never writing multiple parts to needing to split them up because I really love writing for Jason. I’ve also been so blown away by all the love I’ve received on White Flag. Thank you guys so much! 

Part 2

[oneyanderegirl]

Parenthood

Genre: One-shot, Fluff, Romance Rating: T+ Sasuhina Month 2020 Theme: Day 10 (Parenthood) 

A/N: I am super behind lol. Didn’t really like the way I ended this one, but oh wells. Anyways, this is part of my one-shot series for Sasuhina Month 2020. Hope you all enjoy! 

@sasuhinamonth (in case this doesn’t show up in the tags) 

Hinata stared at the ceiling.

The ceiling was blank of course, but still, she had decided it would have been better to look at one particular spot rather than let her mind run all over the place trying to look at the whole ceiling. There was nothing to look at though. It had always been plain and white, save for the black lamplight that hung down in the middle of the room. She could hear the wind rustling outside her window. The cool breeze felt nice on her skin, though it didn’t seem to help keep the heat away from it. She felt sweaty despite the night being cold. Perhaps she should have dressed a bit cooler, even if she was already wearing a t-shirt and light pants.

“ You’re not breathing again.”

His voice, though calm and a bit stoic, held a teasing hint that was directed at her.  

“ S-sorry.”

He was too close to her.

His breath smelled of mint, though that shouldn’t have been a surprise to her, he had just brushed his teeth after all. She could feel his hair tickle just the edge of her neck. Perhaps she should have offered to give him a trim earlier that day. But perhaps the most daunting thing of all was his scent. Because he was so close to her, she could smell the hints of ash and thunder that seemed to overpower everything else in the room.

And that made Hinata extremely nervous.

“ Hinata,”

She was always surprised when he would call her by name. It felt smooth like silk hearing the way he would say her name. It made her heart flutter loudly, perhaps too loudly. She wondered if he could hear it right now.

“ Y-yes?”

Hinata wanted to hide.

She wanted to hide under the bedsheets away from the world. Of course that wouldn’t have helped. Her cheeks were bright red. It would probably shine through the bedsheets even if she covered herself in a hundred blankets. Even if she could, he would have been able to dig through all of them easily.

She felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

He was lying next to her after all.

“ How long have we been together now?”

“ Almost two years,”

The bed creaked as she could feel his movements through the sheets.

“ We’ve been together for almost two years now, so why are you still so nervous?”

Dark eyes met her pale ones.

Black hair, black eyes, and pale skin. That was how she would describe Sasuke Uchiha. There was no question why he was the most sought after boy during their genin days. Though she had been much too busy crushing on Naruto at the time, Hinata wondered how she had never noticed him before.  

They had been in a relationship for two years now. Though their relationship was by no means normal compared to others, it was perfect in her eyes. He was the only one who understood her in a way that her family and friends could not. The world in which he saw was different from hers. His thoughts, viewpoints, and opinions were different from most people due to the experience and trauma he had gone through. He was strong. He was stronger than anyone she knew. In her eyes, he was stronger than even Naruto. Despite everything that he had gone through, he had survived. Not only had he survived, he had grown and matured into someone completely different from the boy he was four years ago.

Sometimes, she wondered if he really was human.

But now, they were staring into each other’s eyes while sharing the same bed. The same dark eyes that held apathy long ago now looked at her with a gentle warmth. It was subtle, but she knew it was there. He only ever showed this side towards her.

And that was why she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

He was too handsome.

He was too gentle.

He was too close.

“ Nervous,” was all Hinata had managed to mutter out before turning her head away from his. She couldn’t look him in the eye right now.

It was their first time spending the night together.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t before, but the reason had always been because of their missions. Though they never shared a bed, they slept next to each other several times during missions.

But this wasn’t a mission.

This was their first time spending the night together as lovers.

Not only that, this was also their first night living together.

It still surprised her that her father had approved of this. She may not have been the heiress anymore, but she was still a member of the Hyuga. She was still the firstborn to the Clan Head. Hinata could never tell what her father was thinking.

She remembered when their relationship was first discovered. There had been disapproval from all sides of her life. The most coming from the clan itself. They had called him the Devil, saying it would bring omen to the clan if their relationship was not severed. Being with a member of the Uchiha was seen as a sin by them. They were the Hyuga’s biggest rivals, a rivalry that still lasted to this day despite there only being one member alive. Though she didn’t care for their approval, Hinata still held some respect for her father. He may have been strict and harsh with her, but he was still her father. Thus, she wanted at least for him to approve of their relationship.

He did not to no surprise.

But he did not try to force Hinata to break up with him. He had allowed her to pursue him despite the disapproval from the clan. Or rather, he did not interfere with them.

Until they had brought up moving in together.

“ Look at me.”

She looked at him once more.

His fingers ran through her hair. She could feel the heat that lingered on even after he had stopped. Afterwards, Sasuke laid his head next to hers.

“ I’m nervous too you know,”

This caused Hinata to laugh.

“ You’re the one who asked father to marry me!”  

Now it was Sasuke’s turn to blush.  

Marriage.

Her father had been against the idea of her moving out with Sasuke. An unmarried woman living alone with a man was not something the Hyuga would have normally approved of. It was seen as a scandal by the elders. It was only until Sasuke had brought up marriage did they finally approve of it.

However, in truth, Hinata had never thought about getting married. It wasn’t that she did not want to, rather it just had never crossed her mind. After all, their relationship was a strange one.

“ Do you really want to marry me?”  She suddenly asked.

Sasuke looked at her with a serious expression.

“ Yes, I do. I was serious when I proposed this to your father. I never thought of being with anyone else. I want to be with you and start a family with you. Maybe not now, but once we’re ready, I would like to. ”

She looked at him, letting their eyes meet. It surprised her that he had even thought about furthering along their relationship. From the time she had met him until now, Hinata had never expected anything from him. She had been the one to seek him out for reasons of her own. Yet, now it seemed that he was the one pursuing her.

Hinata couldn’t help but smile.

“ I do too.” She finally said.

She stretched her hand out onto the bed, indicating that she wanted him to hold it. The warmth of his hand felt nice on hers. It made her feel calm and at peace. Without needing any words, they both knew this was the best way for them to sleep tonight. After all, it was their first night together. They had plenty of time to get more intimate with each other.

“ Do you think I would be a good father?”

Hinata looked at him in surprise. It seemed that they both had heads full of random thoughts tonight.

“ I do.”

There was no hesitation in her voice. She didn’t need to question it. Sasuke was a unique person. He had experienced a lot for a person his age, more so than any others their age, and he had survived. He had grown over time into someone who was admirable, despite the rumors that the villagers still whispered when he passed by. He was strong, intelligent, and held a subtle kindness that most people did not see. It was why she had fallen in love with him.  

She could hear him sigh in relief.

“ Let’s sleep now.” He said.

She nodded in response. Though she was still nervous, Hinata felt a lot more relaxed after that conversation. Perhaps she would be able to sleep tonight after all. But as she felt her breathing slow down and her eyelids droop, she couldn’t help but ask him one more question.

“ By the way, Sasuke-kun?”

“ Yes?”

“ How many children would you want to have? If we did...start a family?”  She timidly asked.

Sasuke smirked at her.

“ About eight or nine,”

Hinata’s eyes widened as the blush on her cheeks returned in full red.

“ Eight or nine?! I-I’m n-not a pig you know!”

“ I know.”

Sasuke gave her a teasing look. She knew he was teasing her, but that didn’t stop her embarrassment.

“ H-how would we even t-take care of that many c-children?”

She could see the smirk on his face grow wider. Suddenly, he scooted closer to her until she could feel his lips gently kiss her forehead before bending his head to face hers. They were only a few inches apart now. His scent completely took over her senses. His dark eyes felt seductive as they stared into her innocent pale ones. It felt as if she couldn’t breathe again.

He really was much too handsome for his own good.

“ You’re not denying me. So you’re okay if we do make that many children?”

She felt her whole body turn red. Sasuke let out a chuckle.

“ Good night, Hinata.” He whispered before he finally fell asleep.

Hinata was left wide awake in embarrassment as her mind started to imagine many things. After quite some time, she let out a prolonged sigh. Really, he enjoyed teasing her a bit too much sometimes. If only she hadn’t asked him that question. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of starting a family with him.

After all, she couldn’t think of anyone else she would rather be with either.

[sojourner-between-worlds]

7223 Miles

Fandom: Alex Rider/Hawaii Five-0

Summary: Alex never asked for anything, so how could Steve say no? OR Tom comes to visit, and Steve gets a glimpse of how it was before it all came crashing down.

A/N: For @just-add-butter who demanded some Tom content (well, okay, I was already planning on it anyway, BUT...lol). I hope this meets your expectations, haha. ~Partly inspired by That Chapter of Nightshade, in which AH showed us just how down Tom is for general mayhem and shenanigans.~

. . . . .

Alex never asked for anything.

In the beginning it was all Steve could do to get the kid to say when he needed something because he would never admit to it. Even when prompted, Alex hmm’d and haw’d around it and when he would finally relent, he always somehow seemed ashamed. It had irked Steve to no end, but then Lou had pointed out that, between the time spent with agencies and the couple months in foster care, Alex probably wasn’t used to having his needs actually met. Steve’s irritation had instantly evaporated, and from that day on, he would casually ask every now and again if Alex needed anything in the hopes that he’d eventually understand that he was allowed to ask for things and that Steve was happy to provide them.

So when one day in early June Alex asked for something he wanted, how could Steve say no?

Alex had mumbled and stuttered and stumbled over himself as he’d asked, but somehow Steve had gotten the gist of the request: he was wondering if his best friend could come out and stay with them in August. For a week, maybe ten days, if that was okay, and it was totally fine if it wasn’t.

Steve had pulled him into a hug and assured him that was fine, that Tom was more than welcome. Secretly, he’d been elated and excited.

That had been almost two months ago, and now it was August third and they were waiting in the arrivals area of Honolulu International Airport, Alex bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

“What’s taking so long?”

Steve grinned. “Relax. The flight just got in and he’ll have to get through customs.”

“I know. It’s just… I haven’t seen him in a year, you know?”

Steve briefly wondered what it would be like to not see Danny for a year but quickly shook the thought away. As much as they picked at each other, he had to admit (only ever to himself) that maybe he would miss his partner.

A split-second warning was all he got; Alex’s face lit up and then he was gone, weaving his way through the crowd. In between the people coming and going, Steve caught a glimpse of the reunion -- a long hug and excited chatter -- before Alex was leading the way back over to where he was still standing.

“Aloha,” Steve greeted as the pair came to a stop in front of him. “Tom, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you -- especially recently.”

“Same,” Tom replied. “Thanks for having me.”

“Of course -- anytime. Let’s get out of here and grab some lunch, yeah? How do you feel about shrimp, Tom?”

“Uhm, yeah, I like shrimp.”

“Alright, then what are we waiting for?”

By the time they had finished eating, Alex almost seemed like an entirely different person to Steve. It was clear that Tom’s presence had brought out an entirely different side of Alex, one that had been buried under years of trauma. Maybe, Steve thought, this would be exactly what Alex needed to get back on track.

The first seven days flew by; even when Steve was home, he barely saw the two boys. The duo spent most of every day surfing or hiking with the occasional museum thrown in -- Chin had even taken them out spearfishing on one quiet morning. He didn’t mind, though; Alex was finally getting out of the house, and Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the kid smile so much or so brightly.

Day eight brought nearly torrential rains, cancelling the pair’s plans. Steve -- go figure -- still had to work, leaving them alone at the house for the day. When he got home that evening, he was greeted by two way too innocent faces, both boys claiming they’d had a ‘nice’ and ‘relaxing’ day.

Apparently for teenage boys that meant booby-trapping the entire house.

Had it been anyone else, Steve might have been irritated. But this was Alex and Alex’s best friend, and the kid was so darn happy that Steve couldn’t help being happy too, even as he slipped around on the flour strew across the kitchen tile. Instead of ordering them to clean it up (as he once might have done), he scooped up a handful from the floor and chucked it (as well as one can chuck flour) back at the boys laughing hysterically from the doorway. The betrayed look Alex sent his way had him in stitches of his own.

“Oh, it is on.”

Dinner was late that night and they all ate it with flour still stuck in their hair, but Steve wouldn’t have traded that night for anything in the world.

(No, he wouldn’t trade it for anything, even if he was still finding the last of their pranks three days after Tom left to go home.)

Day nine brought back the sun, drying everything out, and that evening Steve lit a fire in the pit.

“Ready to go home tomorrow?” Steve asked casually; Alex was inside digging up ingredients for s’mores, making this the first conversation Steve had had alone with Tom.

“Not really,” Tom sighed. “I’m honestly a little jealous Alex gets to live here.”

Steve smiled, nodding. He couldn’t blame the kid for not wanting to leave -- for multiple reasons. Alex had told him about the messy divorce Tom’s parents were going through -- it was part of the reason Alex had summoned up the courage to ask, to give his friend a break from everything happening at home. The divorce alone would have been hard enough, but having to go through it with your best friend on the other side of the world certainly wouldn’t be helping matters any.

“Thanks by the way.” Tom spoke just loud enough to be heard above the crackling fire. “And I don’t mean for having me -- though definitely for that, too. Being out here seems to be doing him good. He’s almost seemed like his old self, back before -- well, you know.”

Steve sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think that has more to do with you being here than anything. This is the happiest and most active I’ve seen him.”

Tom shrugged. “Maybe, but… I think you give me too much credit and yourself not enough. The first time we talked on the phone, he barely said anything. But now -- I mean, he’s still quiet but it actually feels like a conversation, you know? It’s progress, even if it’s small. Out here at least he has a fighting chance at normal. He’s away from them and with someone who will keep them away. If he came back to England -- even if they left him alone, which they probably wouldn’t -- there’s no way anything could ever be normal -- too many bad memories.”

“I’m not sure it ever can be anyway.”

“No,” Tom huffed, “I guess not. Too much has happened. But you know what I mean. I’m glad he has you looking out for him. Maybe things can’t go back, but I still think this is the best shot he’s got.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know about that. I can’t even convince him to go back to school. I”m trying not to be pushy about it, to let him decide when he’s ready, but…”

“We haven’t talked much about school.” Tom frowned. “He didn’t tell me he wasn’t back in yet.”

“We’ve been taking things slow, but I think -- and I’d say this week proves -- that him getting out and being around people his own age would really do him some good.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Tom shrugged casually.

“You don’t need to --.”

“Hey, Alex,” Tom interrupted as the other boy came towards them. “Get your sorry self back to school, mate.”

Alex stopped between them, leveling a look of disbelief at Steve. “What did you say?”

Steve held up his hands in defense as Tom spoke. “Told me enough, mate. C’mon. Gotta get back up sometime.”

Crossing to the opposite side of the fire pit and depositing the supplies for s’mores on the table, Alex sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“You’ve known me how long and you still have to ask? Seriously, though, Alex. You can’t just hide from the world forever.”

Alex tipped his head back in frustration and resignation. “You’re starting to sound an awful lot like someone else I know.”

“Then you know it’s good advice.”

“Ugh, fine,” he relented with a groan, aggressively spearing two marshmallows onto a roasting stick. “But if it ends up being a disaster, don’t blame me.”

Steve could only stare at Tom’s smug smile, momentarily dumbfounded. “Should’ve had you come visit sooner apparently.”

“What can I say? I’m very persuasive.”

“I was going to go with ‘annoying’ and ‘persistent’,” Alex muttered.

“That’s why you love me.”

Alex snorted. “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

The trio stayed up perhaps far later than they should have considering Tom’s early flight the next morning, but Steve figured they deserved one last night to spend as much time together as possible. But morning came all too soon anyway, Steve finding the two boys passed out in a heap on the couch, having apparently never actually gone to bed after he’d left them around eleven. Before they knew it, they were back at the airport saying their goodbyes.

As Steve hugged Tom, he said, “You’re always welcome here -- I mean that. Come back anytime you want.”

Tom pulled away with a smirk. “You know I’m going to take you up on that, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Alex and Tom shared a wordless embrace and then, with only a smile and a nod, Tom turned for his gate.

“What, no words of farewell?”

“Nah.” Alex shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll never see him again, so ‘goodbye’ just…feels too final, but I can’t say ‘see you later’ either because it could be awhile.”

“Then how about, a hui hou?” Steve asked. “‘Until we meet again’.”

Alex smiled, small but genuine. “Yeah. I like that. A hui hou.”

. . . . .

Tags: @diekatimitdemhutohnehut @just-add-butter  (lmk if you’d like added/removed!)

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 26--Break

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo and Demyx try to come to terms with their broken soulbond. Ienzo helps Ansem rebuild their shattered kingdom.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even just held his palm over Demyx’s chest for a long time. “I’d thought--something felt off--but back when you were injured, I was…” He swallowed. “Perhaps a bit compromised--”

“Is it possible?” Ienzo asked. He was feeling weak, and his legs were aching. His own chest felt heavy. He wondered if this was what heartbreak felt like.

“Is it possible ? Yes. Is it easy? No. Doubtless he used darkness to sever that bond. No wonder your attack was so powerful, Ienzo, and sent you right into shock.”

“So it’s… true?” Demyx sounded like he’d been punched in the groin. “We’re really…”

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“But what about pairbonding?” Ienzo asked quickly. “If we are on some level intrinsically compatible, couldn’t we reestablish that bond in some small way? Choose it?”

“I suppose you… could,” Even said.

“Can it be fixed?” Demyx asked.

“It could only be fixed by whoever bound you… and the seeker colony in Destiny Islands is more or less eradicated.”

“What of my magic?” Ienzo asked. Yet again, he felt near tears. He didn’t think he’d ever cried so much. “If I am supposedly so powerful--”

Even’s eyes were very tired. “I suppose with your power--at its peak--it’s theoretically possible. But it’s not at its peak, Ienzo. Can you even feel it, after what happened?”

“...Scarcely.”

“What do we…” Demyx was gasping. “What do we do?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” It seemed to pain him to admit. “Perhaps you could work on this pairbond? Perhaps? There’s no spell or procedure I know that can fix this.”

Demyx just stared at Ienzo a long time. Wordlessly, he got up and left the room. Ienzo went to follow, but Even just took his hand.

“Let him,” he said. “He needs to grieve.”

“I feel such… pain,” Ienzo said. “Such…”

“Lie here.” He did so and felt Even probe him. “...Sadist,” he muttered.

“What?”

“He broke the bond on one end only.”

“Solely to cause me pain?”

“Quite.”

“But if I still have it…” His own breaths were coming hard and fast. “Can I… could it…”

“Reform? Ienzo, I have no idea. This is so far out of my depths I’m speculating.” He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “You need time.”

“I feel like I’m bleeding.”

“I know, child.” He drew him into an embrace. “I know.”

To his surprise, Demyx was actually in with Amalia when he left Even’s lab. He was singing to her softly in that old language again, and she was clapping her hands and squealing with delight. If Ienzo had not been in so much pain, he would’ve garnered some pleasure from the grin she gave him when she saw him. She reached up to him.

“She wants you,” Demyx said numbly. Ienzo scooped her into his arms. He was still physically weak; it took work to pretend that picking her up didn’t tire him.

“Dad is giving you a concert, huh?” he asked. She just reached up to put her hands on his face.

“Noses are her new favorite thing,” he said, turning away to pick up toys off of the floor.

“I know, Demyx. I was here when that started.”

He jerked a little. “Right… I forgot. Still kinda stuck in single dad mode.”

“I suppose you must be.” Amalia babbled happily. “Do you want to see the gardens? Go outside?” She laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?” His eyes were red. “Oh, you know.” His expression said as if I would answer in front of the baby.

“Perhaps you would want to… have some dinner later?”

He hesitated. “Okay. Just tell them to give her plastic this time, or maybe not anything glass they care about.”

He tried not to let his pain show. “...Alright.”

---

Ienzo thought he might be losing his mind. He knew giving into this heartbreak was exactly what Xehanort would’ve wanted, but it wasn’t like he could help it. Every time he saw Demyx he thought he might scream. Keeping something resembling peace between them for their daughter’s sake made it all the harder. Ienzo knew that as a seeker this was hitting doubly hard for him, but at the same time, was there really so little between them without the soulbond to justify this?

Ienzo began sleeping on the chaise in the drawing room near his daughter’s crib. He was not asked to do it, but sharing such a cold bed only made it harder. It wasn’t as though he slept well lately anyway. Demyx didn’t comment on it. Ienzo noticed he had stopped singing.

How could he begin to fix this?

Despite it all, there was still massive national upheaval. So Ienzo devoted himself to the care of Amalia and to his work.

The west coast was still giving them the most trouble. Pockets of Xehanort’s supporters--the ones who had helped the spread of his regime in the first place--held their towns hostage. The negotiations were complicated, and messy, and while Ienzo wanted nothing more for them to be judged for their heinous crimes, Ansem advocated leniency of all things. “If we jail them, they’ll just make it worse for their citizens,” he said. “The people’s safety is more important.”

“But if we let them off now there will never be a case in the future.” The courts, too, were still in shambles.

“You must learn compromise, Ienzo,” Ansem said gently.

Ienzo just stared at the sea of papers on the table where they were working. “After all these years… all the studies Even forced on me… I feel like I truly know nothing about becoming king.”

Ansem reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “You could have all the preparation in the world and you’d still feel naked,” he told him. “I did.”

“You did? But you’re so… well, wise.”

He chuckled. “Child, I was the “spare” in the “heir and a spare.” I did not anticipate ever having to go into politics, more than showing up to silly royal functions--that was all on your mother. So our mother let me go into my science, into my research, then all of a sudden one day I’m receiving a call that suddenly… I have been… ascended. ” He said the word bitterly. “I felt just as you do now. Helpless. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“How did you know I feel all those things?”

“It’s on your face.” He smiled. “I will help you, Ienzo. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves. We will rebuild together, which may take years. Once things have settled… we can revisit the matter as to whether or not you’re ready to rule independently.”

His eyes were hot from looking at so much paper. “Is it bad to say I did not think I’d ever get here? I always thought… I’d be running forever… I never envisioned a future for myself, much less my people. I never thought I'd actually live to rule.”

“A trauma response, doubtless.”

“You think I’m traumatized?”

“Surely you didn’t think such a life was mentally good for you? Living in the moment was the only way to cope.”

“I still don’t feel safe.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause. Ansem got up and turned on the electric kettle. “It is nice, to be together again,” Ienzo admitted. “Were I alone… I don’t think I could cope.”

Ansem handed him a cup of tea. “Connection is imperative.”

“...Yes.” He tried not to think of Demyx. He felt his nails digging into his palms. “Father, I…”

“It’s alright, Ienzo. You must grieve.” A substantial pause. “But with pain comes vulnerability, which might be useful. I was wondering…”

“What?”

“...If it might be time to reintroduce you to the people. The real you, not the mask you put on for Xehanort. You… and your daughter.”

Ienzo swallowed. “I looked like a traitor.”

“You were a captive doing your best to subvert an entire regime , which you did. Besides. I think the presence of your child… will make you look paternal. Trustworthy.”

“There’s so much we haven’t spoken about,” he murmured. “My time as a captive… my child… all this… this guilt I feel… the fact that I’ve taken human lives… I…”

“It’s alright to be upset.”

“My emotions are so close to my skin.”

“I’d be shocked if they weren’t.”

Ienzo shuddered. “And it feels strange to cry in front of you.”

He hugged him. “It’s alright, Ienzo. Best to do so rather than hold it all in.”

So he did. He felt like a child, but all the pain inside of him needed out somehow. Who else was he comfortable in front of? Not Demyx, surely, and Even was struggling with his own issues.

He wasn’t sure he felt better afterwards. He just felt exhausted. Ansem offered him a tissue. “I’m told Remy was able to recreate the sea salt ice cream you loved as a boy. Perhaps you might like to have some.”

“I think I need it, yes.”

---

Ienzo dangled Ansem’s proposal in front of Demyx, tentatively. “It was to happen eventually anyway, given her status,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact.

“...She’s only eight months old,” he said.

“It’s not like she’d have any duties. That is to say--”

“It’s to clear your name.”

“...As I am to be king, you have to admit it’s important.”

“...I dunno. Seems like you made your bed on that one.”

He’d had about enough. “What was I do to, then?” he snapped. “Fight and fight and fight and what, get killed? All that would’ve meant is Xehanort would still be here, still quite literally killing the earth, and Amalia would’ve grown up without me. I am doing my best, Demyx. I am. She is my child too. And sometimes I am allowed to make decisions on her behalf.”

Amalia seemed confused at the razors in his voice. She gasped once and started to cry. “You’re upsetting her,” Demyx said. “She’s not used to people--” His face flushed. Then, “What are we going to do, Ienzo?”

“What do you mean?”

“Us. With her.”

For a moment, Ienzo thought he might faint. “Do you really think there’s nothing salvageable?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Do you really think it’s not worth trying --”

“I don’t know. ” He was shaking. “All I know is that a huge part of me is fucking dead. And I just… wonder…” He took a shuddering breath. “I lost everything. My family, my memories, my friends, and now you?”

“...I know. I know that. Did you forget I did too?”

Silence. Amalia was still crying, more quietly. Ienzo scooped her up and kissed her brow.

“I was in hiding for twelve years before I met you. I know how you feel, Demyx. I do. I can’t pretend to understand how this affects your magic. I just know that… squabbling about all this isn’t going to help anything. I still…” He swallowed. “I still love you. And I understand if you can’t find that love within you. But for our daughter…” Diplomacy. Diplomacy. “Can we please at least be friendly? Come to agreements?”

He was breathing hard. “I was alone for so long.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to be happy.”

“I know.”

“Is this… ever going to end?”

Ienzo stroked Amalia’s hair. “Consider this,” he said softly. “By giving into this despair, we’re just giving Xehanort more power. By not fighting for one another, we’re letting him win. He wanted to divide us.”

Demyx’s eyes were watering.

“...I’m going to give her a bath. Let me know if you’d like to talk more about this. I certainly would.”

Once he had Amalia in the water, he couldn’t help but shed a few more tears of his own, feeling weak. She reached up with her wet little hands. “Ba,” she said, confused.

“I’m sorry for fighting in front of you, love. That wasn’t right. It won’t happen again.”

“Mm,” she said. He poured a cupful of water over her.

“Was what you told me right? Is this all going to work out?”

She cocked her head, her wet curls swaying slightly.

“...Perhaps you might like me to read you The Great Escape again before bed?”

She squealed. “Ba! Ba!”

“...Book. Very good.”

She picked at her navel. Ienzo found himself oddly envious of simpler times. This is not good for my mental state, he thought. Perhaps I should seek therapy as well. She made an odd face, and then shrugged her tiny shoulders.

“Are you itchy again?” He reached behind her to give her back a good scratch along the scales, in inverse Ls on her shoulder blades. She sighed. “Yes, feels better, doesn’t it?”

She opened her eyes wide. For a moment Ienzo was convinced she was seeing into him, and he felt dizzy. She reached up to touch his face, her small wet palm catching in his hair and pressing against his blind eye.

“Don’t poke people’s eyes, sweetie, it’s not ni…” A very, very odd feeling rushed over him, a vertigo, a prickling in his being. Everything inside of him went limp, and he collapsed.

[petertingle-yipyip]

Sometimes It Rains In L.A. - Kol Mikaelson Pt. 2

//Request: Can u do a part 2 to Sometimes It Rains In L.A.? Can it involve Reader ending up in a coma by an explosion during an undercover job in Afghanistan by the Taliban, and Klaus gets a call about it, making the whole family go be by her side until she wakes up? And Kol and reader EVENTUALLY get back together, staying in L.A. together? //

//warnings: violence. blood mention. language.  After the blast, there’s a perspective shift from 2nd person to third person... yes, it’s on purpose :) tag list: @simonsaysyasss @akshi8278 @llcalumllhoodll //

//Part One//

It took six months to move past the heartbreak that was Kol Mikaelson. He was as cruel as he was beautiful, and he knew it. His intentions weren't to hurt you. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He hid his interest in Davina because he did still love you. And while that wasn't you making excuses for him, you had learned to forgive.

You had also found a way to open your heart again. After the six months of intense pain, healing, and self-love you met your new boyfriend of eight months, Liam Callen. He was seemingly the complete opposite of Kol. He never blamed you or anyone else for his hardships. He supported everything you did, and even if he didn't necessarily agree with it, he understood it was your choice. He never left you to deal with the 'consequences of your actions' on your own. You really did care for him. Granted, you might not have been able to love him with the same fire you loved Kol with, but it was different this time. Kol was the first boy who really took your heart and ran with it. And even though you’d never admit it out loud, part of you knew he always would hold a piece of your heart, no matter how long it’s been. But little did you know, that you had taken a piece of his heart with you to Los Angeles.

“Hope! Hello, beautiful. How are you?” You said happily as you wandered the halls of the Bureau's Overseas headquarters.

Recently, you had been sent on a case in Afghanistan. It was another intense change to go from L.A. to a whole new country but it was all a part of the job. You loved being able to travel so often with your new job. You felt a sense of freedom that you never would’ve been able to find in New Orleans, a place you had left just over a year ago and yet seemed so long ago.

“Hello, Y/N.” She said and you could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m really good, actually. The whole family is getting along. Dad hasn’t decapitated anyone recently. And Davina is really helping me get a hold on this whole witch thing.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” You said honestly. “How is your uncle, by the way? When I talked to your dad, he didn’t mention him. Wait, your dad didn’t dagger him again, did he?”

She laughed lightly. “No, not yet at least. Um... He’s alright. Finally seems to be getting back to normal, I think.”

“Well, it’s good to hear that.” You smiled softly, remembering Kol’s bright smile.

“So who’s Liam?” She asked in a hushed whisper, the type of voice you use when gossiping with the girls at a sleepover.

“I met him in L.A. and he’s really sweet. He’s kind of like the polar opposite of your uncle. And we’ve been together for about-” You were cut off by a loud explosion from the floor below you. The ground rumbled and you were thrown against the nearest wall. “I have to go.” You said quickly into the phone, not listening to the words Hope spoke into the line.

“Y/N? Y/N, what’s going on!? Are you okay?” She had said just before the line cut out.

“Hope?” Kol had asked her when she slowly took the phone away from her ear. “Is everything alright?”

“I need to find my dad.” She shook her head and took off through the compound, leaving Kol in confusion.

You quickly made your way to the emergency stairs, which every other employee on that floor had convened. You all pushed down the stairs in as orderly of a fashion as you could. Another explosion, bigger than before. It shook and even shattered the stairs. You were closer to the front, closer to the collapse. Carefully, you climbed over the railing and landed on the steps just on the other side of the collapse.

As you were running down the remaining steps and through the ground level, a third and final explosion went off just to your right. The force of the blast sent you flying through the glass on your left. You could remember the shattering sound, the smack of your body hitting the ground outside, the rocks digging into your skin, and the collision of your head with a concrete statue.

“Hello, this is Dr. Miller. Can I speak with Klaus Mikaelson?” The woman said when Klaus answered the phone a few minutes after his daughter had ran frantically into the room and asked for him. “I’m afraid it’s an urgent matter.”

“Yes, this is him. How can I help you, doctor?” He replied slowly. Hope’s eyes went wide as she gestured that this is what she was worried about.

“It’s about Y/N Y/L/N.” The doctor explained. “It appears there was an attack on her place of work and she is being transported to our trauma center. On her paperwork, you were listed as one of her emergency contacts. I know this may be a long ways and extremely worrisome but she is in good care here in Afghanistan. We work closely with her bureau and have had instances like this before.”

“I see...” Klaus said, the shock and fear setting in. How could Y/N have been so unlucky? Part of him wished she had just stayed in New Orleans, where he could protect her like the family she was, but he knew she had to go. “And what hospital is she being transferred to? I’d like to come check on her.”

“Well, we won’t be keeping her here very long, Mr. Mikaelson. From the information we’ve received, she’s not conscious. We hope to stabilize her and send her back to the states for more detailed care. She had two preferred hospitals on her forms. One in Los Angeles and one in New Orleans. Do you know which she would prefer? We’ve tried to contact her relationship partner but he hasn’t responded.” Dr. Miller explained.

“The Los Angeles hospital, most likely. That’s where she lives now. Thank you for the call, Doctor. We will see her when she returns.” Klaus said kindly and hung up the phone.

He looked to his daughter with worried eyes. “Pack a bag. Get your uncle Kol. Tell him the same thing. We’re going to Los Angeles.”

“Wait, Uncle Kol? Is she okay? Dad, what happened to Y/N?” She asked as he pushed past her in a fit of pain-filled anger. “Dad!”

“Just pack a bag, Hope. I won’t tell you again.” He ordered.

Within a week, the three had went to Los Angeles. Hope, Klaus, and Kol had made the trip, though the rest of the family kept you in their hearts. Being that it was about Y/N, Kol made sure to leave Davina in New Orleans. But he did make sure to bring two things that had always reminded him of her, one from when she was in New Orleans with him and one from after she had left. He carried the bracelet she had mailed to Klaus with directions to return to Kol. A simple silver band with a small rose and her name engraved into it. He had given it to her within the first few months of dating and she nearly never took it off. She had sent it back with intentions of leaving all of that relationship in New Orleans. He also carried the letter she wrote him once she could honestly say she was over Kol. It was simple but still held so much weight in his pocket.

Hello, Kol. I know you probably never expected to hear from me again and quite honestly, I never planned on reaching out to you. But it’s been about six months now and the hurt has faded. What you did to me, I will never understand your intentions. Maybe you didn’t want to hurt me. Maybe somewhere, you do still love me like you swore to Davina that night. Regardless, I’ve moved here and at this point, my heart no longer stings when I think of you. My eyes don’t water when I look through old photos. My throat doesn’t get tight when I hear your voice in the background of calls to the family. My dreams don’t revolve around you. My life doesn’t belong to you anymore and neither does my heart. I know this might pain you to read but for my own emotional health, I needed to let myself say it, even on paper. And I needed to know that I said it to you. Please, do not write back. I’ll send the letters back to you, unopened. I am not in love with you anymore, Kol Mikaelson. But I will admit that I do still have love for you, more than I thought I ever would. I always will. You helped me grow as a person and you were the push I needed to get me here to L.A., just not the type of push I envisioned. Nevertheless, I know you’re happy with Davina and that’s all I can wish for you. From the bottom of my heart, with all the sincerity I can send you, and with a free feeling in my chest, I hope you enjoy your eternity. You deserve to be happy, Kol. You’ve been through too much and I had a hand in that so I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused. Here’s to a proper goodbye, after all this time. Xx, no ill will, Y/N/N.

The small piece of paper that sat neatly folded in his shirt pocket, as close to his heart as he could get it, was the reason he came. When Hope ran into his room declaring that Y/N had been in an accident and the family was headed to L.A. to see her, he was hesitant to agree to go see her. Hope did what she could to convince her uncle but Davina argued that it was none of his business. Y/N had left him after all. But Davina didn’t know about the letter. She didn’t know about the nights Kol couldn’t sleep because he swore he heard Y/N’s laugh down the hall. The times Kol had to look twice because he thought he saw her smiling at him on the streets. The times Kol stared at his phone screen with her contact open, the same heart next to her name and smiling photo of her staring back at him, debating whether or not he should call. Maybe she would answer this time...

The begging eyes of Hope had managed to convince him but did nothing to settle the confusion he felt. Why did he really come on this trip? For Y/N’s well-being? Y/N didn’t want to see him, didn’t want anything to do with him. But the letter... If she was truly done, would she have sent the letter?

There was a heavy feeling looming over the Mikaelsons as they entered the hospital. The boys hung back and allowed Hope to talk to the nurse at the front desk. Somehow, she was the most put together out of them all. She had always seen Y/N as family, even after she had left for Los Angeles. In Hope’s mind, she needed Y/N. Yes, she had her mother obviously, but Y/N had an impact that no one else would ever come close too. It was a mundane influence, mortal and temporary but so beautiful and true. Just like Kol, Hope brought that letter with her. Hope thought that maybe if she brought it, if she brought the emotion that was trapped in that letter, it would be enough to help Y/N.

Quietly, they followed Hope down the hall to the room Y/N was staying in. She was placed in a medically induced coma but was due to wake up soon but there was no guarantee since her injuries were so drastic. The doctors warned that if the family was around when she woke, it was possible that she would have some memory loss. They said there was a lot of blood loss and she would be very slow to get back into normal activity. There was a necessary reconstructive surgery on her thoracic cavity, repairing a punctured lung and four broken ribs. As a precaution, they didn’t want Y/N to be on her own when she woke for at least a few weeks. The Mikaelsons guaranteed they weren’t going anywhere and thanked the doctor’s for helping their dearest friend.

When they entered the room, it was as if none of them could breathe. Y/N was laying gently in the hospital bed, as if she was sleeping, unaware of the fact the bruises and small cuts littered her visible skin. Her eyes were closed, a breathing mask was covering most of her face. Her right hand was heavily bandaged, as was her head and the bandages across her rib cage were slightly visible through the paper hospital gown. There was a cast on her left ankle and her left arm was in a sling across her chest. The heart monitor beeped softly in a timed rhythm. That was the only sound coming from the room, accompanied by a small whirling of her assisted breathing.

“This never should’ve happened.” Hope finally spoke, slowly walking to be closer to Y/N. “We were on the phone when it happened... You were supposed to come through New Orleans next week on your flight home. This isn’t how we were supposed to see each other again.” Hope cried.

Klaus gently comforted his daughter, her hugging him tightly as she cried. Klaus kept his eyes low, careful not to allow his own tears to fall. He was the king of New Orleans, no one could see him cry. Not even his family, his own daughter even. 

“Y/N...” Kol had muttered, nearly to himself. All eyes turned to him, surprised he had said anything. Kol hadn’t been able to say her name since she left. “This is my fault... I never should’ve hurt you, never should’ve pushed you away.” He said softly as he sat by her side, placing a hand on her wrist and careful to avoid the bandages. “You were everything to me... Who am I kidding, you still are. I’ve regretted losing you every day since you’ve been gone. Please, Y/N. Just open your eyes, Darling.”

“This isn’t your fault, Brother.” Klaus said,  coming around the bedside to kneel down and try to comfort his youngest brother. “Know this, Kol. She was coming here either way, taking this job either way. And while I wish there was something we could do to fix this, Y/N was going to do what she wanted to do at the end of the day.”

“I could’ve helped her, Nik. If I had just-” Kol began to ramble. Klaus quickly pulled his brother into a hug, his own eyes watering even more than before. Hope quickly came to Kol’s side, offering gentle touches of reassurance. Meanwhile, Kol cried silently. His chest shook, his breathing was uneven. Y/N was everything to him, his reason to be better. And there she was, unconscious and unknowing that he was there. “I was supposed to protect her...” He whispered.

“I’m sorry, who are you people?” A male voice spoke. The family broke apart slowly, allowing time for them to regain their composure. They faced the stranger, an average height boy with a typical Los Angeles look. He held a bouquet of flowers and a small jewelry box in his arms.

“I’m Hope, this is my family.” Hope replied, stepping protectively in front of them. “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” The boy responded. “Wait, Hope? Y/N’s friend of New Orleans?”

“Liam Callen...” Hope said quietly in realization. “You don’t look like Y/N’s type..” She joked for her uncle’s sake.

“How do you... Wait, you’re Hope Mikaelson aren’t you? Which means one of you are the dick that cheated on her.” Liam spoke in a bold tone.

Kol chuckled and stood, any remnants of his pain tucked away behind his now confident and unbothered facade. He crossed the room and examined the boy, and his gifts. He took the flowers and dropped them in the nearby trashcan, ignoring Liam’s protests. He then snatched the box and opened it before shaking his head with a tsk-tsk. He smirked slightly at the boy’s look of annoyance and anger.

“She hates carnations.” Kol shrugged with a smug look, flaunting his knowledge of Y/N and her likes and dislikes. “She’s always been a fan of white roses. And this-” He wiggled the jewelry box. “-looks cheap. Y/N deserves better than this gumball machine bracelet. Besides, she loves silver for her bracelets and rings. Gold is better for earrings and necklaces. Good effort, mate.”

“You must be the cheating dick then.” Liam challenged.

“Well, if you’re really concerned about my dick, you could always-” Kol began before being cut off.

“Who do you think you are, breaking her heart a year ago and then coming here when she’s hurt? Hmm? Think you can swoop in when she’s broken and take advantage of her?” Liam tried to make Kol look bad.

Kol laughed in disbelief and turned to his family. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Uncle Kol, don’t do anything to him. For Y/N.” Hope pleaded.

Kol raised his hands in surrender towards his niece. “I won’t touch him, I swear it.” He turned back to Liam. “Now, it seems you don’t know my dear Y/N, so let me refresh your memory. Y/N had never been broken a day in her life. She is the strongest woman I have ever met and you should consider yourself lucky that she had even looked in your direction. She is beautiful, stubborn, caring, gentle, powerful, smart. She is everything you could ever want.” Kol gushed in anger tossing the cheap jewelery onto a nearby tray.

No one had a clue as to why Kol was fighting with Y/N’s new boyfriend. Kol had a doll waiting back home. There was no reason to be so defensive over his past with Y/N. Besides, he was the one who had given it up all those months ago. But Hope knew. Hope knew that her uncle had never truly been able to let go of Y/N, to move on and fully devote himself to Davina. Hope knew that her uncle was jealous of Liam, which was why she never mentioned him to her uncle before. Hope understood that Y/N had Kol’s entire heart, but Y/N had given hers away to another.

“And yet you still didn’t want her...” Liam said in disgust, pushing past Kol to be by Y/N.

“Listen here, you imbicile.” Kol said angrily, yanking Liam but his shirtfront and throwing him against a nearby wall. “Y/N is all I’ve ever wanted. She has not left my mind, despite her leaving her home. No one will ever compare to her. She is the light in my world, the most beautiful soul I will ever come across. You need to realize how luck you are that she has even looked in your direction. You want to make snide comments because you think that your relationship with her will protect you. I should kick your ass right here.”

“Hope.” You raspy, muffled voice said. Your eyes slowly opened to see Hope and her father sitting anxiously at your bed side. Carefully, you lifted your bandaged hand and pushed the mask off your face, allowing the cold air of the hospital room into your lungs. “Hope, why are you here?” You asked.

“Do you remember what happened?” Klaus asked gently.

“Yeah.” You said, your face scrunching in despair as it all came back to you. “I was talking to Hope on the phone when explosions went off. I hopped the stair railing and got thrown through a window, pretty much.” You summarized. “My whole body hurts.” You admitted, shutting your eyes from the light and taking softer breaths.

“It was pretty bad, Y/N.” Hope said kindly, placing a hand on your leg. “Your leg was broken and your shoulder was dislocated. You got a huge gash on the side of your head and your right hand. Your ribs were broken and punctured your lungs, so they had to do a surgery for that. Plus the minor scrapes and bruises from tumbling.”

“How did you know?” You asked the duo. “Did Liam call? Where is he, by the way?”

“No, Dr. Miller called my dad.” Hope said, pointing to Klaus.

“It was quite quick actually, between you getting off the phone with Hope and getting the call myself. Everyone back home is worried too, Y/N, they just couldn’t make it.”

“No worries. NOLA to LA is a long trip. Were... were you two the only one who came?” You asked, slightly hopeful a certain Mikaelson had joined them.

“Don’t act like you’re better than me, dickwad.” Liam said loudly.

When you looked over to see who he was talking to, you heard your heart monitor falter. The whole world seemed to stop. Kol was across the room, smiling as Liam was pushing his chest, trying to coax a reaction from him. 

He was as beautiful as ever. His eyes shone with pride, as if what he ahd just said was extremely clever and true. His hair was tousled and a little longer than you remembered, as if he had been running his hands through it constantly. His arms which seemed a little stronger were crossed, unamused by Liam’s attempts. But what stood out most, was his smile, the smile that was just a little softer than you remembered.

“I don’t have to act like I’m better than you.” He chuckled. “I already am.”

“Don’t be an ass, Kol.” You muttered with a small smile. “Play nice.”

His body froze, tensing when you said his name. Slowly he turned to face you and he looked as if he had just seen a ghost. He quickly came to your side, forgetting everything he was saying to Liam. All he cared about was being with you. Being with the girl who held his entire heart and didn’t even know it.

“You’re okay.” He said in a whisper with a small smile. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” You nodded with the same smile. “I’m kind of surprised you’re here, actually.”

“You’re my girl, Y/N.” He shook his head, pulling out the bracelet and placing it in your bandaged hand carefully. “You’ll always be my girl, even if I’m an idiot and I blow it.”

You stared at the silver bangle in your hand, the band that was engraved your name and your favorite rose. For some reason, you wanted to cry. It was so simple yet so sweet. You had mailed it back because it reminded you of Kol but now, now you wanted to keep it because it reminded you of Kol. With Hope’s help, you got it on your wrist where it belonged.

“This always was my favorite...” You said softly.

“Told you.” Kol threw over his shoulder to Liam, who watched the exchange with confused eyes.

“Y/N, he cheated on you! How can you be so nice to him?” Liam exclaimed in confusion.

“Liam, it’s hard to explain. Kol has been a huge part of my life for a long time. It’s different now but he’s still Kol and... I don’t know, that’s just enough I guess.” You tried to reason.

“It’s bullshit, is what it is.” Liam scoffed.

“Really?” Hope said in annoyance. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“Mind your business, kid.” Liam shot back.

“Watch your tongue before I rip it from your head and feed it to you.” Klaus threatened with an amused smile.

In an act of fear, Liam took a step away from Klaus. “Y/N, you seriously know these people?”

“These people...” You said, looking around at the Mikaelsons. “These people are like family to me. If you don’t like it then, sucks to suck. That’s not going to change anything. I’ve known them longer, and I love them.”

Without another word, Liam left the room. You let out a deep, relatively painful, breath of relief. It was as if you had been hiding this life from him and now it was out in the open. Your real family was here to take care of you until you were one hundred percent. For the next month or so, the three Mikaelsons stayed in your small, two bedroom house that you rented. You and Hope shared your room while the boys stayed in the other room. Liam had decided to stay with his sister in Inglewood until Kol left and you two could talk it over. But it became very clear that you didn’t want to talk it over. Anyone who left because of your past didn’t deserve your future.

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 12

a/n: This one is short and sweet, just a little bit of fluff and plot development. It was going to be longer, but I decided to split it and I think you’ll understand why... 

Summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with. Rating: T Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @bonbonpirate

Chapter 12: 

“Swan, I have somthing to discuss with you,” said Killian one lunchtime at the beginning of April. They were sitting outside, enjoying an early spring day that was both bright and warm; fortunately so, as neither of them was quite ready to return to the library at lunch. Emma still turned pink whenever she saw Miss French, and frankly the quiet and solitude there offered too much temptation to repeat the activities that had embarrassed them in front of her in the first place. Better to stay away from the library, and out in public. 

“That sounds ominous,” Emma replied.  

“I hope not, but it is serious. You remember I told you that I had a provisional place to study at Oxford, that I could start there next year if I got high enough AP scores?”

“Yeah,” she replied, ignoring the twist in her belly at the thought of him being so far away. They could survive a few years long-distance, she knew, she had complete faith in the strength of their relationship, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to it. An ocean between them meant months of not seeing Killian except for his face on a screen, months of not being able to touch or hold or kiss him. As happy as they had been together over the past few weeks, that future separation loomed large and depressing.   

“Well, a few months ago Miss French suggested that maybe I might be able to stay here, in the US I mean, for university. ‘College,’ I suppose I should call it.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. She contacted the Oxford tutor I’d been planning to work with, and he contacted a colleage of his at Harvard, and well, the gist of the tale is that they’ve offered me the same deal. Get the AP scores and I can start there next year.” 

“At Harvard?”

“Yeah.” 

“Thats— that’s fantastic!” Emma threw her arms around them, oblivious to the other students in the yard, overwhelmed by the relief and happiness surging through her.

“I’m pleased with it.” Killian smiled, returning her hug and kissing her temple as she snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder. “There is a condition, though,” he continued, “and that is for me to return to Oxford for any graduate degrees, which honestly would be my preference regardless. Oxford is really the best place to study languages on an advanced level. But the more I think about it the more I realise I’d quite like to go to an American college. At British universities you focus only on your chosen subject, but I’d like the chance to explore some other subjects besides languages.” He thought for a moment. “My maths and physics classes here have been really interesting, maybe I’ll try engineering. Or architecture. Having a hand in building something would be amazing.” 

His eyes were bright with enthusiasm, his expression open and eager, and as she listened to him she felt a rush of pure love. He was such a nerd. Oh, he hid it well behind his smart mouth and occasionally almost Brontë-level moodiness, but underneath all that he was passionately devoted to his interests, and in the end wasn’t that what made a nerd?

“Did I tell you I got into Columbia?” she asked casually. 

“Architecture might be something I could— wait, what?” 

She grinned at his delighted expression. “Got the email last week. Off the wait list and in. Mom’s thrilled, of course, and taking all the credit. Says I’m a ‘legacy.’”

“That’s nonsense, love it was all you. You’re brilliant, and amazing.” His voice brimmed with pride. 

Emma resisted the urge to point out that if anyone was brilliant and amazing it was the seventeen year old who’d secured a special deal to go to Harvard. But that would only embarrass him, and there were more important matters to discuss. “You know what this means, right?” she said eagerly. “With me in New York and you in Boston we’ll only be a few hours away on the train. We could see each other every few weeks.” 

“I’ll confess that this was not a minor factor in my decision to stay here for school,” he replied. “The idea of being an ocean away from you was not one I cared to contemplate.” 

“Me neither. Oh, this is incredible, babe, I’m so happy.” 

“As am I, love.” 

And she could see that he meant it. Although his dark cloud still sometimes fell, although the shadows occasionally still lurked behind his eyes, he was happy. They were happy, together. And she wanted more people to have a chance at what they had. 

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

Emma Swan had always known, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that she had what any objective observer would consider a charmed life. She had been raised by loving parents in a town where everyone knew her and cared for her, and she had grown up smart and athletic, confident and charming,  pretty and popular. The circumstances of her life combined with her natural gifts had always reliably ensured that she didn’t have to work too hard for anything, and that the work she did do produced satisfactory results. She had good grades, tons of friends, and had never failed at anything she’d tried to do. 

Not that she didn’t also have her flaws. As much as she was kind, considerate, and determined, she was also complacent, shielded by privilege, stubborn, and self-satisfied in the way that only a pretty, pampered girl can be. As a result she had never really examined anything about herself or her life, never questioned her place in the world or challenged the expectations placed on her. She had led her clique, become a cheerleader, dated Neal, all because everyone else seemed to expect it, and she’d had no reason to object. She’d had no reason to ask herself if those things were actually what she wanted or simply what other people wanted for her, figuring that it didn’t really matter, everything would work out in the end. Why wouldn’t it? She was Emma Swan, after all. Things always worked out for her.

All that had changed when she’d met Killian. For the first time in her life Emma had wanted something she couldn’t have, for the first time she had found herself truly empathising with another person, putting herself in his shoes, feeling the pain that he felt. She had made the decision to put his needs first, the hardest decision of her young life, and that had changed her. Killian had changed her. By not obediently falling into line, by making her work for his trust and friendship, by calling her out for what she was and making her see that there were things in this world that didn’t simply fall into her lap because she was Emma Swan, Killian had challenged her preconceptions, broadened her horizons and made her take a hard look herself and her life, for the very first time. 

She wasn’t entirely sure she liked what she saw. It astonished her now to think, for instance, about how she’d allowed Neal to treat her, how she’d just accepted his microaggressions and petty digs like they were something normal and to be expected. She had buried her reservations, her distaste, her outright dislike of him, because of what other people had thought. Because the head cheerleader dated the quarterback, that was just how things were done, and the lack of chemistry, common interests, even basic compatibility between herself and Neal made no difference. She had come to realise, slowly and painfully, that many of things she’d thought she wanted, the things that had always come so easily to her, were perhaps not what she really wanted at all. That perhaps the things she really wanted would be harder to obtain. Like Killian. Like the future she was beginning to envision with him. 

The one thing that Emma had always known was what she wanted to do with her life was to help people, to find something she could do that would make other people’s lives better. Like her father the law enforcer, like her mother the teacher. They were leaders and guides and she admired them, wanted to be like them. But she saw now through her newly opened eyes that if she wanted to make a real difference she couldn’t live the rest of her life in a small town surrounded by people who were basically just like her. Killian had made her see that there was a great wide world beyond Storybrooke, a world full of people whose lives and experiences she couldn’t even begin to fathom. If she wanted to help them she would need to understand them, and to understand them she would need to meet them, to see firsthand what they were dealing with. 

Her parents expected her to follow the same path they had taken. And she intended to, if not quite in the way they anticipated. 

“Forensic psychology,” she said firmly, ignoring her mother’s worried brow and her father’s stern concern. “That’s what I want to do. I want to help victims of crimes, help people who suffered trauma to get their lives back, like Dr Hopper did with Killian. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time but now I’m sure. That’s what I’m going to study.” 

“But that’s… that’s years of school, isn’t it?” said Snow. “That’s advanced degrees.” 

“You have a master’s degree, Mom!” 

“Which I did online from home after working for several years! You’re talking about a PhD, that’s at least an eight year commitment before you can even get started! Do you really want to be away from Storybrooke for eight years?” 

“Yeah,” said Emma, bracing herself. “About that.” 

“About what?” asked Snow, in a voice that suggested she already knew. 

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back to live in Storybrooke anytime soon.” 

Snow closed her eyes and sighed. Somehow she’d known this was coming. 

“If I want to really help people I have to live somewhere where people need help,” said Emma. “And no offense, Dad, but SB isn’t exactly a hotbed of violent crime.” 

“Violent crime,” echoed Snow faintly. David remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Plus, Killian wants to be a linguist, and that’s not really an in-demand job here either.” 

“Is Killian behind this decision, then?” asked Snow sharply.

“Well, he is, but probably not in the way you think. He’d be happy to live anywhere I wanted. If I wanted to stay here he would find something to do.” 

“Well, then, I don’t see any reason—”

“But that’s not what I want, Mom! I don’t want to hold Killian back, I don’t want to hold myself back. And I don’t want to live forever in the small town I grew up in.” 

“But— you never said before—”

“I never actually thought about it before. But now I have and I know what I want. I want to see how other people live, and I want to learn about other ways of thinking. I don’t just want to be complacent in my little box of other people’s expectations. I want to challenge myself and find out what I’m really made of.” 

“Oh, Emma,” Snow sighed, recognising the stubborn set of her daughter’s jaw and realising that all her plans for Emma’s life were about to go up in smoke. “David, talk to her!”

David had sat silently throughout the discussion, and he considered his words carefully now before he spoke. “I’m proud of you, Emma,” he said finally. 

“David!” 

“You know that I will always support any decision you make,” David continued, placing a calming hand on Snow’s knee. “We’ve tried to raise you to make good ones, and I trust your judgement. But I admit I never expected you to make a decision like this, and I could not be more proud. You’ve chosen a path that will be hard, harder than many alternative paths you could have gone for. But I think it will be a rewarding, and more importantly a worthwhile one.” 

“But David, everything we’ve worked to give her!” cried Snow.

“We worked to give her everything we could so that she would have the freedom to live her life as she wished to,” said David. “That’s what she intends to do. We have to respect her choices, Snow.” 

Emma rose from where she had been curled up in an armchair and sat on her father’s lap, something she hadn’t done in years. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tightly and buried her face in his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. 

David squeezed her back. “I love you, Duckling,” he replied, turning his head to shoot his wife a significant look. “Snow?”

“Oh, you know I love you both,” said Snow, shifting on the sofa so she could embrace both husband and daughter. “I’d just hoped— But never mind, Emma, if this is your decision and you’re happy with it then I am happy for you.” 

Emma and David each put an arm around her, and the three of them sat that way for a long time, thinking about the future. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

One sunny afternoon in early May Killian and Emma were walking from Granny’s to the school to pick up Emma’s car which they’d left in the school lot after fencing club, preferring to walk to Granny’s and back in the warm sunshine. They walked arm-in-arm, their custom now, their strides perfectly matched and the silence between them easy and comfortable. Killian loved their comfortable silences; although when necessary he could talk with the best of them, he was not a person who was naturally inclined to a lot of noise and chatter. He preferred quiet more often than not, and always needed some peace after spending time in a noisy environment, even one he enjoyed like a concert or open mic, or a rowdy family dinner of the sort he and Emma seemed to find themselves at every weekend these days. He loved that they could just be together, just enjoy each other’s company without needing to fill the silence with talk. Her presence calmed his often turbulent mind, made him feel grounded and happy, and even better, content. He didn’t think he’d ever known simple contentment before in all his life and he treasured it.

Yet that afternoon the silence would have to be broken. 

“Swan,” he said. 

“Hmmm?” Emma was clearly still caught up in whatever thoughts she’d been thinking before he spoke. 

“What are you thinking about?” He was suddenly curious to know what had put that little smile on her face, and what he had to say could wait. 

“Just thinking about this summer. School’s going to be over soon. Do you think you’ll get a job?”

“I have one already. I’m going to be helping Liam with some work at the docks, and also it seems I’ll be tutoring your cousin Henry in maths.” 

“Yeah, he told me. Would you call that a real job, though?” 

“It’s real pay, Swan. Quite a bit of it, actually, your aunt is very determined for him to succeed. And hark at you, daughter of a teacher, thinking tutoring’s not a real job! What would your mother say?”

“Ha ha. I just meant it can’t be many hours.”

“Three per week, which I suppose isn’t many as far as jobs go but is at least two and a half more than Henry would prefer.”

“He’s such a smart kid, but hopeless at math. He’ll keep you on your toes.” 

“I’ll be prepared. I assume you’re asking me about this because you have a job of your own?”

“Yeah, I’m going to be working at the ice cream shop. They have extended summer hours and they get really busy. And my dad says I can shadow one of his deputies a couple of days a week. He says if I’m going to be working with law enforcers, even as a psychologist, I should know what they do from the ground up.” 

“That sounds like a solid plan.” 

“And it will leave plenty of time for us to do stuff together,” she said, pulling her arm from his so she could wrap it around his waist and lean her head on his shoulder. He draped his own arm around her waist, his hand casually on her hip, brushing a kiss over her hair as they continued to walk, their movements so in sync that their pace never faltered. Killian smiled to himself. As wonderful as the comfortable silence was, the casual intimacy might be even better. That he could touch her freely and she him was one of the great joys of his life. 

“I very much look forward to hearing about these summer activities that I can tell you’re planning, love, but I have a more immediate concern that we need to discuss.” 

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

“You have to promise not to laugh.” 

She was indignant. “Killian Jones, when have I ever laughed at you?”

“You laugh at me all the time!” 

“I laugh with you, which is not the same. You can’t blame me for laughing when you’re trying to be funny!” 

“All right, I suppose that’s fair. But this time—” 

“I promise not to laugh, Killian.”

He nodded. “Good. Well. Okay.” He drew a deep breath. “God, I feel like a right git asking this, these are words that I never in all my life thought I’d need to say, but… well, um…” 

“Spit it out, Jones, I’m losing my will to live here,” teased Emma, burying her grin in his shoulder. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming, and despite her promise was very tempted to laugh at him. After all his snarky comments about American high school clichés he was finally being forced to eat his words. 

“Are you really going to make me say it, Swan?”

“I absolutely am, and also I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

He groaned, and she swallowed a giggle. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, “though I think that if you really loved me you wouldn’t put me through this.” 

“Love is pain, babe, isn’t that what Fergie sang?”

“Another right git, so the quote seems apt. Okay, look. Emma. Will you— oh, God, I absolutely cannot say it!” 

“Yes you can, and you’d better or I’ll go with someone else! Surely you don’t think you’re the only one who’s asked me. Or hasn’t asked me, in your case.”

“Someone’s asked you to the prom behind my back?” he snarled, bristling in indignation. “Who? Tell me so I can flatten the bastard.” 

“Asked me to the what now?” She blinked at him, eyes wide and innocent.

The look on his face was priceless. “Bloody hell, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” 

“For a smart guy you are so dumb sometimes. Just ask me, it’s not like you don’t know the answer.” 

He shot her a smirk that was second cousin to a leer. “I would never consider you a foregone conclusion, my darling.” 

“Just ask me, Killian!” 

“Argh! Fine! Emma, will you go to the prom with me?”

“Yes, of course I will. I thought you’d never ask. Like, literally, never.”

Further notes: Yes, we will see them go to the ball prom. Naturally. 

[ficdirectory]

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 15

(To listen, click here) - 12:25

“So, I don’t wanna start without Levi and Dominique, but I have feelings for feelings laundry…” Francesca ventures, eating a big spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Well, I don’t think they’d want you to keep your feelings in…” Mariana says.

“Right, you can definitely share with us,” Jesus encourages.

Francesca looks at Pearl, in case she wants her brother to be here, like Francesca kind of wants Dominique to be here.  She was there for Francesca’s real feelings.  So it would feel better if she was here for them now.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna wait for them.  ‘Cause we don’t leave people out, right?” she asks.

“That’s true,” Jesus nods.

They play some cards while they wait and eventually Dominique and Levi do come back.

“Hey!  We waited for you!” Francesca says, opening her arms, in case either one of them wants a hug.

“You did?  That was sweet of you,” Dominique hugs her first.  Levi comes next, a little bit like he’s nervous.

Francesca tries to make his hug really good so he’s not worried about whatever he’s worried about anymore.  He still seems sad, even though he’s smiling.

He says, “Thanks.”  

Then, Dominique sits by Francesca and Levi sits by Dominique.

“Francesca, did you wanna share?” Mariana asks.

She glances at Dominique.  “I kinda got scared to come over and ask you guys about having dinner,” she confesses, looking to Levi and Pearl in turn.

“You did?  Why?” Levi asks softly.  He looks serious.  Like he’s still worried, but this time it’s about her.

“Because...sometimes...I don’t know…” Francesca tries.

“You’re doing fine,” Dominique says.

“Because this one time...my mom made me go up to the counter at the store and pay for the stuff we were buying.  She gave me money and stuff, that wasn’t the problem.”

Jesus and Mariana are listening close.  They don’t know this story.  

“What was the problem?” Jesus asks.

“She just gave me the money and said to do it.  She didn’t explain anything.  When I asked what to do she was like, ‘What’s to explain, Francesca?  It’s simple.  Just listen for the total and then give her the money.’  So, I listened.  And I gave her all the money, like Mom said.  But then she got all mad…”

“Why?” Mariana wonders.

“Because, she’s like, ‘Francesca, don’t you know how to make change?!’  But she hadn’t told me to do that.”

“She just told you to hand them the money,” Jesus sighs.

“Yeah.  Then it was really embarrassing, because she was yelling at me that there was a line.  And I was taking too long.  She ended up taking the money away and doing it herself.  I cried in the car on the way home, and she said I had to grow up and learn to do things faster.  But…”

“It’s math.  And we can’t do math fast.” Mariana fills in.

“Yeah,” Francesca nods.

“So, I kinda got scared it was gonna be like that again.  Something that seemed easy but really wasn’t.  Or that I was gonna get yelled at if I didn’t do it right.”

“We’ll never yell at you, buddy,” Jesus promises.  “Only if you’re in real danger.  To warn you.”

“Do you guys think it’s fair that she did that?” Francesca asks.

“No,” Pearl answers fast.  “It doesn’t sound fair at all.  You asked a question and she didn’t give you all the information that you needed.  Then she blamed you for not knowing it.  That doesn’t sound fair at all.”

“‘Cause we can ask stuff to each other?” she checks.

“Absolutely,” Dominique nods.

“I just got scared…” Francesca says again.  She doesn’t know how else to explain the fear.  How she never wants to make a mistake.  Because she might get made fun of or yelled at, even by her family.

“I’d be scared, too.”  Levi allows.  “I’ve been in a situation where I didn’t know what to do.  It’s not a good feeling.”

“Nope,” Francesca agrees.  “Did you get in trouble, too?”

Levi nods.  His eyes look the saddest ever.  

“Were you ten like I was?” Francesca asks.

“I was eight.”

“What happened?” she wonders.

“I played in the mud.  And came inside, and got the floor dirty…” he says, not looking at anybody.  “I didn’t realize until it was too late.  I was trying to figure out how to clean it up, but I got in trouble before I could…”

“Not with your dad, the funny guy, right?” Francesca presses.  “He was nice, right?  ‘Cause he was your best friend.”

“No, not with my dad.  Someone else.”

Pearl reaches out to squeeze Levi’s shoulder and he shrugs away.  “No hugs right now, please.”

--

Pearl tries not to feel miffed.  Here’s Levi, actually sharing during Feelings Laundry, an actual opportunity for her to support him, and he’s shrugging her off.

She tries to listen as Mariana talks about feeling out of her depth with Stef, as well.  Pearl knows that it’s been about a year since Mariana was in a car accident.  Knows that she came out of it with a brain injury.  Knows it probably makes a million things harder.

But Pearl’s not got the energy to think about other people’s problems right now.  She’s got her own.  So many, they might drown her.  When she lets it, her mind wanders back through the years, to the woods.  To high school.  To the nice guy who’d asked for a ride home when she was sixteen.  To the way he ruined her.  Threatened to kill her.

If she lets herself she can smell the dirt.  The woods.  Her own fear.  It’s taken her some time to get used to seeing the accents of Levi’s work uniform.  The name tag.  The shirt and the pants the same colors as she’d worn.  All of it, details that stood out stronger than the pain.

She’d been scared to make a sound.  

Suddenly, Cleo’s nails are digging into Pearl’s thighs as she stands on her lap, licking her face.

“Pearl?  You okay?” Jesus asks.

She blinks.  “Yeah.  I’m here.  I’m fine.”  It’s brusque.  Because she can’t very well admit to being in the middle of a flashback, at least not now.

Jesus can tell, Pearl just bets, that she’s not okay.  But he doesn’t comment on it.  No one does.  The others talk.  And Pearl thinks about how the air smells up here this time of year.  How it’s still cold enough to have that bite to it.  That pulls her back through time.  

She thinks about how long it had taken her to recover after seeing Jared again six years ago.  It was just after Jesus and his family had left last time, and it had very nearly destroyed her.  Had it not been for Gracie, and for her friends in the survivor community, and knowing Jesus might still need her, Pearl didn’t know where she’d be right now.

“You wanna share anything?” he asks.

“I’m...not really…” she shakes her head.

“Do you need something?” Levi asks now.  Sweet.  Attentive.  Pearl has to remember that he has the right to say no to things.  That not everything has to do with her.

She has to work on not taking everything out on him.  On maybe even modeling something good for him to emulate.

“It’s a hard time of year for me,” she finally divulges.  “Something bad happened to me when I was younger.  A teenager.”

“Was it trauma?” Francesca asks.

“Yeah, it was.  And when the anniversary of a trauma comes around again?  That can feel hard.  Because there are a lot of similarities that can remind me.”

“When is it?” Levi wonders.  “Your hard time of year?”

“This weekend…” she manages.

“So, is that why you’ve been all moody?” Levi asks.  Pearl, Mariana, Dominique and Francesca all look at him in unison, not amused.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Dude…” Jesus shakes his head.  “Don’t say women are moody.”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense.  I’m just...not good with words…” Levi amends.  “Is that why you’ve been...grouchy?” he tries again.

“Irritable, and yes.  Last time, I think Dominique and I were mentioning.  That can also be related to trauma.  But I’m sorry.  I know I’ve taken a lot out on you.”

“It helps to have more information.  To know I didn’t do something wrong.  If I did, I’d rather you just tell me.”

“Noted,” Pearl nods.

“Jesus, are you good?  From earlier?” Dominique asks.

Pearl’s curious, but doesn’t ask what happened earlier.  If Jesus wants to share, he will.  

“I got a bit triggered before dinner, but Francesca caught it.  I’m okay.  Sometimes, it just sneaks up on you.”

“It’s because I talked about it,” Francesca puts in sadly.

“What?” Dominique wonders.

“I talked about one of your trauma things accidentally, and then you got triggered.  Sometimes, it’s okay to talk about that stuff, and sometimes it isn’t.  I was just trying to help.  It made me stressed that I hurt you.  It’s part of why I got upset later.  Sorry for taking your turn.”

“It’s okay.  We share,” Jesus reassures.  “And I appreciate you trying to help.  But maybe you could ask me if it’s okay to bring up a trauma thing before you do it?”

“Consent again,” Francesca nods.

“Consent always,” Jesus smiles a little.  They fist-bump.

“Does everybody have trauma?” Francesca asks.

“Not everybody,” Dominique allows.  “But a lot of us here do.”

Pearl notices how Dominique keeps eye contact with Levi for a second as she talks.  How he nods a little.  It makes Pearl think about what he’d said about the mud.  About how it wasn’t Dad that he was in trouble with.  Who did that leave?  Nia, his mother, didn’t seem like the type to overreact to a little mud.  

She wonders if there is more to the story.  Feels instinctively there must be, but knows she shouldn’t push.

Levi nods and raises a finger - not even his whole hand - as confirmation that he has trauma, too.

“Wow, I think that really does make everybody here.  Except me,” Francesca shrugs.

Pearl has thoughts about the way Stef’s treated Francesca.  How normal eleven year old children don’t break down when asked to walk next door out of fear of messing up.  To Pearl, that sounds very much like trauma.  But she knows it’s not for her to say.  It’s for Francesca to own, if, and when she’s ready to do so.

“Dominique, how are you?” Mariana wonders.

“I’m...closed…” Dominique says, cryptic.

“Like a store?” Francesca wonders.

“More like an emotional state,” Dominique explains.  “When you’re open, you feel like sharing.”

“Oh, so you don’t feel like sharing,” Francesca deduces.  

Dominique nods.

“That’s okay.  We respect that, right?” Francesca looks around the table.  “Nobody has to share if they don’t want to...because consent.”

“Thanks, Francesca.” Dominique tells her.

Of all the people here, Dominique strikes Pearl as the enigma.  She knows almost nothing about her.  But Levi’s similarly closed off.  It makes sense that the two might be drawn to one another.

“I’m gonna head out,” Pearl offers.  “Thanks for inviting us for dinner, Francesca, it was very good.”

“You’re welcome.” Francesca smiles.

“Just come over next time,” Jesus offers.  “You know our schedule.  If you wanna eat with us, or just hang out, come over.”

“Sounds good.”  She’s headed for the door when Pearl realizes Levi is behind her.

“I’ll come home, too,” he says.

--

“Will you not walk behind me?” Pearl asks, her voice shaking.

“Oh.  I’m sorry,” Levi apologizes.  He makes sure he’s walking beside her.  They don’t talk until they get home.

“Sit with me for a minute?” she asks, patting the couch.  

Levi does.  Hopes she can’t tell how nervous he is.  Is she gonna ask about what he shared earlier?

“I’m using a lot of my energy this week just trying to deal.  I do want to be there for you.  But I want to be honest with you about what I need, too.  So…  I think I’m gonna need you to come to me for your hugs.  Ask me.”

“Because you don’t wanna give them to me?” Levi asks, confused.

“I do want to.  But my mind is pretty full of trauma stuff right now, and it’s hard to keep anything else in there.  So if you could come to me and ask me?  That would help me remember.”

Levi hesitates a little.  It feels a little forward - a little desperate - asking for a hug when they were always freely given.  “Can I - I mean…  Can I have a hug now?”

“Sure,” Pearl says, softening.  She opens her arms and he accepts.  

It’s hard to feel totally comfortable there.

But he’ll work on it.

[heartsofstrangers]

What has been one of the most challenging things that you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“I think one of the most challenging things was learning how to feel again after I had gone through so much trauma. I ended up actually disassociating as a means of survival; and so trying to have normal relationships with people after the fact, including my daughter, who is my favorite human being ever, but the truth is I didn’t plan to be a parent. I was trying to leave, but I didn’t have a say over that. Yeah, so being authentic and honoring my feelings in making decisions and who I am including in my life. And where I am going to go from here. I really had to work very, very hard at trusting myself again, and really even knowing what I was feeling in the moment at all.”

Tell me about some of these traumas, if you’re comfortable.

“I wasn’t allowed to take birth control pills, nor was I allowed to not have sex when I didn’t want to, it didn’t matter. So I very quickly got pregnant by my ex-husband, but he did not stop beating me, so I had a miscarriage, then I had another and he told me that it was my fault because I wasn’t strong enough to carry a child. I was pregnant a third time with my daughter who I have now, and I saved her by wedging my stomach in the corner of two walls every time he hit me, so he only hit me from behind and not the front. After the second miscarriage he was drinking and using drugs a lot more so one night I came home and—I don’t know where he came from, if he was walking or where he came out of, but he was walking and it was dark outside. I didn’t see him until it was too late. He didn’t say anything, which was strange. I didn’t even know if he was angry, I couldn’t assess his demeanor. But he just walked up to me and lifted up his arm; he had a gun, and he shot at me one time and, fortunately, he missed. So, doing the work that I do now in domestic violence, it’s really, really hard. Sometimes I just go home and cry, because for a while I had survivor’s guilt. I heard about certain women who were shot to death and I thought, well, it’s not fair that they’re dead. How did I make it and why? So, for a while I went through that too. Like I said, I did not have much of a choice about having a child, but she’s the reason why I left, because I had her.

“And I had a really hard childhood. My parents were alcoholics and addicts, so I was a parentified child by the age of nine. I was cooking and cleaning to take care of my sisters. My dad’s friend was molesting me. So I tried to make sure that he stayed away from my sisters, and as adults I have asked them if they were okay, and they told me they were okay, so I am happy that I did my job. At least I thought that was my job at the time. I learned to disassociate way back then, and now that I remember being molested. I would imagine myself as this tiny little person in the corner of the ceiling and I would have my back turned to whatever was happening to me. So you learn how to get through these things by not feeling anymore. How could you? Now as an adult I am teaching myself how to feel for the first time, and know that it’s okay to not want something, and that it actually is my choice.”

What was your relationship like with your parents, being in that environment?

“I didn’t see them an awful lot. My dad worked as a mechanic during the day, then he would work at night in our garage, so he would be physically at our address, but not in our house. So I did not see him. My mom was home during the day, but I was in school. She waitressed in the evenings, so she was gone. My dad being there, there was an adult, but in the house I was the oldest, so my relationship with them was that in a way I think I was taking care of them too. Even through my parents’ divorce, I chose to stay with my dad. When I was thirteen, I was doing laundry, I was cooking meals, so when he came home there was food. Even before that, when my parents would argue, I would stand up for my mom, who at the time was very weak. I don’t want to judge her, but she was in a different place. So I don’t know that I had a real child relationship with them. I don’t even think that I had a normal relationship with my sisters. So when we were separated, when I chose to stay with my dad, I felt like I was losing my kids. That was a very skewed way of thinking for a thirteen-year-old. I was the one taking care of them.”

What was the transition like from your getting out of that household and moving on from playing the parental role to both your parents and your sisters, to moving into your first relationship?

“That’s a good question. I left my home right after high school. I was accepted to Berklee College of Music in Boston for singing. That is what I wanted to do, I wanted to be a singer. That was my out. That was my expression. I love music, I love singing, and I left my sisters. I didn’t know at the time that they needed me more than I realized, so there was a bit of resentment for my leaving. When I did leave, I began to remember having been molested. So, I didn’t even know at the time, it wasn’t present in my mind and it happened over the span of years, up until I was thirteen years old. I went away and I was doing well at first, then I started getting these flashbacks and memories and dreams, and I began to get depressed. I slept more, and I isolated. I didn’t tell my friends. I didn’t tell my family. I started messing up in school, which I had never done my whole life. My parents thought I was screwing up, so they left me in Boston with my stuff, and this guy I was dating over the summer had to come get me because they kicked me out. You can’t leave your stuff there. They turned their backs on me. I was living with this guy, which wasn’t great. I was waitressing at the time, and I felt like I failed myself. My entire dream was handed to me, and I couldn’t live up to it, and no one knew why—except me, but I didn’t say anything at the time. They thought I was depressed, and they put me on all kinds of antidepressant medications. For five years I was on every kind of Seroquel Lamictal, Neurontin, Zyprexa, Celexa, up until they had me on 1500 mg of lithium a day, and I couldn’t even go grocery shopping by myself. I had gained so much weight because of the medication and the fact that I didn’t do anything, because I couldn’t. I still feel as if I have wasted five years of my life in this haze, when they just could have loved me through it, instead of just throwing pills at me. Anyway, I tried to kill myself twice, but after the medication, I think that was why I tried. It wasn’t until they started giving me all of this different stuff and a lot of them, that’s the side effect, but they didn’t know at the time. I lived, but I will never forget having my stomach pumped in the emergency room, and my mom being there and me begging her to make them let me die. She had to leave. The doctors didn’t stop. That’s not their job. And now I am grateful. Before I was angry they kept me alive, but now I’m not.

“So actually I stopped taking all of the meds when my now ex-husband got me pregnant for the first time, and I stopped cold turkey. They told me to never stop taking my meds, that I would not function without them, and I believed that. I had doctors telling me I would never work a normal job. And that’s crazy to think about. How do you second guess them? Of course I didn’t know any better, but they were wrong.”

Do you think it’s possible that rather than being smothered with medication and labeled as not being able to participate in society, what you really needed was space and time to heal and work through the trauma in a safe and comfortable way, and maybe built on a foundation of unconditional love?

“I definitely think that never was available to me, and I worked really hard at realizing my parents are fallible human beings. I used to wish that they were exactly what I needed them to be, and they couldn’t they—they just couldn’t. They weren’t there. It helped me learn that, because I am a parent now so I hope that I am doing the best that I can and I think that I am. But you never know, we just do our best. And at the time, I guess that was their best.”

What was their reaction? Did you have a conversation with them at some point and tell them what was causing all this suffering and pain in your life, and the reason for these other symptoms?

“I did. I talked to my mom, and she is in a very different place in her life now. She is clean and sober twenty years, a long time. So now she is in a position to help others and be a support in that way. She apologized to me, and it was a heartfelt conversation that she was able to be present for, and I am grateful for that. My dad, he’s not really there. Actually, I started having these memories, but I couldn’t remember who the person was, I could not, up until about eight months ago. I went to a hypnotist and did real hard work, real tough work that leaves you raw, and I figured it out that way. Because I wanted to know for me. And I was able to tell my dad, because it was one of his friends and he is in denial. He still brings up that guy’s name to me like it never happened. He’ll talk to me about him. He’ll bring up his name to me and tell me he did this, he’s this, like it never happened. That is painful, and I have told him off in my mind about it a couple of times. But not out loud. We’ll see if that ever happens.”

It seems like there must have been a fair amount of forgiving your parents. You mentioned getting to a place where you realized they are human, infallible, and maybe were doing the best they could at that time, which, I assume, led you to a place of forgiving them so you could continue to move forward with your healing. What did that look like for you?

“It’s not an easy place to get to, especially if you think your parents owe you one thing or another—a safe life, a happy life, a healthy life, any of the above. I really had to dig deep. I did a lot of therapy, and in the end it helped me to do energy healing. I came to the realization that holding onto resentment really was inhibiting me and not them. That is a simple enough concept, but to live it out in a situation like this is hard. And you have to work at it. Sometimes every day. It looked like a lot of tears and a lot of forgiving myself too. Because I got stuck and I blamed myself for not finishing school and getting into this abusive marriage: ‘How couldn’t I know?’ and ‘Why wasn’t I smart enough?’ and all this other stuff. I was judging myself when really I was just doing my best too. You know? And I was carrying this pain around like the heaviest weight, thinking, why can’t you run a marathon? Well, I had to drop that at some point, because I wanted to go farther than I had. I couldn’t carry that anymore. I didn’t even want to. It did not serve me anymore. And I thought at one point by letting it go, it was like it didn’t happen and it didn’t matter. And it didn’t change my life forever, and at the same time it did change my life forever. But it doesn’t mean I am stuck or I am not worthwhile, or I am a failure. I mean, I went through all of that and I am still here. That’s my victory, and I have this amazing little person who calls me Mommy, and she is my favorite human being. I didn’t mean to have her, but I didn’t know at the time that I needed her as badly as I do. It’s just the two of us, and that’s cool. I think another part of the healing is being able to give her stuff that I never had. I wanted someone to protect me; I walked around like this wounded little girl for so long, and I was looking to other people to stand up for me because I wasn’t doing it for myself. I actually wanted a boy, because I imagined him growing old enough to stand up to his father for me. How sick is that? To pass that onto my son. I had a girl. And I looked at her and said, ‘It’s just us.’ So now it’s up to me.”

How do you think those experiences shaped who you are today?

“I think they had everything to do with who I am today. I know I am an extremely resilient person, and I know that from my own example. That is the reason why I don’t look at my limitations, I look at everything as a hurdle, but not insurmountable. I look back and say, ‘Well, I lived through that. This is not a big deal.’ Even public speaking and trying to help people through, there are times when I am having conversations with people that I will never meet, I will never know these specifics about them and I will help them for hours just try to survive. I don’t think I could have ever been that person if I had not gone through what I went through myself.”

Did you think maybe, at the time when some of these traumas were starting to surface and you were starting to recognize the pain and the impact it was having on your life, that there was some alternative way around it, or that you could bypass it all together? I think some of us, when something is painful or it makes us uncomfortable, we’ll tuck it under the rug and it will go away, you know? That is not necessarily true.

“It’s definitely not true. It’s so funny you ask that, because I remember people who know me well, I’m a Capricorn, so I’m like, let’s get down to brass tacks. You know? And I sat down in a session with one of my counselors who happened to be new and I said. ‘Look, I wrote down a list of things I needed to heal from, process, and work through.’ I put it on her desk and said, ‘Here are the things I need to do, and I don’t have much time to do them, so could we get on with this?’ [laughing] She just looked at me as if to say, ‘This is not really how this works.’ I definitely did. I have to constantly surrender to the process. It’s different for every single person, because we are all very different individuals. It’s changed over time. At times it was church and faith, and now it’s more of a universal energy and my own personal power. And that’s okay. The things that work for us for a season may not work for us for the duration. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean that what worked before doesn’t work at all, it just means that I’ve taken what I can from this and I’m moving forward to do the same thing with something else. There are so many different ways of healing: meditation, yoga, praying, nature, family, cooking, exercise, art. The list can go on forever. So I think that it’s almost like this collage. Your own personal healing collage. Mine has changed a lot. But I kind of like that. It means I’m changing.”

When you look back, can you see areas where the healing process was already in effect and may have not known it yet?

“Yeah, I can. Even in my marriage, the attempts at reclaiming my control. Not always doing what he said, or it’s the tiniest little thing. I used to go to the grocery store and he would be screaming when I got back because, ‘Why did you take so long?’ He always looked at the receipt and check the time I checked out, and always checked the name of the person who did. And if it was a male, he would lose it. ‘Why did you have to go in that line? You were talking to him, weren’t you? Did you flirt with him?’ Or whatever. I would always have to try to get a female checkout person, and then I would have to get straight home. I couldn’t stop and get gas or get a burger. I had to go straight home, and that was grocery shopping. Which is this mundane little activity that you never think of, but it was like this for every single thing. I used to crumple up my receipt and throw it out of the window. I hate littering, but it was symbolic for me. I crumpled it up and I let it fly away, which was a problem, and I didn’t care. Because I knew it would be. My little tiny rebellions.”

It sounds like there was something growing inside of you, sort of this acknowledgment that “I don’t belong in this cage, I need to be free. I’m coming out.”

“It’s so interesting that you use the word ‘cage.’ Because it was like being locked in an open cage. You’re so scared to walk out, you don’t even try. It’s like mice in an experiment. You are so scared that the cage door could be left open all night, and you would stay in there. And that’s how I was. I could leave. I had a car. I went to work. I could call someone and do something. They convince you that they will hurt you, they will hurt your family, they will never leave you alone and you are not worth it, no one else is going to love you. You should take what you get from them. And I believed that. That was the best that I could do, and I’m lucky to have him.”

It sounds as if a lot of what keeps people in that cage is not only fear, but your own sense of worthiness. And if you don’t have a sense of worthiness, and you’re believing that you do not deserve the freedom, the love, the independence, a loving partner, then you’ll stay.

“You will. They systematically strip you of your humanness and your self-worth to the point where my name could have been on my license on my birth certificate as ‘stupid bitch.’ And he never called me by my real name, and that’s one way just to make a person feel less than. Another thing was haircuts. He would come to the hairdresser with me, and he would tell her how to cut my hair. I couldn’t do that myself. It would always be to make me look not pretty. He wanted my hair short. He wanted me look a certain way. Another thing was I could not pick out my clothes. They were always supposed to be baggy; they were always supposed to be what he picked. I had some clothes in a drawer, and one time when I came home, they were cut with scissors with bleach all over them and the cat litter box dumped on top. And that’s what you get when you try to wear your own clothes.”

Wow. So what is the tape in your head now? What is the voice? Is it still ‘stupid bitch’ or what is it now?

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s really quite the opposite actually. The tape in my head is, well lately I’ve been taking these self-checks, because I’ve been working the hardest on identifying my true feelings in the moment and honoring them. So my mantra is, ‘How does this feel? What do you want?’ Two very simple questions that I am sure most people don’t walk around asking themselves. Because, you sort of do what you are supposed to do. You walk here, you do this, you dress this way, and we have these things that are ingrained in us. My new thing is just being authentically myself, whatever that looks like, and not caring if I look goofy or silly, because those are other people’s judgments of me, not mine.”

I love that, yeah. You definitely have to journey through a lot of vulnerability and willingness to be vulnerable, which takes a lot of courage to get to a place where you are willing to be authentic and not care what the spectators are going to say or how they feel about you. You know that because you have done work within yourself, it doesn’t matter what anyone else things about you. Your worth is not based on their opinions, it’s based on how you feel about yourself. That is a wonderful place to get to, and I don’t think that’s an easy journey. And I don’t think that once you get there, it’s guaranteed that you stay there. I would imagine from my own experience that it takes daily practice to remain in that space.

“It does. I have days where I’m like, I don’t want to. I mean, we are adults and we have jobs and we have these responsible things that we may say, ‘I don’t want to do this or it doesn’t feel right.’ Even if that’s the case, I can examine that, I can notice that, I can arm myself with that knowledge. ‘I don’t want to do this and I am not going to do this.’ And if that’s going to work in making your paycheck, you’re going to need that. I’m a mom, I can’t just not. But I can examine it and say, ‘Okay, what are you going to do about it?’ And that makes you take that next step. So, what’s your action? What are you going to change? How are you going to change this? We have a tendency to follow our habits and these behaviors that are sort of inherent in us. We can at any point switch that up; all it takes is a decision. Well, first you have to notice. Then you have to decide, and it is usually uncomfortable. But that’s cool too. Because it’s different. None of this whole process was easy or comfortable. A lot of times, I had to consciously say, ‘This sucks, I hate it, but I have to do it, so I’m going to sit in this discomfort, because it is going to help me in the end.’ It’s an investment in yourself. It’s like re-breaking your bone to grow it back right. That is not a comfortable process.”

It sounds like a beneficial one, no?

“Definitely. I don’t regret any of it actually, which is a nice place to be too. It has a lot to do with forgiving myself. I’m not a screw-up, it was not an accident. It all happens for a reason, and you can look at it with the attitude of ‘this happened, I’m going to make the best of it.’ ‘The best of it’ is almost limitless, actually. It’s really your potential to see how far you can take it. Some people are just happy to heal, and that’s perfectly fine and wonderful. I just happen to be someone who wants to go bigger. I share this painful stuff and I want people to know that they are not alone.”

That’s huge.

“Yeah, thanks.”

I feel that it’s our responsibility, having gone through difficult times and finding our way and getting back to light and to safety, not to forget about the people who are still trapped in the well. To offer them a ladder, to offer them some help or some slack. It’s really amazing that you have moved through your healing and your journey, and that you are in a place where you are sharing your story and offering help to others who are still stuck in that situation. There are many men and women who are stuck in abusive relationships and stuck in that place of “I’m in a cage, the door is not locked, but I’m too afraid to push it,” which is scary; and I think some people spend their entire lives being stuck in that cycle. As you share your story with me today, and on a platform you have created outside of this, you have given people an opportunity to see hope—there is light, there is hope. I know what you are doing outside of this interview, but for the purpose of the interview, why don’t you share where this path has lead you and what you are doing?

“Okay. This actually started with a poem for a class I was taking in college and that I had shared with someone. Well, first I was volunteering at the Prudence Crandall Center in New Britain. I took over the support group I had been attending for four years, and that is how I began being a DV counselor. I happened to send this poem to someone who picked it up and sent it along and they were like, ‘Geez, this is great. Can we use it? Can you say it somewhere?’ And so I said sure. They said, ‘Would you mind being in this short film for the Prudence Crandall Center?’ and I said, sure. Then I was asked to speak on behalf of the Prudence Crandall Center, then I was asked to speak at a second event about my experience there. It was like every speech I did, someone would ask me to do another. I was looking for a professional email because I wanted to make a business card. I was thinking of things I wanted to say, and ‘Sarah speaks up’ is what I decided on. Sarah Speaks Up is now my non-profit organization that I started, because I wanted to really encourage and empower people by my example, and from that sprang some ideas that I had. How can I help people speak up, really speak up? In the meantime, I had a parole hearing for my ex-husband, which was the second one I had been to, so I knew what to expect and I had friends with me so I wasn’t alone. He was on a teleprompter, he was on video chat, so he wasn’t in the room. This was a couple of months ago. This is still me, myself, now, going into a room with my ex-husband on a TV, and my involuntary response was physically shaking and crying. I thought to myself, ‘If you’re this person now, and you still get this as your response, what are these other victims feeling?’ They’ve just come out of this relationship, and they are expected to go to court and testify in front of that person, and sit in the hallway while they pace right in front of you, stare at you—because I’ve been through that. And then you have to walk out, your both free to go and you both walk out at the same time, and how do you feel when you walk to your car, and do you want to go at all? Because you know it’s going to be like that. Which is why I thought of the Veterans for Victims program that I am currently in the process of creating. We would engage two demographics. I have always supported the veterans, and appreciate greatly what they have done for all of us. And then these victims. Which would give this person like an escort, to be there together, to walk in together and walk out together, so they are not alone. So I’m really hoping for great success with that. Depending on how far we can take it, I would love to make it a nationwide project. But again, we are working on baby steps right now. I do public speaking at events. Anywhere they could use my story. I also talk about personal empowerment and making choices that serve you as an individual, rather than feeling obligated to always do what is expected of you or what you think you are supposed to be doing. Really feeding your own happiness in that way. Newspaper articles, writing books—it’s a lot, but that’s my mission.”

Did you ever imagine that those really traumatic experiences and times in your life would lead you to this path of purpose and a mission that is helping other victims?

“I did not, I never did. It happened so organically. How I was growing and the people around me noticing that and supporting me through. It took a lot of separate individuals to see something in me and to tell me and push me along, not in a pressure-type way, but a very, very supportive way.”

What advice would you either offer to yourself as a young adult or the child you were in a parental role? Or to somebody else who can relate to that situation themselves that is stuck?

“I would tell them that the place they are in is not the place they are always going to be in. A lot of it has to do with the choices they make. Sometimes we don’t realize that not making a choice, is making a choice. By staying in a toxic environment, by staying in a dysfunctional relationship, we are essentially crippling ourselves—it’s like tying our own sneakers together and expecting to run a race. You have to really think about what’s best for you. Another thing too, a lot of times, domestic violence victims are people who are caretakers, people who want to help, fix, change, and they want to make this person better. We are not God. We are not responsible for the success or failure of anyone but ourselves. Even our children—we are there to teach them and guide them, but we cannot make their decisions for them. We love them through it all, but we are only responsible for ourselves. That is really freeing, because you can say, ‘What do I want?’ and know that is all that you really can ask.”

That’s huge! Is there another mantra or a quote you would like to share, something that maybe you stumbled across in your healing process that was an “a-ha’’ moment for you?

“Now I’m on the spot. I don’t know, in terms of a mantra or a quote. I love quotes, so I don’t have one in particular. My favorite one lately is from Malala, I cannot remember it verbatim, which is to the effect of, ‘I raise my voice, not to yell, but so that people who cannot be heard have someone to speak for them,’ or something to that effect. It’s not a mantra for me, it’s the way I choose to live my life.”

And what does that mean to you? Why does that resonate with you?

“It resonates with me because I remember being such a mouse. I remember being or feeling so powerless that all I wanted was for someone to swoop in and tell me, ‘You’re not crazy, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to be okay.’ And I hope I can do that even for just one person and I’ll be happy.”

You’re doing it right now. How has it felt to talk about these experiences with me today?

“It’s all part of the point of it all. It feels great, I’m not embarrassed by it. I don’t hold it as trauma anymore, I just hold it as experience.”

Do you think it is possible that by sharing this story with me, you could be helping some people who might be ashamed of or feel silenced in some way to make a decision, make a change, set the ball in motion to get out of that situation that they are in?

“Yes. I count on it, actually. I hope for it every day. That’s why I do this. I wouldn’t even care if I never knew either way, I’m okay with not knowing. I just want to believe that it happens. And people tell me anyway if in fact it has helped. Just to know that people hear someone say, like you tell everyone they are beautiful. I want people to know that they are worth living. They are worth being happy. These are not frivolous things. They are things that they deserve. So yeah, I count on it.”

[feralphoenix]

best of 2016

i actually did write some things other than undertale this year, but this top 10 is undertale all the way down.

01. love does not make me gentle or kind (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, ensemble); February

And so this is how—Sans bossing you every step of the way—you wrap both your hands around Papyrus’ middle and carefully, carefully lift them up into the air. Judging by the squealing and wild waggling of tiny fists and bootied feet that ensues—that and Sans’ laughter—Papyrus is enjoying it too. You can’t help it—you start to grin.

“Nyooooom,” you croon, gently making Papyrus “fly” around you and Sans while the skeleton siblings both laugh. “Nyoooooooooom.”

You swivel your waist, still making zooming noises and grinning like an idiot—and there, in the doorway between the living room and foyer, is Chara: Standing still with one hand on the wall, with an expression you’ve never seen them wear before. There’s something raw and burning in their eyes, intense enough to give you chills even though there’s no anger or hostility there at all. They reach up to clench their left fist around the locket that sits golden and glowing against the black yarn of their sweater, and they never look away from your eyes even once.

As you bring Papyrus back down to sit in your lap, Chara startles a little and turns to their left. Prase is there, one pale hand on their left shoulder, shaking their long orange hair back. They ask something, so quiet that even you can’t hear them, and Chara makes a face and signs something to them. Prase signs something back. Chara wrinkles their nose and starts to smile. Both of them begin to laugh.

All the happy bubbles in your stomach from playing with the baby pop, leaving something sour in their wake.

a four-years-later followup to somebody out there needs you. the previous fic was a portrait of the repercussions of this series’ premise for chara, so this one focuses on what the far-reaching repercussions are for asriel and how he’s grown. the main plot revolves around chara trying to take a few steps towards independence and asriel, who over the past eight years has formed big chunks of his identity around being their caretaker, balking Very inelegantly.

at the time i remember this being very controversial characterization for asriel, lmao... but i like to depict the ugly parts of codependency to really show how unhealthy it is for everyone involved. expanding the worldbuilding for this series, and further developing the soul ocs who appear (prase and rufus), were also really fun.

02. don’t you let the thunder in (Undertale - Frisk & Chara, Toriel, the Player); February

They skip across the cracked-floor puzzle in light steps that don’t match their usual careful gait and they breathlessly hum Toriel’s old lullaby and they miss all the exact same pitches and it’s too much, it’s too much.

What’s wrong? they think at you. Their concern and uncertainty seep syrupy and horrible into all the wounded parts of you and it’s only then that you realize your helpless panic and rage must be bleeding into them the same way.

You want to tell them nothing but it’s too raw and you can’t, so: You scream instead, curl up and rage. You’d cover your ears if you were corporeal, if you had a hope of blocking them out. Stop looking, you howl. Cry. You want to throw things and stomp your feet and punch the wall and grab something sharp and slam it through your brain. Frisk flinches. You want claws so that you can dig them into wherever your minds connect and tear yourself away.

I’m sorry, they say, and they’re miserable and you’re miserable and you hate it, you hate it. I’m not doing it on purpose.

Figure out a way to STOP doing it! you shriek at them. You’re aware that you’re not helping, that in general it’s not going to do any good to throw a tantrum like a ten-year-old, but—but you ARE just a ten-year-old. So are they. You’re just a couple of stupid kids. It’s funny. It’s just—so funny.

a fic that i wrote for a friend on the premise of frisk and chara’s bodysharing/soul link also involving mindsharing, and the difficulty in drawing and maintaining boundaries. the same friend wanted to see a little more work involving the player as a neutral or benevolent entity, since undertale players irl aren’t uniformly evil but it’s really rare to see the player appear in fic except as the Ultimate Badguy(tm) or as a self-insert in sans/reader fics.

anyway, i alternated perspectives to show how the weird mind meld is hard for both kids, and the little hints about how they might work it out to something more beneficial and symbiotic in the future.

03. the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, Chara & Asgore, ensemble); March

“If—it wouldn’t be imposing,” you begin, and falter. Take another deep breath. Let it out. “I want to learn how to fight, too. Will you teach me?”

Asriel’s eyes go wide, his expression blank and shocked—but behind him, Asgore breaks out into a wide, proud smile.

“Of course I will teach you, my child,” he says, every word filled with warmth. “I would be more than happy to help you learn to defend yourself.”

Your hands shake a little as you breathe out, relieved. “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I know that I’m not—very strong to begin with, and there will be difficulties because of my problems with mobility, but—”

“There are ways to compensate for those things,” Asgore says. “If this is what you want, then we will find the methods that work for you.”

Your vision blurs, for a moment. The smile that steals across your face is shaky, probably ungainly and too-wide—it feels so much more natural than the contained expressions you’ve learned to produce for the sake of interacting with strangers. But the birdsong and sunlight in your chest make you feel warm and weightless, and you don’t care, you don’t care; finally, you have a place to start.

Asriel pushes back from the table in a great scrape of wood on wood, erupting from his chair and rising to his full height.

“No,” he says.

Your heart seems to—stop in your chest, for just a moment.

“I beg your pardon,” you say.

this one is a three-years-later followup to love does not (listed above). i wanted to follow up on the events that the previous fic had set in motion, with chara’s desire for change vs asriel’s fear of it. since asriel was a very unreliable narrator in love does not (and chara was also pretty unreliable in somebody out there needs you), from chara’s adult perspective we get a clearer picture of the ways that asriel’s overprotectiveness and control issues are harmful.

unfucking codependent fuckhell continues to be a cherished hobby. it was also a lot of fun to write the combat training scenes here and start to build groundwork for improving chara’s relationship with toriel too.

04. like ships had come home in me (Undertale - Frisk & Chara & Flowey, ensemble); April

One of the interesting things that’s happened as a result of monsters rejoining the surface world is that there’s been a great surge of interest in “retro” things from the humans who’ve welcomed them. Up until Alphys fixed up all kinds of new gadgets and appliances for everyone, at least, all monsters had to use of technology was whatever humans had thrown away and made it into the Waterfall dump in one piece. Sympathetic humans have helped the monsters get used to new technology, but monsters’ familiarity with old things makes them exotic in the eyes of young people.

This especially goes for entertainment. You’d guessed as much from Alphys’ Mew Mew obsession, but sometimes all the monsters could scrounge of human media was decades old—while everyone was more than happy to try out new things too, they still had a lot of love for everything they’d enjoyed in the underground. This brought old human fans out of the woodwork, and made new ones out of monster sympathizers, and, well.

Somehow or other this led to the revitalization of some things that were still new when Chara had fallen into the underground a hundred years ago. The old multiplayer game about squids fighting over territory with paint, for one.

“You think of this as new,” Chara says with despairing fondness, “but I never got to play this kind of stuff when I was alive. I was never allowed to have my own video games! Ree was, but he had, like, this ancient SNES and that was it.”

“Hey, shut up,” Flowey interjects from your lap. “You had fun with it. I know you did.”

“Once I got over my perfectly reasonable disgust that you thought Super Mario was the cool new game in 2015,” Chara says archly. And to you: “We found an N64 a couple months before we… y’know. He cried.”

this piece mostly started out as a way to explore the flowey-joining-everyone-on-the-surface concept because this angle on his characterization isn’t something i see very often in that context (or, uh, any other). the story winds up following two narratives - the trio’s adventures on the surface in the year after breaking the barrier, and also how flowey and chara sort of “came out” to everyone about their true identities, for lack of a better term.

it’s all mostly positive postcanon stuff with some wistful things and (naturally, because it’s me) trauma recovery-related content too, and i think it came out pretty solid.

05. a wish you tell a star and no one else (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, Asriel & Alphys, ensemble); May

Heat rushes into your face and chest, and you curl up like you’re a kid again—too shy to try to break down the barriers of politeness and status between you and your subjects yourself, and with no one willing to break them down for you except for Chara, who came from a place where your status never meant anything. “I guess,” you say.

They curl up next to you, shaky. You wonder what it is they’re holding in. The desire to order you not to talk to Alphys anymore, maybe, or a plea that you not leave them alone. It’s so weird, being in this position, after all the time you spent terrified that Chara would be the one to leave you for all their new friends.

It’s also weirdly embarrassing, watching Chara at least try to keep jealousy and anxiety buttoned in, when you were such a mess about it for such a long time. To teenage you’s credit, it’s probably easier to do when you have a lot of friends and you’re twenty-five, versus being fourteen and suddenly having to fight with the very human who’d scared your partner half to death for their attention.

But you’re gratified too: That they value your attention and affection so much to fear losing it, and that they respect you enough to urge you to do what might make you happy instead of clinging.

So you wrap your arms around them and hug them tight to your chest, closing your eyes and resting your chin atop their head again. “Thanks for encouraging me,” you tell them. And, after a pause: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chara doesn’t say I know or try to joke. Instead, they make fists on your sweater and tremble a little, and they say “thank you” in a voice so tiny you almost don’t hear it over your father and Innig’s footsteps off in the middle of the garden.

a four-years-later followup to the subtle difference (listed above). this fic returns to asriel’s perspective, following a number of various plot threads - his upcoming coronation, the need to find a new royal scientist, his first friendship aside from chara and their social circle, and his attempts to propose to chara. it was a very ambitious story and covers a lot of character development on asriel’s part that was a long time in coming for this series.

doing the asriel+alphys friendship was unexpectedly fun and rewarding. they’re not characters i see written as friends very often, and the setup for this series allows them to have a very different dynamic from canon.

06. you in your veil and your pale white dress (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, ensemble); July

It’s good to be curled up half on Asriel’s lap and with your legs bent up over Prase’s, your toes on Undyne’s jeans. You have your pizza boxes propped on your own lap where they belong, topped with tomato sauce and substitute pepperoni and steamed peppers and none of that awful cheese; everyone else’s pizzas are more or less free-for-alls, with only yours and Liron’s clearly labeled in bold marker, since the others’ food generally has things that neither of you can eat.

You’re hungry from more or less skipping lunch earlier, you’re relaxed and sleepy from your afternoon spent messing around with Asriel, and as noisy as everybody is, it’s very calming to be here, amongst a friendly press of bodies—amongst people you like and whom you know are safe. Your and Asriel’s work is important, but it’s draining, so these chances to kick back are very valuable.

“Anyway, what are we going to watch tonight?” you ask. “I know we agreed on Sailor Moon last time, but I don’t think I’m quite steady enough for arguing with Alphys over whether the nineties adaptation or the reboot is better.” You having been introduced to the series by reading the manga at the library and her first finding it through someone’s discarded box set of the first anime, your opinions on the subject are very different. Debating it can be fun, especially since you do agree that you’ve got the right to think how you want even if you’re both pretty sure the other is dead wrong, but it can be stressful if one or both of you have brittle nerves.

Alphys, who understands this even if her anime opinions are occasionally incorrect, grins and shrugs, nodding. “Th-that’s fair, I think,” she says. “D-does anyone else have requests?”

a five-years-later followup to a wish you tell a star (listed above). it mostly deals with the separate plot threads of wedding preparations, the current state of chara’s recovery, and chara making friends with astis over the book kitchen and sharing food. aside from the literary references part of the plot, there’s a lot of discussion of chara’s past trauma and their frustration with growing up nonwhite & marginalized in a very white area with no connection to their cultural heritage.

this fic also happens to be a nice example of a plot that flagrantly disobeys the western conflict-centric model. i got a lot of confused and/or curious comments from people who didn’t know how the story still works and is entertaining despite its lack of overt conflict sources/things going wrong or getting worse. i don’t know whether to be smug about this or despondent that the conflict model is the only one western education will ever touch.

07. under my skin, there will be flowers (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, Yellow Soul Human); September

“Chara, when we talked about this earlier… you said you meant to… to destroy your whole village, when we were kids. I dunno... I don’t think your feelings, the hatred and resentment that made you want to do that, are bad or wrong. But I’m still glad that I was able to stop you, because taking people’s lives away is… it’s a really serious thing. It’s bad, you shouldn’t do it unless you have no other choice.

“I stopped you then. I… Chara, you’ve made it this far without ever gaining any LOVE. Wouldn’t it be great if you could avoid that now, too?”

“It would be,” you agree. “It would be great if there’s a way to end this with no one killing and no one being killed. But just like you acknowledged yourself, there are some situations where you don’t have a choice. You’ve hypothesized that that’s how it may even have been for the human, haven’t you?”

Asriel huffs. “Well, yeah, but.”

“If the situation arises where it’s kill or be killed,” you say, gentle as you can, “I will kill. Because if it’s her life or your life, your life is more important. To me—to the whole underground. I won’t let you die, Ree. If the only way I can keep you alive is to kill someone, I’ll do it. I can live with that. I know it may not sit easy on your conscience. You’re a better person than me, after all. But even if it makes you hate me, I won’t let you die.”

Your voice wavers only a little on that last sentence. Asriel holds you tighter.

“I won’t hate you,” he says, soft and velvet. His nose presses against the crown of your head. “After all the talking I did about how having LOVE doesn’t automatically make somebody evil… golly, I’d be such a hypocrite to. I’d still love you no matter how much LOVE you gained, even if you did really bad things—the kinds of things I couldn’t forgive. I’m always going to love you, Chara. That was the choice we made—all the years we’ve put into this.”

a four-years-later followup to you in your veil (listed above). whereas the previous fic had no conflict, this story is very tightly focused around conflict: how to prevent the new violent human from killing anyone, and also the friction between chara and asriel over methods. plus the fact that something’s definitely fucky here.

this fic was fun to do because the setup is basically playing undertale but from the defensive side - chara and asriel remain in new home where asgore is in canon, and spend most of the story directing their deputies, planning, and arguing about those plans while holly progresses through the underground.

although this fic ought to have been asriel pov based on the alternating pattern i set up, this story is really chara’s, no way around it. so i gave asriel the pov for ycouyo 6.5 instead (lmao) and let chara take center stage where they belonged.

08. the first shoots of green after a wildfire (Undertale - Flowey, Chara); September

The human child emerges into the light. They’re wearing clothes he doesn’t recognize—jeans heavily stained in dirt, orange-and-yellow striped hoodie with a cutesy leaf pattern on the sleeves. They’re shouldering a heavy-looking black backpack. Their hair’s in the same rough bowl cut as it was when he last saw them, and they don’t seem to have grown much. Their eyes are still hooded in the bright light pouring from the hole above him, but he can see slivers of red iris beneath their protectively lowered eyelids.

Flowey thinks about saying something rude and nasty to make them go away, and a little to see what it will make them do, little to no hope though there might be of getting pacifistic Frisk to lash out and end his miserable existence for him. Then he sighs and droops. “Do you seriously not have anything better to do?” he asks. It comes out sounding whiny.

They trudge stoically up and start shrugging out of their backpack, setting it down at the edge of the golden flowers that mark Chara’s grave. It clanks. If there’s a flowerpot and a trowel or something in there, he will scream and hide in the soil for a million years.

“C’mon, Frisk,” he says with a sigh. “I told you already—I don’t want to subject everybody else to some accident of science that’s missing his love and compassion glands. I’m fine with this.” He is a lying sack of shit, but this isn’t at all new. “Go home. Go be with the people who love you.”

“Frisk can’t come to the phone right now,” they say, a little flat and a lot sarcastic, and Flowey feels some phantom jolt in the vicinity of where his heart would be if he were still a monster.

i got the idea for post soulless pacifist chara trying to make things up to flowey using the only method the player has ever taught them (i.e. indiscriminate acts of violence) and it was just so awful and wrenchingly sad that i had to write it.

doing flowey’s pov for the first time was a fun way to flex my characterization skills, and this is one of only a very small handful of undertale fics i’ve done in third person.

09. to rest in crypts and wake in gardens (Undertale - Chara/Asriel, Frisk & Chara & Asriel, ensemble); September - November

“You’ve—fallen down, haven’t you,” they say, and take a step closer. “Are you all right?”

You shrug a little. Where are we? you sign, not thinking. I didn’t think anyone lived on the mountain.

“Oh,” they say again, eyebrows raising. And—so quickly that you can hardly believe it’s happening—they raise their own hands and sign along as they reply, “Technically, no one does. These caves are inside Mt. Ebott, not on them, and they’re certainly populated.”

I can hear, you sign back, stupidly, rudely, because that’s definitely what you need to say to someone who’s courteous enough to reply in the same language instead of being mean to you when they see you trying to communicate. You flush so badly that your ears feel scalded. Sorry, you add feebly.

The person actually smiles a little as they drop their gaze. “That’s all right,” they say, and then look back up at you hastily. “I didn’t want to assume either way, and now I know.” They rub at their upper arm in what you think might be self-consciousness, and then reach the same hand up to squeeze their pendant. “I am Chara,” they say, and then they finger-spell C-H-A-R-A for you, and show you a sign you don’t know: It looks like the sign for knife but in reverse, their right index finger sweeping towards their chest instead of towards you. It has to be their name sign. They make it a second time, and this time you repeat it. They smile again. “That’s very good. What do you like to be called?”

You spell F-R-I-S-K for them, and follow it up with the name sign you chose for yourself—an F with your right hand tapped twice over your chest in the same place as the sign for heart.

Chara mimics you, getting the sign right on their first try. “Frisk?” they ask, and they smile when you nod. “And what pronouns do you prefer?”

The relief that rushes over you when they ask this is as tangible as if someone has wrapped you up in a warm blanket and given you a tall glass of strawberry milk. They, you tell them, smiling.

This time they grin. “Will you look at that, we match,” they say.

a four-years-later followup to there will be flowers (listed above). this story shifts to frisk’s perspective as we follow them from their fall into mt. ebott through their adventures exploring the underground, guided and assisted by both chara and asriel. this allows for both an examination of the smaller changes in the world that have been created by this au’s setup, and for a comparison with the canon neutral/pacifist storyline of undertale.

i’d planned for this scenario literally before i wrote the second fic in this ‘verse, so it was really rewarding to finally get to write it. i originally planned to post it all at once, but it became so long that i had to split it up into chapters by area...

10. remember weather by the voice of the wheel (Undertale - Frisk/Chara/Asriel); December

You’re not old enough to buy things online yet, so you pull your mother aside late at night when Chara is in the shower and Frisk is upstairs. “I can pay you back for these later, I think,” you say quietly just in case, “but Frisk and Chara have been really miserable this year and I want us to have some nice memories of the holidays too, dang it.”

She doesn’t chastise you for saying “dang”; she just lifts your phone to give it a look herself, producing her reading glasses to appraise the pages more closely.

“This is very thoughtful of you, my son,” she says at last. “I would be happy to help procure these gifts. And—because I know that they are quite expensive—I would also be happy to negotiate a few extra chores in place of part of the price, if you would like.”

There were several timelines when you had the entire supply of gold in the underground to yourself. While in many ways you’re relieved to just be the prince instead of an aberration with godly time-warping powers, having to go through Mom or Dad for your allowance is not one of them. You sigh so that she’ll know how very put-upon you are, and that you’re deliberately choosing to be Mature when you say “Okay, Mom.”

return of the son of frisk and chara are jewish because i say so, the end, so there!!! it would be nice to start a tradition of hanukkah stories for every year i’m still writing undertale...

anyway this wound up being... mostly a story about trying to enjoy the holidays and find a way to keep your head up even when times are tough, both in a general sense (microaggressions) and a personal one (the kids’ various traumas).