#this just in: swan and honey found dead

[gothluke]

ashton posting goth and cowboy content in short sequence of each other? im in love !!

[untitled5071]

yo idk if you're still taking requests but could you write a smth about Lisa taking the creature to see a ballet. i had this realization that the creature died before Tchaikovsky was even born and i think it's criminal that he never heard of the nutcracker, swan lake or even the 1812 Overture (where Tchaikovsky used actual cannons 💀). it could be any of his ballets btw ^_^

You had me at Tchaikovsky, I played violin for ten years and he's one of my favorite composers, though I've never seen one of his ballets, a mistake I'll have to rectify soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

It was a gift for both of them, really.

As a general rule, they were very big on date nights; every day they were together was bliss, but they loved finding new things to experience together, new ways to celebrate the strange second chance at life they were given.

Luckily for them, the smallish city they had settled in after Brookview offered a plethora of activities, from checking out different restaurants, going ice skating in the winter and having picnics in the park in the summer to walking around different craft fairs and farmer’s markets to examine the wares of local artisans.

They thoroughly enjoyed every endeavor as long as they did it together, but by far one of their favorite things to do was attending concerts and dances, their shared love of music and dressing up for special occasions making those dates extra meaningful.

So when Lisa surprised her husband with two tickets to a traveling ballet troupe’s production of Swan Lake, neither could contain their excitement at the thought of the upcoming event.

Creature had discovered Tchaicovsky’s work after he had found a book of sheet music in a thrift store while they were shopping for new clothes, and he had spent the next several days learning as many of the pieces he could on the keyboard Lisa had bought him for their anniversary. The sound wasn’t nearly as good as it would have been on a proper grand piano, but it sufficed, his talent overcompensating for the poor quality of the instrument. Lisa loved to dance to it, and when the event was announced, she knew it would make the perfect date night for the two of them.

But first, they had to get ready.

They stood together in front of the cracked mirror in their rented apartment (Lisa insisted it stay that way, since it ‘reminded her of old times’), Lisa applying a pale shade of foundation to cover her more stubborn burn scars and her husband adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket, humming one of Tchaikovsky’s more nationalistic works-a piece called “Marche Slav”-to himself as he went. Lisa joined in, and though the rhythm was mostly wrong, her husband beamed and sent a praising smile her way.

She caught his eyes, and neither of them could resist leaning in for a kiss, one of those several they already had and would continue to share that day, just like every day since Lisa's resurrection.

They parted from their kiss, and Lisa giggled when she realized some of her foundation had rubbed off on her husband's chin, and she reached out to wipe it away with a thumb, cupping his cheek as she did so.

“I don't think that's really your shade, honey.”

Her husband smiled, holding his hand on Lisa's to keep her there for a moment before releasing her and letting her continue her cover-up job.

Normally they wouldn’t bother; they were both proud of the physical quirks that came with being the living dead and city folk had a tendency to overlook things. But since they were going to be out with the refined public, they both chose outfits that would cover their more….inhuman traits, with Lisa donning a long black velvet dress and opera gloves, and Creature opting for sleeves that covered the stitches on his right wrist and a hairstyle that covered his left ear.

Once they deemed themselves ready, they posed in front of the mirror, Lisa taking a picture with a Polaroid camera she had purchased second hand at a flea market. She waited for it to develop before hanging it up on the designated photo wall in their miniscule living room, covered floor to ceiling in polaroids from different date nights over the years, their smiling faces looking down on them from all angles, all reminiscent of other nights spent enjoying each other's company.

Like the others, this night promised to be a wonderful one.

Neither of them felt particularly hungry at that moment (a consequence of being undead and also their pre-show excitement) so they walked to the theater with Lisa hanging off of Creature's arm, the two giggling and speculating about what they were about to see all the while.

The lobby of the theater was crowded, and the couple clutched each other close as they shuffled their way through the mass of bodies. They skipped the massive drink line and the somehow longer one for the women's restroom, and they presented their tickets to the usher, who showed them to their seats.

They were at the front of the balcony, and Creature helped his wife into her seat like a proper gentleman before he took his own, and he leaned into her space as they read the same program, their heads resting together as they looked over the extensive list of performer and crew names.

Lisa looked up at her husband, a twinkle in her eyes.

“It looks like we're in for quite the treat tonight.”

Creature smiled back, nuzzling his nose against hers briefly.

“Any night we spend together is a treat, my love. This one just comes with a show.”

Lisa giggled, but she didn't have time to respond before the lights dimmed and the first round of applause started, which both of them joined. The curtain rose on the stage to reveal a yard outside of a castle where a grand party was taking place, numerous dancers moving to Tchaikovsky’s jovial score in perfect sync. Lisa ‘ooh’ed quietly under her breath, and Creature’s heart swelled as his wife scooted up in her chair slightly, wanting to be closer to the performance.

The festivities continued, the prince was given his weapon and as he ran into the woods after the flock of swans, Lisa rested her head on her husband's shoulder, lacing their arms together as they settled in to enjoy the rest of the performance.

As expected, the music was impeccable and the dancing was breathtaking, and by the time the titular waltz began and the enchanted swan maidens began their graceful steps, both undead lovers were fully entranced in what they were seeing, their full attention turned towards the stage, though Creature did keep sneaking glances at the hidden orchestra pit and wondering what it would take to be a part of one.

Before they knew it, the show ended, the dancers receiving well-earned and rapturous applause during their final bows. Lisa and Creature were on their feet with the rest of the audience, and when the crowd began to disperse, they sank back into the plush red armchairs of the theater while they waited for the waves of people to leave and make their own exit easier.

And, as they usually did to pass the time, they talked.

Creature immediately launched into a passionate tirade about the orchestration and skill of the people tasked with delivering it, throwing around musical terms Lisa didn't fully understand but nodded along enthusiastically to anyway, delighted to hear that her husband had adopted her penchant for passionate ramblings.

“--and the violins in the Allegro giusto were absolutely phenomenal, the dynamics were–what’s wrong, Dove? You're thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Lisa chuckled distractedly, falling silent for a moment and staring at the stage. He ducked his head down to hers and placed a finger under her chin to turn her gaze his way, but all worry about what she was pondering over dissipated as she blurted out,

“Would you still love me if I was turned into a swan?”

He couldn't help it; the bluntness of her farcical statement made him chuckle, and the adorable pinch of her eyebrows wasn't helping matters. He pulled her close, holding her to him and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Of course I would, darling, I would love you in any form. If you were turned into a swan I would move to the lakeside so you could swim happily, and I would read you poetry as you did. I'd help you chase away anyone you wanted to terrorize–because let's be honest, my love, you would be an absolute menace–I would find you the best things to eat that you could still digest and, if that still wasn't enough, I would find a way to get myself turned into a swan too so we could be together that way, since I never wish to be apart from you, regardless of the measures I would have to take to do so.”

Lisa watched him deliver his impassioned answer with wide and lovestruck eyes, and the last words were barely out of his mouth before her lips were on his, and she was kissing him with an endless gratitude and adoration.

And of course, he reciprocated in kind.

By the time they parted the crowd has mostly cleared out, giving them an unobstructed path towards the exit. Creature got up first, stretching a bit before offering his arm to Lisa with a wink and a fond smile.

“Shall we go, my dearest? I do believe there is a warm bed waiting for us at home, as well as a keyboard that is dying to be played.”

Lisa blushed and took his offered limb, slipping her arm in the crook of his and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Lead the way, honey.”

They left together, still linked by their arms and chatting quietly amongst themselves as they continued to absorb the wonderful experience they had just had.

As they passed under the lights of the theater marquee and turned in the direction of home, Creature leaned down and kissed Lisa's cheek, savoring the blush that blossomed across his wife’s face.

“What was that for?”

He smiled, his eyes soft and tender.

“I just wanted to thank you for this night, my beloved Lisa. I'll never forget it, as with all of the time we spend together.”

She hummed affectionately and squeezed his arm tighter as they strode down the city street in tandem.

“No, thank you, darling. I can't wait to see what we do for the next one.”

[intothewestwing]

ch.5 - If I Can't Love Her

"Now when I said 'invite her to dinner', I didn't mean demand her attendance!" The former footman stood in the main dining room, across the table from a porcelain woman and wooden, ticking man, who stood by the fireplace.

Cogsworth, the former head of the household, shook his head as he ticked angrily at Lumiere. "You shouldn't have encouraged this at all. How is she supposed to fall in love with him now? After that mess of an introduction?" As he continued to scold, the ticking continued, completely involuntary. "It would have been better if she hadn't found us at all!"

"Now, Cogsworth." The porcelain woman spoke. Mrs. Potts' pale frame was curved and smooth, and her skin was entirely made of porcelain. Her body resembled a piece of fine china, and what would've been her hair, was pulled back into a cap-like lid of a sugar bowl. She was once the head of the kitchens, and now she resembled an ornament of the cupboards. Though her body may have been fragile, her spirit was anything but.

"We've never had a chance like this. In all these years, no one has ever walked through those doors. Especially beautiful young women!" She placed her gold leaf hands on her "hips". "His highness may have engaged in," She paused. "...frivolous activities, but I wouldn't expect him to try to woo the old man. Would you?"

Both Lumiere and Cogsworth refrained from answering, and Mrs. Potts continued.

"Now I know we're all scared. But we can't give up hope. I won't allow myself to give up, not until I hear the sound of my. boy's laughter as he runs through these halls again." She sighed. "I have a good feeling about this girl! Just go and speak with her, she is absolutely-"

The doors to the dining room swung open with a chill, dousing every flame on each candle in the room.

"Where is she?"

The Beast arrived just in time for dinner.

"Your Highness!" Cogsworth cheerily welcomed Beast as he crept into the room. The man of wax frantically began re-lighting the candles as he watched his master inspect the meal choices laid out on the table for that evening, quickly choosing to divulge and distract his master with the food.

"You're just in time! The cook has prepared an extraordinary menu for tonight. He's prepared a marvelous ham, doused in honey and fruits, as well as four different types of soups, a tasting of swan, foie gras, seven different servings of pie, creme puddings, custard, and-"

"I said, where is she?"

In order to avoid the wrath of his master's temper, Cogsworth shifted gears and switched his attention to the missing guest.

"Ah, yes, the girl-"

"Belle."

"R-Right..." Cogsworth wrung his bronze hands together. "I shall go see about her, yes?"

Without waiting for a response, he quickly slipped out of the room to check on their guest, while he prayed that Mrs. Potts and Lumiere could manage to stall the master, before things got out of hand.

The Beast circled the table before choosing to anxiously pace in front of the fire. His interaction with The Enchantress definitely shook hi up, and made him more restless than usual. He had to try harder to break the spell, he'd decided.

Mrs. Potts spoke up. She'd practically raised the boy, and because of this, she felt ever so guilty that she didn't discipline him more. Perhaps if she'd been more strict with him, he wouldn't have treated Feya the way he did. Perhaps he'd be more loving and kind and not, well, a monster.

"Try to be patient, dear. She's been through a lot today. This is all new to her, and it may take some time for her to adjust." Her tone was calm and reassuring, as she did her best to reignite some hope within The Beast.

But Lumiere decided to finally voice his concerns. "But we don't have time! The rose is wilting much faster than we expected, and at this rate, we'll be dead by Christmas!"

At that last comment, Mrs. Potts shot him a look.

From his looming silence, The Beast spoke. "It's no use!" Though it was a loud statement, it wasn't in anger. It was of heartbreak and desperation. "She's so beautiful and I'm so..." He looked down at his claws. "Well, look at me!" His voice was filled with pain as he faced the reality of their situation. "How am I supposed to make her love me when just the sight of me scares her away?"

While the prince had indulged in love affairs in the past, they weren't truly out of love. There was always something to gain; riches, fame, lust... And especially with The Enchantress, Feya. That's what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. The subject of true romantic love was a mystery to The Beast, and it was clear to him now that just his looks and riches wouldn't be enough to win Belle over.

But lucky for his prince, Lumiere was a romantic.

"You must show her there is nothing to be afraid of. Earn her trust, apologize for your mistakes, and speak from the heart. Take note of her interests, shower her in compliments-"

"But you must be sincere about it all. You must be truthful." Mrs. Potts chimed in.

"Oui! Don't just tell her how you feel- show her! Dress in your finest clothes to meet her, pull her chair for her.. You must-"

"Act like a gentleman! Straighten up, look your best, and above all-"

The Beast huffed and rolled his eyes. There was so much he had to remember. Too much, he thought.

"You must control your temper." Lumiere and Mrs. Potts said together. This would be the hardest task for their prince, and they knew it. But if they had any hope of being human again, they had to encourage him to try.

A curious thud interrupted the trio, and all turned to see that Cogsworth had returned from checking on their guest. It seemed he had attempted to arrive silently, but was given away by the creaks of the door.

"Well?" The Beast asked anxiously. "Where is she?"

Cogsworth was frozen in place, horrified of what was to come.

"...Who?" He replied quietly, in a moment of panic. When The Beast began to huff, he quickly retracted that question. "Oh yes! The girl! Well, actually," he began to stammer. "She is in the process of, um..."

The Beast began slowly walking toward the clock, anger rising with each step. As he got closer, the ticking man began to talk faster.

"She's...not coming."

Without a word of warning, The Beast shoved Cogsworth out of his way, and leapt up the stairs into the East Wing, with his band of loyal servants following in tow. They begged him to remember what they said, and to stay calm, only these pleas would be ignored, and followed up by a large banging on the door to the East suite.

"I thought I made it clear that dinner was not a request!" Beast shouted, absolutely furious that the door had been locked.

From behind it, Belle responded with as much sass as he'd offered her. "I thought I made it clear that I'm not hungry."

He growled. "I am the Lord of this castle! I will tell you when you are hungry and when you will eat! And you-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" She snapped. "You can't go around ordering people to be hungry. It doesn't work like that!" Even though she hadn't eaten since that morning, Belle refused to let him win this one. She only prayed his animal-like ears couldn't hear her stomach growling.

When Lumiere, Mrs Potts, and Cogsworth finally caught up to him, the man of wax tapped his arm and whispered, "Please try. Now is your chance!"

A low, frustrated growl escaped his throat as The Beast tried to collect himself. "I am going to ask one more time." Though he meant it as a sincere statement, it came off as a warning, to which Belle did not take kindly.

"Would you...be so kind...as to please join me..." His voice began to soften. "...for dinner?"

As he eagerly awaited her response, he placed his ear up to the door and heard a sigh as she made her decision.

And in a plain, sweet voice, Belle replied with a smile, "No, thank you."

This, as to be expected, set off Beast's temper, as he banged on the door once more.

"You can't stay in there forever!" He demanded, to which she responded with banging on her side of the doors.

"Oh, yes I can!"

In a fit of rage and frustration, a new rule was decided for his guest prisoner's fate. He huffed in defeat, but that didn't mean she had the last word.

"Fine. If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all." He turned to his frightened head-of-household. "No one is to see her. Is that clear?"

"But-" Mrs. Potts started to argue, but she knew her prince's temper well. And she would be of no use to Belle if she were in pieces.

Cogsworth sighed. He had no choice but to obey his prince's wishes, even if they were self-sabotaging.

"No one, your highness."

[bongo50ize]

Jack and Wanderlust who is his brother part one

Destruction When Jack Rose was a kid his mother died from someone hitting him while driving and then he was adopted by the Traveler. and now he's Wanderlust's brother

when Night Swan and her son are walking down the sidewalk to school. Night Swan who was crossing Jack warned: but it's not green you don't want to cross. Night Swan: no you cross with me? Jack: Say no you're going to get run over or hit by a car. Night Swan annoyed: well you cross otherwise I...at that time someone who is hitting Night Swan while driving. Jack who was shocked his mother hit by a car so Jacques calls an ambulance by phoneduring this time the Traveler and Si'Ha nova which involves discussing the Traveler: good news for you Si'Ha: what is my surprise. Traveler: He's a new son I adopted. Si'Ha nova: awesome a brother of wanderlust wait? where is this son from? the Traveler: I had found this boy on the street and he is Night Swan's son. Si'Ha nova: WHAT?????Traveler: don't worry Night Swan she died because someone ran over driving. Si'Ha nova: it's great he could no longer conquer the world. Traveler: I'll go see what the boys are doing.30 minutes later at the hospital Jack waiting for his mother to be fine. however a doctor who comes to jack the doctor said: my little man I ask to go to your mother's room. suddenly his mother died in his bed. jack looks in horror at the nurse said: hello little man how are you. jack don't answer the nurse: good. sadly your mother died. jack how to cry in front of his mother for 30 minutes while Jack was crying. the nurse and she said it's Night Swan. the doctor was shocked: well that way he couldn't destroy the whole city anymore then a short jack crying just in the streetmeanwhile Jack is crying in the street. the Traveler finds a crying boy. then he approaches the little boy the Traveler was asking. : what's your name! jack said crying: jack. the Traveler said asking: something is wrong. jack says: my mother just got hit by a car, she didn't pay attention and now she's dead. Jack starts crying againthe Traveler said: do you want me to adopt you? I already have a boy who will give you company that you play together. Jack dries his tears.the Traveler who is crossing to his house with Jack. the Traveler: what is her mother's name? jack said: Night Swanthe Traveler kinda shocked and then he said what was your mom doing. jack answer: every time I put my mother to dance she criticized me. she also wants me to come be a bad boy when I'm older. suddenly Jack realized his mother is no longer there so she can sing and dance as he pleases. the Traveler said: OK, I'm going to talk about it with my wife, but first I'm going to introduce my son.6-year-old Wanderlust can be seen playing foosball with Discoball while Discoball winning the point. Wanderlust: Well done Discoball when the Traveler and Jack make it into Wanderlust's room. the Traveler: Wanderlust and Discoball This is your foster brother, his name is jack. jack I present my son Wanderlust. Wanderlust: hello what happened his mom. the Traveler: his mother died from being hit while driving. Wanderlust: don't tell me he's Night Swan's son?. the Traveler: I'm afraid so but don't worry he's nice. Wanderlust: okay dad. the Traveler: well I'm going to talk to your mother have fun.jack: wanderlust when i tried to sing a song my mom would criticize me. and now I'm free to sing. Wanderlust: It's great that your mother died. sing me a song. music begins jack thinks of singing to dance: This is our fork in the roadLove's last episodeThere's nowhere to go, oh noYou made your choiceNow it's up to mejack continues to sing Traveler: honey you have to see this. Si'Ha nova enters wanderlust Jack's room singing: I'll be standing in a coffin, I'll be thereI'll be a-rippin' it up, I'll be thereI'll be calling out your name to let you know everyone starts clapping. and disco ball. they smiled. Si'Ha nova take no in your arms: welcome my son. wanderlust: his name is Jack. jack: finally my name is jack rose but you can also call me Jack. wanderlust: jack you are the best big brother i ever had and welcome to the family jack: wanted me to sing a new song. everyone say yeah! Jack: let's go I'm going to sing a new song. Jack starts singing a new song

[rockingrobin69]

Hi, I sent the "why would Harry like Draco" ask. I was just feeling unlikeable and seeking validation from online strangers through projection onto a ship. I get that's pretty not on + I sounded like a troll, but thank you for answering anyway, it was sweet. Next time I'll do the sensible thing and just read fic for answers.

Hi buddy, you're alright. I happen to be big on the 'validating' front, as in, there's little I enjoy more than giving people a boost, so next time feel free to just say!

Now that I know you were sorta-serious (and not joking, heckling, making a statement or inventing a new nursery rhyme), especially for you, here are ten more reasons:

Draco's strangely generous. As in, he gives strange gifts. Like an acorn he found on a walk with their crup that 'looked cool, I don't know, here'. Harry's a bit weird on getting presents, still, but that's pretty nice.

The D, obviously. The letter D on Draco's Weasley Christmas jumper. He wears it every year, long after the holidays are through. It’s fluffy and a bit worn, absolutely perfect for cuddles.

One time they had to go on this really nasty drive to do something that made Harry shake a little and out of nowhere Draco belted out, mamma mia, here I go again! and they didn't stop singing and laughing the rest of the way

Draco makes killer cheese toasties, literal, like you can try to pry it off Harry's cold dead fingers and even then good luck

One time Draco fell asleep on the sofa and it was adorable. In a literal beam of sunlight. Precious

He collects little things. A penis-shaped rock, porcelain doggie figurines, an origami swan Harry folded. Dunno, it makes Harry feel nice. Like he can be a little small, too. Like he'll be taken care of

The D. Obviously. The fucking D

Draco forgets birthdays, forgets people's names, forgets to Evanesco the trash, forgot about the load he's put in the wash hours ago - but he never once forgot to get Harry's favourite chocolate oranges from the shop

Once - and one time only - Draco wore cat ears for Halloween. Harry nearly fainted. The pictures are kept in a secure location, underground, probably, I don't know

Honey. Sugar. Baby. Darling. Sweetheart. Don't ask about the water slides

[exosmutfactory]

Only Forever 002

Originally posted by hyunniebaeked

How long could you wait for the love of your life to decide you are his as well? How many times could you witness all his best moments of winning over agencies and the amount of clothes left overnight from his daily one night stands?

2022 Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bookclub zone | Chapter 2✓

networks — @superm-net @/bbh-net @/exowritersnet

pairing — Baekhyun x You

word count — 5.0k

genre — model! baekhyun, playboy! baekhyun, friends to lovers! romance, angst, fluff, smut (eventually)

[ This chapter contains: fluff, anddd ""chemistry"". My finger slipped :'D ]

A/N: A new year isn't complete without this idiotic duo 🥰

⏰💋 Only Forever Tag List: 💋⏰

@to-all-the-stories-i-love @you-n-me-e-e @insta1010 @sorrowinblood @bellamendoza @bbhflrt @weirdoome @marovekian1 @pearliejoy @loey0491 @__jxnnx3 @soonvivi @jairahxelle @dynqstyna

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, check out this google form, thank you 🌸💗

A/N: Let’s go!~

Chapter 2

So why don’t you stay ’til sunrise?

Days pass by like the warm summer breeze, yet time has seemed to stop at the same time. That’s how it’s always been with Baekhyun: time flies when you’re having fun, but you could stay in these moments spent with him for eternity. There’s just something about him; his messy black hair, honey warm voice, and charismatic energy. The look in his mocha brown eyes.

He’s drop dead gorgeous; broad shouldered, hourglass waist, and hypnotizing hips. A perfect fit for the modeling industry—but with a catch. There’s always a catch. His strict diet, neck-breaking workout routine, and the sheer amount of peer pressure to always appear ‘perfect’ in front of those around him. Those individuals that are constantly peering at him with their judging, envious, and more often than not obsessive eyes. Everyone has an opinion; as his best friend, you know this very well.

You’ve always been there for him; cheering him on from your view of the runway, holding him in your arms in his most vulnerable moments. You’ve seen him at his worst, seen him at his best. You’d like to think that you know him inside and out, but that wouldn’t be true. That isn’t the case. No matter how many years you’ve spent by Baekhyun’s side, he is a mystery wrapped up in silk dress shirts and extravagant bows. A mystery you’d give anything to unfold.

A feather-light caress flutters over your ear. “Hey,” Baekhyun whispers, his minty breath fanning over your heated cheek. His firm chest presses against your back and you jolt at the contact, not expecting him to appear out of nowhere. His presence pulls you from your thoughts in an instant, bringing you back to the present.

“H-hi,” you stutter, your heart racing at his close proximity. You clear your throat, quickly picking up your favorite mug to take a sip of your cold coffee. You stare wide-eyed down at the rippling brown liquid to hide from the warmth of his body and his steady gaze. This man and his sense of personal space… You shouldn’t be surprised.

If there’s one thing you know about him, Baekhyun is never a stranger. With every room he enters, he makes it his own. Walking in with the quiet grace of a swan and compelling everyone to follow. Few have been immune to his charms. Peeking at him now from under the veil of your hair, it makes you wonder how long you can pretend it doesn’t affect you either.

Thankfully he shuffles noisily over to the fridge in his bedroom slippers before he can notice the heat radiating off of your cheeks. The loud slaps on the tiled floor really makes you wonder how the hell you didn’t notice him earlier… He pulls open the door to the refrigerator with the sleepiest look on his face, grabbing a carton of milk. His unruly hair flops all over the place with his sluggish movements. His puffy cheeks are pink with a slight indent from the fabric of his pillow. You clear your throat before sipping your drink again, smiling into the cup. You’ve always found him endearing in the mornings.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs suddenly. You choke, straightening up like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar, “nothing!”

Baekhyun’s droopy eyes drift over to yours, half-lidded with lingering drowsiness. “You know you’re a bad liar, right?” He sets the carton down on the counter and faces you fully, leaning back and resting his elbows on the surface with a raised brow. His gray sweatpants rest low on his hips and his black oversized t-shirt slips off of his shoulder, exposing too much collarbone for you to deal with at 7 in the morning.

“No, I’m not,” you mumble, knowing damn well you are. By the way both of Baekhyun’s eyebrows are raised, you know he’s thinking the same thing. You pretend to be busy stirring the coffee with a spoon to avoid his handsome physique and scrutinizing stare.

“Really?”

“Yep.” The depth of his stunning collarbone burns behind your retinas. You could pour water in there and drink to your heart's content with a dip like that… You choke. The thought sets your whole body on fire. You gulp down your coffee like your life depends on it.

“You know.” You hear Baekhyun move, his slippers sliding across the floor before his cinnamon scent washes over you. “You can tell me anything, right?” His low voice softens with the heartfelt words, setting butterflies free in your giddy stomach. He plants his hands on either side of the table, his biceps flexing from holding himself up while he hovers over you.

Your heart races a mile a minute, pounding even harder when you lift your eyes to meet his. His soft, brown irises implore you wordlessly for answers. Waiting patiently for you to open up to him. If only it were that simple… As if you are capable of thinking clearly right now with his citrus scented hair and manly aftershave messing with your head.

“Yeah…” you gulp, quickly chasing the dryness of your throat away with more coffee. The furrow between his brows prompts you to elaborate. “I know.” You clear your throat, trying your best to keep up the intense eye contact. Your sock-clad foot taps restlessly under the table. Under his curious gaze, you regret only wearing a t-shirt and shorts to bed.

Baekhyun’s eyes drift over your features, searching your expression for answers. You grip hard enough on the handle of your mug for your fingers to hurt. He’s so attentive sometimes; it takes everything in you to fight off a telling blush. Who knows what he will make of that.

“Alright,” he relents, walking back to the counter to retrieve the milk carton. He screws off the lid and tilts his head back, pouring the milk into his mouth. Watching his adam’s apple bob in the long expanse of his slender neck while he gulps it down has you tensing up. You quickly drag your eyes away from the erotic sight, your cheeks burning. Who even makes drinking milk such a scandalous act?! Only a supermodel would. The past few weeks alone with Baekhyun have proven to test your limits. You don’t know if you want to smack him more or yourself.

“What are your plans for today?” Baekhyun gruffly asks, his voice still rough from sleep. He clears his throat, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip when you look at him again.

“Today?” you raise a brow; he doesn’t usually ask you that. It prompts you to reach across the table and tap on your forgotten phone. Your eyes fall on the date with a loud gasp. “What the fuck, it’s the 26th already?!” Baekhyun shrugs his shoulders, grabbing an apple from the basket on the counter.

You clutch the device in your hand, your heart dropping at the realization. The 26th of June falls on a Sunday this year. Which means… Today is your last day. With him. In this beautiful house full of so many fond memories that you’ve made together over the years.

Once the sun rises tomorrow morning and you begin your journey back home to your respective apartments, it will be 365 days before you can be together like this again. A year before you can escape the cruel hands of your reality that lies outside of these bay-windowed walls. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest until Baekhyun softly calls your name.

“If you need anything.” His brown eyes lock with yours, comforting you with the warmth found in those sparkly orbs. “Anything.” He emphasizes, his voice sounding more lively now, the traces of sleep long gone. “I’m always here for you.”

His words pull at your heartstrings. What else did you expect them to do? Between the open expression on his handsome face and the genuine concern swirling in his eyes, it makes you sadder knowing your time spent with him will end soon.

In less than 24 hours, he won’t be your Baekhyun anymore. Your cheeky best friend who always has your back through thick and thin. Your rock to lean on in hard times and light that brightens your whole world. Baekhyun always does his best to be there for you, but in less than 24 hours, you’ll be sharing him with the rest of the world again. He’ll go back to being Byun Baekhyun while you cheer him on from the sidelines.

Done with your intrusive thoughts, you shake your head and shove them aside. You want to focus on him now. You want to tattoo every new beautiful memory on your heart until the next time you get to be with him in this way.

Baekhyun munches happily on his red apple, his cheeks glowing and eyes crinkled into adorable crescent moons. The urge to walk over there and pinch his cheeks is strong, but you resist knowing how much he hates it. Resting your chin on your palm, you settle for admiring him, just now remembering that you left him hanging earlier when your over-thinking kicked in. You still manage to crack a joke despite the ache in your chest. “What are you, prince charming?”

Baekhyun blinks a few times, seemingly lost in his own little world. He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. A hint of pink visibly flushes his cheeks under the rays of sunlight streaming in from the open windows. “For you?” he peeks up at you from underneath his messy black hair, smiling boyishly. “Maybe.”

♡—♡-♡—♡—♡-♡—♡

Waves crash onto the shore, caressing the tips of your bare toes buried in the wet sand. The cool water contrasts with the warm air around you as you lie stretched out across your beach towel. Sunbathing under the orange star peeking over the horizon.

A gentle wind blows, bringing forth the calming scent of seawater and ruffling the loose ends of your hair. Sighing softly, a small smile curls at your lips. You enjoy the company more than the view, but you must admit how much you love coming to this beach every year. The tide is high, the seagulls are soaring through the clear sky, and the gentle sunlight shining down on your sun-kissed skin feels divine.

Humming a happy time, you diligently gather water in your small measuring cup, pouring it into your plastic, neon green bucket. You smooth out its surface with a matching shovel, patting down the damp sand with care. It took a few failed attempts, but now you’ve got this down to a science, and will make your greatest sandcastle yet.

You start with the base, carefully placing four short plateaus. You add two larger ones on top, smoothing all the edges and molding the shapes together from top to bottom. Satisfied, you sit back to admire it for a moment before picking up the handful of seashells you’ve been saving for this very occasion. You carve out windows and lines with a thin stick, adding swirls as well. The castle is nearly perfect when you hear someone approaching you.

You glance over your shoulder to find Baekhyun trudging through the sand. He’s topless with a shirt thrown over his shoulder—which would normally be a distraction if he wasn’t coming dangerously close to your castle. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his blue swim trunks with the cheekiest smile on his face, “hey.”

“Hi,” you narrow your eyes at him.

Pure mischief twinkles in his brown eyes. His smile turns into a full-blown grin while he clasps his hands behind his back. “Whatcha doing?”

“Practicing my mating ritual,” you drawl sarcastically, rolling your eyes when he snickers. “I’m making a sandcastle, Baek. What does it look like?”

“Nothing.” He chuckles, tilting his head and teasingly biting his bottom lip. “Looks good.” He hums, dragging his eyes over every single detail before crouching down to your level. His fingers lightly trail down the side of the sturdy structure, “you missed a spot though.”

“What-”

Within the blink of an eye, he smacks a pile of sand right onto your castle. You gasp so sharply your throat hurts. Your blood boils. Gritting your teeth, you quickly grab your bucket. No biggie. You can fix this. Nothing a little tender love and care can’t fix. The edges start to crumble, but you tell yourself not to fret. You can just-

You suck in a breath when the entire thing collapses. Your eye twitches. You crack a small, strained smile.

It’s fine; you’re fine.

…

You launch yourself at him with a fistful of wet sand. “BYUN BAEKHYUN!”

He throws his shirt at you and runs straight for the waves, dodging you in the shallow water. His loud laughter echoes across the entire shore, startling a few seagulls along the way. His joy is contagious. You can’t help pausing your murder intent for a moment to admire him.

His rosy cheeks, million dollar smile, and messy black hair flopped onto his forehead. The pastel orange and pink hues in the sky favor his honey-toned skin, basking him in an eternal glow while water glistens like millions of stars on his chest. He looks so happy like this. So carefree that you’d do just about anything to see him like this over and over again.

You make it over to him in two slow strides, letting the sand fall from your hand. Cheeky as ever, Baekhyun pulls you into his arms, playfully nuzzling his face and wet hair into your neck. You shiver when the cool water meets your skin, but find yourself looking up at him. His smile beams down at you, shining like the light he is. Revenge be damned. You just want to be with him. You vow to hold onto this memory until the end of time, his melodic laugh melting your heart and brown eyes sparkling under the rising sun.

🌊🌊🌊

“Are you wearing sunscreen?” he asks hours later, lying back on your beach towel with his arms behind his head. Black locks of hair messily spread over the soft blue material.

“Yeah,” you mumble distractedly, lying on your stomach while drawing messy murals with your stick in the sand.

“Did you get your back?” His eyes drift over to you at your silence, narrowing at the guilty expression on your face. He calls your name in a disapproving tone.

“What?” you puff your cheeks, avoiding his eyes at all costs. “It’s hard to reach, okay?” You know that’s the lousiest excuse in the book, but you put it out there anyway. Besides, it takes a while for the sun to affect your skin; you’ll be okay.

Baekhyun makes a noise in disagreement. He shuffles around for a moment before his shadow hovers over you. “Here.”

“What-” you turn to him, noticing the bottle of sunscreen on his lap.

“I’ll do yours,” he pulls off his shirt, ruffling his black hair, his brown eyes looking at you expectantly from under the messy strands, “if you do mine.”

Your eyes drift down on instinct. Um—okay. He has definitely been working out lately. There’s no denying it with his torso on full display. You gulp, already nodding before even thinking about it. Those abs are a killer and you aren’t ready to die today. “Wait, wait!” You quickly press a hand to his chest when he leans closer, ignoring how firm he feels under your palm. Lord, have mercy. Your face is overheating and it has nothing to do with the sun.

Baekhyun grunts in annoyance, but his eyes sparkle with curiosity nonetheless. “What?”

“I go first.” You grin, masking your shyness with a tilt of your head. “Can’t have Byun Baekhyun walking a beach-themed runway with an unsightly tan.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes but relents, rolling over onto his stomach. His muscles ripple under his smooth skin. Even his back is built well. Damn. You reach for the bottle of sunscreen before you lose your nerve.

Looking at him now, you’re so glad you stopped him earlier. You wouldn’t have been able to rub him down properly if he put sunscreen on you first. You’ve always been sensitive and very selective when it comes to skin to skin contact, especially on your back. There’s no way you’d be able to hide the effect he has on you; the shakiness would have given you away.

Baekhyun folds his arms under his chin, resting comfortably without a care in the world while you have an internal crisis over how you’re going to get through this. The sun really does favor his perfect physique and honey-toned skin… His slim waist, thick thighs, and broad shoulders… You’re breaking a sweat the longer you look at him. You wonder how his body would feel against-

Hey—you can only be so strong, okay? It’s not your fault. He’s the one who gave you an excuse to put your hands on him! You clear your dry throat, carefully straddling his thighs and leaning over him. The burn of his hot bare skin against yours has you pursing your lips to hold back the feelings stirring inside of you.

“Do you know how to open it?” he mumbles doubtfully, pulling you from your dangerous thoughts.

“Yes.” You roll your eyes. It’s a bottle, a tube for crying out loud. Of course you know how to open it.

“Make sure you get everything.”

“Okay.”

“Everything.”

“O-kay.”

“I swear, kitten, if I get a sunburn-”

“You’ll throw a fit, give me silent treatment for two weeks, then make me sneak a slice of Hawaiian pizza into the venue of some high-end fashion event as an apology.” You list off of your fingers dryly, a smile quirking at your lips. You’ve always loved the way that nickname rolls off of his lips, although you’ll never admit it. “Been there, done that, Baek.”

“Well then…” He turns his head, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his black hair floating in the summer breeze. You know he means business, but you can’t take him seriously with his pouty lips and hair tousling so adorably in the wind. “Do my neck too while you’re at it. I think it all washed away.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t run straight for the ocean-” you barely grab his shoulders in time when he tries to topple you over into the sand. “Okay, okay!” Laughing loudly, you reach for the yellow bottle left on the beach towel. You squeeze some sunscreen onto your hands and rub them together, stalling for time.

Uh—how exactly are you going to do this?

Baekhyun’s broad shoulders and lean back are waiting for your next move, his body constantly shifting under you. You roll your eyes again. He’s so impatient; it’s a wonder how he went into the fashion industry as a model of all things. Having to wait for hours and hours to get into expensive venues and high-class fashion halls. Before he can voice out his complaints, (you can practically feel it coming off of him in waves,) you take a deep breath and place your hands on his shoulders.

Yep. There’s no getting around this. You have to firmly press down on him to rub in the sunscreen properly—and you will, you just hope you don’t linger too long in the process.

Baekhyun is surprisingly quiet while you get to work. Usually he’d crack a crude joke or say something utterly ridiculous to make you laugh with that serious voice of his. But all he does is lie there, relaxing more and more by the minute. You look straight ahead, resisting the urge to watch the lean muscles flexing under your hands. The last thing you need is to be caught ogling him; you only glance down to make sure you haven’t missed a spot every now and then.

Baekhyun is warm—as expected, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calms your own racing heart down. His skin is smooth like satin and silk. He is perfect for the modeling industry. From head to toe. No wonder millions of women throw themselves at him...

“Okay,” you pull away and sit next to him, rubbing the leftover sunscreen on your forearms. “Done.”

Baekhyun rolls his neck and shoulders before sitting up. Just a peek of his chest has you swiftly turning your head away to look out at the ocean instead. You wish he would have stayed on his stomach for longer. You are not as unaffected by him as you claim to be.

“Thanks. Now.” You jolt when he rests a warm hand on your back. Your eyes snap over to him, finding his brown eyes darker than usual. Baekhyun licks his lips, looking at you meaningfully. “Lay down for me.”

You roll over onto your stomach without a word, and if anyone asks, your face is flushed from the overbearing sun. Not the handsome guy straddling you. You suck in a sharp breath, your heart racing like crazy. Now that you’re lying down, you’re facing another problem: keeping your cool while Baekhyun’s hands are on you. While in your two piece bikini. On this hot June afternoon.

You’re utterly utterly screwed.

This is a bad idea. You’re restless, clenching and unclenching the beach towel in your fists. Stuck between tensing up or melting under his touch. You don’t have long to ponder over this however. The moment he has his large hands on your waist, all your thoughts evaporate. You become a human puddle.

Baekhyun moves over your back with a purpose. He does it without hesitation, his hands confidently covering every dip, curve, and contour of your upper body. It’s unfair how good he is at this—at everything really. Not only that, somehow he manages to work out the knots in your back that have been driving you insane for ages.

You’d fall asleep if you weren’t so self conscious. God, he could be a masseur with those godly hands… Baekhyun chuckles in amusement, drawing your attention back to him, “what?” he asks, a teasing lit audible in his voice.

You freeze. He didn’t hear you; he couldn’t have heard you—but you know that arrogant chuckle anywhere... Yep. He has a shit eating grin on his face right now. You just know it.

“Y-yeah, I mean-” you crane your neck to look at him, smiling innocently. “You’re really talented. You’d go far with those hands, bro.” Your whole world stops the moment that word leaves your lips.

Bro?! Bro.

You want to utterly slap yourself. You just put Baekhyun in the friend zone.

Baekhyun smiles, but you know him well enough to notice the slight lack of mirth in it. “Thanks.” He goes back to covering you with sunscreen while you slam your face into the soft beach towel below. You run the last 4 hours spent out here in your mind over again and sigh.

Yeah. You’re the biggest idiot in the world.

♡—♡-♡—♡—♡-♡—♡

“What do you want for dinner?” you ask when you walk into the living room, securing your twin hair buns under a plastic showercap.

“Pizza.” Baekhyun lounges on the couch, his arms thrown over the back of it with a joint between his fingertips. His legs are spread so far you wonder how his black skinny jeans haven’t ripped yet. He tucks the joint between his teeth and reaches over for his phone on the coffee table, “I’ll order in-”

“Nope.” You snatch it up before he does, slipping it into the back pocket of your blue jeans on your way to the other side of the room.

“But I want pizza…” he frowns, following you into the kitchen.

“We have pizza at home,” you grin, spinning around to proudly show off the various ingredients spread over the counter. Waiting to be opened and baked to gooey perfection. Baekhyun has the most unamused expression on his face when you turn back to him.

“Seriously?” he grumbles lowly from the doorway, running a hand through his hair and taking another drag.

You nod your head enthusiastically just to annoy him further. “And you aren’t getting this,” you hold up his phone, twirling it playfully, “until it’s done.” Your lips twitch in amusement when you notice his scowl. You tuck the phone back into your pocket next to your own, hoping you didn’t irritate him too much. The last thing you want is him shutting himself away from you for the rest of the night. You just want to spend more time with him and this is what you came up with.

Baekhyun stares at you for a long, hard minute, trying to read you like always. “Fine,” he exhales smoke with a long sigh, his brown eyes narrowing. “Let me finish this.”

"Okay!" you beam, clapping your hands together before he turns away. Baekhyun grumbles when he walks back into the living room, but you still catch the amused smile on his face, his joint bobbing between his curled lips.

🌊🌊🌊

Making the pizza goes better than expected. He’s good at dicing up pineapples from watching endless chef videos between long flights. You’re good at portion sizes thanks to your dear grandmother while growing up. Everything is going well until Baekhyun bumps into you while you are standing on your tiptoes to return the flour back onto the top shelf of the cabinet. The white powder rains down on you in an instant. Luckily your hair is still tucked under the plastic shower cap. The same can’t be said for Baekhyun.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss when he goes to touch his hair. “We can’t eat like this. Come on.” You quickly grab his hand and lead him out of the kitchen. “We’re washing your hair.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” You briskly walk down the hallway to his room, bypassing yours entirely. You remember what happened the last time he washed his hair with your shampoo and you're not about to go through that again. ‘This shit is too cheap for my dyed hair.’ Why are you friends with him again? “I’m not eating with you dripping flour all over the food.”

“I won’t.”

You pause in the doorway, giving him a deadpan look. Knowing how excited he gets over eating his favorite food, you know he will. He’s already leaving a trail of flour on the floor. “Come.” You lightly shove him into the master bathroom, instructing him to take off his shirt.

“Shouldn’t I take everything off?” he teases, a smug smirk on his face. “It’s no use if I have flour on my boxers too.” You tell him to shut up and throw a towel at his laughing face to hide your flaming cheeks. The audacity of this man and his shamelessness… If you hadn’t grown up with him, you’d swear he has no sense of decency.

Baekhyun sits on the lid of the toilet in his towel and pokes out his tongue at you while you ruffle the flour out of his hair with a blow dryer. He gags when the flour lands on his tongue and sucks it right back into his mouth with a grimace while you laugh at him. His eyes fall closed when you comb your fingers through his fluffy hair, humming and leaning into your touch. It reminds you of that one summer when you both were messing around in his mother’s kitchen and he got covered head to toe just like this.

You were too young and dumb to realize how bad it was to try washing flour out of your hair. While his mother found you before your natural hair got under the water, Baekhyun had to rock a buzz cut that year. The memory makes you chuckle, laughing harder when he catches on, narrowing his eyes at you. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, grabbing your wrist when you pretend to reach for the sink instead.

“You look pretty handsome with a buzz cut, Baekhyun,” you tease, pushing his hair back to expose his gorgeous forehead. You aren’t kidding; he looks good no matter what state his hair is in. Buzz cut, bowl cut, under cut or long, side-swept fringe… His silence prompts your eyes to shift back to his.

Baekhyun looks up at you with a serene expression on his face. An emotion you can’t quite identify swirls in his eyes, softening them; the sparkly brown irises full of warmth. An adoring smile quirks at his pink lips. You find yourself transfixed when he licks over them, slowly leaning in. He rests his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your heated skin. The tip of his nose brushes your cheek when the ding of the kitchen timer echoes through the house.

“Shit,” you gasp, pulling away from him. “The pizza!”

Baekhyun ruffles his hair and shakes his head with a frustrated sigh. There you go running out of the room, leaving him to his own devices again.

🌊🌊🌊

“Gemini.” Baekhyun’s low voice rumbles in your ear, breaking the silence.

“What?” you lift your head off of his chest and look away from the billions of stars shining bright in the night sky above you, focusing on the man laying on the beach towel next to you. He noticed your gaze gravitating towards the shore an hour ago, and now here you are, stargazing under all of the orbiting planets and twinkling stars. The beach is empty except for the two of you. Nothing but the chirping crickets, the calming sound of the crashing waves, and his steady breaths surround you.

“There,” he points to a cluster of stars, tracing them in a pattern that you can't begin to comprehend. The constellations look nothing like the astrology symbols you know thanks to him. Sneaking out together to pour over textbook after textbook in the back of libraries during your teenage years. He has always been fascinated with the sky. It always surprises you how well he still knows the stars when you take his choice of career into consideration. His endless nights surrounded by flashing lights and extravagant decor...

“Look!” His voice pulls you from your thoughts. You give him your full attention, noticing the bright light streaking across the sky.

“A shooting star.” Baekhyun beams, looking back at you expectantly.

You blink a few times. The excitement written all over his face leaves you dazed. “...What?”

He squeezes you softly within his arms, his chest vibrating under your cheek. “Make a wish, silly.”

His chuckle has a smile tugging at your lips. You look up at the shooting star falling behind the horizon and take a deep breath. There are so many things you could want and hope for in this world. But Baekhyun… With his warm brown eyes and quirked up lips…

If you could wish for one thing and one thing only: you wish to spend forever with him, like this.

Part 1 | Part 2✓ | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |

A/N: Well this came out spicier than intended 💀😳 Hello, loves! Long time no see! How do we feel about OC so far? Is she a total clown 🤡 or is she just afraid of love? 😔 What would you do if Baekhyun was rubbing sunscreen on you? 🤭😇🔥

Thank you for reading~ I’ll start replying to everyone next Sunday, okay? I’m a busy bee preparing things! 🐝💨✨🌻

Thank you for all the love you’ve shown for chapter one, it warms my heart 🥺💕 See you in March for chapter three!

[mystic-deep]

"Sensei said girls love swans." | Okkotsu Yuuta x fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Just a small box of chocolates, bought on a whim, gifted for no apparent reason. Or so you say.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: none, good bad advices from Gojo.

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: I'm working on three other stories with Nanami, Gojo and Toji but had to write something for best boy Yuuta. We're getting volume 0 animated! This was done at the speed of light so please forgive any errors.

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 2.29 k

Valentine’s Day was quite a surprise this year. You didn’t expect the world to just revert back to old habits so soon, but then again you understood the craving for what was once considered normal. More than a year had passed since the Shibuya incident and with Gojo Satoru finally being released from his prison, things were slowly calming down.

Two major changes came as a result of the near annihilation of Tokyo, one was that now the world was aware of the existence of curses and two was the high number of people that had awoken cursed energy. What were once empty classrooms and training grounds of the Jujutsu Tokyo High School, were now filled with first year students ready to learn from the best. Although the older generation was composed of just a handful of students, they were really the top of the Jujutsu world.

All of your senpais were impressive in their own right so all of them had gathered quite a following of first years. The most popular, by far, was Fushiguro Megumi, the one that possessed the Ten Shadows Technique of the Zen’in clan. A lethal combination of looks, power and status, or so your classmates claimed.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was the third year Okkotsu Yuuta. He was a rare sight on campus and whenever he was present he didn’t interact much with any of the first years. The first time you’ve met him was during a group mission where he was there to supervise. The curse ended up being a special grade and if Yuuta hadn’t jumped in to help you, you’d all be dead. You still remember the bitterness of your classmates when he offered his feedback. Clearly he was right on all points but he didn’t honey glazed any of his words. That incident had caused a string of nasty rumours to spread and everyone in your class began to avoid him as much as possible. You guessed no one was in a hurry to offer him any gifts today.

As for yourself, you tagged along with some of the girls from your class as they chose the best chocolates for their favourite senpais. You didn’t have anyone you really wanted to gift them to, so you bought a small box purely for selfish reasons.

You headed back to campus and as you approached the training grounds you noticed that a small crowd of students were already gathered there. In the middle of them stood Megumi whose arms could barely hold the large number of gifts he had received. The deadpan expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t enjoying the attention.

“You girls better hurry, Megumi-kun looks like he has reached his limit.”

Turning around you were greeted by Gojo who was also carrying quite an impressive quantity of Valentine’s gifts.

“Sensei is really popular.”

“Please don’t sound so surprised.”

As your little conversation went on, your friends quickly abandoned you in order to join the crowd.

“Not gonna join them?” You shook your head as your hands tighten on the handle of your backpack where your box of chocolates was hiding.

“I didn’t buy any chocolates...I mean I did buy chocolates just not for...I should probably head to class.” Feeling too ashamed to admit your selfish purchase, you hurried down the path to the main entrance before Gojo could question you further.

Just as you were about to reach your destination you suddenly noticed a figure not too far from you. Yuuta was strolling along the same path and his expression was not a happy one. Your earlier guess must have been correct judging by his slumped shoulders. Now you never truly worried yourself with his well being, but it just felt so incredibly unfair that he was marginalized like this. At the end of the day, even if he wasn’t easy to talk to, he was a responsible senpai who wouldn’t hesitate to jump in to help others when needed. With that thought in mind, you quickened your pace and called out to him.

“Okkotsu-senpai! Okkotsu-senpai, please wait!”

He stopped in his track and turned to look at you with a surprised expression.

“Y/n-chan, are you okay?”

You nodded as you caught up with him, impressed that he even bothered to remember your name, and opened your backpack to retrieve the box of chocolates.

“For you senpai, Happy Valentine’s Day!” You gave him the most sincere smile you could muster and handed him the small box. Oh well, better for your cavities you suppose.

With a trembling hand he took the small gift and grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you! I’ll treasure it!” It was just a box of cheap chocolates, you thought, definitely not worth the excitement.

“Urm I’m happy you like them. Anyway, have a good day, see you around!” You practically dashed to your classroom, cheeks red from embarrassment. You didn’t know why you were so nervous or why that silly grin of his made you so flustered.

As you sat down at your desk, you wondered if you did the right thing. You didn’t want him to believe you had feelings for him and you also hoped he didn’t think you did it out of pity. You just thought it was the right thing to do at that time and it was just a small gesture, definitely not worth a second thought.

Or so you hoped until White Day arrived and you found quite a surprising gift on your desk that morning. A large bouquet of roses, there must have been over a hundred. No note though, as if the person that had left them just expected for you to know whom they were from.

You could hear the whispers of your classmates and you shifted uncomfortably. You weren’t really popular, no reasons for someone to give you such an impressive present, so of course rumours began to spread.

As you sat on a bench during lunch break with the bouquet in your lap, you raked up your brain trying to figure out who would offer you flowers.

“Oh no, you don’t like them!”

Yuuta’s voice brought you back to reality and you blinked ever so slowly as you looked at his worried expression. Your eyes dropped to the red roses in your lap and then back to your senpai that was just a few feet away from the bench you were sitting.

“These...these are from you?” Well you did gift him that box of chocolates and this was White Day, technically he was supposed to return the gift. Still, a cheap box of bonbons couldn’t compare to the expensive bouquet that he had gifted back.

“Gojo-sensei said you’re supposed to buy something impressive in order to show your appreciation for the gift you received. I didn’t know what you liked and he suggested roses, he said all girls loved red roses.”

Of course it was Gojo Satoru, it was always Gojo Satoru.

“Senpai, thank you, but this is too much! Those chocolates weren’t really that expensive.”

“No, no, they were pretty good! I ended up eating the whole box! Gojo-sensei tried to steal one away, that didn’t end up well for him.” Good, you thought, he deserved it for unnecessarily complicating things.

“Well if you say so, then I’m happy. I’ve never received flowers before, well my father bought me a bouquet when I graduated middle school but I don’t think that counts.”

“I’ve never received chocolates before, so I guess we’re both at the beginning.” The beginning of what, you wondered, as he offered you a somewhat sly smile.

“I should get these to my room before they wither.”

“Yeah I should probably head to the training ground.” You said your respective farewells before going in opposite directions. This had been awkward to say the least and you were glad it was over.

However, naivety got the best of you. The next morning you were greeted by a large teddy bear that was placed in your seat. Your eyebrow began to twitch as you heard whispers spreading in the classroom.

“Hey is that from Okkotsu? Super creepy!”

“Yeah, poor Y/n-chan.”

“What do you mean by that?” Your patience had reached its limit and with narrowed eyes you turned to look at the girls you heard whispering.

“Don’t you know, Okkotsu curses his lovers!”

“Yeah, he becomes obsessed with them and then they die in mysterious ways!”

“That is literally the most idiotic thing I’ve heard in my life.” Sure, you knew the story of Rika, but from actual reliable sources you also knew that it was a tragic accident that happened when Yuuta was only a child. It was disturbing how they twisted the story just because they were afraid of him.

“If you have this much time to waste on spreading such stupid rumours then I suggest you channel that energy in training. Otherwise you’ll be stuck at grade 4 until the end of days.” As a grade 2 sorcerer yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have looked down on them, but for some reason the way they were acting towards Yuuta was just infuriating and you found yourself becoming quite protective.

You never snapped at them like this before, if anything you were considered quite docile, so the whole class fell silent. You grabbed the giant teddy bear from your seat and stomped towards the door, nearly bumping into Gojo as the later stepped inside the room.

“Where you going Y/n-chan? Class is about the start.”

“I’m going to find Yuuta!” You huffed and walked out of the classroom, knowing full well that you will probably get punished for your actions.

“Y/n-chan is so determined! Everyone, you should have more determination as well!” That was the last thing you heard as Gojo closed the door behind you.

You began your search for Yuuta, trying to ignore the looks that the faculty members you came across were giving you. You must have looked quite ridiculous, carrying that large teddy bear around.

You finally found him near the armoury, and judging from his sweaty appearance you guessed he had just finished training.

“Senpai!”

He looked at you, almost in a panicked way and you quickened your pace so he couldn’t make a run for it.

“Y/n-chan, what-”

“Senpai, this has to stop.” You really didn’t want to tell him your real motives from that day but you also couldn’t let this chain of gifts continue.

“That box of chocolates wasn’t initially for you. I bought it for myself, I only gave it to you because senpai looked so upset. I’m sorry that you misunderstood, it’s not pity or anything, I just thought you deserved it.” You didn’t even stop to breath, you had to let it all out and explain before you lost your nerve. “I’m really happy you liked them but I don’t deserve all these presents in return.”

You looked at him and expected to see anger or disappointment, instead you were greeted with light laughter.

“You’re really cute! Maki-san said not to tease you too much because you’re such a good girl. I guess she didn’t realize how much of a good girl you actually are.” The way he said ‘good girl’ made your heart skip a beat. It sounded almost provocative.

Within a second, he had closed the distance between the two of you and his hand reached to stroke your cheek ever so gentle. Suddenly he was there and you became hyperaware of his powerful presence. You noticed the pretty colour of his eyes, how his hand was just a bit rough and how that small smirk of his made your knees weak and your cheeks burn. You gulped and he seemed to enjoy your reaction.

“I don’t mind that the box of chocolates wasn’t for me. I’m just glad it gave me the opportunity to talk to you.” At this point you felt so bad you hoped the earth beneath you would just crack open and swallow you whole.

“Anyway, you should probably head to class before Gojo-sensei gets upset. Let me get that for you.” He reached for the teddy bear in your arms but you gripped it and pulled back.

“I would like to keep this, it’s a special gift from senpai and I’ll treasure it.” Sure this all began because of a silly box of chocolates but you were also happy that you finally got to see a glimpse of him that not many people got the chance to see. Now that you had a taste of it, you wanted more.

“Well I wasn’t planning on taking it away, just wanted to help you carry it.”

“It’s fine, the whole school saw me already so I might as well parade with it back to class.”

He studied your face for a few moments before his expression turned serious.

“Y/n-chan, do you think we could go-”

“I’d love to go on a date!”

You beat him to it but you wanted to make sure he knew, even before asking, that you really wanted to get to know him better.

“I see, I’m really happy.” His hand reached for yours and gripped it gently. It never failed to surprise you how cool and confident he looked at times and then he did a one hundred eighty and turned into this awkward and adorable mess.

“I must admit this is the first time I’ve asked someone out. I’ll be sure to ask Gojo-sensei-”

“Oh no, please promise me to never ask Gojo-sensei for advice concerning girls.” He was probably laughing like a mad man while giving Yuuta such cringe worthy ideas for your gifts.

“Oh but sensei said girls love swans and-”

“Never!”

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 1

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago.  With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+​

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns​, the ladies on the Discord!  Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest​, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood​!

Other Chapters: Prologue 2 3 4 Epilogue 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Six months later

Emma Swan pulled open the foil packaging of her Pop Tarts and smiled as she breathed in the sugary, fake blueberry scent.  There was no question.  Junk food was the only thing that got her through these long, seemingly endless stakeouts.

Emma had made quite a name for herself as one of the best private investigators and bail bonds persons out there.  She had the unique ability to either blend into her surroundings--or stand out in the most distracting way, as happened when she pulled her honey traps--and she knew exactly how to use those abilities to her greatest advantage.  When Mayor Regina Mills of Emma’s hometown of Storybrooke needed to determine who had been breaking into town hall and stealing town secrets, Emma was naturally who she called.

The job promised to pay well, but it was also turning out to be one of the most boring jobs she’d taken in ages.  Tonight was the third stakeout in a row in front of town hall, and just like last night and the night before, she was coming up empty.

If she didn’t come up with anything new tonight, she might have to revise her strategy.  Patience was paramount in this business, but there was only so much time she could spend hunched down in her yellow bug staring at the entrance of town hall before she went crazy.

Emma took a bite of her Pop Tart humming in appreciation as the taste hit her tongue.  She was just about to take a second bite when it happened. 

Her cell phone rang.

She frowned.  Who would be calling her at this time of night?  Fishing her phone out of the cup-holder where she’d stashed it, she glanced down at the number.  Not only was it an unfamiliar number, it didn’t even appear to come from the US.

Clearly someone had the wrong number.  Shrugging, Emma dropped the phone back into the cup holder and took her bite.  As a rule, she avoided calls from numbers she didn’t recognize.  Best way to avoid telemarketers.

A moment later, her phone buzzed again, and Emma looked down to see that the unknown number had left her a message.

That was weird.

Emma took a moment to look carefully at her target and the surrounding area to make sure there was nothing she was missing, and then curiosity got the better of her.  Swiping through her phone, she saw she had one single forty-five second voicemail from “UNKNOWN NAME”.  

She pressed play, bringing the phone up to her ear as she looked back at town hall.  For a moment she couldn’t hear anything, but gradually she began to notice something.

It sounded like breathing, harsh quick breathing, like the person on the other end of the phone was in some kind of emotional distress or had just completed a difficult workout.

That wasn’t creepy at all.

Aside from the breathing there was some other sound that she couldn’t quite place--some sort of beeping.

Emma continued listening until the end, but there was nothing else to hear, only the breathing and the beeping.

Weird.  Must be either some kind of a lame prank call or a butt dial.

A movement caught the corner of her eye, and Emma peered into the darkness.  There, at the edge of the building stood a single figure.  Finally! Got ‘em!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma Swan always got her man--or in this case, her woman--and the town hall job was no exception.  She’d waited until the intruder had actually broken into town hall, and then she’d nabbed her, pulling off her mask to reveal Zelena Mills, Regina’s slightly unhinged half-sister.

She had no idea what kind of family drama had brought all of this on, but luckily that wasn’t her problem.  She’d done her job and done it well.  It was up to the mayor to sort out the rest.

After another successful case, Emma had let herself sleep in the next morning.  She had a few cases she still needed to do research on, but there was nothing pressing, and Emma decided after three long nights of stake-outs, she’d earned the extra rest.

It wasn’t until she was back at her desk in the office and she’d turned on her computer that she remembered the weird phone call and voicemail from yesterday.  

There was just something about that call, some weird feeling she couldn’t shake.  Who was it that had called her and why?  As the morning continued, Emma tried to push the curiosity to the side.  After all, wrong numbers happened; why was this any different?

But by the time she broke for lunch, the questions swirling in her head would no longer be denied.  One of the perks of being a private investigator was that she had all kinds of resources at her disposal.  What would it hurt to use one of them to trace back the number and find out who’d called her?

Emma plugged the phone number into a program on her computer and found out that the number belonged to someone named Killian Jones, who was from England.

After a few minutes of Googling, Emma discovered something that sent a chill down her spine.

Six months ago, Killian Jones had been found beaten to death after an apparent robbery gone bad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting a creepy voicemail from a dead guy was weird, there was no denying that, but Emma lived in the real world.  In the real world dead people did not make phone calls.  Dead people did not leave eerie voicemails consisting of harsh breathing--dead people didn’t breathe at all.  Ghost stories were fun and all around campfires or at Halloween, but that’s all they were.  Stories.

And so there was one thing Emma knew for certain.  There was a perfectly logical, rational explanation for the phone call she’d received.  Maybe one of Killian Jones’s relatives inherited his phone and had neglected to change it to their name.  Maybe the thief in the robbery gone wrong had stolen the phone and was using it.  Maybe there was some other explanation.

What Emma knew for sure was that it was NOT Killian Jones calling her, whoever he’d been.

Despite reminding herself of this fact, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about her phone call from the dead man’s cell phone.  Why did the phone call her?  Why did it leave a message?  Why did she feel this strong, inescapable connection to a man she was fairly certain she’d never met in her life?

But Emma hadn’t gotten where she was in life by indulging flights of fancy, and so she’d done what any rational person would do--she resolutely put the phone call and the resulting pull to the phone’s owner out of her mind and went back to her ordinary life, an ordinary life that did not involve messages from the dead.

It worked well for a week, but then it happened again--a second phone call from the same dead man’s number.

Emma’s heart pounded and her breathing picked up as she looked down at the phone.  This was NOT happening!  A part of her was curious what would happen if she answered the call, but the larger part was just so weirded out that she stood staring at the phone until it stopped ringing.

After a moment of silence, there came the voicemail beep.

With shaking fingers, Emma opened her voicemail box and clicked on the new message--only twenty seconds this time.  It was the same as before: harsh breathing and some sort of distant beeping.

This time, though, there was a chilling addition.  Just before the message ended, Emma heard a faint, other worldly voice speak two solitary words:  Help me!

 Notes:

--And so the cell phone has made contact.  Things look pretty impossible right now, but don’t worry; there’s always a happy ending in my stories.  Just how that can happen in this story, you’ll have to stick around to find out--but there’s actually a subtle clue in this chapter.

--Up next: When Emma starts getting texts as well as phone calls from Killian’s phone, she mentions it to her best friend and sister-in-law Mary Margaret.  Mary Margaret convinces her to visit a medium, a man named Merlin Emrys.  

                                                                                            Next Chapter-->

[headinthestaticsky]

Frozen Within the Night Wind: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 5

None of the characters in Twilight belong to me, all rights go to Stephenie Meyer!

"Home is where I want to be Pick me up and turn me round I feel numb, born with a weak heart So I guess I must be having fun"

This Must Be the Place by, Kishi Bashi

I stormed off, too mad to talk to anyone, I wanted to get to her... to get her to feel the frustration I had felt. But it seems something would get in my way. I shouldn't be doing this right now... I should be sitting with Rosalie and Alice talking about wedding plans. I should at home with my father, sitting outside in the backyard and talking with him. I wanted to spend eternity with Jasper but, I didn't want to turn so soon... It felt like someone had come by and punched a hole straight through my chest or swept the rug out from under me when I least expected it. It felt like I had no control of my body whatsoever. I heard the footsteps of someone else approaching me slowly, I whipped my head around to see Rosalie staring at me.

"Hey, honey."

"Hey..."

"We'll get her soon Fleur..."

"It's not just that, I'm just frustrated, about a lot of things."

Well, I'm here to listen."

"It's all just too much right now... I mean from 4 days ago to today everything just... changed so quick... I went from driving home to my dad to chasing after a psychotic, revengeful, woman. I mean...I planned on going to a creative arts school after I got married..."

"I felt the same way when I first turned...I remember the things I wanted, how comfortable I was in my life. And then I was left in the street for dead and turned into something I didn't have a choice in doing."

"I just...feel like I don't know who I am anymore...I can't even cry if I wanted to."

"You'll get control of yourself eventually...You just need a little guidance."

"I gotta stop moping... it won't help me at all."

"C'mon let's get back to the house before Jasper uproots every tree trying to find you." Rosalie joked and held out her hand for me to help me up.

Timeskip: 1 week later

The 2 weeks of my "vacation" were up, and Bella had just come home from spending time with Renee in Jacksonville. It turns out, Bella had gotten pissed with Edward over him not telling her Victoria was looking for her. So she took off with Jacob back down to the reservation. I also found out through Emmett that some tension was going on between Jacob and Edward... over Bella. Jasper and I were playing a game of chess... I rubbed my eyes quite frequently as I had just started to wear contact lenses. Emmett meanwhile was watching a football game. Edward had run into the house with a concerned look on his face.

"What-" I started

"There was an intruder... in Bella's house." Jasper and I shot up, already making our way down to Jasper'ss car. We both got inside when Jasper looked at me with concern and grabbed my hand.

"Are you sure you can do this? It's might be hard being around your father in this state."

"I'll be fine... besides, I can distract dad while you guys search the house," I said.

"I don't mean to constantly remind you of how unpredictable you can be I'm just... worried."

"I take no offense to it, my love"

The drive to the house was quick, being a vampire whose tracking abilities were getting better meant that I found the fastest routes to each location I was going to. As soon as I pulled up in the driveway my dad ran out, a huge smile was plastered on his face.

"Fleur! I missed you so much!" He said, running up to me.

"I missed you too dad, Canyon City Oregon is great!"

"Jasper told me you were thinking about going to an art school around the area."

"Oh yeah I was but, I think I'm going to say here for a little while longer."

"You don't have to stay here because of me you know."

"Dad, I would miss you too much to leave now." He smiled and then pulled me in for a hug. I breathed in slightly...his blood didn't seem to... alluring to me.

"Thank god." I thought to myself... I might be able to stay here a bit longer. I turned slightly to Jasper, he was smiling at us but I could tell he was shocked with how well I was doing.

"Do you two want something to eat?" He asked.

"No, we ate something before we came down here," Jasper stated.

"We'll come on in you two."

After we sat and caught up on everything that happened on my "vacation" Jasper had made an excuse to use the bathroom to investigate where the intruder might've gone.

"So... how's wedding planning going?" Dad inquired.

"It's going good, Rose and Alice have been helping me out a lot... it's definitely going to happen in the woods."

"That'll be nice."

"Yeah...and I planned on moving out after the wedding."

"Yeah, I know... it's just going to be weird, not having you here all the time."

"It'll be weird for me too... heck being away for 2 weeks was strange for me... But don't worry dad, I'll always be around."

He looked over at me and smiled. Before he could say anything else, the front door swung open. Bella came stomping into the house but stopped when she saw us.

"What are you doing back here?" She inquired, her voice wasn't very welcoming.

"Nice to see you too, I just got back from Oregon Bella...I do live here still."

"Wish you would've stayed down there." She mumbled to herself.

Dad heard her and gave her a glare.

"Oh don't worry about it dad... I've gotten used to it."

Jasper walked back into the room and his face looked confused.

"Well, it was good to see you again Chief Swan but I better get back to my place. My family is eager to see me as well."

"Good to see you again Jasper, have a goodnight."

"Goodnight sir."

Jasper pecked my lips before leaving the house.

"I better get to bed dad, I'm tired. Goodnight."

"Love you, goodnight."

As soon as I made it up to my bedroom I locked the door and opened my window, I jumped out and ran back to the Cullen's house. I had to admit...being able to travel quickly and efficiently was a plus side to being a vampire. When I made it back to the Cullen's house they were all sitting with Bella in the lounge room. She must've gotten Edward to take her down here. Jasper and Emmett were missing, however.

"So...is it someone we know?" I asked.

"No, I couldn't recognize it." Edward replied.

"So it was a nomad passing through?" Esme inquired.

"I don't think so Esme... I don't think it would've kept my father alive." I added.

"She's right... it would've killed Fleur's father."

Jasper walked in with Emmett.

"The scent disappeared 5 miles South of Bella's house," Jasper said.

"Fleur, have you tracked Victoria at all?" Carlisle asked.

"Wait... that's your power?" Bella interrupted.

"One of them... and yes I have, she isn't anywhere near our house right now and she wasn't before either."

"Besides, I would've seen it." Alice added.

"It has to be the Volturi." Edward suggested.

"I've been watching Aro's decisions too... it isn't them."

"If it's not the Volturi then we need to keep searching, we'll take turns guarding Bella at her house."

Rosalie and Jasper looked at Carlisle with annoyance.

"Really...another protection detail?"

"Rosalie..."

"No, I really don't feel like protecting someone who has treated someone I am very close to like dirt."

"Rosalie's kinda right," Bella said.

"What? I won't leave you unprotected."

"There is no way you guys can search for the intruder...help train...her, while trying to protect me and my dad."

"And go after Victoria." I noted with an attitude.

"While trying to keep yourselves fed," Bella said while rolling her eyes at me.

"I'm not going to leave you here defenseless." Edward rebuttled.

"I won't be defenseless I'll have..."

"Have what?"

I smirked...looks like Jacobs going to have a hand to play in this afterall.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @captainsaku! At the moment, I’m still limping through the opening chapters of Stonebreaker, trying to get a feel for the story and work on strengthening my atrophied writing muscles. Anyway, I figured I’d share what I have so far of Adiran’s introductory chapter. It’s basically just an awkward, descriptive mess, but at least it’s something. At this point, I’ll count that as a win!

I also put a short glossary at the end in case some terms were confusing. <3

Chapter 3 - A Scene

Be present. Do not cause a scene.

They were simple enough requests, Adiran supposed, as he braced himself and drained his third flute of wine. He knew it was poor form to cringe after swallowing, but the dry white was about as pleasant as a mouthful of sand and only went down half as well. If he was the paranoid type, he’d think the servers were offering him the worst vintages on purpose.

Then again, the celebration had stretched into its ninth day, now. Even the royal cellars had a limit.

Despite overstaying its welcome, the event remained at a predictably lofty height of splendour. In the ballroom - Vetrose’s famed Silver Font -  delicate rivulets of water, no wider than the span of a hand, curled their way across the marble floor, draining into a shallow pool at the base of the royal thrones. Above their heads, weavelight strings were draped elegantly between pillars and across wide arches, their glowing pinpricks joining the blazing chandelier to bathe the room a honey-gold.

Beneath that radiant light, the Talveran nobility moved like swans, jewellery glittering, ankle-length gowns and embroidered jackets flashing enough to catch the attention of nesting crows. Hundreds packed the Font that night - an entirely different crowd to the evening prior, and likely the one prior to that. Attending Talveran court, with its litany of demands and expectations, was an exhausting and expensive affair. Every evening demanded a new outfit. A new glittering showpiece. A new plan for navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction, careful not to show too much interest in any one person. One night was difficult enough to survive. Very few could afford to be present for an entire turn’s worth of celebration.

Unfortunately, Adiran had no choice in the matter. It just had to be his brother returning from the northern border. As if no one else had ever come back from that waste of a campaign.

Another mouthful. Another weary swallow of something half as strong as it needed to be. Honestly, he’d almost rather be swallowing sand. At least that meant he’d be in the arena, getting his ass kicked practicing for something that mattered, instead of wasting his time decorating the wall. Divider’s Own, Lorvain was meant to have arrived by the third day! Adiran might have been able to slip away if he had been around to soak up the attentions of the lords and ladies. But no. The beloved Crown Prince had probably stopped to fawn over milkmaids and shepherds at every town between here and Morgate. Really, they should have accounted for that before throwing such a ridiculous event...

 A prince should want to know his people, Adiran. I thought you understood that?

Threading paths expertly between the nobility were almost three dozen servers dressed in vibrant Volise green. Silver trays were held aloft on the pads of their gloved fingers as they moved in rehearsed patterns around the room, making sure every hand that sought a glass found a delicate stem. It was a different sort of dance; the kind that typically went unnoticed, the same way a clock’s hands are appreciated more than the mechanism behind the face. They knew the position of every crack in the stone; every rivulet.

None of them ever looked down.

Speaking of timing, the only reason Adiran paid the servers any heed was to make sure he got his right. On cue, he finished his wine with a grimace and thrust it towards a well-groomed young woman, her dark hair braided and pinned neatly around her head. Without so much as an errant blink, she bobbed carefully at the knees, accepted the glass, and replaced it with a new one from her tray. 

“Careful not to drop that,” Adiran said, taking the drink and giving it an experimental sniff. Sweeter. Thank the Divider for that.

The server hesitated. They always did. Every night. “Your Highness?” she asked, and her lilt was perfection. Just the right amount of simpering, blended with polite curiosity. Someone had taken her training seriously.

“Am I slurring already? What I’m saying is that if the Crown Prince finally shows up and you’re in the middle of mopping a puddle, the King will have your hide for saddle leather. So...” He extended one bored finger towards the tray, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Tread lightly.”

The server’s mouth opened, and for a moment no sound followed. For just one blissful, fleeting second, Adiran thought he’d finally done it. He’d finally won. 

Then, like underappreciated clockwork, her lips shaped themselves into a beatific smile, and she dipped into a curtsy. The tray never even wobbled. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. On my word, I will remain diligent. I would not dare bring shame on our King’s house.”

Damn it. The smile Adiran flashed back - half a sneer - could cut glass. But the server had already completed her parting bob and returned to her dance, weaving and gliding among the gaggle of silver-bloods with her tray of weak wine. Expression turning brittle, Adiran huffed and leaned back against one of the massive marble pillars - just one of fifteen lining the room. He’d claimed it on the first evening, like a hound staking its territory. Most people knew better than to bother him once he’d found his haunt, but the serving staff simply didn’t have that luxury. He supposed it was probably unkind, to force them to speak to him. But Divider, he was just so bored...

Scowling, he took a long swallow of his new drink, the chilled, sweet liquid a welcome enough sensation as it ran down the back of his throat.

So he was unkind. So what?

“Are you finished losing to the servers for tonight, or should I come back later?”

A familiar voice, and right on time. Adiran gave no indication of surprise, barely even turning to acknowledge the man. After all, this was just another ritual for them; a way to take a knife to long hours of affluent, barely drunk loitering. “Yeah, I’m done. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” His gaze finally cut across, delivering what he hoped was a scathing look as Riin settled against the pillar beside him. “Took you long enough. Get distracted by all the pretty gowns and pouting lips?”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Riin chuckled softly, utterly immune to Adiran’s glare. “Could you blame me if I was? Everyone looks appealing under this light.”

“That’s generous of you.” Sniffing, Adiran glanced up. Even with the smoke-glass covers encasing each glowing orb, he still had to squint against the brightness of the weavelights. “Guess it could be worse. We looked more like corpses before the covers were put on.”

“Really? I’m glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. Being dead inside is more than enough.”

Riin laughed, and a faint smile curved Adiran’s lips. He quickly hid it behind his glass. Truthfully, the entire ‘weavelight saga’ had been ridiculous. The King and Queen had commissioned hundreds of them from Tel Shival, purely because no one else had ever done it. Even the wealthiest families only ever had a few per household, usually kept in a lantern or a sconce in the most frequented rooms. After two seasons of painstaking arrangement that nearly killed two of their staff, the Silver Font soon found itself bathed in a thematically violent silver light. It had been an exciting novelty, at first; nobility flooded in from all over Talvera just to bask in the glow of thousands of wasted sicets. But then they quickly realised that colours didn’t behave the same way. Their favourite jewellery didn’t catch the eye. Their skin didn’t appear as youthful and rosy. Instead, every flaw - every stray hair or unpolished button - was placed on stark display for the vultures to pick at.

The weavelights were as bleak and clinical as a physicker’s ward. They sucked the warmth out of everything they touched.

In Adiran’s mind, the wash of corpse-light over each soiree was a perfectly fitting thing. But, as was typical, no one else agreed. So, they decided to encase each of the weavelights in honey-tinted glass and returned the room to almost exactly how it looked before. Back when it was lit by oil and flame.

That was how things were in Talvera. Decisions were made, sicets were spent, and then everyone just wanted to go back to how things used to be. Like nothing had ever happened.

GLOSSARY

Weavelight - spheres of crystal or glass, with a light-bearing glyphstring engraved by a thaumist specialising in Weaving. Maintains a bright, steady silver light. Cannot be dimmed or turned off at will. Thaumist - a well-trained practitioner of the thaumic arts, capable of manipulating thaumic essence. Turn - ten days. Tel Shival - An independent, famously insular city dedicated to the training and cultivation of thaumists and thaumaturgical study. Sicet - Currency used in the Allied Kingdoms.

---

Tagging: @frenchy-and-the-sea, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug, @rufinagertrude, @arduyn, @anarchyduck, and anyone else who has a WIP they’d like to share!

[mosylufanfic]

Killervibe + 66 😈😈

CONGRATS ON FINISHING! ✨🎉

66.  “I’m not sure you understand how much I care about you.”

    @thatkillervibe, I had this ready a few days ago, and then I watched the clips from the episode to get the details of her apartment right . . . and realized I'd have to re-write a bunch of it. Ugh! Anyway, thanks for your patience. Enjoy!

Keeping Warm

Ralph left after they got Caitlin stable - which in this case, meant they'd gotten her up to a temperature above freezing and she wasn't spilling off mist like a cooler full of dry ice. He was reluctant to go, but she shooed him out. "I'm doing much better and I'm sure you have things to do."

When she tried to shoo him along after Ralph, Cisco crossed his arms and said, "Nuh-uh, I'm parked here, young lady."

She knew that look. She gave up.

But she out-stubborned him on the topic of maybe going to a hospital, or at least urgent care. "They wouldn't know what to do if my cold powers took over again," she said, "and they might contract frostbite trying to treat me."

Cisco had his mouth open, ready to offer up a quick breach to Star Labs, before he remembered he didn't do that anymore.

He retrieved throw pillows from the floor instead, tucking them behind her so she could sit up on the couch and drink clear broth out of a coffee mug. There was still a zone of cold around her, but no worse than sticking your hand in a refrigerator.

Against his will, he pictured her as she had been when he and Ralph had burst in: lips blue, fingers bone-white, mist spilling out around her, even the blanket frosted over. And her plaintive voice - help me.

He shuddered.

"Real talk," he said. "You think this is going to hold?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I hope so. At least until my mom gets back to me."

She'd called her mom and left a message, clearly trying to strike a balance between asking for help and sounding like she didn't really need it, not really. Ralph and Cisco had exchanged the looks of men who had experienced Caitlin's mom in person.

Dr. T hadn't called back yet.

He brought her another mug, this one piping hot, drowning a tea bag, with a thick layer of honey at the bottom. "Well, I'm here."

She gave him a smile. "Thanks." She considered her half-full mug of broth and traded it to him for the tea. "I'm just glad that your plan worked to bring my temperature back up."

Cisco frowned down at the broth. He'd brought it to her less than ten minutes ago, fresh from the microwave, and it was stone cold. "You done with this?"

"Mhm," she said, stirring the tea.

He took it back to the kitchen and dumped it out in the sink. As he was stashing it in the dishwasher, a yelp of surprise and distress came from the couch.

He whipped around. "Caitlin?"

"I froze it," she said, staring into her tea. 

"You froze it?"

She held the mug out to him and sure enough, the tea inside was frozen solid, the handle of the spoon sticking up straight, the string of the tea bag sadly flopping around the surface like ice fishing gone wrong. It was a wonder it hadn't cracked the mug.

He picked up the thermometer and aimed it at her forehead again. 4 degrees, he saw, and his throat locked up for a second before he realized it had switched to Celsius. He hit the button, and it converted to Fahrenheit: 39. Still not great, but not freezing, either.

All he could think to ask was, "Need another blanket?"

"I think it was a flare," she said, carefully setting the mug down on her end table. She held her hand out in front of her. "I'm not misting."

Her fingers were shaking.

He went and got another blanket anyway, tossing it over her feet when she wouldn't allow him to wrap it around her shoulders. He wanted to cuddle her for comfort, but she was worried that she'd freeze him next, and he wasn't one-hundred-percent pooh-poohing that notion.

He texted Barry to bring him a set of dampener cuffs, and got a text back that their friend was in the middle of something. He said, 911 Caitlin needs them and got no reply.

"I'll be okay," Caitlin said. "He needs to conserve his speed and the cuffs would be a last resort anyway. It took me by surprise the first time, but I know the warning signs now and I can turn things over to Frost if it gets really bad. She thinks she can handle it better."

Cisco sent out a group text asking for someone to bring him the cuffs, just in case, and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Maybe you should call your mom again," he suggested.

She shook her head, pulling the second blanket up over herself. "I've called her once. She'll get back to me."

"Call her again. Please."

She looked away, and it might have been a really long-winded argument except that her phone rang at that moment. She grabbed it and informed him, "It's her," before answering. "Mom? Hi. Thanks for returning my call."

Seriously. Who said that to their mom? What kind of mom made their kid feel like they had to say that?

He tried not to listen in, but the open layout of her front room made that pretty hard. He focused on washing dishes and figuring out how to thaw the frozen mug enough to dump the tea-block out. When that was done, he busied himself texting Kamilla that he wouldn't be home tonight. 

"Okay," Caitlin said. "Okay. Uh-huh. No, that's all right. Yes. I'll keep you informed. Okay. Bye, Mom."

At the sound of her sigh, he put his own phone down. "What'd she say?"

"She'll be here in a few days."

"A few days!"

"It's fine, I'll stay home until then. I'll take care of the wound and switch to Frost if I need, and if someone can bring by the cuffs, I can have those, too."

"But - "

"She has to get things in order at the office so she can take the time off."

He stopped dead, mid-protest. He couldn't think of the last time Mama Snow had ever taken time off work for her daughter. He was pretty sure that when Caitlin had been born, Carla Tannhauser had popped her out during a board meeting and stashed her in a file cabinet.

Caitlin looked up. "She's very concerned."

"Yeah." He sat down on the coffee table, ignoring the way she hissed at him. She hated when he did that. "So she's going to like, come here?" He pictured Mama Snow at Star Labs, snipping at all of them. "How long?"

"No, she - " Caitlin cleared her throat. "She'd like to take me to the lab in the Arctic."

"Hang on, Icicle's cryotastic lair of chilly evil?"

"Don't call it that, and yes."

"You're leaving?"

"I agree with her. We'll need the specialized equipment there to figure out what's going on, and maybe to stabilize it."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes, I guess."

How long would that be? "You want I should come with?"

"You just got back," she said. "And no offense, this is really more of a biomedical issue than a mechanical one. If it turns out we need some kind of device built, I can always call you."

"Yeah, you got my digits," he mumbled. "So what'll you do until then?"

"The wound did close up before my immune system went haywire," she said. "So now it's a matter of taking it easy. The antibiotics should start to work, and I'm taking in lots of fluids. I'm not concerned about that part, it seems like it's just a matter of time."

She was the doctor. He nodded. "Okay. But I'm staying here tonight to look after you."

"You don't have to do that!"

"Yeah, I know, I want to."

"What if I freeze you?"

He grinned at her. "Baby, I'm too hot to ever get that cold."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Seriously. You don't have to stay."

He squatted down next to the couch, as close as she would allow him to get. "Caitlin," he said, looking her in the eye. "I'm not sure you understand how much I care about you."

"I know you care about me."

"But you still think I'm going to see you in this condition and go swanning off back home."

She chewed her bottom lip. "What does Kamilla think?"

The rebuttal should have come easy. She's fine with it. You're my friend, you need help. It wouldn't be the first time he'd put in overtime to help a friend. It was one of the things Kamilla said she liked about him.

But for some reason he couldn't get the words out. "She understands," he said. "I filled her in. She says get well soon."

She doesn't have any reason to be jealous, he thought, and then immediately thought, Jealous? Why did that even cross my mind?

Caitlin studied him, and he tried not to squirm. 

"Anyway," he added. "We should get in some concentrated bestie time, since I was on the road and you're going to be off in the Arctic. Hmm?" He looked around and found her remote. "Here, I'll even let you pick the first movie."

"Oh, really," she said archly.

"Yes, really, here."

She took the remote with a pleased hum. "I should get injured more often."

"Umm, hard no on that."

***

By the time they'd finished “Always Be My Maybe” and “The Old Guard,” she'd downed some egg flower soup and a mug of tea without flash-freezing either, and taken some antibiotics as well. The cuffs had arrived too, courtesy of Allegra, who'd stayed long enough to eat three egg rolls and watch the end of Caitlin's rom-com. 

When Cisco finished cleaning up the Chinese delivery boxes, she was snuggled into her pillows, eyes closed.

"Hey," he whispered. "You awake there?"

She snored a little. He snickered.

He considered her couch. He'd had occasion to sleep on it before, and he knew it was decently comfy. But she would probably prefer her bed. 

On the other hand, she was asleep now, and she clearly needed the downtime. He didn't want to wake her all the way up just to steer her into her bedroom a few feet away. Especially if it would break open her wound again, or her suddenly-uncertain powers were under shakier control in her sleep.

He decided to leave her where she was and claim the futon in her study. He knew where all her extra blankets and pillows were. 

He held his hand a few inches away from her cheek, testing. When it failed to freeze over, he pulled the extra blanket up over her, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her skin was unsettlingly cool under his lips, and he paused until he saw her chest rise and fall. Then he brushed her hair back and murmured, "Sleep tight, frosty girl. I'll be right here if you need me."

FINIS

[the-fiction-witch]

The Russian and The American P19 Dancing

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT     COUPLE: BENNY WATTS X READER RATING: ADORABLE

I stood doing my usual poses even if my balance was a little off today making me have to focus much more. I had gained weight, I know I have. I didn't even need to weigh myself I could tell by my balance and such. I didn't worry about it, it's likely the lack of dancing, the lack of pills, and the pizza. Yeah the Pizza wasn't helping. Benny sat at the table fiddling with the chess pieces as he watched me,

"It's Rude To Stare Mr Watts" I Said

"I know... But I like watching you do your poses" He says "I'd love to watch you dance"

"Well, I don't really have space in here benny" I laughed sitting at the able with him and beginning out game

"Y/n?" Benny asked after a while

"Yes?" I asked as I focused on the board

"When's your birthday?"

"My what?"

"You're Birthday"

"Ohh... I don't know"

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Knowone ever told me" I explain "They didn't like us to get special treatment or time of.. So"

"So, They never told you your birthday?"

"No, Why do You ask?"

"Curious is all Y/n."

"Well, I have no idea"

"Would you.. Like to have a birthday?"

"I don't know" I said "I'm not sure, I don't really worry about it"

"Okay" He nodded smiling a little He sighed looking at the board for a moment rubbing his chin a little before sighing again and putting his king down, I smiled resting my chin on my hand smiling at him "I know I know" he sighed "You're Still better than me" he says getting up giving my forehead a kiss before he went to the fridge "Would you like... a Cheese and Uhhhhh Egg sandwich?" he suggests as he looked in the fridge

"No thank you Benny" I laughed, setting the board back up "You are doing a lot of shopping lately?"

"Yeah well I'm used to shopping for just me. Still haven't got used to you being here I guess. Plus I think we are both kinda eating more, due to the fact we can'/t really go anywhere"

"You can go places benny" I laughed as he began making himself a sandwich

"I know I just don't like leaving you for along longer then like a shopping trip"

"What about The championship?" I asked

"Hu?"

"The Southern Championship in austin?" I remind him "next week?"

"Ohh I won't bother"

"Why not? You're the US champion you have to go" "Not If I don't want to" he says "I don't go to everything y/n. Sometimes I go and don't even play, I'm not leaving you here all alone for a week, I'll stay here with you" he says taking a bite from his sandwich "Ehhhh...." He groans spitting it out into the sink "The bread has gone off" He complained "I need to go shopping don't I?"

"Yeah I think you do" I laughed

"Did you want to help me write the list so we get the stuff you want?" He asks and I nodded, getting a little note and a pen as he went through the kitchen and listed the things we needed "Do you want some chocolate?"

"Not really" I shrug "Did you want some candy?"

"No I'm good, Did you want another bottle of wine?"

"Would you like a bottle of wine?"

"Maybe, I'll see what they have" He says "Would you like some Vodka?"

"No thank you"

"I still can't believe you don't like Vodka" he says leaning against the sink and crossing his arms as he faced me

"Why not?" I laughed

"You're Russian"

"Okay A that's rude. B not all Russians like vodka"

"Do you know a single person in Russia who doesn't?"

"I don't" "Other then you"

"..... Shut up"

"I know" he laughs, getting his wallet and taking the list from me "You'll be okay on your own?"

"When Aren't I?" I laughed getting up and giving him a cuddle as he got ready to go out by the door as he slipped on his jacket

"Okay, see you later" He smiled giving my cheek a kiss before opening the door

"Benny!" I said before he left

"Yeah?"

"Don't be long" I told him hugging him tightly

"I won't, I promise" He smiled hugging me back he pulled back and gave my lips a sweet soft kiss I held his jacket tightly not wanting him to go as we kissed till we both pulled away "stay safe" he says before hurting out the door shutting and locking it behind him.

I sighed looking at the quiet and empty flat, somehow this place had begun... to feel like home to me. It had been months since I ran off and I knew they were still desperately looking for me, begging to assume I was dead. And I liked every moment of it, Even if I hadn't stepped outside this apartment in months, Even if I spent my time doing chess and Ballet this felt so much more like home to me. Just spending my time just playing chess with Benny, doing laundry, washing up, changing the bed It all made me happy. These Tall stone walls had a warmth even in their icy chill, The Flutters of light that cascaded through the high windows in the wall causing shadows across the chess pieces and my dresses. I had spent so much of my torcherous life underground in bunkers staring at the few flickers of real light that this dirty little apartment gave me a reminder of home but not the fear of home. And With Benny around, I felt... Happy, Even if joy had once seemed impossible to me.

I tidied up and sorted the apartment cleaning up and such when a while later Benny returned "Hey Honey Bunny" He smiled to me

"Hey Benny" I smiled back He took the brown shopping bags to the kitchen counter "How was shopping?"

"It was alright, had to fight a woman for milk"

"Did you?"

"I did, there was only one left and she wasn't backing down" He explained

"What happened?" I laughed

"Well... I won't explain all you need to know is we have milk" he says putting the milk bottles in the fridge "Ohh uhh I have a surprise for you" he says as he unpacked the shopping

"A Surprise? For me?" I asked "Can I have it?"

"You can, But not yet" He says "Go get changed into your pretty dress, the one you dance in" He told me I nodded a little confused going into the bedroom and getting into my little dress and as soon as I was done I went out seeing that the room was much bigger where benny had moved some furniture around to open up much more space, Benny stood there just pushing the last chair away to the corner his shirt buttoned up completely He smiled offering his hand to me "Dobryy vecher" he smiled "Khochesh' potantsevat' so mnoy, moya ledi?"

"What do you mean?" I laughed taking his hand

"I thought you would like to dance with me" he suggested

"Dance To what?" I laughed

"I got you a little present, I found it at a Yard sale on my way to the store" He says getting something from on top of the record player showing me the vinyl cardboard cover

"The Music Of Swan Lake" I read

"I thought you would like it, as maybe a kinda birthday present," he explained, putting it back again, "So maybe we could have a dance?"

"You really mean it?"

"Of course Honey Bunny" he smiled kissing my head and starting the record player and the music starting to play, "Now I have No Idea how this works so your going to need to lead a little bit" He explained

I giggled and held his hands gently dancing with him even if he tripped over or stepped on my feet a lot both of us hardly ever in time with the music until the end of the track so I gave up and wrapped my arms around him and gave his lips a sweet and rather passionate kiss, he kissed back holding me close too as we stood kissing for a good while the next song long into the opening till we pulled away and I rested my head on his chest and he rested his chin on my head

"I'll admit I do not know the Ballet" He laughs "But I am pretty sure they don't do that at the end"

"No they don't, But I think it works" I smiled giving him a kiss.

[gotdreamsagain]

The Beast You've Made of Me

With the appearance of Alaric Saltzman and his gaggle of supernatural misfits, Kai Parker is given everything he needs to escape his prison world with an added bonus: no one remembers him. So, when he finds himself in 2031, the world is his oyster, but there’s only one thing on his mind: Bonnie Bennett.

Dedicated to @koiporker

note: self repost

Triggers: Death, Abandonment, Violence, Blood, Drug Mention, Gore

For all the years Malachai Parker had been seeking salvation from his prison, he’d never imagined it would come in the form of a magical mud pit of all things. It wasn’t much to look at, not nearly as pretty as first ticket out of a prison world, nor was it as entertaining, but he wasn’t going to complain. Whatever lied beyond it’s murky depths had to be better than this, if only for the sheer fact that he’d known he hadn’t let the witch win. So, after making his final phone call in dear old 2018, he tossed the phone he was using across the room, and prepared himself for the most anticipated swan dive of his life. With a sigh of relief, and a smile in his face, the heretic leaned back on his heels and let himself fall. As he was engulfed in the mud, the last clear thought he had was one name: Bonnie Bennett.

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

When he emerged from the pit, covered in sludge and muck, it wasn’t until he stepped food on solid ground that he let himself take a deep breath. It didn’t feel real until then, and then the realization truly struck him, and the gemini let out a laugh. He was out. He was really out.  All at once he felt his emotions hit him like a ton of bricks. Excitement. Fear. Anger. Despair. All of those emotions culminated in a wave of nausea that over took him, and as easy as it would have been to turn it all off, he didn’t. He needed that anger, and that fire, and most of all, he needed a clear head.

As the heretic’s laughter died down, he wiped his face, his eyes first, and then past lips that were silent but still bright with a smile. “ Son of a bitch, I made it. ” There was no one else to here his declaration, not a single soul, and yet, he found himself saying it again. “ I fucking made it. ” In the glow of the candlelight, he let himself enjoy it for just a few moments more before his thoughts turned back to those emotions, and why they were so very important.

First to come off were the gloves, the digit less fiends sliding off into a slimey mess of the ground. Next came the jacket, which lasted a few moments longer, but only long enough for Kai Parker to further wipe off his hands with the dryer bits on inside before it met the same fate of the gloves. With his hands as clean as they’d come for the moment, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mostly clean sandwich bag from his pocket, having been saved a muddy grave by the jacket. No, the thing was practically pristine, and he could even see the jam covered finger prints he’d left on it before Josette’s family had so rudely barged in. No matter, none of it mattered now, all  of it water under the bridge as he held up the bag to the light, smiling even wider at the sight of the contents: a button, the only thing a witch had left behind when she’d left him in that karaoke bar.

He’d thought he’d just been too lucky whenever he’d found the lone silver button lying over by the karaoke machine inside the bar years ago after Alaric’s rejects had set him free. It had reflected the red light up at him mockingly when he first saw it, and he wasn’t sure what had enticed him to pick it up, but when he did, he remembered where he’d seen it before. A witch had been wearing a jacket with the same button when she’d damned him to live out his worst fear, and made the soundtrack of his hell a song he hated.   In that moment he’d store the thing away, knowing when the time would come, it would be his ticket to finding her. Now the time had come, and he was only a shower and a locator spell away from returning the favor.  Don’t worry Bon Bon, I’m on my way.

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

In all the times he’d pictured it, he’d try to imagine what the Bennett would look like after all the time they’d spent apart. Would she have smile lines burned into her face from years of gracing the world with its warmth, or crows feet around her eyes that came with time. A million questions had crossed his mind, and he’d imagined thousands of possibilities, but none of it was as satisfying as seeing all of those ideas proven wrong by the real thing. No, Bonnie Bennett didn’t have any laugh lines, or crows feet, no, she looked just like he remembered her. Smooth skin, green eyes filled with fire, and lips that could drip with honey or venom, if you asked nicely. The years had taken nothing from her but time, and that was exactly where he wanted her.

The heretic had expected to find the Bennett in Mystic Falls, playing the role of the martyr as she always did. The one who sacrificed so her friends didn’t have to, the witch stronger than any of them reduced to little more a pawn in their eyes, it would have even been comical if it wasn’t so sad. Instead, the locator spell had led him to small market in Georgia, admiring the witch as she looked over the produce. He hadn’t bothered with a cloaking spell, he didn’t need one, not when she wouldn’t remember her anyway. Toying with the apple in his hand to seem preoccupied, he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her as her focus stayed glued to the contents of the basket hanging on her arm as she moved down the aisle.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

The familiar voice caught him off guard, but it prompted a sly smile on the face of the heretic. It was only when the green eyes he knew so well met his own that he answered her query.

“ Oh, no, I found just what I was looking for. ”

With that, he wasted no time closing the gap between them, grabbing the item directly to her right with a smirk. Her own eyes looked at him accusingly, but she didn’t say a word as she went to step away and lowered her gaze from his own.

“ Where are my manners, Kai Parker. ”

There was no reason to lie, it’s not like the name would mean anything to her, or the rest of the Scooby Gang, or anyone else for that matter. He was a ghost, a phantom, and not even the brilliant witch before him could be able to put the pieces together.

“ Bonnie Bennett. ”

He noticed the slight inflection in her voice, it was the same way she’d talked to Damon about him before she’d learned of his sins. It was cute, damn near adorable actually, to see history repeating with the witch, unknown to her. The Bennett witch was suspicious of him. Clever girl, Bon Bon. Then again, she always had been. Always the clever one, the smart one who thought she could get away anything, but she wouldn’t get away from it this time. While Malivore had been his saving grace, he would be her own slice of hell. If he couldn’t send her there, he could give her just a taste, and she wouldn’t get away so easily this time.

“ It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie Bennett. ”

He watched her hesitate as he offered his hand, the same skepticism in her eyes as always as she finally reached out and took his hand. Feeling her magic humming beneath his finger tips, it took everything he had not to drain her dry right there. It’d been so long since he’d had it, even a taste of her magic was enough to keep him running on a high for days, he was an addict, looking for a hit, and he had it right in his grubby hands. His eyes focused on her jugular vein, thinking about how easy it would be to tear it open with his teeth, how pretty she’d look in her own blood pool on the ground when he was done with her. One move, and that would be it. She could be dead before she hit the floor, the way she should have been eighteen years ago when he’d given Damon the ultimatum. But he’d waited this long, he could wait a longer. Just a little longer.

“ New to town, Kai Parker? I’ve never seen you here before... ”

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t return his greeting, and the suspicion lingered, though he didn’t really care as the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine, the way it always did, whether it was said in a scream or a whisper, it didn’t matter. It was almost like nothing had changed, well, almost nothing.

“Yes, actually. Just got done with a long and unexpected vacation, so I decided to drop by and visit an old friend, might stick around for awhile.”

Dropping her hand, he moved down the way, taking some time to look at the options presented to him, but none of them were what he wanted. It wasn’t the food he was hungry for. The witch could have turned away and walked away, but she didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t. In some ways, Bonnie Bennett was too nosy for her own good, and that was exactly what he was counting on. As he browsed, he felt the familiar green eyes on him, examining him, trying to figure him out. If only you knew, he thought coyly to himself with a smile. He let it go one for a few moments, pretending not to notice, the same way she had, hand firmly wrapped around whatever had been in front of him on the shelf before he piped up.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

This time he caught her off guard, and he cocked his head to look at her just in time to see it in her eyes as she was caught red handed..

“ I - ”

There’s no time to let her make up an excuse, he’d done that way too many times to fall for that.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind gorgeous babes staring at me in grocery stores but .... ”

Ever more flustered, he could even tell her cheeks were starting to get warm as she tried to regain her composure. Bonster sure looked good, even when she was trying to dig herself out of a hole.

“ I wasn’t staring, I was just - “

Now he couldn’t help but chuckle, taking his opportunity to cut her off one more time.

“ Staring. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret Bon Bon ”

The only saying rang in his ears as he made her his promise. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Oh well, he wouldn’t have to wait long for that, and he was sure one more secret wouldn’t drown him in guilt. At that, the Bennett witch managed a small smile, and her signature eye roll.

“ Okay .... thanks. ”

As the witch turned to walk away, he felt like he’d won this round, even if she hadn’t known she’d been playing. He could have stopped her, kept the conversation going, lulled her further into a sense of safety, or even just raised her suspicions for the hell of it, but instead he let her go, almost letting her out of ear shot before calling out to the witch.

“ Until next time, Bennett? ”

He was smug, confident and cocky with his question as he raised an eyebrow at the witch. Turning back to glance at the Parker, the Bennett offered him a small smirk.

“ Assuming there’s a next time, Parker. ”

“ Maybe there will be.”

“Or maybe there won’t. Goodbye, Kai.”

“Bye Bye, Bonnie.”

Thirteen years may have passed since the last time they’d spoken, and the world may have moved on without him, but Bonnie Bennett was the same as she always was: cocky, stubborn, sarcastic, fire still burning in those emerald eyes, exactly the way he wanted her. She could run, but she couldn’t hide, and it was only a matter of time until next time, and next time, she might not be so lucky. You can run, Bonnie Bennett, but you can’t hide. One way, or another, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to get you.

[snowbellewells]

“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

Okay, so I failed at posting this by early evening, and am instead squeaking it in just under the wire. All the same, I hope you will enjoy my little attempt at a ghost story for the @cssns​2020.  Thank you so much for the breathtakingly lovely and perfect story art by @hollyethecurious​!  Thanks to her for forgiving me getting my posting date mixed up, and to Krystal for keeping me on track and calming me down when I started to stress.

Summary: In some ways, Emma Swan has always been a ghost - alone and floating through life without much to tie her to anyone or any place. However, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar old house and realizes she is stuck haunting the last place she went while alive, it takes a while to reconcile the fact that she is a ghost and that there must be something keeping her in the world after all. Then she learns she isn’t the only lost soul in the house. And that changes everything.

Also on AO3

Without further explanations and apologies, here’s the fic!

“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

By: @snowbellewells​

In some ways, she has always been a ghost. Never fitting in, never belonging anywhere. Abandoned, and so closing her heart on the need to be accepted before she could be denied. It was for that reason, on the first morning of her afterlife, as she blinked awake in a chilled grey dawn that seemed just like any other, Emma Swan did not at first realize she was no longer part of the living world.

There was a strange quiet surrounding her, as she sat up from the bed, which strangely felt much softer, plusher than hers usually did at the end of an exhausting day or the morning after when her bones still ached and her mind never felt quite rested. It was those two things combined - the unaccustomed silence and depth and comfort of the sleep she’d emerged from - that put Emma off balance. It was never that still in the heart of the city, no matter how early in the morning. There was a constant humming undercurrent, a long-accepted background noise accompanying her life in Boston: sirens, horns, the grating and beeping of constant construction, the hubbub of voices, sounds unending. If she were deeply honest with herself (which she didn’t often allow) it was part of what she loved most about the large city on the eastern seaboard; there was so much noise that she could ignore her own thoughts. She didn’t like to dwell on or analyze her motivations for choosing a job where she tracked and found deadbeats who skipped out on those they should have stayed to support. She didn’t acknowledge - not even to herself - that each skip she hauled into the nearest precinct and collected her reward for gave her a sense of satisfaction that almost dulled her unanswered questions about the runners she hadn’t ever found - the parents who left her just after she was born.

So, she was already on edge as she found her feet and moved through the room she was increasingly aware did not look at all like the one in the loft apartment she currently rented, nor were any of her things scattered around as she usually left them. Moving from the room into the hall beyond, and then down a staircase into an entry hall that she knew her small apartment didn’t possess, Emma’s mind struggled to fully wake and understand where she was and how she came to be there.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door - tall, solid wood, but nondescript and standard, nothing too out-of-the-ordinary - that two more revelations struck her almost at once. Reaching out her hand to turn the doorknob, step outside and see if the outside of the house or its surroundings jogged her memory, Emma was shocked to find that her hand wouldn’t grip the metal knob at all, instead passing straight through both doorknob and door itself, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp of startled disbelief. No matter how impossible it seemed, the rest of her followed her outstretched hand, passing through the wooden door as if it simply didn’t exist.

Blinking and stunned from where she had landed on the top step up to the porch outside the strange house she’d woken up in, it was more than a bit hard for Emma to put together what had just happened. She knew her mouth was hanging open, “catching flies” as one of her more affectionate foster moms along the way had playfully called it, but somehow her surprise only increased when she took in the place’s exterior. She did know where she was, despite being at a loss for why she would have woken up there. This was the place where she had tracked her most recent skip last night.

Furrowing her brow in concentration - and admittedly trying not to consider how she had just slipped past a solid barrier and what that might mean - Emma attempted to pull up more from her memory than that. This newest skip had proven pretty slippery; both Ruby and her seductive honey trap skills which Emma didn’t even try to match, and Mulan with her fighting ability and clever moves worthy of her Disney namesake, had failed in previous attempts to bring the guy in and moved on to more productive marks before Emma took on the case. However, she was just stubborn and competitive enough to have wanted to bring in the skip who had become a thorn in the agency’s side; plus, as he kept evading them and the court date grew closer, the price for bringing him in kept climbing. Emma had been thinking just how she might enjoy the whole week off she could afford to take once she caught this scumbag as she’d sidled up next to him at the seedy bar’s pool table and batted her eyes. She’d still been thinking it even as the jerk brushed her off and left soon after, and so she’d followed him - quite stealthily, she believed - to this place later that night. Fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she wouldn’t play gently either. She welcomed a challenge, and this avoided the awkwardness she had to extricate herself from once honey traps were sprung anyway.

Emma was realizing now, however, that maybe she had been a little too obvious, a little too preoccupied to see that her skip might have been onto her. Had he been suspicious of her from the start, and that was why he didn’t take the bait? Or, had he known what she was truly after the whole time?

The evening dark had been falling in that strange hour where one could still see outside but surroundings were obscured, shadows lengthened and a person sometimes had to squint to find her goal. She had almost hung back, after watching her mark slip in through the unmarked door of the abandoned house at the end of a rather quiet and rundown street in an outskirt suburb. But she’d spent too long tracking the loser - and she wasn’t about to admit any hesitance or unease. Clearly the guy now had either breaking and entering or squatting in his extensive repertoire, and he needed bringing in before he expanded to something more dangerous.

That was what she was telling herself after waiting an interminable twenty minutes and then climbing the rickety steps as she’d watched her perp do. She wasn’t trespassing anymore than he was, the house wasn’t in his name, and if anyone asked… here she tried the door to find it unlocked and opening as she quietly tried it - yep, she could say it was open.

Emma had just taken a steadying breath and inched the door open enough to enter, when she caught movement in her periphery. She tried to duck, wondering wildly if the culprit had been lurking behind the door, when something long and solid swung towards her head too fast for her to avoid. It felt as though the air cracked, then crumbled around her, and everything went black…

That was all she could bring up, no matter how doggedly she tried to remember what came next. After that shattering impact was simply… nothing. And with that sickening fact, Emma knew. She was dead. Some lowlife bail jumper killed her to keep himself from getting caught. Whatever she was hit with, it was done viciously enough to mean her end.

Feeling a tremble begin throughout her legs and arms, up into all her extremities, Emma tried to fight back the swell of emotion - anger, injustice, hurt, loss that clamored to the surface. If there were any justice at all, she ought to at least be free of feeling all the painful emotion she had spent her entire adult life roughly tamping down. But really, she shouldn’t even be surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid the price for someone else’s wrongs - though apparently it would be the last. The blank unfairness of it was what truly got under her skin. Was she always doomed to end up this way? Sprawled out with a cracked skull in the entryway of some old, empty house, punished just for trying to make a living and her own way in the world while exacting a little much-needed justice? No one would even miss her or know she was gone until she didn’t show up to work Monday morning, ready to gloat and collect congratulatory muffins for bringing in the mark her colleagues lost.

As she passed back through the door (and no, that weird sensation of sliding without feeling past a solid barrier did not become any less upsetting or disconcerting) Emma saw the rough wooden board on the floor where her killer must have tossed it afterward and the dried blood - her own, she recognized with a shiver - that she had missed before. She didn’t want to stay there, but she felt pulled back to the upper floor where she had awakened. As if she was not meant to leave yet. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she just had nowhere else to go…

Head bowed in resignation, she mounted the stairs, but instead of going back into what had seemed a nondescript bedroom on her first glance, she moved on to the end of the hall. She seemed to have all the time in the world to rattle around this place, reflect on her loneliness and why she was still there. It couldn’t hurt to put off that depressing train of thought and find out what else was there.

Bypassing the room she’d exited earlier that morning, Emma moved toward the end of the second floor hall. Clearly the place had been empty awhile, dust tickled her nose more the more she moved throughout the house, but the color of the rich, deep wood floors, the tall ceilings and eye-catching nautical knick-knacks and framed pictures on the walls showed her the place was once well-loved and lived in with care and pride. By the time she reached the furthest door on the left, almost tucked into a corner of the house, Emma was curious in sprite of her strange situation and uncertainty.

Upon stepping in the room, Emma felt her mouth drop open once again, immediately captured by the sight of four walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, interrupted only by the large, cushioned windowseat under a huge picture window in the wall facing the door. There were books piled on the floor near the windowseat as well, as if to be in easy reach of whomever had sat there to read. Heavy, larger leatherbound tomes that appeared to be atlases or maps also rested on the impressive cherry wood desk in the room’s center. While all of this was stunning, with an air of warm invitation that had Emma blindly inching forward, none of the furnishings were what truly stunned her one more time in a past hour full of riveting surprises. Standing behind the desk, with back turned to the door and studying the wall of books with concentration was a tall, quite formally dressed, man. 

At Emma’s rather stunned noise, the figure turned to look over his shoulder, looking at her with dark arched brow. The gasp that had just escaped her was sucked rather inelegantly back up her throat. The man - well, fellow ghost apparently, as she could hazily see the spines of books lined up through his broad-shouldered form - was the most handsome specimen she had ever seen. His stunning bright blue eyes threatened to again steal the breath the she supposed she shouldn’t possess to begin with.

Wow, that changed things.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

Surprised in the large library that had stood silent and empty for so many long, uncounted days, Killian Jones couldn’t help scrutinizing the fair haired lass standing on his carpet. The strange haze around her let him know she was a spirit, much as he had been forced to accept he was himself. Still, some nearly forgotten and rusty echo of his former flirtatious nature rose to the surface and her surprised gaze clearly studied him up and down.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, a crooked smile crossing his face as he drank in her blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and generous curves in equal measure. “You aren’t some marvelous hallucination are you?”

Those sharp eyes rolled in exasperation, the stunned look finally leaving them as she shook her head and shrugged off the compliment. “Hardly,” she snorted, taking a few steps closer to him. “Apparently, I’m a ghost.”

Her words startled a huff of laughter from him with their droll humor. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, he managed, “Not quite what you’d pictured, I wager?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she allowed, seeming to understand her welcome and meandering over to sit facing him on the cluttered windowseat’s edge.

Killian allowed a wry grin of his own and nod of agreement. There wasn’t much else to say, but he did understand where she was coming from. It had been rightfully upsetting, earth-shattering, and confusing when he realized he was no longer living and breathing but still wandering the rooms of his house. He was sure there had been a lot of ranting, questioning, and items thrown against the walls before he had accepted his new reality. By that measure, this lovely woman before him was handling her sudden entrance to the afterlife quite well in comparison.

She looked up to capture his eyes with her own and he found he couldn’t look away again. Her face was open, searching, almost as though she were trying to take his measure and decide if he were trustworthy. When she seemed to make a decision and smile warmly at him, Killian found himself swaying closer to her almost unconsciously, rounding the desk to stand before her as though pulled by a magnet. Dipping his head in a sort of playful bow, he offered, “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

She reached out her hand to shake, unaccountably grateful that she was able to feel his larger fingers clasp hers without passing through, that she somehow still felt warmth and a zing of awareness at the contact, even if none of it made any sense. “Emma…” she replied, her voice going lighter and more thready than she’d like, “Emma Swan.”

“Hmm…” he murmured lowly, a rumbling hum that she felt along her arm as he brought her hand up to place a kiss on the back of it. “And just who are you, Swan?” he mused.

Swallowing hard, she dove in with the plain truth. “Just a stubborn bail bondswoman who went after the wrong skip this time,” she sighed.

His eyes registered the sadness, the disappointment and melancholy, the resignation to this fate slowly settling over her. He wanted to say it would get better with time, but time was now a funny, nonexistent sort of thing that was impossible to measure and not much help. Instead, he took in her features with understanding and tried to offer what comfort or cheer was possible against the self-doubt, blame, and ‘what-ifs’ beginning to hover. Not only that, they zeroed in on the broken skin, dried red and the purpled bruising at her temple, clearly the killing blow that had been dealt her. His hand reached up of its own volition to touch the soft hair above the wound, a tender brush of fingertips that Emma closed her eyes and leaned into with a relieved sigh. Almost as if he knew how very rare such concern had been in her life - maybe because it had been the same for him. Whatever the reason, they lingered there, two ghosts in the golden morning light through the picture window, drinking in the first real contact either had felt in far too long.

Something linked within them in that very moment - and everything changed again.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It would have been funny; in fact, Emma would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested - even a week before - that she would be killed on an assignment, end up a ghost, and then meet another ghost who would soon know her better than anyone had in life. And yet, within days she and Killian had shared more than she had ever allowed with co-workers, her handful of casual friends, even foster siblings when she’d still been a kid. Granted, she didn’t have much to lose, but it was more than that. She came to learn that Killian was more like her than she could have thought possible; orphaned as a child except for an adored older brother, that brother then killed in service of the British Navy just as Killian had been preparing to finish secondary school and join his elder sibling in service. Apparently the death had been some sort of accident during a routine exercise, and Killian had been awarded a healthy settlement as his brother’s only living relative, but naturally he hadn’t wanted the payout, just his only family back. Since that wasn’t the choice before him, he had taken the money, gotten out of England, and vowed to do something with it that would honor Liam and help someone else - even if it could do nothing for his own shattered heart.

That was how he’d come to befriend a frightened young mother and her infant son not long after he reached Boston. He’d been renting a motel room on a weekly basis until he figured out what he planned to do in the long run. He took a lot of long, aimless walks in the sharp, chill wind off the Atlantic, and one late afternoon he had stumbled into the public library, hoping to warm up, maybe distract himself a bit, and instead had found Belle sniffling as she attempted to read to a fussy Gideon where they were huddled in the children’s section. It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends; easily one of the best friendships he’d ever had. And in short order, Killian had known this was how he could use Liam’s money for good. He’d found a house, invited, then wheedled and cajoled, her to move them into one of the unoccupied wings and stay with him there. It was much too big for him alone he’d argued, and he needed the company, noise and bustle of even the smallest bit of family in his life. Belle had been hesitant, feeling it was too much, too good to be true, but trying to find a living and make a good, safe home for herself and her boy, while also staying unnoticed and under the radar of her wealthy and well-connected ex-husband was becoming more and more impossible. She’d assured Killian that the man had never been physically abusive, but emotionally and mentally he had left his mark. He had been a master of manipulation, had known the law and its loopholes, could afford the best attorneys money could buy and Kilian had not needed psychic abilities to see the woman was terrified he would come to haul her back - or at the very least take her little lad away from her.

That last admission had been uttered some weeks on in their acquaintance - or at least Emma thought it had been weeks, time was hard to measure when one was no longer on a clock and the days flowed from one to another in a similar stream - one night as they sat by a crackling fire in the hearth of the long unused den. Emma had shared a fair amount of her own scars by then. She had been curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, thinking that this would be the perfect occasion for a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, what had been her favorite way to unwind in the evening, and marveling at the good heart this man before her possessed, be it beating still or no. Not just anyone would have done so much, given so much of himself, to help a person he barely knew. Nor kindly helped a complete stranger like her adjust to her new reality beyond the pale either.

Suddenly it seemed like there was nothing else to do but to scoot across the sofa to the other end where Killian Jones sat still as a statue. The pain in his eyes, and blame she could see that he carried, broadcast over every line and shifting shadow of his face. Emma couldn’t help but bring her hand up to touch his cheek, to trace along his tightly clenched jaw as his eyes slowly dropped to follow the path of her fingertips, watching her intently as they continued to brush softly over his skin. Emma had wondered numerous times why she couldn’t physically make contact or grasp other objects but she could touch him. Why could they feel each other so strongly? Was it because they were both ghosts? On some other plane together? Or was it something else, something a less jaded person might call Fate or magic?

Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it as she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth awaiting Killian’s reaction. She found every nerve alive and anxious as she watched him, caring more than she ever had about what someone else thought. Was that the key? For so many years in group homes, with foster families, even for a time homeless on the city streets, Emma had shut the world out. She had been born and grown up without the unconditional love and care all people should know, and the natural childish illusions about people’s selfishness or the world’s indifference had been stripped away far too early. Life had turned its back on her, and she had done the same in return. She had closed herself off from emotion and learned all too well that putting her trust in others made it easy to get hurt.

But now, in this old house, with this wonderful, vulnerable spirit before her - all the feelings she had shut off for so long were breaking free. She couldn’t hold them back, and she didn’t want to. She couldn’t really be harmed, wasn’t hustling to get by, and maybe that allowed the fear to recede enough to peak over the top of her walls. Maybe it was just that - despite only knowing him for a short time - she had never met anyone like Killian Jones when she was living. If only she had, she wouldn’t have been lost for so long.

He was blinking away a tear when her focus turned back to his face in that moment. Smiling back with a tiny, empathetic quirk to her lips, Emma brushed the escaped droplet from his skin, whispering, “He found them, didn’t he? Her ex?  Even though you tried to keep them hidden…”

Killian’s head of thick, dark hair bowed, his eyes falling to their laps instead of holding hers. Running her fingers through the coarse strands, Emma ached to comfort him, to somehow lessen the weight he had lost hope of lightening. Whatever had occurred, it couldn’t have been his fault. He had only tried to give them shelter.

His voice was muffled when his forehead had come to rest on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him closer in an embrace more binding and intimate than any she had ever experienced. “I don’t know for certain, Swan,” he sighed, his words rough and coming forth in choppy fragments. “It has always seemed so…  Both being expats, Belle and I came to enjoy tea… in the afternoons… I had come home early that day...had a new toy for her Gideon...and I - I couldn’t wait to show it to him. ...When I walked through the front door… I knew immediately….something was wrong… too quiet.. I walked into the kitchen… and the table was all set for tea.  But the plate of biscuits was… strewn across the table… broken crumbs everywhere… and her - her favorite teacup was shattered on the floor…”

Emma tried to take in the devastation he must have felt, the panic and helplessness, all while making soothing noises, almost sorry she’d asked him as the story was wrung from his lips bit by bit. She kept holding him, hoping that her hand stroking over his back and her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck could give some solace. She had never longed to fix someone else’s hurt more than her own. It was frightening in the desire’s intensity, but all she could do was hang on.

“I failed them both…” Killian husked, his voice even more soft and ragged than before. “Of course… I reported them missing… but the case came to nothing… no leads turned up.  He got to them… just as she feared... “

She wished she could tell him otherwise. Her own unshed tears stung in her throat - both for the poor woman and little boy she felt as if she knew through Killian’s stories, and for his pain. Her chest ached with the anguish he had harbored for so long, feeling it as if it were her own. If she could take his pain onto herself and give him peace at last, she would do it without hesitation.

As if in response to her thought and the desire to lend her strength, Emma saw a starling light, nearly blinding her as it appeared over Killian’s shoulder.  She didn’t pull away, but she squinted trying to understand what had materialized from thin air right in front of her. It looked like...yes, it was a door. There, where an archway normally lead from the den to the kitchen, was a simple grey door, but for the brilliant white light emanating from around its edges. It couldn’t be ignored for all its radiance, and it almost seemed to beckon her near, drawing her in.

Her eyes widening, Emma forced herself to turn away, breathing in Killian’s scent from against his neck, hoping that the masculine, spicy aroma he somehow still carried, even in his ethereal state, would reel her in as it had before. She knew what must be making itself known before her, and she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what it meant.

Up until that very second, she would have sworn she wanted that door to appear, to pass through it and leave the cold bitterness of Earth behind. She wanted that door opening up for her to move on, but she just as surely wouldn’t leave Killian as she had been left so many times. She couldn’t abandon him.

For the first time Emma could remember, she didn’t want to change the way things were.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

She shouldn’t have thought the open door would escape Killian’s attention. The man was ridiculously intuitive and seemed to read her like the pages of a favorite book. She had not said a word, had turned back to him, focused on the muscle in his jaw working as he brought his emotions back under control, and managed to ignore the blatant signal beckoning to her until the glow dimmed and the door faded back out of existence. The archway between kitchen and den was just a curve of plaster and paint once more.

But as days passed, Emma coudn’t help worrying occasionally in unguarded moments if a person only got one door. Had she missed her only chance to move on? It wasn’t that she never wanted her peace and rest, or to know what was waiting on the other side. Yet, she couldn’t truly regret her decision either if the alternative had been leaving Killian alone, even if the consequences did trouble her mind.

So she wasn’t sure how Killian had figured it out the morning she came down the stairs to find him already in the kitchen gazing out the window over the sink and bathed in the rising sunshine. Maybe the man was genuinely able to read her mind. He was always able to tell when she entered a room, she conceded as he turned to face her, even before she stepped from the last stair. She felt him the moment he drew near her as well: an awareness, a prickling along her skin, the buzzing sensation of need and desire she had always resisted in life electrified by his presence. Maybe there was no hiding when someone was that close.

With the window and the sunrise at his back, Killian seemed almost outlined by a halo of gold. He came to stand at the counter facing her, and Emma moved to meet him, smiling easily. “Morning,” she offered in greeting, still fighting years’ worth of habitual impulses to start brewing coffee and digging throught he cupboards for cereal - sustenance that she no longer needed.

“Swan,” he’d spoken gently, calmly, but in a way that drew her up and demanded her focus. Reaching out his own larger hand to cover hers where it rested on the countertop, he went right to the heart of the matter. “Emma… what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes fully as she pretended she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

He sighed, that apologetic depth of sorrow in his eyes making her swallow hard when he spoke again. “You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t you? Your door appeared… The evening we spoke of Belle and Gideon’s disappearance…” He paused, spearing her with the intense blue of his gaze and not allowing her to look away. He cupped her chin between his thumbe and forefinger, stroking along her cheek as he did so, the expression on his face begging her to help him understand. “Why didn’t you step through, Love… and go on to your reward?”

The worry and fear on his unfairly beautiful face showed that he already new exactly why she hadn’t, but he deserved the truth. Emma couldn’t give him anything less. Placing her hands over his, squeezing tightly with feeling, she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Killian, don’t ask question you already know the answers to,” she breathed shakily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice long enough to speak. “You must know, surely… it was you.”

His head back as he heaved a deep, rattling breath - breaking away from her as he did so. “I hoped I was wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want to the reason. You shouldn’t be held back from your paradise because of me.”

For a moment his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then, he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over her cheek and brush the solitary tear she’d shed away. Not letting him have an out, Emma caught his eye once more. “Paradise, huh?” she tried to tease weakly, desperate to make him smile. He was breaking her heart. “You think an awful lot of me, Buddy. We both know I was no saint.”

A huff of air escaped him that might have been a disgruntled laugh in spite of himself, but he pulled her into him, almost clinging to her for several long minutes before finally breathing in her ear, “Nonsense, Emma. You were meant to be an angel. Don’t give up your peace on account of me.”

She hugged him back, but made no such promise. They would have to disagree on that, and he knew it too. They were both too stubborn to change their minds, so days went on and they went back to almost-normal without speaking of it again. Emma simply had to hope he understood. She didn’t want to argue with Killian, or to ignore his wishes. And she did want to go through her door as well, but when the time was right. She realized now that would have to be when they could both go throught it together.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It had been March when she’d met her fate in the quiet old house, and she and Killian had drifted through the spring and summer and early autumn, growing ever closer to each other. They had sat on the porch for long hours talking without getting too hot or worrying about bug bites or sunburn; spent evenings curled together under one quilt in the large windowseat of the library watching lightning flash across the sky and thunder roll on August nights. As September came, they snuggled under the comforter on the bed, her head resting on his chest, her ear over his heart as though she could still heart its beat. If she had thought before that she couldn’t leave him, there was no way she could even imagine it again.

There was a chill in the air the September afternoon a thick, cream-colored envelope landed on the front porch, addressed with Killian’s name and a Ms. Belle French scrawled in top left corner. Emma heard the soft sound of the thick paper landing on the proch slats, and didn stop to question how it had gotten there, why the ghost resident of an supposed abandoned house was receiving mail again, but had hurried to where Killian reading in the library, letter in hand.

A more lovely autumn day had never been than when a slant of later afternoon sun lit Killian’s face as he scanned the letter’s contents, a smile dawning over his countenance as if he coudn’t believe the words before him on the page. “They’re alright,” he murmured, half to himself and half to her. “They got away… thought I should know.”  His eyes continued to skim over the handwritten lines quickly, but his beckoned her close, and stunned smile on his face and light in his eyes that did Emma’s heart good. She could see the guilt and the hurt he had carried lifting from his shoulders with each passing second as she came to perch on the corner of the desk at his elbow.  “They didn’t want me to have to harbor a secret… just missed the people who trashed the house that day, and didn’t want to continue putting me in danger…”

He shook his head in disbelief and then stood to sweep her up in his arms, spinning her around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe, finally, he didn’t.

It was only as Killian set her back on her feet again, as he picked up her hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, and she hummed in contentment, swaying closer to him that a warm inviting light touched the side of both their faces. Turning as one, Emma recognized the sight that had graced her vision once before, but Kiliian’s eyes widened before turning to hers.  “Is that…?” he breathed, hope and uncertainty and awe blending in the question as it trailed off on his lips. 

She nodded, no words coming to her that she could speak past the lump in her throat.

“Well, then, Swan,” he smiled with the beauty and joy of a man whose heart was free at last. “What do you say we embark on a new adventure?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” she said with a certainty she felt to the bottom of her soul. Clutching his fingers in her own tightly, she walked with him toward the door wreathed in light that had appeared in middle of the bookshelf. As long as she didn’t have to let go of Killian’s hand.

Tagging: @cssns​ @kmomof4​ @hollyethecurious​ @artistic-writer​ @jennjenn615​ @gingerchangeling​ @therooksshiningknight​ @spartanguard​ @drowned-dreamer​ @winterbaby89​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @searchingwardrobes​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @thislassishooked​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @laschatzi​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @lfh1226-linda​ @thisonesatellite​ @shireness-says​ @profdanglaisstuff​ 

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (7/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of character death and descriptions of past child and domestic abuse.

Word count for this chapter: 4.9k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 7: Emma Swan, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

Emma's senses register very slowly. She first realizes the guy is tasting like rum, and then that he's already pushed her, gently, back.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss," he says and looks slowly up at her. "I have a girlfriend."

"Shit. Sorry."

"'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That. Thank you again."

Relieving her bladder and splashing cool water on her face bring her a bit back to Earth. Did she just try to make out with a stranger – one who apparently is taken – because he gave her his turn to the bathroom?

She looks at herself in the mirror. Somehow, though she splashed water on her face while completely forgetting she has make-up on, it has stayed intact, not even a single smudge from running mascara.

She may be drunk off her ass, but she's a good-looking drunk. She smiles at her reflection.

She straightens her back and prepares to unlock the bathroom door when a loud, sharp BANG erupts from outside. The music is still loud inside the club, but Emma can hear people screaming.

Her hand freezes over the key. A shooting?

Some long seconds pass by before a second BANG is heard – and with that, a man screaming. She looks at the window. It's too high to see outside, but it still carries the sounds pretty clear. The people inside are screaming in fear. The man outside is screaming in pain.

Finding some composure, Emma takes her hand away. There's a mop in the corner, and she takes it in her hands. It's not much of a weapon in this situation, but it's better than nothing.

Eventually, the screaming calms down and Emma hears ambulance sirens. By now some people have gotten out, so it's too loud to hear if the probably injured man is still there, or even alive.

A loud bang on the bathroom door and it's Emma's time to scream.

"NYPD! Are you alright in there?"

Emma unlocks the door and opens it. An officer with a bulletproof vest on is looking at her, gun at the holster.

Her alibi provided by locking herself in the bathroom – and the two surprisingly sober people who were waiting outside – is solid, so she's the very first to be allowed to leave. She learns that someone shot a woman in the chest, killing her almost instantly, then shot a man in the hand. She's advised to be careful and not stay alone, but it's not as if she has someone to accompany her.

However, she immediately finds a cab, having a smooth ride to her hostel.

She hears about the shooting on the news the next day, when she gets back to Boston. There are no leads about the killer, though they say he didn't act alone. The injured man is in no danger, but he was a couple with the deceased woman.

The guy she kissed... he mentioned having a girlfriend. And she didn't see him anywhere around after the shots – though she doesn't really have a perfectly clear memory of how he looked like.

Tears fill Emma's eyes. She wants to blame them on the thought that the chance of losing people she loves just like that is another reason why she isn't opening up to anyone, but it just doesn't feel a good enough justification for her crying.

She doesn't want to be cooped up in her apartment for her twenty-eighth birthday, but without any company her main choice is clubbing, and the memories of hearing the shots and the man screaming in pain are too raw, so she contents herself with blowing a candle on a single cupcake with the audacious wish to not be alone.

Tired from a busy workday, she lies in bed, checking her phone one last time. She sees Ingrid has contacted her on Facebook, and she stares at her phone for three minutes straight, having a hard time believing it.

Ingrid says she has been trying to get a visa for years now, but her criminal record especially regarding entering the country had been a big hindrance. A few days ago, her application for a 90-days visa was accepted, and she's asking Emma if it's okay to come see her.

Emma all but bursts out in sobs. She only decided to make a Facebook account a week ago, but Ingrid has been trying to get in contact with her for years, even though she knew there was a chance she may never be allowed in the country again.

She realizes she's too emotional to answer her now, and there's still a part of her that may regret the elated "Yes!" she wants to send back. She turns her phone off and sleeps on that thought.

Her emotions are still reeling from the possibility of seeing Ingrid again, finding out why she'd immigrated illegally in the first place, how she's been doing all this time... how much she's been thinking of Emma. But she still tells her yes, providing Ingrid stays in a hotel and not with Emma. At least not yet.

Ingrid arrives only a week later. Half of Emma wants to meet her at their designated rendezvous the next afternoon; the other half wants to greet her at the airport, perhaps even give her a lift to her hotel. It's the same half that feels guilty she didn't offer her to stay at her place.

The second half wins this round. From the distance, Ingrid looks exhausted and much older than Emma had expected her to look, but when she spots Emma her whole face lights up and she nearly drops her bags.

Fuck it. Who cares anymore. Emma runs to her and hugs her tight, and at once she's eleven and has just learned that that wonderful person is adopting her and giving her a forever, loving home.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. I'm so sorry for everything."

Emma is already crying, and so is Ingrid. Even in the arrivals section that's full of people reuniting, they look out of place. Emma feels a surge of cold when Ingrid pulls back a little, but Ingrid just places her hands on the sides of Emma's face and stares at her.

"Emma, Emma." Her voice is shaking. "You're all grown up. And I wasn't there for it."

"Shut up." Emma hugs her again, knowing that people are starting to stare now, but she doesn't care.

"I should have been more careful... you shouldn't have been left alone like that."

"It was because of my lost passport, wasn't it?" Emma pulls back, but she's not angry, and she's careful to not let Ingrid misunderstand. "When we contacted the embassy in England, to get me new papers so that I could travel back, they looked into your case."

Ingrid nods. "It's not your fault, honey. I should have... I..." She sighs. "I've got so much I want to tell you, and I can't get it out!"

"It's okay. It's okay. How long are you staying?"

Ingrid sniffles, wiping away her tears. "I haven't bought return tickets – yet. I can stay eighty more days, though, as long as my ESTA lasts. That's why I contacted you right as I got it, and why I came so soon. I didn't want to miss any day I could have spent here."

Eighty days. But then she'll have to go back. "Then there's enough time. Come. I'll drive you home."

"Home? Emma-"

"Nope. Forget the hotel. You're staying with me."

The next day, after Ingrid has had her rest and Emma has made them hot cocoa – her mug with cinnamon, Ingrid's neat – Ingrid begins her story.

"At first it was five of us. My parents, me, and my two younger sisters, Helga and Gerda. I might have been the oldest, but my love for my father had blinded me. I thought it was normal to get a beating for every little mistake we made. For every time the food wasn't tasty enough, for every time the house wasn't clean enough. He never did any housework himself, but he demanded it was kept pristine. Otherwise, he would hit us.

"My mother was an only child, her parents died before we were born. Our extended family was all on my father's side, and of course, most of them were just like him. It took me years to even consider that what was happening to me wasn't normal, or okay. Both of my father's brothers were policemen. Both their wives were miserable and distant, in every family gathering I can remember them at. Both of them disappeared at some point. I later learned that the one was dead, probably by her husband's hand. The other one had escaped him and fled the country.

"I got that idea myself before I even learned about her. I thought that, when I would turn eighteen, I'd have enough pull to take my mother and my sisters away, and somehow keep us safe."

Her face turns pensive.

"I didn't get the chance. My mother died one month before I turned eighteen. I panicked, I knew for sure that it was my father, making sure we'd never leave, and I was right, and his plan worked. I blacked out, got depressed. And he got worse. With three women to burst out on instead of four, the beatings got more often, and more serious. I ended up in the hospital three times. Helga and Gerda, once each. And every time, the cop who would ask us if our father ever acted on any 'suspicious' behaviour would be a friend of one of our uncles. We couldn't say anything.

"Until I woke up. That time is... hard." She sighs, the memory clearly upsetting her. "I don't remember much of it. I just remember father beating Gerda badly. She was only sixteen." She shakes her head.

Emma wants to tell her that details aren't necessary, but she knows Ingrid needs to let some of that out.

"I grabbed an old radio and hit him in the head. At the time, I thought I'd killed him. Me and Helga picked up Gerda and ran. We managed to hide for a few days, taking care of Gerda's wounds until she could walk and run, and then we tried to cross to Sweden. They found us... we had been wanted for assault and murder attempt. Murder attempt! We were running, and Helga tripped. Gerda wanted to go back for her, but Helga screamed for us to run. And then they shot."

She covers her face with her hand, and Emma's tears fall.

After a long silence, Ingrid continues. "I knew Gerda was running with me, but I barely felt her presence there. We managed to cross the border, but none of us felt any relief. For three months we were in the streets, pick-pocketing, eating off of garbage, shoplifting a few times..."

Emma looks away. Like mother, like daughter?

"Then we found someone who promised us fake passports. He promised us safe passage to the United States. At the time, it was like a gift from God, Emma. But I made Gerda swear not to follow me if they caught me. But I passed over safely. It was Gerda who was caught."

Emma's jaw drops.

Ingrid smiles. "She was okay. She was deported back to Sweden, and I don't know how she made it, but she did. She got married and had two beautiful girls, her Elsa and Anna. But all those years, until I was deported to Norway, I had no idea..."

"Your father?"

"He died four years after we left. I didn't even care to find out how. I've mostly been in Sweden all this time, reconnecting with Gerda."

"I'm so glad you found her."

Ingrid nods. "When I came here, my contact actually managed to find me a job and someone to teach me English, good enough to pass for a local. I worked hard, stayed in horrible apartments... but you know, it was the '80s. The more time passed, the better it got. I supported fundraisers for domestic abuse victims. I let victims stay in my tiny apartments until they found a safe space. And never... I could never share my full story." Her voice breaks. She sniffles, recovers, and continues. "But I wanted more. I wanted to help someone, and see for myself that they did well. Emma... you were not an experiment, I want you to know. I loved you, and I still do. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to have what I didn't have." Her voice breaks again. "And I messed that up. I left you alone, you had nothing, no-one... I failed you."

Emma shakes her head, more tears falling. "You tried. And yes, it sucked. But you changed my life. You have no idea how big it was, how better you made my life because you were there for me. I don't know where I would be if it weren't for you."

They're both crying now, and Emma is the first to hug her.

It takes time. Emma isn't ready to share everything that's happened to her, but she's still glad to have Ingrid back and know she had a very good reason for the things that eventually led to Emma being alone. And, after all, she did search for her. That's huge.

"My aunt, the one who had 'disappeared', found me a little after I was brought back and helped me. We didn't even know each other that well, but we knew each other's pain. A little more than a year after that I located Gerda. With my father and most of the side of his family dead, at least the older ones who shared his stance, it was easier to search around. I couldn't leave the country yet, so Gerda took her family and visited me in Norway." Her eyes tear up again.

What could it have been like, to not have heard from her in nearly twenty years, not knowing if she was dead or alive...

"It was... okay. But I still thought of you. I didn't know what I could do, I was nearly broke for years after I went back. It's only the past four years that I managed to make some money, and all of them were being saved for this exact trip. I will come visit you again, Emma. I don't know how soon I'll be allowed back, but I'll try my hardest. I know you don't need me anymore-"

"I do. I missed you. You have no idea how much."

She smiles sadly. "Perhaps I've got a clue."

She does stay eighty days, which go by way too fast, even with Emma using up her sick and vacation days to spend time with her.

It's the first time since Ingrid was deported that Emma has someone to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with. It's even bigger for her, considering that Ingrid chose Emma and didn't go back to celebrate with her family.

January goes by too fast, and then Ingrid has to leave.

"I'll visit you in Norway first chance I get. I want to meet your family, too."

"The rest of my family," Ingrid says. "I will wait for you. I'm not perfect with Facebook, but I'll try to keep contact every day."

"Ask Elsa, or maybe even Anna, to teach you next time you meet. They're teenagers, they'll know."

And then she has to say goodbye, and it's too soon, but for the very, very first time, it's a goodbye she gets to say. And it's amazing, how less painful it is, now that it's out there with the promise of a reunion.

The next morning she takes an early walk before work and finds a ten dollar bill on the street.

She looks at it dumbfounded. It's the first time in probably ten years this has happened, and when she walks into her favourite coffee shop, she's still staring at the bill in her hand.

She has a coffee and a big piece of cake, courtesy of the found bill. As she's enjoying her treat, a young woman with bright red streaks in her brown hair sits on the chair across from Emma as if she was just invited to do so.

"Hi," she says all too casually. "Don't freak out, there's just this guy I'm trying to catch and it'll look less suspicious if I pretend to sit with company here." Her tone, facial expressions and hand movements are full in the game.

"What do you mean, 'catch'?"

The woman leans forward. "I'm a bail bond agent. There's a guy I'm trying to catch, and I got word that he comes into this coffee shop quite often. I'm just trying to- speak of the devil." Without changing her expression a bit, she tells Emma, "Don't turn around. He just got in."

"Is he dangerous?" Emma shivers.

"No, no, he was just arrested for some tax fraud." The woman's expression turns serious. "Are you alright?"

Emma's hands are shaking, and the question is out before she can consider it. "Is he gonna be armed?"

"I don't think so. In any case, stay down."

That's it, Emma thinks. The shooting in New York City. Emma lowers her head and leans it a little to the side, managing to get one small glimpse of someone walking towards them.

"Is that him?" Emma says.

"Yes!" the woman says excitedly, exaggerating for cover.

Then the man is right next to her.

"Excuse me," he says, and Emma bites her lip as she looks up at him. "I don't remember seeing you around here. Are you a new customer?"

Emma holds back her surprise. Is he trying to hit on her?

She just shrugs.

The man offers his hand. "My name's Walsh," he says.

"Damn right it is," the other woman says, and with a swift movement of her hand, a handcuff is placed around his wrist.

Walsh looks at them both like an idiot.

"Thanks for making my job so much easier," the woman tells him. "And thank you, too." She winks at Emma, then takes a handcuffed Walsh outside.

Emma sighs, staring at her coffee and half-eaten cake as her heartbeat returns to normal. She knows that this very reaction is different from her panic at first. She turns to see the woman push Walsh into the backseat of a car.

Emma smiles. That was actually exciting.

Her boss is lost in thought all day, so Emma's shift goes pretty smoothly, as boring as retail is. On her way home from work, she walks past a police station and runs into the woman from that morning.

"Oh," the woman says, smiling wide at Emma. "My good luck charm!"

"Your what?"

"You have no idea how long I've been trying to catch that Walsh guy. He may not have any serious felonies under his belt, but he's elusive as hell. And I got a pretty good bonus for him too."

"Oh. Sounds good."

"And it's all thanks to you! Come on, would you like a drink?"

Emma stares at her.

"Oh, no, not in that way," she says and laughs. "Just as a thank you for your help." Her smile is earnest now.

"I didn't do anything."

"You brought me luck. That's worthy enough of at least one beer. And you behaved very bravely at the sight of a potentially dangerous criminal. I think you deserve a relaxing night out."

Normally, Emma can't afford such relaxing nights out. And the woman seems nice. "Okay," she says.

"Great! My name's Ruby, by the way. I know a place around with the best homemade onion rings."

Emma's mouth waters. Ruby has no idea what she just unleashed. She only hopes she can restrain herself in front of her favourite snack.

Ruby is really fun and kind. She doesn't ask any too deep questions that might provoke painful answers, and Emma has one of the best nights out in a while.

She realizes that, not counting her little time with Ingrid the past three months, she hasn't actually had a girls' night out. Not as an adult, at least.

"I'm not kidding, though, when I say you were pretty brave with Walsh. Some people freak out completely. Not that that's bad, but..." she says and looks at Emma, raising her eyebrows.

"But?"

"You know, there are never enough bail bond agents out there. Especially in a city as big as this."

Emma lies in bed that night, mind too full of thoughts to sleep. Ruby went through all the details of her work, and Emma absorbed it all. But, she has done time – not that she felt ready to confess this to Ruby.

She may have the guts to do that job, but probably not the ideal past for it.

Two weeks later, she's outside that same police station waiting to go with Ruby for drinks. Perhaps it's time to talk to her about whether her past would pose a problem to her becoming a bail bond agent.

She thinks she sees it too late; a car, losing control and going straight for the pregnant woman a few steps away from her.

Emma doesn't think; she runs forward, somehow manages to gently push the pregnant woman aside and then jump onto the running car's hood, rolling over the roof and down onto the street.

People are running to them. A man is shouting someone's name, worried. Then Ruby kneels down next to Emma.

"Emma! Are you alright?"

She is. She didn't even scrape her palms while falling down. She stands up, moving every limb and checking for any pains.

"Is it the adrenaline?" Emma says. "I feel fine!"

"You must be the luckiest chick on Earth," the car's driver says, also checking her for any injuries.

"You... you pushed my wife aside," a man says, coming closer to her, side-hugging the apparently unharmed pregnant woman.

"I- I did that."

The woman steps forward and hugs Emma tight. Then suddenly, people around them are clapping. Clapping at her.

She does go into a bit of a shock; David Nolan, the expectant father, takes her to the hospital to check her out for any internal injuries. Mary Margaret Nolan, the expectant mother, sits next to her on the back seat, holds her hand, and can't stop thanking Emma again and again.

Ruby is in the passenger's seat, talking to David, and it's only then that Emma realizes they're in a police cruiser, siren on and all.

After a full examination Emma turns out to be fine – not a single bruise. Once again, hearing the good news, Mary Margaret pulls her into a squeezing hug.

Encouraged by her unusually good luck, Emma tells Ruby about having done time. Ruby just tells her that David owes her big.

And by a week later, she's a bail bond agent.

Next month, she's staring at her bank balance, unable to comprehend having so much money available to spend however she likes.

At this rate, she'll be able to afford a trip to Norway in less than three months. And she does. She sees Ingrid, meets her sister and nieces, and for the first time since Neal left her she allows herself to just relax and enjoy the moment.

It's still not easy. Gerda's English isn't the best, and more than a few times Emma assumes Gerda doesn't like her, and her heart nearly breaks. It takes a lot of reassurance from Ingrid, but by the time Emma has to get back, she's already friends on Facebook with Elsa – Gerda says that Anna will get an account after turning eighteen as well – and they all promise each other that they will meet like that again.

On her flight back Emma gets a window seat facing north and gets a stunning view of the aurora. She hears the flight attendants say how they've never had sighting of it in the very few hours of dark the north gets in the middle of summer.

Emma can hardly believe it. How did luck decide to be so nice to her?

She can't even imagine something sullying her trip, but as she thinks that, she starts worrying that her bad luck will strike again.

It doesn't. Her job goes well, she gets a better apartment with a much kinder landlady, Ruby becomes her first friend in years and David and Mary Margaret invite her for dinner every Sunday, despite having a very loud and time-consuming infant.

The baby is always sleeping soundly every time Emma visits, and when he does wake up he's  calm, surprisingly so according to his parents.

Emma lies in her new bed, on her brand new anatomical mattress, and thinks how it all started because she found that ten dollar bill on the street – the first of many that came later, if she's honest – and decided to treat herself that morning.

As luck would have it. Perhaps it was all a matter of positive thinking.

She grows closer to Ruby and the Nolans and, combined with Ingrid's surprise visit, her twenty-ninth birthday is the first in twelve years that she doesn't celebrate alone.

She starts crying when they sing her the Happy Birthday song. Against all odds, her wish from last year actually came true, in the most unexpectedly heart-warming way.

From that point on, it's only better and better apartments and all holidays spent with either friends in the States or family in Norway.

During one more return trip, she realizes how she can actually afford all these trips now; a dream she couldn't even imagine before.

Her thirtieth birthday is celebrated in Norway; her thirty-first, back in the States, and for her thirty-second, she decides to gift herself and Ingrid something they'll both love; tickets to the Scorpions' 50th Anniversary Tour in Maidstone, England.

Ingrid tries to stop Emma from paying both their plane tickets, but Emma is not having it.

A small part of her remembers what happened after their first and last trip to England, but it's too small a part to stop her from organizing the whole trip.

If Emma is honest, it's one hundred percent Ingrid's fault that Emma loves the band so much. It's one of the things she passed on to her without even trying.

The concert is amazing; even though they have first row tickets, they have lots of space to dance and jump and enjoy the whole concert.

After the concert is over, Emma is waiting for Ingrid a bit farther away from the portable toilets, when she hears someone humming the melody of No One Like You next to her.

"Catchy tune, huh?" she tells him.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he answers. "What a night."

Emma nods. He's definitely a local. "Did you have fun?"

He makes a grimace. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my... friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh, sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach."

Emma realizes she had almost everything on her, including her passport. But everything in her belt bag is intact.

"Do you have a ride back home?"

He looks at her, and his expression turns shocked for a moment. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

"I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He seems to recoil a bit, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear before putting it back inside his jacket pocket. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh." Emma pauses. "I don't even know where that is."

The man smiles. "Figured so. From your accent."

Emma smiles back. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he says, getting his hand out of the pocket and shaking hers. She barely notices that his other hand stays in the other pocket even after his right hand drops to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she says, checking her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in- What?"

He is staring at her with his jaw dropped. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma sighs happily, looking back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones." She then turns to him. "Does your birthday seem promising?"

He looks at her; his eyes and his smile soften. And she actually feels butterflies in her stomach.

Wow. It's not like she's been denying herself much, but this look... she takes a step forward before she realizes it.

And he leans towards her.

"It seems that way, aye," he says, still smiling.

Oh, damn him. They both close the distance between them, and his lips are on hers.

~

(A/N: It has happened! They have officially met! Rejoice! But prepare for the next chapter; you know what's coming. Emma spent those four years being lucky, so Killian... >:)

Also, Scorpions did have a concert in Maidstone in 2015 as part of their 50th Anniversary Tour. It took place in July, but I took some creative liberties with the date for this story ;)  )

[annecoulmanross]

A Neko Case Song for (not quite) Every Character from The Terror

In the long tradition of “songs for nearly every character from the terror” that began with Vanishing Act by the brilliant @saintssebastian​ and continued with my Ballroom Thieves insanity, today I give you – Neko Case songs, feat. spectacular selections for Crozier, Silna, and Hickey by the lovely @paramaline​ who also generously encouraged my song choices and decisions to include the women “at the edges” of the terror-story, including those like Esther Blanky, whom I’ve come to know through @thomasblanky and Sarah Hartnell, whom I’ve met through @radiojamming as well as my own beloved Louisa Capper Coningham (Fitz’s Aunt Louisa) and Lady Ann(e) Ross. 

Franklin – Polar Nettles

The force field round her frosty hips Whose shape recalls the wicked spade That buried him

Crozier – Middle Cyclone

Can’t scrape together quite enough To ride the bus to the outskirts Of the fact that I need love

Fitzjames – Winnie

I'm here to tell you a story, I'm here to tell you a lie My poetry's weak and I know it I was drop dead sad and crazy sometimes So I fucked off, wayward cannon to the sea

Blanky – Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth

I'll admit I was unfaithful From now I'll be more faithful Never turn your back on mother earth

Esther Blanky – A Widow’s Toast

Specters move like pilot flames Their widows toast at St. Angel Better times collide with now

Bridgens – I Missed the Point

And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry That I missed the point of this pageantry But I'm grateful that you love me

Peglar – Stinging Velvet

Sing please, rock me to sleep Quiet as a canyon Up under heaven's eaves

Silna – Hell-On

But you'll not be my master, you’re barely my guest You don't have permission to take any pictures Be careful of the natural world

Goodsir – Magpie to the Morning

I'm on a top secret mission A Cousteau expedition To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain

David Young – Maybe Sparrow

Maybe sparrow, you should wait You'll never pass beyond the gate If you don't hear my warning

Gibson – Dirty Knife

And the blood runs crazy with giant strides And the woodsman failed to breech those fangs in time So they dragged him through the underbrush Wearing three winter coats and a dirty knife

Hickey – People Got a Lotta Nerve

But I'm a man man man man man man man eater But still you're surprised when I eat ya

Jopson – The Next Time You Say “Forever”

The next time you say "forever," I will punch you in your face Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean I didn't mean it You never know when I’ll show you the never

Little – I Wish I Was the Moon

How will you know if you found me at last? 'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one With my heart in my lap – I'm so tired, I'm so tired

Hodgson – Ragtime

The sound that lures me, it says, "Don't you hurry Don't you worry, kid, we'll be seeing you We'll see you when you're ready."

Irving – Afraid

Confuse your hunger Capture the fake Banish the faceless Reward your grace

Gore – Hold On, Hold On

That echo chorus lied to me with its "Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on"

Le Vesconte – Guided By Wire

In life you learn from someone else That you can only trust yourself And sometimes that is still too much to want

Fairholme – Don’t Forget Me

In the wintertime keep your feet warm But keep your clothes on and don't forget me Keep your memories

T. Hartnell – I’m An Animal

And yes, there are things that I'm still so afraid of But my courage is roaring like the sound of the sun 'Cause it's vain about its mane and will reveal them to no one

J. Hartnell – Lion’s Jaws

Now they meddling sky and my snowy eye Sees a different night The night I fell into the lion's jaws

Sarah Hartnell (née Friar), mother of John and Thomas – Halls of Sarah

A childless widow of a nation You cry like guns across the water Yet we expect you to bring springtime, it isn't fair Searchlights wither in your hair

Sgt. Tozer – At Last

I can say that I've lived here in honor and danger But I'm just an animal and cannot explain a life Down this chain of days, I wished to stay among my people Relation now means nothing, having chosen so defined

Des Voeux – Deep Red Bells

Where does this mean world cast its cold eye? Who's left to suffer long about you? Does your soul cast about like an old paper bag Past empty lots and early graves?

Dr. MacDonald – Twist the Knife

Tenderly, tenderly, please take my breath from me Into the fountain and up from the graves Tearfully, joyfully, burn what is left of me

Dr. Stanley – Gumball Blue

But you come back for me Sometimes only for your own peace of mind Sometimes where there's smoke There's just a smoke machine, honey

Collins – Bad Luck

Are you tired of things going right? Things going wrong? Tired of trying to make everyone happy?

Orren – My Uncle’s Navy

In the tarpit sea memories wear thick coats The kind that pull you down But in refusing to drown You're choked into the shape of a sailor

Morfin – City Swans

I try to slip the marching clock But centipedes invade my thoughts Without free will, I heel and I go

J.C. Ross – Fox Confessor Brings the Flood

Will I ever see you again? Will there be no one above me to put my faith in? I flooded my sleeves as I drove home again

Ann(e) Ross – Oracle of the Maritimes

I planned a dream inside a dream with your uncle I asked him how to tell you how much I could love you ‘Cause I’ve never been so sure of anything

Fitzjames’s Aunt Louisa – Last Lion of Albion

Last lion of Albion Last tiger of Tasmania The last she-wolf to suckle Rome

Lady Franklin – Calling Cards

Singing, "We'll all be together Even when we're not together With our arms around each other With our faith still in each other"

S. Cracroft – Where Did I Leave That Fire

A chill ran through me and I grabbed on tight That was when I left my body for good And I shook off all the strength I'd earned