#which is the only reason i agreed to let her stay in the apt in the first place

[onevolon]

my love for you is infinite - part3

Santiago Garcia x afab!reader(Darcy)

note: pride and prejudice (2005) but with triple frontier boys because why not lol

word count: 2095

warnings: little angsty heheheee also the gender change i did makes some dialogs... interestingdfghhh especially in this part ENJOY

you can also read it on ao3.

part2 - part4 - masterlist

Santiago and Francisco are both in the same bed under the covers. They are too excited to sleep.

Francisco sighs “Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be: Sensible, good humored-“

“-Handsome, conveniently rich” Santiago continuous.

“You know perfectly weIl I do not believe marriage should be driven by thoughts of money.”

“I agree entirely, only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will end up an old man.”

“Do you really believe he liked me, Santi?”

“Frankie, he danced with you most of the night and stared at you for the rest of it. But I give you leave to like him. You've liked many a stupider person.”

“Santiago!”

“You're a great deal too apt to like people in general, you know. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes.”

“Not his friend. I still cannot believe what she said about you.”

“Miss Darcy? I could more easily forgive her vanity had she not wounded mine. But no matter. I doubt we shall ever speak again.”

Mrs. Bennet presides over breakfast with an endless description of the ball. Tom is doing some needle work, whilst Ben, William and Francisco blearily eat.

“ ...and then he danced the third with Miss Lucas. Poor thing, it is a shame she is not more handsome. There's a spinster in the making and no mistake. The fourth with a Miss King of little standing. And the fifth again with Francisco.”

“If he'd had any compassion for me he would have sprained his ankle in the first set.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! The way you carry on, anybody would think our children looked forward to a grand inheritance.”

Santiago rolls his eyes at Mr. Bennet, they've heard this speech many times before.

“William, be so kind as to pass the butter.”

“As you well know, Mr. Bennet, when you die, which may in fact be very soon-”

“- As soon as I can manage it.”

“- our children will be left without a roof over their head nor a penny to their name. “

“Oh Mother, please! It's ten in the morning.” Santiago groans.

The maid enters the room and interrupts Mrs Bennet's babbling.

“A letter addressed to Miss Bennet, Ma'am. From Netherfield Hall.

“Praise the Lord! We are saved.”

She gives the letter to Francisco.

“Make haste, Francisco, make haste!”

“It is from Caroline.”

Mrs. Bennet is stopped in her tracks.

“She has invited me to dine with her. Her brother will be dining out.”

“Dining out?”

“Can I take the carriage?”

“Out where? Let me see that.”

She tweaks the letter from Francisco's grasp.

“It is too far to walk.”

“Unaccountable of him. Dining out, indeed.”

“Mama! The carriage? For Francisco? “

“Certainly not. She'll go on horseback.”

“Horseback?!”

A louder rumble of thunder is heard. The maid hastily pulls clothes from a line, it's raining down heavily now. Santiago runs through the garden and pulls a towel from the washing line as he passes.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet look out at the pouring rain. Santiago rushes in with the towel and begins drying his hair with it.

“Excellent. Now he will have to stay the night. Exactly as I predicted.”

“Good grief, woman. Your matchmaking skills are becoming positively occult.”

“Though I don't think, Mama, you can reasonably take credit for making it rain. Let's hope he doesn't catch her death.”

A few days pass, Santiago is reading a letter.

“"And my kind friends will not hear of me returning home until I am better - but do not be alarmed excepting a sore throat, a fever, and a headache there is nothing wrong with me." I hope you're satisfied, Mother.”

“Well, my dear, if your son does die it will be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr Bingley.”

“People do not die of colds.”

“Though he might well perish with the shame of having such a mother.”

Mr. Bennet laughs, but Santiago is genuinely angry.

“I am going to Netherfield at once.”

He stomps out.

Santiago strides cross vast muddy fields, slipping as he goes. Netherfield is in view on the horizon. He stops to take it in, then carries on down an even more muddy track.

In the large grand dining room Caroline and Darcy are eating breakfast. It's very formal, in fact frigid, compared to the volatile Bennet household. Darcy is reading the newspaper, Caroline is reading a letter.

“Apparently, -Lady Bathurst is redecorating her ballroom in the French style. A little unpatriotic, don't you think?”

Miss Darcy is about to answer when the door opens. A footman appears, his face rigid with disapproval.

“Mr. Santiago Garcia Bennet.”

Santiago comes in, his face flushed, his feet covered in mud. Still he looks ravishing. Darcy stares at him, then quickly rises to her feet. Caroline Bingley, astonished, looks him up and down.

“Good Lord, Mr. Bennet. Have you walked here?”

“I have. I'm so sorry. How is my brother?”

“He’s upstairs.” Darcy answers “Show Mr. Bennet the way, Alfred.”

Santiago leaves.

“Goodness, did you see his coat? Six inches deep in mud!

“And his hair, so blowsy and untidy!”

“I think his concern for his sister does him credit.”

A little pause, Caroline recovers.

“Oh yes, it's shocking to have a bad cold. I dislike excessively being ill myself.”

Santiago races up the stairs to meet Bingley half way. His face lights up when he sees him.

“Mr. Santiago! Oh, I'm so glad to see you.”

“How is he?”

“He has a violent cold, but we shall get the better of it. I will have a bed made up for you. You must be our guest here until Francisco recovers.”

Santiago goes into the bedroom where Francisco lies in bed, feverish and ill. The blinds are drawn.

“Francisco!”

Francisco's face lights up. Santiago kisses his cheek.

“Santi! Oh, your face is so cold. They're being so kind to me, I feel such a terrible imposition.”

“Don’t worry. I don't know who is more pleased at your being here, Mama or Mr. Bingley.”

Bingley enters.

“Thank you, for tending to my brother so diligently, it seems he is in better comfort here than he would be at home.”

“It is a pleasure - I mean - not a pleasure that he's ill, of course not, but a pleasure that he's here - being ill.”

Caroline berates her brother.

“Stay!? He is a perfectly sweet but save being an excellent walker, there is very little to recommend him as a house-guest.

“I thought he showed remarkable spirit coming all this way.”

“The eldest Mr. Bennet, as you know, I hold in excessive regard but as for the rest of them…”

She walks down two steps and then turns back.

“You do realize their uncle is in trade? In Cheapside?”

“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside it would not make them one jot less agreeable, Caroline.”

“It's all going according to plan. He's head-over-heels already, now all he needs is a little encouragement.” Mrs. Bennet exclaims.

“Who's that, my blossom?”

“Oh don't torment me, Mr Bennet. I mean Mr Bingley, as you well know, and he doesn't mind a bit that Frankie hasn't got a penny for he has enough for the two of them.”

William and Ben rush past as the distant sounds of drums and trumpet mingle with the snipping of Giles's shears.

“Wait for me, children!”

Mr. Bennet gazes at their departing figures, sucking his teeth with relief. He turns back to the boar.

Mrs. Bennet and her two sons rush down the street into the village. Dogs bark, children run alongside as a regiment of soldiers march through the street. The two Bennet boys simper at the hands of the young soldiers. Mrs. Bennet, flushed and excited, runs panting behind them. Ben deliberately drops a handkerchief. One of the soldiers stands on it. He is appalled while the other two are giggling at him.

Santiago is reading a book. Darcy is writing a letter. Caroline, obviously bored, wanders the room looking for distraction. She looks over Darcy's shoulder.

You write uncommonly fast, Miss Darcy.

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.” Darcy says without looking.

Caroline lingers, annoyingly.

“How many letters you must have occasion to write, Miss Darcy. Letters of business too. How odious I should think them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”

“Please tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her once, by your desire.”

Santiago looks across from his book.

“I do dote on her, I was quite in raptures at her beautiful little design for a table.”

“Perhaps you will give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again. At present I have not enough room to do them justice.”

“It’s amazing, how young ladies have the patience to be so accomplished.”

“What do you mean, Charles?”

“They all paint tables, and embroider cushions and play the piano. I never heard of a young lady, but people say she is accomplished.”

“The word is indeed applied too liberally. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen women, in all my acquaintance, that are truly accomplished.” Darcy says.

“Nor I, to be sure!” Caroline agrees.

Santiago interrupts “Goodness! You must comprehend a great deal in the idea, Miss Darcy.”

“I do.”

Coraline continuous “Absolutely. She must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And something in her air and manner of walking.”

“And of course she must improve her mind by extensive reading.”

Santiago closes his book.

“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”

“Oh?”

“I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

Everyone pauses. Darcy goes back to her letter. Caroline picks up a book. Pauses. Puts it down. She walks over to Santiago.

“Mr. Bennet, let us take a turn about the room.”

Santiago, surprised, gets up. Caroline links his arm and they start walking up and down.

“It’s refreshing, is it not, after sitting so long in one attitude?”

“And it's a small kind of accomplishment, I suppose.”

Darcy meets Santiago's eye, briefly. She doesn't know how to cope with the idea that he's laughing at her. Caroline turns to Darcy.

"Miss Darcy, will you join us?"

Darcy shakes her head “You can only have two motives, Caroline, and I would interfere with either.”

“What can she mean?” Caroline says, giving a knowing look to Santiago.

“Our surest way of disappointing her will be to ask nothing about it.” says Santiago.

“Please tell us, Miss Darcy!”

“Either you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage by walking. If the first, I should get in your way. If the second, I can admire you much better from here.”

“Oh, shocking! How shall we punish her for such a speech?”

“We could always laugh at her.”

“Oh no, Miss Darcy is not to be teased!

“Are you too proud, Miss Darcy? And would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?”

“That I couldn't say.”

“Because we're doing our best to find a fault in you.”

“Maybe, it's that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offences against myself. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.”

“Oh dear, I cannot tease you about that. What a shame, for I dearly love to laugh.”

“A family trait I think.” Caroline adds.

Santiago smiles, sweetly. Caroline glances at Darcy, expecting to have triumphed, but she's just looking put-out.

It’s almost morning when Santiago is awake in a small cot bed next to Francisco. He gets up and goes on the edge of the formal garden looking out onto to the rustic parkland. Suddenly Miss Darcy emerges over the crest of a hilI and gallops towards the house. She pulls the horse to a halt as she sees Santiago. With her wet hair flattened against her head and her face soaked in sweat she looks for a second like a mysterious and beautiful. They lock eyes for a brief moment before Santiago turns in a shiver and walks away.

Santiago enters the room and goes to bed. Francisco is waking up.

“Francisco, do you think you might feel weIl enough to leave today?”

[chitaquagirl]

my roommate (got a cat) (knows im allergic) is in the kitchen and i NEED to talk to her and be like yo my allergies are getting rly bad and i am so sorry but um u cannot keep ur cat in this apartment anymore but. im scared

[dolliedarlin]

Hi I’m one of the anons who’s obsessing over the P.A series!!!!! For some reason my brain has been full w diff things that could happen IDKKK! Hope u don’t mind if I dump a few....

TW: this is A bunch of rambling and some grammar errors LMAO sorry

Idk y I c y/n having a stalker💀 this prob sounds rlly weird but hear me out. (To add drama, also I Lowkey wanna c Mina,Sero and kiri get mad idk y-)

Since we all know y/n is the baddest most sophisticated b*tch (sorry idk if I’m allowed to cuss or not LMAO) her Ex lover is still obsessed w her and thinks that they are soulmate even tho they obv aren’t. I feel like y/n knows he stalks her but she ignores it until it gets worst. Like he found out where she lives. (He finds out where she lives while she’s sick which is now loll)

Anyways I feel like Mina would be over at y/ns place and since she’s getting better they are In her living room talking abt who knows what and y/n gets a knock on her door she goes to open it and admittedly closes it looking shocked. Mina being a pro hero is  supposed to be able to read body language. Mina ask her if everything is Alr and y/n OFC (stupid a**) says yes. Mina didn’t want to keep pressing the issue so she dropped it until it became a reoccurring thing with y/n and it’s not just her that noticed. She (y/n) is extremely hesitant to open the door and when she does she opens it a little bit. (And then idk her EX does crazy like breaks into her apt and scares the sh** outa y/n) THIS IS WHERE MY BIG IDEA STOPS 😭😭😭😭😭😭 that was a lotta rambling my apologies

Have a great day dollie!

oh no! please don’t feel bad, it’s always fun for me seeing what you dolls would want to happen next

although i don’t plan on bringing any psycho exes into ‘the p.a’ series, as a writer and an avid daydreamer, i can’t help but play around with this idea 

warning: there are brief mentions of violence ; this is not a part of ‘the p.a’ series but is just a little thought that i just couldn’t help but try my own hand at also ; i didn’t edit this either 😂 so kindly forgive any grammatical/spelling mistakes 

continuing on from your idea...

⏤mina, having the sneaking suspicion that something bad might happen to you that night, notifies the rest of the group later on that day

⏤usually, bakugou was in charge of you during the night and always sat in a chair beside your bed on high alert, ready to serve your every need...

⏤BUT!

⏤now that mina told them about your suspicious behaviour, all of them were put on high alert. 

⏤they all agreed to keep you unaware of their intentions by having bakugou take care of you like usual but they made sure that when on the night patrol, they were close by with their radios on and constantly being hyper aware of the shortest route to your residence from wherever they were situated - just in case of an emergency 

⏤naturally, they trusted bakugou with keeping you safe but that didn’t mean that they had no worries for you at all 

⏤seeing as you usually feel asleep before bakugou switched with the sero, who took care of you in the late evening, you were under the impression that you were alone at home 

⏤your current condition disallowed you from comfortably staying awake so you were constantly tossing and turning in bed, brows furrowed and sweating more than usual

⏤”what is she dreaming about?” bakugou utters in frustration as he continues to wipe away the vastly accumulating sweat rom your wrinkled brows

⏤he wasn’t frustrated at you no no, he was annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t make you comfortable no matter how many wet towels he uses to cook your forehead or wipe your sweat clean off your skin 

⏤as the night progresses, you eventually fall into a dreamless sleep, far too exhausted to continue stressing over your ex with the added burden of your fever on your body

⏤nevertheless, bakugou continues being on high alert at all times except for when he momentarily leaves to room so as to go to the toilet 

⏤this was the perfect opportunity for your crazy ex to sneak into your room via the window bakugou left ajar so as to help cool you down better 

⏤your ex was a creepy and disgusting man - someone that you had grown to dislike the more you got to know him and naturally left as quickly as you were able to 

⏤what followed was harassment to the highest degree, thankfully you were able to protect yourself due to your self defence training and quirk, however, it didn’t take away the shuddering feeling of being watched constantly

⏤you grew paranoid and extremely fidgety over time and eventually filled for a restraining order. unfortunately, that didn’t work and left you to deal with the situation yourself

⏤you were naive enough to think that you had shaken him after a particularly horrible beating he took from you in self defence. he had come at you with a knife but you were able to disarm him and send him limping home with a dislocated arm, a black eye and a bruised ribcage 

⏤over time, you got busy with work and slowly forgot about him, it wasn’t until today that you were reminded of his crazy obsession with you and were thrown into a panic 

⏤believing that you were alone at night and in your most vulnerable state, you didn’t feel safe and sought to deal with the situation however you could, even in your dreams

⏤all attempts were in vain, however

⏤bakugou, returning from his momentary break to the toilet came back just in time to see your creepy ex hovering over your sleeping figure. as if you sensed the unpleasant existence stalking you, your body stiffened under the blankets and you began to breathe uncomfortably, beginning to sweat bucket-fulls once more

⏤not wanting to disturb your sleep as rest was the top priority for you, bakugou crept up from behind the unknown figure and instantly went for his neck, choking him into silence as he dragged his thrashing figure outside, far away from you all the while sending a emergency signal to the rest of the squad 

⏤in no time at all, the rest of the squad arrived and had your crazy ex cornered. at this time he had already been tied up by bakugou and was ready for a quick chat 

⏤”what the hell were you doing with our yn?” kirishima began, sharp teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw 

⏤silence 

⏤”speak up, we can’t fucking hear you,” bakugou spat as the others glared on from beside him, their eyes piercing through the moonlight and darkness of the night 

⏤”y-yn isn’t yours - that’s the first thing,” your ex finally cracked, giggling creepily in between 

⏤”you’re right,” sero began, “yn doesn’t belong to anyone so why were did you break into her house,” it took everything in sero not to lash out but they needed answers

⏤”wrong again!” your ex sang, “she doesn’t belong to you, she belongs to me! i’m her boyfriend!”

⏤”yn doesn’t have a boyfriend,” kaminari spoke up

⏤”that’s right! and if she did, we would have known,” mina agreed

⏤“that’s because she doesn’t know it yet, we broke up but we’ll get back together again soon” the tied up man giggled to himself, “it’s only a matter of time before she realises her mistake and she comes back to me,” 

⏤the team of heroes didn’t know what to say, they were so shocked and appalled at what they were seeing and hearing that they couldn’t bring themselves to utter a single word of response, they only listened further

⏤”i hoped she’d come back soon, anyway...but i was getting impatient so i had to try and convince her a little more. she’s been ignoring my love for her all this time, she can’t continue rejecting me for long...” he laughs, “i bet she misses it”

⏤“miss what...?” bakugou didn’t want to know but it had to be said

⏤”i bet she misses being with me. she’s so beautiful and so soft to the touch, she always smells good too and she has such a lovely voice - i want her all to myself, she doesn’t deserve to be anybody else’s”

⏤it was then that the team of heroes just about lost their minds. the creep before them didn’t say anything explicit but the madness in his eyes and the harrowing smile he was displaying was off putting. they dread to imagine what a lowlife nasty sob like him put you through but they saw flashes of unforgivable scenes that sent all of them into insanity 

⏤someone so precious to them didn’t deserve any such treatment. you may not have disclosed anything to them strict on being professional but if this man was willing to break into your house...they were fearful to think about what else he was capable of

⏤he deserved a beating from that act alone, actually, and a beating he got

⏤they could’ve killed the guy - they were more than tempted to and it would have been so easy...but he deserved to suffer in jail for his crimes against you so they held back no matter how painful that was for them 

⏤the very next day, under their authority and recommendation, the man was locked up for as many years as they could tally up and seeing as they were heroes, they were able to look into his past documentations and found you had filed a restraining order for him under harassment, assault and a number of other things they grew all the more furious at the more the read

⏤they would prefer it if you didn’t realise what they did that night but the media couldn’t let the story of 5 high class pro heroes sending a singular, beaten man to jail for life

⏤your creepy ex’s battered photos were all over the news and you were so incredibly grateful  

[randomficsandshit]

Bellarke Fic Rec

*NONE OF THESE FICS ARE MINE*

Please do not forget. I have not written any of these. I’m simply recommending favorites of mine over the years. If you love something, send the author your love, not me :) and if any links don’t work, send me a message and I’ll see what i can do, this is a pretty old list 

There's A Nap For That 

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Based on that post: "If you both agree to take a nap instead of going out, it’s a date." Or: The one where Bellamy and Clarke keep taking naps together. You know, platonically. See also: Let Them Rest.

If You Wear A Dress and Have an Animal Sidekick, You Are a Princess

Word Count: 3k+

AU. Bellamy can't not take care of every animal he sees, and Clarke can't not find it endearing.

*Mouth Like Heaven, Kisses Like Stars

Word Count: 4k+

His eyebrows are knitted together in a slight frown, the kind he usually gets when he’s trying to work out a difficult problem. Finally, he meets her eyes again and says, almost hesitantly underneath his mask of bravado, “Well, I’m always here to lend a helping hand if you need it, princess.” Clarke actually chokes this time, and it feels like all the breath has been knocked out of her. -or, the time when everything goes downhill and bellamy just goes down.

Wingwoman 

Word Count: 1k+

AU. Clarke didn't think she'd need a wingwoman at the park playground when she's babysitting her one-year-old niece, but then Bellamy Blake strolls up, and Amelia rises to the occasion, luckily for her.

When Love Hits (Better Make It Worth The Fall)

Word Count: 4k+

AU. (She's All That) Four times Clarke gets hit on the head (+1 time she doesn't) during her last semester of high school, and every single time, Bellamy Blake is somehow involved.

All This Time

Word Count: 5k+

AU. Four times Bellamy innocently kisses Clarke, + one time he doesn't.

Take This Heart

Word Count: ~

clarke moves into bellamy's room. this is both soft and full of disdain for clarke's terrible... everything in season 3

You're Cool On The Internet, At Least

Word Count: 9k+

AU. Look, Clarke will not dwell on this. She will not get flustered just because a possibly cute guy on Facebook apparently shares her views on what constitutes a terrible person.

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

(One of my personal favs)

We Came Out On Top

Word Count: 11k+

AU. “How can you guys be all like this and then be at each other’s throats during trivia night?” “Because it’s trivia night,” both Bellamy and Clarke said at the same time, sharing the same why don’t you get it tone. Bellamy, Clarke, and the trivia night rivalries only they care about.

She Does What The Night Does To The Day

Word Count: 5k+

AU. He assumes she would just giggle and continue petting him while saying how pretty he is, but instead, she pulls back with what might have been a leer had she not been three sheets to the wind, and says, “Your body is 65% water and I’m thirsty.” And then if that wasn’t bad enough, she stumbles out of his arms and fucking winks at him. Or at least he thinks it’s a wink. She used both eyes instead of one. or, the one where Bellamy is woefully and terribly oblivious.

The Giant Squid's Got Nothing On You

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Objectively, Clarke knows she’s probably right, but she still can’t help but lift her chin determinedly and say, “He is not going to find it.” She can barely hear her scoff in reply over the din of the cafe. “Yeah right,” says Raven, “The internet is forever, Clarke Griffin. He will find it eventually.” or, Clarke finds her new muse at the local cafe

Alone Together 

Word Count: 11k+

AU. Clarke shows up at Bellamy’s apartment at exactly two minutes to midnight on a Thursday. He's not sure how she ends up staying the night — or why he doesn't turn her away, when it happens again. And again.

Cold As The Wind Blows (so hold me in your arms)

Word Count: 3k+

AU. Clarke gets trapped in the storage room overnight, but at least she's not by herself.

Tequila Regrets

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Clarke and Bellamy have been roommates for a while, and Clarke has been in love with him for almost as long, but when she finds out that his terror of a boss has marked him as her next conquest, Clarke offers to pose as his fake girlfriend for the staff Christmas party to scare her off. She did not think this all the way through.

Mutual

Word Count: 6k+

AU. As acts of rebellion go, Clarke knows that getting a tumblr is both minor and pathetic. But it's her secret, her own tiny, online space where no one knows she's Clarke Griffin, Hollywood A-lister. She's just some nobody with like five followers and opinions no one cares about. And then she makes a friend.

Wish On Everything

Word Count: 11k+

AU. It's not as if Bellamy wanted anything bad to happen to his mother. All he wanted was to get custody of his little sister, so he'd know she was taken care of. And after eight years, he's basically given up all hope of that. Then his mother does die, and social services tells him he gets Octavia.

Legs Crossed Towards Each Other 

Word Count: 7k+

It starts with Raven wanting to set up Mr. Sinclair, out of what are probably genuinely good intentions. It's everyone else who turns it into a massive headache for Bellamy.

What The Hell Is The Catch? 

Word Count: 6k+

Bellamy gets tickets to take his AP US History kids to Hamilton, and Clarke figures he's going to need a chaperone. She's happy to help out. And if he says she owes him for it? Totally worth it.

If You Wanna Reach Me

Word Count: 5k+

AU. Clarke: So yeah, in the dream it's like We're in New York, I think. I'm not really sure, but you know how it is when it's a dream and you just know something. So we're in New York.

Jasper: whos we??????

Clarke: Most of us, I think? It's always kind of hard to remember when it's a dream. Like I just thought "everyone's here!" but I mostly interacted with Bellamy.

Raven: did u mean: real life

Time Enough For Rocking When We're Old

Word Count: 14k+

boston > boston/camb/brook > housing > apts by owner $2-300 Roxbury small room in 3-br 1-bath house, spouse preferred (Roxbury) Pair of siblings looking for housemate. Due to extenuating circumstances I will share with interested parties, I would prefer a roommate who is willing to get married for legitimate personal reasons that do not include sex or anything sketchy. If not interested in marriage, room still available for $300/month plus utilities. Pets okay, no smokers, NO DRUG USE. Please don't just email me to tell me this is fucked up, I know it is, you really don't have to tell me. If you are interested in the marriage part, a female spouse is preferred, but male would be okay too. I promise I will explain this if you really want details, but I'm not putting it online. Serious inquiries only.

Must Love Intersectionality 

Word Count: 2k+

AU. Bellamy hates his stupid history of colonialism class, until he makes a friend. Weirdly, the friend isn't actually in his class, they just share the same desk and like to write angry notes about the patriarchy. Bellamy's a fan.

Regardless Of Warnings, The Future Doesn't Scare Me At All

Word Count: 20k+

AU. 2 Chapters. After an argument with her mother about her unplanned pregnancy, Clarke Griffin ends up back in the small town where her father used to live, spilling her sob story to a sympathetic bartender. And then, somehow, she ends up moving in with the bartender and her brother.

(You Might Find) You Get What You Need

Word Count: 20k+

AU. Clarke needs a date to her ex's sister's wedding, and she's at the point of hiring someone off the internet when Octavia points out that her brother is always looking for money. So Clarke takes him instead.

Just As You Are 

Word Count: 10k+

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single Clarke Griffin in need of a Latin tutorial partner will always end up paired with Bellamy Blake.

I've Been Dreaming Of You From The Other Side (I Know You So Well)

Word Count: 17k+

AU. Ten years ago, Clarke found out she had superpowers. Now she's all ready to start a new life: English teacher by day, vigilante by night. All she has to do is figure out how to be a superhero, avoid getting caught and shipped off by mandatory metahuman registration, and not strangle the stupid history teacher down the hall. It'll be fun.

She's Touching His Chest Now, He Takes Off Her Dress Now

Word Count: 26k+

If Clarke had thought arguments could actually lead to switching bodies with someone, she wouldn't have been surprised this one really did. But since that's actually impossible, waking up as Bellamy Blake is still a shock.

I Know That Fortune Is Waiting To Be Kind

Word Count: 20k+

When Bellamy is eleven, his mother dies, and he finds out his father was a prince, which makes him a prince too, albeit a bastard prince. And when he's twelve, his family decides he would be a good candidate for marriage to Princess Clarke of Arcadia. Princess Clarke thinks so too, but only because he agrees to come back in ten years and help her make sure the wedding never takes place. It seems like a really good deal, when he's twelve.

And Dream How Wonderful Your Life Will Be

Word Count: 19k+

Clarke has known Bellamy Blake for two months when she finds out two completely unexpected things about him: he's married, and he has an eight-year-old son. He's also getting a divorce and he needs a roommate, and she's got a spot. It's complicated.

One Deep Breath and One Big Step

Word Count: 17k+

Clarke Griffin has been groomed for Ark University and Sigma Kappa Upsilon sorority since she was a kid, and she's a little annoyed to discover, upon getting to college, that she really does like Sig-Kap. That she wants to pledge. There's just this weird thing where they don't seem to like her new friend Bellamy.

Write What You Know

Word Count: 13k+

Bellamy understands every individual choice that got him to this point. He started writing erotica to make some extra money, he didn't correct the assumption that he was a woman, made up some facts about his new persona, and now his publisher wants him to start making public appearances, so he needs someone to be that persona. And Clarke really is the logical choice. It all makes sense to him, when he thinks about it, but he will admit it is incredibly weird. Luckily, Clarke's still got his back.

When Can I See You Again? 

Word Count: 13k+

Bellamy doesn't recognize a lot of people he meets at conventions, even if he's met them a lot. It's just hard to keep track. But the girl who comes once or twice a year is pretty easy to remember. And that's before her foster mom shows up in a panic because she took a bus to Vegas alone. After that happens, it's basically all over.

But They Ain't Doing It Right

Word Count: 14k+

“So,” he begins, running a hand through his hair. It’s a lost cause trying to work it back into some semblance of order. “What is this?” “What do you mean?” He doesn’t meet her eye when he says, “Once is a mistake, twice is a pattern,” too busy picking at a loose thread in his hem. “Wanna go three times and just make it a habit?” she jokes weakly, and his head snaps back up, eyes boring into hers. She flushes under the intensity of his gaze. “Actually,” he begins slowly, “That doesn’t sound that bad.” or, the friends with benefits au that got away from me

Phone A Friend

Word Count: 7k+

Clarke does not ask Bellamy for tips on having a threesome because she's hoping to have a threesome with him. He's just the only person she knows personally who has actually had a threesome, so he seems like her best resource. And when the opportunity to have a threesome with him presents itself, it's not like she's going to just say no.

I'm Swept Away and My Heart Ensnared 

Word Count: 15k+

Raven hums low in her throat. “Well, at least Bellamy can make it up in time. So you won’t get too axe murdered.” Clarke wrinkles her nose, leaning on the banister of the upstairs porch. From here she can see the ocean, just a five minute walk away, and she breathes in brine soaked air. “He’s still coming?” “What do you mean if he’s still coming? He didn’t say anything otherwise.” She shifts from foot to foot, feeling herself colour slightly even though there’s no one there to see her. “I just assumed that because you and Miller couldn’t make it up anymore he wouldn’t come today.” “Why the hell did you think that?” “Because Bellamy and I aren’t exactly friends, Raven." or, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin don't really like each other. Or at least that's what they tell themselves.

Afraid To Call This Place Our Own 

Word Count: 22k+ 

(Single mom!Clarke and Teacher!Bellamy, with the usual angsty shenanigans.)

And Are We There Yet (Home) 

Word Count: 2k+

A Bellamy POV and mini sequel to afraid to call this place our own. (this shit made me cry) 

Bloodstains and Innocence: A Clarke Griffin Mystery

Word Count: 27k+

Police Chief Clarke Griffin knows three things: 1) Charles Pike is dead. 2) Octavia Blake is the prime suspect. 3) Bellamy Blake a giant pain in the ass with no business being involved in a murder investigation, and yet here he is, working the case alongside her. A hurricane is approaching the sleepy little island of Arkadia, NC as evidence begins to mount against Octavia and Clarke wrestles with her increasingly complicated relationship with Bellamy, all while trying to answer one simple question: Who killed Charles Pike?

Is There An IUD That Can Stop The Image of You and Me? 

Word Count: 8k+

It's probably impossible to be friends with benefits with someone who might not even count as a friend, but "lab partners with benefits" isn't a thing yet. So that's probably the right term. Whatever it is, Clarke's enjoying it. As long as she ignores the whole feelings thing.

I’m Gonna Leave You Anyway

Word Count: 65k+

Modern AU inspired by the show You're the Worst, where Bellamy and Clarke hook up after a wedding.

                  And You Can Have This Heart To Break

Word Count: 37k+

Clarke knows she's being a little over-dramatic in her complaining about having to move to Maine, but it does seem pretty unreasonable of her mother to drag her to a small town in the middle of nowhere for the three months between high-school graduation and her starting college. As it turns out, the summer is great. It's just the summer ending that's the problem.

Museums and Mistletoe 

Word Count: 1k+

Clarke buys Bellamy a museum ticket for Christmas and he acts like it’s the best gift he’s ever received. She buys one for herself too, because she knows none of their other friends have the time to go—finding a day they can all get together to exchange gifts is hard enough—and if it gets her an uninterrupted afternoon with her best friend and all around favorite asshole, she’s definitely not complaining.

When In Brome

Word Count: 57k+

Octavia is the one who tells Clarke about "Untitled Gladiator Project," because she thinks Bellamy wants to be on it, and also thinks Clarke is the one who will be able to convince him to do it. Plus, it turns out Clarke actually needs to be involved, because all of the gladiators are required to have girlfriends with them, and, honestly, the more she hears about it, the more of a mess it seems like. On the other hand, it sounds kind of hilarious, and definitely right up Bellamy's alley, so there's probably no harm in trying out. It might be fun.

It’s All Internet Interaction

Word Count: 11k+

Bellamy is less than pleased when soap opera star Clarke Griffin lands the lead role in the Callister reboot. So, naturally, he writes about it. It’s not supposed to blow up. She’s not supposed to respond to it either, but here they are.

Just Dive Right In (And Follow My Lead)

Word Count: 24k+

Clarke Griffin needs a partner. Bellamy Blake just happens to walk into her rink. (Or: Bellamy and Clarke as ice dancing partners, training together through the years to the Olympics.)

Sleight Of Hand

Word Count: 56k+

Notorious criminal prodigy Bellamy Blake has been tasked with a seemingly impossible heist. Luckily enough, he just might have the right crew for it. *Personal Favorite*

And Then We Were Chasing Comets

Word Count: 21k+

If you told Clarke Griffin that she would become best friends with the resident black sheep of Arkadia, she would have difficulty believing it, let alone the fact that he apparently wrote an entire book about her. (Or: Clarke and Bellamy through the years, as childhood best friends.)

See Me In Hindsight 

Word Count: 16k+

“You’re kind of a mess,” He says mildly. “Thanks captain obvious.” The corners of his mouth twitch a little, like he’s holding back a smile. She is not remotely pleased by that. Not at all. Or, the one where they're project partners and maybe, perhaps, friends. (And maybe, perhaps, more.)

Challenge Accepted

Word Count: 30k+

He doesn't even like Clarke Griffin, he's pretty sure he hates how easy everything has come to her. So imagine his surprise when he finds himself at their office party looking through dick pics on her phone. “You can do better, Princess. In fact, I can do better.” As soon as she turns to him with raised eyebrows and an open mouthed grin he knows he’s said too much but she’s not going to let it drop. “Oh really, you think you can do better, Blake?” And he's never backed down from a challenge in his life.

Found Myself In A Second 

Word Count: 5k+

The one where Clarke finds a lost wallet belonging to one Bellamy Blake.

Every Rose Can Sting You 

Word Count: 15k+

Clarke expected to encounter annoying guys when she got forced into becoming the Bachelorette, but she didn't realise that the most annoying of them all would be the head cameraman. Because seriously, Bellamy Blake is a total prick. It's a good thing there's absolutely no chance of her ever actually liking him, because boy, would that be inconvenient…

Choking On Your Alibis 

Word Count: 7k+

Bellamy gets a girlfriend and Clarke handles it spectacularly well

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Trying to alternate between my writing and my analysis blog sounds good in theory, and then you get stuck writing a scene and immediately start falling behind on the schedule you just made to try and catch up with your usually slow update rate. orz.

Anyways, let’s get into things. I’m already close to 300 chapter behind canon, no need to let that lead get any larger. (Abet I might have to take asides to do stuff like Vigilantes and whatnot… hrm… will see when we get further into this reread.)

[No. 15 - Vs.]

We start off with another ‘cover’ page, this time of All Might front and center, posed like he’s the main character of an American comic book. Which, with the number of jokes we make about him being the OG series protagonist while Izuku’s story is the subversive sequel, would be pretty damn apt.

Our return to the story starts with Toshinori, sitting in the breakroom at UA, worried that he can’t get in contact with Aizawa or Thirteen. He then considers how foolish he was for putting hero work ahead of his teaching, good reasons or not, and then wonders what he’ll have to tell the other teachers when he shows up at the end. He thinks that he’ll be fine in another ten minutes… then inflates into All Might with a splurt of blood as he gets up, deciding to go immediately.

Of course, that’s when Nedzu decides to make an entrance, pulling his ‘am i a-’ spiel for the audience All Might. All Might crouches down in place, rocking a bit on his feet as he complements Nedzu’s coat. Nedzu replies that the secret is keratin, and that ‘no human could produce such luster’ - our first actual confirmation that Nedzu isn’t a particularly extreme mutation quirk, but is in fact a quirked animal!

(Not that we seem to see any others in the series so far… at least not to my awareness.)

Nedzu pulls out a tablet, showing a news report about All Might handling three incidents in under an hour. Nedzu goes on to explain that while the villains haven’t let up even with All Might’s presence in town, running off the moment he hears there’s trouble is so very like the man, and that All Might hasn’t changed at all.

(and a little bonus translation difference)

...anyways. Toshinori deflates again as Nedzu tells him to try taking it easy once in a while. As Nedzu clambers up onto the couch, he goes on to note that Toshinori would only be able to attend a portion of the rescue training class that day. He then reminds Toshinori that while Nedzu had made the offer to teach, Toshinori had been the one to accept it, so he’d appreciate it if he would try a bit harder to prioritize his role as a teacher. The city has enough hero agencies to deal with common criminals.

Toshinori agrees, and that that was way he was just getting ready to head to the USJ. Nedzu pours himself some tea, noting that Toshinori would be forced to return soon thereafter, so why not take some time and enjoy tea and crackers with him? He can even share his theories on education! Toshinori sweats as he watches Nedzu pour his tea, thinking on how there’s no stopping Nedzu once he gets going. He’s also thinking about the fact that he hadn’t even gotten voicemail, and that the fact he hadn’t been able to get through at all was what was worrying him about the situation.

Man’s hero instincts are on point. Another small reminder of how this man held onto the number one spot for so long. 

Nedzu does get into his spiel about the stresses and burdens when walking the line between hero and educator, while Toshinori determines that Nedzu hasn’t changed either.

A couple interesting things I can think about for this last bit:

1) Nedzu and Toshinori have known each other for a while, enough that they can have had some time without much interaction and then come back into contact and go ‘ah yeah this is the same as ever.’ I wonder just how long ago they met, in what circumstances, and how long Nedzu’s known about One For All…

2) People who use this as another reason to criticize Toshinori as a teacher. I mean. He’s only been teaching for three days at this point. He knows he fucked up. Nedzu reminds him he fucked up. People make mistakes, especially at the beginning of a new job they aren’t experienced in. He’s learning. Please just chill.

3) 'Stresses and burdens walking the line between hero and educator' is something that I think could actually be a very good summary of Aizawa's character development? Because early on, he very much is Not A Teacher. The only reason he's at UA is because he was basically dragged in there by Hizashi and Nemuri. He demanded the power to be able to expel to give the kids 'a taste of death' without actually, like, killing them.

At the beginning of the series, he's not really all that invested in his students. He's just There. He doesn't care so long as they stay up to his unknown standards. He's much more focused on what he needs to do as a hero, ie the USJ incident. He's acting as a hero, protecting the kids who are basically civilians from a villain attack, even if it means his own life. 

But then we also see him push himself that bit further to save his students, which might be the first point where he might be considering that he can’t afford to die, because who else will teach them to protect themselves from such things? Because a hero can die in the line of duty and all that, but a teacher needs to keep living to protect their students and teach them how to survive and thrive. 

I think we see the culmination of the character arc started here in the War arc, though of course he’s got a lot further to go. I think it’s also a parallel to Toshinori, who’s also learning to be a teacher but from a different direction, which just continues to make them great narrative foils. Hori, man, how do you keep doing it?

...hah, but I might also just be reading too much into what might be an awkward translation.

Anyways, we switch from this generally low tension scene right back into the chaos at the USJ. Tenya gets into class president mode as he asks for a sitrep of people’s locations. Shouji confirms with his extra ears that everyone is still in the facility, abet scattered. Thirteen is surprised (and perhaps relieved) that that is the case, though she doesn’t say anything specifically.

Sero notes that physical attacks are no good against Kurogiri - he can just warp away. The quirk’s just too tough to handle! Thirteen turns to Tenya and gets his attention, then tells him his job is to run back to the school and report on what’s happening. She goes on to explain that the alarms haven’t sounded and the phones aren’t working. The alarm system uses infrared tech, so the fact that it hasn’t activated, even with Eraserhead nullifying quirks, means whoever is interfering with the system has hidden themselves well. With that being the case, Tenya making the run is their best option.

Tenya starts to argue that the class president can’t just abandon his class, only to be stopped when Sato grabs him, saying that Thirteen said to go! Also I thought for a second they were making another emergency exit Iida joke here, but no, it’s just that Tenya needs to escape through said emergency exit. A more serious nod to the previous joke about him and emergency exits. 

Sato then goes on to note that there’s alarms outside, which means the villains can only be causing trouble inside the facility - so if Tenya makes it out, the villains can’t follow! He finishes it off with a motivational ‘shake off that mist with that speed of yours!’ Thirteen adds onto that with a repetition of their request - use his quirk to save everyone.

God, look at these kids, so scared and so brave. Ochako and Mina are both sweating and nervous, but Ochako is still swearing to provide support, just like in the cafeteria, so he needs to do it!

Kurogiri is being a looming shadow as he notes that they have no hope, and wonders what kind of fools discuss strategy in front of the enemy. Thirteen starts using her quirk on him as she states that it doesn’t matter if he overheard because he can’t stop them.

And since the rest of this chapter is dedicated to Izuku, Tsuyu, and Mineta’s escape from the yacht, I’ll cut this off here so that it’s the focus of all the next post. I guess it’s kind of a good thing I rambled early on, otherwise this would be extremely short…

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

[moon-yeongjun]

Rabbit Asks Eeyore for Help || Moon Donkey

Summary: Jun plans for a trip away, and goes to Gregory for help. Featuring Eomma, who I love. 

Follows:  Dalmajung Cat Got Your Tongue? 

@notmuchofatail 

JUN: Jun was a cat.

Unfortunately, this fact had not changed despite Jun’s most fervent hopes that Ting-Ting’s, er, diagnosis of sorts was false. He had stubbornly clung to denial as long as he could that this horrible curse could only be lifted by the Royal Sorceress of the Nihon Court (a real thing...in a real place…). Maybe it was temporary, he reasoned! Maybe if he closed his eyes and wished very hard! When that didn’t work, he had bargained with every mysterious force in the universe to give him his human body back in exchange for a lifetime of good behavior. He’d never drink again! He’d go to church TWICE a week. Hell, he’d get married to a very nice Korean woman before the year was up! When that didn’t work, anger quickly dissolved into grief, and while he caterwauled for about an hour, at the end of it he only felt exhaustion, and a sense of dimming acceptance.

He had to go to Nihon.

Through the portal in the dumpster behind the Moon Market, where Haru had popped out over a year ago.

And he had to convince a sorceress (who was a CAT!) to have pity on him.

Dammit all to hell.

Now, Jun had never done this sort of thing before (traveling to other dimensions, dealing with sorcerers etc etc), so he really didn’t know how long it was going to take him. Which meant, before he left, he needed to sort out a plan.

Jun finally...revealed himself to Eomma first. It had been as terrible as one would expect. What mother wanted to hear their first-born son had been cursed into the form of a cat? The whole “Yes, I’ve been lying to you about Haru’s true origins all along!” and “Yes, she was actually a cat princess I’ve accidentally promised myself to!”  went over just as well. But after convincing Eomma not to kill Haru, she of course agreed to run over the market in his stead, because what else were they going to do?

The answer was: Gregory Eeyore.

Jun had thought long and hard about it. Moons didn’t like to ask for help. Questions and rumours would spring up if they turned to Eomma’s church friends, and Vixey was just getting her own business off the ground! So, Greg. Of course, Greg. Eomma called him up and asked Greg to come to the farm for a little meeting.  

Now here Greg was, sitting on the couch. Eomma put down a cup of tea for him before she sat down. “Now er...don’t be alarmed,” she said, as good-naturedly and calmly as she could. “You might find all of this a shock, but trust me, Junnie has it all under control. Erm, Jun-ah?”

Jun sighed and then hopped onto the coffee table. “Yes, hullo, it’s me, yes, really, yes, I am a victim of a curse! Just another day in Swynlake, isn’t it, eh!” he tried for humour, to bark out a laugh, but it came out a bit shrieky. Jun winced.  “Oh, that was embarrassing.”

GREG:

It wasn’t too bizarre that Gregory had been contacted to come to the Moon Farm. He’d been coming three or four times a week ever since Mr. Moon had decided he was going to work there for his mental health or whatever, at least. Sometimes he stayed for breakfast - usually when Eomma insisted, and rarely he swung by outside of those times to drop things off for them from his own mother.

So Gregory hadn’t really batted an eye at the woman’s phone call, agreeing to swing by after he’d closed up Ruff to Fluff for the evening. The only difference was, of course, the lack of Jun.

At least in the moment. However, he figured perhaps he had to stay late at the Market or..was on a date or doing something important. Jun always appeared to have very little free time to sit around and do nothing, after all. He was a very busy man - and...Gregory was sure with all his issues (re: mental breakdowns, possibly curses, etc) that he didn’t help with that. He wasn’t going to question it though, even if he was curious on what Eomma could possibly need from him that didn’t involve the eldest son too - instead just agreeing to tea and thanking Eomma quietly when she placed it in front of him.

His brows furrowed almost immediately however upon her comment - knowing that despite the words themselves, they only ever elicited a concerned response from him. Now don’t panic, but… - don’t be alarmed! I’m sure it’s nothing but-

Words like that were never actually followed by good things, were they? Head tilted slightly as she continued, his lips parting slightly as if he was going to question her almost immediately when he found himself caught off guard again. Jun-ah? Wait...what?

Try as he might to avoid it - Gregory could have sworn his jaw hit the floor when the delicate little paws of a cat hopped up onto the coffee table. Greg’s gaze swept over it almost immediately, always having been drawn to animals of course - and for a moment - he might’ve thought it was a joke. That the… shock that his mother was referring to was the fact that Mr. Moon had adopted a cat! That alone would have been quite a shock to him too. Enough of a shock for him to handle, really…. But then the cat spoke.

The cat spoke and the cat sounded just like Jun. Acted just like Jun. Was Jun. “...Oh my god.” Came the words before he could stop them, his hand covering his open mouth as concern knit his brows deeply across his features. Mr. Moon…. Mr. Moon was a cat. A cat. What the f— “...What… what happened?” He finally questioned, gaze slipping between the (admittedly very cute and adorable!!) Cat-Jun and Eomma.

JUN: Jun grimaced. Well, he supposed not really, because cats did not have the same facial muscles as humans. So his lip curled a little and his eyes narrowed and he looked off a bit to the side, squirming in his own fur. Aish, he knew this was going to be embarrassing, but he was never ready for just how embarrassing! Every single time he had to reveal himself to someone (ahem, so far-- Tae, Ting-Ting, and Eomma) he was sent further down a hole of humiliation he never wanted to crawl out of.

With Greg, that hole was especially deep.

He was supposed to be Mr. Moon after all! Not many people called Jun that-- not many people respected him the same way Greg did. Now, Jun didn’t quite understand why and he definitely didn’t deserve it, but that didn’t mean Jun wanted to lose Greg’s respect either. Over the last few months, his quiet and steady presence had grown into the grooves of this place, as if he were one of Jun’s most beloved fruits. And my, wasn’t that an apt metaphor? When Greg had arrived on the farm, he was wilted; now, he had bloomed!

At least, he wasn’t threatening to disappear into the country sides of France or what-have-you. A marked improvement.

Would that all be lost now? Would Greg find the Moon Farm unsafe? Would he be horrified to learn of how Jun had lied? His ears flicked back and forward. He didn’t want to tell him any of it.

But Jun had to. If he didn’t, Eomma would.

“It’s-- it’s a bit of a story,” Jun chewed out after a prolonged beat of squirmy silence. His tail lashed again. “Agh, and it’s going to sound ridiculous, trust me, I know! I thought it was ridiculous the whole time--”

“진짜 !” exclaimed Eomma, followed by some more annoyed Korean that only Jun (thankfully) could understand. It translated roughly to: So you say, and yet you brought that beast straight into our home, let me feed her at our table--

“Eomma, I know!” Jun mewled in distress.

Eomma just sucked her teeth and picked up her cup of tea. “Go on then, tell him about the 걸레같은 년.”

Jun winced. Not going to translate that.

Whiskers twitching, he glanced toward Greg with a pathetic expression, struggling for another few seconds for the words and then finally bursting out--

 “Yah, fine! Haru is a CAT! She was a cat all along, from a distant cat kingdom and I didn’t know, I tried to take care of her, eh, I thought-- oh, she was a stray! And then POOF! One day she was a woman! She didn’t know what to do, so yes, I helped her again, I signed her up for a cellphone and gave her a job, and then I thought, hey, what a good idea, I’ll pretend to date Haru so my eomoeni gets off my back! I didn’t know it would end like this!”

“You made a deal with a cat demon!” Eomma shot back at him.

“She’s not a demon, Eomma! She’s a normal cat! It’s a spell, it’s-- a weird marriage spell!”

“You really didn’t like Kim Do-yeon that much? Why, because I like her?”

“Eommaaaaaa, this isn’t about Kim Do-yeon!”

“My son made a deal with a cat demon and now look at him!” Eomma repeated to Greg this time, flourishing a hand. “Gregory, this is why you should always listen to your parents. I bet Gregory would go on dates with nice girls that his mother likes.”

“I AM A CAT, CAN WE PLEASE NOT TALK ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE!” Jun mewled, his fur puffing up.

Eomma raised her hands again, then sipped her tea.

Jun turned back to Greg, flattening his ears and crouching down. “...Does that answer your question?”

GREG: Okay.

...okay. That was… that was a lot of information that Gregory tried to follow in a very short amount of time. His head whipped back and forth easily between Jun and Eomma, like he was invested in a terribly long volley of a tennis match. Back and forth - the quick and sharp words between mother and son as Gregory felt himself tug his lip ring between his teeth, gnawing on the metal like the discomfort gnawed in his gut.

He tried to focus on the big picture. To...process it in his mind in a more simple and compact way. In his head, the story went something like this: Eomma wanted Jun to talk to a ‘nice girl’ that she liked by the name of Kim Do-yeon, and evidently Jun did not wish to do so. He hadn’t a clue where on the timeline that fell, but not important. Then Jun found a stray cat that he helped take care of (which was good!! Very cute that grumpy Mr. Moon would take in a stray!!) Not so cute was the fact the stray turned into a full grown woman. One that… as of five minutes ago Gregory had thought to just be the man’s girlfriend.

Oh - and said cat-woman (normal cat?? So… cursed...to be a woman??) was from a distant… cat kingdom.

...what?

Belatedly - Gregory realized quite a bit of time had passed since Jun last spoke. He’d simply been staring in his direction with that same blank look on his expression as he struggled to take that information in and form… any cohesive thought about it. Straightening up mechanically, Greg cleared his throat, hand moving to rub at his temple as his tongue wrapped around words a few times before he could only shake his head.

“...uhm---... n-.. No.” He admitted. If anything, it just opened up so many more questions for him to ask. There were a lot too!! However they were… likely not as important at the moment (even if Greg was… incredibly curious about a cat kingdom). Priorities though. Jun was a cute cat right in front of him. That was kind of a problem. “..I-... I still don’t uhm…. I don’t...see how that involves...you becoming a...cat. I--.. Did… did she turn you into a cat??” Is that why his mother kept calling her a cat demon? “...Or-- I-... I’m sorry I just..” This is a lot he almost said. However...if it was a lot for him he couldn’t imagine how Jun felt. Or..well, actually he could. At least an idea, given he thought he’d been cursed just recently too.

“I...I mean are you … okay?” Stupid question, perhaps.

JUN: “Am I okay?” Jun responded incredulously. And he stood up on all four paws again, fur puffing up. “Do I LOOK like I’m okay to you?! I could be stuck like this forever!”

Hopefully not. He was getting ahead of himself.

Luckily, Eomma chimed in. “Aish, hush,” Eomma said to him, swiping a hand through the air. “That’s no way to talk to a friend. Just answer his questions.”

Jun growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to.

The fact of the matter is that he had purposefully avoided the how. Part of Jun still did not understand himself. This was what Eomma kept forgetting in her quest to make Jun the bad guy here-- this was all news to him too! When Haru first appeared, she’d not explained the details of the spell that sent her to Swynlake. She hadn’t mentioned a mysterious cat sorcerer named Purrseph, who obviously had her own motives.

Maybe Jun should have inquired more deeply into these things. But he wasn’t a sorcerer, or a fairy, or a...a...animal shapeshifter! He was a gardener. A grocer. A mundus. 

Just…Jun.

So to him, Haru’s story was something out of a faery tale. He wished it could stay that way. Why he of all people-- a gardener, a grocer, just Jun-- had been thrust into the narrative made no sense. Look at him! Did he look particularly heroic? He was no knight in shining armor. And definitely not a prince.

Aiya, at least the black fur hid the fact he was definitely blushing. His blood felt like it was on fire!

“Haru...did not mean to. She-- agh.” He grumbled again and swiped an annoyed paw over his whiskers like he was batting away an annoying fly. “I suppose I should have mentioned Haru is not just a cat, she’s...a Cat Princess.”

“HAH,” Eomma barked.

“And she...had to wed a Cat Prince in a different kingdom to unite the lands or… stop a war or something.”

“HAH,” another laugh from Eomma.

“But she didn’t want to--”

“Children are all the same,” sighed Eomma.

“So she asked a cat sorcerer--yes, very funny, Eomma, I know! Erm, anyway. She asked a cat sorcerer for help. According to her, the cat sorcerer cast a spell that would lead her to her own happiness. That’s how she ended up in Swynlake. And apparently, the theory is that once Haru and I … we… uh... ”

Eomma tsked under her breath.

“It isn’t like that!” Jun shot quickly toward Eomma. “We shared a moment of true happiness together! It was just-- a cup of coffee after Chuseok! We fell asleep watching a drama! It was nothing inappropriate or, or grand, or anything! But I woke up and poof, I’m a cat, and I’m supposed to go back to Nihon and marry her, I guess!”

“Over my dead body,” said Eomma.

“Obviously. I just need to get the spell lifted, that’s all. And then everything will go back to the way it was and we can all collectively agree to never mention this again!”

GREG: Gregory shrank back a bit almost immediately at the older man (cat’s) response. Half of it was because that tone that Jun used so easily made him uncomfortable in any situation - but the other half stemmed simply from the fact he….appeared as an angry cat. And while Greg had gone through a lot of things in his life, he’d always been incredibly good with animals. Never had one turn on him in anger in any walk of life. Even the scared dogs at the shop would never turn on him in anger. So it was… weird to see a cat angry. Weird to feel like he might reach out and try to bite or scratch him (and truly he didn’t know if he would).

Either way, the urge to reach out and comfort him like he would a normal cat was immediately ignored. He was not going to have the very first time in his life that he was attacked by an animal be from Jun.

So instead Gregory just leaned back slightly, putting a bit more distance between the pair of them as he listened with a deep frown to the hesitant explanation of.. What exactly had happened to cause this. An explanation, of course, that had him adding new little tidbits to that already too wild story in his mind. Cat Princess. Got it. Right… why not at this rate.

Though Gregory had half a mind to hush Eomma the same way she had Jun for him - though he didn’t dare. He didn’t find the humor in this at all. Even if he could tell it was… bitter humor, Gregory still didn’t feel any inclinations of a smile. Of a laugh or even the slightest shift of humor in his expression. If anything he felt his frown tug down even deeper as he rubbed his hand over his mouth in deep rooted concern.

His expression did shift slightly at Eomma’s tsk, his gaze lifting immediately to Jun’s own with raised brows - and he was just about to interrupt and tell him whatever detail he was about to share was… not important. Gregory didn’t need to know whatever Haru and him had done together to… seal whatever curse this was!!! Jun was quick to interject though, filling that gap quickly and Gregory cleared his throat lightly in relief.

So - ...alright,..Eomma →  Jun+Kim Do-yeon=Happy Eomma, unhappy Jun. Caring Jun adopts stray cat. Cute. Stray Cat (Princess Cat) → full grown woman. Not cute. Fake couple. Not cute. In place of a true love’s kiss - a… true moment of happiness or something. (Cute) Poof, Jun is a cat and needs to marry the Princess Cat in the Cat Kingdom. (Not cute!). Again - as noted when Jun was originally helping him with his ‘maybe curse’, this wasn’t Gregory’s first rodeo. His boyfriend and him broke up to leave the country to find a way to break his curse and he hadn’t returned. Hadn’t...spoken to him.. Seen him. It’d been...well over a year. Honestly it was terrifying to never know what became of him. To think that.. Something like this could happen to Jun and that he’d just up and disappear forever too!

Blowing a deep sigh through his lips, Gregory leaned forward again as he swept both of his hands over his face - massaging his temples roughly. It was...a lot. A very large amount of things to process and Gregory didn’t know if he was mad at Haru for letting this all happen or for Eomma for blaming Jun so much for something that was clearly out of his control. Being angry wasn’t going to help though - and clearly he was called here for a reason..

“....———okay…. So… What can I do? How--.. How can I help?” A hopefully… less stupid question.

JUN: Finally! The reason they were all here.

If only Jun could have started here, but Greg had deserved the explanation, especially because the truth of the matter was-- Jun had no idea how long he was going to be gone. He hoped he could get everything sorted in a matter of days. Get in, find Purrseph, claw her until she listened, lift the spell, and poof! He’d wake up in his bed with thumbs and everything! Whatever happened to Haru, he didn’t know-- it was one of the thoughts he was pushing away. It wasn’t his business. Despite whatever friendship they’d been building… and maybe something more, or at least, he’d had that brief, ill-advised thought last night which was clearly part of the reason he was LIKE this-- it was probably over. Good riddance, and all that. He-- he didn’t care.

But he would need her up until the point he was human again. And he needed Gregory too.

He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Er, see-- Ting-Ting told me the only way to lift this sort of spell is to go to the sorcerer who cast it. Very annoying. I’ve got to head off to Nihon later today with Haru, and I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll be gone. Probably not very. Haru assures me she knows exactly where that cat sorceress is hiding. So, well, they don’t have boats and cars and things there-- it’s all wild terrain, you know, um, think Lord of the Rings, I guess-- so it might just be a bit of a trek… maybe a-- a week, tops.”

Eomma sighed. She had no comment for all this-- he knew it worried her. It worried Jun too, but he was trying to pretend like it didn’t.

“So I er, just need a bit of help with the store. Eomma will do most of the work, but...but well, if you could help her out. Mostly during the weekdays, er, opening it up--she needs to get my sisters to school, you know. It won’t be that hard, I can walk you through everything, and I created a whole manual of instructions after my um, my abeoji died, just in case, so-- it should all be sorted.” He licked his muzzle, eyes darting down and then up. “I know it’s quite the favour to ask. You...you have your store too.”

GREG:

I’ve got to head off to Nihon. I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll be gone. Maybe a week, tops.

Gregory felt himself stiffen at that - straightening up a tad as that discomfort clenched again in his gut. Jun was leaving. Jun was leaving Swynlake to find a way to lift his curse. He still remembered that night his ex-boyfriend last flew into his window. The way he stood in his room and tried to explain that he was leaving - that he didn’t know for how long, but he needed to break his curse. That he was closer to doing it than he’d ever been before and that this would be it. The final steps. That he’d come back when it was over… I’m not really sure how long it’ll take.

What if Mr. Moon never came back either? What if he left to lift his curse and Gregory found himself alone again? He’d lost his boyfriend. His best friend left for University and never said goodbye. Hadn’t contacted him since graduation. He couldn’t lose Mr. Moon too - but he also couldn’t ask him to stay. It wasn’t fair - and it wasn’t… realistic. The man was a cat and… obviously had a very good idea of how to solve it.

But the thought still terrified him. He didn’t want him to go.

“I--.. It’s fine.” He said perhaps too quickly, offering a slight dismissive wave of his hand. “I-... Ian can..basically run my shop without me.” Any of his employees probably could. They were all incredibly trustworthy and he’d trained them to. They’d all learned quickly - but Ian covered a lot of the important business work aspects. Knew how to operate the books, to close up or open, how to handle appointments and customers and inventory. That was why Ian would always be the one to get the keys when the time came.

So Gregory wasn’t worried about that.

“It’s not..it’s not a problem. I uhm… I mean I can..I can just come here and help on the farm a little earlier - and then go back and open for her like you would. And uhm… - Go to class or my shop or Board stuff during the day and check in again near closing. It’s.. - it’s more than doable.”

JUN: People often thought that Jun was not a very emotional person, or that he wasn’t very empathetic.

This was a mistake.

Now, he wasn’t as empathetic as he could be, and yes, he did make decisions based on logic and facts. But Jun knew when people were upset. Maybe it was all the training in hospitals. Maybe it was growing up with three sisters, being raised by Haleomoni and Eomma before his abeoji was ever in the picture. Whatever it was, he’d become especially attuned to Gregory’s stormy emotional states-- and he saw the boy stiffen, and knew that this was not good news.

But Eomma had cried too. This annoyed, sarcastic version of herself was a shield she was putting up for Greg, so she wouldn’t cry again. But she had asked him-- how long will you be gone? How can I live without you, my Yeong-junnie?

Jun frowned a bit, squirming again as Greg looked away from him and, naturally, agreed, like the very good boy he was. How readily and easily he agreed too. It tugged Jun’s heart. It made him feel worse.

He was bringing so much worry to all the people he loved, when it was supposed to be his job to carry it.

And so that was why Jun hopped from the table onto the couch, where he situated himself next to Gregory. He put a paw on the boy’s leg. “That would be wonderful, Gregory. Really, from the bottom of my heart… thank you,” he said. “And… and look, it really is not as scary as it sounds. Haru tells me there aren’t even any predators where she’s from! They’re the, er, top of the food pyramid so to speak! So I’ll be back before you know it! I promise. Who else can keep this town in check, eh?”

GREG: The sudden blur in front of him startled him, a hand raising slightly away from his side as Jun hopped across the gap and settled beside him - a fuzzy little black paw resting against his thigh. Much like the gentle hand that would rest across his knee or shoulder in an attempt to comfort him - Gregory knew that even if it didn’t physically carry the same weight, it carried the same implication. Despite the fact Jun was the one in this situation this time around, he was still doing his best to comfort him. To make sure Greg was okay.

His fingers curled gently into a fist, if only to resist the urge to reach out and scratch the small kitty behind his ears - to pull him against his chest and hold him close like he might’ve Calliope or Faith at the shop. Maybe then he could stop Jun from going. Keep him safe and find a way to get him out of his curse without him having to leave.

Lips parted to say something - but the words caught a bit in his throat. Forcing him to swallow that small lump as his gaze shifted briefly to Eomma before it landed back on Jun’s own again.

Despite his furry appearance, his eyes were so incredibly telling. Still the same dark eyes. The same bright, expressive eyes that often told him more than Mr. Moon ever would himself. The conversations the other man could hold just in his looks - from the gentle assurance, to stern reprimands. Even now - he could tell Jun’s words were genuine. Even if he knew there was… uncertainty there. But...he couldn’t blame him. Who wouldn’t be uncertain about going to a cat kingdom to demand your physical form back - but… the promise was genuine.

A week tops.

“...Of..of course. It’s..no big deal. It’s like--...the least I can do after all.” He was still...forever in debt to the other man, after all. Whether Jun wanted to acknowledge that or not. Clearing his throat a second time before offering a quick smile, Greg shifted again slightly. “That’s uhm...that’s good though. I uhm… - I’m sure it’ll be fine. ...knowing you - it’ll just take a look and you’ll be back to..to normal and on your way home.”

JUN: Yes, Jun was trying to comfort Greg, but he needed to hear it himself. The more he repeated it out loud, the easier it became to believe the strange story of it all-- that he would go, do his silly little hero’s journey, and come back in the end. That was how it always went, after all! At least, in every book and tv show and movie he had ever seen. The hero always came home.

Some hero you’ll be, he thought sardonically to himself. But if Greg believed in him…

Jun glanced back at Eomma, who gazed on worriedly. He cleared his throat. “Well-- er now that that’s settled-- I can go over a few specifics with you. Eomma, you don’t have to stay.”

Eomma nodded. “Thank you Gregory. This is very kind of you.” She got up and then reached over to squeeze one of Gregory’s hands gently, a small, tight smile on her lips. “You are a good boy. Jun-ah, tell me before he goes, eh, I want to send him home with more leftovers!”

Eomma went back out to her pottery studio, leaving Jun to talk to Gregory about the second part of his favour-- the most important part, really.

“I just wanted to say-- if you could look after her too,” he said much more quietly. His ears flicked backwards, as the shame bubbled up from the pit in his stomach. This was his job. It was one thing to let the store down, all those customers, and another to leave his eomoni all alone. She was a capable woman, of course, but-- only a year had passed since Abeoji died. He could sense her dread, her fear, almost like it was a smell caught in his ridiculous cat nostrils. And it was all his fault.

When Jun came home, it was where he was supposed to stay, so he could care for her, and his sisters, and Tae-yah. What if he didn’t come back?

No! Of course he’d come back. It was not an option. And until then…

“She might come across as very casual about this whole thing, but I know it scares her. Please, try to keep her spirits up. An-anything you can do.” A note of pleading sharpened Jun’s words. “If you need any help at all, also, please don’t hesitate to lean on Yeong-tae as well. Remind him that he is the eldest son while I am gone. He has to take that seriously-- but not too seriously, he should--focus on his studies too, of course, that’s first--”

The more Jun spoke, the more panicked he started to feel. Best to just stop, and so he did, abruptly.

GREG: Somehow Gregory managed a smile for Eomma as she got up and squeezed his hand - his head nodding gently. “...s’no problem.” He dismissed easily one last time, letting that smile stay on his lips just until the woman stepped from the room, where it then quickly faded back into the same frown that was often etched onto his features. The very one that still carried the worry he held for the older man.

A worry that only seemed to grow tenfold when Jun spoke up again, Gregory’s gaze immediately falling back down to that black cat beside him. He looked so… small. Scared. The ears pressed back against his head, the uncertain movements of his tail. See, Greg had always been good at reading body language, it was one of his skills of knowing when people wanted nothing to do with him, but even better than reading human body language? Was Greg’s ability to read animal’s body language. A skill that became especially important with his job at the shop.

So...he could see the discomfort in Jun’s figure. The… anxiety that seemed to spike through his small frame, only confirmed by the way his words grew seemingly faster before they abruptly came to a halt in all.

Mr. Moon’s request was a valid one, of course. One that Gregory would agree to quicker than he’d agreed to watch the store. It was...a no question situation - but the hint of desperation in which Jun requested it made him nervous too, and in the end - his own empathy overruled his logic.

So his fingers uncurled from his palm as they gently reached out to wrap around the back of Cat-Jun’s neck - thumb softly petting behind his ears as he nodded in easy agreement. “...Mr. Moon.. You don’t have to worry about that.” He spoke quietly, letting his hand rest upon his neck before it moved down slightly to gently scratch against his shoulders and the stiff tension he might’ve held there. “...course I’ll watch out for her. ..Keep an eye on her, Tae and your sisters while you’re gone… - but..” He trailed off slightly, his brows furrowing again as he swallowed another slightly larger lump in his throat.

“...You--.. It’ll just be a week. You’re coming back.” He finished - firmly, even. It wasn’t a question. Mr. Moon would come back (and as a human, no less) in just a week tops. “You promised…” He reminded, a little softer before his fingers stilled in the other’s soft fur. “...You promised. N’I promise I’ll look after them.”

JUN: Yes, he promised.

And oh, it was humiliating, everything about this was humiliating, but Jun closed his eyes at Gregory’s touch and let himself relax, if only for a moment. He hated this body-- it wasn’t his-- but with his eyes closed, he could at least forget that. With his eyes closed, he did not have to be a cat. He did not even have to be Mr. Moon, not anymore. Though he didn’t know what that made him-- if he were not Mr. Moon, the eldest son of the Moon family, what was he?

But Jun did not have to answer that question, at least not in those few seconds where he was not Mr. Moon at all, because only Mr. Moon would have the answer, eh? Instead, Jun got to have a few seconds just to himself. He got to have a comforting hand, and let himself listen to a friend’s kind words.

When he heard a rumbling, like a gentle murmur of rain, he didn’t realize it was him, purring, until he opened his eyes again.

And then the purring abruptly stopped.

And Mr. Moon was Mr. Moon again. Mr. Moon did not purr. Mr. Moon did not need comfort. He had quite a lot of work ahead of him actually. Normally, that work was familiar and routine: get up, do farm chores, open the store, run the store, run the errands, close the store, wake up, do farm chores…

But really, what was so different about this if he thought about it as one long errand, eh? It was bound to frustrate him, as most of his errands did!

Yes, one long errand, and dealing with people-- er… cats he did not want to deal with, and plenty of red tape, but then: home.

Jun cleared his throat. “Er-- yes-- of course. Exactly. One week, and then I’ll be back,” he said confidently, like he’d never doubted at all. “...Thank you again, Gregory. It’s… very…” Jun cleared his throat, feeling the heat under his fur. “I’m glad I can depend on you.”

GREG: He wouldn’t mention it.

Not if he wanted to live, of course - but Gregory was always going to remember the way the cat in front of him seemed to relax. The way his eyes closed and that soft rumble of purring filled the empty space between them. Perhaps if it had gone on any longer, he might’ve even seen the jet-black paws curl against his leg and knead the material of his jeans gently. But it didn’t - quick as it started, the purring came to a halt as Mr. Moon opened his eyes again and Gregory quickly took that as his cue to let his hand slip off the other man’s figure and instead rest on his own thigh.

Greg wouldn’t dare be weird about it. It was a cat - but it was still Mr. Moon. Still his elder. Still a respected businessman - and still in a situation that Gregory could only begin to understand. So he wouldn’t mention this, likely ever in his life. He’d consider that another addition to the endless debt he owed to Jun. Keeping this secret safe with him for as long as he lived, even if the man hadn’t yet asked that of him.

“...please don’t mention it.” The younger man said instead with another dismissive shrug. “It-... it’s never even a question.” And while Gregory didn’t know if Jun could depend on him, ...well at the very least he could try for him.

No matter what he asked, he’d try for him. Which was perhaps why he was even still here in the first place. Mr. Moon had basically asked him to try. So he was. So he too would try with this - make sure he did his very best to keep an eye out on Mr. Moon’s family and his store. To help his mother open, close or anything else she needed in between. Hell - Gregory would have gone to a Cat Kingdom to fight for him too if Jun asked.

“...maybe uhm…” He cleared his throat then, knowing better than to let them get stuck in an awkward gratitude cycle. “...Maybe we should actually go over a few things, yeah? I wasn’t cool enough t’get the summer job at the Market like everyone else so.. We gotta touch the basics.” He teased with a small smile.

Anything to lighten the mood.

[welllpthisishappening]

Like My Mirror Years Ago

Hey, hi there, that gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story! So, a couple days ago @shireness-says​ sent me this post and was like, “You know what you should do? Write some domestic Enchanted Forest with Killian unlacing Emma’s dress.” And I was like, “Yes, this seems like a good idea.” Only then, I didn’t write it. As I am apt to do. Instead here is some season 5A Camelot divergence set at some point between 5x02 and 5x04 with a conversation I have wanted to write forever, but didn’t originally plan on writing until I started typing it yesterday. And we do get to the unlacing, but first: angst in the form of nearly 5.3K. 

Also, it should be known that the Google doc title of this was [Insert Hozier Lyrics Here] so if you’re looking for a soundtrack. 

————

She knows the exact moment. 

As soon as his breathing shifts ever so slightly, a hint quicker than it is when he’s actually asleep and, if nothing else, Emma supposes his inherent inability to lie is something of a victory. To her. Specifically. Or them. Collectively. Or that pesky future that feels as if it’s begun to drape itself across her shoulders. 

That might explain the near-constant ache between her shoulder blades. 

She resolutely refuses to accept any other reasons. 

“You suck at that, you know,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes away from the piece of curved wood in her hands. Killian scoffs, and she doesn’t have to turn to know when he props himself up on his elbows either. 

The creaking mattress helps. 

Everything creaks a little in Camelot, another metaphor Emma isn’t particularly inclined to spend too long thinking about, but she’s got the growing suspicion that most of this kingdom is prone to making noise. As if it’s shattering right in front of her, tiny cracks that she’s not able to prevent, but that also might just be a commentary on her sanity at this point and—

She’s holding her breath. 

Letting it out in a huff she tries very hard to make quiet, Emma knows she fails. Spectacularly. Another sweeping commentary. 

“Unparalleled observational skills,” Killian says. With a smile. Smirk, probably. Emma still doesn’t bother looking, can hear the inflection in his voice and already knows how forced the even tone is. Seeing the inevitable arch of his eyebrow will only make it worse. 

“Get me in a crow’s nest or something.” “What do you know about crow’s nests?” She shrugs, fingers still moving and the buzzing under her skin hasn’t ebbed much since she started, but there was something almost oddly peaceful about the pattern of Killian’s breathing when he was asleep. 

In and out. Over and over. Simple and easy and consistent. Steady, even. Something about the tides or another nautical joke Emma isn’t willing to make. 

The mattress creaks again.

As do the floorboards. 

And she doesn’t shudder when his hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t stop this twisted arts and crafts project, either. She leans back, though — another passing victory and momentary return to normal, relishing the solid feel of his chest behind her. 

Killian takes a deep breath. 

“How long have I been asleep?” “Not long,” Emma replies, and one of the muscles in her neck isn’t all that appreciative of the current twist it’s in. She doesn’t move, feels as if it’d be admitting to something far bigger and she can’t imagine how he’s still so warm. 

Like magic. 

Not at all like magic. At least not the kind she’s used to now.

“Awfully vague,” he mutters. Accusation doesn’t particularly hang from the letters, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see it in the way Killian’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, like he’s trying to hold onto more than just her and her tension-filled shoulder blades, and he’d never unbuckled his sword. 

Or taken his hook off. 

He always took his hook off. Before. When they were—

Safe, Emma supposes. Emma supposes they aren’t that anymore. 

“There was no point in you staying up just so you could stare at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and all of that palpable concern.” His fingers loosen. For the best, probably. Since it appears the laces of Emma’s latest Camelot-provided gown, which she hasn’t bothered taking off, are tightening. Enough to threaten several of her internal organs. 

Laughter echoes softly around them. 

Her. 

Only her. 

Reaching for another string that she’s only a little worried she’ll snap before she can use, Emma barely moves her arm before there’s metal around her wrist, and anger runs red-hot down her spine. She snaps her head around quickly enough to do damage to several other neck muscles, but Killian hardly flinches at her expression. 

He lifts both eyebrows, instead. 

So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace. 

“We’ve a variety of things we can talk about,” Killian says, more forced lightness that grates on every one of Emma’s nerves, “Although I’ll admit I’m always partial to discussing the fascinating colloquialisms you’re in possession of.” “Can I possess the language?” “The knowledge of it’s—what’s the word? Slang?” Emma rolls her eyes. “That, at least.” “Oh, yeah, I'm the smartest person around.” “In this realm, certainly.”

Emma snorts, not any real humor in the sound, but her lungs work a hint better once Killian pulls his hook away from her. Licking her lips, she spins and neither one of them mention how close she comes to kicking him in a variety of potentially painful locations when she tugs her legs towards her chest. 

His lips twitch as soon as she rests her chin on her knees. 

There’s an absurd amount of fabric involved in this dress. 

“What do a dog’s eyes have to do with the overall force of my worry?” Killian asks, and it’s not exactly funny. Just like whatever noise Emma makes isn’t exactly a laugh. Not when it scratches at the sides of her throat, and the tip of her tongue and honestly screw Camelot. 

No ChapStick in other realms. 

She keeps twisting her lower lip between her teeth. 

“You shouldn't have let me fall asleep.” Her current eye roll rate is going to give Emma a migraine. Maybe Dark Ones can’t get migraines. That’d be something at least. “There really wasn’t any reason for you to be awake,” Emma says. “And I—” Killian tilts his head when she cuts herself off, something stupid like open book and knowing her and they might both be horrible liars. “I know you’re worried.” “Seems a given in this situation, don’t you think?” Another shrug. No eye roll, though. Small victories and whatnot. 

And Killian has to readjust his sword to crouch in front of her. Emma very nearly laughs again. Or cries. She’s having trouble distinguishing emotions at this point. 

God, but she’s exhausted. 

Metal finds her wrist again, cool on her skin, but Emma’s mind barely has a chance to recognize temperature before she’s wholly preoccupied with Killian’s ability to cover both her hands with one of his. It opens up some fairly romantic ideas, all of them fluttering around her skull and under that same magic-prone skin, a slightly different energy that makes her feel light and heavy and—

Her neck gives up. 

Leaves her head falling forward and crashing against Killian’s and he still doesn’t flinch. Even as he exhales again, air brushing Emma’s cheeks and the edges of her lips and she could come up with several better ways to use those lips. Something stops her. 

Quite possibly the laughter. 

That only she can hear. 

“You’ll give yourself a coronary.” “Sounds unpleasant.” Emma doesn’t smile. Quite honestly, she’s not sure the muscles in her face are capable of doing that anymore. Still, something in the center of her flutters traitorously at what might be the most twisted instance of flirting they’ve had in their relationship. 

Although there was that sword fight. And handcuffing him to the hospital bed. And him unlocking himself from the hospital bed. The Jello thing, too. 

Emma figures that all counts as pre-relationship. 

“I can’t imagine it would be,” she agrees. “But, uh—” “—Oh, if you say what I think you’re about to say, I will be very frustrated.”

It’s her turn to lift her eyebrows. “Will you just?” “I understand why Regina asked you to do what she did,” Killian starts, and it’s not the last thing Emma expects to hear, but it’s at least somewhere at the bottom of a list she hasn’t made yet. “And I understand even better why you did it. I also—” “—God, how much is there?” He nips at her nose, more out of place flirting that soothes some of...her, really. “This is it, I promise. I understand what it would be to feel that sort of desperation for someone you love. To be terrified of what will happen if you don’t act. Don’t do whatever you can. To fix all of it.”

Her throat collapses. 

Her lungs disappear. 

And there’s no more disembodied laughter, but the silence that stretches in the minimal space between them is almost worse, thick with unspoken meaning and heavy-handed allusions and Emma’s fingers are moving again. Before she’s entirely rationalized it. Brushing away strands of hair that’s almost getting too long, Killian’s eyes flutter closed at her touch. 

“That’s not your job,” Emma whispers. 

“Isn’t it, though?” “Falling asleep is not a failure, babe.” He scoffs, a quick click of his teeth and Emma hasn’t moved her fingers. He leans into her hand. “And yet here we are. At an impasse, of sorts.” “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“Not a very focused one.” “Ah, well you’re tired.” “And you’re a very good distraction,” Killian argues, not the insult Emma briefly hears it as. Even so, something almost like fear ripples across her skin. Latches onto the base of her skull and whatever neurons are clearly unstable and irrational and it only takes him a few moments to realize his mistake. 

“I know that’s not what you meant.” He hums, nosing at the inside of her wrist. “What are these things you’re making, exactly?” “Dreamcatchers.” “Sounds nefarious.” “No, no, the opposite, actually. Legend said—well, God, it’s kind of shitty that I’m making them, actually. But, um...they’re supposed to keep nightmares away.” “Is it working?” “I’m not the one asleep,” Emma points out. “And repeating my question seems redundant.” Sticking her tongue out is quite possibly the least mature thing Emma could possibly do — particularly when she’s at least seventy-two percent positive the churning in her stomach is actually magic, but she does it all the same. If only to ensure that Killian’s lips move again. 

She might be staring at his lips. 

Might be is another very bad lie. 

“Now you’re just trying to make me swoon with your own knowledge of the language,” she mumbles. “How’s it working?” “Better than it should.”

His lips move. Directly towards hers. Only to deviate at the last possible second, and Emma isn’t totally disappointed by that. Killian kisses the edge of her mouth. The curve of her chin. The bridge of her nose. Directly between her very pinched eyebrows. 

“You know, I thought you were dead.” Strictly speaking, Emma has no idea where that particular string of words came from. The depths of her soul, probably. Some dark — or darker — corner where that very specific terror lingers. The way she swore her heart stopped, and breathing was secondary and part of her might resent him. 

For making a joke of it. 

“That wasn’t a real reality, love,” Killian breathes, and Emma can’t imagine how his knees are dealing with any of this. He’s ancient, he can’t have the best joints. In this realm or any other. 

“Still happened, though.” “Aye, it did. And I’d—” “—Nope,” Emma interrupts, lips popping on the word like that will turn it into some kind of decree. Technically, she’s a princess. It should work like that. “I absolutely do not care. At all. Like, at all. I stood there and watched you die and—” Crying is apparently something she’s not capable of doing anymore either, and that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but it does leave her blinking faster than she’d like and she’ll have to come up with another colloquialism for the look on Killian’s face. 

Abject devotion seems a little over the top. 

“This is my fault.” Killian blinks. More than once. “How the hell did you get to that conclusion?” “You died, babe. I—I stood there and watched, and it was...it was you, but it wasn’t you and it didn’t even matter because it’s always been you and—” She’s rambling. Words spill out of Emma without her explicit permission, which seems kind of unfair all things considered. Nearly absolute power should allow her to be a better conversationalist than this. 

The more things change, or whatever the saying is. 

“The point is, we found Regina after that. Henry and I and...she wasn’t going to do anything. Was going to let Robin marry Zelena. But I—well, I told her that I’d just—” He doesn’t look away from her. Emma isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, far too much blue in his gaze even as the candles around them burn to the base of their wicks. She licks her lips again. Still chapped. “I told her that love was a part of all happiness. That...that she had to fight for it because I’d just—” “—Watched me die?” “Not as much fun when you interrupt me.” He makes a noise, a low rumble that tickles Emma’s cheek. “Apologies, my lady.” “You think you’re very clever.” “I think you’re the most incredible lass—” “—Oh, call me lass one more time and see how that works out for you.” “It’s a compliment,” Killian mutters, almost entirely into her skin and the few strands of hair that have come loose. “And you’re being rather distracting again.”

“Still waiting on the compliment parts of this, honestly.” He finally stands up, both of his knees cracking in the process. And Emma hardly opens her mouth to make some sort of misplaced joke about that before Killian is shaking his head and tugging her out of her chair and they don’t lay down on Camelot’s noisiest mattress. 

They sit on the edge. Thighs pressed together and Emma’s fingers gripping his hook like some kind of lifeline, which it very well may be because they should have talked about this before, but there wasn’t time before and— “I love you.” Full-body shock, Emma finds rather quickly, is not nearly as uncomfortable as she assumed it would be. She’s imagined this going a lot of ways, loathe as she may be to ever admit such a thing. Most of the time they’re tangled in very soft sheets, or tucked into the questionably comfortable cot in the captain’s quarters of the Jolly, his fingers in her hair and that one specific smile that she’s only ever seen directed at her. 

Not once has she imagined it like this. 

Stuck in a different realm with a king that does not live up to the legend and something about the air in Camelot reminds Emma of Boston Harbor in the summer. 

Salty and a little stale. 

Her mouth goes dry and her pulse noticeably slows, turning her head to gape at him. That’s not romantic. That’s insane. This whole thing is absolutely and entirely insane and she can’t quite come to terms with the precise way he glances up at her. 

From underneath those stupid eyelashes, that are both kind of dreamy and even more offensive and Emma doesn’t object when he pulls both her hands up. So he can kiss the bend of her knuckles. Like some goddamn pirate prince. 

That helps a little bit, actually. 

“What?” “I love you,” Killian repeats. “In a variety of different realities, it seems.” “No.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, resisting the very real urge to jump up and start pacing. Possibly cast a few spells. That’s the crux of her problem, though. So she does the only reasonable thing. Stays frustrating still and yells at her boyfriend. 

Who doesn’t seem all that put out by this turn of events. 

“Where do you think I should start?” “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Emma admits with a snarl. “I...there is no way that deckhand version—” “—Oh, that’s also a little insulting.” “You’re telling me that you were in love with me in a fake reality?” Killian shrugs. It’s absurd as when Emma did it. “I’d hardly die for anyone, darling.” “Really way too confident in your ability to—” “—Ensure swooning?” “I will kick you,” Emma warns, but the sentiment lacks any real threat and she’d like to hear him say it several times over again. The I love you part, not necessarily guarantees of swooning. 

“Please don’t do that.” “I’d have to stand up.” “Aye,” Killian laughs, “that is true. Although we are deviating just a tad now.” “From?” “How much I understand.” “Overblown confidence.” Tangling their fingers together doesn’t do much to help the state of Emma’s shoulders, but Killian’s hand is so warm and he’s so warm and, shoulder notwithstanding, every inch of Emma wants to curl against him and close her eyes and let him proclaim every ridiculous thought that has ever crossed his mind. 

Regarding her. Specifically. And them. Collectively. 

“An appropriate amount of confidence,” he corrects. “In regards to you, at least. Because it wasn’t the right reality, but...finding you, believing Henry, knowing that you could save all of us, that made sense to me. In a world where not much else did. That’s been the case from the very start, in fact.” She doesn’t reply. Knows she should, should say something else that proclaims a whole variety of things Emma isn’t sure she can follow through on, but her mind has already started to drift, eyes moving back towards the window and the dreamcatchers there and—

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

“Happily ever after,” she sighs. 

Killian squeezes her fingers. “A work in progress. But the fact remains that I am wholly,” he kisses the back of her palm, “irrevocably,” the side of her wrist, “completely,” her tattoo, “in love with you. And if you are going to believe anything, then I need you to believe that.” “Need?” “With my entire heart, Swan.” “Oh, that was good, actually.” He doesn’t pull away from her hand. Just looks back up at her, and Emma isn’t sure if she’s blushing or simply burning from the inside out, but both options seem feasible at this point. “She was desperate here because I told her she should be,” Emma says, “Regina, I mean.” “That wasn’t your fault. Love has a tendency to—” “—Make you desperate.” “And that wasn’t a question.” Emma makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, more scratches and marks that she knows are far more metaphorical than literal and she should probably say something back. To Killian. About loving him. 

Saying it under duress likely doesn’t count. 

She meant it, though. And in the alternate reality. And every time she thought it before that. 

She’s thought about it quite a bit. 

“Suppose it didn’t have to be,” Killian muses, dropping his head to press a kiss against Emma’s neck. No goosebumps, that time. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know before.” “Ah, I kind of did.” “Still. It’s—” Pulling back is also at the bottom of that list Emma hasn’t made, but it isn’t often that she hears him quite so tongue-tied and there’s something oddly endearing about the red at the tips of his ears. “It’s something you should hear, as often as possible.”

“You’re on a roll.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Emma nods, “and I—you know, for like a solid half second I was totally pissed at you when you showed up in the loft.” “What? Why?” “Making jokes.” To his credit, Killian does look more than a little scandalized. Wide eyes meet Emma’s, and his skin is paler than it was a few seconds before, but that might also have to do with the candles and their inability to burn for an entire night. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I can only tell you I know so many times before it starts getting annoying, I just—I’m not entirely sure what I would have done if it was true. Torn the world apart, probably.” She’s not surprised by the sincerity in her voice. Conviction and another promise that seems to rattle the windows and Emma’s bones in equal measure. Killian’s eyes don’t return to their proper size. 

“If you’re not careful, Your Highness,” he says, “I'll be the one swooning soon.” He catches her before she can swat at his chest. 

“Idiot.” “Less so now, maybe. But I understand the sentiment. When you were—Gods, it’s entirely unfair to do it like this, isn’t it?”

“This?” He rolls his eyes that time. Emma appreciates the symmetry. “Despite assurances otherwise, I’m not a fool, Swan. I knew you wanted to say something in your parent’s loft and I remembered some of that alternate reality. But then, as always, another disaster. Another problem. Another reason for you to sacrifice yourself. And then words I’d waited to hear for far longer than I’d care to admit, but you were gone and it was—” Killian grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Emma is an idiot. The biggest idiot. Supreme idiot. She should have realized. “Like a nightmare come true,” he breathes. “Staring at the spot where you were, like I could will you back. Like I could tell you how I loved you more than anything else. No matter what else would happen.”

Lunge is not the best word, but at some point Emma lost any previous control she had over the English language and she’s far too busy relishing Killian’s gasp of surprise when her mouth all but slams against his to be worried about anything else. 

She tilts her head. Closes her eyes. Forgets to breathe. Emma forces herself into this moment and this feeling, lets it wrap around her and sink under her skin until it times up with the beat of her pulse and—

The magic in her veins shifts. Rushing from the top of her head to the back of her heels, the kind of power that leaves her dizzy and overwhelmed and greedy for more. 

Killian’s tongue traces the seam of her lips. 

“They don’t want my help.” “With?” Killian asks, not bothering to pull away from her. Emma’s grip on the back of his hair probably doesn’t help much. “Getting Merlin out of the fucking tree.” “Ah.” “Sound more surprised next time. Have they been talking to you about this?” “Not as such, no. It does not appear that I am part of the inner-Camelot circle.” “Is there one?” “Eh,” he grunts. Disentangling their limbs isn’t all that easy, but it does end with Emma flush against Killian’s side and she supposes beggars can’t be magical choosers. “It seems as if your father is rather taken with having another royal in his midst. Can’t have a notorious pirate captain join them on their perilous quest.” “And how exactly does this notorious pirate captain know about such a quest?”

Suggesting that his eyes actually sparkle at her is entirely absurd and inherently fairy tale, and Emma could not begin to care less. 

She can’t hear anything but Killian’s answering laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a rather closely guarded secret, my love.” “Oh, that’s absolutely—” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. Because it’s not a huge change. Might not even be a change at all, but she latches onto it all the same and the ends of Killian’s lips quirk up. She’s got to find something else to stare at. “Is it super selfish to be glad you’re not going on some perilous quest?”

He shakes his head. It makes the ends of his hair shift, threatening to brush over eyebrows that are far too expressive. “Possibly, but I also can’t help to be anything except glad that you aren’t using more of your magic. I suppose we’re on even ground.” “Not the worst ground to be on.” “No,” Killian agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “It’s not. Let Her Majesty work out Merlin’s riddle, she’s got Belle doing research. That’s more help than she deserves.” “High praise. Just,” Emma huffs, “I hate sitting here. There’s too much—” “—Magic?” “Sounds shitty like that.” “Sounds understandable like that. And while I understand what Regina asked of you at the ball, using that power is dangerous.” “I know that,” Emma sneers.

Killian still doesn’t flinch. “I’m not suggesting otherwise, all I’m saying is that we are all here to help, Swan. Some more than others.” “You?” It’s another memory. Another moment her mind has conjured up, a string that connects her to the past and the present and his goddamn eyebrows, Killian staring at her with something that feels like longing and even more like—

Dedication, maybe. Love, definitely. 

Emma’s not sure she’s ever been looked at like that. 

It’s the worst lie she’s told herself yet. 

“Me,” Killian says, and there’s no room for doubt between either one of the letters. “How’d you learn to make the dreamcatchers?” “There was no magic involved if that’s what you’re getting at.” “I wasn’t, in fact.” “No?” He shakes his head. Kisses her forehead. “No.”

And Emma doesn’t deflate, so much as she sags against him. Some of the fight leaves her, pleasantly surprised to find that it also doesn’t leave her feeling hollow. Rather like there’s space for something new there, possibility and potential and her fingers curl themselves into the charms hanging over his shirt. 

Another metaphorical anchor and cool metal, helping to temper the myriad of emotions twisting between her ribs. 

“I didn’t really learn,” she admits, “just kind of remade them from memory and the supplies Guinevere agreed to give me. Should have seen the first one, it looked like garbage.” Chuckling into her hair, Killian’s hand dances across Emma’s back, grazing the laces she’d almost forgotten about. “You think we’ll ever get to go to a ball on our own terms?” “You mean without time travel or Arthur the worthless king involved?” “It’s a good name.”

“You flatter me,” Killian grins, and Emma doesn’t double check that time either. It’s easy to hear. “And I certainly hope so. I have quite a number of thoughts about you and gowns.” “That so? How many thoughts are we talking?” “Vast.” “That’s not very specific. And I don’t know, babe. As nice as the dancing is, getting dressed for balls is kind of overrated. Half a dozen lady’s maids showed up to tie the laces for me and my mom and then they came back to stuff a gazillion pins into my hair.” “Gazillion also sounds rather vast.” Emma’s eye roll gets her yet another smirk, so she figures that’s a fair trade even if there does end up being a migraine involved eventually. “Did you not think about magic’ing the laces loose?” He says it soft enough that Emma can barely hear him — half concern and even more trepidation, crossing a line that hadn’t been there before and shouldn’t remain there now and she shakes her head. “Didn’t even consider it, honestly. Just kinda resigned myself to a crushed spleen, I guess.”

“Sounds painful.”

The metaphors are stupid now. They should go back to declarations and unfounded promises that Emma wants desperately and she’s not entirely prepared for the first tap of Killian’s finger. 

Or for him to mutter, “Turn around for me, love.”

She does. Despite the confusion and the flutter of butterfly wings that have suddenly appeared in her stomach, Emma does as instructed. Something — someone — chafes at that, hackles rising and defenses lifting, and her nails dig deep enough into her palm that they leave tiny crescent shaped marks in their wake. 

“No need to get anyone else to help,” Killian says, “when I’m perfectly capable.” Emma must nod. Her neck moves, so that must mean she nods. Speaking however, seems impossible at the moment. When her tongue is taking up too much space in her mouth and the butterflies are threatening to surge out of her and it really is easier to breathe when the laces aren’t quite that tight. 

Killian makes quick work of it all. At least Emma assumes, still twisted away from him and staring at the mess she’d left on the desk. She’s not sure why there’s a desk in this room. 

“Should I be jealous of your talents in this particular area?” He laughs, kissing the side of her neck again. “Part of me finds that very appealing, actually.” “Which part is that?” “The bastard who wouldn’t mind you claiming me entirely as your own.” “Not into that possessive kind of stuff.” “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Killian argues, and Emma’s breath shudders out of her. In a distinctly swoon-like manner. “I think I’d rather willingly surrender.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” “Aye, I suppose I am.” He kisses her again. Emma hopes it helps. “Milah used to—she had these outfits. Full of laces and buckles and there weren’t any lady’s maids on board the Jolly. It became something of a routine. Dressing in the morning, getting on deck, picking a heading. Anywhere and everywhere, right at the tips of our fingers. But it was a bit easier, then.” Emma’s muscles are never going to recover from this conversation. She turns anyway, straining her neck to meet his gaze and barely-there smile and it doesn’t take her long to figure that out either. “You’re resourceful,” she says, “I bet you’d even be able to figure out how to lace me back up.” “Suggests you’ll be here in the morning.” “Quite a royal scandal, sharing a boudoir with a notorious pirate captain.”

Killian’s smile stretches. Not by much, but enough and, for now, that’s enough. “I love you.”

He’s waiting, Emma can tell. For the response. The answer. The words that she swears are going to snap her tongue in half, weighing it down as they are. 

She doesn’t say anything. 

Pulling in a deep breath, she moves her hands instead and shimmies until the gown she only sort of likes pools around her waist, leaving her in nothing but a slip. And magic, the kind that hangs in the shadows and festers in the corners of her soul. 

Emma wraps her fingers around the brace at Killian’s arms. Buckles and leather, some of it a slightly different color than the rest from years of use and magic of a different kind and she’s only a little worried she’s inadvertently frozen him there. 

Until his eyes shift, tracing over her face with that same reverence that she’s come to covet in the exact possessive way she’d always wanted to avoid. 

Bastard, indeed. 

“Your turn,” Emma says, and her voice doesn’t crack. Another victory. 

Killian doesn’t object either. Lets her flick and flip and tug, as lightly as she possibly can, twisting the hook off eventually. That last part seems like overkill, but Emma’s always enjoyed the way it clicks off — almost as if she’s flipping a switch on some other part of her, giving into the vulnerability she can see in Killian’s eyes and she’s going to fix all of this. If only to avoid her melodramatic commentary. 

“Come on,” she mumbles, tugging him down next to her as she shoves off the rest of her gown. These sheets aren’t as soft, unfamiliar when Emma pulls them over both of them, but Killian’s arm curls around her waist all the same and her cheek always fits very well against the crook of his neck. 

He flinches. “What? That’s—are you—” “Fine,” Killian cuts in. “Just tickles, is all. When you exhale so dramatically.” “God.” “Close your eyes, love.” “I’m not going to—” “—I know, but you can still stay here. With me.” There’s more to those words too. Fraught with hope and even more want, and Emma can’t ever remember wanting this as badly as she does now. So she doesn’t move. She doesn’t close her eyes, either. But she stays still, listens to the steady in and out of Killian’s breathing and—

Laughter. 

Creeping across the floor and inching up the stone walls, circling either one of Emma’s ankles until it slams into her chest and takes root. She shifts — not quickly, but determined, careful not to wake Killian as she avoids the other face she knows is hidden just out of sight. 

Magic makes her fingers itch. Makes her skin crawl. Anticipation clings to each of her vertebrae. 

With her gown still on the floor, and a pirate she knows would tear the world apart for her still asleep, she sits back down at the table and starts again, anxious to catch the nightmares before they can linger for too long. 

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 57: Hermione's Secret

Waking up was the worst part of it all. He'd grown up with this disease that took over every aspect of his life, so he knew with painful clarity each step, all the way up to the black-out inducing painful transformation. The blur of memories the next morning often took days to sort through, the strong feelings much easier to recognize of what had been done. If he'd eaten anything, it was even more clear for some reason.

His stomach was empty, his mind lingered in a state of despair, and he was in fact ten times more sore than usual, so he knew something must have happened. Even with his friends there the past few times though, that moment of consciousness where he first opened his eyes into the unknown haunted him. Who had he hurt this time?

His eyes slowly flickered open, taking a shorter amount of time to adjust than others, but not understanding what he was seeing any better at first. There was no roof over his head, the Shrieking Shack could have been a million miles away, but that he was still on the Hogwarts grounds he knew without a second glance. He tried to sit up and groaned in protest, so instead let his head flop to the side miserably, and with growing worry as he found himself on the edge of the lake.

Like all corners of these grounds, it was a spot the Marauders knew well. They'd spent countless hours under the shade of that tree, hid many a things in that bush just over there. The waters were calm, and mirrored back without disturbance his blood-soaked visage, and Peter standing over him.

"You're bleeding," Remus slurred in concern, rolling his head gingerly to the other side as he saw his hand pressed to the side of his head, even though there was a thick stream going all the way down to his neck.

"And you need these," Peter had to use one hand to toss a pile of clothes onto his feet from the school bags that had still managed to follow them along all this time.

"When did you- how-?" He tried to string together while also quickly trying to dress and not fall back down from exhaustion all at the same time.

"Since we were in the dorms," Peter shrugged without really looking at him, and it wasn't to spare his decency Remus knew. "When Regulus' shoes didn't spontaneously come back I thought, well you lot were all worried about the werewolf part which, you know made sense, but I figured you'd appreciate-"

Remus' eyes were still tracking faster than his brain could keep up, he saw Sirius jogging towards them but didn't recognize the look on his face until he'd plowed into Peter, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

"You stay the bloody hell away from him!" He snarled, voice so contorted it wouldn't surprise him if he still had a few of Padfoot's other traits.

"Sirius, wait," Remus tried to get to his feet, to cobble together what had happened while he tried to kill them all. He still remembered the confession, the sting of betrayal fueling Sirius was not alone, but unlike the hothead standing between them drawing his wand, he was trying to keep the two firmly separated in his head just like he had for Sirius this entire time. "It's not him, look at him-"

"Sirius, Remus, I couldn't, you know I couldn't have-"

Sirius wasn't listening, he shot a jet of blue light that made Peter squeal while he spat out a mouthful of dirt. "You left us for dead while you ran and saved your own stinking skin, again!"

Remus caught Sirius' wrist and finally stumbled to his own feet, but Sirius jerked his arm away easily, Remus' hand coming away still slick with blood. He fell back to his knees as much for his own instability as the disgust in himself.

He didn't know what Sirius would have done next, only escalation he was sure, until the only person who could have stopped this stepped in.

"Enough Sirius," James spoke quietly and calmly, he didn't have to do anything more than get Sirius' attention and Padfoot lowered his wand.

Sirius was still shaking all over, it was only with the greatest restraint alive he lowered his wand but still kept a daggering glare. James walked past him regardless, offering his hand to Remus, both wincing as he got to his feet. "Remus, are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" He slurred, painfully aware that was James' own blood soaking through his shirt. "What the bloody hell happened to you three?" It took agonizing seconds to put together, it wasn't computing in his head, why they were injured so badly. They'd learned their own healing charms, equal to Madam Pomfrey's in tandem with learning their Animagus practice for such an event, but none of them were bothering to apply them as they stood on guard waiting for someone else to make the next move.

Remus did, as he twisted on the spot and vomited.

"Oh, Moony-"

"Back off!"

He could barely hear the quarrel between Peter and Sirius erupting again or what James said this time, he felt a hand on his shoulder guiding him away from the puddle of sick, only just being blown away by the wind as his knees gave out and he stumbled into the bush and refused to get up again.

It was impossible to get the image out of his head, where the other four were. He knew he hadn't killed them, he'd know that, but what he'd done to his friends only one step below as far as he was concerned. He'd never hurt them so bad before, not even the very first time where he'd treated them like a free meal. They'd done so much better at defending themselves, only coming off with a few deep scratches and one bite mark across Prongs shoulder he'd shrugged off. It was only the four pinpricks of light across the lake that caught his attention and made them all realize they were surely about to have company that set them into motion.

"Nothing has to change!" Even in the roar of his own ears, Remus could hear the desperation in his voice as he tried to shuffle closer even though Sirius' hand tightened along his wand again. "We can, modify their memory's, make them forget-"

"Ha!" Sirius' sharp bark of laughter had a truly cruel, twisted edge to it the likes of which they'd never heard, not even last month when he'd laughed upon hearing what Snape had tried to do. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? We're not just going to forget though, even if we wanted to I doubt we could! The bloody magic we're tied up in doesn't seem likely to just let us zap a whole chunk of the story out of our heads! Stop trying to pretend you care about, about any of us!"

"Sirius, I couldn't! You guys, you know I couldn't do that-" His voice was rising.

"Tell me you wouldn't." James still hadn't shouted during all of this, he still spoke with the same soft, quiet demanding voice. "You keep saying you couldn't have done it Peter, but you haven't said you wouldn't do it. Tell me the thought's never crossed your mind, that you would never consider siding with Voldemort over us!"

Peter flinched, but if it was because James had used his name or the accusation he suddenly went silent for, they didn't know. Despite the shock of blood loss setting in, the void larger than Hogwarts itself growing between them, he could still see more than anything the shame in his tremoring lips, "I, I couldn't-" Then he clasped his hand to his mouth as he finally realized what had slipped out.

James shook his head, from Remus vantage he looked more disappointed than anything, though all he felt was stunned. "Just, just clear off for a while, yeah? Let us..." he didn't finish, he didn't have to. It was the exact same thing he'd said to Sirius a month ago, when they hadn't been sure if they'd ever speak to him again either.

Only by the now waning light of the full moon could Remus' eyes keep track of his seeming vanishment, as Wormtail likely set out to find the very edge of the perimeter they were trapped in. He hoped he stayed that way the duration of this madness they were traveling through, he didn't know how he was going to look him in the eye again.

Sirius could vividly remember the bloodlust he'd been described having, as he and Remus were about to kill their friend before Harry had stepped in. It had been the most vivid feeling they'd felt in Azkaban, before being quenched by Moony's abrupt appearance. Now he had to stand here and force himself not to go after him again as Padfoot could, to do what he wasn't quite sure, as he crouched down in front of Remus and began tending to his wounds.

"Don't," Remus tried to push his wand away. "Just-"

"Let him Remus," James whispered in the most world-weary voice that could ever exist. "Give him something to do before he tries blowing up the lake again."

The joke fell flat, the sentiment of reminiscing about their past adventures felt like a torture device, but Remus was too exhausted to bother protesting anymore as he slumped uncomfortably against the leaves regardless.

The three remained huddled around each other, not speaking the rest of the chapter, as Regulus' voice finally began echoing across the grounds for all to hear. It was a pathetic laugh James forced out as he heard the chapter title. Hermione's Secret of how she'd been getting to all of her classes had been the most trivial part to them this entire time. The revelation of what it was, a magic beyond them that manipulated time itself, would normally be idolized and drool worthy to the lot of them, but not now.

Another adventure for Harry took place, involving saving Buckbeak and Sirius, but his future son's life didn't seem any more apt for a good ending than his father's right now, as Sirius was forced once more to simply go on the run. As Sirius' parting words praised Harry for making his father proud, James agreed, but it was with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth for what had caused this mess. His friends, whom he loved like brothers, had turned on each other this night, and he didn't know how to reconcile with that.

He wondered abstractly how Evans felt about all of this, what she saw now. Still the arrogant toerag, who blindly trusted his friends and got her killed, left their son in this mess? It occurred to him as he looked around once more, he didn't care. He looked at Sirius, tending Moony's wounds with a tender expression no one but them would ever see, Remus' exhausted eyes sinking closed, a vulnerability he couldn't dare show to any but them. He longed to see Peter hovering over the pair, trying to make the two laugh about what their next prank was going to be while he, James, kept an eye on the grounds for Madam Pomfrey coming to retrieve Remus from the Shrieking Shack like every full moon, but he finally knew what he'd refused to accept since the start of this travesty. Their life was never going to be the same again.

[lunaticlua]

how do you make a home? // part 3

series masterlist

the story is also available on ao3

chapter 3: cause when you find love there’s not much you can do

"i kinda like you, kinda think that you’re too much. you’re always knocking me off of my feet. i’m not against something like falling in love, but i'm not so sure if that's what i need." (when i look into your eyes – khai dreams ft. lanie)

Throughout the next two weeks, they bond through music and shared work. JJ is the who initiates the interactions ninety percent of the time. He asks about a million questions about the music she puts on for them, she answers at most six a day. After some insistence, he is even able to convince her to tell him how she learnt to fix cars — her godfather taught her a lot when she was younger, and she had worked as a mechanic before. In response, he shares how he learnt by watching his father as a kid.

Unconsciously, by the end of their second week working together, Lulu starts to explain what the songs playing are about unprompted. She tried as hard as she could to keep her aloof and cryptic behavior, even if, at the back of her mind, she knew that she would never fulfill the promise she made in that way. Keeping herself closed off was convenient. It didn’t hurt and she was accustomed to the loneliness that came with it. However, the shaggy-haired blonde boy had other plans for her.

He was growing on her effortlessly and it scared her. She always had a hard time making friends back in Ohio. Talking was hard, especially during her first years there, but, even after the dark years, it still took a lot of willpower. As people already considered her a freak and distanced themselves from her, she just didn’t try to befriend anyone.

But with JJ is easy and, as much as it frightens her, she likes easy. So, she let him come near faster than she was habituated. Even her godfather notices the sudden difference on their dynamic. One night during dinner, he breaks the comfortable silence they shared and questions her without further ado. “Kid, do you like JJ?”

She can’t help herself but blush. “No, I don’t. Can you pass me the salt?” she deflects.

“Oh, girl, you don’t need to change the subject. We don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he soothes her, and she responds with a little smile.

“I really don’t,” she says after some minutes. If it is to convince herself more than her guardian, no one needs to know. She has been questioning what she was feeling towards the boy for some days now.

“Well, be careful,” she gives him a puzzled look and he continues. “I like the boy, I really do. Don’t get me wrong. But I heard stories and I don’t want you to end up with a broken heart.”

“We are barely friends, Uncle Joe. There is nothing to worry.”

They resume to their dinner without much talk after it. When she goes to bed that night, she keeps replaying her moments with the boy, trying to understand his intentions. She is not naïve enough to think that his reasons are completely pure. She remembers the way he and his friends stared at her curvy silhouette at the beach when she went surfing. Still, Lulu believes that there is more to it than him trying to find a simple hookup. Besides the fact that he could find it anywhere else with less effort — she definitely isn’t the easiest person to approach and a shop where they work with her godfather isn’t the most ideal place —, he has something in his ocean blue eyes when he watches her. Something that makes her heart jump and her walls collapse.

The next morning, when she arrives at work, he is already there. No music on as if he is waiting for her. He turns to her when he hears her steps with a grin, which she had noticed that is completely different from his usual smirk. This one is more honest and carefree. She likes to entertain the idea that she is the only one who can make him smile like this.

“What you have for us today, Miss Lulu?” He imitates a child’s voice. In the last few days, he had been teasing her about her ‘music lessons’.

“You can tease me all you want, but what I am doing is showing you a superior form of art,” she jokes back.

“Of course, you are,” JJ chuckles, his appearing dimple giving her butterflies in the stomach. She tries to shake away the feeling by focusing on taking her phone off her backpack and putting her Bossa Nova playlist on. ‘Chega de Saudade’ by Tom Jobim starts playing and a goofy smile appears on the boy’s face. This is one of his favorites that she has shown him. “Dance with me?”

She pretends to think about the proposition a little and then takes his hands, opening a matching grin. He twirls her into his arms, hugging her body. The two teenagers share a peaceful moment in which none of them moves, simply enjoying the closeness of their embrace. Soon, they fall in step and playfully dance with each other. When the music comes to its end, they laugh together.

Later at night, Lulu contemplates the nature of their relationship. He is the closest someone her age has ever been to her heart. However, she doesn’t believe that she is apt to something more than a friendship. She has too much baggage to unload on someone else. Especially, someone like him, so upbeat, so lighthearted.

Her phone rings and she rapidly pick it up. “Hi, Lulu.” The voice coming from the speaker is calming, which is exactly what she needs. It is Rita. When it was decided that she should come back to Outer Banks, her major worry was being away from her aunt. The woman had been her rock for so long and she misses her dearly. They had agreed to make weekly phone calls for checkup, which ended being an excellent decision.

“Hey, Auntie Rita.”

“How have you been this week?”

“Honestly? Confused,” she laughs forcedly.

“And the reason is…,” the woman gives her the opportunity to explain what has been on her mind lately and she does. She had talked already about JJ when they were initiating their now established friendship. But the sentiment had modified a lot since. The lingering eyes, the mirrored smiles, the soft touches, the easygoing conversation. The whole situation is messing with her head. When she finishes recounting the events of the week, including the talk shared with Uncle Joe and the dance, Rita simply asks: “But what is bothering you?”

“He is clearly interested in something more.”

“And you are not.”

“I am,” she corrects.

“So, what is really bothering you?”

“I shouldn’t. I can’t jump in a relationship,” she clarifies.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Well, for starters, he doesn’t even know the whole story. Actually, he has zero knowledge of any part of my past. He doesn’t know that I am who I am. And I have way too much emotional baggage. If he knew that I am this broken, he wouldn’t have interest in me.”

The woman on the other side of the call stays silent for a moment. “Okay, dear, first thing that you need to remember: your past doesn’t define who you are, if can or cannot be in a relationship or how much you are worth. This boy seems to like you a lot. It had nothing to do with your past, but with who you are. Also, you don’t own anyone your whole life story. Even if you two end up dating, you should tell him when and if you are ready.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” her aunt reassures her. “Lulu, you are not broken. You never have been. Yes, you have traumas and scars and pain because something horrible happened. But you are not broken.”

“What if he thinks I am when he finds out?” the girl asks quietly. The last thing she wants is to push the boy away. He had become so important to her so fast.

“Then, he doesn’t deserve you. I know that it seems complicated, but you have to try and live day by day, okay? Your future holds beautiful things. You have to let it come.”

“Thanks, Auntie Rita.”

“I am always here for it. Good night, Lulu. Eu te amo.”

“Eu te amo também,” she responds in Portuguese and hangs up the phone.

That night, when she falls asleep, she dreams of diamond eyes and crooked smiles. Her aunt appeased some of her worries and she feels ready to face whatever the future might bring. She feels lighter again as she does in the ocean or as she did in JJ’s arms that morning.

“i think you’re gonna change my plans with those emerald eyes and you don’t even understand just how far i dive” (claudia – finneas)

additional notes:

- "chega de saudade" means something along the times of "enough of missing you"

- "eu te amo"/"eu te amo também" = i love you/i love you too

[zoessecretjournal]

Monday, April 19th, 2021

Today was a great day! I didn’t sleep so well despite the full on beach day we had the day before. It was Taylor’s last day here, unfortunately we really only got to say goodbye today as I was leaving at 11am this morning to meet up with Ryan. I let her sleep in my bed and she gave a groggy goodbye as my Lyft approached the apt. On the way to Ryan’s I listened to Shygirl and started out the window, trying to stay cool. It was the first time I would see him since all of our serious talks, and he had been spending the weekend trying to help Kathleen get to LAX (she mixed up the dates apparently) so I expected him to be tired. I got there around 11:30 am, dressed in my chartreuse green baby doll dress with a white soft tee underneath. My gold earrings, white tennis shoes and gold lobster broach as accessories, and a natural style face. When he came to collect me from outside he certainly looked tired, but happy to see me. When inside, he complimented the color of my dress and drew in to kiss me, and then he held me for a long while. He genuinely gives really good and meaningful hugs.

As soon as I sit down on the couch he plops his head on my lap, wanting me to scratch his head. I tell him he’s just like a cat and he gives me a look to suggest “so?” in a cute way. Whenever I scratch his head, he always ends up doing it to me at the same time, as well as using his other free hand to hold mine or touch me in some way. We stay this way, catching long gazes at each other intermittently, for about half an hour. He asks me about my Hinge profile and how I must have a line of suitors. I tell him about my date with Daniel and how cringe it was, but not before he asked if I kissed him!!! I lie and say no, because I never wanted to really kiss Daniel in the first place. We have fun reveling in how basic Daniel is, and then Ryan proceeds to tell me about his coffee date with someone this week with someone from Hinge. Apparently she is also “ethically non-monogamous” and only wants to make friends. Whatever.

Then we decide to walk to his car to head off to the LACMA. Ryan shows me how they just laid out new tar on his street and someone had ruined it by driving on it, he really isn’t happy about it apparently. I honestly don’t really understand the big idea, but maybe I would care if I drove. On the way to his car he is of course quiet and a really slow walker, I feel like I fumble all the time trying to keep his pace while traversing the uprooted side walks of East Hollywood. Ryan thought he got a ticket as we were walking to his car and my stomach dropped, knowing how much that has effected other people I’ve dated in the past. Thankfully it ended up just being a “thank you” note from someone he helped get a spot behind his car. I could breath a sigh of relief, honestly. On the way there he held my hand, put his hand on my though, squeezed my fingers while catching my glance a few times. He doesn’t talk much in the car and I’m learning he really shows that he cares in a lot of non-verbal cues, which is so different from the Ryan I knew as a friend.

At the muesuem, Ryan gets a iced espresso before we get in. The place was pretty empty and we weren’t in a rush, it was a nice change of pace to be outside with him somewhere in the day time. Ryan took a second picture of me (The first was while i was sitting on his couch) in front of the dome next to the LACMA. Both were prompted by him, which made me feel pretty good. During the Nara exhibit, I found that I was much more talkative, I actually expected him to make jokes about more of the art but there were none! He didn’t even laugh at some of the funny ones! I respected his approach though, very contemplative. There were some really beautiful pieces, and I take a long while to stop and stare at everything. I really appreciated his patience and how he kept pace with me, he was interested in seeing it all with me.  The big paintings of Nara’s work were pretty amazing to see up close. I’ve seen a lot of this work in art books, but those photographs and scans can never capture the way the skin of the character’s look in person. They literally look alive, you see all the blue, pink and yellow hues that make a breathing person, but with this simple illustrated, petulant face. The eyes were also a kaleidoscope of colors, his techniques I've tried to commit to memory. especially the white dot technique.

After the exhibition Ryan thanks me for inviting him, saying no one ever invites him to things like this or things in the day time. I ask why he thought that was? He replied “I don’t know, covid?” and then he sings “or maybe I’m secretly cancelled!”. I wish I would of said this at the time, but I suspect it’s because he’s sober, and I hope that doesn't happen to me. He asks if I am hungry, and I say that I am, he suggests Korean BBQ by his place, to which I agree. We drove down 6th st which apparently he had never gone down and he remarked on how beautiful it was, it certainly was, I had missed it. We still hold hands, and even tighter this time as we make our way to K-Town. We both order the Bulgogi and while we wait for our take-out order Ryan discusses with me his thoughts on the exhibit. He spoke about how long Nara had been an artist and expected to do the same style over and over because it’s what sells and rarely to those artists get to do other stuff. He then started relaying it to his own work and how dispensable art is and how we just eat content like McDonald’s. I agree with him, I explained how I felt disenfranchised for those reasons as well. We get our food eventually and head back to his apt. On the way back from the car, Ryan makes a few stories on people leaving bagged dog shit in random places in his neighborhood. He doesn’t have a lot of shame when it comes to his musings in comedy. A quality I both admire and am fearful of. When we get inside I take off my shoes and spruce up a little. We eat in his kitchen next to his two open windows with the honey suckle veranda directly outside. We both had a non-alcoholic beer with our meal which was surprisingly good.  I can’t remember much about what we talked about, I think we just were eating and played footsie a little bit.

He invited me to lay down with him in his room after we were done, so I followed him there. We laid down for some moments, very close and comfortable.I was caressing him all over, I genuinely like to do that with my partners, but specifically Ryan, hes very receptive to touch. We end up kissing and he stops and asks me if I really want to do “this” and I tell him I do. We end up having sex twice, both times Ryan tries hard to focus on me cumming. I don’t but I think he thinks I did the 2nd time. For some reason I’m having a hard time with that, and also getting wet, but I still had a great time (I was really close though) . We felt closer some how, less stress involved. I even fell asleep with his head in my chest. When he woke up, he woke me up. He caressed my neck and grabbed my face to look at it, my eyes still half-way closed. He gets up to go take a bath and I slowly come to and retrieve my phone and go sit in the kitchen next to the open window. I respond to everyone I can, Matt (from Hinge, who I met yesterday at the bonfire) had messaged me to tell me he was free all week, and he was making carbonara if I wanted to stop by. I think I’m going to see him tomorrow.

When Ryan gets out of the Bath and dressed (in a matching green playstation shirt might I add) he puts on a podcast, gets a sparkling water and lays down on the couch. I assume, no room for me, so he wanted to be alone. He was quite quiet as well again. So I decide to purchase somethings from amazon (sewing machine, humidifier, etc) and when I finally put my phone down I look over at Ryan and he was looking at me. He immediately puts his arms up to say “Come here”. As I approach he says that I can lay on him any way I like, face up, down etc, and so I lay down on him stomach down so I can still see him, and he starts to massage my shoulders. We listen to this podcast for awhile like that, and talk about random things relating to it. at some point they get onto the topic of Randonautica, in which I explain to Ryan, who had never heard of it, what it was all about. As I’m explaining it, he downloads the app! I had dared him to do it, but he actually was really interested. Funnily enough, the pin it dropped was right in between his ex-gf’s apt (Dani) and his good friend Shawn’s apt (Who they both date apparently) which really freaked him out. But just as he got the pin, his friend Shawn messaged him on facebook! He looks at me bewildered and asks if I want to meet his friend Shawn and go check out the pin and I agree. I had expected to sleep over but felt instantly rejected, but realized we had spent a lot of close time together so I should just deal with my feelings right then and there. Ryan gets my attention and re-assures me it’s just because he hasn’t had much space the past few days and he had a really lovely day with me. His serious tone made me feel better and I assured him that I was ok.

Before we head out I ask if we can take a Polaroid together, unfortunately both times they are incredibly blown out. He lets me borrow a jacket of his, even though I just gave him back his sweater and we head off. I tell him that I have a bunch of mushrooms I’ve been waiting to take and ask him if the next time we hang out if we could do them/he could babysit me and he enthusiastically agrees. Even though I tell him I am quite the handful on them in large doses, he had a look of reassurance that he can handle it. We’ll see.

We arrive in the area and walk to the pin, Ryan points out where Dani lives as we pass by. The pin was behind a residential gate with an old mustang stored in it, with both its hood and trunk open and a shovel up against it. Ryan tells me his “intention” he set for it was for us to see a UFO, which there was none. But we did see a cardboard cutout of Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z, so I guess him being an alien is close enough. We walk to his friend’s house, which Ryan had the access code memorized, they must be very close. Shaun and his friend seemed to be working on something music oriented for a game as we walked in, Shaun was very nice and welcoming. We end up talking for awhile and he offered me a Kombucha, Ryan seemed to really enjoy himself and liked that I got along so well. We hung out probably for about half an hour and then decided to head out so Ryan could take me home. He asks me how I’m doing and I say that I am having a really nice time, and he looked really happy about that and confirmed he was too.

On the ride back he had his hand on my thigh and I had my hands on his hand and the back of his neck, giving him a light massage while we listened to the tail end of that podcast. When we get to my place he tells me I should borrow his jacket again, that it looks nice. I tell him that I’m going to be busy all week but we will see each other soon, he tells me he is also going to be pretty busy. He reiterates what a great time he had that day and gives me a deep kiss and a long hug. We part ways and I arrive back home to tell Johnny some of the snippets of today while I respond to all my messages on my phone. I ate sushi and got ready for bed. Ryan texts me a bit in the evening, telling me again! how nice today was and what he was up to. It felt really easy and nice.

[psychadelickate]

NCIS - Gibbs: New Year’s Eve

Imagine: New Year’s Eve Word Count: 1733 Fandom: NCIS Pairing: Gibbs x Reader Gif: Not Mine Requested: Prompt: New Year’s Eve

“Gibbs would never agree to it,” McGee says. Yes, Gibbs has apparently softened in the last few years, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with having more than four people in his house at a time, more so when he’s there as well. “Oh, come on McGee, how bad can it really be?” you’d asked. The look he shared with Bishop and Torres was more than you needed to know. “Fine, if you’re so sure he’s not going to blow a gasket, go ahead and plan it,” he tells you. “Then again he does seem more into you than he does on the rest of the team,” Jimmy adds and you turn to glare at him. Yes, Gibbs hasn’t head slapped you yet, or reamed you out as he did the others at times, but giving you more leeway… you weren’t sure. “You’re crazy,” you reply. There’s no way Gibbs is interested in you. Sure, you flirt and joke around, but there has never been a time where you’d thought it would go beyond that. “Besided, he has Rule 12. Remember?” Still, there was nothing lost in trying and so you’d went and planned the dinner anyway… reeling in Palmer and Kasie as well. For all his protesting and arguing, you’re almost sure Gibbs has enjoyed hosting New Year’s dinner at his home this year. Normally, Dr Mallard would host, but you had decided to make a change this year. Gibbs had looked murderously at you when you’d come up with the idea, but you’d ignored him and went ahead anyway. The worst he could do was stay in his basement the entire evening.

You’d organised everything with the rest of the team with each of them bringing a dish or two, whatever they fancied. There were no rules, though you were thankful when Jack had offered to make the turkey. You’d decided to stick with making dessert, it was what you were good at. Granted, you weren’t bad at cooking, but you didn’t want to risk it. Gibbs had wondered just how everyone would fit in the small area, but you assured him there was enough space for the entire team. You’d procured a round table, with chairs, that seated twelve and actually fitted in Gibb’s dining room space, and you’d found a rotating serving board that would make it easier for everyone to help themselves. Soon enough there were sounds of screeching and shrieking laughter. Victoria, Morgan and John McGee Jr were having the time of their lives. Yes, their parents were horrified at their behaviour, but kids were kids and they weren’t breaking things, they were merely having fun. You did remember the safety gates to cordon off the staircases though and the fireplace. Dinner had been lively and fun with everything being grateful for everything they had. Sure, it wasn’t their own families, but this dysfunctional one worked for some odd reason. Gibbs’ house had been transformed at evening; from the quietest, darkest house on the street to one where warm soft light and gentle laughter had escaped through the windows. The roaring fire in the fireplace had added to the cosiness of an intimate family dinner. Jack had been the first to start clearing up, informing everyone she had no intention of spending the countdown wiping and packing dishes. There was certainly more to life than that! “You really need to get a dishwasher, Gibbs,” Jack informs him though he simply shakes his head. “Not happenin,” he responds. “Well if you did, (Y/N) wouldn’t have to be using elbow grease to wash everything,” Jack continues. “I’m almost done, Jack. Just wiping down the counters,” you inform her. “Well in that case, I’m going to get a drink and join the rest of the team on the porch,” she says as she grabs a mug filled with one-part scotch and two rocks. You hear the click of the closing door a few seconds later. By the time you’re done with the counters and sink Gibbs is leaning against the doorframe, shirtsleeves folded halfway up his forearm. You have to remember to breathe… After all the noise and talking, Gibb’s house seems uncharacteristically quiet now, save for the iPod and speakers in the corner softly playing Christmas songs. “All done,” you tell him and turns to look at you. You see something flit in his eyes, but its too quick to call him on it. “(Y/N),” he says, and you meet his gaze. “Thanks.” You frown at his words. He has no reason to be thanking you, if anything, you should be thanking him for allowing you to use his home to entertain the team. “Gibbs -,” you start, but he stops you as takes a step closer to you. “No (Y/N), my house hasn’t felt like a home in years and this today… Thank you.” “Well there was only two ways this would go. You could have spent the evening holed up alone in your basement, or you could’ve joined us. I’m glad you chose to join us,” you tell him. “I know people don’t do New Year gifts, but I got you something, just to say thanks for allowing us to use your home tonight. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, but I thought it was an apt gift for you.” You can see he wants to protest but you don’t let him, instead holding the bag out for him to take. “Aren’t you going to open it?” you ask, your enthusiasm bubbling out. He shrugs his shoulders and then proceeds to open it. There’s a fair amount of tissue paper, light blue, which he places on the counter and proceeds to pull out the gift from the bag. It’s a plush toy. A teddy bear, to be exact. A medium sized, soft, plush, white teddy bear, clothed in a red sweater, with the Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblems on it.  You’d also managed to get it personalised with Gibb’s name on the back of the sweater. It’s a marine bear… You’d thought of him as soon as you’d seen it. Sure, he was gruff and stoic on the outside, but once you got to know him, he was a total softie on the inside… A genuine laugh escapes him. “I’ll take that as approval,” you tell him. “Yeah,” he says, still examining the bear. “I’m glad you like it.” He straightens from the doorframe and takes a step closer to you. “Thank You, (Y/N),” he says again, this time with a kiss to your cheek. “Happy New Year, Gibbs,” you say in reply. He’s cheek is still pressed against yours, neither of you ready to move. You breathe him in. He smells like wood and Cool Water, and something essentially Gibbs. And then you feel his hands on your back, pulling you into him. You don’t resist. You know this is a turning point in your relationship with him. Yes, you’ve flirted, but he’d never asked you out, officially. But this… this feels completely different. “That’s not how you give a New Year’s Kiss,” he deadpans, lazy smirk gracing his mouth. Your heart starts racing… You feel him move against you, his cheek brushing yours until his mouth is almost touching yours, just a few millimetres separating you. He whispers your name and you look up at him, giving him permission to kiss you. He’s about to do so when you hear McGee calling out for the two of you. “Hey guys, the countdown’s started, you’re going to miss the fireworks,” he says and the moment is broken. Gibbs is the first to break away and you internally cuss at the disruption. “Don’t wanna miss the fireworks,” you tell Gibbs as you grab a coffee mug and head outside, Gibbs two steps behind you. Everyone’s out on the porch, kids included, and you come to a stop at the wooden railing. The countdown is at six already. You feel heat behind you and then a body come into contact with your back. Five… You don’t need to check who it is, you’re already intimately aware of Gibbs’ scent. Sawdust, and something innately Gibbs and for some odd reason Cool Water perfume; even though he claims not to use the stuff. Four… He places a hand on your hip, warm and heavy and you know nothing is going to be the same after this. Three… You’re so surprised at his next action that you lose focus of everything else but the feeling of him placing open mouthed kisses on your neck. Your hands squeeze into fists. Two… “Gibbs,” you whisper when the world comes exploding back, wanting to ask him if he’s sure about this. One… You don’t get the chance to because the countdown has stopped and the ball has dropped and everyone’s cheering and the next thing you feel his Gibb’s mouth pressed to yours, his lips brushing gently over yours, waiting for you to give him access. You do. And then he’s deepening the kiss, putting his everything into it. It’s hard and fiery and passionate and you really can’t get enough of him. You pull him closer to you, one hand on the back of his neck making sure he can’t pull away from you while the other cards through his hair. You don’t want to stop kissing this man… And then the need for oxygen overrides everything, and you pull away from him, but he doesn’t let you go. He allows you just enough space to note that he’s panting, his pupils are blown and his cheeks tinged pink with the cold. He keeps you in his space and as soon as he gets some semblance of his breath back, kisses you again. This time it’s hot and heady and it makes your toes curl, and you cling to him afraid if you let go, you’ll fall, your knees weakened by the intensity of his kiss. “That’s how you do a new year kiss,” Gibbs tells you and this time you’re the one that can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Nick looks confused, Jack, Bishop and McGee less so, but Jimmy, Jimmy is the one to voice it. “Took you long enough, Agent Gibbs,” he says and Gibbs fixes the medical examiner with a glare, but it doesn’t scare Jimmy. Not tonight when there’s promise of new things to come.

tag list: @cameronmonaghantrashaf​ @pinturicchio13​ @diaryofafan17​ @iwritetoavoidmyproblems​ @ladyzombiielove​ @stanathanxoox​ @mahc1562​ @evy-lyn​ @anycsirp​ @kitty-kat2018 @mackenziepart2 @kittenlittle24​ @manicmarsupial​ @fullmoonshadowwrites​ @nocturnalherb16​ @countrygirl17​a 

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know.  Happy New Years to everyone out there, Hope this year brings you all you want and need

[qquinntessential]

ON THE CREATION OF HARLEY QUINN

First thing’s first, there are SO MANY different tellings of Harley’s origin story, it feels like no one at DC can agree on any one, so I’ll be taking bits and pieces from some of them, but for the most part, Stjepan Šejić’s version of events in ‘ HARLEEN ’ reigns supreme. I also want to make it very clear that I don’t believe that Harley is completely blameless in her turn to villainy. Was she manipulated? YES. Was it still her decision to take the action she did? ALSO YES. Just because Joker’s a conniving little shit doesn’t mean that Harley is completely absolved of any wrongdoing / responsibility. So, without further ado, LET’S GET INTO IT.

HARLEEN QUINZEL was one of the most promising post - doctoral students that had graduated from GOTHAM UNIVERSITY. With a B. Sc., an M. D. and a PhD under her belt, no one would’ve suspected the upbringing she came from. A father who disappeared from the picture at fifteen for some lowly conning and a dingy Bensonhurst apartment with little to no love to spare didn’t exactly come to mind when talking about a 3.87 GPA and a GYMNASTICS SCHOLARSHIP. And it’s not like people were too apt to believe that those things were WELL DESERVED when they belonged to bleached blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and lips that smiled too often. In fact, their biases were only STRENGTHENED when she was caught with one of the psychology department professors in what she believed was an act of GENUINE AFFECTION. To say that her graduation was a RELIEF was an understatement. Her peers still mocked her until, to her surprise, the funding for her research at ARKHAM ASYLUM had been granted. She was the one laughing now.

This was where the trouble began. She could feel in her bones that something EXTRAORDINARY was about to go down, but she had no idea just how extraordinary it would truly be. Flipping through patient files, she recognized some faces, her television screen having broadcasted them through the darkness of her small apartment, just as worn as the one she’d grown up in, but with more warmth of her own. POISON IVY. THE RIDDLER. KILLER CROC. One in particular, however, piqued her interest. THE JOKER. A man with no rhyme or reason that anyone could decipher. UNTIL NOW. She was convinced that her predecessors had all come in with the wrong approach. They’d regarded him as nothing more than a criminal, out for personal gain. They were WRONG, in her eyes. To her, he was just like anyone else. “ WHY’D YOU DO IT ?? ” would not be her question. No, she was more concerned with “ HOW CAN I HELP ?? ”. So their first session was booked and her life was changed forever.

Quickly, seeds dug deep, sprouting furiously. She was never a good sleeper, but now she COULDN’T SLEEP. Not without seeing HIM and every time she did, she stayed awake for the rest of the night. If it wasn’t for her NEW - FOUND FRIEND ( the cheapest whisky on the shelf ) and their PARTNER ( more caffeine than most humans could handle ), she most certainly would’ve died of exhaustion. But she carried on, knowing that she was GETTING SOMEWHERE her colleagues hadn’t with him. Meanwhile, she ignored the ALARMS sounding in her head, warning her to BE CAREFUL. She was convinced she could handle her LITTLE CRUSH. Convinced that it was just EMPATHY rooting deep within her for a patient with which she was working closely. And then, when she could no longer CONVINCE herself, she IGNORED. Ignored the ETHICAL VIOLATIONS. Ignored the RISK TO HER CAREER. Ignored the MESS THAT SHE WAS GETTING HERSELF INTO. Because, in all honesty, the things he said MADE SENSE. And so she spiralled into this self - made pit until she found HIM at the bottom, waiting with OPEN ARMS and HUNGRY LIPS.

Everything sank into her bones the minute THE BAT had his hands on her patient. WHO WAS HE TO ENFORCE THE MORALITY OF THE CITY WHEN MORALITY ITSELF WAS SUBJECTIVE ?? The rage festered, manifesting in her attempts to further REHABILITATE her patient. She needed to show him that she UNDERSTOOD. That she was ON HIS SIDE. That’s how she’d win him over, RIGHT ?? But before she could sneak him the weapons he’d requested, another force had seeped its way into ARKHAM. 

Before anyone could react, GOTHAM’S MOST WANTED had been granted an early pardon, havoc spilling from every cell into BLOODIED HALLWAYS before taking to the streets. She stumbled upon it halfway through the ordeal, dashing inside despite the horror. SHE HAD TO MAKE SURE HE WAS OKAY. Before her mind was at peace, she’d been cornered, a gun brandished, HARVEY DENT HIMSELF determining her fate with the toss of a coin. She’d been lucky that her patient didn’t believe in such determinism. He believed in BRICKS. The weapon clattered to the ground, metal against tile, her head SPINNING as she tried to make sense of what was going on, her place in this MAD REALITY, who was really the bad guy, how they were going to ESCAPE FROM IT ALL. Flashlight rounded the corner and suddenly none of those questions mattered anymore. Another gun had her heart racing, but this time it’s aimed at BLEACHED SKIN. 

Before she can comprehend it, a BULLET IS DEPLOYED, a shot RINGING through hallowed halls, a body crumples to the ground. THE JOKER STILL STANDS. She didn’t know what to do. The recoil had her hand shaking as blue eyes feasted on the scene. AN INNOCENT MAN HAD DIED BY HER HAND. A laugh slipped from surprised lips. And then another. IT WAS HILARIOUS, WASN’T IT ?? Nothing she did, good or bad intentioned, MATTERED. He really was right, and for the first time, she saw it for herself, FIRST - HAND. The blood, the guts, the CHAOS. 

NONE OF IT MATTERED. 

She donned the red and black with a SMILE ON HER FACE, one that mirrored his own; CAREFREE and WILD. She had finally found her true self in HARLEY QUINN, THE CLOWN PRINCESS OF CRIME, and NOTHING ELSE MATTERED.

[loserslibrary]

pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier [Reddie] written by: Jane rating: Teen word count: 2,306  prompt: “ hello! Could i please request a domestic reddie fic! Anything with kids will make me very happy, thank you ”

Richie’s resigned himself to a lot of things in his life.

Some which are still true—he’s never going to be able to fucking ice skate, giraffe human that he is, but he’s found a workaround in being very good at letting Eddie pull him across the ice—and some which aren’t—namely some thought-to-be hopeless yearnst for Eddie when he was sixteen which culminated in two very dramatic song-writing sessions, proven unnecessary five months later when Eddie captured his lips in a kiss at the quarry.

Still, one thing he hadn’t been expecting to resign himself to was his lack of future as a PTA Dad, and yet, here he is. 35 years old and seeing his brief dream of being the cupcake god of Ms Divega’s class turn to smoke before his very eyes. 

Literal smoke, that is. 

“Daddy,” Gab says, nose scrunched up, tone solemn, “they don’t smell good.”

His daughter is highly critical. Unfortunately, she’s also correct.

Richie reaches to open the oven, before pausing halfway, glancing at the smoke he can already see, and then back at Gab. There’s a teenage Eddie in the back of his head, lecturing him and Bev on all the different types of smoke, and how they’re all bad for you, stop inhaling carcinogens, you fucking nerds—-okay, Richie can’t actually remember the entire lecture, just the way Eddie looked with his hand on his hip and brow furrowed, but he’s pretty sure that the takeaway of it is that he should probably move his daughter well out of range of any smoke that might escape when he opens the oven door.

“C’mon, Gabs,” Richie says, scooping her up in his arms. Her arms settle around his neck obligingly, and he’s overwhelmed with affection. There were legitimately days when Richie had thought he’d never have anything like this—when he thought it would be swallowing his feelings down forever, watching all his friends find something worth holding onto, staying on the sidelines because he couldn’t be brave when it counted. But look at him now: married to the love of his life, getting paid to make people laugh for a living, and baking health hazards with his daughter. He’s always had dreams he’s striven for, but none of his imagined happiness ever came close to how he feels now, burnt cupcakes and all.

He puts her down on the other end of the countertop from the oven, then hands her a tea towel. He leans in close, like he’s about to tell her something Top Secret, and she leans in eagerly. “If the oven explodes, just, like, fan it away,” he says conspiratorially. Her eyes widen, but she nods firmly, her face settling into a resolute expression. For someone with no biological relation to either of them, Richie thinks, it’s astounding how much she looks like Eddie when she does that.

He heads back to the oven and, with a quick exaggeratedly wide-eyed glance at Gab, he opens the door. Smoke immediately emerges, and Richie’s stuck fanning his hand in front of his face and coughing for a few moments until it dissipates enough for him to actually see. Grabbing a tea towel to cover his hand, he reaches in and pulls out the cupcake tray, dropping it on the stove top with a wince and slamming the oven shut.

“Mission success,” Richie says, giving Gab a thumbs up.

She surveys him and the cupcake tray dubiously. “They look bad,” she says bluntly.

“Okay, Operation Survive The Smoke was a success,” Richie relents. “Operation Cupcake God is still in progress.”

“Operation what?” Richie hears, and turns to face Eddie, who’s surveying the kitchen like he can’t decide if he should laugh or groan.

“Operation Cupcake God,” Gab repeats matter-of-factly. “Daddy’s going to take over the PTA like Darth Vader. ‘Cept I think he shouldn’t cut off Mrs Colby’s arm because she needs it to bake brownies and I love her brownies.”

Richie throws Gab a betrayed look. “How am I meant to overthrow her PTA dictatorship if she can still bake brownies to tempt you with?” he asks her.

“Not by serving these, that’s for sure,” Eddie says, prodding one of the cupcakes with a chopstick—where did he even get that?—and sporting the same dubious expression Gab was before. 

Gab clambers across the kitchen bench, peering at the carnage, and Richie swings her off, anchoring her to his hip. “Don’t get too close,” he warns, “the oven’s still hot.”

She throws him a very unimpressed look, and Eddie laughs. “He’s right, Gab,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It’d hurt.”

“Is it because we acciden’ly made a volcano?” Gab asks frankly, looking at the carnage with a curious expression. She leans over to poke one, forgoing Eddie’s chopstick and simply using her finger, and lets out a distressed huff when she touches it. “It’s hard.”

“Too bad this wasn’t for science fair,” Richie says. “She’s got a point about the volcano thing.”

Eddie laughs. “What’s Operation Cupcake God for anyway?” he asks. “Casual Thursday afternoon world domination strategies?”

“It’s the class party tomorrow,” Gab informs him, “and everyone always wants to sit by El because her mom makes the best brownies and I want them to sit by me.”

Eddie’s expression doesn’t lose its amused undercurrent, but it softens into fondness, and he reaches for her. She obligingly puts her arms around his neck and Richie hands her to Eddie. “I see how it is,” he says dramatically, “I’m the favourite until he’s home, huh?”

“Yep,” Gab says cheekily, before cackling with laughter when Richie squawks in outrage and proceeds to tickle her sides. Eddie, because he’s stronger and has more control of his limbs than Richie could ever hope to, keeps hold of her even through all her wriggling, though he takes mercy after a few more seconds and moves her out of reach of Richie’s hands.

“So, Operation Cupcake God is purely about Gab’s popularity, hmm?” Eddie asks, giving Richie a knowing expression.

“There may have been some newly-discovered dreams of being her class’ Peak PTA Parent,” Richie admits.

“I thought that might be the case,” Eddie says with a grin. “Why didn’t you ask Ben for help? Or Mike? Mike’s good at directions.”

“I’m good at directions!” Richie protests.

Eddie gives him a flat look.

“Well, I’m better than Bill,” he grumbles.

“Not exactly a winning argument, Rich,” Eddie says dryly.

“Ben’s got, like, an actual job,” Richie says. “And Mike—well, I probably should have called Mike, but like, I didn’t realise we could recreate Chernobyl with a cupcake recipe.”

“I’ve learned to never underestimate you two,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Gab’s nose, making her giggle.

“Hilarious,” Richie says, but he can’t help but give them a fond smile. God, he’s so fucking happy. He has been for years now, but it still never fails to take his breath away.

“Yeah, Jason called, he’s giving me your next gig instead,” Eddie says.

“You joke, but he definitely thinks you’re funnier than me,” Richie grumbles, before brightening. “Though the idea of you on stage is amazing.”

Eddie visibly shudders, and Gab gives him a concerned look. “Yeah, for you, because you enjoy my suffering,” Eddie mutters. “I’d rather help you stage this PTA mutiny than that.” He notices Gab’s expression, and nudges her forehead gently with his own. “You and I are happy sticking in the garage, right? Daddy can have all the stage he wants.”

Gab giggles. “Yeah,” she allows, before adding, “‘cept when we’re dancing. We’re way better at it than he is. I wanna be on stage then!”

Richie laughs. “Yeah, okay, rugrat, if I get the call for Dancing With The Stars, I’ll send you in my place,” he tells her. “You’ll be half their height and still the best dancer there.”

“Will I get a trophy?” she asks seriously.

“Absolutely,” Richie says. “All of America will vote for you—well, actually, America and voting systems don’t really have a good track record, but I trust the public to make better decisions with pop culture than politics.”

Gab gives him a blank look, and Eddie stifles a chuckle.

“You’ll get a trophy,” Richie promises, “but first, your dad promised to help us with Operation Cupcake God—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie says, “back it up—when did I agree to that?”

“You said you’d help with the mutiny!” Richie says brightly. “Didn’t he, Gabs?”

Gab nods. “You did,” she says clearly. “I heard you. PTA munity then we hang in the garage.”

“Mutiny,” Eddie corrects gently, then sighs. “All right, fine. Let’s clear all this up, then start again.”

“Why do we need to clean it up? It’s just gonna get messy again,” Richie points out, which he feels is a reasonable objection.

Eddie throws him an incredulous look. Richie’s pretty sure Gab has no idea why that’s the expression he’s choosing, but she mimics it anyway. Double trouble, those two.

“A lot of reasons, like it’s going to be harder to clean later if we leave some of this stuff too long, and hygiene reasons for clean workspaces, but mostly that we only have one cupcake tray,” Eddie says, delivering his final point like the closing remarks of some law drama. Which, Richie has to admit, is kind of apt, because it’s a pretty hard point to argue against.

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says, but he swoops down and kisses Eddie on the side of his head, and then Gab on her forehead.

“What was that for?” Eddie asks, but he’s smiling, and the look in his eyes is so soft that Richie thinks he could die of it.

“Just overwhelmed with love for you, Eds,” he says, and it sounds like a joke, but it’s not, it’s not, and it never has been. Eddie’s always been good at seeing the truth behind the laugh—except when it came to him, but they’re well past that now, thank fuck, and now Richie gets to tell Eddie he loves him every day and not only does Eddie know he means it, but he means it back—and Richie’s glad for it every fucking day.

“Sap,” Eddie teases, but his expression is so fond that Richie thinks his chest might actually split from all the love welling up inside.

“Yeah, yeah, stop trying to distract us from the cleaning,” Richie says instead, ignoring Eddie’s huff of indignant laughter. “C’mon, put down the rugrat, she and I can tackle the volcano if you want to find an actual cupcake recipe that works.”

“You managed to cause this much chaos by following a recipe?” Eddie asks incredulously, but obliges.

“I mean, loosely,” Richie says with a shrug.

“This is what I meant about directions,” Eddie says, but he’s laughing. “Show me the recipe you had, I’ll see whether it looks useful.”

Richie nods his head towards his iPad—discarded on the couch in all the chaos—and turns to Gab. “You ready to scrub like our lives depend on it?” he asks, before adding in a stage-whisper that he’s perfectly aware Eddie can hear, “because they probably do.”

Gab starts giggling uncontrollably, and Richie turns his head to see Eddie pulling the finger at him. Richie’s face stretches into a grin even as he puts his hand over Gab’s eyes.

“Why, I never!” Richie says in his best Southern Belle Voice. “The absolute scandal of it—Gabs, I don’t know if you’ll ever be allowed to look at the world again. I’m simply gobsmacked—and from a gentleman, no less!”

Gab’s full-on cackling now, and Eddie’s laughing too, and everything in Richie’s chest feels light. She laughs at his Voices just like Eddie did when they were kids—though Gab actually thinks they’re good. To be fair, they’ve improved a lot, and Eddie probably had a point when they were younger.

It takes them a few minutes after that, mostly because Eddie and Gab would finally stop laughing but then catch each other’s eyes and set each other off again, but they eventually get the kitchen cleaned and a suitable recipe identified. Fixing the cupcake tray is an absolute mission until Gab has the bright idea to pour boiling water on the charred mess—“Like when we have to get blu-tack out of Saffy’s hair in class,” Gab says sagely, to which Eddie looks absolutely horrified—and it makes the burnt cupcakes soggy enough that they can scoop them into the trash with a spoon.

Even making the cupcakes is a lot easier with Eddie. Richie thinks everything is probably easier with Eddie, though he has to admit that following the recipe properly probably has some effect.

“Okay, sweetheart, what colour icing do you want to do?” Eddie asks.

Gab sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth as she thinks.

“She looks like you when she does that,” Eddie says quietly, and Richie starts.

“I didn’t know I did that,” he admits, and Eddie laughs.

“Only when you’re thinking really hard,” he says, then pushes onto his tiptoes to press a kiss against Richie’s lips. “It’s cute.”

“Cute, cute, cute!” Gab says, and Eddie looks at her in amusement.

“Where’d you hear that one, Gab?” he asks with a grin.

“Daddy says all your photos are cute, cute, cute,” Gab informs him.

Richie shrugs. “What can I say, Gabs? He’s always been so cute.”

“You’re cuter, though,” Eddie says to Gab, and she beams.

“Okay,” she agrees happily. “Can we do pink?”

And maybe Richie’s never going to be the Peak PTA Parent of Ms Divega’s class, or even just be allowed to bake anything without supervision ever again, but that’s okay. Watching Gab squeeze the piping bag too hard and Eddie lick his fingers of all the excess she got on him, Richie thinks he’s already got everything he needs right here.

[isabeladraws]

this took longer than i wanted to, hopefully you don’t mind! i wanted to make a big thread of random thoughts that came into my head. i decided to answer this way so i can put a cut and people don’t have to read this ridiculously long post!

sunday and beckett pregnancy hcs 🌷👶✨

beckett knows sunday is pregnant before herself. during her period week he knows her mood changes and how horny she sometimes can be. her period is very regular and he knows what to expect and how to comfort her during it. but, it never came. he was busy himself and didn’t realise it until that time of the month was well past them.

“sunday, is everything alright with… you know.. your period?”

“what do you mean?”

“it’s late. your period is never late”

“i think it might be from stress of the games. it’s been madness!”

beckett didn’t seem reassured but he let it go. she knows her body better than he ever could. sunday however was starting to have doubts so she buys a pregnancy test and wouldn’t you freaking know it… it’s positive.

beckett knows when sunday looks at him after she takes that test. he doesn’t even have to see it to believe when she says “you were right… i’m pregant, b”

he hugs her like never before, lifting her off the ground, swaying her in his arms. beckett cries a little, sunday does too. the shock is so big, it wasn’t planned but at the same time, very wanted.

“only beckett harrington to figure out when a girl’s period is late”

“hey, it’s a great few days for said beckett harrington”

“well, too bad they won’t be happening for a while”

“i wouldn’t change a thing, sunday. i love you”

“i love you t- WHAT IF IT’S TWINS BECKETT????!! we cannot handle two babies at once, can we?? omg mom is going to freak out, and atlas… we’re gonna be PARENTS! BECKETT WHY ARE YOU SMILING, YOU NEED TO FREAK OUT WITH ME!!”

they only tell atlas and shreya during the first trimester. sunday knew atlas wouldn’t be able to keep the secret from shreya and shreya would figure it out in 10 minutes anyway. they’re happy to have someone to talk to about it.

it’s the 6 week apointment, sunday had only had a blood test to confirm the pregnancy and passed with flying colors. beckett was with her of course and they were excited to see baby.

the doctor found one baby and they smiled, everything looked healthy and 10 seconds later the doctor is like oh looks like there’s two! oh my mistake, there are three babies in there!

beckett didn’t faint because he was already sitting down. sunday saw her life flash before her eyes.

“what?” said both of them

“yeap, three heartbeats, it’s too early to tell if they might be identical or not”

“are you absolutely sure, doctor?” asked beckett

and the doctor showed them in the ultrassoung machine, three black voids filled with a white dot each and their pulsing hearts. they were having triplets.

i believe pregnancy with multiples need to monitored way more often than ones with just one baby so regular appts for these two. beckett hates missing them but they’re both busy

beckett would still be studying and working freelance (i still have no concrete idea what his job would be, maybe something with writing/research?)

sunday is told to slow things down so she takes a break from the team before quitting altogether 

i haven’t decided on the triplets birthday yet but i’m leaning torwards scorpio/sagittarius season (maybe aries season too?)

beckett and sunday still travel quite a bit 

sunday feels pretty great for the most part, i think the hardest part of her pregnancy is towards the end

beck really wanted to take a photo of sunday each week and see the growth of their babies;  he made a whole album with his thoughts and hopes for their family and gave it to sunday after the babies were born

they travelled to quite a few places during the 9 months, maybe 6 to 7 different locations. sunday being at home more and feeling pretty good during the 2nd trimester they took a few roadtrips to places close to them

atlas and shreya moved out of their shared apt so beckett moved in with sunday right before they found out they were pregnant

i don’t know if they’d be married at this point in time or not

they would have been living together before getting pregnant, sunday would spend most of her time at beckett’s place but she wasn’t “officially” moved in because she travelled quite a bit due to thief and the games 

to me, for some reason, their lives seem hectic and busy af after graduating, everything happens at once for them

getting signed with a thief team, beckett getting acknowledged for his skills and scoring independent jobs and working on his masters, sunday is travelling all the time

i feel like beckett one day, in the midst of all the business, while they were still half asleep in bed was just like “marry me” and sunday thought she was actually dreaming. there was no way this boy was asking her to marry him right now 

“what” she kinda giggled “marry me” he sounded so serious she woke up and sit up

they stayed in silence just staring at each other for a while until they started smilling and the thought really sank in, it was barely morning 

“sunday, marry me” 

“i think i’ll need to hear that again a few more times”

did they elope later that afternoon?? WHO KNOWS 

back to your scheduled programming of pregnancy with triplets:

sunday got real swolen, painfully swolen at some point in time. 

weird cravings of butternut squash everything. beckett became quite good at using it in a variety of recipes

sunday really missed her job during her pregnancy and felt quite lost. she felt her only purpose was to carry these kids around and moan back pain every 5 minutes. 

but she also realised she didn’t want to do thief after becoming a mother. that chapter felt like it was closing for her and she needed to take a step foward into a new career path (i have yet to figure it out)

very cranky and moody sunday. she also hated getting advice from her mom on her pregnancy. it would just annoy her

atlas got real good at getting these two away from each other

god atlas as an AUNT wow

she really started to fear sunday at the end of her pregnancy like... the look sunday would give when she was pissed off ... oof 

atlas and beckett are the only ones sunday wanted with her when it was delivery time

i imagined it was most likely a c-section? would there be more “innovative” ways in the magick world to give birth?? 

moving on that’s not important

beckett studies pregnancy yoga intensely so he can teach sunday

tmi.. or nsfw... sex is pretty fun 

sunday thinks it will be 2 girls and one boy, the girls being identical 

beckett thinks it’s 3 girls

they restored their baby blanket atlas found and used it in the nursery

sunday and beckett did not find out the sexes of the babies until birth

(it was a bet. sunday was actually the one that was DYING to find out and lost)

shreya was the only one that guessed correctly (2 boys 1 girl) 

bougie ass baby gifts from shreya. special one of a kind super gentle lotion, shampoo. baby shoes, oils and butters for stretch marks, blankets with their names on it, literally you name it

there’s something about baths... sunday would never take them but it became nighttime ritual at some point

beckett is very aware of people’s names now that he has to name 3 kids and is VERY opinionated 

he even starts to question his name, sunday’s name, everyone else around him “you have a such a weird name sunday, what was theia thinking” “COME SAY THAT TO YOUR PREGNANT WIFE’S FACE, HARRINGTON”

sunday needs to pull a break on that for a while so they stop throwing name ideas for a few weeks 

they agree on marlow first, sunday suggests it and beckett isn’t much of a fan until he finds himself using it in his head. when he sees his baby boy he knows it’s his name 

they had one unexpected visit from the sources to congratulate sunday and beckett on the pregnancy and marriage. i’m pretty sure gemma called selene’s wood attunement.

sunday does not want anyone touching her belly but she’s kinda anxious about it so atlas is always ready to fight somebody’s hand off

god can u imagine these sisters coming this far in their lives, sunday is going to be a mother, atlas an aunt how happy atlas is to be able to see a future she thought would be lost after so many years of running from raife and the heartache and loss. I AM EMOTIONAL. 

doting aunt atlas like she SPOILS these kids to death

katrina might have a kid of her own at this point in time, since she’s older than beckett? sunday would appreciate her advice way more in comparision to her mother’s. (i could also see katrina not wanting kids but i don’t know if she has hinted either way)

beckett’s family has been a bit harsh when it comes to sunday’s job but she wins everyone over eventually so they do find themselves falling in love with her. they find sunday so warm and kind and easy to talk to. his parents are so happy to be grandparents of three kids no less, and are prepared to spoil them to bits. 

i can see her with the harringtons spending the summer together, his mother talking about when beckett was a baby himself which seemed not that long ago. 

the boys share a room in their grandparent’s house while selene has one of her own once they’re about 5/6 years old. while they’re toddlers, they do sleep in the same room together. 

they really do dote on these kids. beckett has never seen them this affectionate before in his life. 

beckett’s father and jett bond very nicely. both are a fan of sports. 

zeph and griff give sunday and beck so many delicious homecooked meals they can freeze for after birth but also to eat whenever they want. 

zeph got the tendency of showing up like “my abuela cooked extra this week so i thought i’d give you some for dinner”

they do not complain once. the meals are delicious

zeph really enjoys babysitting the kiddos, especially as they get a bit older and start to waddle around, speaking gibberish you understand but not really. the kids are really impressed by his water tricks. bath time is a mess (with him and in general tbh)

beckett and sunday have one big fight during the pregnancy. sunday is feeling lost and weird about her career, job, path in general and beckett always has something to say instead of just listening which frustrates them both. they fight all day the first time but can’t go to sleep angry so they talk it out during the night. neither of them has much sleep but they settle things down, beckett just listens and explains where he came from, apolagizes, sunday too, they figure it out in the end. this comes up again but sunday just points it out to him what he’s doing and he’s like “my bad, babe”. 

sunday eats pretty much plant-based during the pregnancy apart from having a few eggs here and there. she has this aversion of meat, it sounds disgusting to her (marlow’s influence?) 

beckett sings to the babies a lot, sunday falls asleep to it often

i can see beckett having choir lessons when he was younger and actually being a pretty good vocalist

atlas buys baby things ALL THE TIME. goes jogging, sees a random store “oh sunday i found this dumb ass onesie, here” “i saw this arylu plushie and thought the kids would like it” “this muslin cloth has cat butts on it, let me get that 1 for each kid” sunday literally doesn’t need to buy anything because everyone is buying them baby stuff 24/7 

shreya planned the baby shower where they basically just asked for diappers and ended up with high-tech baby stuff, beckett was actually pretty intrigued by some of them

massages. everyone that goes into that apt just sees beckett rubbing some lotion on sunday and massaging some area in her body, feet, back, legs. towards the end it’s a must if sunday wants to walk around for more than 20 minutes without being in pain.

if you finished reading this, congratulations! here, have a 🍄.

this is already so freaking long and even though i feel like i could get some more hc’s going i’m gonna stop here and save any that i find important for another post. let me know what you guys think and don’t mind the typos too much  I’M SICK🙈

[masterofmagnetism]

The Battle of Stark Tower [backdated]

WHO: @burdenedxtelepath, @apoisontouch, @roi--des--voleurs, and Erik WHEN: Day 2 of the Seige of New York WHERE: See title. WHAT: Some humans are, unsurprisingly, not very happy about Magneto’s seige.  Some of those humans are, more surprisingly, apparently somewhat prepared for a war against mutants and show up to try and take Stark Tower back.   In which Erik needs some help from the three people he very carefully did not include in the plan, the Phoenix briefly becomes a time-share, Remy gets to rain beans down upon unsuspecting humans, Rogue gets to fly, and Charles is very done with his not-husband. WORD COUNT: 7.7k TWs: Murder mentioned several times.  Gunshot wound.  Uhh... alligators, fire (metaphorical), sort-of brief possession by the world’s most annoying bird.  Can’t think of anything else but hmu if you need a tw added!

ERIK: He'd miscalculated.

Erik hadn't been naive enough to think that his plan was foolproof--far from it. He had planned for things to go wrong every step of the way, had made contingency upon contingency for the inevitable deviations from the plan that were bound to come with an operation of this scale. Scott and Jean had pored over plans with him, pointed out holes and gaps from their own experience that they then patched up as best they could.

Things were never going to go perfectly, but this was wrong in a way that had gone unanticipated. He'd prepared extensively for the possibility of a military or law enforcement response, knowing all too well the stance of the United States regarding negotiating with terrorists.

This wasn't the military, and was somehow all the more formidable for it. They were organized civilians, and judging by their behavior, they'd been preparing to face off against mutants for a long while, had done their research and responded far more nimbly than the slow engine of government was apt to do. And Erik hadn't planned for it. Still worse than that was the fact that both Jean and Scott were gone, out in the streets of New York helping the mutants who hadn't come to Stark Tower.

A handful of the others were here, but most had gone out to run their own errands since the day had, until now, been relatively quiet

And for those that were left, the battle was not going well in their favor. Some weren't at full power after the exertion of the last few days, and some were simply overwhelmed by sheer numbers, because by g-d, the civilians here amounted to a small army that knew too much about how to adapt around their mutations. Metal weapons were few and far between, and Erik was spreading his attention thin trying to keep shields up around the others and the doors to the Tower.

He would not lose anyone today if he had anything to say about it.

His attention was spread thinner by the Phoenix that was clawing beneath his skin.  I can help, let us help, let us show them what you can do.

It was tempting--it could annihilate the whole crowd in seconds, no doubt, if necessary.  He'd seen what Jean could do, when she let it take over, the indiscriminate damage she could unleash--and she was used to having it with her. Erik was not, had an entirely different power set, and he was not arrogant enough to believe he could guess what would happen and control it with any reliability. He couldn't promise that he'd be able to reel it back in, or keep safe the mutants that were fighting alongside him.

So he was holding back, and the humans were taking advantage.

They were losing, and Erik prayed silently as he dragged a lightpole down to sweep through a few of the humans that the others, would see the news and make it back. The alternatives would be messy, one way or the other.

ROGUE: There was no part of Rogue that could ignore what was happening. No matter how much she had fought against it when the idea had slipped from Erik’s drunken lips… she couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t look away. Her friends, her family, was involved in a war that would shape the face of their history — and their future. And fear had kept her in the audience, kept her eyes on the TV screen as the coverage of what was happening around Stark Tower, where Erik was held up now.

She had told him as much, all the questions she had asked, all the digging she had done, it had been because she had been afraid — and she had thought that more information would have helped. Information only brought her so much peace, no matter how it was dressed up, no matter what words were spoken, this was war. And people she cared about were going to get hurt. It wasn’t a matter of if — but when.

And when — that was now.

The scene on the TV had changed and Rogue watched in horror as Erik fought back against the crowd. They were well equipped to deal with him — the TV didn’t capture the familiar gleam of metal that Erik could easily manipulate. Still, if he wanted to end this. He could. In an instant. There were a good many things around him that he could have used to kill the crowd that was coming against him, but he was… he was holding back.

But holding back meant he might lose — holding back put him in danger. And that hadn’t occurred to Rogue to worry about his safety. She had been wrapped up in thinking about everyone else because Erik… he had lived through so much. It didn’t occur to her he might not live through this.

Erik Lehnsherr needed help. Even if he wouldn’t ask for it conventionally, he needed it — he needed them.

Rogue collected the only two people that she knew that hadn’t been directly involved in the siege. Remy, who had been with her during all her worrying up until the news even, and the Professor, who she hadn’t seen any images of at the tower, so she had assumed that he hadn’t been involved in the initiation of this. She didn’t claim to know his reasons and she didn’t press for them — the Professor had a right to his privacy, just as Rogue kept to her own as well. But for this, it seemed, they would have to be a team. Not quite the caliber of the X-Men, but between the three of them?

They could handle this crowd.

Rogue was pulling off her gloves, glancing over at Remy before nodding her head. “Remember when we were on our way out this mornin’ and I told ya t’ grab a few can of beans?” Rogue tipped her head to the side and motioned to the crowd with her head. “Whatcha think about givin’ ‘em a nice fire show?” Rogue cracked her knuckles and then stretched her fingers. “Mutant and proud…” Rogue said to herself, her voice a murmur before she shifted her gaze to Charles. “Professor, ready?” Running into the crowd from the back didn’t have the finesse that she was sure everyone would have preferred. But she was certain it would be effective and quick. And both of those things were needed.

REMY: Out of all the ways Remy could have possibly spent his day, fighting side by side with Rogue was a good way to do it. But fighting to help Erik was definitely not high on his list. Yet the way things were going this time, it was not only about helping Erik. It was about all of them needing to fight for each other. He had known things were going to come to a head sooner or later, and now the dam had finally burst. As much as Remy wanted to blame Erik, things like this seemed to be unavoidable for mutants, and it seemed there was nothing left to do but fight.

The sight of Erik fighting against the crowd of humans was surprisingly hard to watch. Did that mean Remy actually cared if something happened to him? Or was he just hoping to fight Erik again himself? Whatever his reasoning, when Rogue implored him to go with her, there was no way he could refuse. Not only because he would not let her down, but because even if Erik was currently fighting alone, eventually they would all be fighting for their lives. Better to face the battle head on, and maybe they might have a chance.

"Mon Dieu," Remy muttered as they stood watching the crowd. It was not a pretty sight, but he liked their odds. Not only were he and Rogue a great team, but they had the Professor with them as well. When Rogue asked him about the beans, he gave an "ahh" of realization. "An' here I thought you were jus' hopin' I'd whip up a snack wit' 'em! Didn't know I'd be feedin' de whole crowd!" Carrying cans of beans was not exactly the easiest way to carry ammo--Remy much preferred his cards to the heavy cans currently weighing down the pockets of his trenchcoat--but he agreed that they sure packed a punch when he charged them. Taking one out, he flipped it over and grinned. "Havin' beans always does clear a room, after all!"

PROFESSOR X: He didn't know what was worst: flying or being teleported by Kurt. Either way, he was nauseous by journey's end and had to take a knee in the midst of chaos just to collect himself.

This wasn't his wheelhouse - not since Cuba - yet it had been Kitty's probing and Rogue's plea that forced him to leave the kids behind. Granted Rogue had been right. Watching Erik seemingly struggle just to stay above water was hard to watch. Charles couldn't explain it but he felt Erik's peril. He was sweating and Erik NEVER sweated. Furthermore he had the bird so it baffled Charles as to why a few civilians ( though well organized ) were handling his man friend.

And make no mistake: Charles was furious. This was one of the single most reckless, ballsy things Magneto had ever done. Erik had been right to leave him out of the plan, but the die had been cast. There was no turning back now. They would either rise to the occasion together as mutants or die trying. HIS FAMILY WAS NOT DYING TODAY.

Pushing himself from one knee, he stood, giving Remy and Rogue a nod.

"I---of course. I'm splendid." He was not splendid. In fact, he was downright terrified but his legs would give way at some point so he had to make the most of right now. After shooting a very surprised Erik a scathing look, a hand came up, freezing special bullets in place that just narrowly missed Erik. These people were smart, and seemed determined to cut off the head of this operation but underestimating Erik's protection was going to prove costly. They'd see soon enough though.

"Dear. You should duck."

�� I could literally strangle you right now Erik! How do you not plan for angry civilians?? 》

ERIK: Erik wasn't used to holding back. He was infamous for being both a powerful and ruthless opponent, after all, and was well used to channeling anger and pain into lashing out at his enemies with all the force he could muster.

Trying to fight an enemy so apparently capable without pushing like that was a whole different beast, a war without and within that he wasn't used to dealing with. The humans seemed to pick up on it, too, growing bolder with each passing minute.

He couldn't risk collapsing the negotiations by letting the Phoenix loose and taking out entire city blocks--he would not risk the future of their people for this.

For himself.

But then there was a commotion, near the back of the crowd, and Erik felt a dual swell of relief and crushing concern. Anna and Remy were here--backup was here, good backup. The two of them were, he would reluctantly admit, a formidable pair together in battle, incredibly powerful in their own rights.

And they'd brought Charles. Charles, who hadn't fought in person since Cuba. Charles, who didn't want this war in the first place, who was loathe to use his powers against humans in anything but the most dire of straits. Charles, who was not at full capacity if he was on his meds, as he clearly was.

Fucking hell.

Erik nodded at Anna and Remy across the battlefield, the closest to thanks he could offer at the moment, and dragged a few pieces of scrap Remy's way to charge up if and when he ran out of his own ammunition.

Attention split, he almost missed the bullets headed his way before they froze in the air in front of him--evidently Charles had gotten a proper grip on his telekinesis. He ducked obligingly, without hesitation.

<< I did! Where do you think the kids are? >> he snapped, though the concern was more palpable than the irritation. << I didn't anticipate a trained militia apparently more competent than their real military. >>

He yanked one of the metal sheets on the outside of the building down, reshaping it to a battering ram to knock down a line of men between him and where the others stood near the back of the crowd.

<< Is this really the time to be chastising me? Move left, >> he warned, sending another projectile roaring past the others.

ROGUE: She couldn’t remember a time where they had all worked together — Remy and Erik were always at each other’s throats and there had always been tension between the Professor and Erik. And Rogue and Erik? (There were things between them that she’d rather not think about.) They all had history here. Baggage. But they were here and they were fighting. And hopefully, that would be enough to pull this out.

Glancing at Remy when he started in on his jokes, Rogue shook her head but offered him a smirk. “If ya get any of that in my hair, sugar, we’re gonna have some real strong words when all this is said and done.” The dream was surviving this so she could have a firm conversation about her hair over celebratory drinks. Shifting her gaze, she looked at Erik and nodded in return. The protesters hadn’t noticed them approaching from the back yet — which gave them the upper hand for a moment at least. (The art of a surprise attack.)

Erik was strategically moving metal, but the humans hadn’t seemed to notice yet. (They would once it was charged up from behind.) Rogue looked at Erik from across the crowd and started moving her hands in a circle, hoping that he’d understand she wanted him to create a metal barrier around the humans. She had no intention of killing any of them, but if they could knock them out or transport them out by trapping them inside a metal dome, they could end this quickly. They might have been outnumbered, but they were far from outmatched. “Ya ever herd animals, Remy? Linin’ them up might do us some real good.”

REMY: Even if he could not shake the feeling that it was strange to be on the same side as Erik, the more pressing issue was that the humans were out to get them--all of them--and if they were going to have any hope of surviving this, they needed to work together. Working with Rogue was no problem. Working with the Professor was nothing short of an honor. Working with Erik...well, Remy had had to work with people he had not particularly liked before to get things done. And for all his issues with Erik, he was still a mutant. And when it came to mutants against humans, Remy would always stand with his fellows, no matter what.

He returned Rogue's smirk, glad they could have at least a little levity in this situation. "Chere, if I get any o' dat in my hair, we gon' have some strong words!" It had been her idea to bring the beans, after all. "Believe me, I definitely would rather get chewed out by you!" But there was nothing for it. They needed to fight off this angry mob first. He saw that Erik had given them a nod, and then sent some small pieces of metal towards them. No, towards Remy. He blinked; was that...an offering? Hmm, maybe there was some hope for Erik after all. Remy definitely appreciated it. The beans would not last long, and while he had cards, the metal would make an even more pronounced bang. Which, if they were trying to get the humans to back off, would come in handy.

"Merci, homme," he said quietly, even though Erik was too far away. Turning to Rogue, he saw that she was gesturing towards Erik. Remy was not entirely sure of her intention at first, but when she asked him about herding animals, things became clearer. "But o' course, mon amour! I practiced herdin' gators for kicks back in de day. Dis'll be a piece o' cake!" Taking the can of beans, he gave it a charge. The crowd had so far not noticed their approach, which meant it was up to Remy to make their presence known. And he was damn good at making an entrance.

"Bonjour, mes amis! T'ink it's time we break up dis li'l party, hein?" With that, he threw the can off to the side of the crowd, getting them to scatter in the other direction. Quickly, Remy charged another can and let it fly in the opposite direction, making the crowd push together more, putting them in position for whatever Rogue and Erik were concocting.

PROFESSOR X: Everyone's thoughts were filtering in and out of his head, but he forced himself to ignore the nonsense from the crowd in favor of keeping tabs on Erik. From this distance, he had to rely on Erik's willingness to let him inside because they were separated by a massive, rowdy crowd that had probably been training for months for a moment like this. Maybe even longer and he had a feeling a certain Bugle journalist was partly responsible with all of his inspiring takes.

That aside, he watched as Erik ducked before he released, allowing the bullets to hit another target rather than the intended. In front of him, Remy and Rogue were cooking up something, but he wasn't even going to ask about those beans. Knowing what Remy could do, the thought of civilians being pelted with cans of beans was just too amusing. Probably not the best time to be having a laugh but... hell, it could very well be his last laugh if things didn't swing their way soon.

He watched as Erik sent more pieces of scrap their way, eyes rolling as the chess master belted out more excuses.

《 Of course not darling. Because the idea of civilians coming together in trained, military fashion is just not one of those things people like us plan for. 》

Was he being sarcastic? Was he serious? One would never know. At Erik's direction, he side-stepped left, likely avoiding his own fatal incident this time.

《 My love, this is the perfect time to be chastising you. Remy and Rogue got this. Now... care to explain why you are holding back so much? This isn't like you... What am I missing here---ERIK MOVE! 》

"Rogue! Remy! He's been hit!"

《 ERIK! ERIK! 》

"Rogue, I'm going to cause some confusion among the people, but I won't be able to move my body until it's done. I have to get to Erik. I think something's up with the bird. He's going to get himself killed if he doesn't use it more. I can feel him stretching his power but I can't figure out what else he's shielding. If it's not us then who?"

ERIK: Rogue was gesturing at him, and Erik knew immediately what she was suggesting from just a few flicks of her hand.  ( They'd been a good team, once, and apparently that much hadn't changed. ) Round them up, block out reinforcements from coming in, make them vulnerable like fish in a barrel.

The plan was clear enough.  The practice would be a bit trickier, because this wasn't a showdown between the Brotherhood and a little band of humans, or even against the X-Men. Normally, he'd be able to pinpoint the gaps and fill them in.

It was harder when practically the whole fucking field was a gap in defense.

<< Yes, darling, I see now that it was something of an oversight.  Thank you for pointing it out, >> he snapped mentally--it was a valid criticism, to be fair, given that both of their jobs centered around leading a group of civilian mutants into various battles.

The mutants inside the tower, and the small handful that had dared to come out with him, weren't X-Men, weren't Brotherhood.  They were scared civilians who'd come here in preparation for the next step, and it was one thing to throw kids into battle who'd signed up for it.  This was another thing entirely, and he could not, would not, allow any humans to breach the building to those inside.

Protect the building. Protect the kids out here with him. Protect Remy and Rogue and Charles, who should not be here, so that they have a chance to get the upper hand. Fight back.  Start putting together a barrier.  Don't destroy the negotiation progress by destroying a city block.

<< I'm not holding back, I've just got a lot to handle at the mo-- >>

He could do it, was beginning to drag cars and lightpoles down to wrap around the edges of the crowd, but something had to give.

That something turned out to be personal defense.  Something hit his side, sent sparks of pain derailing his thoughts for a moment, and Erik hissed out between his teeth.  The metal stopped moving.

Erik snarled at the men in front of him, sending them flying backwards with a wave of his hand.

He could stop the bleeding, if he wanted to, but that’d mean something else had to give and there were people he needed to protect.  It was an easy choice.

<< I’m fine. >>

He’d be fine.  He’d had worse.  He hadn’t even looked at it yet, could feel the blood starting to soak through his shirt, but he didn’t spare it a glance.  Ignore it.  Focus on the plan.  The metal started wrapping around the edges of the crowd again, Erik grabbing at whatever he could to start herding them together for the others to deal with.

ROGUE: “No, sugar. I’ll be comin’ at ya — any beans in my hair and it’ll be because of ya screwin’ up the aim!” She should have stopped trash talking in the middle of a fight, but it was the only rewarding thing about the violence they were in the middle of. The only thing that was keeping Rogue... Rogue. Or maybe, it brought her a bit closer to Anna Marie. It seemed, for now, that they were all getting along. Erik was offering Remy more ammunition, Charles wasnt speaking much but it was clear he was doing something — so she assumed he was talking to Erik. They were working. Together. It was a shame that it had taken a war for them to open their eyes to each other.

Course, all the yelling drew attention, and a few of the protesters noticed Rogue just behind them. They turned towards her and Rogue offered them her most charming smile. But she didn’t give them a chance to speak — she brought up her elbow and caught one in the face before using his body to take down his friends. “Ya comparin’ cattle to gators?” Rogue asked, shooting Remy a concerned look before shaking her head. “I’m sure these guys would bite ya... but cattle takes more finesse than gators, sugar.” She was joking... mostly. But there was a look in her eye that warned him to be a little more careful than he normally would be. If they could overwhelm Erik... then they needed to be vigilant themselves.

The Professor started yelling and Rogue glanced in his direction, listening to his instructions as she put a hand on her own shoulder, rotating the cuff as more protesters started towards her. It had been too long since she had been in a fight of this magnitude. “I hear ya, Professor,” Rogue replied with a short nod before tossing another protestor and heading towards him. He had given a lot up to these people — talking too loudly about his mobility... hopefully he knew what he was doing.

“I can get ya t’ him. No problem,” Rogue confirmed. No one in this group knew about her new skills — acquired from when she had killed Jean, but she figured now was as good a time as any for them to find out that her skill set had expanded. (Permanently, it has seemed.)  “As long as ya don’t mind getting carried by a girl,” Rogue said, but the smile on her face suggested that she knew that he wouldn’t mind — they had far more important things to worry about than appearances like that. “And I got a man who is very good at distractin’,” she said, looking at Remy. “I’m ready, just say when.”

REMY: At the idea that there would be anything wrong with his aim, Remy made a face. "My aim...screwed up? You wound me, chere!" Obviously he would have to pick a better time to be insulted, because they were still facing off with the crowd, who were still very agitated. Having beans exploding over them probably had not improved their mood any, but that was what they got for picking a fight in the first place. Not that he would not have picked a fight with Erik, of course, but it would have been over differences of opinion, not the outright hatred the protesters were showing. So getting covered in beans was the least Remy could offer to give them some comeuppance.

He could not keep from grinning as Rogue took down the protester who came at her, but Remy could not grin for long since the protesters were coming at him too. "Gators are a hell o' a lot harder t' corral dan cattle! Dose cowboys t'ink dey're hot stuff, but let's see how dey fare against a gator!" Now she was implying he needed finesse? Remy gave her an incredulous look. "You jus' tryin' t' hit me from all sides today? Like havin' dese guys do de same ain't enough!" That they were. No sooner had Remy finished his quip than one of the protesters took a swing at him, which he only just managed to duck. Alright, clearly Rogue had a point. Time to focus. Taking out his bo staff, he quickly extended it and used to crack the man across the jaw. "Sorry homme. I came t' kick ass an' t'row beans, an' I'm all outta beans!"

That was not entirely a joke. He had thrown the cans of beans, so he was actually grateful for the supply of ammunition Erik had sent his way. Snatching up some of the metal scraps, Remy was about to charge one up when he heard the Professor's shout. His own urge to protect Erik was not quite so strong, but he was still there to help him. Rogue was already preparing to assist the Professor, and while Remy did not doubt she would be able to get him to Erik, there were still a hell of a lot of protesters in their way. And when she mentioned "carrying," Remy raised an eyebro, not sure what she meant. "You gon' carry de Professeur on your back, chere?" He could certainly distract, and he smirked at her compliment. Giving the metal in his hand a charge at last, he said, "Un gran distraction comin' righ' up!" Then he flung the charged metal at some more oncoming protesters, knocking them back across the street and making as best a path as possible for Rogue and the Professor to pass through.

PROFESSOR X: 'I'm FINE.' As if THAT was going to be enough to stop the telepath's rapidly beating heart. If the four of them weren't careful, one distraction and a carefully timed hit could spell the end for any one of them, especially since the team was holding back. ( Not that he told them to, but he couldn't help but feel secretly pleased by this. )

《 You're not FINE! 》

Charles didn't mean to snap, but panic was building in his chest as the crowd grew ever more aggressive. Those beans of Remy's had pissed them off and now that the citizens knew they were being flanked, many had turned their attention on them now.

He closed his eyes, his subconscious slipping into several heads at once. Remy could handle this on his own, but a little more confusion couldn't hurt. Some of the people began to look dazed and instead of attacking Rogue or Remy, some of them began attacking one another. In turn, that led to several of the organized group trying to stop the in-fighting among them. The same chaos was happening on Erik's end too, but this wasn't likely to last long. These humans had made plans to take out the head of this operation not to mention Charles had been careless about his mobility. He didn't hear anyone thinking anything about the slip, but that didn't mean he could afford to let his guard down any.

《 I'm coming to you. And do not argue. 》

Even though the crowd was ever more unsettling, Charles didn't appear affected at all. And he wouldn't. Because he knew Remy and Rogue had his back and he had theirs. No matter what it took, this was one mission they would see to the end. Their futures depended upon it.

Looking to the splitting image of another woman he held dear to his heart, he watched as Rogue rotated her cuff. The self conscious, sulky Charles in him didn't know how he felt about being carried. No doubt Raven would get a kick out of it if she knew, but this was not the time to sulk over trivial matters.

"You're not just any girl though," he grinned. "Besides, I always dreamed of being carried off into the sunset by a beautiful, strong woman... er don't hit me Remy. I couldn't resist."

Cos he was a big flirt. Sue him.

His momentary fun ended when he felt the thoughts from the crowd grow ever more sinister. These guys were really prepared to kill, but he'd worry about that later. As soon as Remy charged up his piece, he gave Rogue the signal.

《 Thanks Remy. Erik, send more scrap. We're on the move! 》

ERIK: Don't argue.  As if he had the time.  Erik didn't bother trying to respond to the telepath's words, focusing instead on the battlefield.  There seemed to be some confusion blossoming in the crowd over by the others, no doubt thanks to Charles, and the three of them seemed to be forming some sort of plan of their own.  Of course--they were X-Men.  Thinking on their feet was the modus operandi, as far as Erik had ever been able to tell--vague plans, adjusted on a whim.

Increasingly, that was looking like the better option than Erik’s brand of planning.

Take it as it comes. Figure out what's needed.  The others seemed to be keeping themselves safe enough, so Erik turned some more of his focus to Rogue's plan, dragging lightpoles and cars from further up the street down to form a barricade at the edges of the crowd.  By the time they started to notice, the metal was already fixing itself together and beginning to tighten the circle around them.  The humans could be contained, even if their projectiles were a bit trickier.

<< Move fast, >> he warned, as an explosion broke out over the crowd, courtesy of Remy, and Charles' voice rang in his head again.  The humans turned to look, and Erik accelerated the scraps of can into far speedier projectiles than they'd have otherwise been, earning pained shouts from those around it.  Some more scrap landed at Remy's feet, and Erik threw a car door between Charles and Rogue and the protestors for the last bit of the way when attention finally seemed to start turning on them.

"Thank you, Anna." For coming, for bringing Charles and Remy, for getting Charles safely here--for all of it.  But he didn't have time for that conversation, or to ask about where the newfound powers Rogue apparently had came from. "I'm kettling them in.  Taking suggestions on how to deal with them, if we don't want a few hundred dead humans."

Personally, he didn't have a bit of problem with it, but he could see the others were holding back. And it probably wouldn't be of much help with the negotiations, he'd admit.  Didn't mean he wouldn't like to see them dead anyway, but they were trying to act as a team for the time being.

Well.  Most of them.  Erik grit his teeth at the roiling of the Phoenix again.  << The Phoenix wants out.  I can't.  You know what happens when Jean lets it go, and I know I couldn't control it if I did. There are others, ones who don't want to fight, in the building that I'm trying to keep safe.  I can't keep up focus on everything when it's like this. >>

Normally, Charles' presence was enough to help calm his mind, but not this time.  Not in the heat of a battle that shouldn't be happening.

ROGUE: The ease of the conversation came so naturally, it was almost as if they weren’t in the middle of a crowd of people who wanted to kill them — who were so motivated by their hate that they’d do anything to make sure that mutants didn’t get rights. That they didn’t get to be people in the same way as they were. And maybe this wasn’t the place to joke around or slip in side comments to get a rise out of Remy — but it was the only way she knew how to stay sane at a time like this. The only hold she had on something that was remotely normal — something that felt good.

“Ya damn right I’m comin’ at ya from all directions. Gotta keep ya on ya toes, sugar.” Rogue watched as someone almost landed a hit on Remy, immediately feeling the need to run over to help him — but he had it under control. (But knowing that and sidelining that worry? It didn’t matter how capable someone you loved was — you would still worry.) The plan though, it was working. The protesters were reacting as expected to the explosions and moving in predictable patterns. As predictable as the chaos would allow. “’Sides, when it comes from me, it’s different!” And it was, but it didn’t make it any less distracting.

Rolling up her sleeves, she glanced at Remy. “Somethin’ like that.” Though it was nothing like she was sure he was imagining — or what the Professor was. She had been trying to perfect this before using it battle... but that was her curse, she was never quite ready when she was called to the front line. “Ya know, Professor, there was a time when I’d knock ya half way t’ the moon for a crack like that,” Rogue shot back but there was a smile on her face, of all the people that could get away with some off colored comment like that in front of her Boyfriend? It was certainly the Professor. “Ya got lucky today, sugar.”

He gave the signal and in a quick motion, Rogue had the Professor in her arms, cradled like a bride, she bent her knees and then pushed off the ground as fiercely as she could — but she was barely off the ground. It was faster than running, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth as she had hoped. It was harder to fly with the extra weight. (This part, she’d need to practice later.) The landing was rough — she ended up taking a knee next to Erik before standing up again, thankful that she didn’t drop the Professor. “Not bad for my first express flight,” Rogue putting the Professor down and looking at Remy across the crowd. Her first instinct was to go back to him.

But then Erik spoke and Rogue looked at him. “Next time, a phone call, sugar.” Though they both knew this wasn’t anything he had planned. She gave him a  simple nod before looking at the crowd that had been contained. “Don’t kill ‘em, Erik. Lift the whole damn thing and ship them out of the city. Or just keep ‘em prisoners. But killin’ them — that ain’t gonna help our cause, Erik.” This was a war, and on some level Rogue understood that meant death — but... if they had a choice? They could choose not to.

REMY: Having Rogue keep him on his toes was much better than the protesters doing the same, even if Remy was taking offense to her jibes. Though even comments like that sounded like compliments when they came from her. "Oh, so I gotta keep my mouth as quick as my hands, chere? I t'ink I can do dat, as I t'ink you know!" No matter how ill-advised it was to keep on quipping when they were fighting for their lives, he just could not help it when Rogue was instigating the conversation. Even the heat of battle would not keep them apart, surely because they were so used to fighting for the chance to be together. "Mmm, can't argue wit' dat! I'd still rather get criticized by you dan anyone else!"

He still was not sure what she intended for getting the Professor to Erik, though it seemed the Professor approved of whatever she had in mind. Approved a little too much, it sounded like, but while Remy would have decked anyone else who had said something like that to Rogue--if she had not decked them first--he only gave the Professor a mock disapproving look. "Don' worry, Professeur, you get a pass. 'Specially since I'd be sayin' de same t'ing!" Glancing at Rogue, Remy added, "Um...don' hit me either, chere!"

Then, all of a sudden Rogue had picked up the Professor--and was flying towards Erik with him. Remy blinked, completely surprised to see that she could fly. How long had she--no, he had no time to wonder about that now. As it was, he had been distracted long enough that a nearby protester had lobbed a bottle at him, which caught his arm and shattered. Thankfully Remy's coat kept him mostly unharmed, but a shard did hit his cheek, drawing blood. "Merde!" Frowning, he twirled his staff around, knocking away two other projectiles which came his way. Clearly it was time to move. He glanced towards the others and saw Rogue looking at him, which was the only impetus Remy needed.

"Pardon, chiens, comin' through!" Snatching up the other pieces of metal Erik had sent his way, he charged one and tossed it, the resulting explosion clearing a path for Remy to sprint towards Rogue, the Professor and Erik. A few more protesters came at him, and he knocked back as many as he could before finally planting his staff and using it to vault himself the last of the way towards the others. "Whew! Dat was not like wranglin' gators at all! For starters, de gators are usually way more polite!" Straightening up, he wiped his cheek. "Though maybe we should treat dem like gators an' drop 'em in de water. Dey could use some coolin' off."

PROFESSOR X: Charles wasn't bothered by the rough landing at all. In fact, he was just grateful to be on the ground again. Flying and teleporting were not his favorite things to experience mostly because he always felt light-headed after. This time was no different and much like Rogue, he took a knee to get himself sorted again. Even though his back was to the crowd, he was still working, head hopping and keeping an eye on Remy. The crowd near the back was getting ever more rowdy, the confusion Charles caused making it worse. It was great for herding them like the cattle they were right now, but it left Remy vulnerable.

Eventually, Charles stood and much like Erik, he shared the same sentiments towards Rogue, but now was not the time to get mushy --- not yet. He would make certain to properly thank both Remy and Rogue later, but for now, they needed to end this. New York was a big city. The last thing they needed was for potential reinforcements to show up.

He closed his eyes, still head hopping. "Remy's pinned down---no wait. He's coming." Charles stepped back and moments later Remy vaulted and landed with ease before them. His sense of humor had Charles grinning and though he wanted to spend more time joking around, his own body was sharply reminding him that his legs were not going to hold forever.

"You know, for the first time in my life, I almost want to see this whole herd of people carted off and dumped into the bay, but well, there's no guarantee they all can swim. We don't need any of them drowning on national tv or it might hurt our chances at what's left of a peaceful resolution."

Turning to Erik, Charles frowned.

《The bird never much cared for being caged too long, but I am on borrowed time. I can help you control it, but whatever you have in mind, we need to make this our climax. We're all here so whatever you need from Rogue and Remy, they have your back. We all do.》

Pulling out of Erik's head for now, he turned to the others. "I'm going to help Erik steer the bird. It looks like the plan is working. There are a few holes in the back that still need to be plugged but after that, you guys can decide what to do with them. I'll be all tapped out after this."

Reaching for Erik's hand, Charles felt the pull from the bird almost instantly. Even as he closed his eyes, slipping in Erik's subconscious, he felt the bird filtering between the two of them, aggressively trying to wrestle control from one or the other. Charles didn't see how Erik and Jean could deal with this on a constant basis everyday. Charles hated not being in control, but the bird was tugging at all of his sensors, triggering all of his abilities at once.

His hand squeezed Erik's own in an attempt to keep the bird from overwhelming him. After several minutes, his eyes finally opened but the bright blue eyes that were usually there had been replaced by fire. Red-orange hues looked out over the restless crowd. He could hear everyone's thoughts; FEEL the intricate pulses from their brains as if he was wearing Cerebro right now. It felt so good --- that raw power coursing through his veins. There were so many AWFUL things he could do too --- so many things it WANTED him to do. Whispered words taunted him; urged him to do all the horrific things he desired. It would be so easy to kill them all...

Charles!

He blinked, taking a breath. He wasn’t sure if Erik called out to him or if he simply imagined it. Either way, it was enough to shut the bird up and pull him out of the trance. He felt a pull from Erik, one that made him shiver. Perhaps he was manipulating the energy between them --- he didn’t have time to study what was happening. Whatever the case, the bird was the only reason he was still standing now. The moment he let go of Erik’s hand, that was it for him.

《 I’m okay. Do what you have to do. 》

ERIK: Despite the way they'd last parted, Anna greeted him with something approaching the banter they'd once shared so easily, and Erik found himself cracking a wry smile. "You know my luck with phones."  No doubt the one he'd been texting Murdock on had been fried, at this point, by the sheer amount of power being exerted in such close proximity.

Don't kill them. Everything in Erik was screaming exactly the opposite--these people were threatening him, threatening his family. The last time he'd counted on humans to do the right thing in a situation like this, they'd taken advantage of the mercy in order to finish the kill.  There were hundreds of humans here, but that didn't mean he couldn't do it. End. Every. Single. One.

Remy's suggestion to dump them in the bay was an appealing one, regardless of Charles' protests that they didn't know if the humans could swim.

That was, as far as Erik was concerned, not his fucking problem.

Charles took his hand, and Erik's planning faculties flew clean out the proverbial window for a moment as the Phoenix flowed between the two of them in a river of sheer noise. After a few moments that felt like eternity, it settled enough to hear himself think again, although he felt more attuned to Charles' mind than he ever had when the telepath had been in his head before.

<< You focus on keeping the Tower safe--there are some kids still inside. >> Anna and Remy could take care of themselves, rounding up the stragglers. Now that he felt a little less volatile with the power being shared, he could focus on strategy and... yes. That'd do. Not infringe Charles’ sense of morality, but neatly take care of the problem.

"No one move," he warned. "We're going your way, LeBeau."

He reinforced the wall of debris surrounding most of the crowd before reaching down to the piping beneath the pavement, cracking around the edges of the square the humans were stood on.  The sound seemed to make them hesitate, start to run--but far too late.

Erik squeezed Charles’ hand, drawing a bit more of the Phoenix back to himself, and lifted, sending the island of pavement up into the air to a chorus of screams.

Drop them.  

No, no, no.  He wouldn’t go through another Cuba with Charles. So instead Erik tamped down on those worst impulses, and sent the island of pavement sailing steadily across the East River to land just offshore of Greenpoint Beach.

If they couldn’t swim, they could damn well sit in a time-out until a helicopter could get out there.

Already, Remy and Rogue were moving to take care of the humans who’d escaped the express flight to Brooklyn.  Erik squeezed Charles’ hand in warning before letting go slowly, arms moving to catch the man already as his feet gave out from under him, the man slumping against his chest.