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theheavenlymoon · 3 years ago

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A flower’s growth 🌸

I just realized that Hanako is technically a self-insert oc because I use her for more than just twst i-

Also, this is my number one resource https://camp-halfblood-fanon.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia_Cabin

Its mentions one important thing that is critical in Hanako's back story. I'll show you the important thing but I recommend reading it all because its really interesting!

"i.e. Hestia takes some essence of a mortal man she takes a liking to and create her child by fire from the hearth with her essence fused to that mortal's. Hestia then proceeds to notify the father as she cannot raise the child." (13 in 'powers and traits')

Also to give you some visuals (I’ll explain the two boys later on)

So with that being said..let's👏talk👏trauma! More specifically Hanako's trauma.

(The writing style might change so just ignore it-)

WARNING: Suicidal thoughts

Virginal Goddesses like Hestia don't really have kids. Athena children are born from their mother's head. So how would a Hestia child be born? Let me explain.

A man caught Hestia's attention. He was compassionate and energetic and always tried to help when he could. Even though he had very little money, even though he had some hard times, he was still compassionate and that intrigued Hestia.

When he was more financial stable, Hestia decided to gift him a child. A perfect gift for a family man like him. Hestia took some of his essence and mixed it with her’s and with the help of some fire from the hearth, Hanako was born.

A small knock could be heard through the small house. Fumihito goes to open the door only for a baby to staring up at him while making cooing noises. Rapped in a purple blanket with flowers on it, the baby had a small name tag that said ‘Hanako’

“Welcome home Hanako.” The man said with a small smile

When Hanako was about 4, Fumihito married his best friend and moved to America. A few months later triplets were born. All of them being male. First is Kaji, Hinote, and Yakeru. Most people would think Hana would hate to have siblings, but it’s quite the opposite. Hanako was ecstatic to have siblings she could play with.

When she was told she was going to be a big sister and had to take her role seriously, that’s exactly what she did. She read the boys to sleep and keeped them entertained as best as she could. When they were a little older Hana liked to make them wear dress and have tea parties. In return she took part in everything the boys did. Sports, video games, music, art you name it she would try it at least once.

Hana grew in grace and compassion. She truly was a great balance between her parents. It was funny hearing advice that sounds like something a sage would give only for it to be a child talking. She was a bright, energetic girl and never could stay in one place for very long. She was very social and was friends with almost everyone in her school.

But some stories can’t always be fairytales and rainbows...

Hanako’s step-mother fell ill and passed away when she was about 10. Everyone was devastated but life doesn’t stop when people fall. So they didn’t either. Obviously they still mourned but they tried to have a positive outlook even though a family member is gone.

(Fast forward to where Hana is 11)

In the dead of night, when everyone was in a deep slumber, there’s a small crash. At the sound, Hana jerks up in a sweat. Call it intuition, but she had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong.

She snuck into her brother’s rooms and hid them in a small closet in one of their rooms. As Hana was about to go wake her father she heard a noise. Hana turned around only to see a woman holding what look to be like a sword.

Without warning the woman grabbed Hana’s hair and threw her into a bookshelf. Hana let out a small shriek. The bookshelf itself was unstable and the added force made it fall. Luckily Hana was fast enough to move most of her body. Let’s just say her left leg wasn’t as lucky as her other limbs.

The woman had a feeling the father could come out any minute so she ran around the corner and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike

At the sudden noises that we’re going outside his room, Hana’s father slams the door open only to see Hana stuck under the unstable bookshelf.

In at state of panics he rushed over to her. “Hana are you alright?!?!” But Hana didn’t answer. She was to focused on the woman who was still behind the corner.

“I’m calling the police! Just hang on!” Fumihito yelled. After Fumihito called 911 he tried to move the bookshelf. While he was doing so the woman kept stalking closer. “DADDY LOOK OUT-“ but it was to late. In one swipe Fumihito’s head was cut clean off, his body falling limp right beside Hanako. No one in that neighborhood could ever forget the Bloodcurdling scream that came from Hanako’s house. Eyes wide with horror and despair Hana couldn’t keep her tears in.

Before the woman could do any more damage they heard police sirens. “We will meet again someday demigod.” And with that the woman disappeared.

After a full check of the house they concluded that only the children were left. Once they found Hana, nothing was left of the lively girl. After helping her get out from under the bookshelf the police immediately sent her to the hospital. The police told the triplets to pack stuff that was most important to them and follow the police. (The triplets also packed stuff for Hana as well. One of the things being a photo album of the family.)

The police concluded that the children didn’t have any other adults to care for them so they would have to be put in an orphanage. However there wasn’t an orphanage where they lived so they would have to be put in a new town.

It was hard adjusting to this new life. There was barely enough food for everyone, you had to share rooms with other kids. Hanako had to use crutches for a while until her leg healed. Her new school wasn’t that great either. Hana, not being as social as she once was, was bullied for being too quiet. Not to mention, no one had ever seen a kid with natural yellow eyes and violet hair.

From beating her almost to death, to threatening to cut her hair and gouge her eyes out because she was ‘too pretty’

On terms of Hana in general, she wasn’t acting like her normal self. She had gotten more reserved and became a cry baby. You could easily tell she had eye bags and her anxiety was always threatening to go through the roof. You can only assume those eye bags were because of nightmares from that night. She talked much quieter and always wore a frown with her eye brows scrunched in a worried way.

The other three were to young to understand what happened. The police had to lie to them saying “your dad is on a special trip right now.”

About 6 months later the triplets were adopted by a man who looked like he was the head of some company. Hana tried her best to run after them but the staff had to hold her back. All the while the three were screaming for her to come and save them.

What no one knew is that the triplets would be forced to become assassins. It’s not like they wanted to! The man said if they didn’t he would kill their sister! The night after the adoption they all made a promise to keep Hana safe no matter what.

So there Hana sat all alone on the swings of a play ground, with no one around to comfort her. Surrounded by people who have families and are happy. It’s like the universe was taunting her.

The only thing that didn’t change is her older sibling nature. Giving her food to the little ones. Playing dress up or soccer. Her smiles were always fake. Maybe to the blind eye she seems happy but some could easily tell she was anything but happy.

6 months later Hana finally gets her cast takin off. At this time Hanako is 12 and is at her breaking point. After another day of school, and another day of almost getting beat to death, something snaps inside of her.

(TRIGGER WARNING⚠️)

You have to understand, Hanako didn’t have anybody to talk to. Everyone was either to busy or didn’t bother to care. Which left her all by herself. It felt like she was trapped almost. No one there to listen or laugh with.

The scissors on her dresser looked quite tempting. The relief of not having to go through any more of this pain and loneliness was very appealing, but before she could touch them a huge gust of wind blew into her room. Taking the scissors away from her while she was distracted.

If that couldn’t work then running away would be the next best option. That night Hana packed her things (including the photo album) and drew out her plan. It was quite simple really.

She would skip school and go behind it, where a cliff is, to get a good view of where she could go from there.

After running around the school and into a forest, Hana reached a stream. Cupping some water to drink, Hana got caught up in how refreshing the water was. A snap of a branch snapped her out of her state and made her look around. That’s when she saw the manticore out of the corner of her eye.

Hana quickly got up and started backing away only to forget that there’s a cliff and slips. Plummeting to her presumed death tears start to seep out once again. Out of no where a boy that looks to be about 15, swoops in to save her, but the weirdest thing is that his shoes have wings on them, But she was to tired to care. So acting like she didn’t have a care in the world, she rapped her arms around him and snuggled into his neck.

The last thing she could make out was something like “ Let’s get out of here before that manticore decides it wants a 3 course Demi-god meal!” Or something like that.

When Hana woke up, she looked around and realized she was in an infirmary room. The same boy she saw was sleeping on the bed next to her. A knock on the door was heard, and in came girl who looked about the same age as the boy. “You two have been out for a while.” She said “I would’ve never suspected that a tiny demigod like you could cause so much trouble.” Hana looked confused “Do I know you? And what do you mean by demigod?” She asked.

The older girl let out a small chuckle before walking up an sitting next to Hana. “I’m Jane, daughter of Aphrodite! The reason why I called you a demigod is because, well... you’re half god half mortal.” The younger girl couldn’t believe her ears. “B-but how do we know I’m a demigod?” “Have you seen your other parent before? Can you never be in one place for to long? Those are all signs my dear, of course if you don’t believe me we can wait till your godly parent claims you as their kid.”

After that small encounter Jane took Hanako on a tour of where she’d be staying the whole summer. “W-why are we at a camp? And who was that boy w-who saved me?” The younger girl asked in a quiet voice. “This camp houses demigods, there a two from what everyone knows. One for Greek gods and one for Roman gods. The boy who saved you is my best friend Chase, he’s a child of Hermes! Speaking of Hermes, you’ll be staying in that cabin until your godly parent claims you.” The elder girl pointed at the Hermes cabin. “The gods have specific cabins for them and their children, and depending on your mom or dad you could end up housing with me or Chase.”

After the tour, there was dinner, after dinner it was time for everyone to sit around the big campfire. Everyone was laughing, talking, and telling stories. One kid asked Hana if she knew her godly parent yet, but before she could answer something flashed above her head.

The warm glow of a fireplace hung over her head. Everyone stopped talking, looking shocked. Hana was the first ever child of Hestia! From the back of all the campers you can hear someone yell “All hail Hanako! Daughter of Hestia!” And just like that everyone bowed.

After all that craziness, Hanako was escorted to her own cabin. She let out a small thank you before going inside. To her surprise there was a woman waiting inside, but this woman felt oddly familiar. Almost as if Hana saw her before! The woman turned around and said “We have quite a lot to catch up on, Hanako.” With a welcoming smile. Just like that Hana dropped her bag and ran to the woman. It didn’t take long to figure out that she was her godly parent.

That night the two girls talked and talked till midnight. That’s when Hestia tucked Hana into bed. For the first time in a year she finally felt happy, and that night she went to sleep wearing a smile. The next day Hana sat by a tree relaxing when suddenly two boy came out of nowhere! One had black hair, blue eyes, and he had some freckles on his nose. The other had light brown hair and cyan blue eyes and wore a black baseball hat.

“We h-heard you were the daughter of Hestia and w-we were w-wondering i-if you would like to-“ “What he’s trying to say, is that we wondering if you to be friends!” The brunette interrupted. “A-are you sure you want a crybaby like me to be your friend??” The boys looked at each other and smiled (the brunette smiling more brighter and the blackette smile more small)

They nodded and reached out their hands to her’s. At first she hesitated but quickly grabbed their hands, afraid they might disappear. When she grabbed their hand it was like weights were lifted off her chest. She never realized until now, how important friends and family are until recently . “I’m Xavier and the dork with the freckles is Kai!” “I AM NOT A DORK!! I’m just not that great when it comes to ladies!” “Right, Right.” The brunette said sarcastically. “Anyway my godly parent is Hermes and Kai’s Mother is Athena!”

Maybe thing we’re starting to take a turn for the better.

Once she met those two Hanako started coming out of her shell more. She was still quiet and anxious but it isn’t as bad as before. Not to mention she gets more loud and energetic with Xavier and Kai around!

Hanako HATES libraries and bookshelf. She’ll go in a library if she has to, but she avoids them as best she can. If she’s ever in a vicinity of a bookshelf she’ll distance herself as much as possible. Let’s just say she gets very anxious and nervous when she around them.

If you ever asked about Hana’s past she would never be ashamed to tell you what happened. She isn’t happy about the events that took place but there’s nothing she can do about it know. So know matter what Hanako always tries to keep her head up high when it comes to her past.

(More visuals)

🌸Some side notes here🌸

(Don’t mind the last one’s eyes being blue. I was trying to decide if I wanted to stick with yellow or try something new-)

(I can go more into depth on Hanako’s two besties if anyone would be interested)

(I’m also thinking of reintroducing her because the first one is her in twst but she’s like that in every fandom basically. Obviously I won’t delete the first one I just wanna talk about everything she’s in and what her relations are to everyone!)

#ocs #twst oc #jjk oc #twisted wonderland #obey me oc #demon slayer oc #twst #genshin impact oc #twst x reader

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suzukiblu · 3 years ago

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Fic Writer Meme

Tagged by my dear @dancinbutterfly, and like, obviously I will take any excuse to talk about writing.

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

168, although a few of those are podfics that the podficcer credited me as a co-author on. Actually less than I would’ve expected, tbh.

2) what is your total ao3 word count?

1,431,989. Honestly also kinda less than I would’ve expected at this point. I will blame all those old fics I never brought over from LJ and ff.net for this expectation.

3) how many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

I literally cannot tell you, the ancient ways have been lost to me. I can give you my Ao3 fandoms, though!

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Overwatch

The Witcher (Netflix)

Young Justice (Cartoon)

Animorphs

Star Wars

Good Omens

Venom

Fantastic Four

Leverage

League of Legends

Daredevil

Supernatural

Care Bears

World of Warcraft

Spider-Man

X-Men

Slender Man Mythos

Additionally, long ago: Naruto, Gundam Wing, Digimon, Ranma ½, Bleach, Inu-Yasha, and many scattered other fandoms of my youth. So, so many others. So I’ve written for 25+ fandoms, at least.

4) what are your top 5 fics by Kudos.

a mark, a mission, a brand, a scar (13004)

I once started out to walk around the world but ended up in Brooklyn (8450)

it’s a long way forward (so trust in me) (6965)

oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me (6818)

if the bad times are coming let ‘em come (5362)

5) do you respond to comments?

Not really these days, though I hoard and treasure them like a freaking DRAGON. I used to respond to all of them but sometimes I’m just not around and then it becomes awkwardly late to reply and also they kinda . . . pile up a bit. I do try to answer all the comments with questions in them, at least, as long as the questions aren’t literally spoilers or anything like that.

6) what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t usually write super-angsty endings, I think? I don’t FEEL like I usually write super-angsty endings, anyway, at least not these days. I think I did it more often when I was more into, like, drabbles and shortfic. Now I just spend way too long on stuff to give it a downer ending.

The most recent angsty ending I can think of is wanna hold him, maybe I’ll just sing about it, though eventually I did write a sequel to that to soften the blow a bit. And also torment people a bit. Both, technically. Technically both.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

blondes really do have more fun, definitely. It’s very . . . giddy, I guess? What with the gender euphoria and all. There’s angst and heavy emotions in the actual plot but the highs of the happy parts/ending are probably the highest/happiest ones I’ve written, and Supergirl gets everything she wants without having to compromise or give up anything else.

8) do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I write fusion fic more than crossovers, really, but I have written a LOT of fusion fic. Some of it has been weirder than others, tbh, but probably the Avatar: The Last Airbender/Animorphs fusion that I have been lovingly slaving over deserves to be this answer if only for how much extremely sincere effort I have put into it over the years.

9) have you ever received hate on a fic?

Mild hate, but occasionally. I don’t really tend to remember negative comments, tbh, though it does sometimes make me not want to reread the comment section I know they’re in. But a lot of the hate I’ve gotten in the end just seemed like socially-awkward people being unnecessarily blunt instead of just hitting the back button, so I try not to take it personally. Can’t please everyone. Don’t WANT to please everyone, frankly.

10) Do you write smut? What kind?

Yes, and the kind is “a lot”. Sometimes I don’t really feel like it but definitely I have done a lot of it. I try for Feelings and also to be safe, sane, and consensual as much as I can.

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

I . . . am not sure? Though probably, after being at this for all this time. Someone once told me that someone picked up a fic I’d (at the time) abandoned and just started writing/posting more of it without asking or telling me about it, but I never actually found said fic and I don’t know if that technically counts as “stealing” anyway.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

A few times, yup, it’s pretty gratifying! I also like to run them back through Google Translate and see what they say, haha.

13) have you ever co-written a fic before?

yoooo @dancinbutterfly, @rainnecassidy! Also done it with a few other people long, LONG ago, but that was back in the LJ era. Don’t think I’ve technically collabed with anyone else lately, although sometimes people will give me ideas for stuff I’m writing or offer suggestions when I’m stuck on a thing, which is very helpful.

14) what’s your favourite ship?

Like . . . per fandom? ‘Cuz we could be here a while. Most recently it’s Jaskier/Geralt, for a while it was Aziraphale/Crowley, DEFINITELY for a while it was Steve/Bucky . . .

You know, I guess technically my all-time favorite ship is actually Naruto/Sasuke, because I made a LOT of friends in Naruto fandom and it actually hugely influenced the end of my teenage years and beginning of my adult life and so, SO much of my writing. So like, if nothing else it wins on influentialness.

15) what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Let ‘Em Come. @rainnecassidy and I wrote that AU a long-ass time ago now and I never did my half of the sequel fic because I got too distracted with another longfic I was working on at the time and then took a real long fandom break. I always felt kind of bad about it because people seemed to bother her for said sequel more than they bothered ME for it, since her fic was the last posted part. Unfortunately I just don’t have the spoons or the MCU-focus for the research and effort it’d take anymore. Also, like . . . it’d probably be pretty long, so unless I was REAL obsessive about it it’d take a good long while.

Basically I think its time has just passed at this point, alas.

16) what are your writing strengths?

Sex, action, snark, and weird fusion fics. Also making people love things they usually hate, that’s one I get told a lot.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

Fitting physical descriptions of . . . literally ANYTHING into the story. Just, anything. Physical descriptions are hard.

18) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I try not to do it, personally, because I know soooooo very little about other languages. Sometimes I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of it, but usually I feel like it’s better to avoid it, personally.

19) what was the first fandom you wrote for?

I literally could not even tell you. The first fandom I REMEMBER writing proper “fic” for was . . . Ranma ½, I think. I thiiiiink. But that was a long-ass time ago and I never even posted it anywhere because those were the days when I despised typing things up beyond all measure, hah. And before that I remember writing Animorphs . . . comics? Storyboards? Something like that. Kind of a cross between the two.

20) what’s your favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I do not know! There’s really just too many, tbh. Some top options are you found me when no one else was looking, best friends means you get what you deserve, clay kids, Avamorphs, handmaiden!Anakin, oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me, and . . . and I could go on for a dang MINUTE, honestly, haha, I’m just gonna stop myself here before I get too carried away.

I tag whoever happens to be reading this that wants to be tagged; have fun with it!

#meme #a/b/o #some not sfw links in here #fair warning #long post

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wynniewright · 4 years ago

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Secret Santa (Drabble)

→ This piece is a part of the Secret Santa event hosted by @bwcsecretsanta and was created for @n8dlesoupguk

→ Rating: PG-13

→ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

→ WC: 2.4k

→ Genre: secret santa au

→ Summary: When you pick Yoongi’s name for the dreaded secret santa event at work, things didn’t go exactly as you expected them to.

→ Warnings: much fluff, some mild vulgar language (I tried very hard not to use the f word)

AN: Okay, it’s 4am and I don’t have the mental capacity to do tags and the proper set-up into the story so I did the absolute bare minimum until I’m awake and actually able to process what the hell is going on. AS MENTIONED ABOVE, it’s a secret santa piece for my dear @n8dlesoupguk. I’m sorry this piece took so long to get out but I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a little on the drabble side. Thank you for letting me be your secret santa and I hope you had a wonderful holiday season.~ <3

PS: Sorry I forced you to wait until the last possible moment and thank you for your patience love!

It’s official. You were officially the worst secret santa in the history of secret santas and honestly, even that was giving yourself too much credit. You could barely call yourself a secret santa. The qualifications were somewhat loose, being that all you had to do was fill in a gift card for your own secret santa to receive while you received one from a co-worker.

If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t have even signed up if you didn’t think your manager, Seokjin, wasn’t looking over your shoulder. Sure, he said it was optional, but you were looking forward to a promotion to serving role so that you didn’t have to bus tables anymore. If getting on Jin’s good side meant you had to participate in some cheesy holiday event for work then that’s exactly what you were going to do.

You couldn’t even blame your poor time management skills on your strict manager, since he specifically told every staff member the rules:

Gifts cannot go oer the $30 budget

Gifts must be ready for the exchange on the morning of the 24th

That was easy enough, right? Whoever’s name you pulled, you could’ve gotten away with buying them a candle or maybe some fuzzy socks and a sheet mask. It was supposed to be easy. But instead of ease, panic set in the moment you opened your locker and realized whose secret santa you were.

Min Yoongi.

Out of the twenty-something other employees at the restaurant, you managed to pick THE Min Yoongi. How? You wished you knew.

Pulling his name from the hat wasn’t horrible because it was him, in fact, if you actually cared about the work festivities, you would’ve jumped for joy and screeched into your pillow the moment you got home. But you didn’t care about the exchange and had no plans to put any thought into a personalized gift for the recipient. Hell, by the time you actually bothered to take a peek at the name was nearly 72 hours before the exchange. That’s exactly why you were at the mall before your shift, less than 24 hours until the gift exchange in front of the other staff, in search for a suitable gift for the cute boy.

No pressure, right?

You tossed out your idea of fuzzy socks and body care products and immediately headed to the mom-and-pop candle store in search of fall-scented candles. There should’ve been more space for additional details because, c’mon, how many fall candles existed? Since it was the day before Christmas Eve, you expected to have plenty of options with fall scents - but not as many as there were.

It was understatement to say that there were plenty of options when the entire store was just one massive cloud of the perfect holiday fragrances, cinnamon and apple wafting right out the doors and flooding your nostrils before you even stepped into the place.

It took a whole hour for you to test all of the scents, a bulk of the time wasted on debating whether or not Yoongi was the Christmas cookie type, or if he’d like Apple Pumpkin or even Holiday Hearth, whatever that was. After the first 10 minutes of sniffing, all the candles started to blend together and smell the same as the one before it, leaving you defeated.

Shortly after leaving, there was a brief moment where you thought about checking out another store for some candles, but considering your nose was fried with all those powerful scents, you didn’t think you could sniff another freaking candle without losing your sense of smell. Perhaps the beanie on his list would’ve been an easier find.

Boy, were you wrong.

After shopping at three different department stores, you came to the conclusion that trying to find a beanie during the peak of the winter season was an even worse idea than the candles. You knew better than to waste time looking for one of the most popular items for the season so you weren’t sure why it was a shock to you when you couldn’t get your hands on one. The last item on his wishlist was sour watermelon gummies and although those sounded like a decent idea for a multi-item gift, there was no way you would give him a $30 bag of candy.

With slumped shoulders and a pout, you decided to head into Guitar Center with less than a half an hour until the start of your shift. You didn’t know what to look for, only that you needed to find something budget-friendly that Yoongi would definitely take a liking to. The only possible solution was to give him a sad $30 gift card and call it a day, huffing your way across the mall to where the restaurant was located on the other side.

Technically, a gift card to Guitar Center was the perfect gift for Yoongi. There was a level of passion in which Yoongi spoke about his instruments, talking about music as if it were alive. That’s exactly why you couldn’t screw up the gift by getting him a gift card, right? Even if it was $30, that money could’ve gone towards something he wanted to buy in the future and even if it wasn’t much, you were sure he would still love it.

With a little newfound confidence, you strode through the open doorway and greeted your longtime friend, Jeongguk who stood behind the host desk, scribbling onto something you couldn’t see.

“Hey, Gukie,” you offered a friendly wave, catching his friendly grin and returning it with one of your own.

“Y/N! I can’t believe you came in today,” he said, maneuvering his way around the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your shoulders. “Did you manage to find something good?” He whispered in your ear and you couldn’t help the sigh that pressed through your lips.

You grumbled, “I got him a gift card?”

His almond eyes rounded out, widening as if you had another head sprouting from your shoulder. “You totally forgot rule three.”

“Rule three?”

You thought back to Jin giving everyone a mini lecture on what was allowed to be given as a gift, running through rules one and two but ultimately coming to a blank.

Jeongguk brushed his lean fingers through his perfectly styled hair, causing some strands to fall in his face before he ruffled the locks in the back. “Rule number three, no gift cards or restaurant merch.” He deadpanned.

The moment those words left his lips, your mind flashed back to your manager saying those exact words and nearly lost your shit right as Yoongi and one of his best pals, Hoseok, strolled on in.

“Are you fu-”

“-oh, hey, Y/N.” Yoongi flashed his signature gummy smile, reserved but enough to break some hearts as they stopped right by the two of you.

Your heart sank with the realization that you somehow managed to become an even worse secret santa than you managed before, which honestly would be an achievement for you if it wasn’t for the fact that Min-freaking-Yoongi was going to the one disappointed in you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you gave a half-hearted wave, trying your best to put on a smile while knowing full-well that it was flat and obviously painful. He passed by after a quick “it’s nice to see you again” and headed to the lockers in the back.

Jeongguk watched the interaction and kept looking between the two of you as Yoongi walked further away, letting out a short whistle with a shake of his head.

“You, my friend, are absolutely screwed.”

-----

You didn’t know exactly what you were thinking. A gift card? A freaking gift card? Seriously, how lame is that? People probably wrote poems about their recipient, shopped tirelessly for their favorite things until they were sure they were going to give the best gift a secret santa could give and there you were with a tiny, half-assed gift card that didn’t amount to anything nearly important enough and hoping that would suffice.

You were disappointed in yourself. Sure, maybe time slipped by a bit too fast and left you with the last possible moment. Perhaps you could have blamed the sudden incline in hours after an excellent food critique brought an even larger crowd, telling him that’s why you didn’t have time to get something - anything - better. But that was just it. You couldn’t tell Yoongi that you didn’t care enough to buy a gift for anyone until you realized it was him. No way.

Feeling badly about the decision to get him a gift card, you managed to find a pair of fuzzy black socks - even though the color he put for his favorite was green but you knew that a majority of his closet was black - and a small, autumn-scented candle that anyone would enjoy with it’s subtle flair. You stuck those in the bag with the gift card, ultimately choosing to give both gifts despite them collectively doubling the budget.

To say that nerves were getting to you wasn’t even the half of it. Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing as each person around the circle was called to stand up and find the receiver of their gifts to hand them their early Christmas presents. The closer it got to you, the worse the bounding became, practically jumping up and down with every pull of your leg until you smacked it against your neighbor when they returned to their seat after their exchange.

“Alright, next is Y/N,” Seokjin clapped happily. You wished his positivity would’ve rubbed off on you and given you the strength to look Yoongi in the eye and hand him the monstrosity of a gift that you gave him.

You pushed yourself up from the chair and and walked over to the other side, knees wobbling and hands growing slick as you neared Yoongi’s seat. With a deep breath, you extended the small bag his way and immediately ducked your head down when he took it, flying back to your seat on the opposite side and avoiding his gaze.

It felt like hours going through everyone’s secret santa gift and you were too happy when Seokjin didn’t require us to open our presents in front of everyone. Presents were personal, right? Nobody wants to be exposed like that.

You would’ve dipped on out of there as soon as the gift exchange ended but the nagging guilt forced you to make your way over to where Yoongi and Jeongguk were casually chatting. When you reached them, they both looked up at you with each of their own expressions: Yoongi’s eyes were dark yet curious as to what you wanted whereas Jeongguk knew exactly what was about to go down.

“I’m actually going to catch Syd before she leaves. I’ll be right back,” he excused himself and made his exit, turning around the moment he was behind Yoongi to give you a supportive thumbs up.

“Ah, right. I wanted to thank you for your gift, by the way. I really like the candle and I’m kinda digging the fuzzy socks so thanks.” Yoongi flicked his head to the side, pushing his dark hair out of his face as he smiled that heart-melting smile.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” You nibbled on your lip.

How were you supposed to go about this? Was it something you had to sort of dance around and hope he’d understand or something you have to tell straight up? While neither answer seemed desirable, there was nothing more terrifying than the thought of having to say, “I bought you what I was going to buy for anyone else that was my secret santa”.

“The gifts?” Yoongi raised a brow, no doubt confused with the way you were taking things.

“Yeah,” you puffed out. “Is there any way I could give you something else? I was the worst and I waited to go shopping and the things on your list weren’t available no matter where I looked. I would say I tried but I don’t even feel like I did… I’m so sorry for being so stupid, I can’t believe I actually got you th-”.

“-I don’t want anything else, though. I already have more than enough.” He stuck his lip out, his cheeks puffing out as if he were a child being rejected for some sweets.

“I don’t think you understand. I really messed this up and I’m so embarrassed,” you pushed further, lowering your head into your hands with a groan.

Yoongi was silent, thoughtfully watching you have a meltdown in your seat as he contemplated his next response. “And if I said there was something?” He asked.

“It’s yours.”

In a blink of an eye, Yoongi closed the space between the two of you, lips crashing into yours in a gentle yet exploratory kiss. Fireworks shot off somewhere in the back of your mind as you shut your eyes and grazed his cheek with your thumb. The kiss didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to, but it took your breath away regardless. The last of him still lingered on your lips as you opened your eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as you took in the situation.

Min Yoongi just kissed you.

THE Min Yoongi just kissed YOU.

“What was that for?” you murmured under your breath, almost as if you wanted an answer but didn’t even want him to hear the question.

He hummed, a playful glint in his eye as he gave a shrug. “You said I could have something I wanted in return. That’s what I wanted.”

His words warmed your heart and turned you into a giggling mess, leaving you hiding behind your purse with nothing but your eyes peeking over the top.

“You’re serious? You’re not serious, no way.” You spoke half to yourself and half to him, still processing the feeling of his soft lips against yours.

“I’m serious. In fact, if you want to go even further to make it up to me, let me take you to dinner next Friday.” He stuck out a hand between your two bodies, the offer laying right there in front of you while you still couldn’t believe what was happening.

You gripped his hand as quickly as possible and bounced in your seat, beaming with excitement as he matched your enthusiasm. “Yes! I mean,” you coughed. “Absolutely, yes. I’d love to.” You grinned.

Little did you know that being the worst secret santa in history would lead you to give Min Yoongi exactly what he wished for: you.

#bwcssy2 #@btsbookclub #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #bangtanuniversity #bts drabble #fluff #yoongi fluff #secret santa au

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angelrider13 · 4 years ago

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Alright, so I mentioned in discord yesterday that Thalassa’s been dimension hopping. (We all have that one OC.) She’s currently hanging out in MDZS/Untamed world and causing chaos - as she does. @starofthemourning asked what specifically she was getting up to. So have a ramble!

- Thalassa was just minding her business, cruising through Death’s realm as she does from time to time, visiting past children and friends, helping newly deceased souls cross over, etc., etc., when she gets yoinked into a completely different land of the living.

- Thalassa: Toto, we are not in Eos anymore.

- She’s been summoned into the body of a young woman by a group of demonic cultivators that pushed some buttons they should not have. They are a cult, because of course they are, and Thalassa has no idea what’s happening, but they are cuckoo bananapuffs and leaning WAY too hard on the cult thing - virgin sacrifices, child sacrifices, torture, lotsa bad things. Thalassa in her new, 100% human body, says no.

- Enter JC! Who, as we know, hunts down demonic cultivators with a single mindedness that is probably more than a little unhealthy. And this is...I’m saying like 3 years after WWX died, so some things as still fresh (and also, other people are still alive to react to Thalassa and her...Thalassa-ness).

- JC arrives to find that Thalassa has already solved the problem. Very thoroughly. This strange woman covered in blood, with lines of fire burning across her skin and a smile that’s all teeth and gold, gold eyes that burn with power, escorting children and missing travelers out of the smoking ruins of their former prison, carrying the dead and dying with her. Because she cannot save them, but they will die free.

- JC is immediately Suspicious. This woman is not a cultivator. She is also not human. He is sure of it. He absolutely cannot prove it. (The body she’s currently inhabiting is human, she used to be human in body and soul and still is to an extent - she’s not lying.)

- Thalassa ends up being dragged to Lotus Pier along with some of the kids she saved, because orphans and we all know that Thalassa can and will adopt everything that breathes if it stands still long enough. She has technically done nothing wrong and has earned the gratitude and good will of quite a few people, so it would look bad if JC just disappeared her. But Something Is Afoot, so JC isn’t about to let her go gallivanting across the countryside either.

- Thalassa notices pretty quick that these people bow a lot. In greeting, in farewell, to show respect. Thalassa is Not About That. She is the Sea and the Sea Does Not Bow. It’s not such a big deal at first because the circumstances of meeting are...messy. But once they’re in Lotus Pier, people start noticing that she never bows, even after they’ve bowed to her, and they are Offended. The only ones that are not are the kids that she adopted. No one says anything at first, but they all make spectacular pissy faces that Thalassa delights in. JC eventually snaps at her, snarling about respect, and Thalassa calmly replies that if she ever bows to him or anyone else, they will have earned it. (”I have only ever bowed to my Mothers, to Death and to the Light of Dawn, and no other.”) JC, knowing that she’s not human, but not knowing exactly how, doesn’t bring it up again.

- Thalassa likes Lotus Pier. It’s bright and colorful and loud and surrounded by water. It’s not as good as her waters, of course, but it’s nice to be able to swim when the mood strikes. It’s nice to be able to swim with the children, nice to know that everyone learns to swim at Lotus Pier and that they take it seriously. The first time she catches JC teaching the kids she brought with her to swim she stares because he’s not gentle exactly, but...softer. These people operate on different rules than her, but it’s nice to know that somethings always stay the same.

- It takes Lotus Pier a little while to figure out that they’ve been adopted, but they get there. Thalassa is the weird big sister/aunt/mother figure that will be getting you into trouble one moment and then helping out get out of it the next. She doesn’t bow and they don’t make her. She’s chaos in human skin, but some of them (far, far too few) remember that Lotus Pier has always had a soft spot for chaos gremlins and their antics. It brings smiles to their faces when they see this strange whirlwind of a woman trail after their Sect Leader, tugging at his sleeves and leaning into his space and laughing with a smile brighter than the sun when he swats at her, a secret grin tugging at the corners of his scowl.

- At some point, Thalassa meets other sects. It goes...well it goes. For maximum chaos, let’s say its a discussion conference. At Jinlintai. Which brings us right back to the Thalassa and bowing thing.

- JC and YunmengJiang have been dealing with Thalassa’s bullshit for - months? a year? who knows, it’s been awhile - at this point and know that it’s better to just Roll With It.

- The rest of the cultivation world has very much not learned this lesson.

- The Lan are Offended. So Offended. Depending on the Lan, at least. LXC is pretty chill and would probably also be offended, but not let it bother him much. LQR leans so much on propriety that he might just qi deviate. LWJ also leans pretty heavily on propriety but he is also that person who is So Done With Everyone’s Bullshit that he’ll just walk right out of the room so who knows.

- The rules of propriety! Broken!! Without cause or care!!! The Lans are flipping their shit. Quietly. And with great dignity.

- The Nie also kinda offended, but not nearly as much as the Lan. It’s not often that a woman will look Sect Leader Nie in the eye and refuse to bow to him, but NMJ can admire the guts it takes. He’s also the most likely to bring it up and Thalassa will calmly tell him what she tells everyone who asks - that she does not bow. Most especially not for social niceties that mean next to nothing at the end of the day.

- She absolutely bonds with NHS over the arts. He shows off his fans, she does a dance or two with them, they ramble at each other, they are now best friends. (JC is in the background being a Dispair because he knows, he knows, the NHS is an Enabler. He should never have allowed them to meet.)

- The Jin...well. Thalassa is a woman. Thalassa is very pretty. Thalassa knows she is very pretty and flirts as she pleases and moves with a grace that draws many a eye. And JGS...is JGS.

- You know that post that’s buried in my STotS story tag where Mera, literal Queen of Atlantis, breaks a man’s arm because he put his hands on her without her permission? I’m not saying that happens...but that 100% happens.

- JGS tries to be all smooth and Thalassa is Not Having It. She is well aware that 1) this jackass is married AND absolutely does not have the permission of his wife to fuck around and 2) JGS has a reputation among women. And it is not one that endears JGS to her.

- So he puts his hands on her. Pulls her close and tries to flirt. She tells him to let go. He smiles in that ‘aw you’re playing hard to get, how cute’ way that he probably thinks is charming but really wants to make women punch his face in, and gropes her. So Thalassa breaks his arm, snaps it in her hand and doesn’t let go. She uses the pain and the leverage of her grip to force him to his knees before her.

- It draws attention. JGS doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets in physical fights much - he probably doesn’t have much pain tolerance. He’s likely screaming. And you know cultivators are trigger happy little shits so swords are drawn. Thalassa smiles, all teeth.

- JGS is probably demanding that JC ‘put his woman in her place’. JC, having witnessed what happened and far less inclined to put up with this man than he was in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign when all he had was the ashes of his sect, is having None Of It. He’s like well if she’s my woman why are you touching her and if she said no, why are you still touching her?

- NMJ approves. JGS deserves this. He’s had it coming for years. He is so happy he gets to witness this. As far as he’s concerned JGS brought this on himself and if he can’t handle it, maybe he should try keeping his dick in his pants.

- Thalassa is not impressed. She’s heard the titles thrown around. Sect Leader, Chief Cultivator, Your Excellency. She is well aware that leaders do not represent the entirety of the people, yet these people overthrew a tyrant and let this take his place? (”So you allow an oathbreaking rapist to lead you. This explains so much.”)

- JGY steps up and tries to smooth over the situation. Thalassa does not allow it. (”The next time he touches me, I will cut off his cock. If any woman he’s touched comes to me for help, I will rip out his intestines and strangle him with them.”)

- The Jiang are the only ones who know that she means this 100% literally. More than a few of them are okay with her following through. JC is standing at her shoulder, glowering at the whole room because Thalassa is one of His People at this point and you better believe he’s not going to let someone, not even another Sect Leader, not even the Chief Cultivator, disrespect her this way.

- JGY continues to deescalate with varying levels of success. (Thalassa is old. She is old and has lived through much. She knows what a viper looks like no matter how honeyed the words or how silver the tongue or how sweet the smile. This child thinks he can manipulate her. How cute.)

- In the end, no action is taken against Thalassa. JC is loud in his defense of her actions and NMJ and LXC side with him. JGS was in the wrong and his behavior was disgraceful. The Jin have no choice but to concede fault.

- Thalassa may or may not spend the rest of her time in Jinlintai teaching as many women as she can how to cripple a man twice their size.

#sweat tears or the sea au #ffxv x mdzs #a sea of lotus flowers verse #think i'm mostly gonna stick untamed canon cause that's what i'm most familiar with #thalassa out there not caring one wit about your social norms #for thalassa this is some time post astral war but pre ardyn #because i said so #thalassa adopts lotus pier and is adopted in turn #jiang cheng has Mine instincts as strong as any lucis caelum's #jiang cheng wonders why he keeps getting attached to chaotic assholes #he should know better #and yet #give thalassa an excuse jgs #just one excuse #thalassa still here not caring about politics #her stance remains: i'm right prove me wrong #it continues to be effective #especially when she shoves their own shameful behavior in their faces #thalassa for the rest of forever: hey remember when i broke your arm?#...if you ask me about this i'll probably ramble more

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abri-chan · 4 years ago

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Hi! Feel more than free to ignore this.

I may or may not have just gone through your blog to see your thoughts on some of my fave ships... and I was wondering what you thought about BruAbbaGio?

Sorry to bother you. Have a lovely day/night and take care!🖤

What i think of this ship should have no bearing on what you make of it. Shipping is a bit like a story you tell yourself (or others) as to why these characters should be together, and everyone has different stories to tell.

I'm ship agnostic in regards that i never write for constant ships, or ships at all, but anyways...

I wanted to write a longer answer but I'm in a pinch right now, so this will have to do.

There's a post somewhere on my blog as to why canonically BruGio has enough evidence to be a ship, and similarly Abbacchio clearly had a one-sided thing going on for Bruno. I feel sexually BruAbbaGio makes a good dynamic, and I used to read a lot of dubcon AbbaGio at some point, so who am I to say what people should ship. In terms of dynamics, I feel Giorno subconsciously pulls Bruno's strings, and Abbacchio will tag along with Bruno; and while Giorno may be a switch in bed, he clearly controls the relationship and they are exactly where Giorno wants them to be, even if they get rough on him.

Aside from smut, I personally would not find interest in this ship. If you find that brugio post I made, I argued that Giorno may have had a teen crush on Bruno, as Bruno being the only adult he respects so far. Even if Bruno didn't die, as any teen crush, Giorno would move on to other things: the moment he becomes Don, is the moment the Dio in him wins, so his greed is wide, so don't expect Giorno to care about people or get attached to them; when you have the world, what do you care about a single person? I don't see Giorno as committed to anyone in his early don days, and at some point he will probably task someone with finding him a proper partner (accounting for that partner to be the best for Passione's image, so it's not as simple as a trophy spouse).

Bruno and Abbacchio, I suppose, would gravitate towards Giorno the way everyone gravitated towards Dio. But any affection to Dio or Giorno is illusory and disappears the moment you are away and his charm wears off like parfume.

I feel Giorno may have an affair with Abbacchio just to break him; find a moment of weakness and use it. He may even have an affair with both just to remind Abbacchio that he cannot have Bruno.

As usual, ship and let others ship. I just grew tired of Giorno/Character ships at some point bc imo (and that should bear nothing on you) Giorno will reach levels of entitlement that cannot be possible after being Don. When you are that powerful, it becomes hard to conceptualize settling or caring for anyone, bc you have the world. He becomes power itself by the end, so his incentives and relationships cannot be normal or healthy or straightforward.

Yet, in general, I feel we need more polyships.

---

My friends know I follow Giornoship art accounts, so technically I have favorited art with Giorno ships. But it's more bc I like Don Giovanna (bara Giorno), so I will like any art or fic with that kind of Giorno. I don't have any loyalty to the particular ship tho, I only am there for Don Giovanna. Why I tend to seek xReader fics with him too, but usually most fics with Giorno don't fully satisfy my vision of him. There are a couple of art accounts that do.

#anime manga rambles #jojo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #leone abbacchio #bruno buccellati

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arcenciel-par-une-larme · 5 years ago

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Before anything else, I would like to ask my brothers and sisters in Christ, IN ALL HONESTY, whether I erred in any way in the reply which I offered to this original post (there was also an intermediate reply which I did not include into the screenshots; either way it was OP who replied to me). (@ignorant-against-christians @anscathmarcach @doctorbluesmanreturns @bagheadautist @a-quiche-in-med @anotherpointlessargument @strawberry-milktea and anybody else who might need to chime in, please feel free to PM me if you prefer that to reblogging all this mess.)

And while I'm awaiting that, let's dive right into the last reply and give OP a much-needed reality check. (Translation: let's try to set some things straight for anybody who is willing to listen, since OP has already declared themselves sinless, infallible and above reproach.)

Where are my children growing up that you think they’re not going to be interacting with Christians and being exposed to Christian theology on a daily basis? Hell, my children will have multiple Christian family members, as well as several queer Christian honorary aunts and uncles. Also, you know, a Catholic-educated mom.

It isn't all that much of a good sign when literally the first paragraph in your reply is a mile-long appeal to false authority.

First of all, it is completely inane to consider my response as personally addressed to you. I didn't even reblog it from you or tag you.

Secondly, please accept this PSA: Having Christian friends does not make you an authority on Scripture. Nor does having a Catholic-educated (not even practicing Catholic) mum. In fact, if the state of millennial liberal "Christianity" online is any indication, it is very much a possibility that your "Christian friends" might very well be teaching you that "Yeah, basically atheists are right in all that they say about Christianity, but I'm a good Christian and I love Christ and I don't believe any of that outdated stuff that's in the New Testament!" in which case, yeah, the fact of the matter is that you WON'T be getting an accurate image of orthodox Christian theology from your friends, or from your mother who might very well have prayed her latest Rosary when she graduated high school.

You have completely misunderstood the point of this post if you think the above beliefs (which are overwhelmingly held and spread by Christians and ex-Christian atheists, not Jews) have the same negative effects on Christians that harmful beliefs about Jews have on us.

Right. So, in other words, you didn't want to draw attention to and decry anti-[whatever religion] slander and, in the course of that, also spread awareness of common anti-Judaism lies. You just wanted to compete in Oppression Olympics, and to virtue-signal your victimhood. Yeah, how dare I assume that you wanted the former just like any virtuous human being! HOW DARE I assume that you're not an intellectually dishonest SJW! THE HORROR!!!

Also, nice job pretending that you're "fair" and "not bigoted" when you try to blame CHRISTIANS for the ANTI-CHRISTIAN bigoted lies which are commonly propagated.

And again, the only reason that you think I blamed these beliefs on Jews is, as it seems, because you want me to mean that. Because you want to score oppression points. In reality, I made it perfectly clear that it is of no importance whether the person peddling anti-Christian slander is Jewish, atheist or whatever else; but that is something which either you missed entirely or you deliberately refuse to acknowledge.

Christians might not be uniquely bigoted, but you damn well are uniquely powerful in western countries, and with that comes unique responsibility, to paraphrase Uncle Ben.

Why didn't you just go the full "Check your Christian privilege, we live in a Christian hegemony, one can't be bigoted against Christians, a minority cannot oppress a majority, PREJUDICE PLUS POWER!" route from the get-go so we can know where we are standing, then?

This is a perfect example of why I shall always insist that

At the Oppression Olympics, nobody wins.

Because you looked at my response and you immediately saw not a complementing opinion (which it is), but a competing one. You saw an opponent, and in your mind you cannot be anything short of 100% right a priori, because of course it's a competition. Of course oppression and injustice are a zero-sum game.

Only in real life, THEY ARE NOT.

Any rational Christian, and any rational Jew, is horrified both by anti-Christian and by anti-Jewish bigotry. You, on the other hand, insist upon trying to find the "bigger victim" at all costs. And from your reply, it seems fairly certain that you had no rational reason to do that. You just wanted to downplay the injustices and slander which is aimed against Christians. It almost reads as if you vehemently refuse to even remotely sympathise.

By the way, I think that Devin Kelley, Chris Mercer, and Floyd Corkins (among others) might be some names which ought to debunk your opinion that anti-Christian bigotry has no tangible real-life effects.

Oh, but I forgot. "Prejudice plus power"...

I have every intention of teaching my children about different religions, but this reply was obviously in bad faith and just about jacking off your persecution complex as part of the poor, downtrodden 80% majority.

THERE WE HAVE IT!!! THERE IT IS!!! I F***ING CALLED IT. HEAVEN FORFEND IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN ONCE. "A majority cannot be oppressed!!!! PERSECUTION COMPLEX!!!"

At this point, your rhetoric is barely distinguishable from an "AtheiSJW bingo" of sorts, or from the inane hate asks that we get at anti-christophobia...

I don't know why I expected any better. Maybe because I DARED to assume the best about you. Yeah, what a heinous thing to do...

And OF COURSE it must be true that I came into this in bad faith. Of course. Why? Because you say so. Because it's a JACKPOT for you. You've found before yourself the perfect chance to set the scene with me as "Le Mr. Evil Bigoted Christian" and score brownie points, and BY GOLLY you aren't going to let such an opportunity go to waste!! I mean, WHO EVEN CARES about such trivial technicalities such as TRUTH...

..........and in the wake of all this, you have the gall to accuse ME of playing Oppression Olympics???

Can your projection and intellectual dishonesty get any worse?

And the PERFECT FINALE of inimitable intellectual and moral superiority:

Do not interact with this post further.

Classic pigeon chess strategy. No comment needed.

Again, for what I have done amiss in this whole story, I apologise sincerely. My mistakes, however, do not bar me from calling out the errors of others and defending myself against unsubstantiated charges or pointing out their bigoted behaviour.

As for the potential few idiots who shall hasten to accuse of antisemitism (for whatever contrived BS reason their sick brains might conjure), do not even bother. Antisemitism is one of the many kinds of bigotry which I have decried in the past and shall continue to decry, and thus I do not automatically become guilty of the same bigotry just because I do not self-flagellate for being Christian and I refuse to bow down to your short-sighted, sociopathic cultural Marxist dogma of competitive victimhood.

God bless you all.

UPDATE: A few mere hours later and OF COURSE another Bingo square was checked off: I have been blocked. Should I pretend to be surprised?

#teamblocked #oppression Olympics #pigeon chess strategy #christophobia #anti sjw #personal post archive #muh persecution complex #muh bad faith

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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hello it has become my solemn duty to make all of y’all ship mangelo with me. @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile & @bluerayofsunshine it’s both of your fault that I ship this and therefore this entire fic is because of y’all. thank you

Feel Some Sort Of Way

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Angelo/Sir Marc, background Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Marc, Sir Angelo, Talfryn, Dampierre, Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Mutual Pining, (mutual dumbasses), very mild angst, Fluff, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Crushes, (they're just....... so fucking ridiculous)

Summary: Traveling with Sir Angelo proves to be very confusing, for Sir Marc.

Notes: I've been working on this goddamn fic since July. They're soft, I'm soft, you're soft too probably. Let's be soft together dangit. Title from the song UWU by Chevy.

It can’t be intentional, Marc thinks. Must be near the hundredth time he’s thought it. It can’t be intentional, or the big guy would just say something, right?

“Here, friend Marc!” Angelo swings his arms up, draping the thick, heavy material of his cloak around Marc’s shoulders. He beams as Marc furrows his brow in confusion, squawking half a protest as Angelo’s hands lift the hood to pull it over his head, shielding Marc’s face from the driving rain.

“Wh- wha- why?”

“You looked cold up upon the delightful Dampierre, friend Marc,” Angelo says, his face open and sincere. “I find myself quite warm despite the rain, and so I imagined that you might benefit more from my cloak than I myself would.”

Marc reaches a hand up to grip the clasp of the cloak, intending to pull it off, but-

It is much warmer with the heavy, sturdy cloth around his shoulders like a hug, and… the cloth, strangely, smells like baking, sugary and friendly and sweet. How-

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Angelo,” Talfryn says, in that particular tone of voice that means he’s chastising Marc for being rude. Judging by the unwavering grin on the knight’s face, though, he isn’t bothered by that rudeness, so Marc doesn’t feel too awful about it either.

“Yeah,” he says instead, his thumb still brushing over the clasp of the cloak as Dampierre whickers softly beneath him. “Uh. Thanks, Angelo.”

It’s weird, traveling with Sir Angelo. It was different when it was the two pairs of men traveling sort-of together to find Rilla. Even after the Nymphs, when they reached enough of an understanding that they weren’t at each other’s throats anymore, it still felt like two different groups of people who just happened to have the same goal, who happened to be in a position to be watching each other’s backs. They weren’t really one collective group, at least not by the time that Dampierre lost a shoe and Marc had to fall behind.

This time, there’s less pressure on the whole thing. No one in deadly peril, no dire threat looming large over the Citadel. It’s as simple as the three of them taking the scenic route (as in, not by magical portal) to visit Sir Damien and Rilla and Scales.

Actually, in technicality, Sirs Angelo and Damien are supposed to be traveling to “assess the level of danger presented by the monstrous occupation of the area known as the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms,” but obviously, that’s… not exactly a real issue, even if it would be impossible to explain that to the Queen.

Marc wasn’t there when Rilla heard the assignment her fiance and friend were saddled with, but the way he understands it she wasted no time in grinning wide, grabbing Damien by the wrist, and sing-songing something about a month’s vacation, totally justified.

Apparently, since Angelo went all puppy-eyed at the prospect of not having his joined-at-the-hip best friend for the little trek, and he’s too damn dutiful to sit on his haunches for the few weeks it should take to pretend to walk to the swamp and back, Rilla had also suggested Marc and Tal as traveling companions before she and Damien slipped into her hut and then, uh, disappeared. And, despite some initial grumbling, Marc is actually kind of excited for the opportunity to get back to that swamp and maybe get another look at Scales’ cool self-defending castle, and for Tal to have the chance to do a little more exploring in the swamp proper.

What Marc is surprised by, though, is how much odder it is to spend time with Sir Angelo without the buffer of Sir Damien. Angelo seems… genuinely delighted to get to know Marc and Tal better, he’s a courteous and generous traveling companion, and he has this habit of just- catching Marc’s gaze and smiling.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal, Marc thinks. But it’s the way he smiles that concerns Marc. It’s this wide, slow-blooming sunflower grin, like remembering that Marc exists is enough to smack the knight full of joy. Which is totally bunk, because when most people remember that Marc is there, he usually gets more of a roll-the-eyes response.

Angelo smiles at Tal, too, which is nice, but Marc… Marc has this strange feeling that it’s different from the way Angelo smiles at him.

Anyway. It’s weird, and it makes Marc feel a little like his stomach is doing cartwheels, and it’s been distracting enough that Dampierre has needed to sputter at him to keep the both of them on the path more than once already.

He should be able to stop himself from staring when Angelo smiles. So far, though, the effort has proven to be a total pain in the ass.

It can’t be intentional. The knight is just nice to everyone.

The reason he keeps giving Marc more cookies than Tal (where does he keep getting cookies from?) is because he knows that Tal has less of a sweet tooth. He just- pays attention! That’s all!

Marc takes an aggressive sort of bite from a soft, sweet piece of shortbread, and he pretends that the delighted grin that Angelo shoots his way doesn’t make his face feel hot. Because, and Marc cannot stress this enough, it doesn’t mean anything.

Angelo gently strokes Dampierre’s neck, smiling in an awestruck sort of way as the horse snorts and then nudges his nose into Angelo’s other hand, snatching up the wild berries the knight has collected along the road today.

“Such a clever beast you have, friend Marc!” Angelo says with a wide smile, eyes sparkling, and Marc feels his heart do something swooping and strange.

“Y-yeah,” Marc says, and Angelo won’t notice that Marc is staring so long as he’s preoccupied with Dampierre, right? “Best horse in the whole damn world.”

“And lucky to have such a brave and caring partner in yourself, my friend!"

Nope. Angelo swings his eyes up towards Marc, warm and fond and to hell with this, actually. Marc presses his heels into Dampierre and the horse knows to skip forward a few steps, whickering softly and startling that look off of Angelo's face enough that Marc's fists can unclench.

"Got a mind of his own sometimes, though," Marc says casually, apologetically, and when he pats Dampierre’s neck Angelo smiles again, soft and understanding.

"As a good partner should!" he says. "I've been learning much, lately, about the benefits of consulting many perspectives rather than limiting oneself to the viewpoints one is familiar with-"

Angelo continues as he keeps pace with Dampierre's slow walk, and Marc listens. He listens, and Angelo’s smile gleams as bright as his armor, and Marc feels a little bit like he could do this forever, actually.

Which is ridiculous, because Angelo is like this with everyone, right? Marc swallows uncomfortably, tearing his eyes away from the knight. Angelo is just like this with everyone. He’s just trying to do exactly what he’s talking about- getting different perspectives. It’s not about Marc at all. He tears his eyes away from the knight again. He’s not treating Marc special. Of course he isn’t.

The cooking is a nice surprise.

Normally, Marc and Tal switch off cooking meals back and forth while they’re on the road, though usually it’s Tal that has to remind them to stop regularly to actually do any cooking instead of just gnawing on hardtack and jerky as they ride. Marc tends to get distracted, tends to focus more on whatever is right in front of him until his stomach is rumbling and he finally remembers that yeah, his body needs stuff like food and probably a quick nap or whatever. Tal’s a slightly better cook, though neither of them are really good at it. Marc can skin a rabbit caught along the way, can skewer some meat to roast over the fire, and Tal can usually find some edible greenery nearby to make the food suck slightly less, but it’s never enjoyable like a good hot meal in a tavern would be.

Traveling with Angelo, though, mealtime is a different story.

The guy seems to have a weirdly endless supply of treats, little candies and baked goods that he pulls from his pack and carefully unwraps and never hesitates to share, but beyond that he never seems to treat any meal as perfunctory. He can take whatever ingredients they have in their combined packs and make something that could actually be called dinner out of it. What would have just been slightly burnt skewers of rabbit and wild carrot in Marc and Tal’s hands turns into a surprisingly flavorful stew when Angelo gets ahold of it, when he gently asks if Talfryn would be so kind as to find him a few more edible roots, mushrooms, sprigs of herbs. Angelo carries little jars of seasoning blends in his pack with him, too, that he inevitably smiles when he opens. He has a habit of sniffing the top of the jar and then sneezing aside, because of the spice, obviously, but he always just grins wider as he adds a few pinches to the pot, filling the air around their campfire with a different sort of warmth than just woodsmoke.

He makes it feel- homey, honestly. Comfortable. Marc doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, but he’ll enjoy it while it lasts, at least.

Maybe when they’re done with this little trip, he’ll get up the nerve to ask the big guy if he can borrow one of those jars of spices. He can’t cook like Angelo can, obviously, but- it’d be a little something, anyway. To keep, when Angelo is gone again.

Briefly, madly, Marc thinks that maybe Angelo is more aware than he lets on. He thinks that maybe, maybe, Angelo is doing this on purpose. Being so nice and friendly and- all touchy-feely or whatever. To mess with him. To make Marc feel guilty about the way the four of them butted heads at first, or something.

But when Angelo offers to clean up after dinner (again) and Marc reacts with suspicion, Angelo seems so genuinely confused that Marc knows he isn't faking it. Angelo is… he's just that nice. Marc feels guilty enough about confusing the knight that he winds up doing half the cleanup with him anyway, resolutely ignoring every time their shoulders bump together.

Marc wakes when he feels hands upon him, but the touch is so gentle that the waking is too. He knows it isn’t Talfryn, because when Talfryn moves him to bed from whatever random spot he drops in, his brother always whines at him the whole time, and he does more pushing and shoving than this soft sort of…

It’s Angelo, obviously. It’s not like a monster would have crept into camp just to make sure Marc didn’t get a crick in his neck falling asleep somewhere stupid, and Marc has been hit by enough monsters to know that they usually don’t have big, strong, sword-calloused hands. And there’s no reason to make the big guy feel awkward about it, Marc reasons, so he keep his eyes closed and tries not to change his breathing as Angelo slowly shifts him to horizontal, and there’s a pillow waiting beneath his head before it hits the dirt, which is nice.

Angelo drapes blanket around his shoulders, and Marc usually thinks of the guy as clumsy but there’s nothing clumsy about the careful, gentle attention of his hands tucking the cloth around his shoulders.

Then, he feels those fingers feather-light on his face, brushing the hair that must’ve come loose from the tie at the back of his head away from his forehead, and-

There’s a strange sort of moment then. Angelo’s hand lingers, or Marc imagines that it does, and he feels something like a static charge, like anticipation.

But the moment breaks, and Angelo moves away. Marc is alone, then, still not warm enough beside the fire as he curls the blanket closer and tighter around his shoulders, and he tries to bury all the stupid wildfire confusion that burns through his idiot body whenever Angelo actually touches him. He tries to bury all of it, because Saints know that’s the only way he’s ever going to get back to sleep with the tingling echo of Angelo’s hand still lingering on his brow.

They rescue a young woman separated from her caravan of traders, lost in the jungle. They find her stuck in a monster-made snare that looks years old, half rotted through but still just solid enough to keep a hold on the lady. She’s grateful for the help, and even more grateful when Angelo lifts her up onto his own horse when they realize that the snare cut her ankle. Talfryn wraps the injury, but none of the three of them are physicians, exactly, and it’s probably better for her to be off of her feet until they find her companions again.

Sir Angelo is absurdly chivalrous throughout the whole thing. He leads the horse at an easy pace, asking the gal questions about her friends and attending to the answers with quiet attention, his expression diligent and serious, like a schoolboy trying to impress. All in all he acts a perfect knight and a perfect gentleman about it, while Marc and Tal follow behind until Marc kicks Dampierre forward enough to walk side-by-side with Angelo’s horse.

And yeah, Marc flirts a bit.

With the lady. Obviously.

Part of it is just habit. She’s pretty enough, with amber skin and soft grey eyes, but Marc doesn’t actually expect anything. He’s not even really trying, and when she scowls at him all he feels is a twinge of relief, because her irritation with him seems to be distracting her from how upset she was before, at least. Distracting her from the pain in her leg, too. He may not be a knight, yet, but he can still be at least a little bit useful, even if it’s only as a convenient annoyance. He says as much, and that finally startles a laugh out of her, and she rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling, which Marc counts as a win.

Angelo frowns, then, just slightly, and Marc’s hands tighten on his reigns though his own smirk doesn’t budge. Talfryn, behind them, frowns as well, but Marc pretends not to notice.

They have her safely back with her group in less than an hour, and Marc clenches his jaw far too hard when Sir Angelo oh-so-gently lowers the woman back down from the horse, the very goddamn picture of gallantry. Tal hisses at him, asks him what’s wrong with him, and Marc has to look aside, muttering something vague about Angelo glory-stealing the rescue. Which is stupid on multiple levels, but Marc doesn’t need to defend his position because the whole caravan of traders pull all three of them to join their group for the evening as thanks, offering dinner and the safety of other eyes and booze, and even music to entertain while they all sit together.

It’s comfortable, and warm, and a hell of a relief. And Marc barely enjoys a second of it, because he can’t stop the way his eyes keep drifting towards Angelo in the firelight. The woman they rescued sits beside the knight all evening, laughing and leaning too close, and Angelo smiles so damned kindly that it makes Marc want to just-

Nothing. It makes him want to nothing. Marc scowls at the fire and ignores Tal’s questioning look. Angelo is probably the nicest person that Marc has ever met. He deserves- he deserves for someone to laugh and lean too close around some safe and happy fire, while a pot of fragrant stew bubbles up towards done. Angelo deserves that, and he deserves to smile that kindly at someone smiling back.

And despite his reputation, Marc isn’t actually stupid enough to hope that he could be that someone.

Angelo likes to sing to himself as they ride.

His voice is a little scratchy, frequently off-key, often dips into the territory of too loud, and he has a habit of forgetting words and just sticking nonsense syllables or switching phrases around mid-line.

Marc can’t for the life of him understand why he finds it so comforting.

Angelo slices the wriggling, screeching vine monster in half with a clean, skillful slash, but the vines twine back together almost the same moment that his blade passes all the way through.

“Blast,” Angelo cries as the creature writhes around his blade, and dammit dammit dammit the thing is climbing up the hilt towards Angelo’s arm entirely too quickly, and Talfryn could maybe get the thing with his spear but chances are it would just reform again and they’d be risking stabbing Angelo’s arm at that point too-

“Throw the sword!” Marc shouts, and without a second of hesitation Angelo does, flicking his wrist and sending the blade in a spinning arc with the creature squealing along for the ride. Marc launches his newest modified net-bomb (now including a literal bomb) in the same direction, and the mass of the monster tangles wildly with the ropes of the net for only a half a second in midair before the entire mess ignites in a blaze of blue and white.

By the time the sword hits the ground, the monster and the net are both nothing but ash, dirtying the steel.

“We did it!” Talfryn cries.

“Of course we-”

Marc is interrupted as Angelo wraps his arms around him and lifts him into the air, beaming bright.

“A spectacular maneuver, friend Marc! Such quick thinking and strategy!”

Angelo squeezes him in a tight hug and Marc’s heart squeezes too, his body entirely too warm.

“Ah,” Marc manages in a strangled sort of voice, and Angelo doesn’t seem even remotely burdened by Marc’s weight.

“And such a skillful deployment of your invention, as well!” Angelo booms, and his beaming face is almost too close to focus on, and he still smells like cookies somehow, and either Marc is going completely insane or Angelo’s cheeks are flushed. Which is- almost certainly just from the strain of the fight, right?

Marc-

Marc panics.

“Put- hey! Put me down, will you?” he says, squirming against Angelo’s sturdy and gentle grip. “I didn’t say you could grab me up like a- like some sack of fruit or something, did I?”

Angelo’s grin disappears, and he blinks in confusion for a moment before he lowers Marc back to the ground, ducking his head.

“I… I apologize, friend Marc,” he says, chagrined. “I simply wanted to ho-” he pauses, purses his lips for a moment, and then continues, “I was caught up in the moment, I’m afraid. I did not mean to overstep.”

“Just-” Marc notices Talfryn shoot both of them a funny look as he retrieves Angelo’s sword from the dirt, carefully wrapping the hot metal in a cloth before he grabs the hilt. Marc looks away from his brother, and he keeps his gaze away from Angelo, too. “Just- don’t pick me up unless I ask you to, alright?”

“Of course,” Angelo says, his tone completely and totally abashed. “I am terribly sorry.”

“Stop-” Marc winces, then motions for Dampierre to come close enough that he can pull himself up into the saddle. “Stop apologizing already. It’s not- it’s not a big thing or anything, just-” he scrambles for words, pretending to readjust the straps of Dampierre’s saddle around his legs for longer than he really needs to. “Just don’t do it again unless I ask.”

Angelo purses his lips, probably to keep from apologizing again, and nods before he turns to Talfryn to take back his blade.

As soon as no one is looking at Marc again he sags in the saddle, biting his lip and feeling like the biggest idiot in the damn world.

Stupid battle high. Stupid touchy-feely knight. Stupid blinding smile.

Stupid beating heart, pounding hard against his stupid ribs as his stupid brain tries to puzzle out why those stupid strong arms aren’t still wrapped around him, warm and safe.

Angelo laughs at all of Marc’s more straightforward jokes. If they’re too complicated or layered the knight might get lost on the way to the punchline, but on the whole he actually seems to think that Marc is funny. And- every time he can make Angelo laugh, every time he can get him to give that big, energetic guffaw, it makes Marc’s stupid heart skip and thump like a rabbit in a trap.

He’s been telling a lot more jokes, lately. It makes Tal give him a look somewhere along the path from confused to frustrated almost every time, but it’s worth it.

At least he knows that Angelo doesn’t laugh like that for everyone.

Sir Angelo is asleep first tonight. The farther they get from the Citadel, the more dangerous the jungle is going to get, and since Angelo is gonna be taking second watch, he’s getting in his sleep early. So, it’s just Marc and Tal left sitting by the fire as the stars brighten one by one, and there isn’t anything besides Marc’s own self-control to keep him from saying something stupid.

So.

“Hey Tal,” Marc says, and he tries very hard to sound casual as he fiddles with the trigger on one of his net-bombs. “Do you think- do you think the big guy-” he bites his lip, tries a different question instead. “What d’you think of the big guy?”

“Sir Angelo?” Talfryn asks, and Marc nods. “I mean, he’s been okay to travel with, I guess. I think he’s been trying really hard, y’know? To be more considerate, to listen better and all that. And I think he appreciates that you’ve been acting nicer to him too.”

Marc flinches, dropping the mechanism in his hand. “Wh-what?”

Tal blinks. “You’ve been trying to be nicer to him, too, right?”

“Uh.” Marc flushes dark as his fingers scramble through the leafy jungle floor, trying to scrape up his device. Tal noticed? He’s been noticeably nicer to the knight? That’s- that doesn’t seem- “Ah, I guess so,” he stammers. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been- have I been? I don’t think I’ve been acting weird.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t say that you’ve been acting weird, Marc,” Tal says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I said you’ve been acting nice.”

“Nice.” His fingers finally brush across metal, and he snatches the mechanism back up. “To Angelo?”

“Who else?” Tal says, and then he laughs. “Seriously, Marc, I know we got off on a weird sort of foot and all, but I’m glad we’re at least getting along with him. This would’ve been a pretty rotten journey if you two were fighting the whole way.”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “Uh, yeah.” He jams the net bomb back into the bag with the rest of them.

“Marc…”

Marc perks up to hide the way he wants to flinch at the worried sort of tone in Tal’s voice. “Yeah Tal?”

“Is something… is something wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

“Because,” Tal says, in a mostly-patient voice, “you are acting weird, now.”

“What? No I’m not-”

“Marc,” Tal half-whines, and Marc winces more visibly.

“It’s nothing, Tal,” Marc insists. “I just- I mean- he’s- I wasn’t expecting him to be so nice to m- to us, like this, y’know? It’s not like the knights have ever been… I figured this whole thing would just be us tolerating each other until we met up with Rilla and Scales and Damien, y’know?”

“So you’re acting weird… because Sir Angelo is being too nice?”

“Not- no,” Marc shakes his head. “Is it- is he just being nice? Or does he actually…”

“Does he actually what?”

“Like.” Marc’s words falter. “Does he actually like me? I mean-” he shakes his head quickly. “Does he actually like us, I mean.”

Talfryn frowns, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “It… it is Sir Angelo, Marc. Do you think he would fake something like that?”

“No.” Marc shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck. “Nah, it’s not that, he’s- he’s sincere and all, it’s just-”

“It’s just what?”

“I mean, he’s nice to everybody, Tal, he’s just- he’s just nice. And if he’s so enthusiastic about everything, how am I supposed to tell how he actually feels about me? How am I supposed to tell if this is just his normal nice or if- uh-”

Tal’s eyebrows are climbing towards his hair, his expression slipping towards incredulous.

“You…” Tal narrows his eyes. “You really care what he thinks about you, don’t you?”

“Wh- no I don’t.” Marc laughs, but it sounds strained even to his own ears. “That’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Don’t- don’t be ridiculous, Tal. I just- like to know where I stand with people.”

“Marc-”

“Usually I don’t have to dig too hard, y’know? If folks don’t like me I tend to get the picture pretty quick, even if I pretend not to. I just- wanna know what he’s thinking. That’s all.”

“Well…” Tal says, and he sounds nearly patient, “I think you just answered your own question, then.”

Marc blinks. “Come again?”

“You just said that you think he’s sincere, and Sir Angelo has been going out of his way to make sure that we’re comfortable with him, so don’t you think you should just, I dunno, try to take him at face value? He likes you enough to be nice to you. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

It’s a decent point. Marc’s stomach still feels a bit like a butter churn in the hands of an enthusiastic kid, though.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at the fire instead of at his brother. The earnest concern on his face is just- a bit much to try to deal with. “Yeah. Thanks, Tal. You’re probably right.”

Dampierre keeps walking too close to Angelo’s horse, no matter how many times Marc scowls at him and tries to urge him forward or back or at least another foot to the side. The horse just flicks an ear, sputtering lightly and smugly sticking his nose in the air as Marc is left helplessly close to the knight, who only ever grins and either doesn’t notice the closeness, doesn’t care, or is just too damn polite to comment.

Makes it easier for Angelo to hand him his share of Angelo’s apparently endless supply of sweets as they ride, at least. Marc certainly isn’t complaining about that.

Once they actually cross the border into Arum’s territory, the swamp itself is surprisingly easy going. Marc suspects that it’s pulling punches these days, at least when it comes to humans who might be friends of the lizard lord’s paramours. It’s nice in that it means they get to relax a little bit more, but less-than-nice in that relaxing gives Marc way too much time to think. Thankfully, that doesn’t last too long. Apparently, this big swamp thing and slash or the bug-lizard’s big castle was keeping an eye out for them, because they’ve only been traipsing through the muddy mottled green for a few easy hours before there’s that wild song again, and a literal magic portal pulls itself out of the mud.

Rilla’s got her arms around Tal’s shoulders in a laughing hug before Marc even realizes that she’s bolted through, and Angelo is laughing too, a booming, ridiculous sort of guffaw as he and Sir Damien clasp hands for only a moment before Angelo decides that just isn’t good enough and he’s lifting Damien fully into the air, making him squawk and kick his legs and laugh as well, and Marc’s cheeks hurt from grinning already before Rilla is patting Dampierre’s nose and gripping his wrist and smirking up at him.

“You boys have a good trip?”

Marc shrugs, feigning good old fashioned nonchalance as he watches Angelo smile like the sun at his best rival. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess it was alright.”

Tal loves the Keep, once he gets past the initial anxiety about hanging around inside something sentient. Marc really thinks he should have predicted that, actually. It’s a big weird plant. Tal loves big weird plants. He can’t seem to stop talking about how cool it is, and Scales doesn’t seem to know what to do with that exactly, and he settles somewhere between obviously pleased and puffed up indignation, but even Marc can see that the lizard is… mellower, now. He still snarls and rolls his eyes and complains kind of nonstop, but with Rilla and Damien around, he just seems… happier?

Or, y’know, maybe that’s just in contrast, considering Marc really only hung out with the big lizard before when his house was getting marched on by a bunch of weird animals, so what the heck does he know?

Angelo seems delighted by the structure too, and Marc gets a little ego boost when the Keep greets him personally with a strange little vine-hug, apparently remembering him from his little siege sleepover with Scales, and Angelo blinks at him in surprise at their familiarity.

“What?” Marc says with a feckless sort of smile, patting one of the vines with a hand. “Big cool castle and I go way back.”

Marc can’t figure out if it’s difficult to sleep in the Keep because it’s the Keep (like, he’s literally sleeping inside of a giant plant monster, seriously), or if it’s just because he’s gotten too used to Angelo’s snoring.

Either way, Marc thinks as he rolls over for just about the hundredth time tonight, it’s too damn quiet and he can’t say he likes it.

He can’t sleep. He’s making himself miserable, and for what? For some big ridiculous grinning-

For some knight, he’s wallowing in insomnia. It’s completely stupid, and completely untenable. He can’t- Marc can’t-

The trip is over, he thinks suddenly. This little experimental excursion is over and done, right? There’s no reason to stick around anymore, is there? Ta da, the knights on their quest to lie to the queen are reunited, and Marc and Tal are free again to go do… whatever. Whatever they want, wherever they want, with no random tag-along knights making Marc’s stomach do hourly backflips with his stupid smile.

Marc rolls over again, stomach feeling sour.

In the morning he’ll talk to Tal, and then they’ll both say their goodbyes to Rilla, and then they’ll get the hell out of here.

No point in hanging around where he’s not needed, anyway.

“And then, brave friend Marc called out for me to throw the sword, and when I did as he advised, he most skillfully intercepted my blade with one of his clever net traps, and the beast and sword were both consumed by the most brilliant flame - friend Marc is forever improving his tools and traps, you see, he often works upon them as we ride, or while we sit around the fire before the day’s meal is ready - oh, and of course the creature was utterly destroyed, leaving the blade quite easily reclaimed, with not a one of us so much as suffering a scrape. It truly was an incredible fight, my friend, I wish you had been there to see-”

“I feel you have described the skirmish quite adeptly, Sir Angelo,” Damien says with a warm smile. “I feel as if I were there to see it, as I can picture it that well.”

“Oh.” Angelo gives a pleased little grin. “I appreciate the kind words, Sir Damien, though I know my storytelling is not nearly as deft or skillfully dramatic as yours.”

“The true heart of a story, my friend, lies in the enthusiasm of whomever tells it, regardless of the verbal decoration.” Damien lilts, and Angelo is pleased, so pleased and proud of how happy and how settled his best rival looks. “I can tell how thoroughly you have enjoyed your journey with the brothers, and I am delighted that you were not unhappy in my absence.”

“I had no reason to be unhappy!” Angelo cries. “I missed you, of course, my friend, but I did not feel lonely for a moment on the road. Friend Talfryn is a clever and kind man to travel with, and friend Marc-”

Angelo pauses.

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Did he give you some trouble, Sir Angelo?”

“Oh, Saints above, no! Of course not! Quite the opposite, in fact, he was- that is- the journey was quite enjoyable by his side. He- well, I cannot say that I have ever laughed quite so much upon a journey as when he and I rode beside each other.”

Damien looks at Angelo, his brow furrowing just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Quite!” Angelo says with a soft sort of smile. “And he is rather knowledgeable about a great many subjects! And he has a sense of justice befitting the greatest of knights! And his skill with the blade has improved even further since our first encounter of single combat, when already he was a skilled opponent, and he is brave and clever and he always smiles so grandly and- oh, well, I suppose that I have set to rambling again, haven’t I?”

Damien stares at his rival, as Angelo laughs at himself and shakes his head, his cheeks distinctly pink.

“Sir… Sir Angelo…”

Angelo blinks, resettling his attention on his comrade. “Yes, of course! I apologize, my mind was elsewhere for a moment, my friend.”

“It is… quite alright.” He pauses, and then turns more fully to face the other knight. “Now… Sir Angelo, you do know that I support you in all things, yes?” Damien starts.

Angelo grins, wide and boisterous, and slaps a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “Of course I do, my friend, and I support you in all things as well! I would not be your best rival if I did not, now, would I?”

“Er- right. Yes.” Damien winces, just a little, and reaches up to rub at his shoulder where Angelo slapped it. “Well. What I mean to say is-” he pauses, and takes a deep, steadying sort of breath. “You know that I am not particularly… fond of… Marc-”

“You aren’t? Why ever not, Sir Damien? He is not anything like we were told-”

“I know,” Damien says with a grimace. “I know, Sir Angelo, and I am still- adjusting to that knowledge. But- what I am trying to say is… whatever my feelings are, towards Marc, I want you to know that you…” he pauses to sigh, then places his hand on Angelo’s shoulder gently, giving his friend a small smile. “I want you to know that you have my full support and loyalty in whatever direction you happen to aim your romantic endeavors.”

“Romantic… endeavors?” Angelo furrows his brow, blinking curiously for a moment. “Sir Damien, I am not sure what you mean. What could my growing friendship with Marc have to do with the idea of ro- oh.” Angelo’s entire expression flickers out, like a candle beside a door that opened too fast. Then, dawning in his expression is obvious shock. “Oh. Oh! Oh my Saints, Sir Damien- oh goodness, but I think I may have developed romantic feelings for friend Marc!”

Damien blanches, his expression falling open in dismay. “Y- you mean to say that you didn’t- you didn’t- realize? You didn’t know?”

Angelo doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Oh, Saints, oh mercy, this- I will- I must-” he pauses. “What… Sir Damien, what- what do I do?”

“Wh-what do you mean, Sir Angelo?”

“I have never- that is to say- I do not believe I have ever felt-”

Angelo pauses again, fidgeting in place, and his expression is something close to a grimace, his eyes gone wide.

“Sir Angelo-”

“Is that what this feeling is, Sir Damien? This- this strange warmth, his smile, the way I- I wish to h-hold him.” Angelo squeezes his own arms around his chest, tense and uncertain. “What- Sir Damien, what is one supposed to do, when one feels this way?”

Damien stares at his rival for a long moment, mouth agape. “Sir Angelo, have you never… no, no, certainly you must have, we... I am certain that we have discussed romantic intent in the past. There have been fair maidens of which you have spoken quite fondly-”

“Of course,” Angelo says, but his eyes are still shocked and he shakes his head. “But- but that was merely- that is how knights speak, is it not? I was simply-”

“Oh,” Damien says, his heart pulling. “Oh, Angelo…”

“Sir Damien, you know everything there is to know about following one’s heart,” Angelo says, seizing Damien’s hand. “Upon this subject, certainly you are the expert to whom I may turn. What- what do I do?”

“Er-” Damien goes wide-eyed himself, then. “Well, er, does he- do you think that he feels-” Damien stops short as Angelo flinches. “Right,” he says. “Right, you are unsure. And- and the idea of simply asking- of course it is a frightening prospect. I understand that, of course, Angelo.” Damien ducks his head, thinking hard. “What- Angelo, what do you want to do? Do you wish to… to court him?” he asks uncertainly.

“I… Sir Damien, I don’t know. I don’t know what is- what is supposed to happen next. If he does not feel as I do- I am very fond of h-his company, I would not wish to- to cause him to dislike my presence if these feelings are unwelcome. And certainly- friend Marc is deft with words, and quite outspoken. If he had any such affection for me in return- surely he would have spoken so, would he not?”

Damien opens his mouth, then closes it again for a moment before he sighs deeply. “Marc is… I very much doubt that Marc would… treat you in a judging way for your feelings, even if he does not feel romantically towards you in kind. That is… that is not the way that he is.”

Angelo’s shoulders sag. “You are… probably correct, Sir Damien,” Angelo says. “But somehow that does not make me feel any more sure, or any less afraid.”

“Sir Angelo…” Damien’s expression flickers, his concern clear and open on his face. He steps closer, flinging his arms around Angelo’s shoulders in a fierce hug. “I meant what I said. You have my support, in whatever way you need it. And…” he pauses, pulling back and giving a wry sort of look. “I know you as I know myself, and I know you well enough to say that you are not the sort of man to shy away from a difficult situation. You are brave, Sir Angelo, and bright, and undeniable as the dawn. I know that you will face this, and whether or not Marc is smart enough to see how brightly you glow- I know that your light will not be doused, not by this, and not by anything.”

Angelo’s arms tighten around Damien in return, squeezing until Damien’s breathless laugh cuts off in a squeak. When he sets the other knight back on his feet, Damien gives him an earnest sort of smile, gripping his arms.

“I think you know what you must do now, my friend.”

Angelo pauses. “… Continue to act as a stalwart friend, but now with the knowledge of my own feelings more clear within me?” he suggests, and it is only partially a joke.

“Speak your heart, Sir Angelo,” Damien says gently. “If you speak your heart, you may learn what lies in his own, and then take whatever step is next with that knowledge. And I will be here for you, and I will dearly love you, regardless of that outcome.” Damien’s smile goes a little tearful, then, the force of his emotion overtaking him for a moment. “I wish you only happiness. If there is any possibility that Marc can make you happier- Sir Angelo, you must attempt to find out. It is worth some risk, is it not?”

Despite his fears, despite his confusion, Sir Angelo finds that he agrees.

It takes a bit of time to find him, but eventually Angelo catches Marc outside the Keep’s walls, waiting by the treeline with Dampierre’s saddlebags packed and full. Angelo’s heart flips, then, and sinks, and his stomach wraps in anxious knots, but still he steps towards the other man. Still, he moves forward.

“Friend Marc!”

Marc’s shoulders go stiff, and he turns slightly in the saddle to glance back towards Angelo.

“Heh… hey, big guy,” he says, and then he turns towards the swamp again, his hands fiddling with the straps around his legs. “Just barely caught me. Tal’s just grabbin’ a little more from inside, and then we’ll be off.”

“You are- leaving so soon, friend Marc?” Angelo’s heart flops over in his chest again, nerves and disappointment crashing together. “I thought that perhaps… rather, I was hoping we would all spend some time together, at least a meal eaten side by side before…”

“Nah, sorry, big guy. We’re just gonna skip to the part where we get out of your hair,” Marc says, his smile tight and flat. “Tal wants to get a better look at the swamp since we kind of skipped most of it with that portal, and it’s not like Scales wants us hanging around his castle any longer than we need to, anyway.”

“But you were simply going to- leave? Without a proper farewell?”

“Figured that we’d be seeing you again soon anyway, Angie.” Marc is decidedly not looking at Angelo, now. And his hands are fidgeting on Dampierre’s saddle, not doing anything but simply pressing awkwardly and picking at the seams in the leather. “And goodbyes are always too damn sappy for me.”

Angelo does not know what to say. If Marc wishes to leave- of course he should not stop him. Perhaps their time traveling together has worn on the other man, perhaps he has grown tired of Angelo’s presence. Angelo has been told, before, that he can be wearisome. Too loud, and possessed of too much intensity, and too clumsy in body and mind and word. Angelo looks up, and Marc is still looking away.

… but Sir Damien is right, and even if Marc is determined to take his leave… Sir Angelo still must say what he has come to say.

“Before you- before you leave, Marc.”

Marc tenses, oddly, when Angelo says his name, but he finally looks at him after that, his smirk firmly set and his eyes- careful. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“I- I- Marc, I… I quite like you,” Angelo blurts, and his cheeks feel hot as embers.

Marc laughs, then, and the embers all go out. Angelo feels like he has been dipped in ice, now.

“Yeah, Angie, I know,” Marc says, his tone high and tight between chuckles. “We’re friends, big guy, you don’t have to point it out or anything.”

“No, no that isn’t-” Angelo stops, feeling too large, feeling utterly foolish. “R-right. Yes. Of course. My apologies, I am- I know that I can be-”

“You don’t have to-” Marc’s smirk cracks for a second, goes strange like a grimace, but he waves his hand in between them and it flickers back. “Don’t apologize, Angelo, I know you’re just- being nice. Being you.”

“Er- y-yes.” Angelo pauses. “No,” he corrects, wringing his hands awkwardly in front of himself. “To be perfectly honest, no. I am not simply being nice, friend Marc. I- I do not know how to…” he trails off, brow furrowing in deep concentration, and Marc looks distinctly nervous as Angelo comes closer, and Angelo automatically pats Dampierre’s nose, though he keeps his eyes set on Marc.

“Angie-”

“I am not the most… skillful, friend Marc, when it comes to expressing my thoughts and feelings clearly. Or- or even in properly understanding them, at times. And I am- I am well aware that the feelings I have only very recently recognized may not be- returned, but I feel that it would be both cowardly and dishonest if I did not at least attempt to explain myself to you before you- before you leave.”

“Angelo, bud, you’re not getting all serious on me, are you?” Marc says lightly, but there is clear panic in his eyes.

“I intend to be precisely as serious as the situation and my feelings dictate. I apologize, also, if that is uncomfortable for you, friend Marc, but I am determined to say what I must.”

Marc fidgets in the saddle, his shoulders tense and his lips curved into a shape that isn’t really a smirk and isn’t really a frown either, and Angelo is a little bit overwhelmed by the understanding he feels. At last, he recognizes how very often his mind is preoccupied with the lines of Marc’s face, with the very casual sort of beauty that hangs upon him. How had he not noticed?

“Ah…,” Marc says, “I mean- if you’ve gotta get something off your chest I’m not gonna stop ya, Angelo.”

“Thank you,” Angelo says, and then he realizes that he is going to have to continue speaking, now that he has convinced Marc to hear him out. And- he had been laboring under the impression that I quite like you was going to be sufficient to reveal his feelings, so he had not planned well beyond that. His words are- he is not skillful in expressing himself, not compared to someone as poetic as his best rival or someone as quick and clever as Marc, so how can he show how he feels?

Angelo summons up from his reserve of courage and reaches out, and Marc’s eyes go wide when he settles his palm over Marc’s wrist, his thumb brushing against the skin there. “I think, perhaps, that you misunderstood the nature of my- my words. When I say, Marc, that I- that I like you, what I mean is- well-”

He hazards a glance upward, and Marc is staring at him, eyes still wide and cheeks flushing dark and something like-

Something like hope in his expression. Hope looks like a flare of sparks, on Sir Marc.

Angelo very gently shifts his grip, watching Marc watch him as he takes the other man’s hand. Marc’s fingers flex, his breath escaping in a very small ha, and then Angelo lifts his hand, calloused and scattered with scars and exactly as lovely as Angelo imagined. He lifts Marc’s hand, and brushes his lips over Marc’s knuckles in a kiss.

Angelo’s cheeks are hot, and his heart is warm, and when he raises his eyes again Marc is still staring down at him, and all he looks is stunned.

“A-Angelo,” he says, but he does not say anything more past that, and Sir Angelo is afraid, yes, of being mocked, of losing the camaraderie that he and Marc have eased into together- but his fear is not useful. Even if the worst potential outcome is realized, honesty is more befitting of a knight by far, and more befitting of Angelo himself, as well.

“I understand, of course, if you seek my company in the bonds of friendship and nothing else,” Angelo says, “I expect nothing from you. I only wish to be honest.”

And now that he has been honest, he knows he should not linger. If nothing else, Marc clearly requires time to- to overcome his surprise. He releases his grip on Marc’s fingers-

Marc, however, does not release his grip on Angelo’s.

“You-” Marc pauses, his throat working as he swallows. “Hang on. Angelo. You- like me? Like- kissing, like? Like you want to- to- with me?”

The idea of actually kissing Marc seems- distant, like a fable. A fable that makes his cheeks heat again instantly.

“Y-yes, yes indeed.” Angelo swallows roughly, dropping his eyes. “I apologize if- if this shall be a source of discomfort, between us. I value your friendship quite highly, Marc, and I do not wish to-”

Marc pulls on Angelo’s hand, and Angelo is surprised enough that he stumbles a step closer to Dampierre, blinking up at the strange new determination in Marc’s expression.

“Hey, catch me?” Marc asks, squeezing his fingers as his free hand quickly undoes the straps around his legs.

“Um. Yes?” Angelo nods, though he is quite confused by the suddenness of this turn. “Of course. If that is what you would like-” he lifts his arms, and then Marc is swinging himself out of the saddle, landing sideways in Angelo’s grasp with one of his arms slung around Angelo’s shoulder, and Marc’s face is very close, then. Very close, and his cheeks seem darker than usual beneath the scattering of his freckles.

“Angelo,” Marc says, breathless, and Angelo realizes that he quite likes the way that his own name sounds, in Marc’s voice. He quite likes Marc’s weight in his arms, as well.

“Marc,” he says in response, because he is still not sure what Marc intends, exactly, and he finds it is often most helpful to take his cues from those around him.

Marc’s hand is on Angelo’s cheek, then, his rough fingers only gentle, now, and that is already so very stunning that it takes Angelo a stuttered heartbeat to realize that Marc is leaning closer, leaning up, the hand on his cheek carefully angling his face towards Marc.

And then Marc is kissing him.

Kissing him.

His hand slips from Angelo’s cheek to his hair, tangling there and pulling him just a little bit closer, and the press of Marc’s lips is warm and tingling and wonderful and Angelo was right, before. Kissing Marc is like a fable. Like something out of a soft, safe dream.

Marc pulls back, eventually, and Angelo blinks his eyes back open, though he does not remember closing them.

“I, uh,” Marc pauses to clear his throat, and his crooked smile looks shy, of all things. “I like you too, Angelo.”

“Oh,” Angelo says, stunned past other words for a long moment. “Oh. Truly? You- truly you do?”

Marc laughs then, knocking their foreheads together. “Saints, Angelo, yeah! Obviously! The kiss wasn’t enough of a clue for ya?”

Angelo feels his cheeks heat. “I- I don’t- I’m sorry, friend Marc, I am very- unpracticed in-”

“Hey.” Marc leans up again, pressing their lips together quick and soft. “Relax, Angie, you’re fine, we’re fine. I don’t- I just can’t believe you actually- I can’t believe you like me too.”

“I,” Angelo pauses to laugh as well, something warm and bright bubbling up in his chest. “Yes. I feel precisely the same.”

Marc grins, squeezing the arm still wrapped around Angelo’s shoulder, and as Marc is leaning forward for another kiss, they both hear footsteps.

“Marc, I couldn’t find your bedroll. Are you sure you didn’t already... pack… it?”

Angelo glances to the side, where Talfryn is standing and staring, his pack slung around his shoulder and his horse following behind him.

“Suh, uh, yeah, sorry Tal,” Marc says. His voice is bright and flustered, but he makes no move to remove himself from Angelo’s steady grasp as they turn to address his brother. “I think we’re actually gonna- maybe stick around another night or so before we- y’know.”

“O-oh?” Tal says, his eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them, dawning with slow realization. “Uh. Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “I think- I think me and the big guy here have some stuff we gotta talk through together before we go running off again.” Marc looks up into Angelo’s eyes, smiling a lopsided, eager smile, and Angelo feels like he could sing. “Does that sound good, Angelo?”

“Yes,” Angelo says, holding Marc close and warm in his arms, and he feels just brave enough to press a kiss to Marc’s freckled cheek, smiling automatically when that causes Marc to stutter out a laugh. “In fact, I think that sounds absolutely perfect.”

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #mangelo #sir marc #sir angelo #LETS! GO!#i already have my lkt fic squared away too nano is GREAT i am LIVING

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Rising from the Ashes (17/?)

When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones.

As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Remember that thing I said about a happy ending? They’re (and you guys) are getting one💜

Soon! I’m sorry to those I mislead! I didn’t realize that. Oops. They’re getting one when the story is over, I promise 😘

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @ultraluckycatnd @jamif @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64 @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells @blowmiakisscolin

“How does that make you feel?”

She cuts her head to look at Dr. Lawrence and the way she’s tapping her pencil against her notebook, the one where she most likely writes down “Emma Swan is crazy” over and over again. It’s what she would write down if she were her own therapist because damn, sometimes she is crazy.

“Isn’t that a little cliché to ask me how that makes me feel?”

She sighs, her shoulders heaving the slightest bit, and she rolls her eyes. She likes Dr. Lawrence. She really does, but sometimes all she wants to do is take that notebook and rip it into pieces. She’s been coming here for two months now, since late February, and April isn’t bringing her any new revelations. Not that she thought therapy would. She just wanted to talk to someone else who wasn’t so emotionally invested in her life, to talk to someone who won’t get hurt by the things she has to say. They’re not all great, and she’s only a little ashamed by that. That’s what she’s supposed to be working on though.

“It is, yes, but I think it’s a legitimate question to ask when you’ve been circling around saying that it bothers you that Killian hasn’t proposed yet.”

Her lips press together in a firm line, a sour feeling settling in her stomach and making it twist into something that has to be unnatural. Feeling this way has to be unnatural. “I did not say that.”

“Not in those words, but you did.”

She sighs again, unable not to, before falling back on the couch and rubbing at her eyes, most likely making her mascara run and create some kind of weird, smoky eye raccoon look. This is a really uncomfortable couch, the cushions almost like rocks. Shouldn’t the thing be more comfortable? Aren’t people supposed to feel comfortable in here? That’s a thing, right?

“I’m not,” she starts, not really sure where the words are going as she uncovers her eyes and looks up at the paneled ceiling. They should do that in the living room. It’d look nice. “I’m not upset that Killian hasn’t proposed. Us getting married has never been a top priority for us, you know? We love each other, and a piece of paper and a diamond ring isn’t going to make us love each other more.”

“But it is more of a commitment.”

“Technically, yeah. With the whole legal aspect and all. I don’t – I don’t know. I want to marry Killian. I really, really do. And I know he wants to marry me. He’s had a fucking ring for at least five months now, had to have had it for a few months before that, and he’s never asked me.”

“You’ve had a lot going on.”

She chuckles darkly, her stomach untwisting and sending that unpleasant feeling to her throat so that she feels like she could vomit all over the hardwood floor in here. That would probably be an extra fee that insurance doesn’t cover. “What? You mean like my dead ex-husband coming back from the dead, having to explain to him ‘hey honey, I moved on from you and am in love with your friend and can’t make you happy like that anymore. By the way, I realized most of our marriage was shit, but I can’t harbor any resentment toward you because you’re a hero and the father of our kid and have been through more bad things than I thought possible. Plus, you know, I did love you at one point and you’re a nicer guy now.’”

She finishes her words on a long breath, her shoulders releasing some of their tension, before she twists her head to the side and looks at Dr. Lawrence furiously scribbling notes down. Great, she’s probably going to get put into a mental institution now. Can her therapist do that?

Probably not.

God, she has got to get a grip.

And stop on the way home and get something for dinner so her mom isn’t forced to feed her when she picks Henry and Ada up from her house. Killian’s working late on some project with Robin that she cannot wait to be over. She swears that it’s aging him by ten years some days. He’s always so tired and stressed. Sometimes she wonders if he needs a new job, one that’s less stressful and reminds him less of his time in the Navy, but whenever she brings it up, he always says that he’s happy there and that the money is good. She believes him, but it doesn’t keep her from worrying about him and wanting to work on the stress that’s in his shoulders and between his brows.

Dr. Lawrence still doesn’t say anything, and for some reason this bothers her enough to make her keep going, to keep rambling.

“And I guess…things have calmed down now. It was like I was walking a tightrope for a long time, and I wasn’t allowed to trip or fall, you know? Because if I did, things fell apart. I had to be strong for Henry and for Ada. I had to be strong for Neal too. And Killian, even when we were going through that…even when we were going through that rough patch. But I failed, you know? I felt so lost and helpless. Sometimes I felt worthless, which is not an uncommon feeling for me but recently, it wasn’t a usual one. It took me a long time to get over Neal’s death, to get over being abandoned again, and Killian just made me feel so – he made me feel solid. Happy. Good. He was there for me when I felt like I had no one. He listened to me cry over my husband’s death. He listened to me cry over raising a baby alone. He listened to me. And he let me be me, which was something I didn’t have a lot.”

She smiles to herself thinking of it all, of all of the times Killian has been there with her and for her throughout the years, all the way back to them meeting in Oceania and him making her laugh. He’s always making her laugh.

“He’s my best friend on this planet. I can be myself when I’m with him, and he has held my hand through the shitstorm that have been parts of my life, even when I didn’t want to let him. I love him, you know? And I’m badass, by the way. Just thought that needed to be said. I’m badass and totally could have made it on my own, but Killian…with him I get to be strong and independent while also having that hand holding mine for comfort and support. He’s made my life so much better. He’s given me Ada, and really, he’s given me Henry too. So, yeah, I guess I am bothered by the fact that he hasn’t proposed yet. I’m worried that maybe he’s changed his mind again. I shouldn’t really. I know he loves me. He doesn’t let me doubt that. I just…I want to be with him fully. Hell, I want me to not have a different last name than both of my children. I want to marry him, and yeah, a part of me is worried that he doesn’t want to marry me, that everything with Neal has made our entire relationship be altered.”

Once the words are out, she knows that she can’t take them back. She doesn’t want to take them back. This is…this is her life and her emotions and she needs to feel them. It feels really good to say all of that, and honestly, she wants to say more. She wants to talk more about Killian and more about Neal. She wants to go back to what they were talking about last week and how Neal’s moving has affected everyone, especially Henry. She wants to talk about how terrified she is being a parent and putting her kids in such stressful, life changing situations.

She wants to talk.

But the clock on the wall says she only has ten minutes left, and she figures that Dr. Lawrence has to have something to say or else she’s been writing on that notepad for nothing.

She reaches up to wipe her eyes, to wipe away the tears that have been furiously falling without her permission before her hand lands on her pendant. She’s going to have to make herself look less puffy. She doesn’t even remember when she started crying.

“I think Neal coming back has altered your relationship,” Dr. Lawrence begins, and Emma sits up on the couch, straightening out her shirt and her back as she sniffles. “How could it not? Besides the emotional trauma and joy of having him be found alive, it’s completely changed your life. You and Killian are no longer parents to Henry alone. You share that responsibility even if the two of you carry the load. Your ex-husband is no longer a dead man. He’s a real human being with thoughts and feelings that aren’t always going to be perfect, so you have to adjust to that too. For as much change as you’ve been going through, Killian has been going through something too. You have to give him the emotional time to adjust as well because while I don’t know the man, I do know that he cares about you and is probably putting your feelings above his.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe Killian thinks that you’re not ready yet, that he thought you were still going through too much emotional upheaval until you two talked about it a bit – ” she looks down at her notebook, eyes seemingly searching for something “ – two weeks ago.”

Ah, so maybe she does actually pay attention.

“Does that really count as talking, though? I literally just hinted around at it.”

She smiles. “But it’s a start.”

-/-

“Henry, you have got to put your shin guards on so that we can go.”

“I can’t find them,” he shouts back over the railing.

“Of course you can’t,” she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes a bit as she looks down at Ada who is currently banging her hands against the wall and giggling to herself. Kids are so damn weird sometimes. She doesn’t understand what the purpose of banging her hands against the wall is, but if she’s about to have to go upstairs and help Henry find the rest of his soccer uniform, she can’t leave her down here by herself despite how much baby proofing they’ve done.

Her entire house is metaphorically wrapped in bubble wrap, and Ada still manages to find ways to nearly kill herself just by exploring.

This is terrifying.

How is Killian not back from his run and the grocery store yet? He’s already supposed to be here so they can go to the fields together like they’ve done every Saturday this spring. He already missed their usual breakfast, so he really needs to show up soon. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic or there was some kind of freak watermelon accident and there are watermelon all over the road. Or maybe he ran into someone he knows. She doesn’t know, and even though she really shouldn’t be angry at him right now, she’s had a bad morning and needs him.

And she misses him. He’s here, always right here, but he’s felt so distant lately, so far away. She felt so good after her therapy appointment on Tuesday, like she was ready to talk to him and finally fix things and have all of her emotions centered, but she’s barely gotten a chance to talk to him in the three days since. Both of their jobs have been busy, the kids have been insane, and then she had to deal with Neal cancelling his trip into town this weekend. She understands, really, but Henry understanding is different. He misses his dad, and if the hour long phone call last night is any indication, Neal misses Henry too.

Her life is a constant ebb and flow of being all together and all falling apart.

No, her life is good. She’s just been stressed the past few days. That’s all.

“Come on, bug,” she sighs, stepping toward Ada and picking her up, wondering when in the world this kid got so heavy. Ada lets out what has to be an actual, blood curdling scream and starts thrashing around while Emma carries her up the stairs. “Ada, shhh, it’s okay. We’re just going upstairs. You don’t have to have a meltdown.”

That somehow only makes things worse, the cries going up another decibel, and she resigns herself to this as she walks down the hallway into Henry’s room. There are clothes scattered everywhere, his notebooks spread across the floor. When in the world did his room get to be such a mess? He has to clean that tonight or tomorrow. It cannot stay like this.

“I can’t find them,” he whines again, tossing a pair of shoes out of his closet, the pair of converses landing on one of his books.

“Have you checked in your bag?”

“That’s the first place I looked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he shouts, coming out past the doorway and running his hands through his hair, yanking at the brown strands. “Why is Ada so loud? Make her stop.”

“I’m trying, kid.”

“Try harder.”

“Hey, no,” she says sternly, trying not to yell to escalate the situation, “you do not get to tell me what to do, especially not being loud and harsh like that. I understand that you are upset and can’t find your shin guards and that your sister is being really loud. I get that. I don’t like it either, but yelling isn’t going to solve any of our problems.”

“Ada is yelling.”

“Henry,” she sighs while Ada lets out another loud cry. Shit, this is not a good day. It’s not even ten in the morning yet. “Ada is a baby. She can’t really talk. You know this. I’m going to text your dad and ask if he knows where your stuff is.”

“How would my dad know if he doesn’t live here anymore?”

Her stomach drops for a moment before she realizes that she used the wrong term for Killian. It’s usually not confusing, but sometimes it’s so easy to slip up like that.

“Your daddy,” she corrects. “I’m going to text your daddy.”

“Killian is not my daddy. He’s my step dad.”

Her stomach really does drop then, a heavy anchor weighing her down and making it nearly impossible for her legs to stay steady and her arms to stay strong against a still wailing Ada, even if her cries are beginning to calm down. What did…what did Henry just say?

Why did he just say that Killian isn’t his daddy? She knew that sooner or later he’d feel too old to call Killian his daddy, that he wouldn’t always call him by the name he started calling him when he was five, but he’s not supposed to be calling Killian his step dad. Yeah, that’s pretty much what he is, technically, but that’s also not what he is. He’s his dad. He’s the man who raised him, and Henry should never think otherwise when that used to be all he knew.

“Where did you learn that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Henry.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest while his lips curl downward. Does she have the most dramatic kid in the world? Probably not. But he seems to be going for that title today. She’s just waiting for him to start crying or throwing things. Or hopefully not throwing things. That would be a disaster.

This day is kind of a disaster.

At least she hasn’t gotten to the point where she has to take away Henry’s games yet.

“My dad told me that’s what Killian is.”

Motherfucking hell.

She’s going to start crying.

And throw something.

Maybe throw Neal. Definitely throw Neal. He’s bigger than her and hundreds of miles away, but she could get it done. She could. Absolutely. All of those stories about mothers raging to protect their children – one of those is going to come true after she figures out what the hell is going on. Neal wouldn’t have told Henry that. He wouldn’t have. But then why would Henry have said that? He obviously knew he wasn’t supposed to tell her before she pushed him into saying it, so he was probably trying to protect his dad.

But why would Neal have told Henry that in the first place when they explicitly told him over and over again that this is how their family situation works?

It must be some kind of misunderstanding. It has to be. Neal wouldn’t do that, and if he did, it has to be a mistake, a slip of the tongue. She’ll call him later and get it all straightened up. It’ll be fine. Right now she really just has to focus on Henry and this situation and getting him to his soccer game.

Swallowing the gulp caught in her throat, she puts Ada on the ground, figuring that’s probably all that she wants to stop this crying, and squats down so that she’s at eye level with Henry, reaching up to brush his hair off of his forehead while he stares at her with those watery chocolate brown eyes.

“Kid,” she whispers quietly, curving her lips into a small, hopefully reassuring smile while she keeps pushing his hair back, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Henry nods his head up and down, his little shoulders heaving while Ada has managed to make her way to Henry’s bed and is holding herself up on it. At least she’s not banging on the door.

“Killian is your daddy. You can call him Dad if you want to, if you feel too old to be calling him Daddy. That’s okay. You are a very special kid, and like I’ve told you before, you get to be lucky enough to have two dads who love you and care for you more than anything in the world. Not every kid gets that like you do.”

“But Dad told me when we were on the phone that Kil – that my daddy is my step dad. Like how Ella has a step mom.”

She doesn’t know how to explain this. It was easier when Neal was dead, which is a horrible thing to think. But Henry understood it much more easily then. He embraced it more. Now he’s older, though, and has an entirely different situation for his life.

She wishes Killian were here. He’d help and know what to do and know what to say despite the fact that this would break his heart even more than it’s breaking hers.

“It’s…it’s grown up things. I,” she sighs, running her free hand through her hair and trying to think while her thighs begin to ache from this position. “You know how when we told you about Ada being born, we told you it was because Mommy and Daddy loved each other and that helped to make her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, back when your dad and I were married, we loved each other and made you so that we could love you.”

“I know.”

She smiles at him again, making sure that her eyes don’t leave his except to glance over to Ada as she plops down on the ground and starts messing with some of Henry’s books. Thank God she’s stopped crying. That was miserable. Her entire life was about to implode in the span of five minutes.

“But then your dad disappeared, and I didn’t have him to help me love you or me anymore. But your daddy came along and he fell in love with me and with you. And he was around to help you learn how to walk and talk, just like he is with Ada. He took you to the pool to go swimming and to the playground. He went to all of your school plays and all of your birthday parties. He tucked you into your bed at night and read you stories, and he’s spent so much time loving you and me and your sister that I don’t think we can even imagine how much he loves us.”

Henry nods his head, and she desperately hopes that he understands. She doesn’t understand how to explain this without scarring Henry for life about sex when he is so not ready for that. She knows that some parents are fully open with their kids about things like that, but it’s not her parenting style.

“So he and my dad are the same?”

“Y-yeah,” she sputters, knowing that she needs to attack this conversation with a better plan later but thankful that things have seemed to calm down. “They’re the same. They’re both your dads, and they both love you so much that I bet your arms don’t even stretch out that far.”

Henry sticks out his arms to test the theory out, and she can’t help but chuckle at that. He has such childlike innocence and faith for someone who keeps having his life changed and uprooted, and even though she still feels like a frayed wire right now, she knows that she has a set of good kids in her life.

Leaning forward, she wraps Henry up in a hug and holds him as tightly as she can without smothering him. He hugs her right back, and she feels a little of the lead that’s in her stomach dissipate.

“Come on,” she says as she pulls back, “we’ve got some shin guards to find and a soccer game to go to.”

They find the shin guards in the kitchen of all places, and even though they have to practically sprint across the fields to get to his match, they make it in time. She knows a lot of the other parents there, a lot of them have kids in Henry’s class, but she prefers to sit under this tree in the shade with Ada. It’s at the corner of the field, so she still has a clear shot of Henry and he does of them.

Emma: Where are you?

Emma: We’re already at the fields. Hope you get here soon!

Emma: We’ve had quite the morning. Can’t wait to tell you about it later.

She puts her phone down on the blanket and pulls Ada back to her so that she can adjust her hat on her head, making sure she’s totally shaded while she slathers more lotion on her.

“Mama,” Ada babbles, grabbing at her necklace with enough force that she could snap it. Emma has to immediately grab Ada’s hand and move it away before twisting the necklace around so that Ada can’t see the diamonds. “Mama. Mama. Mama.”

“What?” she laughs, scrunching her nose up when Ada tries to grab at it too. “Baby, you’re driving me crazy today. Nothing makes you happy, and you’re going to either rip my nose off or break the necklace your daddy gave me.”

Ada giggles at that, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Emma can do nothing more than shake her head as she continues to get Ada’s arms with lotion. She’s wearing a United jersey with Jones written across it that Killian got her. He’s so extra sometimes, and this is a prime example of it.

She kind of loves that.

Plopping Ada down on the blanket in front of her, she snaps a picture of her back with the soccer field in front of her, and sends it off to Killian, hoping that he’ll answer this one since he hasn’t answered any of her other texts and calls. She’s trying to ignore that and convince herself that it’s fine, but there’s this weird, sinking feeling that’s stayed with her all day. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

Emma: Henry’s number one fan!

The rest of Henry’s game (or is it match? She’s really not sure.) goes by pretty quickly. He’s at the age where the kids are actually pretty competitive, so it’s not so much all of them running around and kicking balls in the wrong goal as it is them legitimately trying to win the game. Not quite as cute as it used to be, but Henry likes it. That’s all that really matters.

“Did you see me kick that goal?” Henry gasps when he runs over to her after the game, his hair covered in sweat and grass stains covering his knees. “It was awesome.”

“It was awesome,” she agrees, holding her hand up for him to high five him before holding Ada’s hand up so that she can do the same, even if it’s not with quite the same impact.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He got called into work,” she lies, not too sure how to handle this situation. That seems to be happening a lot lately. “He’ll be home later, though.”

The smile that was on Henry’s face instantly fades, the upward curl twisting down. “He didn’t see my game?”

“No, kid. He didn’t. But he wanted to.”

“He promised that he’d come to all of my games.”

“I know,” she laments, bringing him into her side. Poor kid. Both of his dads have bailed on him this weekend, and she knows that if it’s just today, it won’t mess with him too badly. But if it’s…if it keeps happening, well, it can’t keep happening. She won’t let it keep happening. “But sometimes things happen that make us break our promises. I’m sure your daddy is so sad about not getting to see you score that goal.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighs, his shoulders sagging forward as she starts to pick up all of their stuff so they can walk to the car.

It doesn’t take long even navigating through all of the kids and parents, and soon enough she’s driving out of the soccer complex and on her way home with the kids so that Henry can get showered and Ada can take her early afternoon nap. The music cuts off in the car as a phone call comes in, and she hits the button on her steering wheel to accept Neal’s call, leaving it on speaker since he’s probably calling for Henry anyways. Good. If he can’t fly home this weekend because of work then at least Henry will have this.

“Hey, Neal,” she greets, pulling up to a stop light and inching closer to the car in front of her.

“Hey, Ems. How are you?”

“Good, good. We’re on our way home from Henry’s soccer game. Kid, why don’t you tell your dad what you did today?”

“I scored a goal,” Henry shouts from the backseat, his voice far too loud. “It was really cool. Avery kicked the ball to me, and I kicked it right past the Dragons’ goalie. She couldn’t stop me.”

“That’s awesome,” Neal laughs. She can practically imagine the smile on his face, and it makes something in her heart settle thinking of how much Neal is here for Henry even when he’s physically away.

-/-

“Come on, Emma, push.”

“I can’t,” she cries, holding onto the handrails over the bed while a contraction roars through her body, making all of her limbs shake as she feels herself shutting down, feels her will to keep going fading. “I can’t do this by myself.”

“I am right here, Hon,” one of her nurses soothes, holding onto her hand even though Emma doesn’t know her name. She should know her name. She’s the woman who is by her side while she delivers her son. If she’s the only one going to be here, Emma should know her name. It’s too painful to ask. “You’re doing just great. So is your baby. His heartbeat is so strong, yeah. He gets that from you.”

“He’s okay? He’s still doing okay? This isn’t – this isn’t hurting him, ah, too much?”

Her nurse squeezes her hand, holding on tightly as she watches people move between her legs. She’s officially had her vagina stared at by more people than she ever thought would stare at it, and even though she doesn’t want to think about that and what’s happening right now, it’s all that she can focus on.

If she doesn’t, she’ll think about Neal.

He should be here.

He should be here holding her hand and helping her through this.

He should be here to hold his son when he’s born.

He should be here.

But he’s not. He can’t help it. He’s training. This is what he has to do. This is his job. He’s helping so many other people, and that’s what she has to remind herself. That’s what she has to keep repeating over and over again as she suffers through labor. Why did no one tell her how much this hurts? They did, but it was in broad terms. It wasn’t like this. It was never described like this. Everyone always glossed over it and told her that it would be all over and she’d have her baby in her arms and that everything would be okay.

How is this okay?

How is any of this fucking okay?

She’s by herself.

She’s alone and has no one here but this nurse who she still doesn’t know the name of to help her. Neal isn’t here. Ruth isn’t here. Neither is David. Or Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret would be good at helping here. She’s been through this. She’s so soothing even when she’s annoying and pushing all of her opinions on Emma.

She doesn’t even have any friends here. All of her friends are mostly Neal’s friends, and she doesn’t know any of them well enough to ask them to be here.

Why didn’t she make more friends? Why didn’t she keep some of hers from freshman year? She had friends, didn’t she? She had people she talked to and got lunch with. She knows that she did. She had to.

She’s been alone for so much of her life, but right here, right now, is the last place she ever thought she would be alone.

She can’t do this. She can’t. It’s too much.

Maybe she’s not meant to be a mother.

She can’t be one.

How could she when she didn’t have one for most of her life?

“I can’t be a mother,” she cries, tears stinging hotly behind her eyes while her contraction begins to wane. She knows it’s only a brief moment of reprieve. Her son is almost here. She knows that he is, that has to be. She’s been suffering in here for too long for him not to be here soon. She needs him to be here. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Sweetie,” the nurse promises her, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. Neal always does that, and it’s so damn soothing. She misses him. He should be here. She can’t stop thinking that. He should be here. “You can be a mother. It’s just scary right now, but you’re doing great trying so hard to help this boy come into the world.”

“But I’m alone,” she whispers, the words barely escaping her lips before they get captured by a sob, one that moves her shoulders and makes her vision completely blur.

She’s alone.

She thought she finally wouldn’t be, but she is. She’s alone and terrified.

But she’s been alone for most of her life, and the sad truth is that she knows how to deal with it. She knows how to deal with handling things by herself, how to deal with pain and happiness, with loss and with celebration.

She knows.

So she can do it. She can get through it. She has to.

She can be a mother.

She can be a mother for this kid. Maybe even for herself too.

Her eyes haven’t seen this kid outside of a black and white picture. Her hands haven’t felt him move except for the hard kicks to her ribs that have taken her breath away. Her arms haven’t held him except when she’s cradled her bump at night.

She doesn’t know anything about this kid, but she knows that she loves him. She knows that she wants to be his mom and to be there for him for every day of his life.

She knows.

This is her son, and she can do this.

And she does.

Even with the epidural, it’s possibly one of the most painful things she’s ever experienced, and she knows that doesn’t go away anytime soon. All of the books told her that about the recovery. But there was no way they could tell her the pure joy that she feels holding this red, squirmy baby in her arms. He’s beautiful. He’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her life, and she made him with her body.

She and Neal made him.

They’re parents. They’re freaking parents.

She can’t wait to tell him, to let him know that his son is here, but right now all she wants is to spend time with her boy, to get to hold him and never let go.

She’s never letting go.

“Hey, Henry,” she sighs, rubbing her finger across his cheek while he looks up at her. He has Neal’s nose. She always thought people who could tell who a baby looked like when they’re born are crazy, but her kid has Neal’s nose. “I’m your momma. I am. You are so precious, and I love you so damn much. I’m pretty sure you don’t understand what I’m saying, so that curse is just between you and me, okay? Yeah? Just between you and me. Your daddy never has to know.”

“You did a great job,” her nurse sighs as she stands at the door. “That’s a good baby with a healthy mom.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her head back against the pillow. It feels so comfortable, but she’s not ready to go to sleep quite yet. “It really means so much to me to have had someone to hold my hand throughout all of that.”

“It’s certainly not a problem.”

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I was kind of busy.”

“Ingrid.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

Ingrid walks out of the room, and she turns all of her attention back to Henry and the roundness of his eyes, the dark lashes. He’s so bald, but he’s got this one little patch of dark hair. He’s beautiful. Just beautiful. And not crying, which she thinks she likes most of all.

“I think you and I are going to be good friends, kid,” she tells him, letting him grasp onto her finger. “Like, you eat food from my boob, so it’s pretty much a given that we’re going to be close. Just saying. My body has gone through a lot for your existence, and I expect some good mother’s day gifts someday. Your daddy knows what I like. Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet your dad. You’re going to love him. He’s so funny. I bet he’ll make you laugh all of the time, yeah? But not as much as me. Don’t tell your dad, but I’m so much funnier than him. He has no idea.”

Throughout the rest of the day, nurses and doctors come in and out to check on both she and Henry. She knows that she takes a lot of naps, but it’s all a bit of a blur for her as some of the pain starts to kick in and she struggles getting Henry to eat. Once he does, though, she feels like infinitely less of a failure. It’s a weird feeling, being so devastated by something that’s really not in her control, but she has to keep reminding herself that she’s not going to be perfect at this and that things are going to go wrong. Hell, so many have already.

But Henry is here and healthy, and that’s all that matters. That’s always been what matters.

“Thanks for making me not be alone anymore, kid.”

-/-

Neal and Henry talk for the rest of the ride home, but really, it’s mostly Henry going on and on about his game and saying the same things several times while Neal pretends it’s brand new information to him. When she pulls into the garage, the door shutting behind them, she switches the call to her phone so that she can talk to Neal for a little bit while she sends Henry inside to take his shower, hoping that he’s actually going to wash himself instead of simply standing under the water.

“Thanks for calling him today,” she tells him as she rocks Ada back and forth in her glider, hoping that she’ll fall asleep soon and not have another meltdown. “It was kind of a big day for him, and you have no idea how much that means to him.”

“Of course. He’s my kid. Just because I’m not at home anymore doesn’t mean I’m not going to be there for him.”

Her heart lurches, practically dropping to the pit of her stomach, and she has to hold back the tears that are threatening to push through. That’s literally all she’s ever wanted since the day Henry was born.

“That’s good,” she sniffles, adjusting Ada in her arms. “You’re a good dad. You’ve done such a good job adjusting to being a parent to an eight-year-old who likes to talk back and who you can’t just cuddle with to make them stop crying.”

Neal hums on the other end of the line. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sound a little upset.”

“I – ” she begins, almost ready to spill all of her thoughts to Neal, but she bites her tongue to hold herself back. She’s not about to share how upset she is with Killian with Neal. That’s pretty much asking for disaster. She knows that they have a good relationship, a good friendship, but they’re not the kind of exes who talk about their love lives with each other. Not in graphic detail. They talk about Henry and the movies and old times. She doesn’t tell him her intimate thoughts, not anymore. “It’s been a long day. The kids had me about ready to pull my hair out.”

“Killian didn’t help?”

“He got called into work,” she lies, telling Neal the same one she told Henry earlier. Killian will call soon. He has to.

Neal clicks his tongue.

“What?” she asks, watching Ada’s eyes flutter closed.

“Nothing.”

“It’s obviously something, Neal. I know you. You click your tongue when you have something to say.”

“It’s just that, well, shouldn’t Killian be around for Henry’s soccer game?”

“Sometimes things come up.”

“That’s still a shitty thing to do.”

She huffs, all of that anger from this morning returning as the memories flood back to her brain. How in the world did she forget that she needed to talk to Neal? It’s like she got lulled into some kind of false sense of security and didn’t even realize it.

“You missed his game today too, Neal. For the exact same reason.” She doesn’t know if Killian is at work right now, but that’s what she’s going with. Something must have happened for him not to be here. “And we are far too old to be playing petty games over who is being a better parent to Henry. By the way, where the hell do you get off telling Henry that Killian is his step dad?”

She can feel her voice begin to raise, so she gets up from the chair and puts Ada in her crib, hoping that she’ll fall asleep quickly. When she exits the nursery, she can still hear the shower going, so she walks down the hall and into her bedroom, moving to the bathroom so Henry will be less likely to hear her talk. She can’t begin to count the number of arguments she and Killian have had in the bathroom. They don’t yell too often, but she doesn’t want Henry to hear any of it when they do argue.

Neal still hasn’t said anything, so she asks again. “Why did you say that?”

“I didn’t,” he finally says, his voice completely even.

“Henry told me that you did.”

“He’s a kid. He says crazy shit.”

“He’s a smart kid who only says things when he’s learned them somewhere else. Just admit to it so we can talk about it. It’s already a tricky situation, so we don’t need it to get worse.”

“What’s tricky about it? He’s my kid, and Killian is pretty much his step dad. I mean, you two aren’t married, so not really. But I figured that made it less complicated.”

Less complicated her ass. Why is he being such an ass about this? This is not him, not anymore.

“First of all, he is Killian’s kid too. I have never let Henry think that you’re not his dad. You are. That’s something I’ve made a priority for him to understand ever since he was old enough. But you cannot take away Killian’s right to him as well. Killian helped me raise him, Neal. For most of Henry’s life, Killian has been Henry’s dad too. That doesn’t just change.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that I wasn’t fucking around to raise him.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You might as well have, going on and on about Killian this, Killian that. Fuck, Ems. He’s not the greatest man in existence. You don’t have to put him on a pedestal.”

“I don’t.”

“Please,” he scoffs, and she feels acid swish in her stomach, twisting around as she settles down on the countertop next to the sink, her legs like jello beneath her. “You so do. Ever since I’ve come back it’s been all about Killian and the life you share and the daughter you have, like our marriage was absolutely nothing to you. I bet you didn’t even consider taking me back.”

“What the hell is your problem today? I’m trying to talk to you about our son to make sure that he doesn’t get confused, and you decide to be nasty to me? No, Neal, I didn’t really consider taking you back. Life moved on. It changed. But don’t you dare for a second think that I didn’t go through hell trying to figure out how to deal with things when you came home. I nearly lost my mind trying to handle everything. I care about you. You’re my friend, and I tried my best. But there’s no way you could have expected me to drop everything to be with you when I spent years grieving you.”

“I would have done it for you.”

“Bullshit. I loved you, but you never loved me in the same way. I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know.”

“I think you’re making a mistake being with Killian.”

“I think you’re making a mistake trying to talk to me about this when it’s really none of your business.”

“If it affects my son, it is my business.”

She scoffs, bewilderment inching its way over all of her skin, gooseflesh rising. How fucking dare he try to turn this on her, try to gaslight her. This is what he’s always done. He’s always tried to steamroll her like this. She thought he’d changed, that he’s tried to be better, so why is he being like this? He shouldn’t be like this anymore.

“You know what affects your son, Neal?” she asks, her voice cold even to her own ears. “His dad fucking with how he thinks of one of his other parents. No part of that is okay, nor will it ever be okay. Don’t do it again.”

She hears him say her name on the other end of the phone, but she hangs up before he can say anything else. He’ll call back. She knows that he will, but she’s done with that conversation. It was ridiculous, in every single way. She knew it wouldn’t be comfortable bringing up the whole step parent thing, but she didn’t think it would ever turn into…that.

What the hell was that?

Neal hasn’t talked to her like that since he found out that she and Killian were together. It was harsh, but she understood in a way. Now though, she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why he would be rude to her life that, why he would try to make her think that she’s doing something wrong by being with Killian, to make her think that she’s a bad mother. It’s how he used to talk to her, but it’s not how the man she’s known as talked to her ever since he came back.

It’s not supposed to happen like that anymore.

All she wants to do is cry, but she’s too tired to cry. If she starts, she may not be able to stop. It’s all too much. Today has been too much for her, and she still doesn’t know where Killian is, what’s going on with him. In the back of her mind she thinks that maybe she should be calling hospitals to make sure that he’s not in one, but something in her gut keeps her from doing that. She does text Mary Margaret and David, however, hoping that maybe one of them will have the answer.

She needs to know, and worry is slowly covering each inch of her skin.

“Mom,” Henry calls, stepping into her bathroom.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can you make me a hot dog?”

“Sure,” she sighs, giving him a watery smile and wiping away at her eyes. “Let’s go do that.”

The rest of her day is spent with her kids, trying to entertain the both of them with games and movies, even going outside to play on the play set for awhile. She never hears from Killian, and only Mary Margaret texts her back to say that she hasn’t heard from him and that David’s got a busy day at work and probably won’t get back to her until his shift is over. It bothers her, makes her practically sick to her stomach, but she can’t focus on it as she focuses on making sure Ada and Henry have a good day.

It’s what she has to do if she’s doing this alone today.

That night, after she’s got Ada in her crib, she walks to the next room over and into Henry’s. They both cleaned up in here a bit today, so she doesn’t step over any legos or sharp objects as she crawls into his bed behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist and holding onto her son like her life depends on it.

Maybe sometimes it does.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, still flipping through one of his books.

“Cuddling with you because I love you so much.”

He squirms, but he still settles into her. “I love you too.”

“What are you reading?”

“Matilda.”

“That’s a good one.”

“I know. I like it. She has magic.”

She nods her head and settles it down onto Henry’s shoulder, reading behind him while he mumbles some of the words out loud. She doesn’t know how she got a kid who loves to read when she remembers hating it at his age, but she’s really thankful for that.

She’s thankful for Henry and how he changed her entire life for the better on the day he was born, how he brought magic into her life in a time that was so dark that even the stars seemed to disappear, blinking out one by one until there was no light left.

Except for Henry. He has always been the light.

“Did you know I love you?” she whispers to him.

“Yeah, you already said that.”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek and holds him a little closer. “It’s just that I love you and Ada so much that sometimes my heart can’t contain it, and I have to keep telling you so that you know how much I love you, how much I’ll always love you forever.”

“I love you and Ada too,” he says simply. She knows that he means the words, but they don’t have the same emotional depth that her words do. Good. He doesn’t need to feel how she’s feeling, like her heart is threatening to break into pieces over how much she loves him.

“And your dad and your daddy love you too. So much more than you even know.”

“I know. Mom, you’re making it hard to read my book.”

Emma chuckles, kissing his cheek again before she shifts out of the bed, figuring that she’s smothered him enough for tonight. Just because she needs to time with him doesn’t mean that he wants it. “In thirty minutes your light needs to be off and you need to be asleep, okay?”

“Whatever.”

“Henry.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Night, kid. Thanks for making me feel like I have real magic in my life.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

She closes his door behind her and makes her way downstairs, quickly checking on Ada on her way. The house is quiet, only the sounds of the air conditioner running and the refrigerator making ice filling the space. Usually she’d crave something like this. She’d crave having peace and quiet and not having to worry about anything for a little while. She can fix herself a cup of hot chocolate and settle down in front of the television to watch whatever she wants. Those are the nights she craves sometimes, but now that she has one of those, she wants none of it.

All she wants is for this day to be over, possibly for this day not to exist. Frankly, it sucked, and she knows that not everything will be fixed when she wakes up in the morning. She’s still pissed at Neal. Like, if he were home she would probably have the urge to punch him pissed. She’s worried about Henry and how everything is impacting him. She’s already emailed Dr. Hopper today, but sometimes she’s worried that him going to therapy and them trying so much to give him a good life is not enough.

Sometimes she worries that she is not enough.

That she’s not enough for her children.

That she’s not enough for Killian.

He has only made her feel that way once in all of their time together, and she doesn’t hold it against him, not anymore. She understands everything that he was going through. But right now, today, she needs him, and he’s not here.

She falls asleep on the couch, and when she wakes, it’s to a twist in her neck and a twist of the front door handle, Killian coming inside as quietly as possible. At first, she’s relieved that he’s okay, that he’s home, but then she remembers the absolute hell that she’s been through all day without him by her side, without him answering any of her calls.

“Where have you been?” she whispers. She thought the words would be louder, harsher, but she finds that she can barely get them past her lips.

Right now she’s just relieved that he’s okay, that his heart is still beating within his chest.

“Why aren’t you asleep, love?” Killian asks her, stepping into the bright light of the living room so that she can see the red rim around his eyes. “You should go to bed.”

“I’d really rather know why you ignored all of my calls all day long.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Damn it, no,” she yells, this time the words coming out as she sits up further on the couch, “tell me now. I’m done being pushed around today. You have been gone. I have been worried. Henry has been worried, and you walk in here at two in the morning telling me that we’ll talk later. No, that’s not how this works.”

Killian nods his head while his lips press together in a firm line. He looks exhausted and like he’s been crying, and beneath all of her anger, she feels the worry for him that she’s felt all day. “You’re right,” he sighs, his lashes landing against his cheeks as he looks at the ceiling before his gaze finally finds hers. “I’ve got some things to talk to you about.”

#rising from the ashes #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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