#this is loosely based on and the title is taken from my favorite pride and prejudice scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-snow-decahedron · 4 years ago

Note

(mega apologies if I already sent one and forgot) 16 (broken wings) + alphys?

If you had sent two i would make two. Thanks for asking!

Here it goes. I... Took this in an unexpected way haha

RecordsOfOurOwn

Words: 1184

Link to AO3

"Dr. Alphys!" There was a metallic clunk at the lab's door. Alphys stopped typing on her computer and walked to greet the person on the other side. A few humans lifted their heads from their desks, but otherwise ignored her and kept working.

"Umm... it's just Alphys now, sorry." She opened the door and gasped.

Tsunderplane stood outside, one of her wings pressed against the door. Her other wing hung loose, some of the metal plates with a few bumps. It seemed like a painful image, however the monster showed no sign of suffering, only mild discomfort.

"Tsunderplane" wasn't her real name, but a nickname the young monster wore with pride. She used to wander around western Hotland, and Alphys met her a couple of times whenever she decided to go outside her Lab. Now, she attended Ebott University, along with a few monsters.

Alphys worked there as a helper. She didn't want to be a researcher again, but Undyne had encouraged her to bring her knowledge in magic-based science to educate humans on those topics. Not all her titles were recognized, but her experience was still respected.

Alphys opened both doors of her office and led Tsunderplane to the work station right behind her desk.

"What happened t-to your wing?" She held her, careful not to cause any more pain. The student didn't flinch.

"It's not like something bad happened." She rolled her eyes, but at Alphys's stern look she admitted. "I just crashed against a tree. I didn't think they were so tall."

"Thank goodness it was just an accident." She realized her words could be taken the wrong way and corrected herself: "I m-mean. I am sorry you got hurt but I'm glad it wasn't- that you weren't hurt by someone."

"It happens and I'm not in pain, it's just awkward. I guess there's still more about the surface I need to learn."

"But why didn't you go to a nurse?"

"They're all human."

"Oh... right. Yeah. Let's see if I can do something for you. B-but, I'll be careful. I'm not t-the best for the task."

"What do you mean? You're brilliant! You made Mettaton, right? You know your way around metal parts. I trust you" Tsunderplane cheered her. "Besides, I don't have any food in my inventory. I don't know if it will fix everything."

Alphys barely processed the second part of her statement, she was surprised to see a monster trust in her abilities... especially after what she'd done.

"Doc?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, kid. H-hang on. I'll go grab some tools." Alphys felt her hands sweaty, she cleaned them on her lab coat and walked towards a storage closet by the other side of the room.

As the lizard inspected each compartment, Tsunderplane looked at the place around her. The former royal scientist’ computer desk took her interest over everything else. She noticed a dark red logo she recognized very well. “RecordsOfOurOwn”. No way. Did Alphys know about that website? Surprisingly, the humans had their own equivalent, and after months of work, both websites were now compatible with each other. Maybe it made sense that Alphys worked with the administration team?

Upon taking a closer look, she saw that there was an open draft. So she’s a writer, Tsunderplane thought. The idea amused her, but deep down she was curious. She had her own addiction to fanfiction back then. She had to admit that the quality of what she read may have influenced how she viewed relationships. After getting to the Surface, she became a more mature and realistic person. She still enjoyed fanfiction, but she took a more responsible approach to them. But what could Alphys be writing about? Did they share any fandoms?

A loud clatter was heard from the storage closet. Well… it didn’t hurt to look right? She leaned closer, eager to see the secrets the scientist hid… And found an author’s note. What a bummer. It read:

Hello guys, MewMewFan89 here.

I know I left all my stories on hiatus for almost a year, and I’m really sorry! I guess life really got in the way back then haha. Just when the Barrier fell. We were gonna have the intervention of our heroes Nydune and Salyph, who had just found the way to make the perfect couple work in The Undying and The Amazing. I know we were also getting to the good part when Nass and the mysterious voice finally met their true love and finally held hands, and also Telior finally came back to Sagreo as the waterfall crystals foretold. And then! in “Dance with Souls” our favorite character Tametton would realize that his biggest fan would change his life. Ok I got carried away but what I wanted to say was...

Hold on. She knew this writer! Her stories were well known across the UnderNet. The creativity in them was incredible, and Tsunderplane always wondered where she got the inspiration. She wanted to read the rest of the note, but was started by a high pitched noise from the lizard.

“Oh No no no no, I shouldn’t have left the tab open! I’m sorry you had to see this”

“You’re MewMewFan89?”

“Ah…” No point in lying anymore. “Yes?”

“I loved your stories! I was so addicted to them back in the Underground!” Alphys started working on her broken wing with a mix of tools and green healing magic. “How did you come up with all of it?”

Alphys felt her sweater pressed too hard against her neck. “I’ll admit I took some inspiration from…. life itself.”

“Wow! You must know some really interesting people! So when’s the next part coming up?”

“See… that’s the- umm, I’m sorry to say this but I’m not finishing them.”

“Oh... “ Tsunderplane’s excitement dropped. Well, it seems she was never getting her answers. “Well… that’s fine. But why?”

“W-well… When you write something so personal you start projecting a lot of your desires on the characters.” She almost drops a piece on the floor out of nervousness. “And then these characters and their lives become an idealized version that can never be real. It’s not healthy to live like that. W-with a fantasy that’s unreal, and expect real life to play out the same way.”

“That is… really sensible. I’ve matured a lot myself in the past year too.

“Oh! A-and also one of my friends almost finds my account. I would feel so awkward if they realized I’m writing about real people, haha.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound very healthy.”

Alphys nodded, and set the last fixed metal plate on the right place.

“I think your writing style is still good. If you ever find something else to write about… maybe you should give it a try. I’d love to read it.” Tsunderplane moved her wing, and satisfied with the result, she thanked Alphys and left.

Alphys went back to her desk and finished her Author’s note. Perhaps it would disappoint some people, but even if she made mistakes, there was room to improve and people who trusted her to do her best.

#fic #i am so sorry to whoever reads this #especially you Tali #but i still kinda like it????????#ahhh help me #jsjsjs #alphys #safeutdr

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captain-emmajones · 5 years ago

Text

Love, Emma (1/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <3)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They've always been -- until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn't know what. Until she does. He's fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they're kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title and lyrics are from Taylor Swift’s Mirrorball -- which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. Had it on loop while writing, so if you feel like it, do try to listen to it while reading!

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN , Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 1 - MIRRORBALL.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest – almost too strongly, she might be bruising the inside of her fingers.

As she stares at the Arrival Board in front of her, she couldn’t care less for her own skin. The beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs.

Her right eyelid twitches. She wasn’t able to get any sleep last night, inhabited by a very childlike enthusiasm at the thought of seeing her friend again.

A breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.

“He has landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She is too engulfed in her surroundings to notice she’s damaging the flowers. Ingrid is definitely going to kill her for butchering her favorite bush. She doesn’t care.

He should be here any time now. Her heart skips another beat and really, it’ll be a miracle if she is still standing on her feet by the time he reaches her.

Gazing all around her, she suddenly notices the large window in front of her that gives away a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair.

You’re combing your hair for Killian, of all people, snorts her inner voice. But Emma is too happy to pay attention to her pride.

He’s been gone for nine months now, since last September. Has been going all around the world with the Navy, and she is proud of him. He did the right thing. (Even it meant leaving her behind.)

Emma has never known what it feels like to miss someone before she missed him. Being brought up as a foster kid, she hasn’t had anyone to miss for the longest time.

She’s bouncing up and down on her feet by now, anxiety shaking her legs.

Ingrid welcomed her in Storybrooke on her twelfth birthday. It was the best thing that ever happened to her. It allowed her to meet the brothers Jones – their orphan neighbors. Liam became Killian’s legal guardian when their father died.

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

She cannot wait anymore. Her palm hurt around the cut flowers. Another few minutes go by, and time is painfully slow. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Takes a look at the clock in front of her. Come on, relax, Emma.

And then, there he is.

“Killian!” The excited scream escapes her throat without her consent, a brutal wave of bliss sweeping her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back.

He hasn’t changed one bit, or he isn’t the same at all. She doesn’t care. She only cares for the sweet hue of blue that meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma!” He mirrors her happy scream.

Her heart beams as they run towards each other, and she throws herself intohis arms as soon as she reaches him. (By then, the flowers are to be respectfully buried and missed.)

She wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she isn’t familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair that is suddenly very kept, the beginning of a scruff against her cheeks, the strength of his arms around her chest, and when did he get this tall?

“I missed you,” she exhales against his cheek, and holds him tighter. She is very unwilling to let him go now that she has him.

She hears a chuckle against her ear, and it is the most wonderful sound she has heard in those last pitiful nine months.

“I missed you, too, Swan.”

A tear rolls down her cheek at the nickname – it’s been so long and her world has been so bleak without him and she’s never known this kind of homesickness – and she realizes just how wet her eyes have become. She’s never cried from happiness before, but tears are rushing down her cheeks without her consent.

His grip becomes tighter around her waist, and then he slowly lets go. She does not expect him to let go first. She profoundly inhales to chase down a feeling of fear deep within her throat and backs away, her hands still around his neck.

Staring at him after all this time seems to stir something really odd within herself and her breath gets caught in her chest. She didn’t remember him this handsome. Did his nose always look this elegant, and have his lips always been this bright pink, and why are his eyes the color of the sea?

And then she remembers the flowers crushed between her clumsy hands.

One finger tracing the scar on his cheek, she shoves the bouquet against his chest. “That’s for you,” she smiles and her fingers cannot seem to let go of his face.

“Swan,” his eyes are so kind over her gift, she can tell he is really happy about them, although their lives were cut short in their prime, “thank you so much. They are my fav—”

“—favorite, I know! That’s why I got them for you.” And she smiles, harder, her cheeks hurt but she cannot bring herself to stop.

She ignores as well as she can the alarm ringing in her head. Why is he not touching her? What’s wrong? Did she get ugly while he was away? He was always touching her, before.

“Aye,” he grins, and then relief – his palm is over her cheeks and something incredibly tender and innocent blooms in her chest. She sighs, leans in his touch. She’s missed him so much. “Shall we go, Swan?”

She picks up the bag he let go of to hold her while he very gracefully carries the flowers. Surely he wouldn’t have damaged them. Killian is very careful not to damage anything ever.

“Sure thing. Welcome home, Killian,” and before her arm finds his, she’s bold enough to press her lips against his scruffy cheek.

She lingers there longer than intended, longer than what is reasonable and appropriate.

The glint she catches in his eyes when she backs away triggers something painful in her. She swallows it down. (Why did he look embarrassed? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. They are friends.)

But then, they are walking down the airport like old times, and surely she must be thinking too much – as per usual.

She is so glad to have him back, she ignores very meticulously all of the signs telling her Killian might not be as happy to be back. (To be with her.)

She’s holding a watering can while he delicately drops flowers – pink roses – on Liam’s tombstone. She watches him frown, fingers caressing the marble with care and something else – anger.

She swallows. This wound is still very fresh. It’s been a year.

She pours some water on the plant she brought last month – a gorgeous, bright pink bush of flowers, and she quickly puts it down on the grass to hold his hand.

His eyes flash in surprise and she offers him a smile – why is he surprised? Emma never liked to be touched before, before he touched her. She chases down the feeling once again and holds his fingers tighter in her hands. I am not letting you go.

The sun is shining. It’s such a bright summer day. The air is not too warm, just warm enough to feel comfortable wearing a t-shirt, and a gentle breeze that carries summer smells brushes their cheeks.

It was also a wonderful summer day – the day Liam died. Her brows furrow. Last summer had been the best weather they had had in Maine for years.

“He would be proud of you,” she whispers, desperate to make him feel better.

She is aware there is not much she can do to help him fight this darkness that swallowed him alive. She is still willing to try.

“Would he?” He echoes back, and she does not recognize the bitterness she hears in his voice.

For the first time since she has known Killian Jones, Emma feels like she’s missing something. A piece of the puzzle to understand him. She feels like perhaps she does not know him as well as she thinks.

She would have taken a step back with anyone else. But with him, she playfully bumps her shoulder against his, fighting back her inner instincts. He got tall, and bulkier – only in a good way.

“Of course. You joined the Navy to make him proud, didn’t you?”

For the first time in ages, she really is asking him a question.

He’s been back for a month now, and his scruff is prominent over his face. She likes it. He looks manly. She thinks he knows he looks manlier.

She still looks like a teenage girl, with her long blonde hair and her freckles and her frail body, and she still wears sneakers with her dresses (when she wears them). And he looks so much older.

“Aye, I guess so. Thank you, Swan,” he smiles at her, his hand brushing her cheek, but somehow he is miles away.

She presses her lips against each other, firmly. There are pebbles in her belly. He put them there.

“Anytime, Killian,” she smiles, and in a desperate attempt to bring him back to her, she presses another kiss to his cheek.

He steps away quicker than she expects him. A cold breath reaches her lips in spite of the agreeable weather.

Another smile. She’s suffocating.

“Okay, so then after dinner we could finally go to a club!” She’s standing in the middle of her room, arms swung up towards the ceiling of her childhood bedroom.

Killian is chewing on a strawberry bubblegum, lying on her bed. He hasn’t let go of his phone all afternoon.

“As you wish, Swan. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Can’t he look a bit more involved? A very childish anger burns her tongue as her hands find her hips in disapproval.

“Exactly! Which is why I’m going to ask you to look a little bit more enthusiastic, Killian Jones.”

She doesn’t mean to sound this harsh but she does anyway. At least, that gets him to look up from his phone, and she sees a glint of regret pass in his eyes. A smile finally cracks his face.

“You’re right, Swan. Forgive me. I’m just a bit concerned by something but don’t worry, I’m all ears now.”

She hates herself for how quickly she kneels in front of him, on her pink carpeted floor that she hates but Ingrid tried her best to make her feel at home.

Even more for the way she grabs his hands, pouring her soul into his eyes.

“I can tell you’re not really here, Killian.” She pauses, watches as he raises one eyebrow – it isn’t what she expected but it isn’t mean either, “And I want you to know there’s nothing you cannot tell me.”

She’s so naïve. She means every word.

He nods. Her eyes look down at his lips. She wants to kiss him. But she cannot – not when he’s still miles away from her, still stuck in Portsmouth.

“I know that, love,” something blooms in her chest. He hasn’t called her love in a year now, “Don’t worry, I’m quite alright.”

He lies. It’s the first time he’s lied to her about something important since she’s known him.

Fear captures her heart. It’s green, and viscous, and it drips on everything she holds dear.

He’s slipping between her fingers. She’s losing him. She cannot lose him.

She’s the one lying on his bed while he takes a shower when she sees her message. She doesn’t mean to, really. But his phone vibrates on his bedside table, and she only glances at it out of curiosity.

She sees it. M. Who is M?

She rolls on her belly, glances at the closed door of his bathroom, and reads the message, heart drumming in her ears.

“I know, baby. Rumple is driving me crazy too. But it will all be worth it, soon. I promise. Just hold on to our love.”

Something rings in her ears, it’s painful, it spreads from her liver and all the way up to her mouth, and she cannot see anymore, and her birthday is tomorrow and he is in love with someone else.

It takes her a lot of strength then, to roll back on her back, to try and make herself comfortable again between his pillows and his smell – in spite of the rigidity in her bones and this feeling of utter disgust in her mouth. She holds on to the silver bracelet around her wrist - the one Killian offered Emma for her eighteenth birthday, last year.

So many questions bounce in her mind, but one fact absolutely obliterates her. He doesn’t want to confide in her anymore. He is clearly struggling with this Rumple, and this M, and he doesn’t want her help.

The bathroom door swings open and steam invades his bedroom as he steps out, wet hair and big grin. She knows the grin will remain but will become a mere theatrical performance once he reads the message. She doesn’t want him to read it. She wants to keep him to herself.

“Ready for that ice-cream, Swan?” he attacks right away, all charms out. When did he get this charming? When did he become aware of his charms?

“Always ready for some rocky road,” she answers back, and she’s surprised to hear her own voice calm and collected.

Perhaps she is growing up, too. She used to be a terrible liar. But that’s what they do, now, apparently.

His smell fills her lungs, and it’s the one of her childhood – peppermint, and something muskier, and him.

“Emma, you won’t forget to take care of the garden –” exclaims Ingrid as they’re about to leave her ice-cream shop.

She squints her eyes. Fuck. Exactly what she wanted to avoid.

“Sure thing, Ingrid,” she mumbles, before taking Killian’s arm in her hers and guiding them both out of her shop.

Emma swallows a scream of injustice. That’s her punishment for stealing the flowers for Killian.

“Flowers are not meant to be picked. They’re meant to be cared for, admired, but not picked, Emma.”

Emma didn’t tell her what’s the use of having flowers if you cannot offer them to someone you love but she did stare at her with a lot of defiance.

Rocky Road has never tasted this wrong in her mouth, as they sit outside of Granny’s, on the warm concrete. It’s burning her naked thighs, but it still doesn’t suck as much as the way Killian stares at his phone – just like she expected him to. He’s waiting for M to answer him.

Emma wants to tell him he can confide in her but clearly he doesn’t want to. And it’s one of the strongest pain she’s ever felt – it’s a wicked, wicked pain that spreads from her heart to her pride and slays every inch of her good feelings.

She keeps licking her ice-cream, eyes locked to the road.

Her birthday is tomorrow. On the twenty-first, the first day of summer. She waits for summer all year, waits for the special moments she knows she’ll spend with Killian.

Only, this year, Killian doesn’t seem as happy to spend them with her.

Thankfully, Ingrid’s Rocky Road is still the best thing in town.

As she gets ready for her birthday party, Emma figures out she has nothing to lose. She decides to play all of her cards.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror while pop music plays in the background.

She hates her round cheeks and her slender body that refuses to give her the big chest boys seem to be so fond of. She’s frowning as she examines her features meticulously.

She usually doesn’t wear makeup, if not for a bit of mascara. It’s the only thing she’s comfortable with wearing on her face. As for her clothes, Emma is a jeans and sneakers kind of gal. Her only accessory is Killian's bracelet - and it doesn't count, because by now it is part of her.

She didn’t use to mind. It’s who she is. But since she’s seen M’s contact photo – she really didn’t mean to intrude, it just appeared when she tried to call him – Emma has become more self-conscious. (Terribly so).

M has long back curls and red lips, and she’s a woman. Not a girl like her. Her eyes are blue but they’re not timid, they shine sure and knowing and her smile is confident.

Emma hates her freckles. She looks like she’s twelve.

Tentatively, she brushes her blond eyebrows – just like she’s seen Ingrid do. It doesn’t make much of a difference and she muffles a dramatic sigh, frowning.

Killian will never find her pretty ever again.

That night, she also tip toes to Ingrid’s room to borrow some lady-like perfume. Emma only likes to use a very natural ginger fragrance – her smell but a bit better.

She winces. She hates the too-sweet, too-flowery smell that wraps itself around her body. Whatever. Killian must like that.

She’s nineteen tonight. The only teen year left of her life. She better make the most of it. (If Killian does not tell her about his mysterious girlfriend who’s far too beautiful for her to compete with, then she can’t really be doing something wrong, can she?)

She eyes the different dresses spread on the pink blanket of her bed. (Ingrid is very committed to pink.)

At her feet, the only pair of heels she could find in her wardrobe. They are small, black squared heels but really they’ll do the trick. They will have to at least.

Hands on her hips, she settles for the pink, light dress. It’s not her favorite color, but the fabric is very soft and fits her small waist like a glove. The lower part of the dress is flowy and ends well above her knees. Emma knows her legs are long and toned and she wants to show them off tonight.

To finish the look, she ties her hair in a high ponytail to get her hair off her face. Ingrid has always told her to.

As she eyes herself in her mirror, she thinks she looks pretty. She smiles at her reflection, her earrings glinting.

She glances at the big clock on her wall. 8:15. Killian should be here anytime, now.

Her heart beats faster, thinking of him.

She smiles, grabs her bag and goes down the stairs of Ingrid’s house. It already smells like dinner time, and it should comfort her, but it does not. She catches Ingrid’s surprised eyes in the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Emma asks, and it’s the first time she asks for Ingrid’s opinion on her appearance, but well –

Ingrid lets go of the tomato she is expertly cutting to stare at her. Her mouth slightly opens. And Emma swears she sees something very gentle sparkle in her green eyes.

“I think you look beautiful, Emma.” Ingrid’s smile is very tender over her figure, and something weird clenches Emma’s heart.

She simply smiles back. “Thanks, Ingrid. Don’t wait for me tonight, Killian and I are going to party!”

She almost runs to the door when she hears him knock. She tries to remain as composed and adult as possible, and instead calmly walk there. (Her feet are already killing her and her legs are stiff. This is going to be hell.)

She opens the door to discover him in a white shirt and black suit, and with a bouquet of yellow irises.

“Those ones I did not steal from Ingrid,” he smiles, his eyes glinting over her figure, and she could swear he likes what he sees, and her toes curl in her shoes and a very sweet heat invades her face, “Happy birthday, Emma,” he grins, and then she cannot hold herself back and wraps her arms around his neck.

She loves how her feet leave the floor for just a moment, as he spins her around, and she feels like they’re immortal.

“Thank you, Killian”, she murmurs against his cheek, presses a long kiss there, and intertwines their fingers together.

She thinks her crush is showing but really, as he glances at her body in her dress and climbs back to her face – a really lovely pink hue over his cheeks, and perhaps is pink not such a bad color – she doesn’t care.

She’s quick to put down the flowers on Ingrid’s kitchen counter, “Please take care of them!”, before disappearing in the night with her friend.

They pay all due respect to their Birthday tradition and go eat a grilled cheese at Granny’s. Granny’s give them a knowing look as they sit on the terrace outside. The old woman eyes Killian’s hand on the small of Emma’s back just as Emma feels it sending sparks up her spine.

They look like a couple, she’s sure of it, and the thought makes her feel giddy.

As they sit outside, by the lanterns and the Storybrooke sign, it feels like Killian never left.

“Remember when you were thirteen and I had to get you out of a bloody bin, Emma, just because you didn’t want to face Ingrid—”

“Hey!” Her scream isn’t really one and she’s waving an onion ring at him, “It’s my birthday, be nice to me.” And she rolls her eyes and he waggles his brows, and everything is right in the world.

His phone is still on the table, but face down. He is all eyes on her and she is very much pleased. (Even when it rings, once, twice, until Killian turns it off and she sighs in relief.)

“You’re very beautiful tonight, Swan,” he tells her as she finishes her grilled cheese.

And she hates him for saying so when her hands are wrapped around the greasy sandwich, and there’s probably cheese in the corners of her mouth, and strings of hair have fallen in front of her eyes – but she smiles.

“Thank you,” something warm and sunny blooms in her chest, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

She sees his eyes go wider, and she realizes he mustn’t have expected to say something back.

She keeps smiling. She feels an unfamiliar confidence take hold of her, straighten her spine and push her to grab his hand, on the table.

He glances at their knuckles but he doesn’t back away, and that must be good.

Finally, he waggles his brows and lets a small chuckle escape his lips. “Eat up, Swan. Before your favorite meal gets cold.”

She thinks then that she’s been touching him with her greasy fingers, and clearly that’s a mistake M wouldn’t have made, but… but he didn’t seem to mind. And his cheeks are red again. And that must be good, right?

They walk down to the only club in town – one down the beach. Storybrooke is a small town, but their fake IDs should be enough to get in.

Her feet are quite literally killing her, so when Killian offers that they walk in the sand instead, she happily complies. (She thinks he saw her suffering.)

It’s a full moon above them, and its reflection on the tender waves that come crashing at their feet is breathtaking. He is walking slightly ahead of her, but just now she doesn’t mind.

A sea breeze tangles her hair. She is happy.

“Hey, Swan,” he finally turns around to face her, and he is very handsome, and she realizes he has been carrying a plastic bottle in his bag. “Want some?” he asks her in a cheeky tone.

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. It’s not the first time Killian and she have gotten drunk together – and usually it ends with both of them asleep in one of their beds and a terrible headache the next morning.

(Killian’s always been her only true friend. Sure, she’s sympathized with Mary Margaret and Ruby at school – but they don’t get her like he does.)

“Hell yes,” she exclaims and stretches her hand to grab the bottle. “Cheaper to get drunk now than in the club.”

“Aye, that’s the spirit, Swan.”

She guesses he must have gotten drunk several times, this past year, without her. She figures he is grown up in all of the possible meanings of the word. It scares her, to think he’s going on without her. That’s he is already ahead of her, and she cannot quite catch up. She probably never will.

The bottle’s neck meets her lips, and it’s a pretty well done mix of vodka and fruit juice that she tastes against her tongue, and she wishes she were kissing him instead.

She takes several big gups, wincing as alcohol burns her throat and abandons a pleasing warmth in her chest.

“Careful, Swan. This isn’t only fruit juice.” She wipes her mouth as she hands him the bottle over.

“Oh come on, Killian. It’s my birthday, let me have some fun.”

She hates the concern she hears in his voice. He isn’t her big brother. She can take care of herself.

She watches as he drinks at his turn, watches as his Adam’s apple goes up and down. They used to be so similar, both of them all slender bodies, and now he is a man, and his shoulders are wide and his back strong, and she isn’t quite sure she is a woman yet.

She waits for him to put back the bottle in his bag and grabs his hand.

“Come on, let’s have some fun!”

And then she’s twirling around him, laughing brightly, and only stops when her body reminds her she just drank vodka and this will end badly if she keeps pushing her limits. Out of breath, she wraps her arms around his neck to settle herself, and his arms come to meet her waist.

The sea still whimpers behind them, but she only sees the soft waves in his eyes and the soft smile he dedicates to her.

There is a sparkle, in his gaze, a question at the tip of his tongue – but he will not ask it.

She wants him to.

Her fingers trace the shape of his jaw as she swallows, a small smile on her face.

“Dizzy, are we, Swan?” he asks her, and she realizes just how close their faces have gotten as his breath caresses her face.

She shakes her head. “Not dizzy at all. Happy.” She calmly exhales, licks her lips.

He will not kiss her. She wants him to. But he won’t. Because of her, she’s sure now. But, the night isn’t over.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and steps back to let go. She misses the heat of his body immediately, can’t fight back the frown that takes over her features.

“I’m glad, Swan.” Why does he sound so mature? She hates it.

A childish anger shakes her heart and she feels cold. He left childhood behind and he didn’t bother to tell her he was leaving. He didn’t bother. And now she’s stuck in this weird limbo, not a child anymore but not an adult either, not really, not like M, and he isn’t with her anymore.

She shakes her head to chase her thoughts away.

“Right, let’s get in.”

It’s still pretty early, and there aren’t a lot of people queuing in front of The Forbidden Fruit (the name never fails to make her cringe). This allows Killian and Emma to display their fake ID’s quite quickly.

Killian plays the part awfully well, although they’ve downed the entire bottle of vodka before stepping in. Emma is very focused on not looking completely hammered, as Killian would put it. Girls get in easier, it’s a known fact.

The bouncer clearly knows they are underage but the forgeries are good. Killian got them done during his Navy year. And he is savagely challenging the tall, sturdy guy to prove those are fakes, one eyebrow raised.

How can he look this sober? It’s unfair.

“Fine, get in, kids,” mumbles the bouncer, and Emma is sober enough to muffle a scream of joy inside her palm.

Killian takes her hand in his as they enter the club. They let go of their bags in one corner – I’m not about to pay two dollars to have my stuff kept by people I don’t bloody know.

When they turn towards the dance floor, neon lights seize their eyes as pop music shakes the walls.

Killian turns to face her, smiling brightly. “Ready to party, Swan?”

She nods vigorously, her heart beaming. “Hell yes!”

He takes her hand again and it’s so easy to forget everything as they make their way between the swarm of young adults dancing. They swirl together, spin, fly some more. They are both soon panting and sweating but it does not keep them from continuing to jump around.

Emma thinks this is it, the great, terrible happiness she’s heard about her entire life. It must be this beat in her heart, this strong pulse of life inside of her, as Killian holds her hands and swings with her.

They dance for what seems to be only a few minutes – except almost an hour goes by – and Killian glances urgently at the watch on his wrist before pulling her towards him.

“Let’s go on the rooftop before midnight,” he yells into her ear, and it sounds like he’s whispering.

She nods again, smiling brightly, and presses a napkin against her forehead. She tries to catch her breath, stuck in some liminal space, but Killian is still very energetic and drags her along with him towards the stairs.

She finds her legs trembling under her weight and to be quite honest, the room might only be spinning in her head. He must feel her struggle because he turns to face her on reaching the stairs, and his hold is very firm on her hand as he secures his grip around her waist. She thinks she smiles then, and they climb up together.

“Since when do you hold your alcohol so well?” she asks, boldly, and it really isn’t the kind of question she would have asked had she been sober.

Purely because it echoes the year they spent apart. And they haven’t talked about it, at all. And she’d be damned before she opened up to him when he hasn’t opened up to her.

“Well, you’ve got to, in the Navy, love.” It’s the second time he’s called her love since he’s been back. Her heart smiles.

The vibrant sea breeze that welcomes them outside nearly swipes Emma off her feet. Or perhaps it is the vodka. Either way, it’s a plausible excuse to grab him again.

From the corner of her blurry vision, she sees Killian set a timer to midnight on his phone. It’s funny, how the music from the club sounds like a very muffled sound and the only thing she hears now is her own heartbeat.

She’s still out of breath. She inhales deeply, and then bows down to him. “May I have this dance?” she asks him, eyes shining with mischief.

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound. “Anything for you, Swan.”

There must be some synchronicity in the universe because then a much gentler song resonates, and it sounds like her teenage years and she cannot believe childhood is already over.

They swirl together, his warm palm in hers, and her arm is wrapped around his neck, and he still smells good after all their dancing and it’s unfair. She hopes she doesn’t stink.

Another swirl, another turn, and she’s back in his arms again, and nothing ever felt this right. She thinks he must feel it, how well their bodies fit together, how easy it is to be together.

Before she knows it, she’s staring at his lips and she thinks he’s staring at hers too, and no air suddenly reaches her lungs and the timer rings painfully.

A smile spreads across his face. “Happy birthday, Emma.” He murmurs, says it with a lot of caution and care and affection and that other word she’s scared of.

She grins, brightly, vividly.

And then, she stands up on her tip-toes, and before they are both aware of it, she kisses him. Melts into his mouth, muffles a whisper of contentment against his lips, eyes firmly closed, just in case he pushes her away.

He doesn’t.

He kisses her back, his arms wrapping tightly around her, and she swears in that moment something explodes inside of her. She never believed in butterflies. She does now. A swarm has invaded her belly.

Her hands are in his hair, while his roam back and forth between her waist and her shoulder blades, and she cannot help but notice how expert his movements are against her body when she is still shaking with emotions.

And then he pulls back, and he’s all disheveled hair and rosy cheeks, and then, and then – she falls.

To the ground.

A ray of sunshine falls on her closed eyelids. When she wakes up, her hand is spread over her face and her mouth wide open. She groans, whimpers, groans some more and finally opens very hesitant eyes.

What the hell.

A terrible headache says hello to her. It isn’t fair.

The first thing she notices is Killian’s hand around her waist. In spite of the pain, that does make her smile. The next is that she isn’t home but in Killian’s childhood home (the one Liam and he inherited when they lost their father).

She slowly, very carefully, turns her face towards the nightstand. Of course. He left paracetamol and water there and a small note: “For my dearest idiot. Love, Killian”. It is set next to a picture of her and Killian, from middle school. She leans forward, tries her best not to wake him up in the process, and grabs the bottle. She drinks avidly, trying to hydrate the desert that is now her body.

A small chuckle echoes behind her. “You alright, Swan?” mumbles a voice, still very full of sleep.

She turns to face him, an apologetic smile on her lips. “Except for a ferocious headache, pretty good, yeah.”

He’s smiling at her, eyes still puffy and there is a very clear pillow mark in the middle of his forehead that makes him look like a wizard, and she swears he’s never smiled at her this way before.

And then shame circles her throat as memories come back to her mind.

She really made a show of herself last night, didn’t she? She hopes he doesn’t hate her.

She hands him the water bottle, and straightens her back in the bed to get some composure.

“Hey Killian?”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s forget all about last night, ‘kay? I was drunk and I’m sure I was awful...”

She hears him gulp loudly beside her. Her eyes twitch. Oh, it must be worse than she thought. Guilt swallows her. What has she done?

“All… all about it?” he repeats, and she swears his cheeks have become redder.

Her hands come to the blanket over her body, hold it tighter against her to protect her.

“Yeah, everything. I mean, it would have never happened if we hadn’t downed that damn vodka just the two of us.”

She tries to shrug it off, rolls her eyes really hard to seal the deal, but really, she is so ashamed.

He swallows beside her, frowns. “Alright Swan, if that is your wish, then I—”

“—Oh yeah,” she cuts him, and she’s throwing her legs out of the bed, “—I’m really sorry Killian, it won’t happen again.”

As he stares at her with what she thinks is some sort of judgement, the thought that she might be forgetting something does slip her mind.

But only for a few seconds, and then it’s gone forever.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #friends to lovers #mutual pining #love rosie au #so there it is #i hope you guys will like this #please leave me your thoughts!!#my stuff

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (131/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

ETA: Now with actual content behind the cut!

[14 October, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

The Saiyan Free Company was a loose alliance of Saiyans seeking an escape from the misrule of King Rehval III. For over a century, the Rehval Dynasty had sought to unify the Saiyan species into a proper nation state, but the Saiyans were unruly by nature, and many of them bristled at the heavy-handed policies of the monarchists. Tensions between the kingdom and the expatriates came to a head when Rehval III tried to destroy the Super Saiyan Luffa. His scheme backfired, forcing him to abandon not only his throneworld of Saiya, but his second home on Pflaume, an influential hub of commerce and diplomatic channels. With his disappearance, decades of careful statecraft were wiped out in a single stroke. The Planet Saiya was deserted, her allies bewildered, and her embassies on other worlds completely isolated.

In the midst of this political vacuum, the Princess Seltiss stepped forward to pick up the pieces her father had left behind. At only sixteen, she possessed a talent for leadership that was rare among politicians three times her age. Her secret was something her father, grandfather, and great grandfather lacked: flexibility. The Rehvals before her had relied on overwhelming displays of force to convince their subjects of their right to rule, and they reserved politics and gladhanding for the aliens they wanted to do business with. It made sense, but only if one had the power to pull it off. Seltiss was fairly weak by Saiyan standards, and in a galaxy dominated by the Legendary Super Saiyan, no one could claim to be the strongest anymore.

Instead, Seltiss listened. Her followers were disillusioned with the monarchy, or they outright despised government of any kind. So she played down her royal title whenever possible. They didn't trust her at first, because of her father, or her inexperience, or her multicultural education. So she didn't bother giving them orders directly. Instead, she used her more loyal followers to tend to their needs, and she found that they were usually more cooperative once their bellies were full and their ships were repaired. When she needed stricter military discipline, she got it by delegating command to her closest advisers: older Saiyans who respected her abilities, and were strong enough to command respect from those who wouldn't listen to her.

The end result was a strange admixture of political theory that would have probably made her great-grandfather furious. Some of the Free Companions with monarchist sentiments respected Seltiss as the rightful heir to her father. The antimonarchists saw her as the opposite: a leader who proved her worth instead of relying on a birthright. Others only followed her because she got results. Some saw her as nothing but a provider of food, supplies, and battle to fight. Many sided with her out of necessity, fearing the growing influence of the Jindan Cult and Luffa's Federation. Then there were some that saw her as a figurehead. These Saiyans only respected her advisors and generals, and viewed her as more of a symbol for keeping the whole group united. And the beauty of it was that it worked, because each of them were a little bit right about her.

It wouldn't last, of course. Eventually, Seltiss would need to transform her motley crew into something more unified, with a more obvious rule of law. Eventually she would be their Queen, or their Dear Leader, or their Chancellor, or whatever other title they could all agree upon, but for now she was satisfied that they all followed her. She would adjust as the situation called for it. There were simple relationships that governed everything in life. Cold equations that could be managed, but never ignored. Too many failed regimes in history had treated rebellions like foreign invaders. Protests, riots, revolts, these were all the result of societal pressures. The goal was to vent the pressure and find ways to redirect and release those energies before they upset the system. That usually meant changing the system itself, and those in power often loathed to do this. Change could be difficult, and some leaders took change personally, like an affront to their past authority. Those who wielded power had to be able to adapt to the times, or they would find their power taken away from them. Those who failed to vent the pressure would be destroyed in the explosion. It was inevitable.

At long last, it seemed like her father had finally failed to adapt. She knew the day would come, just as the day came when her father replaced Rehval II. The Saiyan Free Company was part of her plan to assure a smooth transition of power. She was proud to see it work so well, but it was all happening much sooner than she had expected.

It was a relief to retire to her quarters. Her command ship was one of the best in her fleet, but the accommodations were still very modest compared to the dorms at various private schools she had attended in her short life. She had decorated the cabin with a few posters and alien souvenirs she had picked up during the war. Her favorite was a lamp she found that contained a suspension of wax and some unknown liquid. The heat of the lamp would melt the wax and make it float up and down through the liquid, and the whole thing was dyed in her favorite shade of pink, which made it perfect. She shut off the other lights and sat on the couch to admire the rosy glow. It was something she had started doing lately to relax.

It wasn't working.

Just when she was about to shut off the light and try to sleep, the door chime sounded, and she answered it to find Xibuyas waiting to come inside.

"I... didn't mean to disturb you, my lady," he said, in that adorable way where he tried to make his voice sound a little more mature.

"It's fine, Xibuyas," she said. "What's on your mind?"

"Good news, I think," Xibuyas said.

"If it's about the fleet that's going to the Jindans' base, I've already heard about it," she said.

"No, better than that," Xibuyas said. He handed a computer pad to her. "I had the crew run a tactical simulation for me. There's a very good chance we can destroy Luffa's ship during the battle."

Seltiss looked down at the pad, then back at Xibuyas. "Um, what?" was all she could ask.

"It's safe to assume that when we reach the enemy stronghold, the allied fleet will begin a bombardment of the surface," he explained. "Once that's complete, we'll have a narrow opening to turn our weapons on Luffa's engines. The Federation ships may turn on us, but the projections on that pad show a casualty rate no higher than sixty percent. Acceptable losses, as far as I'm concerned."

Seltiss took a deep breath and looked at the pad to review his findings. She didn't go over it very closely, but seeing the word "Luffa" and the number "60" was enough to tell her this was not a joke. "Wow. Like, you really want her dead that badly, huh?"

"She's an abomination," Xibuyas growled.

"We're allies, Xibuyas," she said.

"That alliance will be over once the cult is destroyed," he countered. "Our best chance to destroy her is to strike while she's on a spacecraft, where her powers won't save her."

"What happened to all that bluster about getting stronger and defeating her in battle?" Seltiss asked. "Because this plan sounds like it was drafted by someone who's given up on that."

He looked her in the eye, then turned away from her. "I... was forced to re-evaluate my strategy," he said.

"You can't beat her," Seltiss said. "You think you'll never be able to beat her."

"It won't matter," Xibuyas insisted. "Either way, she dies, and this way it will be over that much sooner. Then the Saiyan race can move forward again."

"This isn't about the Saiyan race, Xibuyas," Seltiss said. "This is about your pride. You're still wound up over the idea that you might be Luffa's son--"

"I am not her son!" he seethed.

She no longer believed him. Her father had raised Xibuyas like one of the family, claiming that he had been an orphan. Xibuyas grew up with astonishing powers, which her father claimed to be the results of his own alchemical enhancements. It all made perfect sense at the time, but now that she had met Luffa in person, Seltiss could see the resemblance between them. Ironically, Xibuyas looked even more like Luffa when he angrily denied any relation to her. But there was no point in saying any of this out loud.

"Chill out, " she said. "We've been over this already. I need you, Xibuyas. I need you to help me make this Free Company work. Your bio-parents aren't important to me. But we do need Luffa, at least for a while longer."

"Why?" he demanded. This was the closest they had ever come to a genuine argument. Growing up, he had always revered her like a queen. He took the Saiyan royal family very seriously, even when she did not. It hadn't been easy to convince him to side with her against Rehval, but in the end his love for her won out. Now, she was beginning to worry that his hatred for Luffa might prevail against her.

"Look, we have to win this war, sure, but we've got to win the peace that follows," she explained. "Right now, Luffa makes things easier for me. She gives Saiyans everywhere something in common. They're all afraid of her. Even the ones that respect her know she could kill them whenever she wants."

"And this is helpful?" Xibuyas grumbled.

"Look in every generation, one of us is the strongest, but we don't always know who it is," Seltiss explained. "A lot of times, even the strongest Saiyan is outclassed by some monster or alien. My father claimed to be the strongest, but it wasn't exactly obvious, not like it is with Luffa. Or you."

He tensed up at this, so she reached out to put her arms on his shoulders. She'd learned a long time ago that affectionate gestures like these helped to calm his stormy moods, and it always reinforced his loyalty to her. Xibuyas had a glowing yellow aura when he used his full power, and while his hair didn't change color, it wasn't hard to notice the resemblance between his aura and Luffa's transformation. He had been self-conscious about it ever since their first encounter on Pflaume.

"Look, big guy," she said, "you've been stronger than my dad for a while now. Maybe you've always been stronger. And I need that, for sure, but if Luffa's out of the picture, that makes you the strongest Saiyan, no question. And you've seen how everyone feels about her. If something happens to her, they'll turn that resentment on you next."

"It would be different for me," Xibuyas insisted.

"Maybe, but they're still not ready," Seltiss said. "Not all of them, anyway. It helps that you're a man, but some of them would still resent you. For now, they see you as a counterbalance against Luffa, and we need to cement that idea for a while. And once they're used to you, then we can think about where to go in a world without Super Saiyans."

"But this may be the only chance we get!" Xibuyas said.

"Don't be so sure," Seltiss said. "You may not believe in your powers, but I do." She patted him on the cheek, then turned to approach a small refrigerator on the other side of her room. "You want a soda?"

The offer might have angered him a moment earlier, but her flattery had taken a lot of the fight out of him. Now, he seemed to remember where he was, and the awkward anticipation he felt from spending time in her quarters. The boy was madly in love with her, and sharing a snack in her room was like a sneak preview of being married to her someday. When he finally remembered to answer her question, she tossed him a bottle and directed him to sit down. Then she took a seat beside him, draping his right arm over her shoulder like a scarf.

"Look, if we have to kill Luffa, we'll figure something out," Seltiss said after they each took a few sips. "I'm not saying we rule it out completely. But maybe we can work out something that, um, won't kill two thirds of our forces? You want to be king some day, right? Well, a king needs subjects."

He tried to hold his right arm still, like he was afraid of accidentally groping her somehow. He kept his fingers in as natural a pose as he could, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. As for his left arm, he wiped his mouth and sighed.

"Then... you still plan to be my bride," he said, as though he were just making idle conversation.

"Well, duh, how else can you be king?" she teased. "I'm the one with the royal blood."

"I just... I thought..." he took another sip as he put the words together. "It was King Rehval's plan that we marry," he finally said. "And you told me that we had more leverage by sticking together, because he needs us. In case your schemes failed, we could always go back to him and he would have no choice but to let us return. But now, we're preparing to kill him, and when that happens..."

She giggled softly. "All bets are off, is that what you're worrying about?" she asked. "My father's made a lot of mistakes, Xibuyas. Big mistakes, if you ask me. But pairing us off wasn't one of them. Sure, he only saw us as good breeding stock for making more Saiyan elites, but besides that, we make a good team, don't we? I need something to keep you around, don't I?"

"I see," he said, doing his best to hide his relief. "I didn't want to presume--"

"Of course, if you've found someone else, I can't exactly stand in your way," Seltiss joked. "Maybe you met some Federation farmgirl in one of the border systems."

"Absolutely not!" Xibuyas said. "I'd be lost without you, my lady. The only place for me is by your side."

Which was exactly the sort of response she had come to expect from him. In whatever society Seltiss would eventually build, Xibuyas would be its first citizen. Her father had found him, or stolen him from Luffa, or he grew him in a test tube, or whatever. Xibuyas revered him as a father/creator, but Seltiss had become his friend, his true love, his princess. Winning his loyalty from her father had been the first proof that she was capable of surpassing King Rehval III and staking claim to her own place in history. It was comforting to know that she still had Xibuyas wrapped around her little finger.

But not comforting enough.

"It must be difficult for you," she said after a long silence. "We've been plotting against my dad all this time, but I didn't think we'd reach this point so soon."

Xibuyas shrugged. "I only followed him because of you," he said. "It's a pity that things had to turn out this way, but he brought this upon himself."

"Yeah," Seltiss said. "But even so, he was like a father to you. It must be tough going into battle against him like this."

"Not at all," he said. "The man I respected, the man who was your father, that man died some time ago. If he ever really existed at all. I didn't want to believe the reports, that this 'Trismegistus' was actually King Rehval, but the intelligence reports are clear. He's not even trying to hide his madness. Killing him will be an act of mercy. Better than letting him live out his days as some pathetic wizard."

"I just always imagined things going differently," Seltiss said. "I wanted to build the Free Company into something bigger, and then reveal it to him when the time was right. Maybe ten years from now, or even fifteen. Then he would see what I'd accomplished, and he'd have no choice but to turn over his kingdom to me. He'd have to admit that I was ready, that I was better at this than he ever was."

"You already are better than he is," Xibuyas said. "Much as it galls me to fight alongside Luffa, your alliances and planning have all paid off. We stand ready to crush your father with overwhelming force. What more could you ask for?"

"Yeah," Seltiss said. "I guess I just wanted something more personal. You know, Luffa told me that Rehval's not even his real name. She said the real Rehval III was my uncle, and dad killed him and stole his identity."

Xibuyas made a loud harrumph. "I wouldn't put too much stock in anything that woman says," he grumbled.

"Is it any harder to believe than this cult leader scene he's into now?" Seltiss asked. "The point is that we'll never know for sure, because we'll never see him again. And it's a good thing. The Saiyan race can't move forward until he's out of the picture, sure. But... it's still tragic, you know? Things could have turned out differently."

He looked at her and smiled triumphantly. "It is tragic, for him. But it's like you've always told me. One man's tragedy is another's gain. You should be thrilled, Princess Seltiss. Killing your own father is a dream come true for most Saiyans. And at your age! You'll go down in history, with all the other old heroes."

Xibuyas stood up, and for a moment she thought he was going to lift her up from the couch and hold her in his arms. Instead, he took a step away from her, and knelt before her in supplication.

"I did have some attachment to the old man. I admit it," he said. "But his time is over, and his usefulness to you is at an end! We'll throw him away and never look back, just like you've always promised. I... I've always been in awe of your brilliance, Seltiss. And you're right about Luffa. I shouldn't let her get in my head. We have our whole lives to rid ourselves of that wretched beast, and with your genius, I know we can do it."

She didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell him to get up, to hold her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. She wanted to tell him how conflicted she felt about killing her father. Necessary as it was, she still found it hard to face the reality of it. It had been easier before, when no one knew where King Rehval was, or that he had anything to do with Trismegistus' cult. But now there was no denying that Rehval was a menace to the Saiyan species, and it was her duty to destroy him. The cold equations demanded it. Her political career, the welfare of her people, the welfare of the entire galaxy, they all depended upon her father's death.

But she would still miss him when he was gone. Perhaps this was part of the equations that Seltiss hadn't considered until it was too late. It wasn't that Rehval had been a good father to her. He had probably lied to her more than she would ever know. It was likely that he saw her and her sisters as little more than breeding stock. But he still mattered. She kept thinking of one morning when she was a little girl. He cooked breakfast for her. There wasn't anything particularly important about that memory, but it was enough to make her regret what was going to happen to him.

She always thought Xibuyas felt something similar towards her father, but apparently not. Or perhaps he chose to hide it, the same way she was hiding her own feelings. She couldn't show weakness at this crucial moment. Everything she knew about leadership told her that she had to be steadfast and unwavering. She didn't love Xibuyas. "Love" was just a word she used to keep him on her side. She couldn't allow herself use him as a source of emotional support. It would only teach him that he had leverage with her. The boy was too powerful as it was.

"On your feet, kiddo," she said, forcing herself to smile. When he stood, she got up and gave him a playful kiss on the cheek. She hoped that the low light in the room would keep him from noticing the sadness in her eyes.

"I keep telling you," she said. "You don't have to bow to me, okay? You're going to rule by my side one of these days, remember? We'll be equals. So as far as I'm concerned, we already are, got it?"

"You're so much more than I could ever aspire to be," he said. "I... I should go. You need your rest for the battle to come."

He always excused himself this way whenever he began to get emotional. He thought he was being subtle, but she could tell from the change in his voice, and the way he suddenly wasn't sure what to do with his hands.

And she let him go, since she felt the same way. It would have been nice to have him stay, to hold her as she cried over her father's lamentable fate. But Xibuyas wouldn't understand, or worse, he might see her indecision as a vulnerability. She had to be strong, even in front of him. Especially in front of him.

So she waited for him to walk out the door, then sat alone in her room, watching the light from her pink oil lamp dance across the walls. Soon enough, the tears came, and she wondered if her father had ever felt so alone.

NEXT: The Homefront

#dragon ball #fanfiction #seltiss #xibuyas #lssjluffafic #huh i guess that's it for the tags #g'night folks!

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sebvrnes · 7 years ago

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The Bay Window - Part 2

Masterlist || Part 1

SUMMARY: Your bay window was never meant to seat just one.

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x reader (Modern AU)

WARNINGS: tension, angst (still not 100% sure if it is, but I’ll warn you guys about it anyway)

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

A/N: Here’s part two! Thank you guys for a the love, it was better than I ever expected. I legit cried a little. :’) I think this is probably gonna be like three or four parter or sumthin like that. I also discovered while writing this I’m hell lot more angsty than I ever thought I was. LOL sorry Hope you enjoy!

The cold autumn night halted to a stop. Brooklyn hushed itself into a quiet slumber while the whistle of the wind softened to low hum, barely heard over the pounding of your heart. The trumpet of Glenn Miller’s ballad slowly faded and a veil of silence draped itself over the room.

He stood timidly at the door, the ocean of his eyes inviting you in for a swim. Your eyes followed his hand as it rubbed against the back of his neck, head slightly bowed to glance at the floor before gazing back up through his lashes. The ghost of a smile caressed his lips, before his hand dropped and an awkward chuckle made its way to you.

Frozen in place, your eyes journeyed over his body, studying the new plains of his skin. The hills of his biceps had grown, the expanse of his shoulders made wider by the muscles that laid beneath his jacket. His stance was stronger, most likely due to the tree trunks that were now his legs. To anyone else he would have appeared beastly, but to you there was always a softness in his features.

Small lines laid next to his eyes, the cracks that used to run across his palms had smoothed over leaving only small callouses at the base of his fingers. He cut his hair, no longer the long tresses wrapped in a man bun, but a wispy pompadour with a few loose strands dangling above his eyebrows. His lips were paler than usual, slightly parted as if he was holding his breath.

Noticing more than a second had passed, you looked at him once over before he began to speak. It’s missing.

“H-hi…” A small cough escaped his lips as he attempted to clear his throat. He stood taller and released the breath he was holding. “Hi, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms over your chest as you shifted your weight. “Hey, Buck… What’re you doing here?”

Your eyes searched his as he shifted his stance, debating whether or not he was welcomed to step through your door. “I, uh, was going over to Steve and Peggy’s to surprise them since I’m in town and all… And well, I found out they weren’t home and,” he lifted a small bag that you hadn’t noticed he was carrying, “I heard you were living here now, so I thought h-hey, why not… Share?”

His other hand returned to the back of his neck as his eyes sheepishly pleaded with you to be invited in. You breathed deeply to calm yourself down with no avail. The air got caught in your throat as you glanced at the floor considering your options. Gazing up at him again, you offered him a small smile and shifted towards your kitchen, strolling slowly allowing him to follow you.

Relieved, he stepped through the threshold and closed the door as delicately as possible. Once it was locked, he paused to take in your home.

Brick walls were lightly painted with white throughout the living room, the original clay red occasionally peeping through. In the middle of room sat a grey couch littered with pillows as a glass coffee table stood hopelessly by. Coffee mugs and endless papers spilled over its top and scattered restlessly onto the floor next to the photographs spread on the rug. Behind the couch, one wall held floating shelves showcasing your favorite books mixed with a few trinkets. Another wall was home to a map created by polaroids you’d taken on your travels accompanied by a few of you smiling with friends and strangers. Below sat a low shelf housing your record player and its albums and a small television. Opposite the front door sat two wooden shelves. More books, magazines, and photos rested along the surfaces, accenting the yellow peonies and green succulents that completed its look. Cradled in between the shelves sat the bay window. He smiled.

He finally sauntered into the kitchen where you stood, arms rested on the counter as you stared off into space. As he stood opposite you, he placed the bag down onto the counter, causing you to face him with the same small smile he was grateful to see.

Quietly you asked, “So… What’d you bring?”

You tilted your head in confusion as you watched his smile mischievously grow. He reached into the bag and placed a box in front of you. Maxi’s was scribbled on its top. He then reached in again and placed a bottle of wine next to it before glancing at you expectantly. You met his eyes with a puzzled face. Steve and Peggy only drink whiskey.

Before he could read your thoughts, you reached out and opened the box revealing your favorite cannolis. You raised an eyebrow as your lips turned into a smirk. “How’d you get these at this hour?”

He returned the smirk. “Well, unfortunately they’re a little cold. I got them before closing.”

“There couldn’t have been this many cannolis before closing.”

He chuckled, “I may or may not know the owner’s son.” Uh, huh.

“So is that how you found out where I lived?” You busied yourself with reading the label of the wine bottle to avoid his eyes. “That’s a little scary. I need to talk Pietro about giving my address to strangers.” Your smirk teased your lips as you turned the bottle in your hands.

Preoccupied with wine, you missed the way his jaw clenched. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Actually, Steve mentioned that Peggy helped you decorate.”

“Oh, yeah…” Stupid. “I couldn’t really figure out how to hang shelves off the brick. And you know Peggy, crafty as ever,” you laughed.

He joined in. “Well, it looks great… Even better than-” he coughed realizing his mistake. “Uh, ‘scuse me… So uh, how’ve you been?”

You offered a humorless laugh as you settled the wine back onto the counter. “I’ve been… okay. It’s a long story…”

He watched as you started to wring your fingers. He scrunched his eyebrows together as his head stooped down to meet your eyes. “Well, I’ve got time…” A small smile pleaded with you.

You searched the swells of blue in his eyes.

“O-okay, well… I suggest you get yourself situated on the couch. I’ll pour us a glass of this wine.”

He nodded and wandered off into your living room, his steps slowing as he passed by the bay window. When he heard you waddling into the space, he plopped himself onto the couch. You gently sat down on the opposite end before passing him his glass. He analyzed the distance between you two. His jaw clenched again.

You took a sip of the wine and began to fiddle with the rim. In attempt to ease the atmosphere, he took a sip from his glass as well, then searched in vain for a place to set it down on the coffee table. Seeing the papers overflow from the top, he assumed it was your work and didn’t want to chance ruining it. As he was about to give up in his search, he read a title on one of the pages. The Shifting Tide Between Titanium and Vibranium. Curious, he faced the table and picked up the paper and read the title of the article beneath it. Espionage and Diplomacy: The Hidden Tales of S.H.I.E.L.D. Lost in his amazement, he scanned the titles of paper after paper.

“These were you?”

The pang in your chest went unnoticed as you offered a smile. “Yeah. They’re mine.”

Finally deciding to settle his glass on the floor, he shuffled through more of the pages, lips parting in awe of your work. You could have sworn a gasp escaped his lips as he read the titles of the pages clutched in his hands. The Age of Prodigies: New York Youth Taking Technology Into A New Era. A Little [Ant] Told Me… The Truth Behind the Arms War In the Middle East.

A wave of cerulean splashed you, the tides wild and swirling in their color. “Y/N… These, this… this is some of the best journalism work of the century…”

A heat of pink flushed your cheeks as you looked away. Your chest swelled with pride as you allowed yourself to accept the compliment. After years of writing without appraisal, you finally struck gold. It was comforting to know someone else thought so, too.

Not knowing how to respond, your eyes drifted over to your record player spinning in a soundless loop. You walked over and fingered through your albums. Shivers raced down your spine as his gaze followed your hands, placing a new vinyl on the turn table. The soprano of Skitch Henderson’s piano soon fluttered into the room and Brooklyn joined in with the low whistle of the wind.

A quiet hum slipped through your lips, your eyes falling closed as Skitch serenaded you into ease. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched, the gleam never reaching his eyes. Walking back, you picked up your wine and slipped back onto the cushions. Bringing the glass to your lips, you smirked in amusement as Bucky’s eyes raced over you.

“What?”

“Y/N, these are… incredible.” He shook his head as he scanned the papers scattered on the floor. “The guys in the lab they kept going on and on about how we should’ve already been making prosthetics with vibranium and, wow…” He slumped against the couch, shaking his head to get his thoughts in order. “I had no idea these articles were yours…”

He stared at you and you nearly gasped at the intensity. He was looking for something, but what?

“These must’ve taken you months… I can’t believe you made so many breakthroughs all in a… How?”

Your lips curled into a smile. “I said it was a long story,” you taunted.

Bucky picked up his wine glass and took a long sip, his gaze still locked with yours. As he dropped his glass, his shoulders eased onto couch releasing the tension you hadn’t noticed he was holding. His lips curled to match yours, his waves of blue rolling into a low tide before he softly spoke.

“Tell me.”

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stacyalesi · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the pandemic. Life as we once knew it has changed for who knows how long. And can it ever go back to the way it was?

This is my new memoji (thanks, Apple), but I sit in front of an HP laptop. Can’t afford a Mac, and didn’t want the learning curve either. I also sit in front of my iPad for most meetings. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

On Thursday, March 19, I woke up with a slightly scratchy throat and a headache. I knew with 95% certainty that it was allergies, but out of undue caution and concern for my co-workers, I asked to work from home that day. And when it didn’t go away, I stayed home the next day as well. Under “normal” circumstances, it wouldn’t have occurred to me in a million years to stay home from work for that. I pride myself on my excellent attendance record for heaven’s sake! I had several years of perfect attendance when I worked for the Palm Beach County Library, and I think I only used one sick day in my job at Lynn University.

The following Monday, my university closed campus, and everyone was working from home. Welcome to the new normal.

Lots of changes were happening and happening quickly. Lynn University was in the unique position of having a somewhat smooth transition to online classes because we are an iPad school. Every student and faculty member gets an iPad Pro to use. So we didn’t have that hurdle to get over. And unlike most schools, we didn’t do Zoom classes, which in hindsight, was a truly brilliant decision as all the security issues are coming out now. Instead, we are using Amazon Chime for our online meetings and classes. It has worked pretty well so far.

Most of my days have shifted from what I usually did in my job as Information Desk Librarian, supervising my student workers and helping students with research and APA formatting. Now the library building is closed, but the librarians are still very much at work. Instead of helping students as they wander through my office, I, along with my colleagues, are chatting with them online and helping that way. Astonishingly, even though our hours of availability are fewer, our statistics are just about on par with the same month last year. Students are reaching out more than ever, and we are so happy to be able to help them get through this stressful period.

As for me, on my last day of working in the library building, I stopped off after work at the nail salon. I’ve been getting my nails done every two weeks since I went back to work when my 27-year-old daughter started kindergarten. This time, I had my nails cut down and did a gel manicure for the last time in who knows how long. My nail tech explained how to remove it when the time came, and I did that about a week or so ago. I haven’t felt my fingertips in such a long time, and I had to relearn how to type and chop things and all sorts of things I never really thought about. This is my pandemic:

June, 2019 wedding

last day I was out in the world

Today

The first picture was taken at my son’s wedding last summer. The dark nails in the middle was taken on my last day out in the world. The third picture I just took.

Let me reiterate in case that just went by you: I have not left my house since March 18, other than a walk around the neighborhood. My husband still has to go into work one or two days a week, but he is the only one there. At first, he was doing the grocery shopping, stopping at Costco (during senior hours!) or Publix (not during senior hours, we are too young!)

But as things grew worse, especially here in Palm Beach County, Florida, I didn’t want him going to the stores. He has several “underlying conditions,” as they say, and I was getting freaked out. On the other hand, he has this macho protector instinct and refused to allow me or my daughter to shop.

So we compromised, we are doing delivery for now, and learning how that works. Ordering several days to a week or more in advance of when I’ll actually need whatever it is. That has worked moderately well. I’m generally pretty organized with my shopping lists, but occasionally things do fall through the cracks, and we have to wait. Other items are completely sold out and cannot be ordered online or through Instacart, like disinfectant wipes, which we use daily on the mail and any packages that are delivered, so we are rationing as needed. We are making do with what we have.

We are watching a lot of TV. We recently started rewatching The Sopranos along with listening to the Talking Sopranos podcast, which has a video version available on YouTube. Steve Shirripa and Michael Imperioli are the hosts, and they are so much fun. I finally watched (all three seasons) of “AnnE with an E” on Netflix. It’s very loosely based on one of my favorite books, Anne of Green Gables. I enjoyed Little Fires Everywhere, based on a book of the same title, and I’m looking forward to watching “Mrs. America” on FX on Hulu. It’s about Phyllis Schlafley and the ERA, which, along with the Vietnam War, prompted my political awakening. It also has a stellar cast with Cate Blanchett, Uzo Aduba, Rose Byrne, Tracey Ullman, Margo Martindale, and more.

And of course, I’ve been reading, but surprisingly, not as much as I usually do. I’ve been worrying a lot about the people I love during this pandemic. A dear friend is going through chemo right now. My son and daughter-in-law live in Brooklyn. Friends are losing their jobs right and left. My husband has a furlough coming up. This all sucks, and it’s leaking into my brain when I try and escape it. Sometimes there just is no escape.

What else…I had to color my own hair (or risk going gray and really getting depressed!) I’ll give a shout out to Madison Reed, their color match online worked well, the color took and most importantly, covered the gray, and while I needed some help with the back (thanks, my darling daughter!) all in all, it was easy, and I got good results. They have this referral program, if you use my link, you get $15 off. Yes, it is more money than the drugstore brands, but also way less than what I was paying in the salon. It also doesn’t have those harsh chemicals that destroy hair. It was my choice, and I’m happy with it.

I’ve been cooking and baking up a storm. We have not done takeout at all since I’ve been home. I also jumped on the sourdough bandwagon. I have a healthy starter in my fridge now. The blue tape on the jar in the picture was where the starter was after feeding. It grew to the top of the jar in a few hours! I moved it to the fridge, and it’s shrunk down to about halfway up the jar. Today I’ll feed it again, the first time since I put it in the fridge. If it works well, I’ll move on to attempting my first sourdough bread! So far, I’ve made sourdough pretzels and sourdough biscuits with the discard. Stay tuned…

Hope you are all staying safe at home.

CORONAVIRUS DIARY: PART 1 Welcome to the pandemic. Life as we once knew it has changed for who knows how long.

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