#took me nearly two days to find these titles ffs

[persephoneflouwers]

I am SO obnoxious for this 🫠

[thebluemartini]

Battle Scars [Nessian Fic]

A/N: Well, A Court of a Silver Flames is just a little over a week away, so I might as well post one final little Nessian fic before its release! So back in November, @hereforthemoment wrote the following post: 

Nesta and Cassian are sparring, right? And Cassian ends up on top of her with a dagger to her throat but at the last moment Nesta aims her dagger at his heart.

He says, “you’d be dead”

But she chuckles and says, “then I guess we’d go together”

Then they both become very serious and look into each other’s eyes until Nesta pushes him off of her and leaves the ring

I asked for permission to write a fic with this scene, and voila! I finally finished it! So here goes! (Thank you @hereforthemoment!!) 

TITLE: Battle Scars

FANDOM: A Court of Thorns and Roses

SETTING: Post-ACOFAS. 

CHARACTERS: Nesta and Cassian

RATING: SFW

GENRE: Angst/Romance/Drama

SYNOPSIS: Nesta and Cassian finally address the war and its aftermath.

*You can also read this on AO3 or FF

________________________________________________________________

“Train with me, Nesta.”

She did not need to peel her eyes away from her dagger to discover who was talking to her. The low timbre of his voice was familiar to her—and one she heard nearly everyday. 

“That sounds like an order,” she answered coolly from where she sat on a log and continued to sharpen her dagger against the stone in her hand. “You are well aware that I’m not very fond of being told what to do,” she added in a casual tone. 

“My sincerest apologies,” he replied. Nesta kept her eyes down, but she could tell he must’ve been smiling to himself. These days, he always grinned whenever she spoke civilly to him...a vast difference from how they conversed with each other the first few months of her living in the Illyrian Mountains. Those conversations were more like verbal sparring matches. But now, several months later, the two of them were more like...friends. 

“What I meant to say was...would you do me the honor of dueling against me?” 

Letting the stone in her hand plop onto the snowy ground, she sheathed her dagger and finally looked up to see Cassian standing beside her. His hair was pulled back, allowing her to look directly into his eyes. 

The way he stared at her was...unnerving, and the way he treated her in recent weeks was equally unsettling. That fool actually had the audacity to make comments that would cause her lips to curve upwards into a smile. And he’d done things for her — like make her pancakes and retrieve new books for her — that made her feel like something was fluttering around in her stomach.

She had to shift her gaze. “You haven’t asked me to train with you before, General. Why now?” she asked, while suddenly finding the lacings along her sleeve to be quite fascinating. 

“Well, before, I feared you might actually end up killing me in a duel.”

“What makes you so sure I won’t try to kill you now?” 

“I have reason to believe you rather enjoy this pretty face of mine.”

Nesta’s eyebrow rose in confusion as she stood up to face him. “Whatever gave you such delusions?” 

“I seem to recall you looking quite concerned when Merida scraped my cheek during training last week.”

“That’s because I wanted to have the pleasure of marking you myself,” she assured him as she crossed her arms against her chest. The scratch left by the Illyrian female who accidentally struck her dagger against his face was still there. 

“I can think of a few more interesting ways you could do that without weapons, sweetheart,” he remarked with a smug grin as he allowed his gaze to drop to her lips. 

Nesta glared at him. “Are you sure you want to spar with me right now? The urge to murder you is definitely present.” 

Cassian smirked. “Well, I’m not the type to back down from a challenge I’ve already made. Let’s go to the ring.”

________________________________________________________________

In Nesta’s mind, every duel she engaged in was a story. Many of her fights with Illyrian females told tales of wild beasts that had been tied down for far too long that had now finally been able to roam free, progressing from rigid stances to more fluid movements within the span of the duel. 

Her current fight with Cassian told its own story—one that seemed to echo her and Cassian’s relationship since she moved here to the Illyrian Mountains. At first, his movements were slow and hesitant as he began circling around her, trying to gauge exactly what kind of fighter he was facing, while her own slashing motions at him were rapid. But he was quick to defend himself against her, blocking her dagger with his own. For a moment, her persistence seemed to frustrate him, causing him to finally attempt to strike back at her. Then their arms tired, and they spent less time sparring and more time analyzing the other as they circled each other. 

“You’ve grown stronger,” Cassian noted as he continued staring at her. 

“Are you surprised?” she asked, staring right back and noticing how the snowflakes fell on his eyelashes. 

“No,” he calmly replied. “I’m proud of you.” 

At the sight of her raised, quizzical brow, he continued, “You’ve overcome so much. It’s inspiring.” 

She would’ve raised her brow even higher if she was capable. To hear him say such a thing was...shocking. Alarming. Unsettling. Maybe even infuriating? But maybe she even felt a sense of pride, too...

“But you still have much to learn,” Cassian said with a strained breath and in a swift motion, he suddenly tackled her to the ground. 

Laying atop her body, Cassian pressed the tip of his dagger against her throat, careful not to nick her skin. 

“You’d be dead right now,” he muttered. 

But at that moment, he felt the tip of Nesta’s dagger pressing against his chest, right over his heart. Nesta let out a low chuckle. “Then I guess we’d go together.”

Cassian’s eyes quickly met hers, and her laughter faded. Silence fell between them—only the sounds of their ragged breathing could be heard as they looked at each other. 

Suddenly, with a shove, Nesta winced as she pushed Cassian off of her. Getting up, she sprinted out of the ring, leaving behind her dagger on the ground. 

“Nesta!” Cassian called out. “Nesta, wait!” In a quick movement, he stood up and charged after her as his own dagger tumbled to the ground. 

Determined, Nesta trudged her way through the snow with her arms folded across her body. The gusts of cold wind blowing against her face did not deter her. In fact, the biting cold helped distract her from thinking about the last time she almost died with Cassian. 

“Nesta!” Cassian called from behind her. She wasn’t walking fast enough. “Nesta, please. We need to talk.” 

“About what?” she shouted back, unable to resist the urge to yell at him and release her pent-up anger. Of course, she had an idea about what he possibly would want to talk to her about, but she’d been wrong about that before. Back after the King of Hybern was dead and the war was over, she thought he’d seek her out and address what he said to her on the battlefield. But that never happened.

“Us, the war...everything!” he replied. His voice was louder now.

Inside, Nesta was seething and couldn’t help herself from bursting now. She abruptly halted and whipped around to face Cassian as he approached, catching him by surprise.

“You’ve had months—years, actually—to talk!” she exclaimed. “Why even bother at this point?” 

“Because...I’ve been such an idiot–”

“No argument there,” Nesta grumpily interjected as she crossed her arms against her chest. 

Cassian paused and took a few heavy breaths as he looked at her. “And we need to talk about it in order to move forward. Because I love–” 

“I need to go,” she interrupted him as she shook her head in disbelief at the words he was possibly about to utter. She turned around to resume her journey back to her cabin. 

“Nesta, this is coming out all wrong. Can we please just talk?” he asked as followed her and reached out to grab her hand in an attempt to make her stop. 

Instead, she furiously swatted his hand away, not noticing the patch of ice on the ground as she did so. She slipped, sending her sprawling to the ground, and let out a small yelp in the process as the sharp pain surged through her ankle. 

“Nesta!” Cassian was instantly beside her, crouching down to help her sit up. “Nesta, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” 

“My ankle is twisted,” Nesta answered gruffly through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to bark her head off at him. “Leave it alone,” she ordered when Cassian placed his hand against her boot as if he were going to slide it off. 

“We should wrap your ankle with some snow,” he explained. 

“I will do it,” Nesta insisted with a frown, as she averted her eyes from Cassian. “Just leave me be and go on your way.” 

Confusion covered Cassian’s face. “Nesta, I’m not leaving you out here to suffer alone.”

“Why not? It’s what you’re good at.” Nesta spat back as she remained focused on pulling off her boot.

Cassian froze as her words punctured his heart. Silence passed between them while Nesta inspected her ankle. Cassian then reached for the small pouch belted at his waist, pulling out a  gray lace cloth that was adorned with various Illyrian symbols. 

“I’d like to change my ways,” Cassian spoke faintly. “And become a man worthy of you…if you will let me.”

He grabbed a handful of snow and wrapped it within the cloth, then held out his makeshift ice pack, waiting for Nesta’s permission to place it around her ankle. She peered over at it, curious as to how and why he would have a cloth like that with him.

“This cloth belonged to my mother,” Cassian said upon noticing her staring. “I like to have it with me, especially in battle.”

Nesta’s frown disappeared and switched to a look of slight concern. “Why would you want to use that to wrap my ankle?” she asked in a softened voice. 

“It’s all I have with me,” he replied. “And I am willing to give you all that I have,” he said with a meaningful look. “If you will allow me,” he added. 

Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Nesta returned to inspecting her ankle. “Be gentle,” she instructed, granting him permission and not daring to say more out of fear of what Cassian was possibly implying. 

Cassian proceeded to gingerly wrap the cloth and snow around her swelling ankle, tying it so it was secure. “In the weeks when I was laying in bed, recovering from my injuries after the war…” he began hesitantly. “Every time I awoke, I always hoped you would be there when I opened my eyes.”

Nesta’s breath hitched upon hearing Cassian speak of the war, but she did not stop him from speaking. 

“But you never came,” he continued calmly, as he delicately slid her boot back onto her foot and began tying the laces. “And I was left feeling angry, bitter, and sad. I thought...after the way you shielded my body with my own, after our...after our kiss, that it would’ve meant something to you. That you would want to check on me and make sure I was all right and talk to me. But when you never showed, I assumed you wanted nothing to do with a low-born bastard like me. That everything between us meant nothing to you.”

Nesta absorbed every word he said as she watched his hands. But she allowed the sounds of the whistling wind to fill the silence instead of responding. 

“I can carry you back to the cabin, if you want,” he suggested as he stood up off the ground. 

Even when it came to the smallest things, Nesta hated not being the one in control. But with her ankle throbbing in pain and a long trek back to the cabin before her, it appeared she was left with no choice but to accept Cassian’s help. 

Yet, there was something endearing about his offer. He didn’t ask her if he could fly her back, which would be much faster than carrying her by foot. But he knew how much she detested flying and how sick it made her feel. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d recognized how she’d been feeling. As of late, he definitely had taken notice of certain things about her...like never starting a fire within the cabin because he realized its crackling sounds distressed her, always fully cooking the meat in her meals so it’s red juice wouldn’t remind her of bloodshed, and preparing a cup of tea for her each evening knowing it helped her sleep well each night. He even started remembering the little details about her, like how she prefers honey in her tea over sugar. 

Nesta gave a stiff nod. 

Cassian instantly knelt down to lift her up in both of his arms, careful not to jostle her ankle too much. 

As he began the trek to the cabin, Nesta turned her face toward his. While he had been learning more about her these past few months, there were still some things he did not yet understand. And there were things about him that she’d been wanting to understand. 

Feeling her gaze, he looked back at her. 

She took a deep breath. “In the weeks after the war, I was drowning,” she recalled calmly. “I was struggling to deal with all that happened in the war, from fighting the king to dealing with my father’s death to coming to terms with my powers.” Her voice fell into a whisper. “Do you think I was ready to deal with...whatever I may have felt for you at the time on top of that? Do you think I would’ve wanted to visit you and see firsthand the after-effects of a war that I was already having nightmares about each night?” 

With a somber look darkening his face — an expression that Nesta wasn’t sure she’d ever seen grace his face before — Cassian stopped. 

Squeezing her more tightly in his arms, he raised her a little higher so he could bring his face closer to hers. “I’m so sorry, Nesta,” he said. “I’ve...failed you so many times. I chose to be bitter. I was hurt that you appeared to despise me while I was in love with you.”

While she could sense his apology was genuine, there was still more she needed to know and comprehend. And more that he needed to realize. “You promised more time with me out on the battlefield, then abandoned me. Then, you agreed to send me away to live here in the mountains against my will. Is that love to you?” she wondered sadly. “You told me that you didn’t understand how my sisters could love me. Would you call that love, too?”

A tear shone in Cassian’s eye as he shook his head vigorously. “No, absolutely not,” he insisted. “I realize how wrong I’ve been. I’m so sorry I gave into my pain and tried to hurt you the way I felt you had hurt me. I hope, in time, you can forgive me.” 

Nesta found she couldn’t reply. Not just yet. She’d been wrestling with thoughts of how he treated her in the past, compared to the way he’d made her feel as of late. 

Cassian soon resumed walking, striding through the snow with determined steps and an intense, serious facial expression. 

The rest of the journey to the cabin was quiet, but once Cassian stepped upon the porch outside the front door, Nesta held up the palm of her hand and rested it upon his chest, catching his attention. “Cassian, I want to forgive you,” she confessed softly. “But I… I need to see that I can trust you.” 

Cassian nodded, turning his head down. “I understand,” he said. “You don’t know how much I wish we could start over. That we could go back to the end of the war, so I could be there for you afterwards,” he stated wistfully.

Nesta moved her hand up to his cheek, capturing his gaze again. “Then, let’s start over.” 

“What?” he asked, puzzled. 

“Begin again by making me a promise, and prove to me that you can keep it this time,” she proposed.

Cassian took a deep breath before tilting his head down and staring deep into her steel eyes. “My only regrets in this life are the ways I’ve failed you and how I’ve wasted time that could’ve been spent better with you, Nesta. We will have that time now. I promise.” 

He tightened his grasp on her, and to his astonishment, she lifted her head up and planted a sweet, brief kiss upon his lips. 

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. “It just felt like something was missing after such a promise,” she admitted with a slight grin playing at her lips. Cassian let out a low chuckle. 

“Don’t screw up this time,” she added in a whisper. 

“There’s no way I’m losing you this time, sweetheart.”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: In writing this, I realized that I wished there were more synonyms for “stare” because I am ALL ABOUT intense gazes between Nesta and Cassian! So apologies for the overuse of the word. 

Anyway, I hope you liked it! I was pretty determined to include a Nessian kiss in here, but obviously those two still have a lot to heal through here...more than a oneshot allows :) so thank goodness ACOSF is almost here to do that for us! I had hoped to finish this fic weeks ago so there was a good chunk of time before the release but here we are. (While I am DYING for this book, I do feel a tinge of sadness over the fact that most of my Nessian fics will no longer be canon-compliant! XD) 

Thank you for reading and thanks again @hereforthemoment for the fic inspiration! 

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan. 

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?”

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that… surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely.  In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?”  Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole.  The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes.  For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?” 

“Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder. 

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style  of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”  

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

[hanmajoerin]

So my original plan was to write some stupid text post about Gramps grumbling about that one time InuYasha fucked up his bonsai trees and it became ✨so much more✨. This is now my first little Hanyo no Yashahime ditty!

I wanted to hold off on writing for HnY until the show started airing and we could get a better understanding of exactly what’s going on but 🤷🏼‍♀️. I did some adlibbing on Moroha’s motivation and fears, her childhood “alone,” and the OG crew being alive somewhere (🤞🏻) but hopefully you can run with this and enjoy it while we wait for October 3rd to finally come around.

This fic is titled “From Now On” and it’s a little sloppy by my own standards so I’m not sure if I would like to post it on AO3 or FF right now but it is still pretty solid and I wanted to share it with all of you!

“I...” It’s not like Moroha thought she had to practice this speech. She’d never spent a day of her life preparing for anything like this, but her surroundings were swarming with unfathomable gadgets–smells and sounds–and there were three pairs of eyes tracking her every breath. She felt cornered, like prey before the slaughter. “I... I don’t remember my parents very much,” she confessed. The sentence was one she’d uttered countless times in the past. It came with having no family but needing teachers and money. But now, Moroha had a family–three strangers who knew her parents better than she ever did–and having to admit it left her palms sweaty.

Brown eyes stayed low, finding comfort in the familiarity of red gloves until the sound of something breaking had her whipping her head upwards. The woman, her grandmother, was gasping at the confession. She chose to clutch at her chest instead of hold steady to the tray of tea she’d been bringing to the table. “Wha..?”

It was her great-grandfather who managed to bark out an entire sentence. “How on earth can you say such a thing!?”

Still, Moroha had trouble shifting her focus. She couldn’t continue, too preoccupied by watching her grandmother slowly bend down to gather the shards of glass. Hands. Her grandmother’s hands looked delicate, as if they shouldn’t be placing the broken glass back onto the serving tray. Moroha had been there before, so many times. She wondered for a moment when she'd finally picked up her last pieces. She couldn’t remember.

“That means ‘Sis is...” her uncle trailed, combing his fingers through his thick, black fringe. “And what about InuYasha? The guy’s an unstoppable force!”

Moroha swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Her grandmother stood up, walking away from the table to grab a few towels. “So your mom...”

Moroha nodded solemnly. “The night Towa went missing, there was a big fire caused by a demon. My old man left me this,” Moroha briefly motioned to her crimson cape. It had lost its magic years ago, but the sensation of her dad draping it over her head–the way he squeezed her shoulders before walking out of Kaede’s hut with her mom–that was a magic all its own. She could still see his two amber eyes gleaming; in her memories, they were always brighter than the flames. “My mom told me to stay in the village with the other kids but they were gone for a really long time. Everyone was worried and Towa, Setsuna, and I decided to go looking in the forest. That’s when we lost Towa and... and that was the last time I saw my parents.”

The air yielded to a pregnant pause. Moroha saw how words were hiding carefully behind closed lips. She could only guess that everyone wanted to speak but their sentences were paralyzed from the news. It was a lot to take in, after all. That was something she’d finished experiencing already. Clearing her throat, the quarter-demon chose to keep talking instead. “After it was over, we all searched for them. Even after the village stopped, I kept going. I didn’t think I’d ever return.” Return to Kaede’s village, see Setsuna, find Towa, be in the future, see her mom’s old world, be with the family she didn’t know she had.

Her great-grandfather was the one to break the silence again. He’d thumped his fist onto the table, two teeth peering out, strengthening a disgruntled scowl. “It’s all that demon’s fault! He was always so reckless. I mean, how many things did he break around the shrine? It’s no surprise that—”

“Father!”

Uncle Sota had risen from his chair, choosing to slap his palm against the table instead of copy the motions of his grandfather. Moroha clutched onto her robe of the fire-rat. Had Towa explained anything to them? Did they know that her parents were still...?

“Don’t you remember when the well disappeared? Without InuYasha, Sis never would have made it back. Whatever happened, I’m positive InuYasha protected her.” Hearing an uncle talk up her old man was a totally new experience.

“Besides, how can you say such a thing when his daughter is here?” Her grandmother asked, walking over and placing a supportive hand on Moroha’s shoulder. Her touch had the quarter-demon’s back straightening like a rod. “This is my granddaughter—your great-granddaughter.”

Moroha wasn’t one to gaze up while her chin hung low, but she was nervous. Would a family member hate her because of her heritage? She wasn’t a stranger to the discrimination—her fangs and claws had gotten her into a fair amount of sticky situations in the past. But the longer she stared at her great-grandfather, the warmer his features grew. Wrinkles retracted, his frown straightened out, shoulders drooped, and he eased back into the chair, crossing his arms over bright white robes. “I suppose that boy did bring something good into my home,” he muttered. Moroha couldn’t stop a small smile from forming.

“Moroha Dear,” Her grandma began with a tentative squeeze to her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry!?” Moroha nearly shouted, springing up from her chair and banging her fists onto the table. She was beginning to think that “hand banging” was a signature Higurashi family move. Shaking her head a few times, Moroha recalled the matter at hand, the reason she’d objected in the first place. Her grandma was apologizing even though Moroha was the one who’d failed to realize that her parents could be saved. It had been an entire decade and instead of dedicating it to finding them, she built a life without them.

It wasn’t long before two arms surrounded the quarter-demon, leaving her struggling to abandon them. It wasn’t that this woman felt untouchable, as a matter of fact, her yellow shirt was softer than most of the clothes she’d ever come across, but she didn’t understand why it was happening. “What are you doing?” Moroha finally asked as she stilled in her grandmother’s fierce embrace. She wondered if her own mom had been in this exact position before. Moroha chanced leaning into the touch.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the legends about the Bone Eater’s Well,” Her grandmother began, taking a deep breath. “That’s how your parents were able to meet. I still remember the first time Kagome came home, it was the one time she considered staying with us for good. Of course, she’d only been home a few hours before InuYasha burst through those doors and made a big scene. He always was so spirited and passionate; it wasn’t any surprise that Kagome started traveling between our two worlds shortly thereafter.

Their journey wasn’t easy, but they learned to support each other and fell in love. Afterwards, the well took InuYasha home to his era and Kagome remained here. We all missed your father but I was able to find peace just having Kagome near. She was restless, unable to find that same peace and when the well opened up for the last time, I gave her my blessing. I’ll never forget how she jumped into the well without looking back at me.” Moroha found her shoulders being pushed back so the two could look at one another. Her grandmother reached forward to caress her cheek. The bounty hunter swore she spotted pieces of her mom in her grandmother’s smile. Maybe the way the light from the ceiling lantern reflected in the older woman’s auburn eyes was the same too. It was all blurry. Moroha anchored herself to the floor, tucking those thoughts under her toes. That’s when her grandma started up again. “Since then, I chose to believe that your mom found the happiness she was searching for.” Tears like the teacup fragments glistened in those eyes now, adding a depth that Moroha’s mom simply couldn’t understand. “You’re my proof that Kagome lived a good life. The idea that she could–that InuYasha, too–it never crossed my mind. Moroha, things were very different for you.”

“Grandmother...”

Her grandma wrapped her back into an embrace quicker than Moroha could think. She couldn’t fight it off this time even if she tried. “It must have been difficult for you, I’m sorry.” And there it was, the sentence that left the so-called destroyer of lands a sniffling mess with hot crocodile tears and warm snot marring her ferocious features. “Even though your mother is gone, you’re our family and you are always welcome in our home.”

“But that’s the thing, Grandma! We can fix this! Aunt Kagome’s not dead, she’s still alive,” Towa exclaimed, effectively reminding Moroha that the others were still here. It left her tears drying up quickly.

“But how can that be?” Grandpa asked. “I fail to see how my precious granddaughter would just abandon her own family.”

“She hasn’t! Not really. She and the others have been trapped and now we know how to save them. We’re going to get them all back.”

Sota stood up from his chair again, abandoning his spot to make his way over to Moroha and her grandma. He placed his hand atop her head, ruffling her hair and stirring up a bunch of flyaways from her ponytail. “If there’s a way to save my sister and InuYasha, too, I’ll do whatever I can to help!”

“Really, Dad?”

“You realize this isn’t the first time the Higurashi family has dealt with a time traveling daughter,” he all but deadpanned, eyebrows pointed sharply at Towa.

Moroha felt her grandmother’s laughter as it echoed against her frame. “Yes, we’ll certainly be falling into an old routine.”

“At least the first-aid kits have gotten better over the years,” Sota offered with a shrug.

It was all so casual the way her family handled the situation. In the past, Moroha chose to stay away, but things had changed. There was new information, there was hope. If there was a way to resolve an issue then she’d face it head on. The thought guided her trademark smirk back to her face. A familiar determination began spreading through her veins. “From now on, we’ll do everything we can to find my mom and dad! We won’t let you down!”

[rosaline-kei]

If it's ok may i request a yandere!armin x mikasa fanfic set in the aot world? If that's comfortable for you of course.. I loved your fanfic, Bared and I am in desperate need of some arumika content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Title: Yandere

parts: 1/2

Synopsis:  Unknown to everyone but his victims, there’s a side to Armin that he dedicates to protecting his beloved.

Rated: T / M (I’m not that sure; but it’s a fanfic about yandere so there’s that. Read it at your own risk. I might finalize the overall rating depending on the second part.)

Pairings: Armin Arlert / Mikasa Ackerman 

Read it also on / Please Leave a Review at: my Ao3 / FF net (might post there soon.)

A/N: i’m chill with writing yandere stuff i guess? But remember guys, don’t be a yandere in real life lmao. I hope this was okay, considering i don’t really watch/play yandere animes/games?? I think?? Except for the classics y’know, like Mirai Nikki haha. That aside, thank you for enjoying Bare!  (which y’all can read on my Ao3 lmao). Also, the time period / current time setting of this is messy but shhh....... 

-

Control.

While many cadets would think otherwise, Armin had always struggled with control, sometimes even more than Eren.

Murderous urges never ceased to come creeping up his spine, crawling its way into his heart; strangling it and him entirely—pleading for him to let them go. To let loose whenever anyone goes a little too close to her; whenever anyone dares to invade her personal space, trespassing in his territory.

But Armin knew how to play his cards. Behind his innocent and naïve appearance, deep inside the insanity that dances around his heart like a frisky pup, he was an intelligent and strategic man, who knew how to play this game.

Killing Eren was never, could never be an option. Even if that reckless boy dragged Mikasa down into the turbulence that surrounded him, even if that dense idiot carelessly spat insensitive rubbish in Mikasa’s direction, even if one day he might finally become a sensible man, who was capable of loving her—he can’t kill him. And it was not just because they shared a history together, because they shared a bond.

It was because he knew Eren’s death would send Mikasa in a spiral down into the depths of hell or null. He had the horrid chance of witnessing it once; the impact of Eren’s death on Mikasa.

And it was because he loves Mikasa, he didn’t want her to suffer through that again, so he kept Eren and a few others that appeared to be close (but not that dangerously close) to Mikasa. He didn’t, and never wanted to see her hurt. Besides, he would often think, there are other fathomable and less bloody ways of making her mine, before anyone else.

For now, Armin wasn’t fixated in eliminating the ‘what if’ possibilities where Mikasa winded up with someone else that wasn’t him. For now, he chose to instead focus on his next step in this messed-up game. And for now, in this game, he decided to let them live.

Call him obsessive, but the blonde was lovesick.

Armin didn’t remember how his feelings escalated into this splendid travesty; how this wicked side of him woke. What he did remember was that one day, a day where Eren was absent, a day where it was just the two of them, a day where Armin really had the chance to admire and marvel in the Ackerman’s heavenly presence, did he start to fall.

“Armin…? Are you alright?” Mikasa asked softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You appeared… troubled earlier, was it because you saw him?” The concern emanating from her tone was enough to throw Armin’s senses off a cliff; and that was barely an exaggeration. Anything, and maybe everything that came out of her mouth was considered a melody to Armin.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Everything about her was a soothing melody. Her voice, her breath, her heartbeat. Even just her looks. That much was enough to compose a symphony in Armin’s head.

“No… it’s nothing.” Armin assured with a hum as he turned towards her direction, putting on the brightest smile he could manage in the dim-lit room that they were to rest in. For a motel in the underground, this far exceeded Armin’s expectation. Despite the poor lighting along with the peelings of decayed wallpaper hanging loose from the cracked, yellowed walls, Armin had honestly anticipated for the condition of this room to be much worse, with insects possibly crawling about, spiders readying to defend their territory or hunt.

Regardless, as long as Mikasa was comfortable, it was fine.

That aside, the last thing Armin had expected was to see that man who harassed him back then, when he was forced to doll up, dress up as Historia Reiss. Then again, the fact that the two of them were ordered to investigate these parts of the underground for clues regarding a separate issue (one that was fortunately not about Eren being kidnapped, again) was even more unexpected, bewildering even. The crippling world existing on the surface was chaos enough, and Armin would’ve had expected for Levi to keep them around in case that Ripper would show up since they were vital members of his squad. Or at least, not send two cadets on a mission alone, having to navigate the unfamiliar underground the first time by themselves, with a poorly drawn map that could’ve been mistaken with a child’s doodle. Then again, as much as he’d like to question his decision, he didn’t have an opportunity to. Who knows what was going behind the scenes? Armin couldn’t help but ponder.

On the bright side, he was alone with Mikasa.

On the darker side, however…

“If anything, I should be asking you that, Mikasa.” Armin remarked, his smile and other features morphing into something more worried. “You looked… uncomfortable, out there.” It took him every ounce of effort to not let his maliciousness seep through and poison his tone when he thought back to the stares Mikasa received—particularly by one herd of obnoxious barbarians that were bold and foolish enough to cackle out inappropriately snide remarks about her oriental features as they made their way towards the bar.

It made his blood boil.

“…I just don’t understand why people like them exist, that is all. I don’t have time to be concerned with people like them.” She said coldly; a tone and sentiment Armin hoped to never be on the receiving end of. What’d he ever do if Mikasa were to hate him? Or if Mikasa were to find out his… tendencies?

Armin didn’t plan to find out. He was a curious soul, but not that curious.

Slowly, Mikasa shifted herself slightly to the left side of the bed before patting the vacant right side. “Lay down… there’s room. Besides, that couch looks like it could be invested with termites.” She offered calmly, resisting a yawn.

“E-Eh?!” Armin stuttered, face flushed. He had been too busy… scheming, and had forgotten that there was a possibility of them having to share a bed.

It wasn’t the first time but… he wanted to feel her warmth, so badly, so desperately. He wanted to cling onto her, and never, never let her go. He wanted to be close to her, to be overwhelmed by her godly presence again and again. It would just be the two of them. No distractions, nothing.

Unfortunately, Armin had to reject, or rather postpone her offer, as reluctant as he was.

His hand stretched back, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I… would love to, but… I haven’t eaten any dinner yet since we left. I saw a store selling bread nearby, so I’ll head there for a bit.”

“What?” Mikasa’s eyes widened, shocked to hear that he was running on an empty stomach. “I’ll come w—”

“No, it’s fine!” Armin reassured. “You need to… rest. Please.” He didn’t want to trouble her.

Despite his plea for her to rest, she stood up in protest, stomping her way towards him. The fierceness in her eyes clearly made it evident to him that she was against the idea. Cute, he thought. He adored how dedicated and devoted she could be to the people she made room for in her heart, he greatly appreciated her concern, but…

“But it can be dangerous—”

“If I don’t come back within forty-five minutes… then come looking for me.” Armin smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just a quick stop, and I’ll head back. I can handle my own.”

Mikasa looked at him, stared with him eyes brimming full of genuine worry, concern and conflict. It made Armin’s heart skip and flutter. That look served a reminder to Armin that she cared about him, so much.

After a long tangible silence that stood between them (that Armin didn’t break, couldn’t break. He was too hypnotized by her looks; by her), she finally resigned and with a sigh, “Fine.” She said.

Armin was perfectly capable of handling himself, she knew that. He wasn’t weak. Even if he didn’t excel in physical strength as much as she did, he made it up with his brains; his intelligence that always aid in his and their escape in whatever tricky predicaments.

“But… please,” She muttered, her hands reaching out to grab his free hand, holding them closely, tightly. “Don’t stay out too long… the later it gets, the more ruffians are out there.”

“U-Uhuh!” Armin nodded, savouring her touch, her warmth, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks and a mad rush of blood surging. It was thrilling, and an expression nearly slipped from his control.

Control Armin, control. He reminded himself. Now wasn’t the moment for Mikasa to witness how much she had an effect on him. He was practically wrapped around her finger, in some sense, and he didn’t mind. It was relieving, he was glad.

Perhaps if it wasn’t just the two of them, he would have more control about his expressions that had a possibility of exposing what he felt for her. He loved her, but at the same time, what he felt for her was more than that.

There was no going back, now.

Once Mikasa had let go, he left, knowing that there was no time to waste.

As he left, he felt a wave of ecstasy swinging within him as he relished the lingering warmth that Mikasa’s hand had imprinted on his. Ahhhh! The warmth is all the same… He thought, humming to himself as he skipped towards his destination. Her touch is all the same… ah… sometimes I just want it all to myself.

Upon arriving at his destination, his humming stopped, and what took over was a determined look mixed with some animosity. Taking a deep breath as he re-calculated his plans, he entered the bar with a thirst for vengeance.

[crazybutcutecatlady]

Hello! This is my first ff, so I hope you like it! It’s complete Jin fluff, maybe a bit of angst? If you squint really hard, you may see it. I did give it a title image, but the photograph itself is not mine. Also, any feedback would be welcome! Enjoy!

Jin x reader (Oneshot) Fluff 3K word count

   The chill of September had just started to settle in, leaves had begun to alter their hues just a week or two ago, and new winds blew the blazing canopies from their lofty perches. You had just got off work three hours ago. You washed away the day’s stress and changed into full fall cozy attire. A soft, dense burnt orange sweater, brown leggings and thick, fluffy fox socks to top it off. Indulging in the clean autumn vibes, you make yourself a cup of your favorite tea, grab your favorite book, and the most fitting blanket. You’ve barely settled in when you hear an unfamiliar engine roar outside.                        

    Typically, your neighborhood is very quiet, and most residents opt for public transportation rather than a vehicle of their own. Highly curious, you peek out of the window to peek at the machine. A G-Wagon was parked outside your door, its light pink paint being just as loud as the engine, highly contrasting the old, traditional Korean architecture that surrounds it.  A corresponding pink hat came bobbing out the car and towards your door. Rolling your eyes, you strode over to the door, opening it just before your star-eyed lover could knock on the door. His pink sweater paw hung in the air as he looked at you in slight bewilderment.

    “So, are you keeping things color-themed today?” You teased. He looked you up and down before cocking an eyebrow.

    “Yeah, but I’m not alone, “he playfully retorted. You chortled before reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a little peck on his soft lips before sinking back down on your heels. You pulled back confused though, there were so many strange elements to this sudden event.

    “What brings you here, Jinnie? You didn’t call or anything. And what’s with-”

    “Surprise!” He exclaimed, “We’re going on a date! Go grab warmer clothes and as many blankets as you can, ok?”

    “Wait, wait, wait! What’s with the car? What happened to the Lamborghini?!?”

    “The Lamborghini wouldn’t work for what I’ve got planned, so I bought this.”

    “What?!? Jin, real-“

     “Yes, really. Trust me, it’ll be perfect. Perfect for my princess <3 Now go grab your stuff!” With that, he placed a warm kiss on your head and turned to the car. You stood there for a moment, in a daze, when you heard him call out, “Warm clothes! I mean it!”

       You turned with a huff, finding his extravagance annoying and amusing at the same time. But once he has his mind set on something, whether it’s a goal, an aesthetic, or anything, he’ll stop at nothing to see it executed perfectly. Sometimes the most you could do was shake your head and hang on for the ride. You slipped a pair of jeans over your leggings, grabbed a coat, grabbed several blankets, and put on a pair of boots. Considering the weather hasn’t reached full winter, you thought you might be overdressed, but then again, Jin warned you to dress warmly and he usually says exactly what he means. You poured your tea into a travel mug and waddled your way towards the door, the big load making you clumsier than ever. Getting impatient, Jin made his way back to the door and was greeted by the sight of you trying to balance several blankets, your coat, and a hot cup of tea. He broke out into a grin and leaned his tall frame on the doorway.

     “Need some help, love?” he taunted. You barely managed to give him a pout over the blankets in response. He laughed before taking several blankets from you, as well as a firm kiss.

     “This date better be damn good,” you huffed.

     “Trust me, my love, it’ll be worth it,” he promised, the look in his eye warming as he took in your bundled-up figure.

      You throw the blankets in the backseat and tried to peer around to see what he was up to. Before you could make out anything besides the massive pile of blankets and pillows he pulled you back by your waist with a tut. He threw the blankets past you and pulled you closer.

      “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetie! Upfront you go!” He said as he steered you to the passenger side, landing a little smack on your butt. You turned at him indignantly, only to feel his lush lips crash into yours. He pressed you against the cool car door, his lips softening and deepening the kiss till your lungs burned for air. When he finally broke free he buried his face in your neck and inhaled deeply. Pulling back, you could see a flame in his dark eyes as well as a satisfied smile on his flushed lips.

       “Been thinking of that all day,” he said with a dark chuckle. Walking away towards the driver’s side, leaving you stunned, you heard him call out,

       “Ah, aren’t you lucky?!? Having such a handsome and romantic man by your side?!?”

       You both climbed into the car, giggling. Just before you clicked your seatbelt in you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He poured out all his sweet affection as he gazed back at you.

       “I am so, so, lucky. I love you, my handsome man,” you admitted once more. No matter how many times you say it, you mean it fully every time. The raw tenderness of the moment thickened the air, till it was nearly suffocating.

      “You forgot “romantic”, love,” he prodded with a taunting smile, cutting the tension in half. You shoved him back, laughing. His smirk grew into a cheeky grin, wide and heartfelt. He settled into the driver’s seat and pulled the car out of park.

       “I can’t wait to show you what I have planned.”

         The drive stretched into the evening. The sun was lowering itself towards the horizon, staining the clouds overhead, and a sweet chill settled throughout the air. The ride was peaceful with gentle music and contentment filling up the car. You watched as the suburbs waned into rural areas, till finally, you were in the palms of nature. The road you had taken stretched up and over the expanse of the mountains. You understood why Jin wanted the G Wagon now. The Lamborghini wouldn’t have been able to handle these overgrown dirt roads.

        Despite the slight jarring of the road, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. Every turn had the sun shifting between the flushed crowns of the towering trees, casting a new perspective throughout the expansive woods. The road wound up and down, around and between the folds of the mountains. Eventually, the road passed between two peaks and descended into a deep valley, free from the touch of humanity. Still, Jin drove further before pulling off the main path. You were slightly alarmed but too curious to question him. Not far from the road was a small clearing, filled with tall grass and resistant flowers, encircled by a ring of fiery trees. Jin pulled the car around so that the back of the car was facing the clearing.

       “Stay right here, and no peeking!” Jin said as he began grabbing things and clamoring out of the car.

       “What happens if I peek?” you asked with feigned innocence. His head popped around the corner, his eyes were dark and ominous. Altogether, the image was an adorable collage of contradictions. His serious glare contrasting the tufts of dark hair that peaked out if his pink hat, his strong athletic figure hidden under a corresponding large pink hoodie, and the brightness of the pink against the dim and withering outdoors. He reached over grabbed your chin and pulled you towards him.

       “If you peek, I will not share the wine I bought for us,” he threatened in a low voice. Your eyes lit up.

       “You got us wine?!?” You exclaimed. Jin always knew where to find the best wine. Never once has his taste failed you! It seemed he always knew what you were craving and what paired with the meal best. He dropped his head with a sigh, mentally kicking himself for giving you too much information. But when he lifted his head and looked into your shimmering, anticipating eyes, he lost any sense of negativity.

        “Of course I got us wine! I’m the most romantic man in this country, if not the world! How could you forget my virtues so easily?” He whined. Laughing at his antics you asked, “Did you bring roses as well?” with a tease. He looked you dead in the eye before grabbing a rose bouquet from the back. With a cock of his eyebrow, he handed them to you as you stared back in delighted shock.

        “It would be unforgivable if I didn’t, beautiful. Can you even imagine it? Me? Forgetting to bring roses? Absurd! Did my princess forget who she’s with?” His rambling left you in a fit of laughter as you took the roses from him. He smiled softly before pinching your cheek. “It’ll be just a second, love.”

                     You sat back and listened to him positioning things and rustling around, fighting the increasing need to give just one backward glance. Instead, you finished off your tea and focused on the sickly-sweet scent of the roses. A minute or two later Jin opens your door and offers you his hand. You take it with a smile that causes his heart to flutter. Hopping out of the car, he guides you towards the trunk, presenting the most beautiful and endearing sight.

        The backseats had been removed, giving enough room to lounge comfortably together. The bed of the car had a thick pillow-like blanket over it, and the sides were lined with pillows. The trunk door hung over you with fairy light strewn all over it, reaching all around the upper interior of the car. An open picnic basket filled with hot food and thermostats sat in the middle with a bottle of your favorite wine placed strategically in front. You gasp, unable to close your mouth and unable to stop smiling. Tears welled up in your eyes as you drank it all in. Meanwhile, Jin was eagerly drinking in your reaction, heart-swelling at your glistening eyes. He turned you towards him by your waist, your eyes a little slower to follow. But once they’re on him the whole world seems to pale in comparison.  He leaned in and kissed you affectionately, engulfing your lips with his. His arms coiled tightly around the curve of your waist as you reached up and over his broad shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck. You both stayed like this for a minute, completely satisfied to just hold one another for a little while. When he pulled away you breathed out, “Jin this is perfect.”

       “Did you expect anything less from me, princess? “he said with a breathy laugh, “Go ahead. Get comfortable,” he said as he nudged you towards the trunk, following in close pursuit. He laughed as you excitedly hopped into the back like a child.

       Time streaked by as you two dined on Jin’s homemade dishes and slowly emptied the wine bottle. You talked in between bites, sharing secrets and small proclamations of love. The sun had all but entirely disappeared over the horizon before Jin pushed the basket away, grabbing a case of fresh cookies and thermostats of hot chocolate. The two of you snuggled, nibbled, and sipped as you watched the stars come out of hiding. Eventually, time was lost on you two. An endless sea of stars stretched overhead as you two discussed the wonders and possibilities of the universe.

        “Jin, do you think we knew each other in a past life?” You questioned dreamingly. He turned towards you, drinking in your image and your presence, wondering how he could’ve survived any life without you.

        “I’m not sure. If we did, I don’t think you could ever forget me” he said bluntly, causing you to scoff before he could finish, “I know I sure as hell could never forget you.”

        You froze slightly before looking up into his eyes, with your own resembling an owl. They bore down on you, dark, strong, intense, and completely certain. The next thing you knew, you were bound in his arms, seeing nothing but fireworks as he pressed his lips further than before. His tongue gently worked its way into your mouth, hypnotizing you completely as you melt into his arms. The make-out session intensifies, till you’re both tired and out of breath. Tipsy from the wine and each other, you both opt to snuggle close to each other for a cozy nap under the stars.

                     Hours had passed before the extreme cold woke both of your shivering figures. Jin sat up, wincing at the soreness over his body. You followed with a similar grimace, trying to comprehend your surroundings. You both had fallen asleep in each other embrace, but as the night stretched on and the temperatures dropped, not even your body heat could fight off the bitter cold. The blankets were stiff too. In fact, upon closer examination, you could plainly see the frost that coated the blankets and matted your hair as well as Jin’s.            

        Had the cold not turned you miserable, the scene would have been breathtaking. It was the first frost of the season, and it had certainly set a standard for the approaching winter. The frost had taken hold over the clearing, claiming the last few standing flowers and weighing down the tall grass. Your combined breath hung like clouds in the still air, the silvery full moon casting an ethereal glow over the motionless woods.

        Jin pulled himself out of the trunk with a mumbled curse. He unfolded his height and tried to stretch the stiffness from his muscles, earning and even deeper contortion of pain. He turned and pulled you out of the trunk, your muscles refusing to cooperate. Once you finally stood up, he shook out a blanket and wrapped it around you. He guided your sleepy figure towards the passenger seat and tucked you in. He made sure everything was packed up and then carefully drove out of the valley.

           You woke up in your bed with Jin snuggled close beside you. You could barely recall getting home. Your throat was tight, your head was throbbing, and your lungs were burning. Soon you began to notice that Jin’s breathing was uneven, and his skin was flaring. Sweat was clinging to the both of you, and your body trembled in protest as you made a slow effort to get up. You gingerly walked towards the kitchen, making a hot porridge and honey-heavy tea for both of you. When you came back, JIn was tossing and turning with his fever. You set the breakfast down, hurrying to grab a cold rag for him. As soon as you placed it on his head he began to calm down. You slowly ate your breakfast, trying not to push your stomach too far. The tea helped immensely.

          You were just about finished when Jin woke up. His breath grew shorter as he pulled himself up, looking around confusedly with the cool rag dropped into his lap. He was still horribly stiff and aching. You rushed over to him, gently cupping his cheeks. His frown deepening in your palms as he took in your own fevered expression.

          “Jinnie, baby, how are you feeling?” You asked worriedly. He lowered his face into your palms, hiding his face before mumbling, “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

          You looked at him confused. Your hands drifted to the back of his neck and over his thigh as you lowered your head, trying to catch his eye.

          “No, no, no, my love! Mi amore, how could you even think that?!?” You dotingly exclaimed. His head snapped up in an irate response.

          “I should’ve taken you home!” He said as loud as his raspy voice would allow. It caused you to flinch. Upon seeing that he lowered his head and voice again, “Instead, I let us sleep in the freezing cold. And now, you’re sick. Because of me.” He bemoaned. You tutted before pulling his large frame against you.

         “Jin, last night was perfect. I wouldn’t change one second of it,” you reassured him as you caressed his hair and rubbed out one of his shoulders, “We were both tired and tipsy. It’s ok,” before he could defend his guilt you added, “Plus, I’m already feeling better! Eat your breakfast and drink your tea, it’ll help. And when you’re ready, we’ll soak in the bath together, mmk?”

          A pair of deep dark puppy eyes looked up at you before a mumbled “ok” passed his swollen lips. You pressed a kiss to his head and squeezed his shoulder before getting up to draw your bath. In a couple of minutes, he had finished his breakfast, feeling better as promised, and you had a steaming aromatic bath ready for the both of you.

         He slowly entered the bathroom, guilt still evident on his face. You smiled at him lovingly, pretending to lean in for a kiss before pulling his shirt over his head. He became less tense with your antics and pressed you to the wall, reclaiming the kiss with a smile. You returned the smiley kiss with one hand pressed on his firm chest and the other sliding up to cup the nape of his neck. Your grin widened as he pulled back.

         “You know, even when sick you’re still my Mr. Worldwide Handsome.”

          “I thought I was the Dorito Man?” He said with a quirk of his eyebrow and a small crooked smile. You hummed with a gentle smile and gave a small nod.

           “Yeah, that too.” You said matter of fact-ly.

            He laughed softly before he began stripping you down. Before long, the bathroom floor was covered in scattered clothes. The two of you were snuggled against each other in the bath, tracing images on each other’s skin while exchanging jokes and kisses.

[lalunaunita]

Lovesong - an Adrinette AU

I participated in the Left to Write Summer Santa fic exchange this year, and this is my work for @hari-writes. You can find it here and there’s an accompanying Spotify playlist (SFW) here.

Rating: General

Summary: In this AU, Gabriel Agreste becomes reclusive after his wife’s disappearance, but does not seek out the Miraculous or become Hawkmoth. Adrien Agreste finds himself bouncing around a silent mansion with fewer and fewer opportunities to leave. He channels his emotions and frustrations into music, sharing the tracks online under an alias. His biggest fan is a listener named SewSweets, who in real life is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. As time passes and Adrien’s song collection grows, Marinette’s feelings for the mysterious composer do as well. But  will she ever find a way to meet him?

Adrien looked dubiously at the gray coating the sky outside his window. A few fat raindrops pitter-pattered on the glass and confirmed his suspicions. The outdoor photoshoot schedule for the afternoon would be canceled. He grimaced. He'd really been looking forward to getting out of the mansion, even if was only for work. He flopped down onto his couch and sighed. The only thing left on his list for today was piano practice. He eyed the piano over the edge of the couch. Nathalie had left a new sonata on the piano bench; he was supposed to start working on it today and share progress with his dad tonight.

Might as well get started, he thought, but he didn't move. Instead, he grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table in front of the couch and tapped a quick text.

How's school?

A reply pinged back almost immediately. Ugh, boring. You better get over here. Did you enroll yet?

Adrien didn't bother to type an answer. He and Chloe both knew it was wishful thinking. Dredging up a sigh from the bottom of his soul, Adrien got to his feet and slouched over to the piano. He swiped the sheet music off the bench, sat down, and turned on the narrow lamp above the music stand. He studied the paper in front of him for a few minutes, then settled it above the keyboard and got started.

He had to admit that playing piano was something he enjoyed. Adrien let himself get caught up in the complexity of the piece, until one particularly difficult spot caused him to play the wrong chord. Wait, was that the wrong chord? he asked himself. He tracked back to the spot and played it again. Oh, yeah, technically it was. But his chord hadn't sounded sour or out of place. In fact, it was unusually pretty.

He played the chord again as an arpeggio, drawing each note out in succession until they gave him goosebumps. Wow. He took two of the notes down low with his left hand, and played a made-up melody with his right. Adrien glanced at the sheet music and bit his lip. He should be practicing the piece, but he didn't want to forget his chord. In fact, the whole melody wasn't bad, especially as his left hand set a gentle rhythm. He played it, over and over. It felt like it was building to something. He switched chords and felt a sensation akin to a slap in the face. Ouch, no. That was definitely not right. He pressed two or three more chords down, feeling his way into the music, and smiled when the sound reached his ears. That was more like it!

The rest of impromptu piece flowed easily. It wasn't classical, obviously; his dad would frown on it. It wasn't a blaring pop song from a modeling gig either. Realization hit him: the song was his. He'd created this song. Excitement electrified his arms, making his fingers nearly nerveless. Should he... should he share it with Father? No. Chloe, maybe? No, not yet.

He played it through again—there were some subtle changes as he felt his way through the piece, but he genuinely liked it. Adrien pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the voice recorder app. The quality would probably suck, but at least he wouldn't forget his own song. He played it through into the app twice and saved the file.

Nathalie poked her head in the door just as he was locking his phone screen.

"It's sounding good, Adrien," she complimented.

Adrien smiled nervously. Nathalie wouldn't know J.S. Bach from a pounding jackhammer; she always said he sounded good.

"Thanks, Nathalie. Hey, I had an idea. Sometimes I record myself to check tempo and stuff like that—it helps me improve. Do you think I could get a microphone? Or maybe even an electric keyboard? Those play directly into digital files you can put on the computer. Not to replace the real piano or anything—I know Father insists on the grand piano. It would help a lot, though. Please?" Adrien lifted his eyebrows in his most subtle version of puppy dog eyes.

Nathalie might not know music, but she knew manipulation. He kept the pleading look on his face to an absolute minimum as her lips thinned in thought. Stay polite, keep eye contact, he counseled himself as he held his breath.

"I'll ask your father. Finish up what you're doing; dinner is in half an hour," Nathalie replied.

Adrien let out a huge sigh around a smile as his door closed softly behind her. Yes!

---

Marinette groaned and threw herself backward in her office chair, toes trailing as it rolled across her bedroom floor.

“What’s bugging you?” Alya asked, glancing up from her perch on the chaise lounge.

“I can’t find anything good to listen to while I sew. This is supposed to be our work-on-projects day, and you’re all set with your laptop and earbuds and a million ideas to research, but I’ve run out of music,” complained Marinette.

Alya smiled and shook her head. “It’s not that big of a deal. We can find you something. Did you sign up for BirdieMuse like Nino suggested? He said a lot of independent musicians are uploading music there. It’s getting popular.”

“Oh, I did! I forgot about that.” Marinette rolled back over to her desk and clicked her mouse.

The music sharing app loaded up and colorful album covers paraded across her computer screen. Several artists had simple profile pictures in place of professional photographs; Marinette assumed those must be more amateur artists.

“I don’t even know what I like today. My brain is being difficult,” Marinette muttered as Alya came over to stare at the screen with her.

“Try an alphabetical listing. Can’t hurt.” Alya shrugged.

Marinette scrolled back and forth, looking for a name that sounded interesting. The word Fashion caught her eye in the listing for F and she stopped to take a closer look. FashionForte, located in Paris, France, had submitted five tracks in the past month. Well, if this person liked fashion and design as much as Marinette did, then the music would be good, right? The profile picture featured a black cat with green eyes. She decided to chance it.

A sweetly somber piano tune swelled as Marinette adjusted her speakers, filling her room with sound. The girls looked at each other, eyes widening.

“Wow,” they said in unison.

The melody sent a little thrill through Marinette.

“Seriously good call,” she said as Alya returned to the chaise. The pair put FashionForte’s tracks on a loop and settled down to work.

Alya left around dinnertime, leaving Marinette alone in her room. She finally turned off the mellow piano music she'd let play all afternoon. Curious, she clicked on FashionForte's profile. Other than the picture of the black cat and the location of Paris, France, there weren't many details. The Artist Summary read: Just a guy who likes music. Each song had a space next to the title entry for artist notes, but they were all empty. Oooookay, thought Marinette. Her cursor hovered over the Comment box for the page. Why not? She clicked it and started typing.

Hi FF! I'm SewSweets and I live in Paris, too. I love your songs—they inspired me today as I was working. I hope you'll post more! Have a great day.

Satisfied, Marinette sent the message. She remembered to subscribe to FashionForte at the last second, then closed the app and headed downstairs to eat with her parents.

The next morning was Sunday and Marinette relished the chance to sleep in. She finally opened her eyes when soft sunshine filtered down through her skylight. Weightless dust motes danced through beams of light as Marinette laid under her comforter. She groggily counted up things she wanted to do with her day. With a yawn and a stretch, she pulled herself upright and knuckled sleep out of her eyes.

Once she was down the stairs of her loft, Marinette sat down at her desk and wiggled her mouse. An icon in the corner of her screen caught her attention. An update from BirdieMuse? She opened it and found that FashionForte had uploaded a new song. For the first time, the notes section had an entry.

"This is the first song I wrote. I've been working on it for a while and it's finally ready to share. Hope you like it."

The note didn't mention Marinette personally, but somehow she felt like the recipient. She clicked the track title: In the Rain. From the opening chords to the build of the melody, Marinette found herself lost in a swirl of emotions as the short track played. It didn't sound so much like rain coming down as it did the quiet drops that fell from the eaves outside her window. She closed her eyes against the sun streaming in, letting a gentle melancholy settle over her as the song evoked memories of gray days. An image rose in her mind of long fingers pressing piano keys as a rainstorm raged outside. The face of the person in her mind was just a blur, but she could see the confident hands that created a beautiful melody. The piece concluded and Marinette opened her eyes.

She went back to the comment she’d left for FashionForte. Her single statement from yesterday sat there with no response. Nonetheless, she typed one in the new song’s comment box.

In the Rain is beautiful. I like it the best out of all your songs. It's the first one you wrote? You are very talented. Hope you have a nice Sunday.

Marinette backed out to FashionForte’s artist page and played the six tracks on repeat as she got dressed. She grinned. It felt like she’d added a new gem to her collection.

---

Adrien thumbed open the notification from BirdieMuse on his phone. SewSweets had left another comment. Well, he had one fan at least. Probably a retired matron with a candy habit that enjoyed quilting. Nonetheless, now that he’d started writing, he didn’t plan to stop. Nathalie had really come through. Adrien had a keyboard that recorded directly to his computer and a great pair of headphones, so no one in the house could even hear him playing wrong notes and trying out chords. He was keeping up his classical practice too, so he’d probably doubled the amount of time he played piano over the last month.

His dad would almost certainly frown on Adrien writing and sharing music. Adrien had deliberately kept his profile vague so it couldn’t be traced back to him. Even if Nathalie or Chloe or someone he knew came across the BirdieMuse account, which was unlikely, they’d never have a clue. And ultimately, the extra practice was paying off. Adrien could see the tiny approving twitch of a smile on Father’s face when he came in to hear Adrien’s musical progress every week. Now, if only music could solve all his other problems…

Adrien had made a couple of attempts to go to Chloe’s school, but he hadn’t yet made it to the door. Nathalie and the Gorilla were always hot on his trail in his father’s gray sedan, waiting for him at the steps of Francois Dupont. He had no choice but to turn back to the mansion or make a scene, and he definitely wasn’t going to embarrass his father by making a scene on a school sidewalk. He stopped texting Chloe about enrolling after Nathalie and the Gorilla foiled the second attempt. It wasn’t fair to get Chloe’s hopes up. If he accomplished sneaking into Francois Dupont, it would have to be a surprise.

Adrien sighed and sat up. He was perched on the stairs outside the front door of the mansion, taking in the nice weather while doing homework. He wiggled his feet in his sneakers and tapped his soles against the marble. The part of Paris he could see outside the mansion gates was quiet on a Sunday morning. He slapped his textbook closed and tucked his pencil behind his ear, grinning. He couldn't deny it. SewSweets' kind words made him want to get back to the piano. He looked at the comment one more time, then headed up to his room.

---

A month after discovering FashionForte, Marinette was still hooked on his music. He'd changed his profile picture—a single eye, peridot with darker flecks of emerald at the edges of the iris. He'd built a small following too, but never replied to any of the comments. He seemed content just to drop beauty on them every other week. Marinette left a comment on every single song, except for one entitled "Chloe". She tried not to let her nemesis make her biased against the song, she really did. But the tune was as irritating and bossy as the Chloe she knew—full of pecky, short notes. Marinette eventually dropped it from her playlist altogether.

She worked on projects as she listened and daydreamed about the composer. Maybe he was... only about eighteen or so, like, older than her—but not too much older. Maybe he had a beard! Mmm, no, she wasn't ready for a beard. Maybe he had black hair like the cat in his old picture. Marinette knew it was silly, but she couldn't deny she wanted to know more about FashionForte. She worried she was wasting daydreams on a forty-something recluse, stuck up in a tower in a ritzy part of Paris. Nah. The songs felt younger than that. She thought they did, anyway.

Marinette's phone rang and she leaned over to see Alya's face on the caller ID. She swiped the video call open.

"So, how is the hat going?" asked Alya.

"I'm almost done, but I forgot to grab a feather for the brim! I have a little bit of embroidery to finish up for the hat band and then I guess I'll head back to the Trocadero—there were lots of pigeons there earlier." Marinette let her tongue slip to one side of her mouth as she concentrated.

Alya shook her head on the phone screen, curls bouncing. "I'll get the feather. I want to meet you at the school and watch you win this competition. It'll be great for the school blog. And you're about to meet your fashion icon! I'm going to get pictures of you melting into a puddle."

Marinette frowned, but both girls dissolved into giggles.

"I'll do my best to keep it together. I really don't want to embarrass myself, Alya." Anxiety rose up in Marinette's chest and she shook her cramped hands out.

"Chill, girl, you won't. You know I was kidding. And I'll be right next to you the whole time. You're going to do awesome," Alya replied confidently.

Marinette felt some of her tightness ease as she looked at the honest belief on her best friend's face. "Thanks, Alya."

"No problem. I'll see you in half an hour, and I'll bring the feather." Alya broke the connection and Marinette bent her head to get a closer look at the hat band.

Half an hour later, Marinette raced down from her room, tossed a goodbye to her parents, and crossed the street to her school. She was nervous about participating in Gabriel Agreste's derby hat competition, but her feather-based design really was good and she was proud of the work she'd put in. Mr. Agreste had a son around Marinette's age who would wear the winning hat, so he'd likely be there too. Chloe was gaga over the boy, always telling everyone that she was friends with him, but no one had ever seen them hang out. Marinette rolled her eyes. Adrien Agreste looked nice enough in the magazine photos she'd seen of him, but Marinette knew looks could be deceiving. If he was anything like Chloe, he’d be a bratty, entitled nightmare.

She rushed into the open doors and saw Alya waiting, feather in hand. Marinette skidded to a stop in the courtyard.

"Where have you been?" Alya hissed. "They're about to start."

Marinette took the feather and tucked it in. "You got the perfect one. Let's go!"

The girls crossed to the center of the courtyard where several podiums had been erected. She set her hat down delicately on the last open podium, then looked at the competition. There were several good designs, but Alya elbowed her sharply and pointed. Marinette hissed in anger. Chloe and Sabrina stood next to a very familiar-looking derby hat, smug smiles on their faces.

"She stole my design!" whispered Marinette.

Alya's eyes were wide as she nodded. Marinette mulled over whether to say anything or simply wait. Chloe didn't know it, but she was too clever for her own good. Marinette could easily prove ownership, and she didn’t even need to go get her sketchbook to do it. Better to wait until the judging was complete, she decided. If she said anything now, it might disqualify them both or bias Mr. Agreste’s judging. Speaking of, where was he?

Marinette turned away from her cheating competition and looked around. A tall woman with a red streak in her dark hair stood next to Mr. Damocles, primly clutching a tablet. Next to her stood the famous Adrien Agreste. He was tan and good-looking, but didn't seem inclined to smile. He's probably too good for us, thought Marinette, eyeing him up and down.

"Where is Mr. Agreste?" Mr. Damocles asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

Adrien shifted his feet uncomfortably as the woman held up her tablet. Gabriel Agreste's face appeared on the screen, looking perfectly coiffed.

"I’m here," he replied.

Marinette and Alya exchanged glances. He was only looking at the hats through a camera? He wasn’t at the school himself? Crestfallen, Marinette sighed. So much for meeting her fashion hero in person.

"Nathalie, please take me to the hats. I would like to see them from every angle," Gabriel Agreste intoned from the tablet.

"Yes, sir," said Nathalie.

Adrien followed them, rubbing his elbow. Marinette watched as he waved at Chloe, who wiggled her fingers with a saccharine smile on her face. Marinette hoped Adrien didn't get a say in which hat was chosen. Apparently he was friends with Chloe, and Marinette knew she'd use every advantage she could.

They walked around three hats before coming to Marinette’s podium. She had to stifle a smile at Alya’s antsy fidgeting. Marinette could feel her own heart beating a mile a minute, but she tried to keep the emotion off of her face. It was time to act professional.

Nathalie stopped, holding the tablet so that Mr. Agreste was eye level with Marinette’s hat.

“And this is, uh, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Mr. Damocles said, peering down at a note card in his hand.

“Hello, Marinette,” Nathalie and Mr. Agreste said in unison.

“Hello,” said Adrien, holding out one hand with a shy smile.

Marinette blinked. Adrien Agreste's green eyes were electrifying in person. And they seemed familiar, somehow. She must have seen him in more magazines than she'd realized. She shook his hand numbly, recovering from the disappointment of his father's absence.

“Hello,” she said back, managing little more than a whisper.

Alya stared hard at Marinette for a beat before holding her own hand out to shake. “Hi, I’m Alya Cesaire, reporter for the school blog. I’m here to write an article on the winning hat.”

Adrien let go of Marinette’s hand, politely reaching for Alya’s in turn. The spell was broken. Marinette shook her head a little to clear it.

“Tell us about your hat, Miss,” prompted Mr. Agreste.

Marinette picked up her hat with shaking hands, but spoke clearly. “Everything on my derby hat is handmade, from the embroidery, to the weaving of the band, to the stitching on the brim. All done by myself.”

She showed off the features of the hat with a little flourish, then set it back on the podium. Adrien, Mr. Damocles, and Nathalie walked away to the next hat.

“Nice job, Marinette,” Alya whispered, “but what are you going to do about Chloe?”

“Just wait,” Marinette replied, keeping her voice low.

“Is this a joke?” They heard Mr. Agreste ask as he viewed Chloe’s hat.

The tablet swung to Marinette and Alya, then back to Chloe and Sabrina. Chloe timed her waterworks perfectly.

“How could you, Marinette? You stole my design? It’s scandalous!” she wailed as Sabrina patted her arm. Mr. Agreste’s eyes took on a sympathetic cast as he watched the scene unfold.

Time to step in before this goes too far, Marinette thought. She came forward into the camera’s view.

“Mr. Agreste? I’m sorry about the situation, but I can prove that this derby hat is my original design,” she declared, holding her hat with care.

“Oh, really? Go ahead,” he replied.

“There’s a special design element that only the true designer knows about. I signed mine,” she said.

Marinette turned her hat upside down and displayed the gold embroidery in the light. It spelled out Marinette in neat cursive, fanciful enough to be mistaken for embellishment.

The group startled as Chloe’s podium fell over onto the floor. She ran off without another word, still sobbing. Sabrina stood like a deer in headlights until they turned their attention back to Marinette and her derby hat.

So dramatic, Marinette thought, rolling her eyes.

“You certainly have the laboring hands of a hat maker, Marinette,” Mr. Agreste said. “Congratulations. You win the contest.”

His lips scrunched in what Marinette imagined was meant to be a smile, and then the tablet went dark.

Marinette stared at it for a moment, unsure whether her ears had heard correctly. Alya’s whoop of delight brought her back to reality.

“Congratulations, Marinette!” she enthused.

“Congratulations!” Nathalie and Mr. Damocles echoed.

“Congratulations, Marinette. I had a feeling you would win,” Adrien said, coming closer.

“Oh, uh, you did? Wait, aren’t you friends with Chloe?” Marinette asked, puzzled.

Adrien let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, um we’ve known each other since we were kids. I’m sorry she tried to steal your design. So dramatic.”

Marinette smiled at his unconscious echo of her thoughts. Adrien Agreste was actually pretty nice. Too bad he wasn’t attending Francois Dupont like Chloe always insisted he would.

“So where do you go to school?” she asked curiously, but Nathalie stepped in before Adrien could answer.

“It’s time to leave. Miss Dupain-Cheng, we’ll send a courier to your home to pick up the hat in three days. Is that alright?” she asked.

Marinette could tell Nathalie was taking her ‘yes’ for granted. She didn’t even look up from her tablet.

“S-sure. Sounds great,” Marinette agreed, taken aback at the woman’s brisk manner.

They exchanged information. Nathalie swept Adrien out of the school so quickly that Marinette could almost believe the entire experience was a dream—until she saw Alya snapping photos of her derby hat. Marinette packed it up carefully in its hat box, inner elation making every movement a delight.

“I really won!” Marinette laughed to herself.

She thought she’d feel drained, but her mind came up with new project ideas all the way home from school. She grabbed her sketchbook and opened up Birdiemuse on her computer. Marinette navigated to her FashionForte playlist. She had a particular song in mind, an energetic anthem that always got her blood pumping. She typed a new comment on the track.

Today was a huge victory, FF, she began. I’m gonna play Bounce Out Of Here full blast and shake the walls! Thanks for always inspiring me.

Marinette grinned and sent the message, not caring whether FashionForte read it or not. The bubbly, fast paced tune she put on turned her empty bedroom into a victory celebration. She cranked the volume on her speakers and spun around and around in her chair, giggling like a little kid.

---

Adrien was on his final round of Mecha Strike 3 when his phone pinged. He recognized the sound—Birdiemuse had its own tone. He smiled as he fired at his opponent; it was probably SewSweets with something about his latest song. She never took long to listen and make a new comment. He was still smiling after reading her words about Bounce Out of Here. Adrien had gained a decent following in the past months, but SewSweets was definitely his biggest fan. She commented on everything with the exception of his song for Chloe. The absence of text revealed how she felt far more than a negative review, he thought sardonically. Finished with his game, he turned over his cell phone to check the messages.

The smile dropped from his face when he saw SewSweets’ newest comment. She’d gone back to one of his earliest tracks, entitled Solo. Adrien had written it just after his father cancelled a trip to the coast. The days of sun and time with his dad had been replaced with Adrien’s same old lonely view of Paris while his father worked day and night on next fall’s fashion line. Adrien’s disappointment had spilled across the keyboard with a sad, slow melody complemented by quiet minor chords for the left hand.

I think I really screwed up, FF. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want to be all alone again. nm, goodnight.

Brow furrowed, Adrien read the comment three times. This was nothing like the ebullient SewSweets he’d gotten used to. She felt alone? He clicked on her profile and opened a direct message.

Hey, are you okay?

He left the dialogue open for a few seconds, not really expecting a response. Surprised, he noticed three dots illuminate the bottom of the screen. SewSweets was typing!

Hey, FF. Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I bothered you. Had a fight with my best friend. It’s no big deal, really.

Oh, Adrien replied. Well, I’m here if you want to talk.

The dialogue box stayed empty for a few moments.

Thanks. I didn’t know whether you even read my comments, came the hesitant reply.

Oh yeah, every single one! Honestly, I would have stopped composing months ago if you didn’t comment on everything, Adrien typed.

Wow, really? SewSweets replied.

I sort of started by accident, and I didn’t know if my songs were any good.

I’m no music critic, but I really like them. As I’ve said before, lol.

Adrien grinned, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Thank you again anyway! So, what was this fight about?

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll call her tomorrow and work it out. Hey, how old are you?

14. How old are you?

That’s cool. I’m 13. How are you so good at piano at 14??

...lots of practice?

Okay, fair enough.

Adrien chatted with SewSweets for about half an hour, a half-smile tugging at his lips the whole time. He found out that she did, in fact, like sewing and wanted to design clothes. If only there were some way he could introduce her to his father! But that would never work out. He had no intention of telling SewSweets anything about himself that could reveal his identity. Making a new friend was awesome, though. In hindsight, he couldn’t remember why he decided not to respond to the comments on his page. Adrien yawned, ending on a happy sigh. It was late and he was tired.

---

Marinette harrumphed to herself and scrunched down into her movie theatre seat. She and Alya had quickly patched things up the day after their fight. They’d even made plans to go see an old movie on the big screen—one that starred Gabriel Agreste’s wife, Emilie. Unfortunately, now Alya had to babysit her sisters according to the text on Marinette’s phone. Marinette sighed. She hated going to the movies alone.

She looked around and realized she was going to be much more alone than she’d anticipated. There was exactly one other person in the theatre—someone down front, with blond hair.

The previews wouldn’t start for another ten minutes, so Marinette took out her phone to pass the time. She saw a new message from FashionForte and opened it eagerly.

Hope you have a great day! It read.

Marinette felt her heart warm. She tapped a response.

So far, so good. I’m at the movies, but my friend had to bail. It’ll be fun anyway. Her phone plinked as the message sent.

Down below, the blond shifted as a chime sounded quietly. Marinette tsked to herself.

They both needed to silence their phones, but they still had a few minutes. She couldn’t see his screen from her vantage point, but he was clearly typing.

Her phone chimed as a response from FF came in.

Nice! That sounds fun. I’m at the movies, too. Not something current, though. Old romance; I know that’s uncool, but I don’t care.

Marinette stifled a giggle. If only he knew. I’m sure you’re plenty cool, she teased. Friends hanging around your piano, just tripping over themselves to hear your latest composition.

She hit send, and heard the blond’s phone chime again a moment later. The person chuckled as they read the screen. Well, that was weird. Wait—FashionForte… was at an old movie? Texting her? Marinette’s suspicion grew as she watched the blond type, then heard her phone chime.

She opened the message.

Ha, whatever. I’m by myself, too. Needed to get out of the house.

The butterflies percolating in Marinette’s stomach plummeted. She stood up, just as the lights darkened. Crap! She had to know anyway. She stumbled down her row, thankful no one else was seated. Uncertain, she stopped at the row behind the blond and crept along, touching each seat she passed in the near dark.

The theatre’s corny “silence your phone, please” film was playing as she found the seat she wanted and leaned forward.

“Excuse me,” she hissed in a loud stage whisper.

The blond—close to her age, she noticed—looked up, startled.

“Are you—” she started, but he interrupted.

“Adrien Agreste. Yes, I am. Do you mind, though? I’m trying to watch this movie.” He turned back to the screen.

Marinette blinked, taken aback. It was Adrien! She felt her cheeks warm. How embarrassing. There was no way Gabriel Agreste’s son could be FashionForte.

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” she mumbled, sitting abruptly in the seat behind him.

Marinette tried to let go of her disappointment and bewilderment as the previews started. Adrien hadn’t recognized her in the dark, and to be fair, they’d only met once. It was possible he’d already forgotten about her. Oh, and clearly he was at the movie to watch his mother on screen, which explained his curt response. Marinette decided she shouldn’t take it personally.

She looked glumly at the preview reel for the theatre’s summer classics series. She’d been mistaken. But something sparked when she looked down at her typed but unsent message to FF. One eyebrow cocked, she hit send.

Adrien Agreste’s phone pinged instantaneously. Too excited to be embarrassed, she held her breath and leaned in as he lifted his phone. She could clearly see the notification that a message from SewSweets was unread.

Marinette fell back against her theatre seat, sucker punched. It was true! Adrien Agreste was FashionForte, a teen pianist and composer whose beautiful melodies accompanied her on her darkest and brightest days. That the heart of the artist was clothed in such a handsome facade was almost inconsequential. No, not inconsequential. It was the final nail in the coffin. She realized she’d been nursing a quiet crush on her new online friend, impeded only by his anonymity and the possibility he wasn’t who he said he was. Now the truth hit her like a wave of fuzzy soda bubbles all the way to her fingers and toes. Marinette took a deep breath, collecting herself.

She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, movie or no movie, when the screen went dark in front of them. She looked up, only to find the view had been blocked by a mountainous unit of a man. Alarm flared in her stomach and she shrank back into her padded seat. The man’s bushy brows were drawn low and his lips made a frowning half-circle of displeasure. Marinette could almost see smoke issuing from his nostrils.

“Oh,” Adrien muttered as he gazed up and up at the human tree trunk standing in front of them. “It’s you.”

He sighed with a bone-weariness that confused Marinette. Shouldn’t they be screaming in terror? Maybe fleeing? Instead, Adrien meekly put his phone away and stood.

Wordless, the man gestured for Adrien to precede him from the theatre. Adrien shuffled along with his head bowed. With one last, longing look at the movie screen, he was gone.

Marinette stayed rooted to her seat, mind awhirl with all that she’d discovered. She tried to watch the film, but she couldn’t concentrate on it at all. Shaking her head in disbelief, she left the theatre as well and ran straight to Alya’s apartment.

Alya answered frantic knocking to find a wild-eyed Marinette on the other side of the door. Her best friend rushed in and threw herself down on the couch, interrupting the game the twins were playing. Surprised, Alya shut the door and turned back toward the living room.

“Marinette! I thought you were at the theatre.”

Chest heaving, Marinette dramatically threw her arm over her face. “Alya, I met FashionForte at the movie!”

“Whaaa?! How do you know?” Alya rushed to sit beside her.

“We were messaging before the movie started. I saw his phone with my name on it. My username, I mean! 100% positive proof. And Alya,” her voice dropped to a screech-whisper, “it’s Adrien Agreste!!”

“Who’s Adrien Agreste?” Etta asked.

“Snack time! Let’s get you two set up in the kitchen,” Alya announced.

Two snacks and a modicum of privacy later, Alya and Marinette regrouped in the living room, heads close together.

“So FashionForte is definitely Adrien Agreste? Wow, he’s one talented guy. I wonder what else he can do.” Alya had her phone out in moments.

The pair read an interview and bio that listed modeling, fencing, and piano as his main activities, as well as Chinese language studies.

“How can this possibly be the same guy I traded Mecha Strike jokes with the other day?” wondered Marinette.

“Hmmm. Well, as a reporter, you learn that the printed word isn’t always the full view of a person. It’s more important to remember that when you read bad things about someone, but in this case, Mr. Perfect is clearly also into video games. A shame that didn’t make it into the article.” Alya grinned and tossed her auburn hair.

Marinette groaned and closed her eyes. “Alya, what do I do? Do I play it cool? Do I tell him online? I have to meet him—or well, not meet him, I’ve already done that—but I have to get to know him. I was trying to deny it, but I was totally falling for him before I even knew he had a face. I mean, before I knew what his face looked like! And now he’s totally handsome, and that’s great—or is it worse?—and ugh, what do I do, Alya?”

Alya’s grin grew wider. “Wait, you’re crushing on him? How did I not notice this?”

Marinette opened her eyes and shrugged. “There was no point in mentioning it. He didn’t even message with me until you and I fought a couple weeks back. I think he felt sorry for me. But yeah, I was kinda um… romanticizing him from his music? Just being silly. And now he’s real and kinda awesome.”

“He was always real, but I get what you mean.” Alya tapped her finger against her chin. “Wait a minute. This is the same guy Chloe is always gushing about. Doesn’t he want to come to our school or something? And he was kind of okay at the hat competition, too.”

“Yeah, he was, wasn’t he? I never trust Chloe to be in possession of the facts, but that’s right—she’s talked constantly this year about whether he’ll show up, and then he never does. Do you think he’s been trying to enroll? What would stop him?” Puzzled, Marinette rested her chin on her hands.

Alya held her phone outward so Marinette could see. “Um, he literally has a song titled “I Wish I Were at School”. I think Chloe might be right—just this once.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “I thought that title was a joke.”

With a gasp, Alya clapped both hands to her mouth. She stood and grabbed Marinette by the shoulders, dragging her up from the couch. “Girl, I just figured out what we’re going to do! Here, listen to this…”

---

Adrien sidled up to the exterior stairs of Francois Dupont, looking in every direction at once for Nathalie or the Gorilla to appear. Nervous, he rubbed his hands together and mounted the staircase. Other kids were funneling into the entrance alongside him and for once, he wasn’t the center of anyone’s attention. He wasn’t sure if that felt good or not. Chin tucked down into his collar, he crossed the stone threshold.

Made it! He thought, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He darted to the right of the main doors and pressed himself against the wall. A final peek outside revealed none of his father’s employees. Had he really—finally—gotten away with it?

Adrien whipped out his phone and fired off a message. I'm inside the doors. I don't think they followed me.

That's great! SewSweets messaged back. I'm really proud of you, FF. Do you know which classroom you're supposed to go to?

Mme. Bustier, he replied. That was Chloe's class.

Then get going!

Adrien put the phone away, but as he stepped forward a girl with auburn hair and glasses took notice of him.

"Hey! Aren't you Adrien Agreste, the famous teen model?

Adrien backed away from her, but a boy nearby with a red hat and glasses perked up.

"Did you say Adrien Agreste? Here at Francois Dupont?"

The pair advanced toward him. He glanced at a staircase nearby, unsure where to go. A tiny blonde girl and a willowy brunette with streaks of purple in her hair stood up from a bench.

"Adrien? Really?"

"Wow!"

Adrien turned to bolt. If word got out this soon, he'd be back at the mansion within the hour! He started up the stairs, but a hand grabbed his upper arm. A girl with pigtails yanked him along behind her, away from the growing crowd.

"Locker room! Quick!" she hissed.

They ducked into the locker room and found it fortuitously empty.

"Thanks," Adrien huffed. "I only just walked in the door and I don't know my classroom or anything yet."

"No problem, FF. I've got your back."

They stood in silence, Adrien taking a moment to get his breath and the girl just staring him down. Something felt off to Adrien. He shouldn't—wait. She hadn't called him Adrien. She hadn't called him a name at all, at least, not one that anyone knew. He looked at the girl with dawning realization.

"SewSweets?" He asked in disbelief.

She tried to keep a straight face, but her lips gave a funny little wriggle and she burst out laughing.

"I'm so sorry, FF—I mean Adrien! That look was priceless."

"What is going on? You go here? To this school, with Chloe?" Adrien looked all around the room, but the two of them were still the only ones inside.

The girl grimaced at the name, but nodded. "Yeah, I know her."

"How did you know this was where I meant when I said school? Wait, how do you even know who I am?" Adrien found his head spinning a little and he sat down on a nearby bench. SewSweets sat next to him, concern threading the little wrinkle in her brow.

“Let’s start with the movies…” she said.

The pigtailed girl gave him a run down of recognizing him, then inexplicably blushed as she explained how she’d figured out he wanted to go to school and encouraged him to chat about it in Birdiemuse. In hindsight, his wish to join other teens at school wasn’t exactly a mystery, he had to admit. He noticed two of the kids from the courtyard poke their heads in around the time she was done explaining that they hadn’t actually mobbed him— it had been a set-up.

“So once you figured out who I was, it wasn’t too difficult to steer me toward another attempt at coming to Francois Dupont,” he stated, looking at her with new eyes.

The girl blushed even brighter and nodded her head, scrunching her eyes closed.

“I-I should apologize, Adrien. It wasn’t fair of me to push you to come here, but I didn’t know how else I could finally really meet you. I just want to be friends, online and in real life.”

Adrien stared at the small teen next to him. She looked so sweet and innocent. Who could believe such a calculating mind hid behind her pleasant facade? The girl nervously clutched her hands in her lap. She let go when Adrien threw back his head and laughed.

“I needed the push. Coming here is what I wanted! You just coordinated the timing, that’s all. And—hold on, what’s your name?”

“Marinette.”

“Marinette,” Adrien replied, smiling around the word. “I remember now. You won the hat competition. And stood up to Chloe in the process! Yeah, I suppose I can’t actually be surprised at what you can pull off when you set your mind to it.”

He grinned at her and was rewarded with a small smile, but Marinette wouldn’t meet his eyes. He dipped his head low, bringing his face close to hers.

“After the way you’ve encouraged me and been there for me, Marinette, I could never call you just a friend. Thank you.”

For the first time, the girl lifted her bright blue eyes and Adrien could see her worry drain away. She smiled and he couldn’t help but reach forward for a hug. Marinette hugged him back, arms wrapped around his ribs. Her hair smelled unusually sweet, like sugar. SewSweets, he thought, privately amused at the connection.

“C’mon, Friend, let’s go to class,” she suggested once they’d separated.

Adrien followed her out of the locker room, feeling the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. He took a deep breath to calm his racing thoughts and heart. No, Marinette was definitely more than just a friend.

[ratretro]

The Heart Beats Chapter 4 - Scars

Title: The Heart Beats

Pairing: NaLu

Summary: Soulmate AU mashup - Red Strings. Forgotten Dreams. Colors of Gray. Marked Skin. Unfamiliar Names. Soulmates have different meanings for everyone, and Lucy struggles to find the courage to take her next step forward. Will she finally claim her future or will feelings go left unsaid?

Rating: M – sort of??? probably??????

None of these characters are owned by me, they are all owned by the wonderful Hiro Mashima!

A/N:

Alright everyone! We’ve got our winners! So, after tallying votes from my asks, dms, and on FF (ao3 had no comments) we came to these results. For NaLu: the midnight video call (honestly truly this was a super close race) and for Jerza: Coffee Shop. Based on the winning options for the ships we won’t be meeting Wendy this chapter! However, we will meet her  in ch 5 or 6 so no worries haha also the midnight video call option is just good okay

FF.net - AO3

   Natsu Dragneel was, by all intents and purposes, an idiot. He wracked his brain for answers on why he would put his name as ‘Hot Stuff’ in her phone. Oh man, she was going to think he was a moron. Shit, he just might be.

   “Troubles with the blonde?” Jellal gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder and Natsu briefly wondered if the man was doing alright. He’d JUST moved back to his hometown and all.

   “The blonde’s name is Lucy and Natsu looooves her,” Juvia called from across the empty cafe. He was after closing but the trio still had business to take care of and that took precedence over his idiocy with a girl he definitely did NOT love. He loved his soulmate. Though, sometimes that worked for and against him. Today, it was against him because damn it all the girl was amazing. She was selfless and caring.

   He could inconvenience her a million times and she’d forgive him each and every one. But Lucy. Lucy was real. He could touch her, hear her voice, watch her nose scrunch up when she took a sip of a drink much too bitter. Today, it worked against him.

   “I don’t like ‘er, Juvia. She’s not my soulmate.” He threw the rag down on the countertop with an annoyed grunt.

   Jellal, in his infinite wisdom, assumed Natsu was one of the ‘following the crowd’ types and made the first of many mistakes.

   “So? Why should that matter?” the darker-haired blunette’s voice rang into the silence and Natsu, dear Natsu, exploded.

   “Huh!? What do ya mean why!? ‘Cause I love her and I can’t stand liking someone who isn’t her!”

   “Have you guys met before?” because surely after a week of working at the shop Jellal would have met her by now. But he’d only ever seen the blo-- ‘Lucy’ here to visit the pinkette.

   “N-no, we haven’t.” the pinkette’s head hung low and he expected the same thing he always got: then go see her instead of raging.

   “Are you dating?” this was a different line of questioning then he was used to. So, Natsu, for once, listened.

   “No?” Jellal spoke calmly even in the face of Natsu’s disdain. Natsu, himself, was beginning to question Jellal’s motive at this point.

   “Then do as you please. See who you end up liking the most. Although, you should probably meet your soulmate if--”

   “I KNOW.” an aggravated yowl left the pinkette’s throat and that was enough for Jellal to know it was a subject to drop. And so he continued to sweep and they worked in awkward silence until the cafe was closed for the night. They even had the ‘closed for emergency’ sign outside so patrons knew they’d be closed for a few days.

   The trio had business to attend to after all. Business that had nothing to do with his love life.

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

   The dinging of her phone was what woke her in the dead of night. The blonde fumbled and smacked at her phone in an attempt to decline the call but much to her chagrin she tapped the answer button instead.

   “Hey, Lucy.” Natsu’s voice was soft and barely audible from her bedside table and it took her a moment to register who was speaking.

   “Natsu?” her voice was groggy and at first the pinkette wasn’t sure what Lucy had even said. Meanwhile, the blonde herself was struggling to focus on the bright lit up screen where the vague shape of her barista was. Half-asleep and barely functioning, she waited for a response.

   “Look at the screen.” Lucy had barely heard what he said. Which wasn’t surprising since she still hadn’t lifted the phone from her table.

   “Don’t wanna.” a grumbled response that Natsu understood. Sort of.

   “Luuuuce.” he groaned while the haze of the blonde’s waking mind began to clear.

   “Fiiiiiiine,” she grumbled. The pinkette watched as her face came to view. Well, a dark outline of her face barely illuminated from the light of the phone.

   “You realize it’s...” she glanced to the upper right, “12:37 AM. Right?”

   “Yeah,” he said it like a statement but his voice was becoming strained, almost as if he was hurt.

   “I just felt the need to talk to ya is all. Not sure why.” more strained vocals from the pinkette. He looked to be in a dimly lit location. She could hear cars passing by and even the sound of a microwave going off in the distance.

   “What about? Are you okay?” she didn’t think he was but she was already expecting his lie.

   “I’m fine. Nothin’ to worry about, Luce.” it seemed that the nickname would be sticking unless she rejected it but honestly it felt right. It felt like a personal connection to him. She liked that.

   “Ya sure?” she grumbled, a mixture of tired and irritation at being woken if nothing was wrong.

   “Where are you anyway?” now THAT was a question he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask.

   “I’m on my balcony.” Technically speaking, he was on a balcony – it just wasn’t his.

   “Uh huh. Sure. Are you sure you’re okay?” Her bed creaked as she shifted to an upright position to continue talking to him.

   “I am. Uh--” the sound of a fight broke out in the background and Natsu cursed before the call abruptly ended. Lucy was left with a bright screen reading ‘Call Ended’ and several questions. Luckily, these could easily be answered with her visit to the shop tomorrow. Still, she worried about him. She considered calling him back to see if he was okay but quickly dismissed the thought.

Besides, she’d see him tomorrow anyway.

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

   Natsu laid in his bed, cut to hell, and internally thanked the fact that Lucy hadn’t called him back. That failure of a mission was just one of their many mistakes but he’d made the biggest blunder. He’d gotten hurt; bad. Wendy had spent the entire night attempting to keep the wound from scarring but in the end, she hadn’t been able to. He’d needed several stitches.

   He’d also been ignoring the inked messages on his forearm filled with panic, worry and God knew what else. Of course, she’d seen it. It would scar, badly, which would cause it to stay on her as well. Forever, it would never leave. Now, Natsu himself wouldn’t care about a measly scar but he wasn’t a girl. Girls care about things like that.

   Maybe once he was out of recovery and cleared for active duty again he could talk to Juvia about it. Still, that bitch Briar would pay the next time he saw her. Though, the pinkette couldn’t say it was a total bust. They’d finally gotten information that they could turn into the police which would finally end their job. Plus, the mob syndicate, Avatar would go down in ashes. He couldn’t have them anywhere near Lucy or his soulmate which meant they couldn’t be rifling around in this city.

   “We got ‘em right, gramps?” he questioned the small, elder man who was sitting on the dresser across from his bed.

   “We got ‘em. But. I hate that you disobeyed a direct order AND got yourself injured.” his voice was booming for an old man and Natsu had to admit: he was scared.

   “You leave me with no choice.”

   “Gramps, no. Anything but that.” Natsu’s voice was exasperated.

   “You’re grounded. For an entire week, you won’t leave the apartment and you WON’T be working at the shop either.” Now, Natsu wasn’t worried about funds. Most of his bills were paid by Fairy Tail including his rent. However, being forced away from the shop bothered him. He wouldn’t see Lucy or her friends. And he even liked her friends. Except for Gray. Everyone but him.

   “Graaaaamps,” he whined

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

   Lucy tapped her pen on the table in anger. She’d heard nothing from Natsu or her soulmate in nearly four days. Lucy was pissed, which wasn’t exactly a first for her, at her soulmate. It wasn’t about the scarring left on her abdomen. This was about her worry. She cared for him; missed him. But he’d gotten seriously injured and dropped off the face of the earth.

   Lucy didn’t want to ask the question that was on her mind and it seemed like the redhead didn't either.

   “Ah! May I get another winterberry tea? The color is quite refreshing.” Erza’s voice snapped her out of her stupor causing her to watch the exchange closely. She recognized the blunette male from the week prior when she and Natsu had given each other their numbers.

   “You think so too? I love the color. It has to be my favorite. It’s a scarlet color, just like your hair.” the pair were smiling at each other with tinted red cheeks and the blonde nearly cooed at the two. The scene felt like sweet tea on her tongue; strong and full of diabetes. Meanwhile, her soulmate gets cut up and just disappears.

   The blunette returned to the counter where Juvia, her second-favorite barista, began showing the male the ropes of making Erza’s favorite drink of the week. It’d surely change by next week but Lucy wasn’t one to judge on picky taste. She’d refused to drink a cappuccino made by anyone other than Natsu so she was getting her caffeine via the unlikely source of Earl Grey. It barely took the edge off. Still, somehow she was still steadfast on the pinkette making her drink.

   She was also stubbornly waiting for his call. Pale fingers caressed her abdomen where the ragged mark of an ‘X’ now laid upon her skin.

   First, her soulmate. Now, Natsu. Hives broke out across her skin as worry fell over her.

   “Luce! It’s been a while, huh?”

   And truly it hadn’t been.

A/N:

NEXT CHAPTER:

Gruvia. We get some Gruvia.

So next is choosing what scenes you want for each couple next:

NaLu: Balcony Scene or THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

and

Gajevy: Lucy meets the bae or Kiss in the rain

Gruvia doesn’t get a choice because I have a dream sequence coming for them. Small reminder this is mainly nalu so i’m trying to keep it mainly about them.

I LOOK FORWARD TO NEXT CHAPTER WITH YOU ALL.

[artistic-writer]

Fragments of Home :: CS AU :: E :: Chapter 7

Title: Fragments of Home by @artistic-writer

Summary: Emma Swan must return home to her childhood town of Storybrooke when her mother dies and stays in the house left to her and her brother, David Nolan. Emma must juggle a temporary job at the hospital with her loss, something that has made her feel smaller than she ever was. When a tall, dark, handsome stranger comes into her life in the most unexpected way, and she begins to fall in love, will she stay in Storybrooke, or return to her new life back in New York?

Rating: E

Previous: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Many thanks to my lovely beta, @kmomof4 who persuaded me that this would work as a CS fic in the first place.  It’s all her fault. And thank you all for your patience - my RL has taken an unexpected turn in illness, so I am posting some things I have finished, or nearly finished while I wait for my muse to get her shit together.

——————————————————————————————

Emma was insanely mad. More than mad, she was downright livid. She cursed to herself as she drove through traffic, honking her horn at a nearby taxi driver who stared at her scowl with surprise. His eyes were wide, his hands were tossed into the air at her, and Emma was sure she could lip read his profanity as she drove past in her beat-up yellow bug. The truth was he wasn’t even in her way. Emma just thought she could vent some of her pent up rage that she had tried to conceal for half of the day. It didn’t work.

The bug pulled to a halt outside of the old, weathered house she had been calling home. She slapped the stick shift into neutral and the engine chugged a few times as if in painful protest before it finally went silent. Emma leaned back in her seat, twisting her body in the weathered leather of the interior with a squeak, and reached over into the back seat awkwardly to retrieve her purse. Yanking it from the seat onto her lap, she bunched the strap in her hand, wrenching the car keys from the ignition and pushed the door open harshly.

She didn’t have to but Emma slammed the door and locked it with her jaw clenched tightly and her cheeks flushed red with anger. She wasn’t mad at Killian for sleeping with Jenny. She had no right because she hadn’t known him back then. She hadn’t even known Jenny at the time and she seemed like a nice enough girl now, always wearing a smile, her lips curled into a pleasing curve, and her dirty blonde hair always sat lazily against the salmon of her scrubs.

Emma wanted to rip out Jenny’s dirty blonde hair, stuff it into her perfectly shaped smile and make her wish she had never told the entire hospital Killian was a dog. But then, Emma wasn’t even sure if he was or not. She had met him at work, known him for less time than she had treated him as a patient and had recently found out that he was her brother’s partner. Surely, if Killian were a decent man, David would have introduced them before now?

Emma shoved her key into the lock of her front door and practically kicked it open. It hit the coat rack behind it and bounced back towards her, rattling on its hinges as it did so. Emma stepped through the doorway, wrenching her coat from her shoulders and hanging it over the end of the stairs. She slammed the front door and the sound echoed through the house, making her jump a little and hide her face in her hands.

What was she becoming? She had never been this sort of woman, jealous and easily provoked into anger because of a man. A man, she reminded herself, that she had barely known five minutes and a man she hated for the mere fact he could send her wild by just looking at her. Killian was like no other man she had ever met. He was smart, well established in a high paid job and he knew it. His confidence made her smile because he reminded her of David. David was a good man and Emma had always wished she could find someone just as kind-hearted and professional as her brother, but she wanted the perfect combination of family man and businessman, and then, as if by magic Killian had found her.

It was no use, she had to know. She hated herself for even thinking of it. She hated herself even more then she hated Jenny. Emma wasn’t one to deceive people for her own personal gain, and the thought that she had been a victim to Killian’s supposed womanizing crushed her heart. But she had to know if he was who Jenny had said he was. When, and if, Killian arrived at eight, she would be ready to question him.

Killian balled his fists in his pants pocket as he walked down the street. March was mild, usually, but this one had been thwart with cold snaps and a light dusting of frost littered the pavement this evening. He only had his shirt on under his khaki green jacket and even that was too thin to stop the cold from invading his bones, warmth fighting off the chill everywhere except his extremities and his spine. The cold had seeped into his supporting vertebrae and made him shiver slightly, exhaling a condensed breath out into the street through chattering teeth.

His feet fell silently on the ground, his rubber-soled shoes offering no grip against the whitened concrete as he carried on. Why he had chosen to walk from the office he didn’t know. Maybe it was something about the way she had smiled, or maybe it was the innuendo in her voice that made his entire skin come alive with a shivering pleasure, but he had left his car in the parking lot in his haste to get to Emma. He turned onto her street, the dull yellow glow from the streetlamps illuminating his hunched figure as he walked through their pools of light, head lowered to the ground.

A small dog yapped at him from across the street, and he lifted his head briefly to receive a stare from an elderly lady attached to the other end of a decrepit black poodle. She gripped at her long, light brown coat and clutched it tighter at the matching leather leash as her dog barked, piercing the night with its high pitched cries. Its feet scraped across the path and she gave it a tug of encouragement, pulling it sideways as they crossed paths and Killian shook his head with a smile. Content he had seen off the potential threat, the dog let out a snort and trotted along side his owner happily.

Killian passed a large, black box type truck parked on the opposite side of the road, identical to David’s. For a second, his heart fluttered and he flushed pink, instantly recalling David’s words to him in the office. He had made it clear his sister was out of bounds, but Emma had given him totally different, undeniable signals. If she wanted him, as much as he was craving her right now, he would soon know. He sighed, relieved when a couple stumbled from their friend’s house and the man beeped his truck, two side lights glowing bright orange as it unlocked electronically and they stepped in. Neither were David, so he felt safer.

David scared him. He was scared of his best friend and because of what? Because the woman he was falling for was his younger sister? Killian wondered if he had known Emma and David for longer, maybe if he’d grown up with them, then David would still feel the same way or he would welcome Killian’s advances on his younger sibling. Maybe he and Emma would be a couple, who knew. The one sure thing Killian knew was he was afraid to tell David he already knew his sister in more ways than one and he could only imagine, only wanted to imagine, David’s reaction if he were to find out.

Finally, Killian reached the towering house at the end of the street that had long since gone to sleep and become enveloped in darkness. There was no streetlamp outside of Emma’s house, just the rickety wooden gate at the end of the footpath and a few half dying shrubs littering the slightly overgrown front yard. Killian had to be honest, if he was buying the house on presentation alone, he would have long passed it by and gone for higher game. Not that he had any experience gardening anyway, because he just designed the attractions, not maintained them. It was much easier to draw a tree here and a rose bush there than it was to actually keep the things alive.

A smile crept across Killian’s lips as he climbed the steps and gave himself one last look over on the top step. He was dressed for work, except his top buttons had been popped open, his tie removed and left in his office and the green khaki jacket he wore was his best attempt at casual. And also his worst. He took a deep breath, smoothing his slightly sweaty palms over his thighs and soothing his nervousness before he tapped gently on the door.

There was no sound from inside the house and he reached out to knock again, this time a little louder, in three distinct thuds. He cupped his hand over his mouth, shifting from one foot to the other in a dance of uneasiness as he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. It was clear tonight, no clouds smattering the dark blue of the sky and shielding the bright white twinkling stars from his view. He turned around, inspecting the stars that flickered and flashed above his head, so far away and yet still just as beautiful as they were always portrayed in literature. He was so lost in the cool darkness, he almost didn’t hear the front door creak open.

“Killian?” Emma said, a little surprised but her voice laced with excitement. Killian spun to face her with a startled look, his cheeks instantly flushing with pink as he fumbled over his words. His eyes roamed her body, tucked half behind the door, starting at her bare feet, up her thin, grey pyjama pants that were tied in a bow at her waist and finally over her matching grey summer singlet that hugged her skin gracefully. “Killian,” Emma repeated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear quickly. “What are you doing here?”

Emma had spent the entire evening tucked up on the couch, trying to take out her anger on the remote control as she flicked through the channels on the TV after Killian had not arrived at the time they had arranged over text. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to avoid it, there was always some kind of drama show about a cheating boyfriend glaring back at her from the old fashioned television. She had been so ready for Killian to show up, but now she was just tired.

She had been waiting a long time and when he hadn’t shown up by eight, she figured Jenny was probably right and he had moved on to his next mark. Furious more than hurt, Emma had yelled a little at herself and couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. But now he was here, standing in front of her in the freezing dead of night and her heart involuntarily softened for a second. He was, if at all possible, even more handsome than when she had him pinned against the wall in the on-call room earlier that day, and he looked just as helpless.

“Well,” Killian began, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket and straightening his arms out as far as they would go. He looked to the floor as he spoke, the word leaving his mouth in a low sultry whisper. He grinned to himself, recalling the warmth of her hands earlier that day, imagining them on his length as she had coaxed him into hardness. He looked up to her and his face broke out in a wider grin. “It’s later,” he told her with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Emma arched her brow at him and relaxed against the door. Her hand gently gripped the edge of the wood, and she pressed her chest into it as she smiled at him. “It is. It's very late,” she mentioned slowly, her eyes flicking over his body, hunched in on itself and his breath hanging visibly in the air as it left his mouth. “You want to come in?” she asked, half concerned that he was freezing on her doorstep and half intrigued as to what he wanted from her so late.

Emma pulled the door open a little wider and without a second thought, Killian walked inside. The warmth of Emma’s house hit him like a tornado, instantly making his cold hands tingle and his cheek flush with red and white splotches as they warmed. He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together whilst taking in the decoration of her house that he had so hastily forgotten last time he stepped into the building.

It was old. It even smelt old, but it had a few finishing touches of modern scattered here and there. The hall was just a small square space at the bottom of the stairs with a coat rack and a wooden structure full of women's shoes. Emma’s had been tossed next to it, sitting one on top of the other in a messy heap. “Is something different here?” he smirked, following her into the lounge.

“No,” Emma said cheerily, turning to face him as she walked backwards. Her hair bobbed up and down on her shoulders and she brushed it from her brow with a shake of her head. “You just didn’t notice last time,” she added dryly, turning away from him and walking towards the couch. Killian smirked to himself, dragging a finger across his lips to hide his smile. “What’s on your mind, Killian?”

“Okay, so why didn’t you tell me David was your brother?” he blurted out loud, stopping her in her tracks. Emma turned to face him with a narrowed gaze, taking a step towards his stilled body.

“You never asked,” Emma shrugged with a smile, echoing her brother’s earlier words. Killian looked away from her and let out a nervous laugh. “Why?” Emma asked, closing the gap between them and tracing a single finger down his chest over the soft fabric of his shirt. She watched her finger intently, gently gripping at the cardboard texture of his collar when her hand smoothed back up to his neck. “Does it matter?”

Killian squirmed under her delicate touch, letting a nervous laugh escape his mouth as he reached up and gripped her hand in his. “No, it’s just-,” he said quickly. “David will kill me if he knew what I’ve…what we’ve done,” he said firmly. Emma’s skin jolted a little because Killian’s hands were still cold from the outside and she pulled her hands from his and quickly laid her flat palms to his chest.

“Are you scared of my brother?” Emma smiled, genuinely amused by Killian’s sudden shyness. Killian cocked his head at her and scoffed.

“No,” he said weakly, giving her a worried stare. “Should I be?”

Emma shrugged and inhaled deeply. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right?” Killian looked at her with a silent, lustful glare. His mouth twisted up into a smile and his heart skipped a beat when Emma dipped her head and her hair fell in front of her face, shielding her brilliantly soft hazel orbs from his view. He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch it. He reached out and Emma lifted her head when he touched her skin with nothing more than a light, feathering tickle of his fingertips and tucked a section of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re very naughty, Dr Swan,” Killian smirked, scanning every perfect detail of her face. “And I know I’ve said this before,” Killian began with a low whisper, repeating the tucking action of his hand. He brought his hand to cup her cheek as he spoke, keeping her eye contact the entire time. “But you are beautiful,” he said softly, giving her a slight nod of validation.

“Killian,” Emma said his name softly but firmly and looked away from him embarrassed by his remark. That was it. His tell. His trademark. Exactly as Jenny had said earlier that day and it had taken him all of about three minutes to actually tell her she was beautiful. Her next words were cut off by the feeling of Killian pressing his lips to hers, erasing all rational thought from her mind temporarily and rendering her helpless.

Killian moved quickly, cupping her face in his warming hands and holding her face against his while he kissed her. He tilted his head sideways, gently easing her bottom lip open with his own and sucking on the slightly swollen flesh softly. Emma let out a moan and arched her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his body even closer to hers. Killian stepped back from her body but did not break his kiss as he roughly tugged on his jacket and let it fall to the end of his arm. He caught it in one hand, tossing it sideways onto the couch.

Emma felt her cheeks begin to burn and she broke the kiss abruptly, gently pushing against Killian’s chest to halt his advances. “This is moving too fast. What are we doing here?” she said with a frustrated growl, reaching up and gripping Killian’s hand that was holding her face. She turned her face and planted a soft kiss to his palm before pulling it from her skin and instantly missing the contact.

“What do you mean, love?” Killian asked her in a dizzy voice, dazed and confused by the sudden loss of contact. His eyes fluttered open and his breath was a little ragged as he watched her remove his hand from her skin. Killian didn’t know what was going on. He thought Emma wanted this, wanted him, as much as he wanted her. “Emma?”

“Killian, what are we doing?” Emma repeated, looking down to her feet that were shuffling together on the floor. Killian wiped his mouth discreetly and let out a frustrated breath, averting his gaze from her to the ceiling.

“I thought we were going to be doing each other,” he laughed, rolling his eyes sideways a little. His remark was met with silence and he swallowed her taste down, the combination of cinnamon-laced hot chocolate and cookies sliding down his throat like thorns. He rested his hands to his belt, pulling at his pants awkwardly and looking to the floor. “Okay, wrong time to joke, Killian,” he said slowly to himself.

“Is that what this is? A joke?” Emma snapped, lifting her gaze to look back at him. Killian frowned as he lifted his eyes to meet hers again and shook his head slowly. “Am I just your newest venture, Killian? Another notch on your bedpost?”

“Not at all. Emma, how could you think-,” he began hurriedly but her angry words cut him off. She turned from him and stalked towards the TV. Bending over slightly she banged her hand against the switch and it whizzed a little as the screen went black.

“So what happens when the sex is boring, Killian?” Emma spat, spinning to face him again, her hair turning a second later than she did and finally bouncing to a stop on her shoulders. “What happens when David finds out and…and,” she stuttered, waving her hands towards the lounge window and pointing out into the darkness as if David was outside.

“Emma, where has this come from?” Killian asked, still very confused by her outburst. “When I walked through that front door, you were practically all over me!” he yelled, turning his body sideways and pointing through the archway at the front door.

“I was all over you?!” Emma quipped with a low laugh. “Tell me, Killian. How many times do you usually sleep with someone before you get bored, huh? How long have I got?”

Killian turned his hands upside down so his palms were facing upwards and he just stared at her. His mouth was open a tad and his brow was furrowed so much his skin around the creases had turned white on his forehead. “Emma,” Killian started, trying to ask her what was wrong but she stormed towards him brandishing a sternly pointed finger that she jabbed into his chest with each word.

“Don’t Emma me! I know what you did to Jenny!” she screeched at him, slapping her two tiny hands to his chest and pushing him backwards. Killian stumbled a little, looking behind him as he tripped over the edge of the rug onto the flatter carpet. He spun his contorted face towards her and shook his head again, shielding himself from her with raised arms.

“Jenny? What? Who’s Jenny?” Killian stuttered, his face prickling with pinkness and his heart breaking in his chest. This was it, he was losing her, the one thing in his life that could soothe his raging mind. Somehow he had managed to upset her, and he had no idea what he had done. Everything he had ever done in his life would come crashing down around him, or come up from the depths of Hell and sink its jaw firmly into his ass and never let go.

Emma crossed her arms and turned away from him, letting out a long sarcastic laugh. She shook her head and bit her bottom lip between her teeth, her shoulders still shaking from her laughter. Killian looked at her questioningly, trying to catch her gaze with his. “You don’t even remember their names, do you?” she said slowly, finally lifting her gaze to look at him again. He looked shocked but Emma figured it was probably part of his act and he was so well practised in the art of deception he could pull it off so convincingly. She had her proof. Killian Jones was indeed a dog, a sexual pirate, pillaging women and leaving them spent and used. Her eyes were dark and she shook her head again. “Unbelievable.”

“Their names?” Killian asked, dumbfounded. “Emma, love, I’m not like that,” Killian began again but Emma exploded. She leaned over and grabbed his jacket from the couch, balling it in her hands and then launching it at his chest with gritted teeth.

“I’m not your love,” she spat. “Get out. Get out!” she screamed at him. Emma took two huge steps towards him, pulling back her hand and slapping him across the face with an open palm. Killian’s face stung instantly and he stumbled back further, tensing under her attack as Emma weakly took out her anger against his chest. He dropped his jacket and his keys in his pocket jingled as they hit the floor, his arms shooting out to grab her wrists.

“Emma, listen to me!” he implored, her skin under his hands turning pink as she struggled from his grasp. “Listen!” he repeated louder and she began to still in his arms. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She hated him right now but a part of her, somewhere deep in her subconscious toyed with the idea that Jenny was wrong. Killian wasn’t the guy who had slept with her and then never called her back. She was mistaken and another tall, dark, handsome engineer called Killian was to blame.

“What, Killian? What could you possibly say right now?” Emma coughed out on a sob as her tears began to flow from her eyes. Her words were abruptly cut off by Killian’s lips pressed firmly to hers and his hands wrapping themselves around her shoulders to hold her to him. Emma frowned and pushed against his chest again, breaking the kiss and tearing her quivering lips from his. “What are you doing?” she snapped at him, looking directly into his darkened blue orbs and seeing nothing but remorse.

“Proving you wrong,” he said gently, flickering his gaze back down to her lips and pausing for her reaction. Emma was still for a moment, looking between his lips and his eyes, the sincerity in his words taking her by surprise. Something in his voice told her he was desperate and Emma wanted nothing more than to let him show her, to make love to her as he kissed away her tears. The look in his eyes, the soft blue hues of his circular orbs gave him credibility, and Emma caved, utter confusion clouding her mind. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed his face in her hands and crushed his lips back to hers, devouring his mouth hungrily with her own for a few seconds, but when she felt him react, she pulled away.

“Sex isn’t proof, Killian,” she said softly, smoothing her thumb across the corner of his mouth and looking away from him sadly. She stepped away and cleared her throat. “Now, please leave,” she said, crossing an arm across her chest and running a hand through her tousled locks timidly.

Killian bent down and picked his jacket back up off the floor, bunching it in one hand and sighing heavily. “Whatever you think of me, Emma, you’re wrong,” Killian said slowly, turning from her and disappearing through the archway into the lobby. Emma bit down on her thumbnail, staring at the patch of carpet where he had just been. “I’ll prove it.” She heard the door close with a small click and buried her face in her hands, pushing her hair from her face with a heaving sigh.

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP - 32.5 - Interlude 3: Chaos Squad

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay, when we originally considered putting this part into the story, it was meant to be a joke. A bit of relief from tension and feels. Pure fun. And then the boys decided that, nope, we're gonna do it like this. And this. And this too. *shrugs helplessly* So don't blame me for anything, it was all them!

. o O o .

As it turned out, carrying four big mugs of beer at once wasn’t easy, but Eret thought he managed it sufficiently. That being said, the mugs were heavy, solid pewter with a lid on top, which was the only reason he’d avoided splashing anyone as he had to dodge other customers in the big tavern’s room. They’d dressed down for this pub crawl, which had the pleasant advantage of not having everyone bowing in obsequiousness – but also the distinct disadvantage of having the people around him not exactly putting in much effort to make way for him. But it wasn’t more difficult or exhausting than reining in one of his House’s untamed horses either, even less so if one considered that the mugs weren’t actively fighting against him. So, all in all, he didn’t think that getting drinks for them had taken that long, but when he returned to their table in a calmer and slightly detached niche, Dagur already awaited him eagerly.

“Oh, thank the Gods, you’re back,” he exclaimed, and directly reached to claim one of the big mugs. “These two are driving me insane!”

Eret’s eyes wandered to the other side of the table where Daniel and Hiccup sat side by side, their heads bowed over a notebook on the table between them. A relieved smile tugged at his lips at that sight; they were obviously deeply engrossed in yet another technical-looking sketch, and didn’t even react when he placed their mugs down in front of them. That was a good thing, he mused as he sat down in the last empty chair. Last night, during the festivities for the grand blot, Hiccup’s bold move to help Astrid on Markor’s back had worried him, and then there’d been Astrid’s hug and Daniel’s strange reaction to it… For a moment, Eret had honestly been afraid for his cousin. The war had hardened Daniel noticeably, and with the repeated assaults on Astrid, his sense of protection for his little sister had hardened as well.

And Hiccup… Well, Eret would vouch for Hiccup’s integrity. Tyr, he had! But no matter how well his cousin fit into their group and how fond Daniel seemed to be of him, none of that would matter when it came to Astrid. So it was good to see them like this again, with the tension from last night entirely gone. They were just getting excited over scholarly crap, together, once again, and even though Eret hadn’t thought it possible, the sight gave him a good feeling.

But it was too much fun to tease Dagur, so he let out a theatrical sigh. “Welcome to my life. They’ve been like this ever since my accolade, drifting off into technical conversations no sane person can follow. You’ve only endured this for a week now, but believe me, it’ll only get worse the longer they talk.”

Dagur cackled, amusement sparking in his eyes, and with Daniel thoroughly distracted he felt safe enough to throw his lover a warm smile. It wasn’t like they deliberately wanted to keep Daniel in the dark or lie to him… But they knew the Prince well enough, knew his sober attitude toward love and marriage. He wouldn’t get angry at him and Dagur for loving each other. But he also wouldn’t understand it, would only lecture them on how they couldn’t keep their relationship up forever. The good of the Kingdom was more important. And they knew that! But they didn’t need to be reminded of this fact every day again…

For another minute or three, they watched Hiccup and Daniel, how they kept bouncing ideas back and forth, both having a pencil in their hands now to simultaneously add to their sketch. It was funny in a way, though not why anyone visited a tavern.

“And here I thought we’d come here to have fun tonight,” Dagur commented after a while, disbelievingly shaking his head. “You know, after spending nearly the entire day at the Temple to help tidy it up again, I thought we’d earned a reprieve now. Laugh, chat, get a little drunk…” He paused, shaking his head again. “Is this going to keep going on like this? Or is there a chance they might reach another topic at some point?”

“If you can provide an interesting enough topic, that’s possible. But otherwise? Nope. It only gets worse.”

Dagur gave him an almost comically pleading look. “And if we just… leave? I mean, not necessarily to you-know-what. Just, I don’t know... Do something else? Maybe join the men over there? I’m pretty sure I’ve spotted some of this year’s recruits; we could teach them a lesson. I mean, beating them in an arm-wrestling match won’t make as much of an impression as Swanja’s performance with her bow would have made, but it surely would be better than nothing?”

Eret glanced over into the main room. Dagur was right, in all points. There were some recruits out there, also revelling in their liberty before heading off for war, and teaching them some respect surely would be helpful for their further training. Some of them were insufferable this year. But he let out an exasperated snort, and shook his head. “No, we can’t leave,” he said dryly, then nodded back to Daniel and Hiccup. “We can’t leave them alone. Believe me, it’s better to keep an eye on them before they go overboard. Again!”

“What, you think they’d slip away when we turn our backs on them? Maybe run riot?” Dagur laughed again, loud and true. “Oh, wait, I get it. Maybe they’ll go over to the armoury and test their theories from the other day. Which angle and distance is best to tear down a wall.” He laughed again at his own joke.

Eret just raised his eyebrow though, and gave Dagur an ‘Are you certain this is just a joke?’-look that made him choke on his next laugh. Sure, they hadn’t torn down any walls. Not yet! But it certainly wouldn’t be that much of an escalation to previous experiments either…

Leaving Dagur to get a grip on his laughing fits on his own, Eret reached for his beer and took a big gulp. Dagur was right, however. As happy as he was to see Daniel wasn’t against Hiccup… this was their last night before they’d all meet up in Westhill come summer. And selfish as it might be, he’d rather they would all chat together.

He was just scouring his mind for something – anything – to change the topic to, when a boy in the uniform of a courier appeared at their table.

They all looked up at the boy, wearing the sash and badge of the king’s messengers. He appeared to be a little self-conscious in the loud tavern, where a lad his age would normally be shown the door, as he glanced from one to the other. “Sir Eret?” he eventually muttered, settling to look at him. “I have this note for you. From your father.” The boy handed him a sealed letter, and Eret accepted it reflexively, even as a frown formed on his face.

A note from his father? That was strange. What would be so important that it couldn’t wait until the morning? “Thanks,” he said to the courier, and made attempts to stow the letter away into the pocket of his vest for later.

But the boy shook his head, looking highly uncomfortable as he raised a hand as if to stop him. “I-I’m sorry, Milord,” he stammered. “But I have orders to wait for your answer and deliver it back to his Grace directly. Just… just something about whether you… approve or not?”

Eret’s frown grew deeper, and he noticed that his friends around him all had looks of equal confusion on their faces. Even Daniel and Hiccup had interrupted their conversation for now. “All right,” he sighed, and got up. “Then I’ll see whether I can find a more private place to read it, and get right back to you.”

The boy nodded and stepped to the side, making way for Eret to leave their niche. He looked around, then decided to go outside to read. The light falling through the windows would be sufficient, without the noises of a full tavern to distract him.

Inside the letter were two pieces of paper. One was just a short note, the other another formerly sealed letter addressed to Grand Duke Eret of House Jag’r. Blinking in confusion, he first read the note, written in his father’s messy handwriting.

Son,

This letter from Eastervale arrived an hour ago, and I want to send back a reply immediately. But, as the future head of our House, it is your right to give your opinion as well.

His father wanted his opinion on a matter that affected their House? What could it be, some new trading contract maybe? Frowning even deeper, Eret read the note again, but couldn’t make any more rhyme or reason to it than the first time. Since when did his father need his opinion on such matters?

Shaking his head in bewilderment, he turned his attention to the letter. The seal was broken, but since it had been addressed to his father, that wasn’t surprising. What surprised him, however, was that even though it was broken, the seal was easily recognisable. It was the same as the one on the note the courier had just given him: The seal of a family member of House Jag’r. Even more confused, he opened the letter, and read it.

Dearest Father,

I send this letter to you in the hope that it might reach you soon. If my calculations are right, then I hope you had a wonderful Midwinter’s Night yesterday.

You might be wondering why I’m sending you this letter now instead of waiting for your return in a few weeks. You see, there’s been a development during the last weeks, and even though I know that the final decision only can be made once you’ve returned, I’m eager nonetheless to know your opinion on the matter.

Isku, Baron Hammond’s second son, asked me to become his wife. I know that his father already sent an official proposal, and that it is not my decision to make. But dearest Father, I want to let you know that, if it were my decision, I would gladly say yes.

So I’ll be waiting to hear from you, hoping for your approval.

In love,

Ester of House Jag’r

Gulping, Eret stared at the letter, and let his fingers glide over his sister’s name at the bottom. This didn’t come as a surprise, not really. Baron Hammond’s second son, Isku, had been a regular visitor during the summer months and had been one of the few that hadn’t been a nuisance but a real help instead. His genuine interest in Ester had been an open secret, and even though she’d tried to hide it, Eret had noticed that the interest was mutual.

No, this letter didn’t come as a surprise, and there was no real question whether their Father would approve of the union either. Baron Hammond was an influential and loyal vassal, and tying them tighter to their House would only strengthen them both – even if Eret the Elder would whine and complain about how it was a less than optimum dynastic union, given that Isku was only a second son, and the Hammonds were already vassals, and they should have held out for a first son of a Duke.  

But the irony...

Eret shivered. His sisters would marry out of the House. Ester would join House Hammond if this was approved, as the law stated.

And Dagur’s siblings were all in the Temple. Even though they were acknowledged by Oswald as his children, they were still Ástir-born bastards, meaning that, by law, none of them could inherit in Dagur’s stead. So, for both him and Dagur, the ‘line of succession’ was a noose around their necks, strangling their love. This letter was just a reminder that nothing had changed. No, if anything, it made everything more real.

He couldn’t tell for how long he stood out there staring at the letter, his thoughts chasing around and around. But when his fingers started to turn numb from the cold, he returned back inside. “You can tell my father that I approve,” he said to the still waiting courier, who nodded and then hurried out of the tavern. Eret gazed after him, then sighed.

He was happy for Ester. Marrying for love was a rare luck, and he was glad to know that at least one of those around him would have that luck. Without his help, his eyes wandered through the crowded room, to their niche, to Dagur. Yeah, it was rare luck indeed, one he himself would never have.

With a heavy heart, Eret weaved his way back to their table, hoping to find some comfortable distraction among his friends – but paused in his steps when he finally noticed the change. Daniel and Hiccup had stopped talking about their sketch, as it seemed. In fact, they weren’t talking at all anymore, and instead laughing cordially. All in all, that wasn’t that much of an unusual sight, except that something about them seemed off.

As if–

. o O o .

With a satisfied grin, Dagur leaned back in his chair and watched the other two men laugh about the silly joke he’d just made. Yep, this was definitely more fun. Not that he begrudged Daniel and Hiccup having this common interest, not at all. But this was their last day together, so this was really not the best time for such discussions. In addition, a tavern also wasn’t the right place for it, given that who knew who might be listening in on them discussing defence plans and such.

“What in Loki’s name happened to them?”

Dagur turned at the exasperated tone in Eret’s voice, and grinned up at his disbelieving expression. “Oh, I just got tired of all the technical terms. So I… helped them to relax a bit. See things in a different light.” It sounded good in his own ears. Sophisticated.

But Eret wasn’t fooled. His eyes turned into slits, then he leaned forward and sniffed at Hiccup’s beer. The big mug was half-empty by now, but with how people outside of Southshore brewed their beer for taste and not alcohol content, that didn’t mean much. Or… usually wouldn’t mean much.

“I can’t believe it,” Eret muttered. “You–” He broke off, then hastily rounded the table to take his seat, but pulled it closer to Dagur to speak quietly. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “Please tell me you didn’t lace their beers with your Gods-damned Skullcrusher.”

Attempting to look innocent, Dagur schooled his expression and reached for his own beer. “I didn’t lace their beers with my fantastic self-brewed booze,” he repeated dutifully. But Eret knew him too well, obviously wasn’t buying it, and it only took a couple of seconds before Dagur broke. “No, it’s true,” he snickered. “I didn’t lace them. It was more of a liberal swig. Very liberal. But look how good it did them.” He pointed his round chin at the two men on the other side of the table, still laughing about Odin-knows-what. “We’re here to relax, Daniel specifically. And I understand that he enjoys talking about all this theoretical stuff. But he gets enough of that. Today, he should let go. Only the Gods know when he’ll get the chance to do so again.”

Dagur knew that he was right, but Eret still didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe,” he grumbled. “But this was still not a good idea. You do realise that their alcohol tolerance is not quite as high as yours or even mine, right? Freyr, you only would have needed to wait maybe another half an hour, and the beer alone would have been enough already. Now we can only hope that Daniel won’t suffer from a hangover when he starts his journey tomorrow. And we better make sure Hiccup safely gets back to the stables and doesn’t end up in some stream.”

Okay, maybe Eret had a point. But Dagur wouldn’t let such neglectable facts deter him. “I still say it’s more fun this way. But don’t worry, my Skullcrusher doesn’t cause hangovers, it’s too good for that.” Eret snorted at the blatant lie. The drink was aptly named, after all, for all that Dagur had named it after Eret’s uncle’s horse when the poor beast had been returned from the Tribes two years ago. “And as for Hiccup; stopping by the stables to make sure he gets there isn’t even much of a detour, so that shouldn’t be a problem either. Calm down, Chippy. Relax! We’re here to forget all worries for a night, remember?”

He could practically see how the anger flowed out of his lover, though whether it was due to his reasoning or to the use of his usual nickname – short for Chipmunk, a reference to his striped chin – Dagur couldn’t tell. Maybe he would have gotten an answer to this question as Eret was about to reply, his mouth already half-way open. But he never got the chance to actually say anything as his return had apparently finally soaked into Daniel’s alcohol-laced mind and the Prince looked up at him, beaming.

“Heh, Eret! When did you come back?” he asked cheerfully. His voice was a little too loud and there was a slightly glassy shimmer in his eyes, but in Dagur’s opinion, that wasn’t cause to be worried yet. “What did your old man want that couldn’t wait?”

Eret threw him a last meaningful look, but then turned toward Daniel. “He wanted to ask my opinion,” he explained, immediately catching Dagur’s interest too. “About… well, it’s not really a secret anyway, I guess. Apparently, my sister is getting married.”

There was a tightening on Eret’s face, Dagur noticed, and, knowing where it was coming from, he wished he could reach out and squeeze his hand to offer comfort. But that would have given away too much… Sometimes, Dagur really hated having to keep secrets.

“Your sister is getting married?” Daniel and Hiccup asked almost simultaneously.

“Ester or Mirja? Wait, how old were they? Aren’t they… still toddlers, or something?” Daniel looked positively perplexed, frowning as he tried to remember. His question made Dagur snicker. With all his additional duties that had come with growing up, it obviously had been a while since Daniel had been to Eastervale.

“‘s got to be Ester,” Hiccup muttered, voice slurring heavily. “She turned seventeen a few months back. And Mirja is almost fifteen, by the way. Hardly t-toddlers anymore. So did that–” he frowned a little, “–uh... son of a baron ask her after all? Wha’ was ‘is name? Isker?”

“Isku,” Eret corrected, nodding. “And yeah, apparently he did,” he added with a grimace.

“And… that’s not good?” Daniel asked hesitantly, reacting to Eret’s tense posture. “Didn’t you say something about how you wouldn’t mind–”

“Oh, it is good,” Eret interrupted quickly. “Isku is a good man. Reliable. Digilant. Not above getting his hands dirty. And he truly cares for Ester. No, I couldn’t hope for a better man, for her and for the stud farm in Sunhill alike. It's just…’ he trailed off, eyes cast down at his hands. He took a big gulp of his beer, and didn’t even grimace even though Dagur was sure he must have noticed the Skullcrusher he’d put in there too. “It’s just… weird, I guess? It’s as if we’ve really grown up now, you know? I mean, sure, we’re knights now and all, but this…”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Daniel muttered as Eret trailed off. He took a swallow of his beer as well, before gesturing around from one to the other, starting with Dagur. “Heather is married, but she’s older anyway, so it’s not that strange. But now Ester marries, and… And it makes one wonder where we will end up, doesn’t it?” He laughed, a little shakily, then shook his head. “I mean, could you imagine getting married anytime soon?”

Next to him, Eret chuckled and shook his head, and Dagur was quick to follow. No, he couldn't imagine it, didn’t want to imagine it. There was only one person he wanted to spend his life with, but it could never be. Having to actively fight glancing at Eret, he turned his head into the opposite direction – and halted when his eyes landed on Hiccup instead.

A bemused expression crossed his face. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected to Daniel's question from the boy. No, Hiccup wasn't a boy, Dagur reminded himself. He was just as old as he and Eret, and it was just his slighter build and serving demeanour with the underlying humour that made him seem younger. But that wasn't the point.

Dagur cocked his head. Hiccup's eyes had an undeniable glassy gleam in them, the alcohol clearly affecting him more than Dagur had anticipated. But what really drew his attention was the fact that Hiccup was grinning like an idiot. His lips were stretched, teeth showing a little, and his eyes were unseeingly cast to the table between them. There was an absent-minded and dreamy look in them that somehow fit to the way his left hand rubbed a spot at his chest.

“Hah,” Dagur laughed out loud. “Maybe you can’t imagine that, but it looks like there’s someone here who can.” Both Eret and Daniel looked at him in surprise, then turned toward Hiccup when Dagur nodded at him.

“Uh... what?” Hiccup muttered. When he looked up at them all staring at him, he had an undeniably caught look on his face, yet the dreamy grin was still there somehow.

“Hiccup?” Daniel asked, disbelievingly. “Don’t tell me, you–”

“Oh, don’t dare to deny it,” Dagur interrupted Daniel gleefully. He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over the table to look at Hiccup more intently. “That look on your face just now said it all.”

Hiccup made an unintelligible noise somewhere between a whine and a groan as he looked from one to the other.

Dagur grinned. “So? Tell us everything about her. Who is she? I guess it’s a ‘she’? I want to know everything!”

Hiccup, having finished looking around the three of them for rescue and finding none, let his shoulders slump. But then a shy but dreamy smile once more spread across his face. Again, his left hand reached for his chest, and this time it looked as if he was toying with something beneath his tunic. A charm maybe? Glancing at Hiccup’s neck, Dagur noticed a leather cord peeking out at the hem, one he was relatively certain hadn’t been there before. So he actually already wore a token of his love? Oh, this should be interesting.

“You’re right,” Hiccup eventually muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “There is someone, and she’s…” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

The show was highly amusing to Dagur, but Daniel seemed more confused. “I thought… Didn’t you say something about never having been in love like that not so long ago?”

The smile on Hiccup’s face grew a little sheepish now as he looked up at Daniel. “Was the truth back then,” he affirmed. “But… So many things happened since then, and–”

“No humming and hawing now, Hiccup,” Dagur probed further. “We want all the details.”

When Hiccup turned his attention toward Dagur, there was a bright spark of excitement in his dazed eyes. He’d apparently made a decision, and it seemed as if he’d only waited for an opportunity like this, because once Hiccup started to talk there seemed to be no end. “She’s amazing!” he began. “I only met her after we got here, but it already feels as if we’ve known each other forever. She’s so beautiful, her eyes gleaming as bright as the sky, and her hair… her soft skin, and those sweet lips. I could spend all day kissing her. But she’s so much more than just beautiful, also kind and funny, witty and smart, strong and brave. So brave…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes gazing into the distance as he kept playing with the charm beneath his tunic. “And I love her. Gods, I do. I love her so much.”

A fond grin played around Dagur’s lips as he listened to Hiccup’s outburst. When he and Eret had found him all those months ago in that roadside tavern, he’d been wrecked. There was no gentle way to put it, really. He’d been shattered and broken, both physically and mentally, more dead than alive. Later, during the weeks Dagur had met him in Eastervale and during this last week here at the capitol, he’d seemed better, healthier, but still so calm and cool, detached. But this now? This was undeniably a new spark of life, and Dagur was happy to see him like this.

He glanced at Eret, knowing that his lover cared deeply for his cousin and that he had been worried about Hiccup’s welfare too. It surprised him then when, instead of a fond smile, he saw a tense frown on Eret’s face. Was he still thinking about Ester and her marriage? He wanted to give Eret a nudge, maybe a questioning look, something subtle, but before he could actually do so, Daniel drew his attention again.

“That sounds great, Hic,” he said, placing a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Honestly, I’m happy for you. Surprised you didn’t say anything before though.” Hiccup shuffled a bit, mumbling incoherently, but Daniel didn’t seem to notice. “So I was wrong after all... Are you really thinking about marriage already, even with how short a time you know each other?”

At that, Hiccup laughed, a little giddily. “Yes,” he gasped with a measure of confidence that surprised even Dagur. “Yes, I am. I want to marry her. And I will marry her one day. She’s the one for me, I know it.”

“So she feels the same?”

Hiccup turned to look at Daniel again, a sincere expression on his face now that only barely got dulled by his obvious state of drunkenness. “Amazingly, she does.”

Daniel nodded. For a moment, Dagur thought he noticed a rueful, almost sad expression crossing his face, but it was gone before he could be sure, replaced by an honest smile. “Then you shouldn’t wait. You never know what the future brings; you should go and ask her father for her hand right away. If you’re sure then there’s no point in waiting.”

“It’s… not that easy,” Hiccup muttered, his shoulders slumping. “First, I… I have to convince her father of my worth. And her brother, too…” The last words were barely more than a whisper, and Dagur wasn’t quite sure whether he’d understood them right.

“Oh, but why wouldn’t they?” Daniel went on cheerfully. “You’re a good man, Hiccup, and if they fail to see that then they’re stupid. If you think you need time then so be it. But know that I’ll be supporting you if that helps.”

Hiccup was quiet for a minute, and just stared at Daniel. “Thank you,” he eventually breathed, the gleam in his eyes almost looking like a hint of a tear. “That… that really means a lot to me!”

“Anytime,” Daniel grinned back. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Very true,” Eret chimed in, and lifted his mug. “To friends who stand up for each other. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard much from Snot in a while. Do you know what he’s up to lately? Last I heard was that his crush on Swanja’s maidservant got thoroughly destroyed by his father. The poor man. But seriously, what did he expect? As if Uncle Spite would let him marry a servant.”

“Also true,” Daniel laughed. “But to be fair, Rachel had already done a lot of destroying that crush by that time. No idea what her type is, but it certainly wasn’t Snot. Besides, from what I heard, he’s already well over her anyway.”

Grinning to himself, Dagur leaned back in his chair. Maybe Eret had been right and adding Skullcrusher to this party had been a little over the top, but he didn’t feel like it was doing much damage either. The atmosphere was definitely more to his liking now. He took another gulp of his own beer, by far the strongest mix on this table, then joined the others as they discussed Snot’s latest exploits. Yep, this was certainly more fun.

 . o O o .

*hides under rocks and enjoys the company there*

Here’s a reminder that there won't be a new chapter next week. However, there might be another bonus, possibly uploaded separately. Keep your eyes open :)

Next Chapter

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies 4/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change. Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that. A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness. Rating: M Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: Chapter 4 has arrived! I thought I wouldn’t actually have time to post today since I had to make a 6 hour drive back from one of my friend’s weddings, but looks like I was able to get back into town sooner than I expected. Thanks to the Mods for being flexible and allowing me to post tomorrow if needed. I figured this chapter, since I haven’t done so already, I would clue you into the meaning behind the stories title! It is actually a song title, “Love Lies” by Khalid and Normani. I found the lyrics of the song to fit so well to this story that I couldn’t think of a better chapter title than that song.

This chapter is actually from Killian’s point of view, so we get to peak into his head and find out a little bit about what he is thinking about Greenwood academy and his thoughts on Emma as well! Thanks again as always to my beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead and my artist @princesse-swan, I couldn’t have asked for two better collaborators on this project!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One  Two  Three

Art by @princesse-swan here

Enjoy!

Chapter 4 Killian hated this god forsaken school, or whatever the hell they decided this glorified prison was supposed to be.

He hated that he was sent here after his hearing with the Royal Navy.

That he was now half a world away from his brother.

And he hated that he didn’t have control over his own life anymore.

Ever since the incident that got him marshalled by the Navy, dishonorably discharged, and exiled to this rubbish school, he had been decidedly unhappy with the direction that his life was spiraling.

But then again, in comparison to that, maybe sitting through his Introductory Biology course was the least horrible thing that he could be doing right now.

Shuffling his notebook around to try and start a new page while the professor droned on about the Krebs cycle seemed to create an unnecessary amount of noise. Still not used to only operating with one hand, and Greenwood not having approved the production of a working prosthetic hand for him, Killian found the most frustrating things to be something that used to be easy before he lost his hand.

And the way the glove that they had fitted his other hand with didn’t make life any easier, since he didn’t have the fine motor skills that he was used to. But then again, ever since they fitted it; and removed those horrible iron gloves that made his already concussed head spin and stomach flip, he hadn’t felt a single rumbling of that oozing darkness inside him.

The darkness that had blotted out the world that day and obscured everything on that ship-

Killian stopped that thought in its tracks. He wasn’t going to dwell on what had gotten him stuck here in the first place. Scrambling to get the rest of the cycle written down in his notebook, he tried to focus back on the lecture in front of him.

That was a good thing at least, that he was afforded the opportunity to go to school and get a university degree. Since he had followed Liam’s footsteps into the Navy eight years ago, he had thought occasionally about stepping back a bit and going to university and getting his degree. But what had stopped him was not necessarily knowing what he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing, because whenever he looked into his future, he always saw himself spending his life at sea, traveling the world with his brother.

Glory for the Jones Brothers.

Killian sighed. Not anymore.

The professor called lecture to a close at that point, assigning the reading for the next class later in the week. Killian sighed again and placed his pen down, scrubbing his gloved hand over his eyes.

Another frustration about this damnable place, he couldn’t even feel the skin of his own hand anymore, because the glove wouldn’t come off.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a way to remove it himself, and they hadn’t said anything to him when they gave it to him about not being able to remove it.

Then again, he didn’t really care at the time, he just wanted those….poisonous gloves removed.

Working to shove all of his stuff in his bag, Killian got stuck waiting for the rest of the students in his row of the lecture pit to exit so he could stand and just dump everything into the bottom of his bag.

He could sort through it again when he got back to the prison cell they called his dorm room.

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Killian watched as the last of the students in the pit filed out ahead of him, some throwing a weary glance at his glove. Apparently word traveled fast around this school as to who came in with some new, scary power; and that immediately made others weary of him, and others like him he supposed.

“Is everything alright Mr. Jones?” Professor Hopper asked from the front of the lecture pit.

Killian nodded his head yes in return, not really feeling like giving an oral response, and turned to head up the stairs out of the lecture pit.

“Just give them time Mr. Jones, new students take some time to get used to.” Killian paused at the words, shoulders and back tensing he was sure was meant to be reassuring.

Killian did arrive at the school a few weeks into the term, and while many professors had been very accommodating to him having extra time to make up the course work, since he was stuck here during the school breaks, the students hadn’t been as receptive. Shaking his head again, he made it up the last few steps and pushed his way out of the doors leading out of the pit and into the lobby.

He paused outside of the building, wondering where to go next. He didn’t have any more classes for the day, but he also didn’t want to spend the time holed up in his dorm room doing nothing.

As he was contemplating what to do, Killian spotted a familiar blonde head walking through the throng of students towards the library.

Smiling, Killian increased his pace to try and catch up with her.

He watched as she ducked into the front doors of the library, catching her headed to the right as the glass doors closed behind her. Killian finally made his way up the steps and into the building.

He hadn’t been to the library often since he started at the school, so he didn’t realize the sheer size of the space when he walked in after her.

To the right of the main lobby was a large study room, with dozens of tables and computers and groups of students studying. He paused just inside the entrance, hearing a handful of students grumble as they moved around him into the room, and scanned the space for her.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally spotted her at a table by herself in the corner, headphones over her ears and hunched over a notebook. Killian began weaving his way across the room over to her table, ignoring the glances that the students gave him as he walked past.

He set his bag down loudly on the floor next to hers and scrapped the chair out across from her.

She started, her pen scratching across the page of her journal, and she looked up at him, surprised.

She moved to pause her music and shifted her headphones off her ears. “Killian, this is a surprise.”

“Mind if I join you love?” He asked, gesturing to the chair he had just pulled out.

“Not at all.” She said, then looked down at the journal in front of her and scowled.

Killian looked down as he took his seat and saw the drawing that she had been working on was now marred by a harsh line of ink straight across the center of the entire page. “Terribly sorry about that, if I would have known what you were working on I wouldn’t have startled you that way.”

“I wasn’t entirely happy with the direction it was going anyway, so maybe it was for the best.” She commented, shrugging. She made to turn the page in her notebook to a fresh page when he reached out and placed his hand on her wrist to stop her.

She jerked her hand back from his as if she had been shocked. He tried not to take the action as a slight against him.  

“Mind if I take a look?” Killian asked, gesturing to her notebook.

“Umm, yeah, sure.” Emma mumbled, rubbing at the bracelet on her wrist.

Eyeing her warily, seeing how jumpy she was with him all of a sudden, he slowly turned her notebook around so the bottom of the page was facing him. She had the rough outline of a woman, reaching her hand up towards the sky to grasp at something. It looked like it was turning out to be something marvelous, but he had unfortunately ruined it.

“It looks great Swan, if I hadn’t dropped in and ruined it like that it would have probably turned out to be amazing.” he said, passing the notebook back to her.

“The proportions were all off, and I don’t really like the way she is standing anyway, so maybe-”

“It really does look like something great, you have a lot of talent Emma.” She ducked her head as a beautiful blush spread across her cheeks.

“Thanks Killian, what are you doing in the library?” She asked, then cringed. “Sorry, that came out wrong, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

“It’s okay, I was just looking for somewhere else to study besides my dorm room.” He said.

“Me too, that happens a lot more often than you would think.” Emma said, flipping the page of her notebook. “What are you studying?”

“Biology, Dr. Hopper was going over the Krebs cycle today and I have to admit, I didn’t listen as well as I should have. We have a test coming up next week that I will most certainly fail if I don’t make any progress.” Killian said, working to pull his textbook out of his bag. “What about you?”

“Not necessarily studying, just wanting to get out of my dorm. Also, my friends know that I don’t want to be bothered if I’m here.” Emma said nonchalantly.

Killian thought over that phrase for a second. He hadn’t had the time to make many friends at this school yet, but he didn’t really know if he had a place that he liked to go when he didn’t want to be bothered.

There really wasn’t any kind of personal space when you are deployed on a vessel in the middle of the ocean with 300 other men; so he supposed he wasn’t used to having a placed he could necessarily call his own without having to share it with anyone.

Maybe that was why his private quarters here bothered him so much.

The fact that she said she wished to be alone earlier clanged through him again. “Would you like me to leave you alone then?”

He would leave her alone if she wished, but he fervently hoped otherwise.

Emma shook her head at him, “No, you’re fine,” She said, “I know that you don’t have some ulterior motive to drop in on me like they sometimes do.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“They just don’t get me sometimes, I guess.” Emma said, “They bug me about things that they all would worry about, but that don’t necessarily apply to me. Sorry, I’m not making any sense.”

She continued to rub at her wrists in a nervous manner while she was rambling. Once she realized he was watching her, she pulled her shirt sleeves back down to cover the bracelets at her wrists.

Killian reached his hand out tentatively towards her wrist, pushing back her sleeve and lightly touching; or he hoped it was a light touch, he couldn’t tell through the glove, the bracelet at her wrist. “What are these?”

She looked down at them morosely, a look of longing in her eyes, “You obviously haven’t been here very long if you don’t know what these are.” Showing him both the bracelets on her delicate wrists, she continued. “They are suppression bracelets. They knock my powers down to a level where I can’t access them anymore.”

“You say that like you want to be able to use them again.” He stated, a question hidden in the phrase.

If he had the chance, he would never feel that rolling darkness under his skin ever again. He didn’t like feeling that out of control and lost as he did that first time his powers manifested.

“How much do you know about me Killian?” She asked, wary. He didn’t know what to make of the sudden walls going up in her expression. He didn’t think he had said anything wrong.

“No more than you have told me love.” He said honestly, trying to dispel the sudden tension.

“My powers come from fire, and I miss the warmth and life that the flames brought. The safety and protection they made me feel.” She looked saddened as she spoke, like she was talking about a long lost friend. He said as much to her.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.” She gave him a sad smile, wrapping her arms around herself a bit. Maybe that was how she tried to feel that warmth that the flames gave her again.

“Well, now that I’ve taken this conversation in a horribly morose direction, I suppose I must propose a new topic of discussion. You said you understood the Krebs Cycle?”

She hadn’t, he remembered belatedly, but he hoped she would be able to help.

Emma tucked her hair behind her right ear, and nodded her head. “Yeah, what didn’t you understand again?” Leaning towards him, she waited patiently as he worked to get the textbook open to the right section.

Turning the book around to face her, he pressed down on the binding with his shortened arm. The Diagram splayed out between the two pages was fully displayed for her. Gesturing to a section he explained how what Dr. Hopper had told them during his lecture differed from how the textbook explained it.

She gave him a small smile as he rambled on in his explanation. The haunted look still hadn’t left her eyes, but Killian vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep that look from her eyes as long as she let him.

[dracox-serdriel]

The Force Rises - Chapter 2: The Rogue Sentinel [Star Wars]

Title: The Force Rises [AO3] [LJ] [FF] [Tumblr] Chapter: The Rogue Sentinel Universe: Star Wars Pairings: Reylo (Rey/Kylo Ren | Ben Solo) Word count: ~1,600 Spoilers: All Star Wars movies through The Last Jedi. Rating: NC-17/MA (eventually) Chapter summary: Rey finds herself in a solitary quandary.

Rey continues to grow into her powers, carving her own path with the Force, while the Resistance rebuilds and regroups, gearing up for their next battle with the First Order.

The Force Rises Chapter 2: The Rogue Sentinel

Rey woke up warm, like a furnace had been placed under the sheets next to her. She could only assume that the sun was to blame, heating up her bedding to an almost unbearable degree.

She begrudgingly decided to get up, if only to close the window. She found her eyes glued shut, forcing her to rub the crust away to open them properly, and even that was an enormous effort. Her arms - no, her entire body - felt heavy, resisting her every move.

That didn't make sense. She had been fine when she had crawled into bed.

Rey blinked, confused by the deeply red light flooding the room with hues of orange and brown with yellow slowly overtaking them all. It was nothing like she had ever seen, yet instinctively, she knew it was dawn all the same.

As if to confirm the time, her stomach growled, giving her the push she required to roll out of bed, despite the protests of her limbs.

Once her feet were under her, she stretched up as she took in a long, deep breath, attempting to best her stiffness, but it wasn't enough. So she continued through the few other stretches that she knew, hoping the next one would unstick whatever muscle she had managed to injure without knowing.

She felt better, certainly, but not entirely right. A second roaring growl of hunger changed her priorities, so she dressed hastily in a loose robe, tunic, and her arm wraps. She tucked her blaster into her belt as she walked out the door.

The downside to her private quarters was how far it was from everything else. She had to walk over fifteen minutes to the mess hall, which was nearly empty. She couldn't read the signs - the language of this planet seemed to have an alphabet of deceptively simple cubes and triangles, some with incredibly slight variations - so she followed her nose to the kitchens.

She had never seen so much food in her entire life. The few people who were there - natives of this planet, she presumed - encouraged her to take dish upon dish until she couldn't carry any more. She returned to the mess with plates of colorful fruits, creams, biscuits, and so many things she couldn't name.

Eating alone had never bothered Rey, but after months of sharing every meal and living in close quarters, it was unsettling to sit in this empty dining hall with its enormous, cavernous ceiling. She tried to pace herself, but everything tasted so good.

She'd been living off rations for too long.

She wondered about what she might do with the rest of her day. Normally she would work on the Falcon. She had always loved mechanics; one of the few joys she had as a child was pulling things apart and figuring out how they operated, how they broke, and how to repair or improve them. It came easily to her, but there was always something else to solve, something new to learn. She could immerse her mind in the wiring or submerge her imagination in the circuitry and forget herself - heartache and stomachache alike - even if only for a little while.

Would I know that about myself if they hadn't abandoned me on Jakku?

The thought appeared like a dreadnaught from light speed, obliterating her appetite. She numbly began to wrap the remainder of her meal in spare cloth. She could have it later.

She returned the emptied dishes to the kitchen, thanking everyone she saw before grabbing her bundle of food and starting the long walk back to her room.

She had thought that she had obtained some kind of closure the night previous. She could finally admit to herself that her parents weren't ever coming back, that they had never planned to come back. It stung like a newly broken blister before the callous, but it wasn't the interminable ache that she expected it to be.

But it still hurt.

Didn't closure mean she could move on? Or at least that she could get through the day without thinking about it? Was she stuck asking questions that she can't answer?

Rey quickened her step. She always had a drive - no, a need - to understand things, to look past the form and see the function, but people didn't work like that. She learned that the hard way on Jakku, more than once, but the lesson never seemed to stick.

Knowing why they did it won't change anything.

She'd give anything to be able to turn on her heel and head off to the Falcon. There was always something to repair or upgrade, and it was exactly what she needed right now. But Chewie, Poe, Finn, and Rose were on a munitions run and wouldn't be back for days.

What had she been thinking when she agreed to come here instead? General Organa had mentioned time to center herself and clear her mind, but Rey never did those kinds of things. She didn't want relaxation, and she certainly didn't need it.

Maybe General Organa had more acuity with Jedi mind tricks than she let on.

As soon as she got back to her room, Rey riffled through her rucksack. She didn't have a ship to fix or a mission to complete, but there was no way to clear her head with still hands.

And there was an entire world outside this building with not a spec of sand in sight.

Yes, a bit of exploration was just what she needed. She emptied her rucksack of anything she wouldn't require for the day before tucking her food bundle on top. She filled her canisters on the way out of her room, determined to break into a sweat as soon as possible.

It may have been wiser to inquire about the area before wandering off into it. She realized that when she was traversing a particularly unpleasant descent to the enormous lake she could see from her room.

She cursed herself the entire way down, but she quickly forgot it when she arrived at the water's edge.

This could be the most beautiful place in the galaxy.

Rey found a place to eat while watching some kind of aquatic creatures darting through the water without a ripple to betray them.

She hadn't realized how long she'd been there until she noticed she had eaten everything she'd brought with her.

Maybe this whole centering thing isn't so bad.

She could feel it here, the Force. She didn't have to concentrate or focus. It was right on the surface, like the air in her lungs or the sweat on her brow.

She was at a loss for how she managed to stay by the lake until the sun began to go down.

She began her ascent at a rapid pace, not wanting to get caught out here at night with only her handheld torch for light, but her progress slowed to a crawl when she hit a steep part of the mountain. She hadn't passed it on her way down, which was concerning. She had been so certain that she had followed the same ridge.

And it was getting dark. Fast.

Too fast.

She grit her teeth and pushed ahead. She had survived worse than a late night hike. There was nothing to worry about.

Yet, something in the back of her mind wouldn't stop worrying.

She made it to the halfway point just as twilight fell. She could've pushed on, had she not reached a sheer cliff edge.

She must've gone clear around to the other side of the mountain, along the fortified edge. How did she manage that?

Without rope, she had to walk along the mercifully flat passage that, with any luck, would put her back on the right path. She strapped her torch to the exterior of her rucksack to keep her hands free, but she had to adjust her pace to match her limited line of sight.

A profound loneliness struck her without warning. In the last five months, she had found friends and a new family in the Resistance. She wasn't just some scavenger in the desert anymore. She was the last Jedi, the new hope of the Resistance. It seemed everybody knew her name.

But she hadn't been this alone in her entire life.

Apart from General Organa, nobody she knew had any understanding of the Force.

Not nobody.

The very last thing she needed when stuck on an unforgiving mountain in the dark was to start thinking about him. She reached out, following the Force along the hard line of rocks before her, trying to distract herself from the one avenue of thought she loathed even more than that of her parents.

Rey's foot abruptly jerked in one direction, a loose rock sliding out from under her. She fought for balance with her bo staff but ultimately lost, tumbling over the edge.

She scrambled to draw upon the Force, but she wasn't certain how to direct it to soften her fall. She gracelessly crashed into a boulder before she caught herself.

Most of her injuries were minor scraps, but her ankle throbbed and burned.

No, this centering thing is rubbish.

She leaned against the boulder to keep her weight of her bad leg while she scanned her surroundings with her torch. She needed to regroup. She wasn't going to get anywhere until she could at least bind her ankle.

There was a shallow cave ahead. It would provide enough cover to build a fire without hiding it from anyone who might go looking for her. She would check out her ankle and rest while she figured out her next move.

One thing was clear: no matter what else she did tonight, she would not be thinking about Kylo Ren.

Chapter notes: These first two chapters were Rey-centric, but the next chapter will start opening the narrative to other characters. I hope you've enjoyed it so far!

[thebluemartini]

A Monolith Between Them - Part IV {Nessian}

*Note: This is a post from 2018 that somehow got deleted! I’m just adding it back to my tumblr :)

TITLE: A Monolith Between Them

PREVIOUS PARTS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FIC LENGTH: 4 Parts

FIC SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. After living in the Illyrian Mountains for six months, Nesta decides she wants to perform the Blood Rite. Cassian isn’t too pleased.

*This fic is also posted on AO3 and FF.

A/N: Hooray! It’s the final part…and oh my stars, this final chapter was a total beast to write and edit! It’s so long, haha. I feel like I’m not so great at writing more action-y scenes, which is why I was nervous about writing about the Rite in the first place. Hopefully it came out okay! And I hope you enjoy this final chapter :) It’s a doozy!

Part IV - Together

Day Seven of the Blood Rite:

By some miracle, she had made it to Ramiel.

For the past two days, she did not stop despite the fact that her body begged and begged her to. Her empty stomach made it difficult for her to find the energy to go on. The wound in her thigh and the bruises and scrapes on her arms grew more tender and raw as they rubbed against her leather clothing and the stone of the monolith. Her hands kept cramping. Her eyes demanded to be shut. The cold air that blew around her sent shivers through her entire body. That dark voice within her still repeated “You’re weak” over and over in her mind.

However, Nesta remained strong and tenacious.

She still had no idea how much time she had left to reach the top of Ramiel…or if she even had any time left.

Ascending Ramiel was the toughest part yet, as its incline was nearly completely vertical. She had been forced to constantly grab hold of the jagged rocks jutting from it to stay on the enormous stone. So many times, her feet nearly slid out from under her, or her hands nearly lost their grip. Being without water for many hours left her lips chapped and her mouth dry.

She was nearing the top of one side of the monolith. Once she reached it, she would still have to hobble or crawl up the slope to reach the summit and the black stone that she needed to touch to complete the Rite.

Once the top of the monolith was within her reach, she stretched out her arms to grab hold of the edge. Summoning all her remaining strength, she pulled herself up, using her feet to help push herself upward. She managed to get her upper body on the flat surface, where she found a large stone blanketed by snow to grab hold of and help yank the rest of her body up.

Laying on her back upon the snowy ground, Nesta momentarily closed her eyes and panted from the exertion of her climb. It felt like it took an eternity to get that far, and she still had a bit more to go.

Suddenly, the sun that she felt shining upon her eyelids seemed to suddenly go away.

Nesta’s eyes shot open to find a tan-skinned Illyrian male standing before her, eyeing her with a look of disdain. “I’m certainly not going to let Cassian’s whore complete the Rite,” he grumbled and moved his foot to kick her.

Before his foot made contact with her stomach, Nesta turned on her side and tightly grabbed the large stone nearby to hang on. At the impact of his foot, Nesta let out a long wail as the force sent her legs to hang off the edge. Fury raged through her as the male kept kicking at her, trying to knock her off the monolith.

She forced her eyes to stay open as she attempted to analyze his movements. When he wasn’t expecting it and his foot came toward her, she seized his foot instead. The sudden weight upon his foot when he tried to pull it back sent him tumbling to the ground on his back.

Nesta tugged on his leg to help bring her whole body back up on the cliff. She scrambled to stand up and limped away from the monolith’s edge. Her thigh wound felt like it was completely inflamed.

“You bitch,” the male, having recovered from his fall, said as charged toward her and tackled her to the ground from behind. Nesta squirmed face-down beneath him as he moved his hands around her neck in an attempt to suffocate her.

But Nesta was quick to jerk her head back, knocking it roughly into his chin and causing him to release her. She then placed her palms against the ground and popped her upper body up, causing him to slide off her back.

However, now he was on top of her legs, still pinning her to the ground. Nesta tried to kick him, but the weight of him anchored her down and her legs were too weak. He stretched out his arm and picked up a nearby rock and pounded it repeatedly against her booted feet.

As she screamed, Nesta twisted her upper body so she could start whacking at him with her hand, but her hits seemed to have no effect on him at all. There was no strength in her slaps.

He ended up tossing away the rock and grabbing one of her hands when it came at him, tugging it toward himself as he stood up. Nesta quickly turned her body over so she was on her back. But the male came around to where her head was and kneeled one leg down on the ground. He pulled her arm out across his thigh and pushed down on it until a loud pop from her elbow joint was heard. A cry of anguish escaped her lips as the pain surged within her arm.

Dropping her injured arm, he moved to the other side of her, preparing to repeat his previous action on her other limb. Nesta kept her arm against herself and refused to let it be pulled away from her. But it looked like another idea appeared in the Illyrian’s mind, and he decided to head toward her feet instead. When he leaned down to grab them, Nesta kneed his chin, sending him stumbling back. In a quick motion, Nesta unsteadily rose off the ground and onto her now battered feet, ignoring the pain she felt.

He came charging after her once more, looking like he was determined to dive for her legs and hoist her off the ground. Sticking out her good arm against his shoulder, she halted him and curled her arm around his neck. With her arm wrapped around him, she fell back onto the ground, taking him with her. Then, she lifted her knee to smash it into his groin, causing him to let out a muffled yelp. She kneed him between the legs once more with such force that she flipped him over her body. A cracking sound was heard when he collided with the ground upon his back.

He lied there groaning, with his eyes tightly shut. But he did not move. In fact, it looked like he was unable to move.

Nesta tried to catch her breath and steady her racing heart. She gingerly rolled up the sleeve of her injured arm, then scooped up some snow from the ground beside her to hold it against her elbow joint. She grimaced as she did so, but she hoped the coolness of the snow would at least help reduce the swelling.

Looking up, she noticed the sun was setting…

Who knew if this was her final night to make it to the black stone? If this Illyrian male was on the monolith too, it must have been close to the end of the week of the Rite…

With a grunt, she turned her body over so she was now on her knees. The pain within her thigh was still there from the impaled stick, but not as strong as the pain that was throbbing through her arm and her aching feet.

But she couldn’t think about the pain. She had to keep moving. Putting the pressure on her knees and the palm of her unharmed arm, she crawled using three of her limbs.

It was the final day of the Rite, and Cassian was utterly restless.

There was an ache within him that no beverage or tonic could soothe. His anxiety could not be eased, and the frustration and regret he felt toward himself for the past mistakes he’d made with Nesta were at an ultimate high.

He certainly didn’t have any time for the taunts that were thrown his way that day either. As soon as he rose and dressed for the day, he stormed out of his cabin and headed toward the heart of the camp. Along the way, a few Illyrian males cackled and heckled him by asking where the “witch” or his “whore” was, implying that there was no way Nesta would survive. Each of those Illyrians were promptly punched in the jaw and knocked down into the snow.

Once he reached the center of the camp, Cassian paced around the unlit firepit with his fists clenched at his sides.

When he, Azriel, and Rhys had completed the Rite, their touch upon the black stone had immediately transported them back to the middle of their camp. The same would happen for Nesta if she made it.

The aches he felt throughout his body grew stronger. While clutching his stomach, Cassian plopped himself on the snowy ground beside the pit. He sat cross-legged as he prayed to the gods that Nesta was safe and would complete the Rite.

With his eyes constantly scanning the area around him, Cassian waited.

And hoped.

Nesta continued to crawl up the steep incline to the summit of Ramiel. The sky was getting darker and darker.

Her bones kept pleading for her to stop and give up, especially with her body constantly losing its balance and her clumsily trying to hang on. With all her willpower, she resisted that urge by thinking of Cassian’s words.

“Come back to me. Please.”

“Continue fighting and surviving as you always do.”

“Keep going, sweetheart.”

Fortunately, the black stone was in sight. Not a single snowflake had fallen upon it as if its mystical power was shielding it. It had the shimmer of a black diamond, and it served as her beacon.  

She needed to hang on a little bit longer…

But as soon as she passed through a row of pine trees, a gust of freezing wind blew past her that made her look down and tighten her grip on the ground beneath her. She could sense magic thrumming around her and calling to her. It seemed to pull at the magic within her from the Cauldron that had lied dormant for over a year now.

The sky suddenly turned black, causing Nesta to freeze. The wind continued to howl around her, and suddenly a young woman materialized before her.

When the woman lifted her head, Nesta recognized her face…

“Feyre?” Nesta questioned weakly in disbelief.

“I don’t know why I take pity on you. You don’t deserve it. You let me and Elain nearly starve to death, while you sat and did nothing,” she spoke with such contempt.

Elain appeared beside Feyre and nodded along to Feyre’s words. She gave Nesta a scornful look…It didn’t look right to see such a facial expression upon her face.

“And you let me die,” a male’s voice said. Nesta whipped her head to her left, where she saw her father. “How could you do nothing when the king captured me? What kind of daughter are you?”

“You will never be one of us,” Rhys stated as he appeared beside Feyre, along with Azriel, Mor, and Amren behind him.

Nesta couldn’t stop the tears that formed in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

She wished she could say these words and scenes were unfamiliar to her…but she had seen all of this and heard all of these words in her nightmares since the war.

Her nightmares, fears, and insecurities had all come to life before her.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real, she repeated to herself in her head as she closed her eyes, trying to shut them out.

But when she heard the sound of Cassian’s voice, she felt compelled to open up her teary eyes and look behind her to see him.

“How could someone love a selfish and rotten person like you? You’re worthless. I’m only forced to love you because we’re mates.”

Seeing him stand before her and saying these things - even though she knew this was all contrived - still wounded her.

“That’s…not true,” Nesta weakly spoke aloud and shook her head up at him. Sliding her hand within her pocket, she felt around for the letter the real Cassian had given her. When her fingertips found the parchment, Nesta closed her eyes tightly and relished in the memory of what his letter had said.

These past several months, you have been irritating, infuriating, and ridiculous…as well as inspiring, enthralling, and intoxicating.

I am in love with you, Nesta Archeron.

I’ll be waiting for you, ready to not waste anymore time.

Her eyes shot open, and she sought out the black stone. In the darkness, she could no longer see it, but she knew the direction she had to go. With newfound vigor, she rushed forward on her hand and knees.

But as she did so, all the figures around her vanished, except for Cassian.

Now Cassian was flying, when a blast of light powered through the air and hit him square in the chest, sending him to the ground right in front of her. Nesta stopped and stared at him as life left his eyes.

Another nightmare had come to life. But the tears didn’t stop flowing from Nesta’s eyes. Seeing him die before her was a dagger to her chest. All this time, she had feared having these feelings for him because of how that love could make her suffer…but she couldn’t deny it anymore. She couldn’t shield herself any longer.

She couldn’t resist placing her hand against the fake Cassian’s cheek. She half-thought her hand would go through him as if he were some kind of phantom. But he was solid beneath her palm. She could even feel the stubble on his cheek.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Keep going.

Suppressing a shudder from what she just witnessed, she continued her crawl toward the black rock. The figures of her sisters, her father, and the Inner Circle all appeared once more, calling after her and yelling at her.

She shut them out and weakly continued her journey, hurting her knees and hand when she roved over jagged rocks in the darkness.

When the front half of her body collapsed to the ground after her arm suddenly gave out from under her, it was then that she could make out that the black rock was a short distance before her. Her body shuddered as she let out a sigh of relief.

But when she tried to move forward, she felt a hand grab hold of her boot, causing her to wince. She turned behind her and saw Cassian was there.

“Why are you leaving me, Nesta? Why are abandoning me and shutting me out like you did after the war?” he demanded to know.

Nesta just carefully shook her head. “I’m not,” she said softly. “I’m not.”

She grimaced when she tried to yank her foot out of his grip, but the apparition wouldn’t let go. She outstretched her uninjured arm as far as she could and lunged for the black rock.

But she couldn’t reach it.

She was so close…

Breathing heavily as the tears cascaded down her cheeks, she thought of all she had endured the past several days. The cold. The stick impaled in her thigh. The hazardous climb. Her broken arm. Her bruised feet. Even her own mind and magic had betrayed her.

This couldn’t all be for nothing.

She wouldn’t let it be all for nothing.

She focused on imagining what could be, if she made it back.

What it would be like to see Cassian again… to tease him as she loved to do…and to also feel him against her.  

She wanted more time in this life. Not just to be with Cassian, but to actually live and enjoy life.

“Why are you leaving me, Nesta?” the apparition of Cassian whined.

“I’m not,” Nesta firmly replied. “I’m coming home to you.”

Once more, she threw out her arm so far that it was taut and she felt the strain within her muscles. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the stone.

Everything around her faded away in an instant.  

The sun had set over an hour ago…meaning Nesta only had a few hours left to complete the Rite.

Cassian hadn’t left his spot beside the pit. Despite the fact that his body had begun to shiver after the sun descended and the cool winds blew through, he did not budge.

The aches within him grew stronger and in the past hour or so, those aches seemed to move to his head. If he and Nesta were mates as he had suspected…Nesta must have been suffering greatly.

He let out a long, slow breath. He closed his eyes and sent up another silent prayer that Nesta would return.

At the sound of a thump against the ground, Cassian suddenly opened his eyes. He lost his breath at the sight of Nesta appearing and lying in the snow before him. Her eyes were closed and one of her arms was stretched out. Her body was shivering, and her hair was disheveled, with most of the strands having fallen out of its hair ribbon, and her Illyrian leathers were all torn up. But one of her arms…something didn’t look right. And her thigh was covered with a bloodied handkerchief…the handkerchief he had given her.

Tears formed in his eyes as he rushed toward her. “Nesta,” he whispered as he gently ran his fingers through her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. Her breathing stilled when she saw him. “Are you really here?” she asked feebly.

Cassian smoothed her hair away from her face. “Yes,” he breathed. Then, without his eyes leaving hers,  he slid his hands beneath her body and scooped her up as he stood. Her face contorted with agony as he did so. He looked at her apologetically and realized he needed to get her to a healer immediately.

“What were your last words to me before the Rite? Before you said goodbye?” she asked seriously as she lifted her hand to his cheek.

“‘Come back to me please,’” he answered softly as he recalled that heart wrenching conversation that replayed in his head multiple times the past few days. “And now you have, but I need to get you -” he began to mutter, but was interrupted by Nesta lifting her head and crashing her lips against his.

He was caught off guard, but once he got over his astonishment, Cassian responded to her delicate kiss. Despite loving the taste of her, he knew they did not have time for this right now. He needed to get her injuries taken care of first. He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers. “Why do we only kiss when one of us is dying?” he wondered huskily. “We need to get you to a healer.”

“I don’t want to waste anymore time,” Nesta said honestly while she ran her hand across his jawline before bringing it down to his chest.

“If we don’t get you to a healer soon, you won’t have much time left.”

Flying would’ve been the fastest way to get back to his cabin. But she didn’t enjoy flying, and it would just make her sicker. Plus, he risked jostling her and injuring her more if he flew. Speed walking back would just have to do.

Nesta closed her eyes as she leaned her head against his upper arm, while her hand now gripped onto to the center of his shirt.

“Hold on, Nes. Stay with me,” he said to her, and she nodded.

Cassian began to stride through the camp in the direction of his cabin as he carefully held onto Nesta.

“Now I definitely know something is wrong. I just called you ‘Nes’ and you didn’t bite my head off,” he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She looked pale and kept her eyes closed, but when he briefly looked down, she was smiling.

As they passed a few of the other camp’s cabins en route, the door to one of them suddenly burst open and an Illyrian female ran out. In the light of the camp’s outdoor torches, Cassian realized it was Morwenna, a female he had been training and one he believed Nesta had befriended. She charged toward them, her long dark hair flying around behind her.

“She’s back!” Morwenna exclaimed as she came to Cassian’s side, keeping pace with him. A look of shock and awe was upon her face.

“Yes, but she needs medical attention immediately,” Cassian stated seriously as he continued to plow forward. At Cassian’s reply, Morwenna’s facial expression quickly transformed into one that was solemn. “Morwenna, could you please go find one of the healers and send her to my cabin?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a firm nod before darting off in another direction.

Nesta groaned as he strolled through the snow and walked up a small, steep incline. The sound propelled Cassian to move faster. Within the next few minutes, they had finally reached his cabin.

As soon as he entered, he headed straight for his bedroom. Gently laying her down on one side of the bed, he pulled down the blankets on the opposite side. Then he picked her up again to lay her down on the uncovered sheets and brought the blankets up over her body. Nesta opened up her eyes as her head hit the pillow. “Cassian, I need…water,” she requested quietly.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he called out to her as he rushed out of the room. Very slowly, Nesta sat up and was about to attempt propping up her pillow when Cassian returned holding one tall glass of water and a bowl of beef broth. He quickly handed the glass to her in her good arm and placed the bowl on the stand beside the bed. “Stop trying to move. Let me do that,” he said as he reached behind her to prop her pillow against her headboard.

After a long sip of water, Nesta swallowed. “I thought I told you I don’t take orders from anyone,” she said softly as she leaned back against the headboard and grinned slyly up at him. She took another swig of water.

“And here I thought, considering your state, you would indulge me only for today,” Cassian said as he laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She was burning up. Cassian internally pleaded that Morwenna would be able to quickly find one of the healers.

Nesta gulped. “Never,” she stated, the small grin still on her face.

“Well in between sips, could you please tell me what happened to you?” Cassian requested as he looked at her arm that was out of place.

“I think one of the males broke my arm,” she replied. “Another male impaled a stick through my thigh.”

“What?” Cassian’s eyes widened. Then he carefully pulled the covers off of her and looked back down at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around her thigh. Very gingerly, he untied it. Seeing the piece of stick that was still lodged within her thigh, he fought to keep his rage under control. The wound looked to be completely infected.

“Forgive me, sweetheart, for being so forward, but may I remove your clothes?” Cassian asked, covering up his concern with his casual bantering. He needed to get her out of her dirty clothes and prepare for the healer to look her over.

After pulling the glass away from her mouth, she nodded. “Usually, you’re so barbaric, I’m shocked you even bothered to ask,” she said sleepily as she rested her head back.

Cassian walked over to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, pulling out one of his shirts and tossing it on the bed near Nesta’s feet. “Well, once you’re all healed, I’ll be barbaric and we can reenact a scene from that smutty The Barbarian and the Maiden novel you read,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Nesta nearly choked on her water, causing Cassian to immediately rush to her side out of alarm. Gods forbid he kill her with his sexual innuendos after she survived the Blood Rite…

But she recovered quickly, and her eyes narrowed on him while her lips threatened to break out into a devious grin. “You’ve been reading my books?”

His eyes gleamed when he looked back down at her body to try to figure out the least painful way to get her clothes off of her. “One or two,” he replied casually, but then had to pause their playful conversation and return to the task at hand. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he stated unhappily, and Nesta nodded in acceptance as she sat her now empty glass down on the nightstand.

When she closed her eyes, Cassian slid his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and slowly pulled them down past her thighs. Nesta only winced a little when her pants peeled away from her wounded thigh. The wound was all red and had some white spots around the stick that could’ve been puss. Streaks of blood covered her thigh.

“When I’ve fantasized about bringing you to my bed and ripping off your clothes, this isn’t exactly what I had pictured,” Cassian commented with a glint in his eyes to distract her as he continued to pull her pants off of her legs and feet.

A slight blush came across Nesta’s cheeks, but she didn’t open her eyes. He tossed her pants to the floor, then stood beside her again. “I’m going to untie your top,” he informed her, and she leaned her upper body forward to grant Cassian access to her back.

“I never thought such fantasies could become a reality,” she said softly as he began to untie the laces on the back of her Illyrian leather tunic. “I never thought you could ever truly want…me.”

Cassian’s fingers faltered in their task, and it felt like his heart had been pierced. He took a deep breath before continuing to untangle the laces. “I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he said honestly.

Once he finally finished pulling out the laces, he pulled the ribbon out of her hair and pushed her hair to the side, over her shoulder. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss on the back of her neck. He thought he saw a slight shiver go down her spine.

Then he went to the front of her body to carefully slide the leather sleeves of her shirt from her arms. A pained cry escaped her lips when it went over her dislocated arm. After he threw it to the ground, he grabbed the bottom edge of her black shirt that was beneath the leather tunic and gingerly lifted it up and over her head. She let out another pained moan when she outstretched her arms above her head.

All she was currently wearing now was a bra and underwear. Out of politeness, Cassian looked away from her body. He swiftly reached for his shirt that he had tossed on the bed and put it on her. It was large and loose and would probably go down to her knees if she stood up.

She leaned back against the pillows and stared up at him as he brought the blankets back over her body. He placed his hand against her cheek. It was the same spot where he had put his hand when he said goodbye to her before the Rite. And now to have her before him after the Rite…He could feel that she really was here. This wasn’t a dream. This time, he leaned forward and placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Cassian, I…” Nesta began to say feebly when he pulled away, but stopped when Morwenna and Leta, one of the Illyrian healers, burst into the room.

He would need to figure out what she wanted to say later. But for now, he was thankful the healer was finally here to take care of her. Cassian stepped away and let Leta look her over. The female pulled back the blankets to analyze her injuries. “Explain to me what happened,” Leta kindly ordered.

Nesta recounted the skirmishes she endured the past week, and Cassian fought to keep his rage minimal as she spoke. He wished he could break the necks of those snotty males…or at least break something. But who knew if they even made it back…he didn’t know which he hoped for more: that they suffered and perished in the Rite, or that they survived only to return and have to deal with Cassian’s fury.

When Nesta concluded, Leta immediately ordered her to consume the beef broth on the nightstand as she dug through the medicine in her bag. Before Nesta could even attempt to grab the bowl with her good arm, Cassian beat her to it. He picked up the bowl and began feeding her spoonfuls of it.

As she ate, Leta added tonics to heal her and to knock her unconscious into the broth. Once she finished eating, Nesta stretched out her good arm toward Cassian. He put down the bowl and spoon on the nightstand and eagerly accepted her hand in his grasp. “Thank you,” she whispered drowsily.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Cassian answered. He brought their hands up to his face and kissed the back of her hand.

Nesta squeezed his hand as her eyes closed, and she instantly fell into a deep sleep.

She wasn’t sure how many hours or how many days had passed, but she slipped in and out of consciousness.

Most of the time, Nesta was in a deep sleep. But every so often, she’d awake or be nudged awake by Cassian, who would be sitting beside her, ready and waiting with a bowl of broth to feed her containing tonics to help her heal and sleep.  As soon as she would finish, he’d hand her a glass of water to drink.

Too drowsy to speak and too preoccupied with eating and drinking whenever she awoke, words were not exchanged between her and Cassian during the short periods of time she was awake, save for his gentle orders for her to either eat and drink and his whispers of “Goodnight, sweetheart,” when she would slowly fall back asleep. Before she drifted off, she felt him kiss her temple each time.

Overall, her sleep had been dreamless…until one instance where she thought she had woken up on her own. She searched for Cassian, expecting him to be nearby and ready, as usual, to feed her.

But he wasn’t there…instead she found a letter addressed to her on the nightstand. Opening it up, she read through its contents:

Nesta,

I thought I loved you, but I think it was just the mating bond that messed with my brain and deceived me. I don’t love you. I don’t want anything to do with you.

Don’t expect to see me ever again.

-Cassian

The words sent tears streaming down her face, and she felt like she was suffocating.

Gasping for air, her eyes shot open and she found herself still in Cassian’s bed and no letter beside her. In the dim room, she reached her hand out to the side of her along the mattress, hoping to find Cassian beside her to reassure her that what just occurred was just a nightmare.

But her hand never found Cassian’s. She turned her head to find no one was beside her. Hyperventilating, she tried to push away her fears that Cassian really did run off and abandon her. Surely, he was just in the cabin somewhere…

But the nightmare had felt so real…Was the dream actually a premonition of what was to come?

Pushing away her covers, she got up off the bed without wincing.

Looking down, she realized she was still wearing Cassian’s shirt. Stretching out her arm, she found it no longer looked dislocated and didn’t ache. She also lifted up her leg to examine her thigh and saw that her wound was stitched up and healing.

She felt so…brand new. It was as if she had never physically suffered from the Blood Rite. There certainly were benefits to having a fae body….

Determined to find Cassian, she strolled out of his bedroom and headed down the hallway toward his study. Peeking her head around the door frame, she discovered he wasn’t there.

Ignoring her nerves, she went back down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen and the living room. But she still couldn’t find him.

Going to the front door, she turned the knob and opened it.

There, she found Cassian carrying a brown sack and about to take a step up to the small porch that led to his entryway. At the sound of the door creaking open, his head perked up. At first, he was beaming, but in a flash, that beam faded.

“You should be lying down,” he said seriously.

Nesta stepped back, pulling the door open with her to allow him entrance. “We’ve been over this before. You can’t order me around,” she said sternly.

Cassian stepped inside, and Nesta closed the door behind him. She turned around so her back was against the door, and Cassian approached her.

“Where were you?” she asked in a tone mixed with panic and irritation.

“I needed to go buy you some more food. We were nearly out of broth, and I think you’ll be ready to move onto more solid foods soon. Then I ended up flying to Velaris because I remembered there was that one tea you enjoy from one of the shops so I had gotten that too,” Cassian explained calmly as his eyes tried to search hers for…something. “I’m sorry. You’d been sleeping for over nine hours at a time the past few days. I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I shouldn’t have gone.”

He was out buying food for her, even going as far to find her favorite tea…to even further take care of her. All her life, she felt let down…especially by men. Her father abandoned her and her sisters, not even bothering to ensure they were nourished or caring that they lived. She thought Tomas Mandray would be the one to help take care of her…but that was all a facade. All he wanted to do was feed his own lustful desires.

After such experiences, she had previously sworn to herself that she would never trust a man again.

But then Cassian came into her life…and had been slowly breaking that resolve down.

Right now, she just needed to feel him and assure herself once more that all of this was real. She needed to truly know that he was before her and really taking care of her and not just part of her imagination. Abruptly, she tightly wrapped her arms around Cassian’s torso and closed her eyes as she laid her head against his chest. Cassian dropped the sack he was carrying to the ground, which made a small thump when it hit the floor. Some items in the bag spilled out and scattered on the floor, but he ignored it. He wrapped his arms around her in return.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Is that how you always respond when someone shows you affection?” she said, careful to not let any tears escape her eyes. Trying to hide her concern, she continued. “Are you so unused to it that you assume something must be wrong with someone to want to embrace you?”

“This is more of an I’m terrified yet so relieved to see you kind of a hug rather than a Cassian, you are the sun my world revolves around and I just want to worship you constantly hug.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I would never hug you like that.”

Cassian pulled back and gripped his hands on her upper arms as he stared her directly in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Nesta paused, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

Cassian sighed out of frustration. “Is that how this is going to go?” he asked angrily. “You’re just going to shut me out again? If I have to go through that again…I won’t be able to take it. I don’t want you just at arm’s length, Nesta. I want all of you. The good and the bad. I don’t want to be just a meaningless fling for you.”

The old Nesta probably would’ve fired back at him, telling him it was none of his business to know everything and it was presumptuous of him to think she’d want him to be more than a fling. But now…Nesta’s heart raced beneath her chest. She didn’t want to lose him. She was screwing this up. She wanted him more than anything. She needed to be honest with him and fix this. After all she realized in the Blood Rite…

“You’re not!” she exclaimed.

“Then what am I to you?”

How could she even find the words to explain what he meant to her?

“You’re…everything to me,” she finally said. “And that scares me,” she added softly as tears began to form in her eyes.

“Why?”

She hesitated, but finally decided to bring up her suspicion that they’d never spoken of. “What if these feelings are just because of…a possible mating bond between us? What if this is just one more thing in my life that I have no control over?”

When she mentioned the mating bond, Cassian seemed to go still for a moment, but then shook his head at her. “Remember what I told you? Mates don’t have to care about each other.  As far as I’m aware, Elain still doesn’t seem to have any kind of feelings for Lucien. Rhys and Feyre are an extraordinary case. Do you feel something more than a strong pull to me or more than a feeling of possessiveness? Then whatever you feel is real. It’s not something that’s been forced on you.”

“The thought of losing you…or of you betraying me or disappointing me…it leaves me feeling dead inside. I just don’t know what I’d do if any of that happened, and I couldn’t tell if I truly felt like I couldn’t live without you, or if it was because of some ridiculous bond between us,” Nesta shook her head as the tears continued to fall.

Cassian brought his hands to the sides of her face and started wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “For the week of the Rite, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and worrying about you. I missed you walking into my cabin unannounced and you rolling your eyes at me when I made some comment that you insisted was ridiculous. I missed your glares, your insults, and those rare times you’d give me a small smile. I missed you. I know, without a doubt, my feelings for you are real and are my own. They aren’t because of some possible bond.”

Her heart hammered within her chest. She remembered how it occurred to her during the Rite that she may never be able to tease Cassian again, never get to hear him make a silly sexual comment again, never feel the thundering of her heart when he called her “sweetheart,” and never get to just simply…talk to him.

She had missed him immensely. Even the week leading up to the Rite where they didn’t see each other…she missed him.

Was she relieved that her feelings were indeed her own? Her feelings for him were so overwhelmingly strong that it slightly frightened her.

She took a deep breath. “When I was on Ramiel…something in my magic called to the magic of the monolith. It brought to life all the nightmares I had had in the past year.”

Cassian’s eyes widened at this information.

“And those nightmares involved you saying I was unworthy of love, or you dying by that Cauldron’s blast of light…and they always left me feeling so broken. Then today, I dreamed I woke up, and you were gone for good, claiming your feelings for me were just because of the bond. So when you weren’t here when I really did wake up, I was terrified.”

Cassian continued to rub her face. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve given you reasons to not trust me by failing to protect you and failing to keep some of my promises…but I’m determined to follow through with my promises now. I will not abandon you.”

Nesta nodded as she grabbed onto his forearms. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you and for shutting you out.”

“We both have things to work on,” Cassian replied honestly. “And we can work through them together.”

“Are you sure you want this? That you want me?” she couldn’t help but ask, still feeling skeptical that this was all real.

Cassian sighed. As he firmly held her face still, he looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more. Don’t let your doubts consume you. They’ll drive you mad.”

“You’re ordering me around again,” she stated as she narrowed her eyes at him, but she failed to be truly stern with him. A smile spread across her face.

Cassian hesitantly smiled back. “But do you want this?” he asked seriously.

While it was indeed a risk to be with him and that she feared where this fierce love would lead her… Who knew how much time she would have left in this life? This life she had never wanted…until now.

Now she had a life where she no longer stood by and did nothing. Now she could actually help other females and train them, help them find a greater purpose that was bigger than themselves.

And now she had the chance to freely love someone without the worries of status and if a man could merely provide for her for the rest of her life. Now she was able to take care of herself, while also being truly loved for who she was.

“Yes,” she replied confidently.

The joy she saw on his face…It sent her heart racing, and she never wanted to see him without such joy again.

“Are you sure you want to risk being with an extraordinarily handsome male who sends your heart aflutter with every touch and will do anything to prove his love for you?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Against my better judgment, yes.”

Cassian grinned, then brought his face down closer to hers so his breath brushed against her lips and tickled her nose. “So you admit that I am extraordinarily handsome?”

“Will you just kiss me already?”

Cassian chuckled. “Maybe I should tease you just a bit longer to give you a taste of the painful waiting I had to endure while you did the Blood Rite.”

“Cassian,” she said sternly and leaned forward to kiss him herself, but he dodged his head away from her.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you, my sweet Illyrian warrior, for completing the Rite?”

“No, but you can tell me later and just reward me now,” she requested anxiously as she wrapped her hands around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I can’t wait to see Devlon’s face when he sees you. And when you start training the Illryian females…I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself and keep my hands and lips off you,” Cassian rambled on.

“Well, there’s no need to control yourself right now,” Nesta remarked impatiently.

“How are you feeling?” he questioned her sincerely.

“Physically, I’m completely fine. Emotionally, however, I’m so frustrated, I could slap you.”

“Fine. I know how irresistable I am, so I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“How kind of you,” she said sarcastically and groaned at his pompousness, but she was interrupted by Cassian capturing her lips in a kiss, and that groan turned into a moan of pleasure.

The kiss was firmer and more passionate than the two kisses they’d previously shared since neither of them was dying this time. Cassian pushed her back against the door. With something behind her helping to support her, Cassian began to kiss her even more forcefully, as if nothing could satiate his appetite for her.

The passion and the force of his kisses nearly sent her knees buckling. Sensing her falter, Cassian ran his hand up along her thigh, sending an electrifying sensation through her body. His kisses didn’t stop as he lifted her thigh up, then wrapped both of his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her off the ground. His wings flared out behind him, and Nesta lifted both her legs to encircle them around his waist.

When he tried to pull away from her, she wouldn’t let him. Instead, she used her teeth to tug on his lower lip, eliciting a moan from him that sent a delighted thrill through her.

Eventually, Cassian managed to reluctantly pull his lips away from hers. Their faces were only an inch apart as they breathed heavily on each other. He tilted his head up at her, and Nesta rested her forehead against his.

“I love seeing you in my shirt,” he growled. “And I love you, Nesta Archeron.”

“I know,” she answered smugly. “I got your letter.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“It could’ve been written more neatly.”

This time, Cassian rolled his eyes at her.

“It was a bit long too. It nearly put me to sleep,” she added nonchalantly.

Cassian gave her a look to show he was unimpressed with her comments.

“And I don’t think I would’ve survived the Rite without it,” she finished seriously.

The amusement left Cassian’s face and was replaced with a tender expression.

“I meant what I said when I wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t survive the Rite,” he told her. “The week of the Rite was unbearable…words cannot describe how it felt to see you return.”

Nesta rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have been ill, but I meant it when I said I didn’t want to waste anymore time either.”

“Then we’ll stop wasting it,” he said in a low voice before leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline.

“I love you, Cassian,” she mumbled before pulling his face so he was back to staring right at her. With a deep inhale of his woodsy scent, she fiercely kissed his beaming face.

The End

A/N: Man, writing this fic really took over my life. I’m a bit relieved it’s over and will now probably take a break from writing Nessian :)

Thank you SO much to everyone who has read this/liked this/left comments/reblogged this! I hope you enjoyed this final part! I would love to get a comment from you and thank you personally! :)

When I first had this fic idea, I only wanted to write an angsty Nessian goodbye before the Rite and a cute reunion scene between them after Nesta survives the Rite…my how this mini fic evolved haha. I feel like the Rite is probably way more difficult than what I’ve described… I’m still learning how to write scenes that are action-y and aren’t focused on romantic drama, haha. So that’s really why I only focused on some days of the Rite for Nesta. :D

Anyway, thanks again! I hope you all have a fabulous day!

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 3)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So thank you so much first and foremost for the love you guys have shown this fic. I have been so excited to write this and have been waiting ages to share it all with you. This is the kind of fluff and cuteness I personally need in my life right now, and I know a lot of you probably feel the same. Strap in for my usual dose of CS feels, and yes, for those of you asking, this is the moment CS will meet. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Emma asked, looking at Henry and knowing that he was ready to head into camp. They’d been over this numerous times, and at this point they were already out of the house and in front of the hall where campers congregated every morning. Still, Emma couldn’t help trying to soak up the moment with her kid just a little bit longer, and if that meant running through their list once more, so be it. “You have your lunch?”

“They give us lunch there, Mom.”

“Oh right,” she said, still shocked at how much was provided seeing as this program was free through the University. The children of all faculty and students were allowed to come, and it completely eradicated a need for her to find alternative childcare. Back in the States they had nothing like this built in anywhere. Getting Henry to camp previously either took a funding miracle, an insane amount of luck, or extra shifts at a second job. Usually he stayed with Mrs. H and Emma tried desperately to make it up to their neighbor. But now community sponsored help was becoming a given way of life, and every kid in Montenarro, no matter their background, seemed to have at least one path to a bright and happy summer.

“You’ve got your bag? How about water?”

“Yes and yes. We ran through this already, remember? I told you everything I had while you made breakfast.”

Emma smiled, knowing he was right, as crazy as it sounded. It was wild to her that on a weekday she would have the time, the patience, and the extra bit of cash to afford the spread they ate together today.  They had eggs, fruit, bacon, oatmeal and there were fresh pastries if they wanted. It was like their special holiday brunch, which happened on Christmas or on one of their birthdays, but they’d had this or something similar every day for nearly two weeks. It might seem over the top, but between the later starting hours here in Montenarro, her reduced work schedule with a generous stipend, and the fairer prices at the markets, Emma finally felt like she could give her son what he deserved. For years they’d chowed down on discount cereal, and now, in an attempt to enjoy themselves and resemble their new neighbors, they were taking a slower, and far and away more luxurious approach.

“I remember, kid. So I’ll be back here at four, and if I’m a little late -,”

“I just hang out a while longer, I know,” Henry said, looking to the doorway. A grin appeared at his face as he spotted one of his new friends. The other young boy waved in their direction and Henry waved back, causing Emma’s heart to melt. Her son not only had friends here, he was thriving. He was so happy, and seeing him this way made her happy too. “You don’t have to rush, Mom. I know your work ends early now, but maybe you could do something just for yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d rather stay later?” Emma asked, and Henry looked embarrassed for a moment before nodding.

“Not too much later, but Michael and Talia stay until five, and we’ve got this cool game going that we made up yesterday. It’s kind of hard to explain. But I can come home at four still. It’s okay, I’ll just -,”

“No, no, Henry, I am thrilled that you’re having a good time. I’ll be here at five.”

“Cool! Thanks, Mom!” Henry exclaimed, giving her a quick hug before heading for the door. “See you at five!”

She watched him get in safely, and the director of the camp who she’d met last week wished her a fond hello as she checked in Henry. Her greeting was pleasant and polite, and Emma knew if she had time the woman would talk her ear off about what it was like to be from America or the upcoming summer festivals. As it was though, Emma had to get going. She wasn’t late for work or anything, but she was eager to get there. Her work at the JR foundation was shaping up to be amazing. She was learning a lot, but she already felt like one of the team. Everyone who was there appreciated her, not just for working and helping out, but for her ideas. They were so responsive to suggestions, and always willing to try out any new concepts Emma had only really read about in books.

Their director, Marco, wasn’t like a normal boss. He didn’t hover or micromanage or come across as inaccessible. In fact, despite all the other calls on his time, Marco was with them all helping the kids and participating in their activities as much as he could. That leadership was so amazing in a space like this, and from everything Emma had experienced, the precedent he set was entirely reflective of the culture at large. Every person at the institute was determined to do right by these kids, and the children, despite the sad circumstances surrounding most of their lives, were doing so well and seemed so happy despite it all.

It was only a few city blocks from Henry’s camp to the center, but Emma let herself linger in the walk. She moved more slowly, matching the pace of the people around her, who never seemed to rush, and instead just enjoyed each day as it came. People were always smiling and laughing, and even the fighting was good natured. The streets were bustling but not full. They were cleaned regularly, maintaining the gorgeous cobblestone walks and the beautiful vintage architecture. It was warm here – a quintessential coastal retreat in the Mediterranean that she’d only ever imagined in her dreams or seen on travel TV. Everything considered, it was the opposite of New York, and despite having lived in the city she and Henry called home for more than ten years, Emma had to admit she didn’t miss it… at least not as much as she thought she would.

Don’t get too attached, Emma. This is temporary. Enjoy it while you can, but your real life is nothing like this.

The voice in her head was negative, but had a point, and Emma had no choice but to heed the advice. She would enjoy every bit of this she could, but she couldn’t get too comfortable, otherwise she’d miss this when they left. Even thinking of the heartbreak that may come if Henry continued to love it here so much left her reeling, but Emma carried on, pushing down that worry as she made her way past the institute’s front gates. It was important that she be in the right headspace when walking through these doors. The kids deserved her at 100%, and that was what she planned to be for them. Shaking off the worry from moments ago she moved inside, and as soon as she arrived, she was greeted by the sound of children running and laughing.

Some people might look at this place right now, apparently filled to the brim with kids who were wired and excitable now that it was officially summer and the school term was over, and think that this was chaos, but Emma knew better by now. Every child here ranging in age from six months to sixteen was attended to and accounted for. They had a large brood of kids, with sixty-seven at last count, and this was the biggest home under the JR foundation, though there were half a dozen more around the small country. Many children who were here would eventually be adopted, or would merge into part of a nationally funded fostering program, known for being one of the best systems in the world. In their last two years of school, older children went to special homes or foster placements designed just for them, to give them the attention and time they needed (instead of leaving them to the wayside for the sake of younger, needier children), and to prepare them for life outside of the system. Emma would eventually shadow a center that worked with those young adults, but for now, she was enjoying the hustle and bustle of the general group.

“Look, Char, it’s Emma!” one young boy named Thomas proclaimed to his little sister Charlotte from across the room, and in seconds every child had turned and was excitedly greeting her. Some of them came right up to hug her or give her a high five, but at the very least they all nodded in her direction and chirped out a fond hello.

“Good morning everyone,” Emma said, noticing the bags along the doorway and how the older kids were dressed in a uniform of navy colored shorts and florescent green shirts. “Did I miss something?” Emma asked aloud, not really to anyone in particular, but an answer came from one of the institute’s most trusted sources.

“Flora is taking the older children to the seaside today for a science lesson.”

The woman who filled Emma in was named Elsa, and despite the humidity in the air and the exuberance of the children all around them, she was totally put together and looked completely unstressed. Her hair was tied back in her usual braid, and her turquoise colored summer dress flowed in a way that looked poised for a summer catalogue. Elsa was effortless in an enviable way, but she was so kind and eager to be of help that Emma couldn’t begin to muster jealousy. In a short time Emma had begun to consider Elsa a friend, but though the two of them were roughly the same age, Emma was still a student and Elsa was a fully-fledged child psychologist who lived at the institute full time. She, and her sister Anna, who also worked at the institute, but as an activity’s coordinator, were two peas in a pod, but they’d done everything they could to include Emma and help her get her bearings in this new world.

“Lessons? In the summer?” Emma asked, not surprised that the institute was providing supplementary schooling year-round. She’d seen as much since starting here, but she was more taken aback at how excited these kids looked. Every child aged ten and older was gathered down here, no doubt waiting to fill the two institute vans out back. Still, how fun could a science lesson be?

“We use the term lessons lightly. For the rest of the morning the children will explore the tide pools at the national endowment’s shoreline about an hour north. There are some very unique ecosystems there, and so there is a whole lot to learn. But Flora will have them break for lunch and Anna takes over in the afternoon.”

“What’s she got in store for them?” Emma asked and Elsa shook her head.

“Well I can’t exactly say, as I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Her smile grew at how silly that sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to check for Anna, but gave a little more when she saw that the coast was clear. “Let’s just say it’s going to be a jam-packed day that will go out with a blaze of glory.”

The emphasis Elsa used on the word ‘blaze’ made Emma think that there would likely be a beachside bonfire included, but before she could get confirmation, things started moving quickly. The older kids were summoned to the shuttles to go out for their day, and Emma meanwhile saw the clock and realized it was time for her to report to Marco’s office to get her assignment for the day. Moving through the playroom and the sunroom, which had the younger children and the babies respectively, she finally found her way and after knocking she walked into the brightly lit hub of all things here at the institute.

“Ah, good morning, Emma,” Marco said with a big smile, waving her in and gesturing that she should take a seat beside one of the other workers at the institute, Marie. Marie was Marco’s second in command, and though she never used the phase herself, the children had taken to calling her Nana. She had a maternal way about her, and every child seemed to love her as they might a favorite grandmother. “You’re here just in time. I’ve been talking with Marie and we think that today would be a perfect opportunity to try one of your intervention measures.”

“Really?” Emma asked, surprised, but excited at the thought. This would be the third that they had tried, and the last two had gone off without a hitch. “Which one?”

“The ‘Music Makes Me…’ one seems like a good choice. We have a few children who, to now, have been less responsive to our normal socializing measures. Their either shy or hurting, and we’re hoping to help them open up. Elsa’s our counselor on shift today and she’s eager to help oversee this. You’ll take the lead, but she’ll be there for any help you might need. We realize it’s a long-term project,” Marco said, looking down at a piece of paper to check his facts. “You wrote here three times a week for eight weeks. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Ideally. Positive identity work can start yielding results as soon as three weeks, but the Princeton Psychology Review did a study this winter that showed children’s habit forming reaches its peak effectiveness after the eight-week mark.”

“And this is one of the projects you modeled off of your own parenting experience, correct?” Marco asked as Emma nodded. Her throat grew tight at the genuine emotion behind this tactic, but this was a place with people she trusted not to judge her. As such, she shared what sparked the idea.

“When Henry first started school, he was one of the only kids that wasn’t in a two-parent household. Even the other single parents had some sort of family behind them, like grandparents, aunts and uncles, or other kids. I’m not exactly sure how long he struggled with being different in that way, he’s an independent kid and he kept his pain over that closed in, probably to spare me from being worried. But when his teachers gave me their assessment and told me what they thought was happening, I set something not dissimilar to this up. We tried painting and crafting to express his emotions, but the music seemed to help so much more.”

“It’s really remarkable, the way you’ve melded your experience with your son and your own past in with all of this cutting-edge research. It’s one of the many reasons we’re so thrilled you’re with us this year,” Marie said cheerfully and Emma warmed at the comment. Telling the story of her son’s pain at not having a father, however vague she had kept it, was hard, especially because Emma lay awake many nights wondering if he was missing something fundamental by not having a father. She wondered if it may hurt him in the long run. But she was reassured by the fact that she always did her best for Henry, and that her experience could help not just her son, but the children here who had no present parents at all.  

“Given that it’s rather late notice, do you think you can manage? We’ve got a window right now for a few hours. Elsa’s already selected the children who may need the intervention most. She kept it in the 5-8 age range as you suggested.”

Emma immediately assured them that she could pull this together, as the concept was not hard. Basically what this practice/exercise included was playing music that was grounded in emotion. Some that were happy, some more subdued, some fast, and some slow, and encouraging kids to do what they wanted when they heard that. For Henry he’d always loved to run around and dance at the fast-paced songs. Then the slower ones were always more interesting. Sometimes he picked up a favorite toy, drew a picture on the supplies she left out, or created his own little imaginary game. All the while, however, Emma’s job was to engage, support, and ask questions.

The questions always started mildly. What’s your favorite color today? (she’d learned early not to box her son into ultimate favorites). If you could have any snack in the world what would you choose? What animal makes the funniest sound? Then the questions would evolve. Her son, like many kids, was a vivid dreamer and Emma often asked about those night time visions. Sometimes they meant nothing but sometimes they told her a lot. She wanted to include that with these kids, but also include more focused questions to them about how they felt here at the institute, what they felt like when they told people from the outside about living here, and what they dreamed of for the future. She’d always ended each session with Henry in two parts. The first was to ask Henry what his biggest wish was for someone else, and the second was to ask his biggest wish for himself. Kids at his age were filled with wishes and wants, but Emma knew from personal experience, that that may already be flickering away in kids without parents. She’d been seven years old when her hope truly started to fade away, and she believed if she’d had these kind of positive affirmations and people who were working to see her happy and well situated, her relationship with the world and herself would have been much easier.

In the end, Marco, Marie, and Elsa decided that there were five best candidates for today’s intervention. Stella and Timothy were a biological brother and sister who had been at the institute for about a year. They were eight and six, and both of them were doing pretty well despite their parents losing custody of them from continued problems with substance abuse. They were likely moving into a fostering situation by the end of the summer, but they had been here a bit longer than normal because they were bonded together and making that accommodation took patience and the right placement. According to Elsa, Stella’s teachers a few times had mentioned her shyness, especially when people brought up her home life. Malek was a seven-year-old boy from a similar situation, though his father was in the process of getting clean for his son. The institute was always cautious for replacement with parents who struggled, but if his father could demonstrate stability and stay clean a full year, the legal system would grant him custody again. Malek, understandably, had mixed feelings about going back, and Emma wanted to try and help him with those through this process. Carlos, meanwhile, was a rambunctious six-year-old who had been given up at birth. He was shaped by his status as an orphan, and had a few close adoption calls that ultimately fell through. Luckily, though, a new family with sincere interest and the means to take care of him was stepping up, and they had exactly eight weeks before the system would process their filing for adoption, a perfect amount of time to help Carlos with some of these image issues before he settled into his new home.

The final child in Emma’s care today, however, was Cecilia, or as the other children called her, ‘CeeCee.’ Cecelia was a newcomer to the institute, and at just barely five years old, she was the youngest in Emma’s group today. She was quiet and withdrawn, but given her background that was all to be expected. At such a young age Cecelia had already been through so much. When she was two her parents had tragically passed in a car accident, and she’d moved in with her grandmother. Her grandmother was loving and did everything she could for her, but she was in poor health, and was now in need of care herself. Emma wasn’t here on the day that Cecelia came to the foundation, but Elsa had mentioned it with tears in her eyes a few days prior.

“I’ve seen so much heartbreak in this job, but watching that little girl realize she was being left behind… It was awful. She cried so quietly and for so long. It took us weeks to get her to say anything at all.”

Even now Cecelia was always quiet. She’d blended in a bit more with the other children, but she wasn’t particularly bonded to any of them. She had grown to be more trusting of the adults, but not in a really promising way. With Emma she’d always been sweet and well-tempered, but Emma hoped that this process might help her, and might get her to a place where she could be better socialized and cared for.  The next few hours proved to be even more promising than Emma dared to hope. All five children not only had fun, but made good steps towards progress. They all confided a little bit in Emma and Elsa, and they all responded well to the method. When Emma asked them if they’d like to do this again in a few days, all five of them were thrilled, and little Cecelia, who was normally so shy, was the biggest shock of all. Over the course of the few hours she’d opened up so much to Emma, and by the end of the session she was holding Emma’s hand tightly, intent on going with her through her day. Emma was so happy to see this little girl doing so much better, and she had to admit she was invested in this child, perhaps more than any other she’d met so far at the institute.

“Do you think it’s all right?” Emma asked, motioning downwards, but not saying everything aloud. The last thing she wanted was for Cecelia to not feel wanted when she’d made such tremendous progress, but she was worried about what might happen if she grew too attached.

“This happens sometimes. Kids have a sense for safe spaces. She was already responding really well to you before,” Elsa said, crouching down and waving at Cecelia, sharing a soft compliment for the toy rabbit she was carrying with her today, which made the little girl smile and chirp out a gentle ‘Thank You.’ Even that little show of gratitude and the genuine smile was an improvement, and Emma felt a burst of pride seeing this young girl come out of her shell. “We’ll keep an eye on it, but I think it’s best to see where it goes. She’s showing no signs of dependency, and hopefully you’ll be the perfect gateway for her to let the rest of us in.”

Emma hoped that Elsa was right, and as everyone in the center gathered for lunch, Cecelia stayed close by. Emma did her best to stay attentive to all of the kids who choose to eat with her today, but she also wanted to lead this lost little girl towards others who may be her friends. She was making good progress with another five-year-old named Ava, who was eager to be friendlier with Cecelia, when Marie approached, appearing frazzled and a little shaken.

“Is everything all right?” Emma asked, careful to keep her words calm and her tone even so as not to scare the kids. Her instincts were that something bad must be happening, but Marie shook her head, quickly dispelling her of that notion.

“Everything is wonderful, dear. We just have an unexpected visitor – actually I guess visitor is the wrong word. He’ll be staying on here for a while to work with us all. It’s a bit unexpected, but I dare say it’ll prove a delight in the end, for us and for the children.”

“Who is it that’s coming?” Emma asked, and Marie looked poised to blurt something out, but then caught herself and weighed her words carefully.

“One of the members of the family who run the foundation.”

Emma now began to understand the sudden rise in stress. Whatever JR stood for, and whichever family it was that could afford to spend so much on these resources, they must be both terribly rich and powerful. Being so new here, Emma didn’t know any background about the endowment, but she hoped that whoever was coming would be a help and not a hindrance. Surely they’d come here and see how much good work was being accomplished. She hated to think they’d be coming to make cuts or roll back funding.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emma asked and Marie shook her head.

“Oh no dear. You’re doing a wonderful job. This isn’t an assessment of any kind. I believe it’s a genuine act of charity. You see he’s been in the military, and now he’s come home. His family’s no doubt pushing him towards some kind of occupation, and he’s chosen this as his pursuit.”

Emma wanted to ask more, about if this mystery man had any experience with kids or why, even if he was so very rich, Marie displayed school-girlish enthusiasm at his coming, but the older woman moved on to handle something else. Instead Emma waved Elsa over and asked her if she knew the man who was coming.

“Of course I do, everyone knows him,” Elsa said, thoroughly adamant that this stranger was of some notoriety. Then her features softened and she took on a thoughtful expression. “Well I suppose we know of him. We’ve never met, you see. But it’s impossible not to know him.”

Emma nodded, but she was still somewhat surprised. To this point she hadn’t gathered a sense that the family who ran the endowment was exceedingly involved in the day to day of the center. But then again, Elsa had been here far longer than her, and so she probably needed to keep track of the important players who were their most generous donors. Emma could have remained hung up on the strangeness of it all, but instead her mind wandered to the few details she did know. He was a military man, newly home, and he was coming here to make a difference. She thought about that and what that meant, and she found that she already liked him, or at least his attitude. Serving in the armed forces meant a life of service – to come home from that and still want to help others was admirable, and she hoped it would provide a good role model for the children, no matter what his actual child life background might be.

From the window in the great hall where all of the children and staff took their meals, they could all see down the back drive where a second entrance to the center was located. At that moment three black SUVs began their ascent, and the children’s attention immediately perked up as they ran to the windows. Emma felt the growing anticipation at the new arrival, and she wondered why there would need to be three SUVs. It reminded her of the protective details that sometimes came in the city, when big time politicians made their way to city hall where she worked for some sort of meeting or photo op. But what would be the reason for such a display today? Why would anyone need one of those when coming to a children’s center? It was hard to grasp, but then she questioned her instinct. The men who exited from the vehicles weren’t in high profile suits. They were more casually dressed, just like any workers here at the center. She wasn’t able to see all of them, but soon enough there were voices in the hall. Marco and Marie greeted the newcomer, and Emma only caught a snippet of the conversation.

“We’re thrilled to have you here, Sir.”

“Killian, please.”

“Killian. Right, sorry. That may take getting used to.”

“Not a problem. We have time.”

Emma was caught up in the sound of the new voice. It was distant, but even from here she felt an impact at the gravel in the tone and the lilt of the accent. It washed over her, sparking a sizzling sensation that was foreign to her, and after weeks in this country she’d always found the accent pleasing, but never responded like this. She found herself wanting to know what this man looked like, to see what kind of appearance could go with a voice that enticing, but she was getting ahead of herself. What did it matter what he looked like? He was going to be a coworker, right? This was hardly the time or place to be interested in someone. Still her stomach swooped with the tell-tale flutter of butterflies and she shifted in her seat. The action, along with the new voice in the hall, sparked something in Cecelia to change from comfortable to tense. The young girl grabbed at Emma’s shirt, latching on for a sense of perceived safety. Emma’s heart reached out to this poor, sweet girl, and she took her hand gently, trying to assure her as swiftly as she could.

“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I don’t like strangers,” Cecelia said and Emma tried not to get misty eyed at the sense of uncertainty this little girl held so tight.

“I was a stranger once, wasn’t I?” Emma asked and Cecelia considered that before nodding. 

“But you’re nice to me. You read us stories and play us music. You’re my most favorite friend.”

“And you are my friend too, honey. So let’s wait and see what kind of person he is before we decide if we like him, okay? You never know – he could be your favorite too.”

Cecelia looked skeptical but ultimately agreed, and Emma was glad to have that sorted. She had been so focused on curtailing Cecelia’s worry that she forgot where they were. Now she noticed everyone else was standing, children and staff alike, so she helped Cecelia down from her seat and stood up herself. The sounds of people walking in played out around her, but Emma took a moment to make sure her young charge was settled before looking back up. She patted Cecelia’s hair and brushed her full brown curls from her face, with care. Only then did she look up. But when she did, she never could have expected what would happen. 

As her eyes took in the stranger, their gazes met, and she was struck by a sense of recognition and realization that she’d never felt before. Something clicked for her in that moment, in the first few seconds of their seeing each other, and her awareness grew stronger and stronger. So much bubbled up to the surface, emotions and feelings and desire and interest. It was like something was opened within her, and she felt drawn into this man and unable to resist. This stranger had blue eyes, intense but warm all at once, piercing in a way that they seemed like she knew them and they knew her. Instinctively she looked to the rest of him - Killian he said his name was - but it didn’t help her sense of disorientation. His face was remarkable, strong and sure. His hair was dark, and his figure was no doubt honed for the expectations of his years of military service. She felt herself taking him all in, and then caught herself and thought about what a scene she was making. This wasn’t appropriate. Oggling this man just because he was hot – okay more than hot, he was… god was it lame to say perfect – oh Christ she was doing it again. She needed to stop, but when she looked up at him, she caught him doing the same thing to her. It was incredible to feel his interest, and for a moment it was like the world stopped spinning so the two of them could find each other. 

Find each other? Jesus, Emma, get a grip. The thought ran through her head as Marco began to address them all.

“Everyone, this is our newest friend here at the institute, Killian.”

“You’re big,” a boy named Seamus called out, unceremoniously and for a beat Marco and Marie looked concerned, but Killian only laughed.

“You should see my brother.”

“Is he coming too?” Marie asked, looking like she might actually be done in by the news.

“No, ma’am,” Killian said with a small smile and Marie let out a sigh of relief. What was that about?

“Why do you stand so straight?” another boy asked and Killian explained.

“I was in the royal navy.” This was met by a chorus of oohs and aahs, from the girls and boys alike.

“Are you a good person?” someone asked, and only after a moment did Emma realize it was Cecelia. She was shocked at the display of bravery from her little companion, but then that was compounded by Killian’s movement towards them. He split his looks between Cecelia and her, but when he approached he crouched down so as to be eye level with the little girl.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Cecelia.”

“Cecelia. That’s a beautiful name,” he said honestly and Cecelia swayed side to side a bit with the compliment. “Now as for your question, I certainly try to be good.”

“But you’re a stranger,” Cecelia said, looking at him with a furrowed brow, as if this was some kind of simple math he should understand.

“For now I am. But not forever, I hope.”

“My Emma was a stranger too. She’s a good person. Are you like my Emma?”

Now Killian rose to full height and he addressed Emma as much as he did Cecelia. “I do like her.” Emma’s heart skipped and then she watched his face shift in embarrassment as he realized what he said. “I mean I hope I’m like her, lass. But only time will tell.”

“Miss Emma, does time talk?” Cecelia asked and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing as her eyes caught Killian’s again.

“No, honey. It’s an expression. It means that with a little bit of time you will know if he’s a good person. You just have to be patient.”

The look Killian gave her in that moment was packed with so much. Gratitude, interest, and something more. There was a charge between them that she just couldn’t deny, and she could tell he felt it too. But before he could say anymore, Marco called everyone’s attention again.

“Anyone have any ideas as to how we should welcome Killian?” he asked and a chorus of answers came flooding in.

“I know! I know! We should show him our giving tree.”

“No! We should show him our playground!”

“I want to show him my pirate ship!”

“We should feed him the turnovers Cook makes. She hides them in a secret spot but I know where they are!”

“Well that all sounds brilliant, especially the turnovers. Why don’t we do all of it?” Killian asked, before looking to Marco who nodded readily. The kids looked excited, and were eager to go, but before things got too crazy, Killian looked back at Emma and grinned.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma.”

And with that, and with so much swag and sexiness it made her a little dizzy, this mysterious new man set off, throwing himself into the deep end with these kids, and showing them all that he could hold as own, just as surely as he could hold her attention.

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know, I know, you’re probably mad I kept their meeting so short and waited until the very end, but next chapter I am planning to include this first meeting from Killian’s POV. This story, as much as any of my stories can, has a bit of a slower build, because there are a lot of elements I really want to include, but I promise there’s plenty of fluff in store and a lot of cuteness that yet to come. Thank you all so much for reading, and I really hope you’ll leave a comment or a review. I’d love to see what you all think and what you’d like to see going forward in this new fic. Anyway, I will do my best to update soon (probably next weekend), but in the meantime I hope you’re all well, safe, and happy in this uncertain time!

[nautiscarader]

Wendip Week 2017 day 2: Time travel

The greatest stories of the past can be found in simplest of places... second, simple story for Wendip Week. Apologies if the story feels a bit rushed, I had to write and finish it within one day. 

Wendy and Dipper's kid, Tyrone was inspired by a character of the same name from @elentori-art​'s brilliant artwork (x). It’s set in the same “au” as one of my earlier work (x)

(My fanfiction masterpost) (Read on Ao3) (Read on FF)

- That takes me back in time...

Now that was a phrase that grabbed Tyrone Pines' attention. And it was spoken by his dad, so, while odd-sounding, it must have be true. But then, could it be true?

- Dad? What do you mean?

Tyrone Pines walked hastily to the sofa his father was relaxing on with - no surprises there - a large book in his hands. Without waiting for his answer, Tyrone climbed onto the sofa and crawled into his dad's arms, eager to see the book he was holding. It was a nice, large book with lots of pictures inside, and a hard, brown cover.

- Hey, there, champ. What did you ask about? - What does "take back in time" mean? Can you go back in time?

Tyrone's wide eyes shrunk when his dad chuckled, giving his hair a bit of a ruffle. This usually meant Tyrone was wrong, simply because he didn't know enough adult words, or that he mistook one for another.

- No, it's just a saying. It means that you start remembering things from your past, like these, see?

An album! Of course, mom and dad often browsed through them, usually the ones with his pictures inside it. This one seemed similar at first - it looked like it contained lots of pictures of him, except Tyrone could not remember any of them being taken. Even stranger, the boy in pictures looked older than he was. Could his father have pictures of him from the future?

And then it struck him - the hair! It wasn't red, like his mom's, but chestnut, very much like his...

- Dad, is that you? - Of course. And can you recognise this sweater-wearing lady?

He pointed to the girl eagerly staring into the lenses of the camera, so much so she made half of the picture blurry.

- Auntie Mabel! She's everywhere! - Yeah, no one could ever stop her then, and no one can stop her now.

Tyrone flipped a couple of pages, finding more glitter-covered pictures of his aunt, and a few, less decorative ones, of his dad.  

- Where's mom? - These are from before we even heard about Gravity Falls, I think. Look, I don't even have my cap anywhere. - he shuffled through the sturdy pages - I only met your mom when we arrived here for a summer. Dunno if she brought any of her pics though...

Dad passed the album, and reached to the bookcase next to the sofa, giving Tyrone chance to see more pics of Dad's younger self. The two were remarkably similar, aside the hair colour, so much so that Tyrone had to actively remind that he hasn't looking at himself. Some of the pics showed his dad amongst books, or toys, some in garden, playing with Auntie Mabel in his grandaprent's old house.

- Uh, I think mom has her album at her dad's house. After all, she has three brothers. - his dad stated after checking the bookcase - You wanna see more pictures of me and mom?

Tyrone eagerly nodded and moved aside, when Dad brought not one, but three thick albums with him.

- Yeah, we got a bit photo-crazy at some point. Well, Mabel did, she wanted to take all sorts of pictures once me and your mom started dating.

The first album looked very similar to the one Tyrone has seen already, aside from the brown, cap that at some point made its way to his dad's head. And then, out of the blue, the theme of the photography has changed. There were less and less of the twins in the pictures, and more and more images of forests and familiar-looking mountains. After a couple of pages more, images of a few familiar people appeared, bringing a smile back to Tyrone's face.

- That's grandpa Stan! And Soos! - That was our first visit here. - his dad nodded - We didn't know grunkle Stan that well back then, so he's gonna be mostly grumpy here.

And indeed, some of the pics showed grandpa Stan in, well, less than appealing poses, or with lots of grimaces on his already wrinkled face. The young version of Soos, on the other hand looked... pretty much like the same big, cuddly fellow Tyrone knew already. But then the subject of the pictures changed again, finally giving Tyrone what he wanted to see.

- That's mom! - Yep, that's her. - his dad sighed, staring at a profile photograph of his mom, relaxing on a bench during a warm, sunny day - You can imagine why I fell for her, can you? - Her hair is pretty... - Tyrone whispered, flipping pages again. - Yeah, you are right. And look, here we are with Mabel.

On the next photograph, his mom was leaning casually on the wooden wall of Mystery Shack, with his dad and Auntie on both her sides. Only now, with all of them in one picture, Tyrone noticed a rather large detail he wasn't aware of so far.

- Dad, why is mom so much taller? - Well, she's older than me. I was twelve, or thirteen, and she was fifteen already. You're gonna shoot up when you're that age too. - his dad paused - Your grandma was a bit baffled by the age gap, though. - Why? - Tyrone asked - Do you have to be the same age to marry? - No, it's just a bit unusual when a boy is younger than a girl. I guess. - he paused again. - Come to think, her arguments never really made sense to us. We were dating, and we didn't care. Glad she understood that.

His dad must have been in love with mom for a very long time, Tyrone realised. Lots of pictures showed her with his dad and Auntie, some with grandpa Stan and Soos, and some with lots of other, young people he has never seen before.

- That's Lee, and Thompson, Wendy's friends from high school. - his dad started counting. - That's Nate, another one, that's Robbie, he was your mom's first boyfriend. That's Tambry, these two got married in the end... - Boyfriend? - Yeah. When you start dating, you call your sweetheart a boyfriend of a girlfriend. - I know, dad. - Tyrone stressed  - But... Mom dated other people? - Sure she did.

Tyrone hasn't felt that puzzled in a long time. He knew that you have to meet your future wife at some point, but he was sure the road from there was pretty straightforward, even though he wasn't sure what that "road" was. The prospect of his mom dating, and possibly *kissing* other men than dad, on the other hand, was absolutely unthinkable! Not that kissing in general didn't make him a bit squeamish to begin with, despite his parents' assertions that "he will change your mind at some point".

- So she wasn't your girlfriend then? - No, of course not. Though that didn't stop me from being in love with her. - he winked

His dad took the album from his hands, and replaced it with a second one.

- I think that's our... third and fourth visit here... Oh, and even fifth. - he stated, looking at the dates on the first page. - I think we started dating somewhere then.

The pictures inside this album looked wildly different to the previous ones: his father was much taller and his chin was covered with patches of hair he called "a goatee"; Auntie Mabel had different hair style in practically every shot, often mimicking her friends, Grenda and Candy that Tyron vaguely remembered from one of the slightly odd and boring get-togethers. His mom looked oddly similar, if not for the fact that in many pictures she was making googly eyes to his father in the same way he was making to her.

- Yeah, there we are. I think it was our second date. Don't have pictures from the first one, the tiger smashed the camera. - A tiger? - Yeah, a sabre-toothed one. We still don't know where it came from, but boy we were sad that he ripped it to shreds. - Why? Why would he do that? - I think it's because we didn't ask him if we can take pictures of him. Tigers don't like paparazzi. Oh, it mean people, who make photos whether you like it or not. - he quickly added. - He's not talking to us anymore. Shame, he was a funny guy.

Another couple of pages went by with more pictures of his dad and mom in odd dating spots, as well as the increasing number of kissing scenes, which only made Tyrone avert his eyes in embarrassment. Noticing that, his dad took another album, and browsed through it to show him something less smoochy.

- There, look, our Halloween costumes. - he started - You know, at some point I wasn't that keen on dressing up in those, but your auntie told me there's nothing wrong with it. - Of course there isn't. - Tyrone was quick to respond - Why did you want to stop doing it? - Well, I thought that it was silly, since I was too old... I wanted to impress your mom, you see. - he spoke softly - Actually, most of these pictures could be labeled that. And I was a bit of a dummy to think that she will like me more if I'm gonna pretend to be someone else. That could be a title of many of these as well...

The pictures showed his dad in costumes, usually matching the ones his sister was wearing, with mom and Soos often appearing next to them.

- See? We used to go as pirates, king and a queen, cowboys... That's more what you wanted, right? And look, here we are in different countries!

Another set of pictures showed weird buildings, people in different clothes (including his mom and dad!), and unusual, sometimes otherworldly-looking landscapes. As if by magic, dozens of untold adventures unfolded in front of Tyrone's eyes, making his head spin. He was travelling through time, faster than he ever though he would, watching his parents and family transform and change, while still retaining the same eyes and smiles he was so used to. And at the same time, all he wanted was to hear more about the amazing life his dad and mom had before he was born.

- So, what you guys are up to?

A sudden, clam and warm voice shifted Tyrone's attention from the avalanche of questions he had, making him raise his hands into the air nearly instantaneously, waiting for his mom to pick him up.

- Mom! Look what we found! - Yeah, heard you all the way from the garden. - his mom said, taking him into her arms. - Your dad is a sentimental one, and you seem to be like him. - Hey, I just like documenting stuff. - he replied - Besides, how could I miss that opportunity?

He spread the pages of the album again, showing a photo of his mom sticking her tongue to the camera, and rolling her eyes in a comedic fashion.

- See? True beauty only Oregon can provide.     - Shush, or I will show him your pictures. - Tyrone's mom warned her husband - The one from your mom. - You wouldn't - dad yelped, his eyes widening in horror - Works every time. Now, Tyrone, It's already 7, you should go to bed. - Mom, can't we stay a bit late? - Tyrone pleaded - We were having fun with the photographs! - We can all browse them tomorrow. - she said, giving him a kiss on forehead. - Mom is gonna sit with you tomorrow, and we will see how many times your dad was making stuff up, okay?

Trying to contain giggling, Tyrone nodded and ran to the bathroom, wondering what great stories will his mom tell him the next day. He already learned way more about his parents he expected, so the prospect of getting more tidbits about their lives already made him hyped up. With his head buzzing with ideas, the evening bath passed in a blink of an eye, and Tyrone quickly found himself tucked in his bed, ready to dream about the adventures his parents are going to tell him about tomorrow.  

Having helped Tyrone with the evening routine, Wendy entered the living room, now filled with even more orange light from the bulbs, creating a familiar, cozy atmosphere. Just like her son before, she jumped into Dipper's arms, who was still browsing the albums that made this evening so much longer.  

- So, are we ever going to tell him? - Dipper asked, giving his wife a quick peck, and gently stroking her hair - He's as nosy as you or me, so I have a feeling he's going to find it on his own. - Wendy replied dreamily, snuggling into Dipper's shoulder - It will be a bit difficult though, you know. A ruler is not as cool as all the other time machines he saw in comics and movies. - Don't you wish we kept it, though? - Wendy asked - We could be going to all sorts of times and places... - Nah, I think we're fine the way we are, frankly. - Dipper confided - And what do you think? - I think you're just jealous that the crew chose me to be their pirate captain and you were just a deck hand. - Wendy replied sharply, flipping the album back to the picture of them in their pirate "costumes".

[sunset-wishes-upon-hill]

Scent of a Human Chapter I (Batman FF)

A/N: I’m very sure you’re all surprised to see the title. Well, I have written them a year ago but never uploaded them on anywhere until today. This story features an OC and it’s another time/dimensional travelling fic! This time to Gotham! This FF is based on Nolan-verse Batman movie. Random upload but for some reason, I was like I wanna share this with others.

It wasn’t easy building a new life from the ground in a world you didn’t exist. From the beginning, the fate has been against her. She had no idea how she came to be in this world, a world that should have stayed, in utmost logic, fictional. She was 24 when she found herself lost in what she soon came to realise, Gotham. Two years has passed and it was the most difficult, arduous two years she’ll probably experience in her life. She had nothing other than a small backpack on her back and in the bag was her wallet, phone, key, few snacks and a water bottle. Thankfully her money was genuine enough to be accepted by the stores and cheap motels, but her cards she later found out the hard way, were ‘fraudulent’.

The little money she had on her didn’t even last her a full week and soon ended up on the street, begging for spare changes until a homeless charity worker found her rough sleeping in the alley next to the trash cans. She had been on the street for approximately six months or so, approximate because she didn’t really keep up with the time she’s been here. She didn’t want to move from the small area of street she claimed, a home she could call ever since she lost her first one. They half forcibly took her from her safe corner because she was young and hadn’t been on the street for a long time and more importantly, she was a young female. Being a young female in the street was a disaster waiting to happen, and she was grateful the most closest danger she got to was an assault. A fellow rough sleeper stole her bag and can of money she made on that day and he was more concerned with taking what she had than taking a step further.

“What is your name?” A kind looking woman asked in a gentle tone, “How old are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she burst into loud cry. Crying, it seemed, was an everyday occurrence for her. She’d cry several times a day, whether she was eating, sleeping, doing nothing thinking of her life she had in her world, she had a job, her parents, two lousy but close brother and sister. She had something. It wasn’t much, but still she had something.

“Please help me.” She managed out in trembling tone.

The woman, taking her plea for help at face value, rubbed a hand down her arm in gesture meant to be soothing.

“Don’t worry, we’re here.”

“Anne?”

The hostel she was assigned in also had a mental health centre where group of clinicians would visit once a week to those in need. They suspected she had depression or some sort of mental health and had persuaded her to take part in group and one-to-one counselling session offered by the charity. She refused at first, counselling session required that both the client and therapist be truthful to each other which she absolutely cannot unless she want to be institutionalised. Not that she had anything to lose from being institutionalised; she’ll have a roof over her head, warm three meals a day, healthcare and somewhere permanent at least.

“Give it a try, Anne.” Emma, the woman who found and brought her in, grinned, “Everything you say would be confidential and having someone to talk to would be good for you.”

She didn’t know how she actually agreed to it, everything seems to happen in a blur to her these days but she was sitting with a doctor who could not have been much older than in the sofa who with glasses that framed his piercing blue stares that regarded her like a new specimen brought into his lab. She wasn’t much fan of Batman comic or movies or materials related to it, but she had seen the movies to realise who the man standing in front of her with the face of the familiar actor whose notable feature were his ocean blue eyes.

She couldn’t remember the actor’s name but she repeated inwardly that this man was not the actor, but a character who wore his face and a very different man.

“Hello, Miss. Reyes.” He gave her a smile that was supposed to make her comfortable but it didn’t reach his cold eyes and his smile was icy and impersonal, “I’m Dr. Jonathan Crane, please take a sit.”

He gestured to a small armchair in front of him and Anne took a step back.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” She said, feeling like a child who decided to be brave and offered herself to be vaccinated first among her peers only to falter at the sight of the needle that was more painful-looking than she had expected.

There was that smile again, she noted as he leaned back and said, “I understand you must be feeling much distress–“ Oh you have no idea “–and perturbation from your recent experience but that is why I am here. Please, Miss. Reyes, sit down.”

This only wanted to make her run and disappear into the street. But something about his imposing stares and overall unnerving presence seemed to force her down into the armchair albeit with great reluctance.

He flicked through a folded paper tucked in the file before glancing up at her, “Before we begin, I want you to know that anything you or I say in this room will remain confidential. The only circumstance where I must disclose the information is if I must uphold my duty to protect and care for you and others or when consulting colleague provided that I first obtain your permission to do so and I will do my best to conceal your identity and any associated parties involved. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“There isn’t much information about you, is there?” He gestured to the thin paper he held up.

The only thing she had given them was her name, age and earliest known month she remembered seeing in the newspaper while she was still on the street. She had no IDs and because of that, she had nearly been denied the shelter, but because there was greater risk for her out in the street, which made her a priority, they had taken her in although what must be done after was much more difficult, if not impossible. Like trying to find a permanent accommodation, background check or open a bank account, or applying for any government benefit she could be eligible for; the list was endless. She was a dead woman, but even a dead woman had some sort of record of her life if one dug for it. She was a non-existent dead woman.

Emma assured her that this was a common problem amongst her clients, that people like her were ‘pseudo-citizens’ because they had little to no proof that they actually existed on paper or system.

He closed the file, “Shall we discuss more about you before I do any assessment? It’s said that you cannot remember where you lived and that your IDs has been stolen, correct?”

She nodded.

“When is the earliest memory you have that you can remember?”

“…Six months ago.”

“When you first started rough sleeping?”

She nodded.

“Do you remember sustaining any head injuries prior to your memory loss? Any sign that you may have sustained such wounds, such as sensitivity in the skull area? Repeated episode of vomiting? Sudden bruising or swelling around the eyes or behind ears? Loss of hearing or double visions?”

Anne paused to think, it’d be easier for him to think she had amnesia from the injury. She nodded.

“What symptoms have you experienced?”

“Vomiting, umm..double visions, my head felt sensitive for few days like I’ve bumped it somewhere.”

He jotted down into his notepad.

“And where were you when you’ve noticed the gap in your memory.”

“I was just on the street with my bag.” She said, “I had some money but that ran out so I started to…” She felt her cheeks redden, it wasn’t the most dignifying thing to say you were homeless, “..Sleep rough.”

“And in your bag, what was in there?”

“My wallet and my phone.”

“And you had some form of IDs in your wallet before it was stolen?”

She nodded.

“Was there a driving license?”

She nodded.

“And in that, there was your picture with name and your date of birth?”

She nodded.

“There should have been your house address there as well, do you remember?”

She shook her head after faltering for a moment.

“Why? You must have tried to find your way back home, no?”

“I-I….it was far.”

“How far?”

“I couldn’t afford it.”

“And you can’t remember the address.”

“I forgot. I’m not good at remembering.”

“Before your head injury or after.”

“Even before.” She snapped, “Is this really necessary?”

His eyes slightly narrowed, as if he felt something amiss with her story, “Yes, Miss. Reyes. As your therapist, the only way we can work with each other is if we remain truthful to each other. That means telling me everything you know, and it will be confidential as I assured you in the beginning.”

“I want to go home, but I can’t, OK.” She felt her tears coming, her eyes notably blinking more frequently.

“Why can’t you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Anne said, “I’m not even gonna say it because you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Well, I’m a psychiatrist.” He revealed and something in his eyes sparked, “I’ve seen my fair share of crazy.”

She shook her head in discouragement, “Not like this. Not like mine.”

“Entertain me.”

Anne glued her mouth shut.

She didn’t know how long the time past, glancing over her shoulder to look at the clock that hung facing him. The clock was deliberately positioned in such way that the client could forget the concept of time while they were in a ‘safe zone’ and therapist could covertly glance up at the time to keep track of his next appointment without making the client feel rushed or pressured. It was their job to manage the time and end the session appropriately.

“Is something holding you back?” He asked, ever so patiently, “If you could afford to go back, will you?”

“Of course I’ll go back if I could afford to, but I can’t.”

“What is it that you cannot afford?”

“I don’t even know.” She shrugged, unless there was a hero with magical power that could transport her into her world.

“What is holding you back?”

Anne shrugged once again.

“What are you afraid of?” There was a malicious glean when he said the word ‘afraid’.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“It must be something.”

“You won’t understand.” She said, “No one can.”

“Allow me to understand.”

“When does this session finish?”

“That is my job, Miss. Torres. I’m here to listen, not judge.” He had a way with words, Anne admitted, if she weren’t aware of what kind of man he was behind the cool façade, she’d probably open up her deepest fear to him.

“Well, Doctor, you can listen to my silent to the end of session.” Anne tried to relax her stiff form in the armchair, it didn’t help the armchair wasn’t the fluffy one but a very hard, cheap ones made with low quality leather.

She tried to look everywhere but him, his eyes following her movements like a hawk scanning its prey on the ground before swooping down to hook its prey in its sharp beak. Anne wished she could control the seeping nervousness that filled the room, she knew he could feel it because every twitch she made, small smile would form on his lips. He thrived in fear; it was why he did what he did.

Every second was agonisingly slow, much slower than the six months she spent on the street.

“Well, Miss. Reyes, it seems our time is up.”

Her shoulders relaxed notably as he wrapped up the session.

“I think we can schedule our next appointment next Monday, is that alright with you?”

“Thanks but I’m fine.”

“The one that asks for no help is the one that needs help the most. For your sake, I suggest we keep working with each other as we figure out the best way I can help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“It was nice meeting you, Miss. Reyes.”

She didn’t say anything.