#sorry if this is incoherent I have a migraine but it’s very funny in my brain

[honeybee3377]

The parallel between Fantasy High and A Starstruck Odyssey of everyone gathered around a phone starting with one person and steadily devolving into “hi this is her manager” and “hey so sorry this is his manager” etc etc is cracking me up

[euthymiya]

female reader ; non curse au ; established relationship ; reader lays on sukuna ; written bc i’m moving and can’t help but imagine sharing an apartment with him (i want someone to help me carry heavy boxes with flexing muscles as i take in the view)

“I can’t find the box with my bras,” you whine. It’s miserable, the look on your face. It fills Sukuna with unbridled joy as he cracks a thickly amused grin.

“Good,” he grunts in approval, “you don’t need them, anyway.”

“I do,” you glare. It takes all of three seconds before the reality dawns on you—and then he’s snickering as your glare becomes harsher. “You put it somewhere, didn’t you?” You accuse him through narrowed eyes.

“Me? I’d never.”

“I should’ve known moving in with you was a mistake,” you snap, “I’m moving back.”

“Too late. We paid for the moving truck.”

“Well, technically you paid for the moving truck,” you correct him, letting your lips stretch into a smug grin.

He scowls, rolling his eyes before slumping onto the bed with a groan. You follow him, curling up beside him as your head finds his chest and his arm tucks under your body to cocoon you closer. You inhale, he exhales, and even if your paces don’t match, your uneven breaths form a pretty solid rhythm.

“I’m gonna need my bras,” you insist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll get the box from my trunk later. I’m tired, woman.”

“We still have to unpack—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he clicks his teeth in distaste. “I need rest—I did all the heavy lifting, since someone refused.”

“It’s what the man is for,” you hum cheekily.

“So then why didn’t you do it?” He raises a brow. You shoot him an unimpressed look at his smart comment, a tight lipped, sarcastic smile splaying on your lips as you let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re right,” you nod seriously, “it’s my job to treat the lady right. Sorry you had to sprain your back with my boxes, princess,” you pat his cheek.

“The fuck are you on about?” The look of pure disgust on his face makes you break out into giggles, leaning up to kiss his jaw as he grumbles something incoherently under his breath. You hear bits and fragments of it. Something along the lines of such a handful and give me migraines that you don’t fully catch, but they manage to amuse you all the same.

“You’re pretty enough to play the part,” you hum, shifting your body to roll on top of his. You hover over him, and Sukuna lets out a dramatic grunt. You pretend—and it’s only out of the goodness of your heart—that his cheeks aren’t slightly rosy from the comment you made.

“You’re heavy,” he says (to which you gasp, offended) as he squeezes your ass (you gasp again and smack his chest this time) and shoots you a grin with no shame (you stare for just a strict second—and a strict second only—at his dimples).

“Don’t lie,” you huff, “that’s an insult to that gym regimen of yours.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He asks smugly, mouth curving in that ridiculously annoying, yet stupidly handsome way as he adds, “bet you’re eye-fuckin’ me through that mirror as I life weights all the time.”

“I’m too busy worrying about those shaky arms giving out and leaving you to die under the weight.”

“Very funny,” he scowls, “you could pay our rent with stand up comedy alone.”

“Being my princess isn’t enough? Now you need to be my sugar-baby, too?”

“Enough,” he hisses, one hand coming to your face to keep you away as you break into a fit of laughs and try to give him a cheeky peck to the lips. “Stay away from me.”

“No, we’re roomies now.”

“We are not roommates,” he says, irritated by the idea. “That sounds like we’re fuckin’ strangers.”

“You’re right,” you nod thoughtfully, “I guess we can call it two mutually benefiting individuals that have decided to split costs to save money on a living space in an unforgivingly harsh economy—”

“You talk too much,” he mutters. And mainly just to shut you up (but maybe, perhaps, possibly for one of the mutual benefits, too), his hand grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. You cut yourself off by letting out a muffled gasp as his tongue presses against yours—messy, heated, and surprisingly gentle.

“Well, that was rather passionate. You know what they say about roommates,” you wiggle your brows as you pull away. He purses his lips in an agitated expression as he glares at your stubborn word choice.

“Stop callin’ me your fuckin’ roommate,” he demands.

You laugh. It’s soft—a light, airy noise. The sound bounces off the walls that are his and yours and echoes along the space between your pressed-up bodies. Along the boxes littered across the floor and the suitcases lined up in the corner. Along the clothes you insisted you needed that he hasn’t seen you wear in months as they lay in a heap on his closet floor. Along the kitchen table where you’ll have breakfast, and the living room where you’ll watch movies, and the bathroom sink where you’ll fight over space to brush your teeth.

He’ll never tell you directly (because he has dignity, of course) but he could really get used to living somewhere that houses a sound like that. A sound that makes him realize the difference between the space he lives in, and the place he calls home.

Home, he thinks to himself for a moment. Home is where your laugh echoes, ringing obnoxiously in his ear. Sukuna doesn’t think any living space will ever be the same again without it.

“Since we live together now—” you murmur, breaking him from his thoughts as you lean in to peck his lips. He hums in a rare, soft, content little sound that you don’t get to hear too often. “—I can finally decorate your plain ass apartment.”

His brows scrunch in horror as he registers your words. “Absolutely not—”

“Muah,” you cut him off with another peck to his mouth, “I’m thinking earthy tones, what about you?”

——————————

I carried like 20 something heavy ass boxes to and from my car nonstop today and every time I felt my poor arms get sore, I thought: wouldn’t it be so nice to have someone like sukuna and his four arms to do all the work while I sit and look gorgeous? He doesn’t have four arms in this fic, but that’s honestly his problem not mine. Just carry the damn boxes I’m just a girl

[johnnycakesswitch]

Hey!! I see you’ve been reblogging a lot of sickfic type headcanons and was wondering if maybe you had any for the curtis bros and or johnny?? I’m a sucker for sickfics and I feel like you’d have some really cute headcanons haha

Ok I’m sorry I took a minute to answer but I wanted to think up some rly good ones for you!! Sick fics are my absolute fav so I will do my best!

Ponyboy

• he’s the baby of the family so he gets absolutely doted on when he’s sick and he loves it so much

• gets so many colds in the winter. His nose is perpetually red from having to blow it so much. Always has a wet cough

• when he’s sick he really enjoys being held or laying in someone’s lap on the couch. Soda will hold him close at night and do whatever he can to make him comfy enough to sleep like rub his tummy or back or play with his hair, he absolutely hates seeing his baby brother hurting

• when his head is hurting really bad, Soda will massage his neck and shoulders because migraines really make your entire body hurt so bad

• if his head isn’t hurting too bad he likes watching tv because he’s bored so he’ll curl up on the couch with a bunch of blankets and watch tv with whoever’s around

• If no one else can get off work, Two-Bit will stay home from school and watch Pony. He’s actually really good at taking care of people and Pony likes having him there when his brothers can’t be

• if Pony gets too anxious or stressed he’ll get awful stomachaches, he’ll be nauseous all the time and have no appetite. His brothers know there really isn’t much they can do until he stops feeling this way so Darry just makes him food that’s easy to digest and Soda always rubs his stomach so he doesn’t make himself sick

• if Pony is really sick like a flu or something he’ll lay in bed with Darry, partially because it reminds him of his parents and because his bed is bigger and more comfortable. Usually Soda ends up squeezing in there too

• not necessarily dramatic but can be very whiny. Not in an annoying way but he’ll like make noises in his sleep or just these unintelligible sounds when someone asks him a question, especially if he’s got a bad headache. Just incoherent, miserable whines

• very pukey kid, can’t keep anything down if his stomach is sick and usually throws up if he’s got a migraine. On rare occasions though, he’ll be super nauseous but not actually able to throw up which he hates more than anything, he’d rather just get it over with than feel queasy for a long time

• will stand in the doorway of Darry’s room like “I frew up 🧍‍♂️”

• Darry and Soda really fuss over him like always checking his temperature, asking him what doesn’t feel good, making sure he stays hydrated and try to get something in his tummy. Usually he doesn’t like being babied but being sick is the only exception and he will complain if he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention

• bro will whine about drinking ginger ale and asks for Pepsi instead and Darry’s just like bruh be fr

Sodapop

• poor Soda is a tummy ache survivor. He has such a sensitive stomach it’s not even funny. He physically can’t hide if he’s sick because his stomach starts making these awful noises and that’s how the others always know he’s not feeling good

• don’t even try to make him eat when he’s sick because he will throw it right back up

• when he gets sick it’s like really bad. He gets very high fevers and body aches and is just completely miserable

• needs to be physically comforted because he’s always just so uncomfortable when he’s sick. He likes having his belly rubbed or his back or having his scalp massaged. Darry does that for him to put him to sleep when he’s sick and it works like a charm. Another thing Darry will do is rub his shoulders and arms which he loves because Soda always has trouble getting warm when he’s sick and it feels so nice on his achy muscles

• gets sore throats a lot bc bro breathes w his mouth open at night ✋😭

• Soda looks so endearing when he’s sick though because his eyes are all glossy and his cheeks are flushed and he’s always bundled up under a bunch of blankets which makes him look so tiny and precious

• he always psychs himself out about being sick like he’ll convince himself that he has to throw up so Darry will go sit with him in the bathroom and it won’t ever come and he’s just like “no I swear I’m gonna throw up” and Darry just has to coax him back to bed because it’s been like an hour. Sometimes bro honestly just needs to burp and ends up feeling so much better after

• the most dramatic sneezes ever, if Soda has a cold it’s everyone’s problem bc you can hear him sneeze a block away

• he’s a very emotional sick person if he’s super sick, always really teary and upset because he feels so yucky

• worries Darry so much because he overheats so easily, his temperature will go from low fever to veering on dangerously high like nothing

• Darry makes him put a cold cloth on his face or neck and he hatesss this he always tries to take it off because he hates being cold so Darry will have to sit with him and hold it in place or make sure he doesn’t move it either until Soda falls asleep or Darry thinks it’s been long enough

Darry

• gets sick like a regular amount but it’s usually not that bad

• when he does get pretty sick though, he tries to stay away from the others so they don’t get sick too

• this never works because Soda and Pony will break into his room to snuggle him which he can’t deny that he loves

• the one thing that really gets poor Darry is a cold. He gets the most uncomfortable colds, his ears always ache, his head hurts, his nose runs, it’s just miserable. Soda and Pony can always tell when one is coming on because his colds tend to start with a sore throat and his voice gets really raspy

• Soda will massage his back to help him sleep because he’s so restless when he’s sick and can’t seem to relax properly :(

• stomach bugs affect him the least, he tends to throw up once and feels so much better after, which is good because they definitely hit Pony and Soda hard so he likes that he can quickly feel better and take care of them

• super light sensitive when he has headaches so if he’s holed up in his room for hours, the others know he isn’t feeling good

• when Darry is sick, Soda and Ponyboy make him soup which is actually super good and he really enjoys. They’ll lay in bed with him after and cuddle, Soda usually lays his head on Darry’s stomach and Pony on his chest and Darry puts his arms around them both. It’s soothing for all of them

• he actually gets sick frequently in the winter but it’s a bunch of small, not serious stuff. Like low grade fevers that’ll last a day, a random cough, sore throats, etc. He doesn’t like the winter because he feels like he’s perpetually not 100%

• will always try to go to work, but one time Soda convinced him to stay home by saying “what if you throw up off the roof” and the thought of that was so embarrassing to Darry that he stayed home so he wouldn’t risk it

Johnny

• will usually camp it out at the Curtis house or at Buck’s with Dally

• a very good patient- he doesn’t mind being left alone but he won’t fight being taken care of either

• Darry will always let Johnny lay in his bed or help him get comfortable on the couch if he would rather be with everyone else

• lots of fevers, whether it’s a flu or a cold or whatever, Johnny always runs warm when he doesn’t feel good

• a very sleepy sickie, he usually just wants to sleep off whatever doesn’t feel good. He likes if another person is near him when he’s sleeping, it makes him feel safe

• Dally will always lay with Johnny when he’s sick and at Buck’s, partially because he knows Johnny likes it and so he can keep an eye on him. If Johnny breathes the wrong way Dally’s like 👀

• Johnny likes if Ponyboy reads to him when he’s sick, it gets his mind off of it

• if he throws up it’s really bad, it usually comes on super fast and it’s always a lot. He can’t always get up in time so if Johnny’s sick best believe someone is getting a bin or a garbage can for him to keep close because he’ll go to completely fine to 🤢 super fast

• being sick really takes all his energy away so even if it’s just the sniffles this boy is TIRED. It’ll be 7 pm and he’s like guys can I go to sleep on the couch now 🥺

• will not go home whatsoever if he’s sick because he just can’t deal with both things at once and everyone knows, so they’ll make sure to tell Johnny to stay over so he doesn’t feel bad about asking and try to sleep outside instead

• everyone coddles him but he appreciates it so much

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 4 - Meng Yao has a crush & Foxglove likes to babble

Hello everybody, welcome to episode 4. I slept like a baby last night, but I have a migraine so I may sound a bit incoherent. (Post episode Foxglove here, I’m not incoherent in this, I’m just ranty)

Poor WWX. Funny story, during my first? Second? Year of Med School I fell aspleep on my biophysics notes during exam period, woke up at 9pm when my alarm for my meds started ringing, realised what I’d done and called my mum (who was on a 24h shift at the hospital) crying. In hindsight is hilarious because I had something like two weeks until the exam so I lost no more than a few hours but oh well.

Full disclosure here: I don’t like the Lan sect, LXC, LWJ and the Ducklings excluded I think they’re a bunch of hypocrites. You can’t call yourself righteous and boast about your almost 4000 rules and then shrug when people decide to commit genocide.

Also, 4000-ish rules? Fuck that noise, there’s a post floating around here where some amazing soul translated what they could see of the Wall of Rules and yeah, some of them are in the “don’t be an asshole, don’t hurt yourself or others” vein which, absolutely fair. But things like “dress properly” who are you to tell me what and how I cover my body with? “Don’t be promiscuous” wow thanks for the slut shaming my dudes. “Don’t smile foolishly/don’t smile too much”, “sit properly”, “don’t be too sad”, “don’t be too happy”. You’re telling me these are rules, not guidelines, not common sense stuff. RULES. You’re telling me people get punished for grinning or crying. Fuck off mate.

And we can’t forget the golden example of hypocrisy “Don’t talk to Wei Wuxian” so much for “don’t speak ill of others”.

Is my Western Girl showing? I’m sorry, I’m from Spain and I was raised by the guidelines “don’t be an asshole, don’t hurt yourself or others, don’t take anyone’s bullshit, live and let live, have courage and be kind, we will always love and support you” so some stuff in here is very very grating. I don’t have enough knowledge about the culture to discern if it is because of my modern sensibilities or because my culture is so different.

Oooooohhh I don’t like birds. I mean, I love crows, ravens and birds of prey to an unhealthy degree, but they keep their distance. The other day a pigeon flew into my building and decided that my (very dark) doorstep was the place to have a rest. I screamed like a banshee.

Hey, those two assholes at the back, get the fuck out of here.

LXC protective mode activated.

You will never convince me Meng Yao did not develop a monster crush right then and there.

Oh no. It’s this asshole.

Oh WangJi about to cut a bitch.

Drag him WWX.

MY’s protective mode activated.

And LXC is too done with this shit. Yep, NHS also thinks MY got a massive crush.

WQ aka Qishan Wen’s only braincell.

It’s the One Braincell Trio!

Notice me sempai! Omg JC’s faces.

This is where I dump all my canon-divergence AUs:

Meng Yao stays in Cloud Recesses. He and LXC keep gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.

NHS introduces him to the other two from the One Braincell Trio. WWX takes one look at him and goes “yep, you’re my friend now, I’m kneecapping anybody who fucks with you.” Because there’s no way he wouldn’t be sympathetic to MY after his own childhood (omg, both of them drunk, making terrible gallows’ humour jokes about living poor and mostly homeless while JC and NHS just listen horrified). JC goes into overprotective bro mode with MY. I mean, he still can’t emote for shit but he’s made very very sure that he will cut a bitch for MY and at least he knows MY has a brain, not like someone else he knows.

Shijie makes friends with MY because Shijie is a goddess and MY is so confused because how the hell does someone so kind exist? And she wants to be friends? And she doesn’t care at all about his past? What? MY.exe has stopped working.

Maybe JZX gets his head out of his ass and goes to talk to MY and warn him about what an asshole JGS is, because I refuse to think JZX doesn’t know it. Maybe MY hears him disparaging Shijie and decides that nope, the Jins can fuck right off every single one of them is a rude idiot; it’s ok with him because of his parentage (it’s not ok) but no one touches Shijie. The Yunmeng sibs is where it is at.

And that’s when he unleashes his full Slytherin powers on behalf of his new family. Because he does indeed have a fully functioning brain and shit is going to get really ugly really fast for all the people he loves if he doesn’t try and mitigate the damage somehow.

(A lot of mutual XiYao pinning is going on in the background because I live for the angst ok. LWJ fully approves of him as a brother-in-law tho)

A lot of terrible shit still happens because this is my AU and I want pain, but not only does JGS not have MY’s enormous brain on his side when he tries to seize power, he’s actively working against him (you can’t tell me MY wouldn’t get the kick of his life publicly bringing down and exposing his terrible father).

I’m sorry, back to the commentary.

This two idiots omg.

It’s WQ! Drag him WQ (gently)

I’m going to channel my ballet teacher here for a second: put your hair up! (You bunch of spider crabs, as she would call us)

I mean, JC’s hair is clearly in his face when he’s doing drills and, while the visual of all that dark hair whipping in the wind with the robes (another beef I have, they look like they’d catch on everything) is very dramatic I can assure you it’s fucking annoying. Plus it limits your visual field a lot. Again, I know jack about the culture and people can fly on swords here so why am I complaining about hair but let me live.

I used to have that much hair (then I got a pixie, now I’m growing it back out) and smacking yourself on the face with your own braid hurts.

Shijie knows what’s up with Jiang “I can only show anger” Cheng.

My one track mind when I saw the fish: Anisakis!

I think I would absolutely become a vegetarian if I got dropped in the past tbh. Not only is there no quality control of animal products (hello Trichinella), there’s also no way to do a proper cold storage (hello Salmonella). I’ve read and seen to many horror stories due to contaminated animal byproducts and, while vegetables pose their own risk (hello E. Coli) usually you only have to be thorough at washing and peeling to not have trouble.

5am wake up call without coffee. Fuck that noise.

Wei “I’m a petty gremlin” Wuxian.

I once called WWX a “mad scientist with ADHD” on an AO3 comment and I stand by that assessment.

Ok, but why the turtle caricature? It’s because turtles are “old and wise” like LQR? Is that the joke? Or are they laughing at WWX’s balls?

AW NO PAPERMAN.

“Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? // Where, would you look if I asked you to get me a bezoar? // And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” It’s pretty much the same energy. LQR is Ancient magic China’s version is Severus Snape down to the pettiness. He tries to catch WWX in a mistake, and when he can’t he dismisses his knowledge (look at Shijie’s face when he says WWX should not be proud to know what he does). He keeps pushing until WWX’s runs into a wall, then uses LWJ to “show him how it’s done” I mean, look how smug he looks and how uncomfortable everyone else is.

“Pity... clearly, fame isn't everything.”

(No, I don’t like LQR and I don’t like Severus Snape either; tragic past and sacrifices do not give you a pass to abuse children don’t @ me, I’m not interested in changing my mind)

And here is where all my “mad scientist with ADHD” hc stem from.

“No screaming in Cloud Recesses.” Screams LQR (yes, I’m 100% that bitch)

WEN NING IS HERE HI WN YOURE SO PRECIOUS.

But intercepting an arrow mid flight is some Geralt of Rivia Witcher bullshit right there.

Detective Wei strikes again.

The scenery is gorgeous my god.

Can we talk again about how this 16-year-old boy reacted to someone sneaking up on him by drawing his sword and attacking? That’s not fucking normal, that’s a common reflex in soldiers or people with PTSD.

(The Netflix translation has him calling LWJ “WangJi” and I die)

Thanks for reading!

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4​ and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her.  Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category. 

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off her rain slicker. Throwing aside the envelope of what was probably more of her husband's accounts that she was now responsible for, Emma opted for a nap before work instead. It was until she landed a successful skip that night that she felt ready to tackle another batch of what remained from Neal's legacy. 

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script. 

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her late husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it. 

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her. 

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the insides she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

 -·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

 The estate reading took place in Ireland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham Grimm since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude. This man was funny, even when she teased him about his name and he had sighed, an eye roll so loud she could hear it through their original phone call. 

(Yes, my name is Graham Grimm. Yes, they do sound alike. No, I am not involved with fairytales, unless you consider me a fairy Godmother of estate and divorce settlements. No, I am usually very happy. No, I cannot change into a black shaggy dog, can you please just tell me what the approximate appraisal value is?) 

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now. 

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark. 

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking. 

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present. 

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded. 

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand. 

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

 -·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

 Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road. 

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows. 

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door. 

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, eyes blazing bright blue, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh. 

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling. 

And it was hers. 

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet. 

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on. 

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand. 

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her. 

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed. 

 -·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

 In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan. 

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone. 

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school. 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook. 

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised. 

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion. 

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life. 

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled. 

<

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard. 

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The English accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Irish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She gave him a curt nod, before pointing to herself, which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.” 

 -·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

 The Gold family estate had beautiful gardens. At one time they even had cultivated a rare buttercup and rose hybrid, so they had been very particular on who tended their gardens. A quick call to Graham that took several minutes of cell phone aligning to make confirmed that Killian Jones actually was listed on a small ledger, his family name written on yellowing paper, noted as “horticultural help”.

“I don't know how I missed this, it's like it just appeared here Miss Swan,” Graham had groaned, yawning into his end of the line. Static cracked through her cell phone speakers as fog rolled over the driveway. “But yes, he is explicitly listed as coming with the property.”

“Great. And you're sure I can't fire him without penalty?” 

“No, I'm sorry. This is written in a ridiculously old way, as if they're counting him as property. He can resign, but even then -” There were several moments of garbled reply that was incomprehensible. Emma huffed, kicking rocks and pacing until she caught a better signal, and Graham's voice snapped back on the line. “-Look into it more as I do some digging. You're out of luck. Do you want me to come stay? I'm happy to while you wait for another friend -”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s not creepy, he just seems…” Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she struggled for words. “He seems, lonely. Just sort of desperate and excited for company, which I thought I could avoid by being out here. I just wanted to be alone, or at the very least I guess with someone I didn't worry about… Well. I just don't do yokels or men, and he seems a pinch of both.”

Dead air hung on the other line, followed by a faint, eerie whispering. 

“Graham?”

The sound of a low laugh, as quiet as blown leaves over cold pavement sounded over the line, and Emma dropped her phone with a start. 

“Are you alright?” came the sudden voice from behind her, and she whirled on her heel. 

"I'd be fine if you made noise when you walked, buddy, and if I could get some damn reception out here." Emma huffed, and the grounds keeper seemed to decide against saying anything, quickly snapping his mouth shut. "Do you know a better place to get service?" 

In the fog and chill breeze of the gravel drive, Emma suddenly felt a deep sense of foreboding and unease. The shadow of Carterhaugh loomed, as if reaching for her, Killian already swallowed by the scrawled shape in the morning sun. He seemed uneasy as well, even unnerved. Emma watched as his jaw muscles worked as if he quite literally chewed on her words before speaking. 

"I could set up a tea service, if you'd like, but I'm afraid you'll find neither a service or reception out here. Nothing but chill." He made a gesture for her to follow him, which she did with a wry smile. He thought he had a sense of humor. Wonderful. 

As he prepared tea from a silver set in one of the many kitchen cabinets, they made attempts at conversation. Killian was also a caretaker for the property, and he asked her how she came about ownership as they sat at the large oak dining table together. The furniture was remarkably well preserved in the majority of the main rooms, much to her delight.

The sunshine through moth eaten curtains had dust motes swirling in the air as her face fell, and she swallowed the bile that rose before she uttered her tight words. 

“My husband passed away.” Killian had winced at that. 

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was -”

“I don't… I don't discuss Neal.” She closed her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths, feeling her skin flame. Even after what felt like an eternity, Neal's shadow still darkened her day. She sipped her tea, trying to cool herself, even with the scalding liquid. 

He hadn't asked any more on the subject, only asking about changes to what affected his work. Emma found it comforting; if he was to stay, at least he would leave well enough alone. 

“I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind. I have a master suite facing the sea on the third level of the east wing, and I know there'll be nothing in town for rent,” he stated. Emma chewed her lip in thought, mapping out his room in relation to her own. The answer struck her, and she groaned with a scrunched face of annoyance. 

“Do you get up early? Probably don't keep a fire lit?” she grumbled, and he looked at her with eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, I'm up as early as possible, and I find I enjoy the chilled sea air. Why?”

“And I bet you have a dove gray comforter.” Emma sighed, head falling into her palm with a wry laugh. “Because of course, just of course -”

“I do, aye -” He blinked and his brows shot up. “Were you..? Did you sleep in my room?” 

“Well, no, but I didn't know it was -”

“I mean, it's fine. I'll choose another, I guess -”

“No. No need to be ridiculous. I… You probably know where the next best preserved bed is?” she asked, and his eyes lit up. 

“Well yes, but you'd be in the same wing, is that alright?”

Emma hesitated, and then nodded. “With you up so early I doubt we'd see much of each other. And I'll be busy inside as you work outside.”

He made a non-committal noise, and stood with a stretch. Emma inhaled sharply; he was well toned and very good looking, but the thought of anyone’s hands on her after Neal had… 

Her stomach churned. 

“Follow me, then,” he said, offering his hand. Emma could feel her lungs tightening. Her expression must have frozen on her face too, because his eyes widened and he lowered his hand. “Or we could do this later, if you -”

Emma stood, and shook her head. “Just got a bit dizzy. Lead the way.”

They made no conversation as he led her up the staircase to the third level, the other suite he mentioned on the far end of the hall whereas his was at the beginning. The large door was imposing but carved with floral inlay, the stain perfectly applied to add to its richness. Both sides were flanked by stained glass in the same twisted vine and flower designs. 

“I almost chose this room. It was for the lady of this house at one time, and should serve you better than me.” Killian produced a key with the same designs swirled around the brass, unlocking it to reveal a sun warmed sitting area the color of blushing peonies. An ornate vanity sat in one corner, while a matching bureau and canopy bed sat before a balcony, from which the sea and his own room visible. Stained glass curved around the doors to what she assumed were the closet and bathroom, and more carved wood and glass made up a truly spectacular fireplace. If Killian’s room was big, this room was truly gigantic. 

Emma was at a loss, the furniture was all beautifully intact except for the bed’s canopy curtains and linens. Beyond that, the fabrics and rugs showed no large evidence of wear, the patterns still bright and soft underfoot. She poked her head in the closet and found it relatively large, possibly a maid's room or changing salon at one time, then turned the handle of the bathroom while Killian watched from the entrance. 

The huge claw foot soaking tub and gold veined marble under her feet could not prepare her for the large stained glass framed window that captured the sea, as if she was sailing away in the tub itself. A double sink, open shower, and large mirror completed the space in luxury. It was exquisite, and left Emma aching for a bubble bath. 

“I'll move your things, if you -”

“No,” she whispered, still in awe, before clearing her throat. “No, that's alright. I'll move everything. I… I don't like people touching my things.”

“At least allow me to give you my spare set of bedding, love, and -”

“I am not your love, alright?” she snapped, and his eyes widened. She took in a steadying breath, chewing her lip to rid herself of the sourness she wanted to throw at him. He seemed mollified, scratching behind his ear. 

“I'm sorry, I -”

“No. I'm sorry. It's been… I have… I don't do people very well.”

“Well, I'll get you the linens and be out of your way, then.” There was resignation in his tone, but Emma could only hug herself as she let her armor build back up around her. 

“Perfect. Thank you.” Her tone was clipped, but she didn't expect the annoyed response, huffed under his breath as he pulled blankets and pillows from a hall closet. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

Emma's tone was colder than ice, her words spoken in frigid staccato. “Excuse me? I must have misheard you.”

“I wasn't expecting the new owner to be all business, is what I said. These corridors are old. If you aren’t careful, these halls will try to trick you. You’ll get used to them, though.” Killian deposited the mountain of linen on her bed, and spread out the fitted sheet. 

“I don't think halls,” she snatched the pillows from the bed, pulling the sheet roughly on the other side, “are capable of trickery. Only people. People are difficult, they need to be watched. You have to keep your eyes on them or they'll do who knows what.” Pulling roughly on the sheet again, she glared with narrowing eyes at Killian, his own eyes glowering under dark lashes. “Especially people who say things under their breath like a petulant, scorned, self absorbed, preening -”

“Well, I would despair if ‘People’ took their eyes off of me. Some might say this attention is in the beholder’s benefit, and I'd say so as well. I'm quite dashing, or so I've heard.” Gripping the comforter tightly, he laid it out and smoothed it down while returning her glare. “So, I suppose we are well matched, since you are an icy, insufferable, stubborn, spoiled -” Reaching for a pillow, his hand grazed her own, and Emma yelped in surprise. 

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her skin, Killian’s insults and attempted arguments drowned out by an increasing electrical whine mixed with her heartbeat thumping. Stumbling away into the bathroom, she turned on the tap, desperately washing her skin where they had touched in the rust colored water, scouring the place their skin had met with her nails instead of the absent soap. 

Killian’s hand found her shoulder and Emma flew at him, pushing him away as she screamed profanities. He stumbled backwards into the tub, watching in fear at her transformation, her rubbed raw hand bleeding as she renewed her focus on the new area he'd touched. Without soap it was pointless, hot water her only real advantage, pouring the scalding water onto her skin. She mumbled to herself, trying to focus against the onset panic.

Emma's thoughts were burning away elsewhere, the fires she could not escape when Neal had locked her away; smoke, embers and ash acrid in both the air and her lungs. 

It took what felt like hours for her to come back to herself, her fingernails bloody and skin blistered from the heat. The gentle chime of the clock in the room indicated it had only been ten minutes to her relief. It was the worst attack she had in ages, the first time in so long she hadn't been able to control herself. The first time in so, so, long that she had fallen back into the flame of those memories, of that pain. 

A soft voice whispered gently to her, taking her off guard, and she looked up to see Killian slowly extricating himself from the bathtub. He raised his hands in supplication, kneeling several feet away from her. She choked out a strangled noise and he shook his head. 

“It's alright, it's OK, lo - er…” He gave a sheepish look, thinking for a moment. He smiled in a sad sort of way after a moment, before continuing, “It's alright. Just tell me how I can help. Maybe a glass of water?” Emma nodded slowly. “Alright, I'll fetch you a bottle.”

At his retreat, Emma let her herself take stock of what had happened, falling back into her times under clinical observation. Mary Margaret had been a stone faced angel, taking in her pain and working a life around it, going as far as releasing care notes when she felt Emma was ready. She had met David, Emma's adoptive brother that way, resulting in a very happy marriage.

“Patient refuses to accept human contact, even using high concentration chemical cleaning agents on skin.”

“Patient has no history of obsessive or compulsory behavior, but violence and destruction of property are noted in their state welfare file.”

“Attempts at getting patient to explain what happened on the night of the incident to victims causes patient to become increasingly distressed when her husband is mentioned. Questions regarding other victims or the causes of death are met with silence. Patient claims no memory of her actions.”

“Patient indicates possibility of further witnesses or victims at scene - hallucinations caused by trauma or psychosis?”

“Repeated attempts at questioning or explaining patient's obsessive actions or fear of touch are met with hostility, while questioning in regards to matrimonial life is indicative of abuse. Patient advocate (M. M.) recommends home based care, with patient's brother.”

“Patient continues to allow touch in sparing amounts among family, friends, and in situations where they are prepared. Therapy with preferred Doctor is continuing as part of a deferred sentence. Patient advocate (M. M.) states that large improvement has been made outside of care facilities. Recommending end of observational treatment.”

Killian placed the water next to her, as the feeling of oxygen in her lungs weighed her down. 

“Thanks.” Emma croaked, voice raspy. Killian sat down in front of her, legs crossed as he watched her drink with shaking hands. 

Scratching behind his ear, he looked sideways across the floor, picking at a chipped piece of tile. “It was nothing. I'm sorry that -”

“Don't be. I just have a thing about touch.” Emma stood briskly, ice back in her unsteady tone at glacial levels. “You couldn't have known, and since you are going to be scarcely around it won't be an issue, as we discussed earlier.”

Killian snorted, and stood as well, rocking on his heels. “I was going to say that I'm sorry it took so long, and I brought you some… other items.” His face changed, haughty to solemn, watching her hands tremble as she shoved them in her pockets. “You're right, we won't be seeing each other often. If you need help with something, or finding your way around the estate, leave me a note under my door. If I need garden supplies, I'll leave a note in the kitchen.” 

He turned, walking towards the bedroom door. After a moment Emma followed tentatively, walking towards the door behind him in silence. She shot a glance at the bed, noticing the bandages, a tube of some ointment, a key ring, and a few pink roses. She stopped in the small salon, watching Killian open her door and give her a strained smile. 

“I'm sorry for touching you, as well.” Emma made a sound of protest, ready to tell him again that he was blameless, but he persisted. “While I couldn't have known, my presence here has never been… convenient. I had hoped that had changed with the new owner. Good day, Miss Swan.”

“Wait -” He looked as surprised as she felt, the words racing past her lips, blurted at the last second. “What is your cell phone number? It'd be easier to get a hold of you that way, if I should need you. Not to say that I will…” Killian stared at her in abrupt confusion, his brows knitting. 

“I don't have a phone. The manor has one, should you need to use it.” There was something off in his tone, but her own cell phone had fought every attempt at service on the property, so this shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. The manor phone, she could work with that. 

“What's the number?” Emma pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up. Killian looked amazed in her peripheral, which didn't surprise her. The town was practically medieval, and this phone was the newest of its brand. Emma scarcely knew how to use it. 

“You have to set it up later, if you want communication by wire. Your device there -”

“It's an Android, I let the kid at the store set it up for me. If you want me to get you one, I can the next time I go to the city. They have a walkie talkie app that I think might work with a wifi connection once I have that set up.” Killian nodded, looking at her blankly. “Have you ever had Wi-Fi in the house before?”

Killian hesitated, his jaw ticking as he bit into his lip in thought. “I wouldn't know, love. I'm afraid that we’re a bit behind the rest of the world here, I don't believe we know what year it is most of the time.”

Emma laughed lightly, and relaxed a little bit more. “Most of us are trying to forget that it's 2019, so I suppose that's fair. I just enjoy Netflix and the occasional game of Words with Friends too much to go without internet.” Killian looked down at his feet, his face unreadable for a moment, fists balled. When he looked back at her and relaxed, Emma caught a glimpse of pure sadness, a mirror of her own pain, before it was carefully pushed behind walls of his own. 

Smiling softly, Killian laughed. “I have no idea what a Netflix is, but you are the Mistress of the estate. I encourage you to do as you wish. If you would like me to have a…” He hesitated again, as if searching for something. “A, er, shell phone, I will gladly oblige if you provide it and give me instruction.”

Emma snorted, and found herself genuinely laughing as Killian’s cheeks turned red. “You're actually funny. Alright. I'll try to get you a ‘shell phone’, old man.” Killian’s eyes darkened, his smile turning almost sour. “Between the two of us, we'll bring some life back into this place.”

He nodded, that same pensive look on his face, almost hidden by his smile. “Yes. Well, taming the estate is not going to be an easy task. I'll help you where I can, should you need me. Good day.” He closed the door slowly, and Emma listened as his footfalls fell away. 

Climbing into her bed, the mattress surprisingly plush under her, she bandaged her hand slowly. The roses he'd laid next to the first aid were beautiful, their strong aromatic scent filling the air already. Picking up one of the roses delicately, she sniffed, the full scent absolutely breathtaking. The throbbing of her skin faded, and all at once Emma felt herself relax. She felt invigorated, but her muscles were loose, and she happily moved her things into her room, making sure to place the roses in a porcelain vase. 

The rest of the day was spent taking pictures and taking full stock of every room in the large estate. It was exhausting and by the time darkness settled Emma had barely scratched the surface of the repairs needed. Neal had left a large sum of money for her, but this was a giant and expensive endeavor. Back in her room, she started a fire in the hearth and tugged on a robe over her pajamas. Opening the door to the balcony and stepping out onto the cold stone, she stared at the waves. 

Never, never in her wildest dreams did she believe that this could be her life. In the moment it was overwhelming, the only silver lining in the thunder cloud that was her marriage to Neal. A true story of a love turned into something poisoned, a once healthy plant that grew into twisted vines, strangling everything in its path. 

His hands tight around her neck, the air in her lungs not enough, she wasn't enough. The other women being led somewhere by the red haired woman with green nails, Ari's and Tam's bracelets heavy on her wrist even as she starts to feel herself go slack. The pressure is too much, black spots dotting the air, and somewhere close, another man hooting like some primate - Brown eyes meet hers, and for a moment he falters, fingers loosening. 

Emma kicks, kicks with all her strength, and when he crashes backwards she screams, screams like her chest is ripping apart just to resonate this noise, this wail of everything he lied about. It is a trick of light, a symptom of lack of oxygen, a freak occurrence spurred by the old home and poor insulation, bad wiring and mice chewed exposed cables. 

Neal looks at her and sighs as Emma can hear the red haired woman and her underling shriek. 

“Thank you,” Neal whispers, reaching for her, but Emma's banshee wail is not over and her mouth is a perfect ‘O’ as the rafters shake, tears stinging her eyes. A Swan song, she thinks, the end of her sanity and her life, the feeling of this cry flowing through her like breathing with every inch of her body. Her skin burns too, but not like theirs. 

He makes it to her on stumbling steps, a vision from a nightmare, her scream unending even as she stares at him in horror. His touch is like a branding iron, his embrace like raw flesh dipped in salt. Neal touches her face as he burns away, ashes to ashes, his hand becoming embers and dust. This is hell fire, and Emma can't stop her scream long enough to beg for this to end. His lips are against her ear and his last words echo as he falls away, falls to her feet, the building crumbling around them. Her scream ends when the ceiling piece hits her skull, and the world too, finally falls into blissful, silent, cool darkness. 

Far off there are sirens, and she can feel the burning when her body is lifted, but for now, Emma prefers the darkness even as Neal's last words occasionally echo through the stillness. 

“I'm so sorry, Ems." 

Emma came back to herself soaking wet, the rain that threatened from the horizon now in full force. It pelted her, cold, salt rain, pulled from the waves and forced from the sky. She was crying, sobbing in silence, but no one is here to see the rain wash away her tears. 

[thecrayreport]

The Watch

A quick short story for @wlwocvisibility and their amazing event today! Its central theme is pretty much up in the air, but it's basically the story of an aging witch gaining a new client, or are they something more?

**********

You shouldn't sneak up on people, you know.

What, you didn't think that I didn't see you standing there? You're literally in the middle of my doorway. You should be happy. Normally, those who enter my abode without being invited lose more than just their coat.

Oh, come now, don't be like that. I was only playing with you. About the coat, I mean. That tingle down your spine once you crossed my threshold? Just a little something that my great-grandmother taught me when I was about your age. That's her, right above the mantle. See that glint in her eye, that swagger in her lean? Only Davenport women have that, and it's why our name is known from all four corners of the realm. It's funny, though.  I tried telling her that a portrait would be perfect for her, but she insisted that in order for her magick to remain over this old house, she, too, had to stay intact. Try explaining that to just any taxidermist without the aid of several chests of gold. Cursed, of course, but who asked?

Now, you came here for a reason. I'm assuming you're down on your luck and you're looking for a charm of sorts? Family cow only giving out sour milk?

No? Oh yes, you're one of those. "I'm lonely, nobody loves poor, unfortunate, absolutely boring me!" Or, "I already am teeming with immense privilege, but I have no money, spare me precious jewels!" My favorite is when you can't ask for a glass of water without rehearsing in your mind the statement, yet come begging for a kingdom of your own to rule. Listen, bud, I've heard it all, and I'm not interested in any of it. My conjuring days are over, and so are my hours. The sign says "closed" for a reason. Come back another day and bring more than just some dingy scarf next time, okay?

… You're not moving. Why aren't you moving? You know I can hex your feet, right?

What do you mean, you're here for a story? Have you gone mad? Do you have any idea what I do here? I am Mary-beth Davenport, sixth generation witch from my mother's coven. I am a certified necromancer, herbalist, conjurer, medium, and I hold a doctorate in Social Work and Psychology. What? Sometimes I do family services. You have to in this career. You wouldn't believe the things that I witness because people go online to solve their issues instead of going to a professional. Why, just the other day, someone came in complaining about migraines and intense back pain, when lo, they were in the beginning stages of turning into a gargoyle! Thankfully, I was able to give then an oatmeal bath before the scales started setting in. Once those start to appear, they set like… well, stone.

Ugh, you've made me crack puns! Now I've lost my train of thought. No matter. You obviously aren't going away by your own freewill, and you made me burn my tea, so I'll just turn you into a fly to make it even.

Wait, what's that in your hand? Is that…

A watch. You brought me a watch, and not even a nice one, too. Look, it has some rust around the metal, and the glass looks cracked. And is that… algae? Did you swim in a lake before you came here? It would explain your clothes. Only seamaiden would dare to wear green. Still, your trinket feels… off. Let me see that.

Hmm. Yes, just like I suspected. Whomever once owned this had a strong spirit. Carefree, too, by the smell of the sea, even if they are a bit clumsy, hence the cracks. Too bad they're dead; otherwise, I might be interested in meeting them.

Eh, what's that? They're not dead? That can't be, I clearly sense their hold on this realm no longer on this item. See the hands? They stay frozen, transfixed in time, as the reason of its purpose doesn't exist anymore. If you wish for me to wind it up again, you'd have to talk to a normal watchmaker for that. That necromancy I spoke about earlier? I don't say it  because it makes people leave me alone at family reunions. I once rewound a widower's loved one's watch and was surprised when his husband wasn't too thrilled to be woken up from his eternal rest. That required my psychology degree, for certain.

'Tis a shame, though. I remember someone who used to wear a watch like this, very similar make and model. They kept complaining about its ticking. Imagine that, buying a watch and hating that it ticks! Ah, well, they wanted it to be quieter, so I gave them wax for their ears to ignore the sound. You'd think it'd stop there, but no. They came in the very next day and said that the strap made their wrist itch. Simple fix, right? Applied a poultice and sent them on their way. But then they came back again. Something about the color or whatever. Finally, I had had enough. I told them that if they didn't want the watch, I would gladly take it off their hands for free. It was a nice watch, like I said. Momma Davenport would love it around her arm. But, no. They wanted it, but finally confided in me and told me that they wanted a changing potion. Steep price for such a rare and strenuous tonic, but I obliged. Haven't seen them since.

Can I be honest with you, friend? I know that I have strict rules about fraternization of any kind with my clients, and what have you, but… it gets quiet here, in this old, drabby cottage. I don't get many visitors outside of customers. Nobody ever sits down and shares a cup of tea with me. Being a witch is a pretty lonely business. Comes with the carpet. But… nobody prepares you for how lonely it gets. Sometimes, weeks will go by before you hear someone knock on your door. After a while, you start wondering if that's all it's going to be. Yourself, and your store.

Oh, thank you, you're so sweet. No, I don't need any condolences. I chose this path to honor my ancestors, and for the health benefits. It's my choice. Besides, I did get one visitor. Watch Friend? They stayed the longest, always sitting in the same chair you're sitting in and sharing a nice, warm cup of tea. Fruity Apple, I think it was, no sugar. They liked the tartness. Our discussions were always wondrous and strange. I remember it like it was yesterday. "How long is a snake's tongue?" "If a snake grows appendages, will it walk like a lizard or a bird?" "Do snakes hate tummy rubs like a person hates their feet getting tickled?" That last one was such a thinker, and I will admit, I looked forward to their answers with bated breath. Their wild mind, able to string together the most incoherent theories, was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I even gave them a spare key, in case they wanted to come visit whenever they liked after hours. They never did, but I'm still waiting, just in case.

Oh! Look at the time. Sorry for my rambling, but I do believe that you have to leave now. Right now. You might have already picked this up, but my home has special abilities, one of which is its ability to travel wherever it's needed. A nifty trick for my business, you see. It helps bring access to those that aren't normally able to get it.

By the way… might I ask how you got here? Not saying that you can't get here on your own, obviously, but I placed a cloaking spell over my home. Privacy reasons, of course. The recipe's older than Mama, perhaps even older than that, so there's no possible way that you could have simply walked in the way that you did.

What? You knew where I was? No, that's impossible. The only people who know my location at any time is someone with access go the house. That would be myself, Mama, and…

…

It's you, isn't it? My friend? My, my, how you've grown! You've gotten mighty old, just like me. Your eyes are just as bright as I remembered, and you're still complaining about that watch of yours. I'm guessing that's yours? Figures, you always were one for wasting time. Eh, get it? Because it's broken, but instead of throwing it away, you keep it, while it wastes away! Okay, that doesn't sound as funny once you explain it. Now, look what you've done. You've ruined the mood.

There is one thing, friend, that I'd like to ask, if you permit me? Why did you leave? I was a girl when we met, no taller than this fireplace. You could've stayed with me, kept me company. Instead, you ran off, and never came back. I hated you for a while because of it. You left me alone. I was afraid, terribly so, that I would never see you again. Pray tell, what mighty wrong did I commit against you for you to vex me so?

Nothing? No, no, there has to be something. Anything?

… you… you were afraid… for me? Well, what on earth for?

The changing potion?

Ahh. Now, it all makes sense. You were afraid that I would no longer like you the way that you are, so you wished to change yourself so that I would.

You blundering fool.

Listen, friend, and listen close. I have always cared for you. Ever since you first came into my home, I was enamored by your energy. It's impossible to ignore. You are, honestly, the best person that I've ever met. Second to Mama, of course. You didn't have to change anything about yourself for me to like you. I already did, and always will. You are my greatest friend and much more, and that will never change.

Now, come. The fire is warm, the tea is hot, and I finally got cable after two hundred years of waiting on customer service. If we're lucky, we might get a chance to watch something good.

But first, do you have the time?

[welovekpopscenarios]

The Agust D Costume (Dad!Yoongi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Prompt/Ask: can i request some min yoongi fluff maybe something with him being your husband and father of your kids

Fandom: BTS

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: None! I think lmao

Word Count: 2214

A/N: Fun fact: my mother’s nickname for me is Minnie too lol. Anyway, I’m a soft binch for Yoongi, especially Yoongi as a dad, so I loved doing this (even if I’m not too happy about it, but I never am with my fics lmao). Regardless, I’m so sorry for the wait as always, and I hope you don’t mind that I changed the prompt around to fit with Halloween! Happy reading!

Yoongi can recall the day you told him you were pregnant as if it happened yesterday; the fear that spiked through him when he thought of how soon it was for him to have a child, the shame of allowing it to happen, and even the refusal to admit that you were pregnant.

He felt much like a child himself in that moment, not ready to face another stage of adulthood just yet, but he had to suck it up for you and be a father. And in the blink of an eye you were in labour, and after a gruelling 11 hours Yoongi was holding the most beautiful baby girl in his arms with the gummiest grin he’s ever produced in his life. His fear, still lying beneath the surface, was now mixed with love and excitement – his very own flesh and blood sleeping soundly in his arms as he was now faced with the task of protecting her with his life.

Little Soomin, with a head of dark hair and equally as dark eyes, was the very reincarnation of Yoongi. A sleepy, quiet child, she only complained when there was a distinct lack of food in her tummy and when the world was too loud for her delicate ears, keeping an adorable pout much like her fathers on her face at all times.

Truthfully, she made the horrors of being a first time parent much easier for Yoongi, and he flew threw 4 years like a breeze, making memories left, right and centre with the one girl who owned his heart just as much as you did.

And when Soomin told him she wanted to dress up like her daddy for Halloween, he was charmed like a snake, and thought it would be the simplest thing to do. After all, he was Agust D, he knows what he wears. Not hard, right?

Unfortunately, for him, Soomin was just too picky.

“No, Daddy! Not that one!” she whined, huffing exaggeratedly and crossing her short arms, brows furrowed into a cute scowl. Yoongi sighed for the umpteenth time that day, placing the small grey hoodie back onto the rack monotonously, like he’s done the other 500 times. The workers in the clothing shop gave him looks of pity as they passed by, laughing in amusement at the father and daughter’s antics. He reckons he’s been stuck in the kids section of the shop for around an hour trying to help with choosing the right clothes to make her into a mini Agust D. Problem was she hated everything that made her look exactly like Agust D.

“Minnie, please,” he begged, fingers making their way towards his face and pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. The bright colours of the children’s section were an eyesore, and his head was beginning to throb painfully in what he predicted would be the migraine of the century. “You wanted to be daddy for Halloween, this is what daddy wears,” he articulated, but the child was having none of it.

“No, that looks ugly,” she pouted, stomping her little foot, and Yoongi watched as the sketchers lit up in an array of flashing colours while he sighed quietly through his nose.

Again.

“Are you calling me ugly?” he asked simply, his mind failing to think up anything smarter, and instead smiled slightly at his daughter while he awaited her answer and tried to diminish the boiling in his blood from having to be in this section for so long.

Except if he was hoping for something as sweet as sugar, he wasn’t going to get it.

She is his daughter, after all.

“Yeah,” she said matter-of-factly, and he went slack jawed at her blunt response. Her dark eyes searched the racks of clothing, scanning over each and every piece she saw while her father stood dumbly by her side, mouth opening and closing in shock. He shook his head after a beat, scowling and mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Taking the opportunity while she was distracted, he slipped his sleek phone out from the front pocket of his ripped jeans and opened up his contacts, searching for your name as if it were second nature. After three rings you answered, the faint sound of rustling in the background reaching Yoongi’s ears.

“Yello,” you mumbled over the lollipop in your mouth, and Yoongi rolled his eyes. He knew you’d steal something.

“The sweets are supposed to be kept for the kids, you know,” he droned, and you made a scoffing sound in return, the lollipop leaving your mouth as you smacked your lips.

“Hello to you too,” you said sarcastically. “And I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want. I can just buy more,” you explained, and Yoongi sighed once more at your childishness. Why were the women in his life so troublesome? What did he do to deserve this?

Ignoring your comment, Yoongi ploughed straight ahead with the one thing he wanted to say since you answered your phone.

“Help.”

You laughed loudly, your cackles echoing through the receiver and straight through Yoongi’s brain, his irritation spiking even further when you unexpectedly called over Hoseok to the phone.

“What’s he doing there?” Yoongi asked, jealousy spiking through him. The two of you were probably going to eat all the sweets! He wouldn’t even get to have any. He silently prays neither of you found his hidden stash underneath the kitchen sink.

“He’s helping me cook dinner, I couldn’t cook for nine all by myself. You’re on loud speaker, say hi!” He heard Hoseok’s boisterous greeting through the phone, so loud, that he had to place the phone some distance away from his face to protect his eardrums.

“Go away, Hobi,” he drawled, and smirked when Hoseok began to whine like a baby missing its toy. “Anyway, as I was saying, I need help.”

“Yoongi, babe, it’s not that hard,” you laughed, Hoseok following suit as you revelled in Yoongi’s misery. “You’re Agust D, I would think you would know what you wear,” you remarked, slurping the lollipop obnoxiously.

“Funny,” Yoongi deadpanned, eyes trained on his daughter as she looked through the shelves lined with shoes. “Would be pretty easy if she didn’t hate every single thing I showed her.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Hoseok commented. “She always likes the things I get her. She never has any problem then.” Yoongi bit his lip from saying something rude about how smug Hoseok sounded right now, but you, ever his font of love and support, saved him.

“That’s because she’s as cute as a button around her uncles and strangers. She doesn’t want to seem anything less than saintly. But around us, that’s a different story altogether. Around us, she’s more comfortable, so she can be as assertive as she wants. Isn’t that right, Yoongs?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, giving a laugh of disbelief. “She called me ugly.”

There was a beat of silence before Yoongi had to tear his phone away again from his ears, some workers in the store even turning their heads at the loud crackling sound emitting from his device. You and Hoseok laughed loudly for around a minute straight until it died down to stupid giggles, his face etched into a scowl as he awaited a chance to speak.

“Oh, oh my god,” you breathed, snickers overcoming you once more while Hoseok simply guffawed and clapped like a seal beside you. “That is the best thing I heard all year. I love her, my offspring is so perfect, she’s amazing. Thank you Yoongi for helping me create her. Fantastic, 10/10,” you babbled, Yoongi tutting into the receiver.

“Any time,” he replied cheekily, and vaguely heard Hoseok squawking about preserving his innocence. “But seriously, help me. Everything that looks even remotely Agust D, she hates it, and doesn’t want to wear it. Says it ‘isn’t right’, or something. I don’t know what to do,” he mutters dismally, heaving a sigh that lifted his shoulders.

“Did you try asking if she wanted to be something else for Halloween?” Hoseok suggested, and Yoongi made a noise of agreement.

“Yeah, but she’s dead set on being Agust D. That idea went completely over her head. Halloween will be ruined if she’s not dressed as daddy, apparently,” he reiterated, feeling weary and exhausted. He just wanted to go home and eat his candy.

You hummed and went quiet while Hoseok listed off different suggestions distractedly, but Yoongi knew you well enough to know you were thinking this through carefully. Your intelligence and thoughtfulness were one of the things he love most about you, after all. You spoke up after a moment of contemplation.

“Let her.”

“What?” both Yoongi and Hoseok asked simultaneously, and you laughed lightly, clearing your throat.

“Let her pick the clothes she wants. Let her create her own version of Agust D. She wants to be you, but let her create her own identity. A mini Agust D prototype. I’m surprised you didn’t think of this early, Yoongs,” you chided gently, and Yoongi felt a wave of shame wash over him. Why didn’t he think of this earlier? He nodded, quickly adding ‘yeah, I guess’ when he remembered you couldn’t see him. “Hmm. Now, hurry up and get her costume sorted, I want both my babies back home in time for dinner? Capiche?”

His face flushed at the pet name, knowing Hoseok most likely heard it, but he confirmed that he will return home to you soon, now that he knows what to do.

“I love you!”

“Shut up, Hobi.”

Hanging up quickly and placing the phone back into his pocket, he headed towards where Soomin was standing, browsing through the vast selection of jeans on the racks. He patted her head softly, and she gazed up at him with wide eyes.

“See anything you like?” he asked, and she grinned a big, near toothless smile, pointing towards a pair of baggy jeans with little dark patchwork designs in the holes on them. Right, not bad. He could work with that. He flashed her his own gummy smile, and took a pair in her size. “Nice choice, Minnie,” he complimented, and watched as she glowed underneath her father’s praise, his own heart swelling with happiness at the sight of her.

“Alright, what next? What else do you think Agust D wears?”

Her chubby fingers grabbed his slender ones and tugged him towards the jackets, picking up a purple hoodie with silver sparkles running through it, the light bouncing against it in every direction. At least it was a hoodie, he thinks, as he takes it from her and asks what’s the next item of clothing she requires.

She all but threw a tiny pair of silver converse in his face, small voice emitting a ‘sorry Daddy!’ before she was running off towards the hats and picking up a black bucket hat. Yoongi was dumbfounded at that; he expected her to pick up just a regular baseball cap. “Nice choice,” he said, slightly impressed at her taste in hats, and she merely gave a smug smirk too similar to his own in response, causing him to shake his head. Honestly, why couldn’t she have gotten more of your traits, other than the annoying ones?

Heading to the cash register, he listened to his daughter’s excited ramblings about Halloween and her outfit, placing the items on the countertop as he lifted her up into his arms. The woman behind the register rose an eyebrow at the choice of clothing, an uneasy smile on her face as she looked up at him, but he simply gave her a cold look, one that had her cowering and ducking her head, scanning the clothing as fast as she could. If his baby wanted to wear those clothes, she could. No two ways about it. Paying the total that the clothes came to, he grabbed the bag and walked out of the shop, Soomin’s arms linking around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Will I make a good Agust D?” she questioned, and Yoongi chuckled lowly, squeezing her close to him as he walked.

“You’re going to be the best Agust D,” he stated, tone soft as cotton, a tone only reserved for his girls. “Even better than the man himself.”

She nodded her head slightly, clutching him even tighter than before and feeling pleased at his words, hiding her smile in his neck, but Yoongi wasn’t fooled. He could feel the Cheshire grin against his skin.

“Daddy, can we get some hot chocolate please?” she asked quietly, and Yoongi knew resisting her was futile at this point. So, he nodded, heading towards the closest coffee shop with her as she planted a soft kiss upon his cheek, and Yoongi smiled stupidly. He couldn’t resist her any better than he could resist you.

Maybe that’s what she picked up from you.

“After we have dinner later with all your uncles, I hid some candy for us to eat later, just the two of us. Sound good?” he asked, pushing open the glass café doors with one hand as he balanced his child in the other.

“Oh, Mommy and I already ate those, Daddy.”

“Wait, what?!”