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amayawolfe · 4 years ago

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Teacups (Illumi x Fem.Reader)

(A/N: mild fluff, pregnancy, angst, nudity, cross dressing (sorta?), bathing together, emotional struggle)

Word Count: 5755

Name Key: (o/d) = older daughter (name) (y/d) = younger daughter (name)

(Summary: You come from a small, yet formidable clan of shinobi assassins and have been married to Illum Zoldyck as a way to create a bond with one of the most powerful assassin families in the world. Even though it had been an arranged marriage, you have come to love and care for your husband deeply.

Seven years have passed since your vows were spoken and you are now five months pregnant with yours and Illumi's third and forth child. You've grown concerned with the lack of bonding between Illumi and your two daughters and suggest a "father daughters' day" while you visit family. Shortly after your return home, you are surprised in how far Illumi has taken your suggestion.)

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow

"So tell me, (y/n), how have the girls been doing?" your mother asked you over her cup of tea.

The two of you where sitting at a table just outside your favorite little café in the city nearest Kukuroo mountain. With the sun shinning down on you brightly, warming your skin and clothes, you should have felt relaxed and stress free for a change. However, your mother had a bad tendency to get under your skin.

You took a sip from your own teacup and leaned back into your chair, rubbing your round pregnant belly as you did so.

"They're doing well. (o/d) has started her training and is fairing far better than I hoped she would have," you said with a proud smile. "(y/d) has been watching (o/d) and is getting excited for her own training to start."

Your mother smiled, happy and proud that her granddaughters were showing such keen interest and progress in the family art.

"I'm so glad to hear that," she said, lightly clapping their hands together in excitement. "They will make wonderfully talented shinobi." She took another sip from her tea before she continued. "And what are the little darlings doing today since you are taking the day off from teaching? I had hoped you would have brought them with you. I haven't seen them in such a long time."

"Oh, they're having a 'father daughters' day' day with Illumi," you replied nonchalantly.

Your mother's smile fell away from her lips. She had not been happy with your father when he had made the arrangement with one of the world's mostly deadly and powerful families of assassins. The youngest of eight children, you were her only daughter. She nearly killed your father when she found out that you were to be married off to the eldest Zoldyck child, Illumi. But by that point the deal was made and there was nothing that she could do.

Despite being nervous, if not a little scared, you were more than willing to do the deed. Your clan was suffering from lack of work due to over competition. Having ties with the Zoldycks held promise of a more steady stream of jobs. Your clan was highly skilled in their ways and made formidable allies. It was a win win situation.

The first meeting with your future husband had been an awkward one, to say the least. He was quiet for the most part, and shown less emotion than a corpse. At one point you had giggled at the thought that if he were anymore tense, and just held his breath, he could pass for one.

Your mother had always said you were a strange child.

"You mean, they are spending the day with those butlers?" she asked in a condescending tone.

Mother didn't like the idea of the butlers either. She was one of those that believed you should take care of your own home. To be honest, you secretly believed she was jealous. Having a butler when you had eight children would have been welcomed help, surely.

"Mother, please be nice," you chided. "You know I consider the butlers to be friends and family as well."

Out of the corner of your eye you could see the dark skinned young woman, Canary, smile a little as she pretended to read the paper. While she may have looked like she was laid back and inattentive sitting there, you knew that every one of those sharp senses of hers were alert and on the look out for any potential threat to you.

In truth, you were perfectly capable of defending yourself; pregnant or not. Having been one of the top shinobi warriors in your clan, you were skilled enough to put many of the experienced clans men face down into the dirt. Allowing Canary to come along was to help put Illumi's concerns at ease more than anything else. That, and you enjoyed the young lady's company. She wasn't quite as uptight as most of the other butlers.

"And I really wish you would give Illumi a chance," you sighed as you refreshed your cup from the decorated cast iron pot that was sitting on the table. "He's been working really hard to improve himself and isn't the same person you first met."

Your mind flashed back to when Illumi had arrived for yours and his first meet. Mother had tagged along to make sure you would not be killed right on the spot, something you still rolled your eyes at to this day. He had been extremely formal in a robotic and monotone way.

In the most deadpan manner you had ever seen, he had held up his hand and said, "Hello (y/n)'s mother, I am here to take meet with your daughter to make sure we are compatible before we are married." It was kind of cute, in an odd psychopathic kind of way.

You were pretty sure your mother had spied on the two of you through out the rest of that day.

"And no," you continued the conversation with a small shake of your head, "I meant what I said. I've pointed out to him that he needs to bond with the girls more and made the suggestion for him, and him alone, to spend the day with them."

"Is that man even capable of 'bonding'?"

There was a loud "tink" and the sudden sensation of burning washed over your fingers. You had broken your teacup. Your building frustration and anger towards your mother's comments had caused you to squeeze it too hard. The delicate little cup had no chance in the powerful grip you had placed around it.

Canary stood instantly and began cleaning up the hot liquid before you even had a chance to blink or fully register what had happened.

"Are you alright, mam?" she asked, honestly concerned. You let out a frustrated sigh and shook the remaining liquid from your scalded fingers.

"Yes, dear, I'm fine." Your gaze locked with your mother's, "If you can't speak kindly about my husband, mother, then I'm afraid that we are going to have to call it a day." A cold, deadly tone harbored within your voice.

Your mother sternly held your glare for a few seconds before she closed her eyes and sighed, her body posture crumpled a bit.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)," she said, slightly shaking her head, "I guess I still feel bitter that your choice on whom to marry was taken away from you. And, I still wo-"

"Worry about me and the girls?" you interrupted. Canary had finished cleaning the mess and brought you a fresh cup. She gracefully filled it from the same pot you had just used then turned and bowed to you ever so slightly. You thanked her and asked her to return to what she had been doing.

"Mother, that always seems to be your excuse for your rudeness," your tone was accusatory; your face, stern. "It's been over seven years since Illumi and I were married and I honestly can't think of a time I've been happier."

Your mother grimaced.

"Even though our marriage was arranged, he treats me as his equal. Together we have worked on slowly undoing the countless years of damage his parents did to him since he was a child. He's made huge progress, but he will never be what you and I would consider 'normal'. Emotions will always be something difficult for him to understand. Not to mention feel or show. But believe me when I say he does love and care for me, as well as his children."

Upon saying your last sentence your mother had begun to open her mouth to make a retort, but you already knew what she was going to say and help up a single finger to silence her.

"Before you even say 'a man who loves his children shouldn't have to be told when he needs to bond with them', keep in mind that his parents never bonded with him. Or at least not in a healthy, loving manner. The fact that he was willing to listen to me, understand what I was telling him, and put in the effort for today speaks volumes."

You had to stop and take a deep, calming breath. The rising volume of your voice, along with your rising blood pressure and heart rate, was starting to upset the twins within your belly. You could feel them kicking frantically and moving about as you angrily defended their father from your mother. Taking another deep breath, your forced yourself to relax the best you could and began to rub your belly again.

"I know your weren't entirely happy with your arranged marriage with father," you continued in a calmer state, "but I am. I love Illumi, mother, so very much. I'm sorry that you and father couldn't find a way to love each other the way Illumi and I do. But please, do not try to insert your bitter, negative emotions into our lives. If you can't be happy for me and respect my family as a whole, then I am afraid we will simply have to go back to writing letters to one another until you can learn to do so."

A glowering expression was now etched upon your mothers face, your own had become deadpan. The two of you stared at one another in silence for a few minutes as the town's normal hustle and bustle of people continued to flow passed you.

Your mother's lips scowled as she took a deep breath through her nose.

"Well, in that case, I do believe I will be heading back home," she flatly announced. Your mother removed her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table as she rose from her seat. With hands shaking from her own anger, she quickly gathered herself together and started to turn to walk away.

"Farewell, my daughter," she called back over her shoulder, "do contact me when my grandsons are born, will you? I think you will find that I am right by that point."

You watched the back of her head as she walked away until she disappeared into the crowd. You continued to glare at the spot you had last seen her, the edges of your vision began to turn red and your body began to tremble with seething rage.

The sudden feeling of your teacup being plucked out of your hands snapped you out of your downward spiral. Looking over, Canary was standing beside now holding your cup.

"I'm sorry, mam, but I did not want you to burn yourself again," she informed softly. You looked down at your hands just in time to see the last of the white fading from your knuckles and fingers. You must have been squeezing it without realizing it again.

With a sigh your shoulders drooped and you leaned all the way back into your chair, allowing your head to fall back. You watched the clouds lazily drift across the sky above you as your mind turned.

I'm sorry father... I tried to mend things with her, but, she's just so damn stubborn and bitter!

"Shall we call it a day, mam?" Canary asked.

"No," you lifted your head to look into her gentle grey eyes, "I'm not expected home for another few hours. And to be honest, I do not wish to return home while in such a foul mood."

"Understandable," Canary set the teacup back down in front of you. "What do you propose?"

Taking a sip from your still hot tea, you mulled things over in your head a little. Looking at the scenery around you, you hummed in thought and lightly tapped a finger nail on your cup.

"Ah!" you exclaimed. "How about we have a girls day and do a bit of shopping together before we get something to eat. It should be about time to go home by the time we're done. Maybe we could even get something for your lady friend, Amane" A sly, knowing grin graced your lips and you winked at her.

"Eh!" she started and looked down, her cheeks darkened a little. "You.. You really don't have to do that, mam."

"Oh, come on," you laughed lightly, "you know you're the closest person I have to a friend besides Illumi. And shopping with him isn't the same as shopping with you!"

"I have got to admit," Canary added softly, "Master Illumi does have some interesting tastes when it comes to his choice in outfits."

You laughed a little louder.

"That he does, my dear. I suspect he may be getting some influence from that clown friend of his."

You paid for the drinks and the two of you were off.

Since this was the first time you were having boys, you wanted to get some new things for the nursery. Most of what you needed or wanted was going to be ordered online, but you still enjoyed going from store to store looking at what each one had to offer.

After a few hours and many a shopping bag later, you and Canary eventually stop to have dinner. You were more than ready to get off your feet for a little while. The first two times you were pregnant you didn't tire so easily and your feet were not as quick to swell or become sore. Carrying twice as much baby, the case was a little different this time round.

While waiting for your food, you decided to text Illumi.

You: We're stopping for dinner before we head home, should I bring anything for you and the girls?

You nibbled on an appetizer while awaiting your husbands response. It didn't take him long as he sent a picture with a blurred portion of his face in the shot and the girls making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chips in the background. It seemed they were both making a bit of a mess, and was that peanut butter on Illumi's cheek?

Illumi: No, we're good, thank you. See you soon.

You laughed and showed the picture to Canary who smiled and chuckled lightly. Peanut butter and jelly with chips most definitely would not have been your first choice for dinner. But seeing as Illumi had very limited experience with cooking, it was probably the safest route to go. Most importantly, it looked like they were having a good time.

Idle chit chat was pleasantly shared between you and Canary as the two of you enjoyed your food. Once dinner was done and paid for, all the shopping bags were packed into the car and the two of you were on your way home.

It didn't take long for you to start dozing off a little. The combination of a roller coaster of emotions, having been on your feat, being pregnant, and then having a nice large meal had really drained you. The gentle motion of the car was no help either.

Before you knew it, Canary was calling out to you.

"Lady (y/n), we're home."

With a mild start you became fully alert. Blinking, you looked out your window and saw your family's home. Separate and a fair distance from the Zoldyck family mansion, the large house was built for you Illumi just before (o/d) was born.

You got out of the car and stretched, then turned to Canary.

"Could you please take those bags to the nursery? I'll go through them later."

"As you please, mam," Canary replied with a slight bow.

Thanking her, you turn and head up the stairs to the front door. Upon entering your home, you removed your shoes, set them aside and hung your purse on it's hook. Your ears were alert for the sounds of your daughters and husband. The house was quiet.

"Illu? (o/d)? (y/o)?" you called.

"They're in the girls' room, lady (y/n)," a familiar voice replied from the kitchen. Coming round the corner, you found Amane cleaning up the dinner mess your husband and children left behind.

The mess wasn't terrible. Bread and chip crumbs, smeared jelly and peanut butter on the counters as well as some spilt milk. The sink was filling with soapy water for the dinner dishes to be washed, dried, and put away since their wasn't enough to run the dishwasher. The girls had most definitely made larger messes in the past, but you felt a little guilty none the less.

"Ah, Amane, I'm sorry. Illumi should have known to clean up after they were done."

Amane just shook her head.

"It's alright, mam. There really isn't much to it."

"I know, but still.." you smile and laugh lightly, "Thank you."

You continue further into the house towards the girls' room. As you got closer, you could faintly hear your daughters' voices. Curiosity took hold of you and you brought your stealth training into play. Slowly creeping up to the open door, you carefully leaned in and peaked into your daughters' room.

You blinked once. Twice. Several more times as your mouth slowly fell open in complete and utter shock.

Your daughters were sitting in their small chairs at a low, round table made for children while you husband was sitting on his knees. There was also a large stuffed dog that looked a lot like Mike sitting in one of the children's chairs at the table. (o/d)'s pastel colored plastic tea set was set up about the table. Little plastic plates held evidence there had once been treats upon them as there were cookie crumbs left behind.

The girls were dressed in pretty kimonos, gifts from grandmother Kikyo, and were wearing makeup. To much eye shadow and rouge, messy lipstick, you recognized (o/d) handy work. They were having a conversation with Illumi occasionally adding in a comment or answering a question when one was directed to him. Every so often, one of them, including Illumi, would take a sip from their plastic cup.

But, it wasn't just the sight of your fearsome assassin husband playing tea party with his two beautiful little girls that had caught you so off guard. No, it was how he looked.

Illumi was wearing one of your fancy kimonos over his clothes. The size of his chest and shoulders prevented the front from closing properly, but the three of them didn't seem to mind. His long, luxurious hair was tied into several messy braids of which varied in size. Each long braid ended with a pastel colored ribbon tied into a bow.

Copious amounts of makeup in the same manner as the girls was proof that Illumi's face had also been a canvas for (o/d)'s application practice. Jade green eyeshadow nearly reached his high sitting eyebrows and went as far down as tops of his cheekbone. The eyeshadow nearly blended into the large amount of rose pink rogue that practically covered the entirety of his cheeks. Dark plum colored lipstick was messily applied to his thin lips in a manner that reminded you of a comic book villain from your childhood. Illumi honestly looked more clown-like than his friend.

Once your initial shock had faded, you found yourself smiling from ear to ear. Quietly, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and brought up the camera. You made sure to keep your movements slow as you carefully aimed your phone lens towards your family.

Just as you were about to take the picture, (y/d) caught sight of you.

"Mama!!" she happily cheered.

Her actions caused both (o/d) and Illumi to glance at (y/d) then look in the same direction she was. That's when you took the picture. It was perfect.

"Oh, hello dear, did you just get home?" Illumi inquired.

"I did," you replied. You came into the room and smiled at each one of them in turn. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your tea party my darlings."

"It's okay mama," (o/d) said, "we can move Mike Jr. and you can join us!"

Before you could respond, (o/d) started to get up to move the stuffed animal. But then Illumi held up a hand, causing her to stop.

"Actually, I do believe it is close to yours and your sisters bedtime. The two of you should get ready for bed."

"Awwww," both the girls cried out in disappointment, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

They really must have been having fun if they don't want to stop. I'm glad.

"But, we wanna keep playing, papa," (y/d) whined. She was starting to get tears in eyes. It was a sign that she actually was starting to get sleepy, even though she didn't really show it. (y/d) only really ever cried anymore when she was starting to get tired.

"Now, now," Illumi reached over and patted (y/d) on the head. "We can play more tomorrow after lunch when (o/d) is done with her training. I don't have to leave for my mission for another couple of days, so we have plenty of time to play."

"You promise?" (y/d) sniffled.

"I promise," he assured his littler girl in his usual expressionless tone.

"Alright then, girls, I'll help you wash up for bed. Illumi? Would please take the dirty dishes to Amane? She's in the kitchen cleaning up right now."

"Yes, I can do that." Illumi stood and started to collect the dishes when (y/d) suddenly grabbed one of his arms.

"Papa, please read our bedtime story!"

Illumi's eyebrows rose a little. He had never been asked to read their bedtime story before. This prospect excited (o/d) as her little face lit up and she eagerly grabbed her father's free arm.

"Yeah, papa! Please? Could you read us a story tonight? Please?"

You laughed at your daughters' enthusiasm. The sight of them begging their father like this was just too cute. Illumi looked over at you and you wave your hand palm up and gestured to the girls as if to say, "well?"

He looked back down at his daughters and gave a single nod. "Very well then. Go with mama and I will read you two a story when you are all cleaned up."

"Yeeaaahhh!!" the girls cheered together and bolted out of the room for the bathroom. Illumi watched as they ran out, a small, barely noticeable smile was on his colored lips. His dark, wide eyed gaze then turned to you as you wrapped your arms around one of his now vacant ones.

"I take it you three had fun today?"

"Yes, I do believe the mission was a success."

You suppressed a laugh which caused you to make a noise akin to a snort.

"Bonding with your daughters is not a mission, my love, but it is a worthy goal. And it seems that today was a good step towards that goal."

"I do not see much of a difference, but I will take your word for it."

You rolled your eyes and went to kiss him on the cheek, but quickly stopped yourself when you remembered the thick layer of makeup and kissed his nose instead.

Upon hearing the girls starting to make a ruckus in the bathroom you released your husband and turned in their direction. Illumi took this as his cue to continue collecting the dishes for Amane to clean.

A few minutes into helping the girls clean up their faces a startled cry from the kitchen nearly made you jump out of your skin. You became alert and listened carefully for any signs of a fight starting. There where none. However, you could hear the voices of Illumi, Canary and Amane talking in a light hearted manner.

"I think papa scared Amane," (o/d) giggled. You blinked at her and quickly pieced together what she was thinking.

With the way Illumi looked at the moment, his face and hair done up and wearing clothes in an odd fashion, Amane may have not recognized him right away. You couldn't help but chuckle a little at this realization.

"I think you're right, (o/d)."

Once the girls were cleaned up and in their night clothes they both jumped into (o/d)'s bed just as Illumi was returning. (y/d) had already chosen the book for the night and was excitedly waving it in the air. It was "The Big Book of Bedtime Stories".

Illumi settled down between the girls who snuggled up to him and got comfortable as he turned to the right page.

"Alright then," Illumi cleared his throat to begin the story, "Once upon a time, in a forest thick with trees and dancing with life, there was a small family that lived in a cottage by the river."

Illumi continued reading in his steady, monotone voice. It was soothing, if not somewhat hypnotic. You even caught yourself dozing off while seated at the foot of the bed. Looking over at your family, you found yourself smiling once again. It had not even been ten minutes and they were both sound asleep.

Normally, it would take around 15-20 minutes before the girls would even start to fall asleep. But with the constant activities of the day with their father and his steady hypnotic tone in his story telling, it was almost like Illumi had cast the perfect sleeping spell.

Your husband had not yet realized the girls so you took out your phone and snuck another picture without him realizing it. You then reached out and gentle squeezed his foot in your hand. He paused and glanced up to see you pointing at your daughters in which he followed your direction. Looking down at the sleeping figures, Illumi's usual deadpan expression softened ever so slightly and the corners of his mouth turned up into a tiny smile.

Looking back up at you, you gave him a thumbs up and stood up from the bed. He carefully scoot down between the girls to reach where you had been sitting. Once there, he too stood up from the bed then turned and carefully scooped up (y/d) in to his strong arms. Without producing even the slightest of sounds he strode across the room and tucked (y/d) into her bed as you tucked in (o/d).

You followed Illumi out of the room, turning off the light as you went. Once a little ways from the room, you spoke.

"I didn't expect them to fall asleep so quickly. Maybe I should have you read to them more often."

"Hmmm, perhaps," he said thoughtfully. "Although I am sure having a long day had something to do with their tired state."

"Oh, I'm sure you're right. But still, I think you did a really good job." Illumi actually smiled at your praise. "Now, lets head to our bathroom, I'll help you get cleaned up."

The two of you headed into the bathroom where you went straight to your vanity to retrieve your makeup removal products.

"Oh," you heard Illumi exclaim causing you to look up at him. He was leaning across the vanity and looking at himself closely in the mirror. After a few moments he turned towards you with his usual expression and pointed to his face.

"(o/d) really did a number on me, didn't she. I can see how I startled Amane. I'm hideous."

You blinked, then burst out laughing. Illumi was somewhat startled by your reaction and he turned to look at himself in the mirror again while still pointing to his face.

"I honestly don't see what's so funny."

"I'm sorry, dear," you gasped between bouts of laughter, tears in your eyes," I- It's just- Are you just now seeing your face?!"

"Well, sort of. (o/d) put this on just before the tea party. She showed me with one of their toy mirrors, but I figured since it was a toy it didn't show very well. It appears I was wrong."

Your laughter died down and you carefully wiped your tears from your eyes.

"My love, I think your wonderful." You smiled at him. "You're an amazing man that made his daughters the happiest children in the world today. And for that, you are absolutely beautiful."

Without moving Illumi simply closed his eyes and a smile of accomplishment and joy spread across his lips. You let him bask in the praise for a few more moments before you reached out and turned him face you. You sat him down on the vanity stool then set to work wiping off the frighteningly large amounts of makeup away with a removal wipe.

"How did things go with your mother today?" Illumi asked. You paused in what you were doing a little to long, causing him to open his eyes. His large, obsidian orbs gazed into your smaller (e/c) ones. "That bad?"

You sighed and continued what you were doing, "Yes, she refused to be nice once again. I probably won't even bother to contact her again until the babies are born."

"That's right," Illumi remembered, a slight sound of excitement in his voice, "you had an appointment this morning before you were to meet your mother. How did that go? What did you find out?"

Your mother's voice echoed through your mind. Her response to the news you gave her when you had first met for tea that afternoon.

"Once he finds out those babies are males he's going to insist on training them the same way he was trained. Brutally, and without love or compassion. The traditional Zoldyck family way."

She's wrong! you thought bitterly. But a shadow of worry made your stomach twist into a small knot.

"(y/n)?"

You blinked, you had stopped cleaning his face again while in thought. You weren't sure what expression you had on your own face at that moment, but you could see it was causing your husband to worry.

Taking his hands into yours you brought them up and placed them on your round belly. A warm, loving smile graced your lips as you peered into his eyes.

"My love, you will soon be the proud father of two sons."

You nearly cried when you saw actual joy show on Illumi's face. He leaned forward and brought his head down, touching his forehead to your belly. You cupped the side of his face with one hand and gently began to stroke his head with the other.

He was silent for a few minutes, living in the moment. Then Illumi shuddered a little as a multitude of feelings surged through him. Joy, fear, excitement, concern, love, anger. It was overwhelming to him.

"My sons-" he choked on the emotional overload. "My sons, they will be the ones to break the cycle. They will not go through what I went through."

A surge of relief washed through you causing tears of joy to form in your own eyes. You gently turned Illumi's head upwards to face you and was stunned to see there were actual tears in his eyes as well. Leaning down you planted a warm, loving kiss to his colored lips. Not giving a damn about the lipstick that was now smearing all over your own lips. You then touched your forehead to his and nuzzled your nose against his own.

"I'm so proud of you, Illu," you spoke softly, "You've come so far. I love you so much, my husband."

"My wife," he whisper back, his breath brushing your lips, "I couldn't have come this far without you. Thank you, (y/n), I love you, too.”

You broke away slowly, peering down at your husband with so much love you didn't even know you could emit. His smile was still on his lips as he reached up and brushed his thumb across the smeared lipstick on your lips.

"Yeah, you're still a mess," you laughed lightly. You grabbed a fresh wipe and set back to work. "Once I am done here you just need to give your face a quick wash. I'll start us a bath then help you take out all of the braids."

"I would like that," Illumi replied, still smiling.

By the time you have cleaned the majority of the makeup from his face most of his deadpan expression had returned. The only difference from the norm was that he still had a shine in his eyes and a small smile on his now clean lips.

He quickly washed his face with special soaps then set to work untying the ribbons from his hair, carefully undoing the long braids. You started the bath. Holding your fingers under the running water from the bath faucet until it was the right temperature, then set the plug. You added yours and Illumi's favorite essential oils before going over to help him with the braids.

You couldn't help but smile at how he was practically glowing. The two of you made quick work of the braids. You were amazed how not a single hair tangled even in the messiest of braids. Secretly, you believed your husband somehow used some of his nen to keep his hair from becoming tangled and knotted.

Once Illumi's hair was free of braids and put up into a bun, the two of you stripped to nothing. Illumi climbed into the bath first and settled down without making even the slightest ripple in the water. He held out a hand for you to use for balance as you climbed in next. You settled between Illumi's legs and leaned back into him with a sigh of pure contentment.

Leaning your head to the side and back onto his shoulder, you felt the warmth of the water seep into your muscles causing your body to relax completely against Illumi's body. Illumi moved his hands to rest on your belly and leaned his head against yours. The two of you relaxed in silence for a few minutes. Both lost in their own thoughts. For once, it was Illumi that broke the silence.

"(y/n)?" You hummed a response. "Have you thought of names yet?"

You chuckled, "Not yet, dear. Do you have some ideas?"

Illumi went into a long list of names and the meanings behind each one. You would comment here and there but mostly just let him talk. It was so rare for him to talk this much voluntarily. And as he rambled on about names and what fun things he wanted to do with all his children, you couldn't help but smile.

You were wrong, mother, you thought to yourself, My husband may be flawed to you, but he's absolutely perfect to me. And that's all that truly matters.

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elizabeethan · 4 years ago

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Spaces Between Us Chapter 11: Strong

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

A/N: Oh no my hand slipped and I posted early again

This chapter was hard to write, and it might be hard to read. Some heavy stuff happens so please take care of yourself and read the warnings! As always, if you need more information, please please message me.

***This chapter includes a scene containing descriptions of domestic violence. Please message me for more details if you need to***

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

If there’s one thing Killian was not expecting when he woke up this morning, it was this. In fact, this has been the furthest thought from his mind for months. When Emma assured him that Henry is not his son, he believed her and forced himself to drop it.

He would gladly raise her child as his own, if she would allow him to do so. He would help them to escape her abusive husband, getting them out of the state entirely if he could, and he would act as a father figure to her boy.

But when she walks towards him in the hospital that afternoon, her eyes bloodshot and her face red and swollen as she cries some more, he hears the last thing he’d ever expected to hear.

“They want to do DNA testing,” she tells him softly, her voice croaking and rough in the aftermath of her violent sobs. “A… a paternity test.”

“Emma…” he tries, but nothing else will come out.

“I’m sorry. The pulmonologist says there's no way this is from him being premature. It’s really bad, and he says it’s got to be genetic.”

“I know, love, but… I just thought…”

She's silent for a moment, and it’s as if she doesn’t even want to try and speak. Finally, she inhales deeply and forces out her explanation.

“The weeks before you left, we were fighting all the time. And then we would have sex to numb how much it hurt, and the whole time, I mean… I was bad about taking my pill. And once you left I was still bad about it, but… if I got the date of conception wrong…”

He nods, though he’s having trouble understanding her as the world feels blurry still. Despite his confusion, though, he runs his hands up and down along the length of her arms. “He’s still so small, though.”

“He was five pounds, eight ounces when he was born. Which is tiny, but Dr. Whale said that a stressful pregnancy can impact birthweight. And… I mean, I spent my pregnancy with Walsh. I lost you.”

Taking her hands in his, he squeezes and begs her to look into his eyes before he pulls her bottom lip from between her teeth and wipes away the tiny trace of blood left behind. “Love, are you sure about this?”

He watches as she begins to break again, the tears immediate and her breathing quickening until he pulls her in for a tight hug. “If this is true-- if you’re his dad-- that means I put him through this for no reason. What kind of a mother does that make me?”

Although he’s overcome with confusion and a difficulty accepting what seems more and more likely to be the truth, he’s also overcome with the need to comfort her. So he shushes her gently, kissing her head, and whispers, “you're the best mother in the world to him, my love. You did everything you could to protect him. If this is true, we can leave, and I'll be the best father I can to him. Together, we’ll make up for what he’s been through, I promise.”

“I don't want to do this to you,” she cries, and although she grips him tightly, he can feel her pulling away. “I don’t want to put you through this.”

“There’s nothing I want more than to be a family with you and Henry. Even if he isn’t my son, I'm going to get you out of Storybrooke and I'm going to treat him like he is.”

She holds onto him for a while, letting her breathing even out and probably deciding whether he’s telling the truth, and he considers the weight of their situation. He never thought he would be a father. Once things ended with Emma, he thought it was over for him and that he would never move on and be happy enough to start a family with anyone else. Then, when he found her again and with a child of her own, he thought he would at least be happy enough raising someone else’s son if it meant being with her. When she so firmly and believably insisted that he did not father her son, he believed her and tried his best to move on.

Now that the possibility is dangled in front of him once more, he isn't sure he can survive the heartbreak of being proven wrong once again.

But when he thinks about the lad who has Killian’s mother’s eyes and Emma��s round cheeks and an attitude that couldn’t possibly be inherited from such a horrible man, his heart clenches in his chest and he can’t bear to not know. He can’t go through life without knowing whether this child is his. He wants him to be his so very badly. And even if he isn’t… he may as well be.

“What do we need to do, love?” he finally asks, giving her assurance that he’s in this with her no matter what they find out.

She sniffles, looking up at him with glassy red eyes and asks, “are you sure?” and he nods with firm resolve and a soft smile. She returns it and explains, “they can do a paternity test right now. I can pay for rapid results and find out in a few hours.”

Brushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, he nods again and leans down to kiss her despite the fact that they're in public. They're hidden in a quiet hallway, but the possibility that anyone can walk in on them in each other’s arms is real. “I’ll pay.”

“Killian, no--”

He cuts her off with another kiss, this one more heated, and then says, “I’ll pay. However the results come back, I want to be here for the lad. I’ve missed five years already, let me start making that up now.”

She sighs and kisses him now, holding him as close to her as she can as she cradles the back of his head in her hands. “Should we talk about what this means?” she asks softly, voice barely above a whisper in the quiet hall.

“All it means is that a part of me may have been with you all along. I can take comfort in that. It means I have a reason for being so fond of your son, other than him being your son. It means there’s hardly any reason for us to be apart ever again.”

“Aside from my potential murder,” she jests, although it feels heavier than any joke should.

“Hush,” he quiets. “I told you I'm not letting anything happen to you and I meant it. We’re going to get this sorted out now, alright?” She nods, her nose running along his cheek. “Now, are they going to stab me with a needle, or can they simply swab my cheek?”

With a snort, she asks, “what, you can handle a bunch of tattoos, but a bit of blood work is too much for you?”

“Oy,” he argues, tickling her playfully until she giggles and buries her face in his neck. “I’ll do anything for that lad, I swear. Just… a cheek swab is a bit less uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure a cheek swab would’ve been less uncomfortable than 39 hours of labor, too.”

“Alright,” he concedes. “Come, now. Let’s find out the level of torture I’m about to endure.”

~~~~

It’s hours of sitting behind the desk, torturously staring at the clock and willing it to turn to 8 pm so she can leave. Tink doesn’t deserve this shift; it’s a complete waste of a day, and hardly anything exciting has happened. One would think that the emergency department at a hospital would be more busy, but Storybrooke is a small and sleepy town. The only thing that’s happened today is a little boy getting checked in for his asthma, and if nothing transpires with what was discovered after he was admitted, it’ll feel like a wasted shift.

As if his ears were burning, the elevator opens to reveal something very exciting indeed: the mayor. He hurries towards her, leaning over the desk with a sense of urgency that Tink suspects is purely for attention and votes. “I’m looking for Henry Oswald,” he insists.

She blinks at him and cocks her head, turning to her computer for show, although she already knows what’s about to happen. “Do you have ID?” she asks when she sees the kid’s chart, concealing her smirk.

The mayor grumbles something about her not knowing who he is and the slightly sadistic side of her cackles. The cackling gets louder when she takes his ID and shakes her head, giving him a falsely apologetic look. “I’m sorry, sir, I can only allow family into his room.”

His face is nearly unreadable, but she sees the way his eyes widen threateningly when he asks, “excuse me?” in a deceptively calm tone.

Not falling for his playacting, she repeats, “only family is allowed in the room at this time.”

“I’m his father,” he insists.

Tink shakes her head. “Not according to his chart, sir. The name on your ID does not match the name listed here.”

“Let me see that.”

“I can’t, sir, it’s a confidential medical record. Only his parents are allowed to see his information.”

He slams his hands against the desk and shouts, “I’m his father! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Honestly, Tink should work on her tendencies to rile people up. But when she heard about the drama with the mayor’s son not actually being the mayor’s son, she was sort of hoping this would happen. She didn’t vote for him, anyway. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice and take a step back.”

“I’m not lowering anything until you let me see the kid!”

“Sir, I’ll have to have you escorted out by security,” she insists, pressing the button under her desk discretely and watching the security guards rush into the waiting area.

The mayor shouts in anger as he’s hauled away, threatening to sue the hospital and insisting that Tink is infringing on his rights as a father. She smiles softly at the image she saw earlier, of a small boy sleeping away in his big bed and his father diligently guarding him from his firm, uncomfortable chair.

~~~~

Killian wanted to go for her after finding out the truth about Henry-- the fact that Walsh isn’t his father and Killian is-- but she was terrified of leaving him alone for even a second without the protection of the sheriff, so she insisted on going. He didn’t take that lying down and made her promise to stay in the hospital where it’s safe, so when he fell asleep in the hard folding chair, she kissed his forehead and snuck out of the room and down to his car.

It’s strange how easily she’s been able to accept the events of the day. It started with her having a mental breakdown over her husband’s maltreatment of both herself and her son, and has evolved into her feeling a sense of completion. Things are starting to feel right. Her life is falling into place.

Killian is Henry’s father.

She can continue to stress over the fact that she was too consumed by the pain of losing him to even consider the possibility later, but for now, she focuses on getting as many of Henry’s things as she can and stashing them in Killian’s squad car before she goes back to the hospital to be with her son. Killian can bring all of his stuff to his apartment later, so that she doesn’t waste any more time being away from him or being in this damn house.

She smiles as she grabs his favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Quackie, and pushes it into his small backpack before reaching for his nebulizer and placing that inside as well. She grabs Goodnight Moon and his favorite copy of Henry and Mudge, and just as she’s reaching for the rest of his clothes that she has laid out on his bed, she hears the front door slam.

In a panic, she shoves his clothes into the duffle bag as quickly as she can and zips it up, but she isn’t sure how she’ll be able to leave the house without him knowing. The squad car is parked outside, and while she was initially worried about taking it for fear of Killian getting into trouble, she’s glad she has it now. Maybe if he thinks the Sheriff is here, he won’t do anything. Maybe she can climb out the window without being seen, sneaking back in the front to grab the keys from the kitchen and making a break for it. She doesn’t need any of her own things, just the contents of the small backpack slung over her shoulder.

Just as she makes the rash decision to head out the window, hoping that the roof below the second story will be enough to ease her to the ground, she feels a hand on her shoulder yanking her back inside until she’s on her back and looking up. She’s never seen him look so angry-- she’s never seen anyone look so angry. He glares down at her through fury and rage and she fears what’s to come.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks simply, seething through his teeth as she gulps and attempts to stand. He stops her by pressing the toe of his boot, still wet from the snow outside, to her forehead. “I said what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Um--”

“I just left the hospital. The school called, and when I got there, they said only Henry’s family can go into his room.”

She tries not to dwell on the fact that the school called him because she knows that they were required to do so. She also tries to ignore the fact that he waited almost eight hours before going to the hospital to look for Henry, able to put the thoughts of anger out of her mind and replace them with relief at him not being the father of her child. All she can do now is gulp and stare up at him in anticipation for what he might do to her.

He removes his boot and lets her stand, and just when he steps to the side and she’s tricked into thinking that he may let her leave, he throws her onto the small bed and screams, “his family?! How convenient is it that the hospital thinks someone else is Henry’s father?”

“Walsh,” she tries, but he’s on her before she can go on, pressing his forearm to her throat to silence her with just enough force for it to hurt.

“And now you're here, in the sheriff’s car,” he hisses, spit spewing across her face as he berates her. “If you tell me he isn’t mine-- if you stuck me with this life for six miserable years for absolutely no reason-- I will fucking kill you right here.”

She lets out a sound that should indicate the damage he’s doing as he increases the pressure of his hold, and he lets go only long enough to replace his arm with two hands. He squeezes hard until she starts to see stars, clinging her hands to his wrists in an attempt to claw him away from her and open up her airways again. Instead of letting go, he lifts her by the neck and throws her back down against the bed with more force than she knew was possible. He screams some more, but her world is going dark and she can’t make out a word he says to her.

Her lips start to feel numb at the pressure he applies. Her eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her skull. Her desperate movements at his hands weaken, and she truly believes that he means to kill her. He means to end her life as punishment for falsely saddling him with fatherhood. She has the realization that she’s about to pass out and probably die, and then sees her son’s face flashing before her eyes and is reminded of why she’s here. Not just why she’s in his room gathering his things, but why she’s here on this earth. What purpose she serves as a person.

She’s a mother.

No one can take that from her.

No one.

She lifts her hands from his, finding one last grain of strength, just enough to plunge her pointer fingers into his eyes and make him scream in painful anguish as he finally releases his hold on her. She takes the deepest breath she ever has and ever will again, and feels more sympathy for Henry than she ever has before because nothing has ever been scarier than wanting to inhale and being incapable of doing so.

Walsh cries out, swearing at her and calling her names before he throws her onto the floor, causing her to lose the wind in her lungs once more. But she’s committed to fighting back now, and she won’t let him win, so she kicks him hard between his legs so that he falls beside her and then moves to stand herself.

Grabbing the small backpack, the one that at least has his nebulizer in it, she feels Walsh's hands grabbing for her ankles as she starts to run. She makes it down the stairs and grabs the keys off of the counter, wishing she had just kept them with her, when he cuts her off. He raises the stakes, too, because he’s standing three feet from her with a gun she had no idea he owned and a wild, murderous glint in his eyes.

“Are you gonna shoot me?” she asks, her throat and neck burning as she speaks.

“I really, really want to.”

“What about your reelection?” she taunts.

“Fuck you.”

She glances around the room as she stares down the barrel of his gun, and realizes she isn’t scared. It’s the icing on the cake, the fact that he’s had a gun in the house that her five-year-old lives in the entire time and never bothered to tell her. She’s furious.

So she picks up the crystal vase on the counter and he laughs, asking what she’s going to do with it when he’s standing there with a gun to her head, and she tosses it at him. It’s his grandmother’s, and he wouldn’t dare let a family heirloom shatter, so he drops the gun and catches the vase. She grabs his golf club as she runs by the bag he’d left by the entrance of the kitchen, holding it like a bat as he turns to face her again.

“You’re not his dad,” she confirms finally, her strength giving way to the cocky attitude that she’s been wanting to give him for months. Years. “The sheriff is. And I’ve been fucking him for months.”

He growls in the back of his throat, grumbling something about her being a bitch, and rushes her foolishly. She swings the golf club with all of the force that she possesses and knocks him and the crystal vase to the ground, taking a deep grounding breath when he remains still, and then hurrying towards the door.

~~~~

She parks outside of the sheriff’s station, unsure of what to do next. She knows he can’t do anything to her here, and she doesn’t want to go to the hospital where Henry could see her. She also doesn’t want to let Killian see her like this, because he was right all along.

She always thought that a part of Walsh must've loved her, just a bit. She thought that he would never hurt her, because she’s his wife, and that’s just not how things are done. Killian was right, and she should have known better.

She remembers hearing a statistic in college, back when she wanted to be a social worker, about how battered women are in the most danger when they try to leave their abuser. She never for a second saw herself becoming a statistic.

~~~~

The sheriff’s car had been parked outside for twenty minutes before Deputy Ruby Lucas decided to take a peek and investigate why he wasn’t coming inside. When she finally does look, she sees something she would never have expected.

Of course, she figured out they were having an affair pretty easily. It’s not like they were being discreet about it, after all. But Ruby never suspected that the sheriff would lend his town-appointed vehicle to his mistress.

She likes the mayor’s wife well enough, even more so upon finding out how little she regards her husband. The man’s an absolute terror and she’s never liked him, and always struggled with how someone could possibly have found enough good in that man to marry him. Of course, finding out that Emma doesn’t actually like her husband very much was a bit of a pleasant surprise.

She taps on the window on the drivers side and the woman inside jumps, staring up at Ruby with wide eyes filled with terror. “Are you alright?” Ruby asks her through the glass, and she watches as Emma grimaces as she turns her head to face forward again. Suddenly and with great clarity, Ruby’s astute deputy skills kick into gear as she notices a deeper-than-normal shadow on the woman’s neck and realizes what’s happening. “Where’s the sheriff?” she asks.

Emma says, “the hospital,” although her voice is rough and sounds strained.

Ruby wants to turn on her flashlight and take a better look at the woman before her, but thinks better of it so as to not spook her. She leans down so that she’s more on her level and says, “can you come inside with me? We can call him.”

She watches as the frightened woman reaches her hand up to her neck and cringes away from her own touch before undoing her seatbelt and exiting the car, her eyes wide and fearful as she looks around the empty parking lot.

Ruby has never seen someone look so terrified in all her years as deputy.

~~~~

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nxrthmizu · 4 years ago

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the tears i cried for you

━━━━━━━༓☾☆☽༓━━━━━━━

pairing | iwaizumi hajime x oikawa tooru

words | 1.5k

genre | angst, star tears disease!au

author’s note | i’ve thought about this one for a while and finally got to writing it at 12.15am and yes its’ midnight but oh hell apparently i produce better work when everyone else’s asleep so oops

━━━━━━━༓☾☆☽༓━━━━━━━

in a world where unrequited feelings would result in sharp-edged, star-shaped tears, crushes could be deadly. ‘love’ was a fragile topic that people thread around like it was shards of glass— no one was willing to love if it meant putting their sight on the line for it.

reciprocation was considered a miracle, a blessing. if you wanted love— well, you needed to be brave enough to take the risk, and you needed to be strong enough to face the consequences of rejection.

unfortunately, oikawa was neither.

he was neither brave enough to confess, nor strong enough to face the consequences. and yet, he let himself dream.

he let himself hope.

he let himself love.

the relationship between a setter and a spiker is an intricate one, they said. oikawa believed the phrase whole-heartedly. there was no relationship more intricate than the one between him and the ace of seijoh— words were never needed between them, not on the court, not during their arguments, not...

despite the telepathic connection that tooru convinced himself that they had— hajime just never got the hint.

i love you.

courage? oikawa had none of it. not when it came to facing his denied feelings for his best friend. and honestly, who the hell would want to admit it? it wasn’t as if hajime was showing signs of returning his affection— oikawa wasn’t going to be so stupid as to confess, to bungee jump off a cliff without a rope—

even across the cafeteria, oikawa could clearly make out what the girl was saying.

“i... i like you. could— can you be my boyfriend?” words couldn’t express how much oikawa admired her. confessions took courage. confessions took risk-taking. confessions took putting your sight on the line, because rejection meant star-shaped tears.

tooru thought he knew pain. afterall, it seemed that fate had hated him from the moment he was born, so pain had always been the feeling he knew best.

but the pain of defeat, the pain of not-being-good-enough, the pain of never achieving his dreams was nothing compared to the agony that shot through his chest like an arrow when his eyes traced the outline of hajime’s words, along with the slight tint of a smile and the shy red flag of a blush.

“sure.”

━━━━━━━༓☾☆☽༓━━━━━━━

don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—

a drop of blood dribbled down from his lips, vermillion against the pale hue of his skin. along with the red droplet came a crystalline, star-shaped structure smaller than the nail of tooru’s pinkie.

a tear.

he caught it before it shattered into a million, minuscule pieces across his bedroom floor, cradling the tiny glass-like structure in his hands. a bitter curiosity was set alight in his eyes as he inspected the tear— in all honestly, he would have found it beautiful if it wasn’t for that fact that too many of the tears would end his volleyball career.

before he knew it, three more tears fell. and after that, another five. and ten. then twenty, and countless more. a string of crystalline structures grazed his skin after they pierced his eyes like a thousand ice needles, dropping onto his palm and some shattering on the floor, a cacophony of tiny little xylophones making contact with the ground.

in the midst of pain and bitterness, tooru came to a life-changing realisation. one that made a small part of him bite back angrily, i told you so.

he was heartbroken.

angrily, he shook the sorrow away, blinking back the sting in his eyes. a sting that he was sure he’d feel again, and when he did, the intensity was going get worse and worse until it met the end of his sight.

the clinking of the crystal-like tears was strangely satisfying, tooru thought as he gently placed them, one by one, into a glass jar. when he was finished, he shook the jar gently, relishing in the chime-like tinks of tears darting across the smooth base of the glass.

his eyes, now in lesser pain than before, flicked over to a framed photo he had on his desk— one of him and hajime, both at an age where crushes were silly and laughable things. their arms were over each others’ shoulders, and even though their faces were scratched and bathed in mud, they were both grinning, happy and without a care in the world.

if only he could go back to a time when hajime was just a friend.

━━━━━━━༓☾☆☽༓━━━━━━━

if you asked him to pinpoint the exact time that he started to avoid hajime, tooru wouldn’t be able to give you an answer. it started off subtle— mentioning that he had to rush home to help his mom with some chores, having to head to school earlier to finish some homework he left under his desk— all meaningless, instinctive lies that slipped from his lips without a second thought. if hajime found them suspicious, he didn’t say anything, too preoccupied with walking his new girlfriend to school. well, it was for the better— oikawa didn’t know how he would feel if he had to walk with both hajime and his girlfriend to school.

but eventually, it became more and more obvious that tooru was doing his best to cut his best friend out of his life— as much as he could, anyway. he hadn’t cried since the first time, and he would very much like to keep it that way. the amount of crystalline tears in the jar had not increased, and he preferred it like that.

“hey, what’s wrong?” iwaizumi confronted him, at long last, as they were shedding sweat-soaked shirts in the locker room. unintentionally, the setter flinched away from his touch, hajime’s hand retracting back in surprise, retreating from its’ former position on the setter’s shoulder.

“what do you mean what’s wrong?” oikawa answered with a laugh, anxiety boiling under the facade of a flirtatious attitude. “i’m as fine as a dandy, iwa-chan. what, are you worried about me?”

silence vibrated through the locker room as the other players shared nervous looks— tooru’s avoidance of his ace had been pretty obvious to everyone else, it was just that no one wanted to speak up. the pair typically resolved their problems sooner or later, except that it had been three months.

“yes.” the ace replied, staring into oikawa’s eyes with an expression that the latter couldn’t quite decipher, “i am.”

they left the conversation at that, for which oikawa was relieved. hajime never pushed anymore from then onwards, but there always seemed to be something that he wanted to say but left unsaid. words became abundant, and while that worked for them before, tooru wasn’t heartbroken before.

thoughts used to fill the space in between them— just by glancing at the impatient tapping of oikawa’s fingers, hajime could tell that his best friend was hungry for milk bread— but times changed, and so did oikawa. the setter became unreadable, and with no words to cue him, the ace lost track of his best friend’s thoughts, and somewhere along the line, he lost track of his best friend, too.

━━━━━━━༓☾☆☽༓━━━━━━━

“tooru, there you are!” tooru’s mother chastised with a frown. “where were you? hajime’s been waiting for you upstairs for at least fifteen minutes. i thought the two of you walked back together?”

the brown-haired teen froze in his footsteps, hand still held mid-air, fingers outstretched to slip off his shoes. “he’s... upstairs?” tooru whispered in horror. he could only think of one thing, displayed in all its’ disgraceful glory, sitting on his desk, right next to his laptop—

the jar.

“it’s not what it—!” the door to tooru’s room slammed open, the setter meeting his best friend’s eyes as the latter looked up, jar held in hand like a precious artefact, a fragile, priceless object that had to be treated with utmost care.

“it’s not what it looks like?” hajime’s voice was soft, softer than tooru thought achievable by the normally-loud ace. an essence of betrayal, of hurt, of guilt— of all things— howled from inside his tone, and still hajime kept his composure, waiting, patient for the setter’s reply.

more than before, silence sat in the space between them, the wordless understanding that they used to have a distant memory belonging to the past. neither said a word; neither wanted to. quietly, hajime set the jar back onto the table, where it had been before the ace stepped into the setter’s room uninvited.

“why didn’t you say anything?” hajime asked quietly.

the setter swallowed, willing himself not to cry— at least not in front of hajime, “you looked happy. she looked happy.”

“and so you let yourself suffer?” a raging storm of emotions were coursing through the ace’s eyes, his fury rising on behalf of his best friend. “why the hell would you do that?”

oikawa looked into his best friend’s eyes, a sudden swoll of courage taking him by storm, dragging him down like the undercurrent of a tsunami. “because I love you,” he said softly, still looking into hajime’s eyes to meet quietened winds. “that’s why.”

━━━━━━━༓��☆☽༓━━━━━━━

haikyuu!! gen taglist: @haru-senji @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @definitely-yours @knmiakira @rirk-ke @cemeiia [Send an ask to be added to by general haikyuu!! taglist]

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! angst #seijoh #aoba johsai #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #iwaizumi hajime x oikawa tooru #star tears #star tears au #iwaoi angst #[ris writes]—✧

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duckymcdoorknob · 4 years ago

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BNHA Boys Headcannons:

He Hears You Sing for the First Time.

Hi fellas!! Welcome to my BNHA headcannons! I wanted to write something other than my normal fics, so I’ll be posting a master list of these scenarios and updating them mostly bi-weekly! ❤️✨

————————————

Katsuki Bakugo:

Tonight was a calm night during the sports festival. Classes 1-A and 1-B were at a shady bar, engaged in a heavy karaoke contest. It all started with a certain Monoma deciding that 1-B could be superior to 1-A in anything they wanted. Jirou decided to pick a karaoke contest.

Inside, you were mentally cursing yourself. You had never revealed your talent and it didn’t match with your quirk whatsoever. Nonetheless, If it would get that corn-headed bastard to shut up, you were willing to make a personal sacrifice.

After Jirou finished her rendition of I Hate Myself for Lovin’ You, she received almost max on the applause-o-meter. Next it was Tetsutetsu’s turn. You spaced out trying to figure out what you were going to sing. Then it hit. The best song. You didn’t even have to sing, just speak fast. It was perfect.

Tetsutetsu received low applause, making you feel bad in a way, but not too much.

“Next to the stage. Class 1-A, (Y/N) Tamayaki” Monoma announced.

As you passed by him, he flicked your shoulder. You turned your head and scowled at him, “if you’re scared about me beating your 5 on the meter...” you walked on the stage and tapped the mic, “you should be.”

You whispered to the DJ, selecting your most straightforward repertoire song, It’s The End of The World As We Know It

The familiar tinking of the intro played, gaining some hoots and hollers from the crowds. You took to the microphone, “that’s great it starts with an earthquake, birds, snakes and aeroplanes, Lenny Bruce is not afraid”

You masterfully complete the first verse, without a misstep or stutter. Seeing Monoma look like a deer in headlights made it all the more satisfying. When moving into the chorus, you notice a head full of blonde spikes walk through the door.

“Six o’ clock, Tv hour...” you spoke so fluidly it was almost mechanical. The usually stoic boy turned to look at you with a hint of shock in face. You moved through the second verse with a little wobble, mixing a word or two after seeing the explosive blonde.

“The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide. Mt. St. Edelide...”

After the entirety of the bar shouted “Leonard Bernstein” at you, your turn was almost up. You finished the song with full power in your voice.

The audience erupted into boisterous cheering, leaving you dazed on the stage. Jirou ushered you away with a, “why the hell didn’t you tell us you sang?”

As you passed by Bakugo, you felt a rough hand on your shoulder.

“Oy extra,” a gruff voice sounded, “that was pretty damn cool. Since when do you do that shit?”

Your cockiness from Monoma never left you, “it’s always been there, pretty boy, just never let anyone know it.” You get on your toes and whisper in his ear, “it goes much deeper than this. Let me know when you want to hear more.”

You walk off with Jirou, earning a high five from her. Bakugo stood dumbfounded. Maybe you weren’t an extra after all.

Izuku Midoriya:

Class 1-A’s antics never did end. Kirishima insisted on the whole class hearing his singing voice, a god awful one may I add. So, the class was broken out into full on song.

You had never shown anyone you could sing, it just didn’t fit with your quirk. So you held it off. As soon as the whole ordeal started growing, you found yourself walking to the front of the school.

You plant down on a bench, plugging in your earbuds. You scroll through your Spotify playlist, but ultimately let it shuffle. You un-tensed as the beginning of The Boys of Summer echoed in your ears. You closed your eyes and let lazy lyrics escape your lips.

“Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach...” you quietly echoed the song.

This was the true symbol of peace: no one to bother you while you listened to a bomb ass song. You didn’t notice the added weight on the bench next to you until it was too late.

“Well I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun...” you quietly let the words escape your lips like clockwork.

You opened your eyes to take in the world around you. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Izuku sitting right next to you.

“I-uh h-h-hi! Sorry to bother you, but you just disappeared. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You chuckled softly. How could you be mad at this stuttering mess?

“Um (Y-Y-Y/N)? C-could you keep singing for me?” Izuku was flushed. He was embarrassed with himself, clearly.

You let out a soft breath of air, your lips curving into a smile. You let the next words of the song release from you. You leaned back onto Izuku’s lap, not thinking anything of it. You felt the boy tense up in your lap, but he ultimately relaxed and began to play with your hair.

Okay you lied, this was the true symbol of peace. You spent the whole afternoon in the same position; singing along to whatever song happened to be next in the shuffle.

Denki Kaminari: (got a little carried away here. I’m a Kami hoe)

Certain days bring certain events that you can never plan for. The spring festival most definitely had the it’s surprises in store.

You were hanging out with your friends, Mina, Bakugo, Kirishima, Sero and Kaminari. Today has been the best day you’ve ever experienced. So many fun filled events! Bakugo dominated ring toss and won a giant stuffed zebra for himself, plus a giant stuffed Pikachu for Denki. Sero won the ropes course, receiving a small teddy bear. Mina and Kirishima took on a milk bottle toss, in which they both walked away with a stuffie of their own.

“(Y/N)-Chan! You haven’t won a prize yet! What game can we all play to get one?” Mina chimed

“Oh! I’m not sure! I’m not very athletically inclined, if you catch my drift.” You rubbed the back of your neck in embarrassment.

“That’s okay! Neither am I, I just have a good throwing arm” Mina beamed back in response.

You gave her a closed-eyed grin as you continued with the group. You had to admit that you wanted a stuffie of your own, but how were you supposed to win one?

“Ooooh! Look! Look!” Kirishima’s voice suddenly rang.

You look up to see a midsize stage, a huge crowd of your fellow students and Present Mic setting up a microphone. This should be good...

“Attention studennnnntsssssaah!” A booming voice echoed through the field, “come to the stage for a cool talent show! Winner receives a speeeeeecial prizzzeee!~”

You looked at Kiri with furrowed eyebrows. You hadn’t told anyone about your singing voice yet, so you played dumb.

“What could I possibly bring to the stage? My quirk? You’ve all seen it already.” You snapped in defense while fiddling with your hair.

“You can sing! I heard you humming in the common room!” Kirishima bit back in rebuttal.

“That doesn’t mean a damn thing! And even if I could, Ive got tons of other people to go against!”

You looked amongst your friends, who all had the same look in their eyes. You hung your head down and went to Present Mic to sign up.

After a few minutes, your name was called. You mentally cursed yourself as you shuffled onto the stage.

“Next in our competition, (Y/N) Tamayaki!” Present Mic announced.

You looked at Kirishima, who gave you a thumbs up. As the music started, you sucked in a breath. This is it. The tempo grows and accompaniment becomes more intense. You can’t help but smile.

“Movin’ on the floor now baby, you’re a bird of paradise” you began to sing.

Kirishima cheered. Rio was a favorite amongst you and Kiri. You moved through the first verse with great ease.

“Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand.” You were feeling free, not holding back a bit. You sang your heart out through the next verse, masterfully completed the second chorus, and chuckled as the instrumental break sounded.

As the saxophone began to play, you felt a hand on yours and soon you were spun around. Kirishima has come up to the stage to get you to “loosen up”, but he just wanted to perform with you.

“You make me feel alive, alive alive! Luck is on my side or somethin’, I know what you’re thinkin!” You chimed as Kirishima spun you again.

You started the final chorus, while Kirishima beckoned the whole audience to sing. They all obliged except for one...

A dazed Denki stood with a pink tinge on his cheeks. He was awestruck for sure, for you had never revealed this side of you to him.

As the song ended, you stuck your microphone up in the air and smiled wide. The audience roared in applause, and you won a (favorite animal) plushie.

You exited the stage and tried to grab the voluptuous plushie, but it was so heavy you stumbled backwards.

“Woa-! Careful (Y/N)!” Kaminari cried as he caught you by your underarms, “dude! What the hell that was SO cool!!”

You chuckled and helped yourself to your feet, taking one end of the plush and Kami on the other. You both met with your group while Kaminari pestered you with questions.

Ejirou Kirishima:

Finally! Your first semester of U.A High was complete! Today was a great day for you and your classmates to hang out. So, you and your friend group decided to go have lunch somewhere fun.

“Oye Bakugo, I don’t know If I’m comfortable with you driving. Especially considering you road rage something awful.” Denki intervened your thoughts.

“Oh yeah definitely. Do not let blasty over here behind the wheel.” You agreed.

Bakugo glared daggers at the two of you. “I’m a more than adEQUATE DRIVER THANK YOU!”

“You’re welcome! But you’re not driving.” You chimed in response, “Kirishima can”

“Hell yeah!” Kirishima beamed as he trudged to the driver’s seat of his Mustang.

Bakugo called shotgun first, so you were stuck in the backseat with Denki and Sero. Middle set between these two tricksters? Can’t be as innocent as it seems.

Nonetheless, Kirishima started up the car and put the top down. “We’re riding in style today my friends.”

You chuckled and relaxed in your seat. It would be about a 45 minute drive to go where you all agreed, but it would be a fun one. Kirishima turned on his spotify, letting it shuffle. Some slow song came on and you felt your eyes get heavy...

All of the sudden, you saw your eyelids again. You opened your eyes to see that you had fallen asleep on Kami’s shoulder, and that he had done the same.

“Long day at the mill I guess?” Kirishima asked, looking at you in the rear-view mirror with a grin.

You chuckled softly, he was right. You definitely needed that nap. At that moment, your favorite song played on Kirishima’s spotify, Fallen Angel by Poison.

“WAIT! You’re a poison fan too?!” You shot up, forgetting about poor Kaminari on your shoulder. The boy woke up upon impact with the seat, and you gave him an amused puff of air.

“Jeez (y/n) I let you sleep on my shoulder and tried not to move you. But all of the sudden the tables turn and you don’t do the same? Not cool.” Denki said with a pout.

“BUT LISTEN TO THE SONG!” You chimed.

“It’s just guitar right now.” Kaminari responded as he yawned.

“ITS SO MUCH BETTER THOUGH!” You cried, “She stepped off the bus and out into the city streets.” You began to sing.

Kirishima looked in the rear-view again. He saw you absolutely jamming as you sang. He smiled fondly and turned his attention back to the road.

“Just a step away from the edge of the fall. Sometimes you can’t choose-“

“It’s like a heads you win, tails you’re gonna lose!” Kirishima started to sing with you.

“WIN BIG, MAMA’S FALLEN ANGEL, LOSE BIG, LIVIN’ OUT HER LIES.” You both erupted in to song, causing an angry Bakugo to roll his eyes and let out a fond scoff.

You and Kirishima sang your hearts out until the song ended. You repeated this pattern with all of Kirishima’s other music. You and this boy shared such similar music taste.

Kaminari and Bakugo tried to be annoyed, but they couldn’t seem to find a reason to not be amused. When a song you all knew came on, everyone started singing, even Bakugo. Upon arrival at the restaurant, everyone was smiling and ready for a nice lunch.

“I never knew you had such a nice voice (y/n)!” Kirishima cooed, “you and Jirou should totally team up and make music together!”

Your face heated up. “Oh- uh! Heh, thanks Kiri! I’m happy to hear that you’re a man of culture as well. Not many people our age know about Poison.” You rubbed the back of your neck in embarrassment.

Kirishima’s eyebrows raised with excitement, “oh yeah! I love older music! There’s just something about it! I mean the backing music isn’t the main focus of the song, it’s like an accompaniment for the vocals and-“

“Jesus Christ Kirishima. Get a fucking room you two, you sound like Deku with all that rambling” Bakugo’s annoyed voice sounded. You both felt your faces heat up at the comment, walking into the restaurant with a new idea in both of your minds.

Shoto Todoroki: (got carried away here too uwu)

A lonely rainy day. The boys were all at the pool for some “extra training”. It was close to your birthday and the girls were out to find a present for you. You chuckled softly at the thought. You knew straight away what the girls were planning.

“(Y/n) Chan!” Uraraka’s voice echoed through your thoughts, “were going to the shop to get a-“ she cut herself off, “some snacks for you today! We want to get some (favorite chip flavor) chips!” She beamed.

You nodded in response with a goofy grin. They’re the best friends you could ask for. All of the girls took off in an instant, leaving you in the dorms by yourself.

“Waste not want not.” You hummed to yourself as you made your way into the common room. You prepared yourself a mug of (favorite warm drink) (hot choccy gang) and planted down by the large bay window.

The world was silent. Nothing daring to make a sound, but the pitter-patter of the rain outside of the window. You sighed with great satisfaction. How could this day possibly get better? You grabbed your phone and earbuds from the couch and turned on your Spotify.

“Well... it’s just me here. I can practice my audition music if I wanted.” You thought out loud. You clicked in the playlist containing all of the songs that suited your voice the most.

You instantly relaxed and prepared to start as the familiar tweets and twitters of Green Finch and Linnet Bird played through your earbuds.

“Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, how is it you sing?” You began to softly sing, “how can you jubilate sitting in cages, never taking wing?”

You stared out the window, as if you were acting out the scene yourself, “Outside the sky waits beckoning, beckoning, just beyond the bars.” You stood to your feet and let the music run through you. No one was here to judge you, no one could laugh or glare or, in Bakugo’s case, sneer at you. “How can you remain, staring at the rain? Maddened by the stars?”

You were now in the center of the room, sitting on the couch. “How is it you sing? Anything?” The music crescendoed into a melodious break. You continued to the window, singing the song ever so softly, as if you were singing a lullaby. “Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, teach me how to sing.”

The rain fell harder as you plopped down on the window ledge, “if I cannot fly... let me sing.” You stared out the window with a soft smile on your face. Yes... this is the best way to spend your birthday. Completely alone, cup of (drink) in hand, singing your heart out... Nothing could beat it.

You noticed that you were out of (drink) and returned to the kitchen to pour yourself some more. Upon exiting, the cord of your earbuds snagged along the handle of a drawer. Before you had time to react, a small beam of ice froze your drink, keeping you from burning yourself.

“Are you alright, Tamayaki?”

You stood dazed, unable to process everything. Your mouth sat agape as you tried to usher a sentence.

“(Y/N)? Everything’s fine, you didn’t fall, I caught you.”

That’s when you noticed the arm gripped around yours. You turned to meet the concerned eye of your best friend, Shoto Todoroki.

“A-Ah! Gomenasai Todoroki-San!” You stuttered as your face heated up, “gee how embarrassing.”

Todoroki simply grinned with an exhale of air. Your eyes widened and eyebrows furrowed as you swallowed, “that means you’ve been here the whole time... and you heard me-“

“Singing? Yes. Your voice is quite beautiful. It was a great accompaniment to my embroidering.” Todoroki admitted with a soft smile.

“-was gonna say talk to myself but...” you covered your face with your hands, “no one’s ever heard me sing before! I was always so careful!”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. You truly have a gift.” Todoroki said softly, “if you don’t mind, I would like to embroider while you sing to me.”

You pondered. “Well you’ve already heard me, so there’s no sense in hiding. But, I do need some more (drink), because you kinda like froze my original cup.” Shoto nodded with a chuckle and turned on his heel to grab his supplies.

You smiled and retreated to the kitchen for a new cup of (drink). You then sat down on the couch, scrolling through your playlist to find something slow and quiet. When you felt the ouch weigh down next to you, you absentmindedly rested your head on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday (Y/N). Such a peaceful afternoon must be a gift.”

“Hanging with you is a gift enough.” You muttered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

“I feel the same. Now, I want to hear your beautiful voice again. Hop to it.” Shoto gently commanded.

You obliged and spent your quiet time with him. Hours passed and still you both sat, attention on each of your hobbies. Nothing could ruin this incredible moment. Until Uraraka bursted through the door, causing you to spill an entire mug of scalding (drink) in your lap...

“Happy friggin birthday.” You cringed as Todoroki patted your lap with a cold dish towel.

#bnha #mha #deku #midoriya #my hero academia #Bakugo #Katsuki #mha Bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki #shouto todoroki #denki x you #denki kaminari #Kaminari #Kirishima #ejirou

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prettywarriors · 4 years ago

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Fate The Winx Commentary

Good morning internet! Today is the drop of Winx: Riverdale edition! I sure hope you're ready for my aggressive and unnecessary commentary, because it is coming for you either way!

The netflix landing page lets us know:

Fate The Winx Saga

6 episodes, 48-53 minutes each

"Genres: Fantasy TV Shows, Teen TV Shows, Italian TV Shows"

"This show is: Emotional"

As mentioned elsewhere, my Winx knowledge is limited, so I will be coming into this fairly fresh and will try to be unbiased. As I have seen trailers, the keyword here is Try.

Episode 1

'To the Waters and the Wild'

CW: Animal Death, Swears, Implied Child Death, Blood, Implied Teen Sex, Burns, Weed, Fatphobia, Whatever the term pussie falls under

Episode 1 TL;DR: We meet everyone, learn their dynamics, have the basics of the magic system beat into us, meet our monsters, and name drop Harry Potter. Standard first episode stuff.

I do want it on record before we start that I got about halfway into the first season of Riverdale, and the first season of Netflix Sabrina. They were, well, bland and boring imo? I did get through a few seasons of Teen Wolf, but that's because it was capable of Fun and Jokes. My current expectations are a few unintentionally funny lines, maybe some almost decent magic effects, and because it's 2021, one whole gay character (I did hear one of the boys (there are boys?) is bi, but also an asshole so I'm hoping for some wlw)

TV-MA LANGUAGE AND SMOKING OH FUCKING BOY Almost full moon (waxing) in opening shot- I Will be tracking moon inconsistencies if it keeps showing up that is a pet peeve but hey look a bunch of sheep That's a good start (it's ominous though. don't hurt the sheep) Swears count: Feckin' 2 Mystical portal barrier. Oh yeah s5 of the magicians is on netflix now WELP THOSE ARE SHEEP GUTS RIGHT OUT THE GATE HUH For CW it's up a tree, and the dripping blood is a good warning of what's about to be seen :( oh and then the man who was looking for the sheep dies offscreen save for a spray of blood. THIS ISN'T YOUR CHILD'S WINX CLUB it seems to say. I assume. How much blood was in the original winx because this is already at least a full cup. (Also the monster noises for whatever was chasing the man (werewolf it was a werewolf trailers are bad guys) were not very good)

Opening credit scene is 5-6 different blooming elemental wings. They're pretty, but it's unclear if the last one is secret 6th member wings (because the second to last ones are fire which is the main character's element right?) so maybe we'll get a late 6th addition? (I am in I.T. please give me the most relatable character you cowards)

KIDS IN THE CORNER BY AMBER VAN DAY PLAYING I like where they shot this but that might just be european woods pretty. The opening location was nice and mossy save for the sheep blood Fancy big stone school establishing shots (it's nice, and huge) and we land on a red head who seems less than pleased to be here Courtyard shot of... whatever the name of the replacment plant girl is, holding a tray of various potted plants for an older man (father? first day of school send off maybe?) Aisha(?) walks by, not talking to anyone, Stella(?) is taking Magical!Selfies with at least 3 other girls, Musa(?) has a suitcase and headphones and smiles at a passing girl Oh boy a boy with a pocketknife doing little tricks with it! Nothing says edgy like an actual knife edge. Gonna take this moment to point out I have some level of face blindness and while the girls all look fairly different from one another, if there is more than one tall blonde white boy as I fear there may be, I WILL NOT be able to tell them apart. Not through maliciousness, just general incompetence, so anything I say about the boy characters (I want to say they're the knights to the girl's faeries? is that right? this whole thing smacks of gender) should be taken with a heap of salt I've come to accept tv just. displaying text messages on screen as a storytelling method. It's never my favorite but it just Is a modern story element. Also Bloom needs to meet stella at the alfea gates Alfea I presume is the school- does the name mean something? It sure feels like the word elf and therefore fae but I don't feel like googling anything this early in Oh look two more blondish tall white boys. Pocketknife was wearing something else i think, one guy has a brown jacket and pink shirt (bad combo), the other looks old even by tv highschool/college standards and his jacket has a jock vibe. Jock jacket also has an earring? Is this the bi character who is an asshole? From this one second of him, only in profile, I will assume yes, he is an asshole I like Bloom's backpack Pink shirt looks at Bloom from across the quad. I am already tired of this romance Cool he walks up to someone he has identified as lost, and is 'impressed with [her] confidence in the face of complete ignorance' COMING OUT OF THE GATE WITH A NEGG HUH PINKY He even states he wasn't offering help Then Why Are You Talking To Her Jackass Subs are going with the fairy spelling, and Bloom confirms she is a fairy and we confirm this is College. Unless this is a european thing where they call schools different things. I think that's just for public and private? And maybe just england? I'm American all they teach us is 1492-ww1 over and over for like. 10 years sorry Rest of the World 'What Realm are you from?' 'California' Speaking of ameri-centric, I'm gonna Guess that original Winx, the italian cartoon, didn't have their main character be from cali usa? I am presuming this is a side effect of making this property for a more global distribution than I'm guessing winx was originally conceived as back in the early 00s The Otherworld. I assume this is the fairy realm and whatnot? And the magic school. Seems to be located behind a magical barrier in the earth realm?? If that's right it seems weird if basically everyone who goes to the school is from the otherworld Pinky doubles down on his rudeness but in a Fun and Cute way because :/ and the Specialist hall is Very Pretty, oh and there's a fairy hall. Are specialists the boy...things? magi knights? bros of the blade? guys who wear those 'here come a special boy' sneakers from that one comic? Stella sees this conversation which is great because they drop the term mansplain. why would otherworlders know that term even??? Edgey(?) sees Pinky and they hug it out Stella knows Americans are the type to wander off so I guess there's a lot of inter-world connections?

Miss Dowling- is this teacher going to be like the pedo in riverdale who got *checks notes* killed off by one of multiple serial killers later on? Dowling is the headmistress, gotta keep the otherworld a secret from earthers, time and place for portal making. all standard fantasy stuff so far, nothing to make this stand out Stella has a gateway ring, and frankly isn't too nice? all the backgrounders clothing is Bland and very normal 7 realms of the otherworld, Solaria is where Alfea is, i like magic globe Incase you forgot this was a modern tale, people update their insta stories here. 'I was kindof bummed I didn't see a single pair of wings' YOU AND ME BOTH BLOOM 'We had wings in the past, transformation was lost, tinkerbell was an air fairy' This is either a cop out for your glittery cowardice, or a set up for the main girls re-finding transformation magic later. I did like the Tink bit Bloom is a fire fairy and the subtext of this conversation is that bloom's magic did Something bad. I hope it was burn down her old school's gym a la buffy movie I like miss Dowling but in the I wouldn't Be Surprised if you turned out to be Evil way, and I guess Alfea is a very privileged upper crust school. What types of college do normal fairies go to then huh? damn privileged fairies 'our students have gone on to do amazing things like re-discover long lost magics' We Get It. You will give me Wings, but Only If I'm Patient Dowling throws a jab at Bloom about power control, but I like her necklace so It's Fine

Bloom video calls her parents while unpacking in the dorm, which may have come pre-fit with a heck ton of board games? Love it. Or new plant girl brought them along with her many plants Stella has a fancy mirror and lots of jewelry and fashion photos and makeup, Musa has a laptop and apparently not much else, gotta get those establishing personalities down I guess 'Ladies of the Flies honey don't be sexist' Bloom's dad for feminist of the year (these jokes are bad but i guess we can call it a dad joke as justification) Asiha gives Bloom a look and saves her from the call with her parents- yay friendship step one achieved Blooms parents think she's in the alps because magic secrets and what not Aisha asks bloom if she's never read harry potter and I guess Bloom is a potterhead (that's the term right?). Is this self awareness that all magical school fantasy series have the same basic bricks? Bloom is a ravenclaw sometimes slytherin, Aisha is a Gryffindor Stella is changing because she's the fashion one and has a fun pastel rainbow skirt, and uses magic to make a real aggressive lamp. She's also a mentor (maybe older than the others by a bit?) I am assuming Stella here is something along the lines of a diplomats daughter the way she talks about appearances. She better get down and dirty later on to show her growth about how some things are more important than looks yada yada Fairy magic powered by strong emotions, i am waiting for bloom's backstory to be movie x-men rogue style tragedy Terra! Which. Of course is the Plant Fairy's name. Stella is a little mean to her about the plants and she takes it with a smile and some subtle snark back using classic literature Oh that's fun Terra points out the name-plant thing, and name drops her cousin Flora. That's. The one they replaced with Terra right? Terra's dad works in the greenhouse at the school which explains earlier (and her mum is named rose) Stella is indeed a second year and Musa's eyes change for. Lie detecting magic? and loves her headphones (Overstimulation?) Aisha wants somewhere to swim and we cut to a 'pond' by specialist training. Assuming she wants to sim because she's a water fairy, why Don't they have a pool? also this pond looks. Unpleasant for swimming

Girl specialist! Does that mean we have boy fairies? Boys. Fighting. Talking about girls. All gingers are nuts. Thanks edgelord AMAZING SHAGS THOUGH 'I didn't realize your hand was a red-head' it's not truly edge if we don't talk about sex every 10 minutes Subtitles earlier only said boy 1 boy 2 but now pinky or edgy is Riv Edgy smokes weed, and pinky is a big brother figure to him, and the head? of the special boys doesn't like edgy. Me neither older guy Bit of swordplay, more girls, every specialist has black training outfits, very military Pinky is Sky who is son of Guy of Place. an important lad. without context this is meaningless to me There's a giggly boy who laughs at the idea of a war in the future and gets a talking to. I suspect this boy will be re-occurring enough to die- he has those tertiary character elements with his intro and such (and he's black so I am prepared for your standard racist murder choices) Burned Ones exist outside the barrier, which makes me wonder if dead shepard was in the otherworld? There was nothing establishing that he was in any type of Other place but :/ Oh look edgey is having a smoke cross the barrier while we learn about the creatures that live beyond it. Time to find out these creatures no one young has ever seen are still kicking Specialist leader had to kill his own pa after a burned one got him. They also. Used a shotgun when trying to fight it. Do specialists even have powers or are they just good with weapons? Edgey finds the shepards corpse. Mostly blood 'it's been 16 years since the last sighting' 'Rosalind killed all the burned ones' ahh magical creature genocide hey when is abarat 4 coming out. and is rosalind hot?

School, gossip, Aisha and Musa are snarking at Tera for thinking the guy died of natural causes because we need to have these characters not actually like each other to make it stand out when they do Aisha talks about how she eats a lot and if she didn't swim she'd be massive and we cut to the plus sized tera looking uncomfortable are we really doing this? Tera points out that Musa was ignoring her earlier and it's all just uncomfortable and not great character conflict (but I thought I saw Musa holding an honest to god ipod? it's blue but it could be a phone case. Her hand is in the way) tera and dad interaction is nice, i'm also convinced they couldn't afford more than 3 magic adults

Girl with braids and metal in her hair! There were witches in winx right? Like 3 minor antagonist girls? I assume this is one of them. Because she has alternative fashion and is therefore evil /s Beatrix. Names in this series leave something to be desired (that something is subtly. I get it, they're carry overs from a series for a younger audience, she-ra had the same issue, but i can still poke fun) Swear count: Arsehole 2 Bollocks 1 Shit 1 She's a weird ass kissing with clearly ulterior motives

Bloom is Studying and her notebook is just FAIRY MAGIC POWER = EMOTIONS LOVE FEAR? HARTED? FIRE FAIRY CONTROL? in case you weren't paying attention Oh a flashback already to the magic triggering event? Her mother had pointed out she's an introvert, and past!Bloom doesn't Party. She goes Antiquing and is a Weird Loner (her 'basic bitch' of a mom's words) Swear count: Bitch 1 Bad daughter count: 1 Bad mother count: 1 Magic glowy eyes for Bloom: 1

Bloom Hates Parties and asks Pinky I mean Sky where she can be Away from People and he fears he'll be Mansplaing to her to. vague that it's dangerous outside instead of saying 'hey there's monsters and someone was just killed by possible one of them stay in the barrier' Stella wants to talk to Sky because they have History. I did hear there was a love triangle between these three. I am bored and everyone at this party is a nosey bitch who is watching their tense conversation. Also Something? Happens when Stella gets upset [mystical warbling] Random magic effects in the (very pretty) forest Bloom is trying to practice her magic on her own, and to do that she's gotta look at sad teen pics. And look, her burnt bedroom from her first power usage The fire magic is pretty good. I think fire is like. the opposite of water when it comes to cg where it almost always looks pretty good, while I swear i've seen the actual ocean look like a shitty render Magic out of control, bloom can't control her emotions, Aisha can stop her with water magic which makes some nice steam Bloom is angry at aisha for saving her. So far 3 of the 5 girls are abrasive at best remember when people made characters likeable? Swear count: Shit 1 (but it doubles as the literal meaning because of flooded toilets) Swear count: Bitch 1 Ass 1 Taking away your teen's door is. Really shitty. Not almost burn down your house worthy but damn cheerleader mom I do not understand sleep shirts with buttons. That seems painful if you lie the wrong way? Her mom was seriously burnt by first magic usage that's a backstory Shit count +1 Main character aspect time: dormant fairy blood line? awfully strong magic for that. baby who died day after it was born and now she's here? ...I was going to say changeling thanks aisha A Barbaric practice loving hints at long term world lore Hell is a bad word for kids!! Cutting to headmistress and her secret passage after finding out bloom is secret pureblood? this really is a harry potter thing

edgelord offers giggly some booze, and says pussies twice because he's Edgey and does peer pressure Tera calls him out and knows he's a sad nerd in disguise not a 'badass' and he says she's 'three people in disguise' because fatphobia shit +1 arehole +1 tera. chokes out edgelord with a vine because she's had enough of this shit. good for her edgelord is Riv, and he lived

OBLIGATORY GOOGLE SEARCH FOR THE TERM CHANGELING REMEMBER BELLA'S VAMPIRE GOOGLE GOD I LOVE TEEN FANTASY AND THEIR INSTANCE ON GOOGLING COMMON FANTASY TERMS OH hey the lamp bloom brought with her is the one she was fixing at home that's a nice touch Stella bonds with Bloom about homesickness, and the takes a selfie Musa is a mind fairy. So she. Is a telepath with purple eye magic? Oh there's types of 'connections' Memory, thought (others but i am cut off from the lore) Stella did Something to someone who Talked To Her Man last year and now lent Bloom her teleportation ring to send her some because miss mentor really cares more about her shitty man then helping the girls she's in charge of First World- earth Old Cemetery? Very Sexy. and bloom sweetie don't leave a mystical gateway open, and how will you explain to your parents how you're back so fast Wait she's only 16? SO this really is some european college where that's a funny way of saying High School Fire guilt, bad feelings about life shattering revelations, better connection with mother. I gotta say I have low expectations of this show carrying the family connection through the rest of this. That conversation felt more like a Hey We Made These Movements Onto Other Stuff Now

Lighting choices are interesting, with green, orange and purple for creepy warehouse. THE Creepy Warehouse where she would sleep without her parent's knowledge wow right that GIRL DROPS THE DAMN RING AT THE FIRST SIGN OF burned one looked more alien than werewolf-y here Decent Horror movie looks, and dude stole her ring. Rude. Saved by the headmistress, and tera/aisha/musa are here to great her Stella can't be here though because she has to greet a half naked freshly showered sky because life is suffering and producers insist people like to see teens half naked (who. Who?) shit +1 and she dumped him. pity part of one and using it to try to get your bone on. HEY A SONG I KNOW. IT'S WHATSITCALLED FROM THE BAYONETTA COMMERCIALS WAY BACK WHEN. in for the kill la roux. I do wish netflix would either commit to telling you what song was playing or didn't tell you at all

Riv offers Beatrix a hit from his joint because what Is a Bad Kid hasn't changed in like 70 years Blowing pot smoke into someone's mouth isn't as sexy as ya'll seem to think it is Musa has cute sleep socks with little pom poms, and I love Tera's floral jammies Tera offers a bluetooth speaker so they can listen to music together Musa also calls out Tera's fake happiness this is the good shit character interaction i live for Musa Empath Mind Fairy 'somber indie music'

If you kill a burned one in the human world Something? Extra bad happens? So the headmistress knows Bloom's a changeling, and ohhh that's the last time a burned one was spotted. Is Rosalind the famed Monster Slayer the birth mother of Bloom? Tera text flirts with Giggly who IS NAMED DANE and has a thing for. Sky? Riv? I told you these boys all look the same to me so if it's a half naked pic on fairy insta i'm out of context clues. Crymeariv is the insta name that answers that. Is this the slow burn enemies to lover mlm i can't finish this sentence i don't care riv is a dick Stella and Sky are in a bed and she doesn't seem to have a top on so Implied sexy times? MYSTERIOUS HOODED AND ROBED FIGURE CROSSES THROUGH THE BARRIAR AND SHOOTS THE BURNED ONE WITH LIGHTNING MAGIC OH IT'S beatrix

alt-J – Adeline as an ending song

#fate the winx saga #text #commentary #hey tumblr thanks for deleting all my text because I resized this window #we're off to a great start #fate episode 1

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piracytheorist · 4 years ago

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A Kiss for Good Luck (16/16) [Epilogue]

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

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 1.4k (51k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Epilogue: Six months later

“Oh, sugar!”

Killian smiles at Nemo's euphemism, despite the sauce currently staining his pants. Emma quickly grabs a towel and pats it over the stain, as Nemo runs to bring a wet one.

“It's okay, Nemo. It's not that much.”

“Sorry, son.”

“Come sit down, dad,” Tink says impatiently. “We're all waiting for you.”

“It's a holiday, can I have some time to take care of my family?” Nemo says back, but throws a wink at Tink as he gives Killian the wet towel.

“Even when it's the two of us, sometimes papa takes forever to sit down at the table,” Alice comments, fork already in hand.

“Exactly!” Will says with mock exasperation. “We don't need all the fanfare, dads, we just want to eat!”

“Fine,” Nemo says, finally sitting down. “Let's eat.”

Conversation flows easily, as a Christmas playlist makes the atmosphere even more cheerful; it's a far cry from the lonely, bland Christmas Emma had last year, with her only consolation being pop-tarts and a chat with Killian.

She can't find any pop-tarts here, but Killian's company more than makes up for it. He didn't need to secretly promise her she'd never have to celebrate alone again, but he did and somehow it's all working out. The bad luck they were left with has not been enough to ruin any plans.

“So you're flying to Stockholm in three days?” Rogers asks.

“Yeah, we'll be changing the year with my family there,” Emma says. “It's a closer trip from here than from Boston.” And less lonely.

“Does it get cold up there?” Alice asks.

“Oof,” Emma says. “Very. But if we're lucky, we'll go even further north and get to see the northern lights. That alone is fully worth the cold.”

Killian turns to her and smiles warmly; being with her as he gets to know the important people in her life would be worth all the cold in the world.

He looks around the table, impatient as he is to finish eating so he can hold Emma's hand. Nemo and Shakespeare grew quite close to Rogers during his rehabilitation, as they would drive Alice to the hospital every day to see him. It was a busy summer, what with the extra work due to Shakespeare's errands, tourist season and Emma moving in with him.

At first, it was difficult not to point out every single, tiny setback, like packages getting lost only to be found a week later, food – though only food – getting burned, stepping on dog poop, catching all the red lights, or having bad WiFi at times.

However, those were as bad as it's gotten, for the first time they've had each other to sympathize with, and the sight of a happy Alice and her healthy father is more than enough to make up for the small shows of bad luck. It's become easy, getting used to it.

Maybe they're so unaccustomed to having normal luck that any tiny hint of bad fortune sticks out, Emma said once. All it does, however, is simply get slightly annoying, a grand contrast to the worst luck they've had, and it's worth it knowing that they are free to kiss without fearing they've stolen the other's luck.

It's now where Fate intended it to be; on Alice's side.

Emma sits aside as Alice and Killian get lost in the astronomy book Nemo got her as a Christmas gift, and Rogers approaches her.

“May I?” he says, pointing at the seat next to her.

She nods. Being the one in the house who's had the fewest conversations with Rogers, she's still unused to just how much he looks like Killian. And just like every other time, a wave of happiness washes through her at the thought of still being with Killian at the time he'll have as many grey hair and wrinkles.

“Can I ask you something?” Rogers says. At her nod, he says, “Is it hard? Having family that far away?”

“It's closer now,” Emma says. “When you have good company where you are, it can feel like it's not that bad...” She winces slightly. “But when it's a holiday or something, and you talk to them and they're telling you they're all gathered together, and you're alone in your apartment eating take-out...”

“I don't mean to sound glum in such a day, but my incident last summer brought over some worries. Alice will be alone if something happens to me.”

Emma highly doubts anything will happen to him, but it would take a very long explanation for him to believe it and feel relief.

“I'm starting to think she won't,” she says, looking back at Alice and Killian, still lost over the book as Shakespeare joins them.

“So, it's been easier? Since you moved in here? I mean, when it comes to the distance from your family.”

“They've been very welcoming. They're a found family, you know? It's kind of a part of them to welcome anyone who's looking for support.” She turns back to him. “You shouldn't think like that, you know.”

“Alice is my responsibility. I ought to make sure she'll be taken care of if something happens.”

She smiles. “You're a good dad.”

He laughs lightly. “You think so? Sometimes I feel that my whole life is one part my job and two parts Alice.” He looks at his daughter, an indescribable smile spreading on his lips. “I don't know who I'd be without her.”

“Look, I don't know the others much more than the two of you do. In fact, Alice has stayed in this house longer. But we're all here, celebrating. You're already invited for New Year's Eve here, right?”

“Yeah. Nemo and John have been very kind.”

“And you wanted an outsider's opinion,” Emma says with a knowing smile.

“It's just... I don't want her to be alone, you know?”

She does, in a way. At first she was terrified to tell Ingrid she was moving continents for a guy she only knew for less than a year, but Ingrid's response was that she was happy that Emma was being welcomed into a family. Being deported made so painfully obvious how Ingrid was all Emma had in the beginning. She would never oppose her finding more people to lean on. And she's now excited to meet Killian, as is he to meet her.

“She won't be,” Emma says finally. “They're good people. But I have a good feeling it won't come down to them.”

Rogers smiles at her, somehow looking relieved. Maybe he believes her.

It's two days later and Killian is packing the warmest clothes he's ever bought.

“I can't wait to look like an onion,” he jokes.

Emma smiles lazily from the bed, her suitcase still undone. “You'll be the handsomest onion I've ever seen.”

“Do you think we should tell Ingrid about the luck thing?”

Emma's face grows serious. “Does it matter?”

Killian puts his clothes down and sits on the bed next to her. “I know that she's important to you. It was a great relief for me, to tell Nemo and him believing me. I thought you should have that too, if you want to share it with her.”

She gives him a tearful smile and gets up to embrace him. “I mean, it won't change anything, right? We gave it away,” she says.

“Aye. But it might mean a lot to you to be open about it with her. It has kind of shaped us both.”

She sniffles and leans back to look into his eyes. “Perhaps we might need to explain why we won't get to see the northern lights even when the weather forecast says clear skies.”

“You think we'll be that unlucky?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

She smiles.

He gives her a quick kiss. “Even if we are, I think Lady Luck may smile upon us on one of our next trips there. I'll get to see those damn lights.”

She kisses him back. The promise of going there again with him, and more than once, fills her heart with joy.

Their bad luck hasn't mattered these past months. It hasn't been enough to interfere with their lives, their jobs, their closest people. They've been enough, and their lives have taught them to be content with the love and care from others, and each other. They've been happy.

And it's all they'll ever need.

A/N: All things must come to an end! This marks the completion of my first “normal” (as in, actually having a plot) multi-chapter fanfic, and it still hasn’t registered. I want to thank everyone who has commented and supported this story, and in advance, everyone who will in the future. I’m happy, and sad, in a way, to see that people stuck with this story and let it break their hearts before finally reaching the fluffy ending that was promised at the start. I hope the conclusion made all the angst worth it!

Thank you, again. Your support has meant so much ❤️

#Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

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docholligay · 4 years ago

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The Wild Iris

I love poetry. I love poetry, and yet somehow manage to forget this until I am in the middle of reading poetry. I don’t know why, I’m usually not the type of person to forget I like things, or activities. But in this particular way, I am a bit silly, and then I’m reading Goblin Market to Jewlet and remember, “Hey, I actually dig this stuff.”

Anyway, I owe @miscanthusroots an extra and she asked if I would mind doing Louise Gluck’s collection of poetry, The Wild Iris, and even agreed to send me a copy to use when I had difficulty finding a copy that wasn’t too spendy.

I don’t have to tell you The Wild Iris is good, because it won a goddamn Pulitzer, and if something wins the Pulitzer the very least you can do is sit up and listen, but technical merit does not necessarily make something beautiful on a personal or individual level. So I wasn’t sure how I was going to experience the book. I’ve read Gluck’s work before but not necessarily a great amount of it, and, so far as I recall, not an entire book of her work.

Anyway, I suppose I’m dancing around the fact that it’s in some ways extremely difficult to talk about a book of poetry. Do you take apart each poem individually? I don’t have the time to do that, for this four hour chunk of writing about it, and so the best I think I can do is offer up my thoughts on the collection on the whole. I should say, that I am not a specialist in poetry at all, and though I had to study it to some small degree in college, I certainly don’t have the breadth of knowledge that someone who is very involved in poetics would.

There’s a thread in the collection of the natural world and prayer, the natural and the divine, and I think to some extent, the idea of God as gardener, but also us as gardeners of the world ourselves, planting and creating like small gods, but ALSO God as the garden himself. I had to read this collection like four times before I really came around to this idea, and came to very much like it.. The Matins and Vespers poems are (obviously) us talking to God, and I think the not-flower poems are God talking back to us.

Honestly, if you read the collection in the way one would read a novel, a conversation comes out of it easily--the first time I read it I wasn’t paying attention to this, I was reading them a bit scattershot, all taken as individual poems--but it’s this tangle between us and God, and the complication of our relationship with each other.

In the poem Retreating Wind:

I gave you every gift,

Blue of the spring morning,

Time you didn’t know how to use--

You wanted more, the one gift

Reserved for another creation

One of many poems titled Matins:

...You want to see my hands?

As empty now as at the first note.

Or was the point always

To continue without a sign?

Field Flowers:

….Your poor

Idea of heaven: absence

Of change. Better than earth? How

Would you know, who are neither

Here nor there, standing in our midst?

Now it was the flower poems themselves that gave me pause, the idea of the natural world, acted on by both God and man, commenting on the nature of life and death and the relationship between God and man, they read at turns deeply critical of man’s striving for immortality, of the human way of defining weeds and flowers , and how they can never truly understand what it is to live and die and live again,

So I had to go find out if Louise Gluck was Jewish, based on the impressions I got from her writing about God, sure, but what actually made me think about it was the way “God” in the poems speaks about us--there are plenty of Christians that struggle with God, but there’s a very certain way of looking at God as desiring us to overcome him and become him that I really only ever see in Jewish writings and stories. When I first thought this, I immediately then thought, “Nah, couldn’t be, she’s used Matins and Vespers throughout the book” but then I considered that I have been known to use Cathlic imagery myself simply because so many more people are familiar with it. Far and few are the goyim who recognize shacharit and maariv as anything at all. Anyway she is! On a personal level, I dunno, but we can’t get away from the viewpoints we’re raised with in many ways, and I was delighted to find out I was correct. Retreating Light is I think the best and clearest example of what I’m talking about.

You will never know how deeply

It pleases me to see you sitting there

Like independent beings,

To see you dreaming by the open window,

Holding the pencils I gave you

Until the summer morning disappears into writing

Creation has brought you

Great excitement, as I knew it would

As it does in the beginning

And I am free to do as I please now,

To attend to other things, in confidence,

You have no need of me anymore

How many things are said in that line, “In the beginning?” This idea that God loved the creation of us, and watching us, but also, has tired of us, has tired of our questions and needs, and that it has become the work of the day to day, but in the beginning, it’s so exciting. WE crave novelty, and maybe God does too, and perhaps that’s the way we were created in his image, that God longs for us, this children to grow and become better. It reminds me of the story (which I recently told on my chat) of the Oven of Acknai, where the conclusion of the story is God saying, “My children have defeated me, my children have defeated me” and smiling. That we, too, are creation.

I’m getting close to running out of time here, and it’s frustrating because I could say so much about this, but getting back into the idea of this reading as a novel, it’s also very cyclical. It begins with birth, as a flower, and ends with death, as a flower. And it’s really in this bit, in the bits near the end where I find the most emotional impact. Some of the ideas and imagery she’s using here aren’t exactly new but maybe it’s in knowing them that gives them that emotional resonance, for me. The line

In what contempt do you hold us

To believe only loss can impress

Your power on us

I mean, how many times have we felt that, at least, those of us who are still talking to God, where it feels as if God can only speak in loss and in taking? Even when you can see the evidence of other gifts, it can feel that way so deeply, and I tink that’s the gift of Gluck’s work here, is that the poems see things both from the side of God and the side of man, the way that all love is a struggle and this love most of all.

ANd these lines on the nature of death, like this one from Lullaby that just floored me:

Time to rest now; you have had

Enough excitement for the time being

I wish I could explain why things like that, put so simply, affect me so often, much more than anything overwrought. Maybe I’m just getting old, but just that idea of, “It’s time to rest now” just SLAYs me, well done, and the whole poem is great in that way but I’m not going to quote the whole poem at you.

Also this idea contained in the poem The Silver Lily

After the first cries

Doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound?

I am rapidly out of time, but basically this poetry collection contains, especially in the back half, so much of what I love about the idea of struggling with life and death and God. Poetry can, at its best, have the gift of putting these complex feelings and ides into so few words, and there are brilliant moments in The Wild Iris where I feel like that happens for me, were a line sparks an idea, a feeling in my mind, lighting it like a match. I love when something can do that for me.

I need to remember how much I like poetry when I’m looking for books to read.

Oh also, before I go I have to point out this line that made me crackle because YES

Sometimes a man or woman forces his despair

on another person, which is called

Baring the heart, alternatively, baring the soul--

#thank you for giving me a chance to do something I don't do often!

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pexerpan · 6 years ago

Note

Tink & Peter

which one in your otp

Steals the blankets to create a blanket cocoon, and which one spends the night trying to tug out a corner of it to sleep under?

Tink — because what doesn’t she steal from him? it started with a jumper he offered to her freezing form when they were children ( which, needless to say, was never returned to peter again ), remained a habit throughout the course of their friendship and has now morphed into tink stealing the blanket from him every night. admittedly, peter doesn’t mind it at all. where tink feels most secure wrapped into her own little world and the illusion that in her bed, hidden underneath a blanket nothing bad will ever find her, peter finds his freedom in sleeping entirely without it, without the weight of it pressing him down and holding him back. it’s the perfect fit, and yet, they always find each other drawing closer at night, waking up to tangled limps, the blanket messily slung around both of them in ways that make actually ‘ getting up ‘ a puzzle challenge neither of them is capable of forcing their brain to solve, which ends, you guessed it, in sleeping in together.

Takes spontaneous selfies everywhere, and which one always has their eyes closed in them?

Peter — but he has a reason, alright?! there are only so many pictures peter has of his tink and most of them include her hands, her hair or a the blurr of sudden movements covering her face. he’s not the most materialistic person and matter of factly, pictures often make him narrow his eyes for he doesn’t quite understand why anyone would need a picture to remember a moment they claim to have been important. however, now that he has lived without tink for six months, he realised he would not have minded a picture of her; a real one – not any more detailed than the one in his head, but more tangible. he doesn’t mind that her eyes are closed in most of them, in fact he finally succumbed to it and made one of her sleeping, curled up against his chest. he didn’t keep it though. it didn’t feel right and really, why would he keep it? he had her back now and he had no plans of leaving again.

Calls and makes appointments like a responsible adult, and which one would rather eat dirt than make a phone call?

Peter — there aren’t many things that can make peter act responsible, like an adult or even like a responsible adult, but the terror in tink’s eyes when told she’s to make a phone call would make him do anything. plus, she’s said it before, she would quite literally rather eat dirt than make a phone call, and peter along with his lost boys have learned through many dares that tink is not joking. she would eat dirt. in fact, she already has.

Forgets what’s in the oven because their favourite song came on, and which one smells the smoke?

Peter — are we surprised? not only does he have the woooorst attention span in human history because he finds waiting for anything to be a waste of his valuable time, but he also would be left stranded without tink in his life to fix things. she’s the one who smells it, who runs into the kitchen too and saves them from the catastrophy of everything burning down.

Changes their wardrobe with the seasons, and which one has been wearing the same three shirts in rotation for six months?

Peter — which is shocking, but hear me out. he has to, and it basically translates into tink changing her wardrobe with the seasons too, because it seems every time he gets something new, one of his older sweatshirt or t-shirts disappears into tink’s wardrobe instead of his own. he doesn’t mind it, not at all, and whether she notices it or not he actually started getting new clothes earlier just so the ones she’d sneak from him wouldn’t be as threadbare anymore. it’s not a massive change though, let’s be honest, and he wouldn’t need to change them at all if he wasn’t outside as often and the seasons didn’t change the weather too.

Goes wild in the art supply store, and which one goes wild in the office supply store?

Tink — in both cases, i’d dare say, and let’s be entirely honest, peter has lost her on multiple occasions in different art and office supply stores. she’s small, she’s surprisingly fast and she’s gone if only you look away once. peter has come to accept his fate, lounging with the cashiers and chatting with other customers, until tink – possibly his favourite type of tink with an excited smile and all the supplies she’d need to tinker – would re-appear and he could carry the supplies home for her.

Journals about their feelings every night before bed, and which one would describe their feelings at any given moment as “mad,” “sad,” or “glad”?

Neither — listen, they tried and with ‘ they ‘ i mean the lost boys. in a moment of frustration after tink and peter managed to blow up at one another again, slightly threw a journal at each of them with the simple task to write everything the fuck down in order to avoid unnecessary arguments ( logical, right? being able to just go a few pages back and settle their dispute ). however, instead of using it as supposed to, tink managed to amplify her emotions by emptying a pen and re-colouring an entire page back and front a pitch black and peter had recreated the docks in paper form in order to figure out a plan on how to capture the jolly roger. at last, they switched from being ‘ mad ‘ at one another when tink threw her crumpled piece of paper at peter, missing just enough for it to hit the paper boat instead and have it sink to the floor — throwing a boulder at the jolly roger, what a fun idea — and were ‘ glad ‘ once more, and really what other emotions do you need in life? plus, they’re not exactly good at processing emotions more complicated than mad, sad and glad.

Arranges their food to look like a happy face, and which one secretly thinks it’s adorable?

Tink — sometimes in life, and that’s a fact, you need a little bit of extra happiness when a day has been especially stressful or you’ve woken up feeling a little low, and that’s when tink subconsciously starts drawing happy faces with her food instead of actually eating it. peter ( ever the emotionally limited ) doesn’t quite understand where its coming from, doesn’t even notice the blue feeling clouding her thoughts, but that, for once, is actually okay, because he finds her to be extra adorable then and if he looks at her with nothing but adoration in his eyes, slides his own plate to her with a face fitting to the one she created or finds himself so distracted he reaches for her hand and steals her away from reality, the day is suddenly not as blue anymore.

{ @faeriydust }

#{ you mean more to me than anything in this whole world; tink }#{ i’ll teach you how to jump on the wind’s back and away we go; meme }#{ meme004 }

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phoenixhalliwell · 4 years ago

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Waking Up In Vegas

Pairings: Benny Miller X Gender Neutral Reader (I have given them a call sign ‘Tink’ cos I love that nickname lol)

Word count: 2490

Author’s Note: Tumblr is being a wee weirdo and I cant find the link for this fic and my other frankie one for my masterlist so I have to report again *cries*

Archnemesis Benny and reader wake up the morning after a wild night in Vegas with the boys to a surprise revelation.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG

It takes a second to realise that the noise isn’t just your head pounding but in fact someone knocking rapidly at the door. A whimper leaves you as you try not to throw up. You wiggle around the bed, trying to get loose from the heavy blankets but fail miserably.

“Please, stop….too loud. Dying” is all you’re able to croak out. Your mouth is drier than the desert and a one man band is marching in your head. Looking down you realise that it is not a blanket weighing you down but an arm. An arm that is now pulling you backwards to firmly press you against their warm chest. A groan comes from behind you and a face nuzzles into your throat. You can feel the panic starting to build in your chest.

'Oh god, oh god. What the fuck!’ You are brought out of your freak out by a familiar voice.

“Are you going to open the door willingly Tink? Or am I going to have to come in there myself!”

Frankie! Relief rushes through you at your saviour. Frankie is a good guy, he won’t give you shit for this like the other boys. It’ll be swept under the rug and no one else has to know. That’s why Frankie is your favourite. The person behind you suddenly makes their displeasure at being rudely woken known.

“Will you shut the fuck up Fish, some of us are trying to sleep”

A coldness rushes through you. NO. FUCKING. WAY. Not him. Please not him. Slowly turning in the arms that have you in a death grip, you let out a low moan. Benny Miller is lying there in all his glory. He looks almost angelic with the way the morning sunlight hits him just right, making him glow. But you know the truth.

That man is the fucking DEVIL.

To say you and Benny dislike one another was an understatement. There is a long standing feud between you and the younger Miller that goes so far back you can’t quite remember how it started. You were originally a medic under the command of his brother Will, but over time (with Will vouching for your skills) you’d been pulled into other little jobs that involved his old army buddies and his dipshit little brother. You were welcomed into this little make shift family with open arms (well by most people anyways).Will, Santiago and Frankie - you thought the world of. Benny…. let’s just say you wouldn’t piss on if he was on fire. There was just something about Benny that just irks you. The way he calls you names and winds you up until you explode and end up being separated by Will who is sick of both of your shit. That god damn cocky grin rubs you up the wrong way. The way he thinks he’s god’s gift to mankind and struts about. Sure, he is a handsome man and is talented at his profession.He can be kind when he wants to be. He’s loyal and he’ll have your back if the situation calls for it, but it doesn’t mean he has to show off all the fucking time! He’s a god damn pain in your ass!

So to wake up this morning and find out you two have evidently slept together causes a small part of you to die inside. This bastard is never going to let you hear the end of it. You try to cast your mind back on what actually led you to your current predicament.

You and the boys were spending the weekend in Vegas for Santiago’s bachelor party. The wild stallion had finally been tamed and he wanted one last hoorah with his family before the new chapter of his life. The original plan was to have a nice dinner at the Bellagio before hitting up the tables in hopes of winning some cash. That part you could remember, it is the rest that comes in drips and drabs.

The chant of “Shots! Shots! Shots!” echoes in your mind and there is still a faint taste of tequila in your mouth. 'That explains why I can’t remember jack shit. Did we do Karaoke?’ You can see Frankie and Benny screeching “I want to know what love is ” with Will swaying along and Santi throwing money at the them from the front of the stage. 'Why can I hear bells ringing?’ There is also a familiar body ache you know the exact cause of. More flashes come to mind that make your heart race : Stumbling into walls, the desperation of trying to undress quickly, a hot breath on your neck, hands gripping your waist, filthy words being whispered into your ear….

'I’m never drinking again’

The banging at the door starts again, Frankie is clearly pissed at being kept waiting.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your marital bliss but check out is at 11 and I know for a fact neither of you fuck heads have packed”

Marital bliss? Who the hell is married?

You eyes drift down to your left hand and its suddenly hard to breathe. There is a nice new addition to your ring finger. A gold band that sure as shit was not there yesterday. This seems like the perfect moment to start screaming. Benny is up in an instant, scanning the room for the unknown threat. Once he realises it’s just the two of you, his body relaxes and he scrubs his hand over his face. It takes him a moment to notice the feeling of cold metal on his skin and he stares down at his hand, an unreadable look on his face. You are just able to hear him whisper

“Fuck, its real”

This whole situation is suddenly too much and everything becomes blurry as tears fall from your eyes. You can feel yourself start to hyperventilate and Benny is at your side in an instant trying to console you.

“Come on sweetheart you need to calm down. Feel my chest and breathe with me yeah? In… and out…. It’s ok I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurances over and over again. You try to focus on the sound of his deep voice, try to follow his instructions to help regulate your breathing. Gradually it returns to normal and you slump forward into Benny’s arms suddenly exhausted. He rubs his hand up and down your back, somewhat soothing you. You feel him sigh before he turns his face into your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your head. It suddenly occurs to you that Benny has never been this gentle with you and your heart clenches a little. You feel him pull away from you and have to stop yourself from squeezing him tight. You stand there for a few seconds in silence before you hear the door opening behind you. Frankie must have found the spare key to your room.

“Are you guys still alive in here?” he asks timidly, glancing between you and Benny, eyes zoning in on how close the both of you were.

“Yeah man, we’re good.” Benny replies, moving to stand on the other side of the room.

“Look I am really sorry to rush you’s but Will’s anxious to get on the road and he might end up murdering Santi before the wedding if we all don’t hustle” Frankie says apologetically.

“I’ll catch you guys downstairs. I won’t be long” Benny grabs his things off the floor before making a break for the door, leaving you and Frankie to stare at each other awkwardly.

“Not a word Morales” you threaten.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Tink. Let’s pack your stuff and get the fuck out of dodge yeah?”

Like you said. Frankie was always your favourite.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover breakfast. Those little shits planned it so you and Benny are forced to sit side by side in the booth. Frankie is looking somewhat sympathetic when Santi slides a piece of paper over to you with a shit eating grin. It’s photographic evidence of the worst decision of your life. You still weren’t sure how you guys ended up in the little white chapel saying the big 'I Do’. None of the boys seem to remember either or were just refusing to give up any information about it in case they incriminated one of their brothers.

'Bet you it was all that bastard Santi’s fault’

Sighing, you finally look down at the photo in front of you. It was the 5 of you all lined up. You and Benny stand in the middle of the photo, clinging to each other. You were snuggled into his chest as he gazes down at you in awe. You swallow sharply and tear your eyes over to Will who is off to Benny’s left and appears to be crying? (I was just so happy someone took the little shit off my hands) Obviously Will stood in as Benny’s best man, that was a given. On the far end of the photo on your side stood Santi who looked dishevelled and pissed off. Was that blood on his shirt? Between him and you stood Frankie who (unusual for him) was sporting a Cheshire grin. Confused, you looked up at the two men in front of you and suddenly noticed real life Santi had a black eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

The two men glanced at each other in embarrassment before Santi quietly admitted that he and Frankie had got into a fist fight over who was going to be your right hand man. Will snorts into his hand in the corner.

'God give me strength not to kill these stupid bastards’ Sighing and rubbing your temples you shot them a glare which has the 3 men across from you cowering in their seats.

“So at no point did any of you guys think to put a stop to this madness?” You growl.

“Is the idea of being married to me really the worst thing in the world?” You hear Benny asks quietly, still not looking at you.

The boys have the good grace to look a little ashamed before Santi decides to pipe up and make his defence.

“Well how could we? Benny spent the best part of the night proclaiming his undying love you. Fuck he even serenaded you at the Karaoke bar.” There is a loud thud and Santi’s face twists into a grimace. Apparently someone had kicked him under the table.

“Yeah right as if Benny would ever say anything like that! He hates my fucking guts. Right Benny?” You scoff and nudge him with your elbow. An uncomfortable silence washes over the table and Benny refuses to look at you. It’s good old Will who breaks the silence, abruptly standing up.

“Why don’t we go sort out the bill yeah?” looking to his brothers.

Santi squawks in outrage and throws up his hands “But it was just getting to the good part!!!” Will grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him out of the booth, muttering furiously into his ear before marching him off to god knows where. Frankie reaches over and gently squeezes your hand before sliding out and giving Benny a pat on the shoulder on the way by.

“Good luck hermano” he calls over his shoulder. You wait for a beat before turning to Benny gearing yourself up for a fight.

“Are you fucking serious right now. Or is this all an elaborate game that you and the boys have cooked up Huh?” you hiss.

“You really think I’m that cruel?” he fires back.

“I don’t know! Ever since I met you, you’ve made my life a living hell Benny! So why wouldn’t this not be the next step in the ’ terrorise Tink’ grande scheme?” The remark clearly hits him hard as he whirls round to finally face you.

“You really have no clue do you.”

“What the hell are you talking about Miller?”

Benny scoffs bitterly and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t hate you Tink! I never have. I’m so far gone on you that Will threatens daily to kill me if I don’t shut up about you. Ask him or any of the guys for that matter”. There’s a look of pleading on his face as though begging you to believe what he is saying that leaves you completely floored. Without waiting for a response he barrels on, the dam broken, clearly needing to get everything off his chest at last.

“Do you realise how intimidating it is to talk to you?. You’re amazing and so fucking beautiful Tink that I feel like I can’t breathe every time i look at you. You are hella smart and watching you work on the job blows my mind every time. And that mouth you have on you, no one else ever calls me out on my shit like you. I know I have a sense of humour that people don’t always get. I know I can be a complete asshole and I don’t really have much going in my favour but I’m not a bad man Tink I swear. I’ve been sweet on you since the day I met you. For some reason though you just seemed to dislike me from the start so it was easier to play up on being an asshole. It hurt less that way.” He trails off.

What. The. Fuck.

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. You’d been wrong the whole time?

“I remember most of last night Tink. We had been drinking and betting at one of the craps tables. You were on a winning streak and kept saying if you rolled a hard 8 you would do this and that. You were having the time of your life Tink. I’ve never seen you look so free. So Happy. Any time you’re around me, you’re always so closed off. And it kills me. But you were looking at me different last night. And i was so caught up in the game I bet if you rolled a hard 8 one more time that we should get married. And you took me up on that offer. I’ve never felt so fucking happy in my life. I know it was a stupid idea and that we were drunk, but you finally chose me and if anything happened to me after that I could die a happy man.”

He gently brings both his hands up to cup your face and leans in close, not enough for your lips to touch but close enough for him to whisper to you.

“I know this whole Vegas thing has been crazy and I’m not asking you to stay married to me. That would be unreasonable. All I’m asking is that you choose me again. That you give me a chance to show you how much I care about you. Please”

You stare into his eyes for a second, looking for a hint of deception. Finding none, you make your decision. You close the gap between you and feel Benny sigh in relief into the kiss.

I guess there’s a fine line between love and hate.

#Benny Miller #benny miller x reader #Triple Frontier #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #Will Miller #will ironhead miller #william ironhead miller #Frankie Morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #waking up in vegas

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terreisa · 4 years ago

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Love Down the Line: Chapter 4

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, AO3

~*CS*~

On the road between Boston and New York, May 9th

Emma knew she should be trying to wind down from the night’s show. When they arrived at their hotel she wanted to be able to head straight to her room and get some sleep. She just couldn’t seem to get the adrenaline to leave her system, even hours after the fact. It didn’t help that once they’d finished the encore they’d been ushered straight onto the bus and hit the road without a come down from the rush of performing again. Celebrating the successful start of the tour with Will, Tink and a few drinks probably hadn’t done much good either.

She was sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette of the bus with an open notebook, a leather bound one that was much nicer than the ones she used for her lyrics and bits of melody fragments, absently tapping her pen on the blank page. Will and Tink had gone to their own bunks to do whatever other post show rituals they had, leaving her to hers. Once the damn adrenaline wore off she knew she’d be able to concentrate on writing down her thoughts and feelings on the show but for the moment she was content to dwell in the electric buzz both the show and the alcohol had given her.

The first performance was always the one that made Emma worry the most. To her it set the bar for the rest of the tour. With the internet and social media the reviews were out in the world before the first song was finished. According to Regina one false move could have her right back at the small town bars within a hundred miles of Storybrooke for good. So the first show was always the most stressful up until the moment she began playing. Then it was the most rewarding.

Thankfully, it had been better than just a good show, it had been great. The last minute adjustment she’d made to the set list had worked out far better than she’d anticipated. Up to that point the crowd had sung along with every song, even the ones off the new album, but when she’d played the first few notes of Bite of Iron they’d gone nuts. Their surprising and enthusiastic response had given her the strength she’d needed to play the song without a hitch and gave her a burst of energy that she could still feel in her fingertips hours after the last note had been played.

She smiled at the memory of that initial jolt of excitement. It felt a lot like the burst of shock she’d had at seeing Killian Jones in her rehearsal space for the first time. Her enthusiasm faded a bit as she began to realize exactly what that could be confused for and she wanted nothing to do with anything that could possibly resemble butterflies in her stomach.

“Mind if I join you, Swan?”

Emma jumped in surprise, caught off guard even though Killian had practically whispered his request. She spun to face him with a scowl.

“Don’t do that again.”

He smirked, “Apologies, love. I shall endeavor to announce my presence with a blaring fanfare next time.”

“Or you could wear a bell,” she suggested, “I could even order a little plaid collar to match your many flannels.”

“It’s those flannels that are keeping me from being recognized if I’m not mistaken,” he said smugly as he sat down across from her, a notebook of his own in hand.

She gave him a reluctant nod of agreement. When he’d shown up for the show wearing the same flannel, t-shirt, jeans combo he’d worn to the sound check she’d nearly kicked him off the tour right then and there. While there wasn’t any specific aesthetic that her and the others adhered to it was a little more put together than something that looked like it belonged at a backyard barbeque. It turned out the banality of Killian’s outfit was probably the key to his going unnoticed throughout the whole show. As far as she knew, and Will would have definitely told her, there hadn’t been a single post about Killian being on stage again.

When he had been with Realm of Jewels he had favored tight, black leather pants and dark colored shirts with the buttons undone to the top of the various vests he wore. Instead of well worn Converse he’d had pointy toed boots that reached halfway up his calf and he’d worn more silver jewelry on his fingers and around his neck than she’d ever owned in the entirety of her life. His hair had been longer too, constantly falling over his brow as he played until it was plastered to his forehead with sweat by the end of their shows. It had been a good look, one she’d had fantasies about, but there was something about the flannel and jeans that had a gentle warmth spreading through her veins.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” she grumbled. He smiled widely at her and she rolled her eyes right back, “I still think you should get a bell. Though you wouldn’t need it if you had been sociable instead of sneaking off to your bunk as soon as we got on the bus.”

Killian’s smile dimmed, “It has been quite a while since I’ve played a show, love, and I can no longer indulge in my former habit of having a drink or five to celebrate and relax. It was easier to remove myself from the temptation entirely, rather than testing the strength of my will. Especially when the show was worth celebrating.”

Emma felt as if her stomach had been filled with lead. She had somehow completely forgotten that Killian was a former alcoholic. They had never really talked about it and he’d gone out to the bars with her, Will and Tink after particularly gruelling rehearsals or even some of the more mediocre ones. It just wasn’t something that jumped to the forefront of her mind when she thought of him. Even if she refused to acknowledge exactly how much he actually popped up in her thoughts.

“Shit, Killian- do you or do we- shit-” she looked frantically around the little kitchenette at the empty beer bottles and open bottle of rum on the counter. She scrambled from her seat, “Let me just get rid of this crap and then I’ll let Will and Tink-”

“Swan-”

He sounded amused but she wasn’t sure over the clinking of the bottles she was trying to wrestle into the small trash can under the sink.

“I’ll talk to Regina and have her adjust the grocery delivery-”

“Emma, take a breath, love.”

She did as he instructed but only because he had stood and grabbed her by the shoulders, crouching down to stare into her eyes. He was grinning as he held her in place and she scowled at his amusement.

“I’m glad you think that us being disrespectful about your addiction is funny.”

“I believe you running around this cramped space trying to atone for something I never blamed you for would suggest otherwise-” he let her go only to pull the trash can out of her hands, setting it back under the sink before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, “I’ve been sober for nearly ten years, I know what my triggers are and how far I can push myself. Tonight was just a new set of parameters that I had to consider and adjust accordingly to. No need for you to drastically alter everything for the whole tour when I’m only a temporary guest.”

“Well, it’s not fair for us to just fling booze around in front of you like it’s nothing either,” she said hotly, twisting out of his grasp to nab the rum bottle and its cap. She wrestled with closing it as she spoke, “Just because you won’t be here for the whole thing doesn’t mean you should be treated like you don’t matter. You’re in the band, you get a- OW! Fuck!”

She sucked in a breath at the searing pain in her palm. Somehow her hand had slipped and caught on the jagged edge of the cap. The pain was nothing compared to the panic that flared at possibly having injured herself enough to affect her playing. Her vision started going spotty and she could feel her knees starting to buckle.

“Swan? Emma?!” She felt his hands on her shoulders again and his concerned face filled her darkening vision. “Breathe. Deep breath for me. That’s it. Another one. Good.”

Following his gentle instructions she felt steadier and her vision stopped tunneling. With a healthy dose of trepidation she looked down at her hand and was relieved to see the cut wasn’t deep but it was very bloody. Looking around she couldn’t find a single thing to mop up the blood or staunch the slow but steady flow. Then she felt a burning sting as liquid was splashed over her palm followed by warm pressure. She turned to see that Killian was holding a handkerchief in place as he wrapped it around her palm.

“That hurt! What was that?” She hissed, indignant.

“Rum and a perfectly good use of it in my opinion-” he winked before turning back to his makeshift bandage, “It shouldn’t give you too much grief at tomorrow’s- er, I guess tonight’s show. A little super glue will seal it right up. It might be uncomfortable during sound check but by showtime you won’t even notice it.”

He punctuated his assessment by tying off the handkerchief and gently squeezing her fingers.

“That’s a relief,” she said softly, pulling her hand from his. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still a little rattled from her injury and disconcerted from the conversation that had preceded it, “Look, I’m sorry if I was out of line or made you feel uncomfortable or something. I just don’t want you to feel- I don’t know, like you have to hide away or something.”

“Thank you, Swan, but as I’ve said you’ve no need to alter how things have always been done just for my sake-” he picked up the rum bottle and twisted the cap on with an ease that had her scowling, “My sobriety isn’t something that you should burden yourself with. That’s what I pay my therapist for.”

She laughed in spite of herself, finally feeling the tension leave her shoulders. He smiled with her as he set the rum back on the counter and pointedly pushed it away from them. Shaking her head she turned and opened the cabinet that was above their heads.

“I’m going to make some cocoa,” she said as she shifted boxes and bags around, “You want some?”

“Sure, I might as well indulge in something to celebrate the start of the tour,” he said jovially, sitting back down at the table. “Though, I’m not quite sure a packet of cocoa mix can be considered an indulgence. Is it the kind with the little marshmallow pebbles?”

“I’m playing to crowds of thousands and you think I wouldn’t pull the diva card to get the good stuff?” She asked with mock haughtiness, still digging through the cabinet for the little tin she was looking for. “I’ll have you know that I’m deadly serious about two things: my music and my hot cocoa- aha!”

Emma held a little tin up triumphantly. It was a ridiculously expensive imported sipping chocolate, the first frivolous thing she’d bought with her first check from her label. It was part of her post show ritual, drinking her expensive hot chocolate and writing about the night until she was falling asleep at the table or they arrived in their next city. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d always partook in that particular ritual alone, she’d never even asked Ruby to join her, but she had no reservations about Killian doing so.

“Who knew you sported such a refined palate,” Killian said with feigned shock. “Seeing as I have been privy to what you consider food.”

She glared at him, “Don’t knock the grilled cheese or you’re not getting a cocoa.”

“Are the onion rings fair game? How about the milk dud popcorn? Pop-Tarts?”

She threw the lid of the cocoa tin at him but he caught it neatly, fanning himself with it. Rolling her eyes she turned her back on him to concentrate on making the cocoa and not fixating on how attractive he was when he was being playful. Unfortunately she’d perfected whipping up the drink while on a moving bus years earlier, so she had plenty of brain power left to dwell on exactly how much more unfairly attractive the man became the more she got to know him.

“So, are you writing songs again?” She asked over her shoulder as she stirred the milk that was heating on the little hot plate they had for solely for her cocoa habit.

“Hmm?” He hummed distractedly. When she looked back his eyes snapped to hers almost guiltily before dropping to the notebook in front of him, “Oh, er, not as much now, no. Journaling was a requirement at rehab and despite some initial, shall we say, reluctance it became a habit. A better one for me to have, for the most part.”

“Get the feelings and stuff down on paper instead of shoving it deep down inside and hoping for the best? I get it-” She let her gaze drift to her own journal before looking back at him. “But seriously, no lyrics or chords or anything? I have a whole shelf in my bookcase that’s stuffed with notebooks filled with potential hits.”

He ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, “I haven’t written anything since… well, since before. Haven’t felt the desire to.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” she said lamely, quickly focusing back on the task at hand.

As she divided the milk between two mugs she was hit by the terrible realization that Killian had co-written all of the Realm of Jewels songs and that both of his writing partners were dead. She’d gone and poked at a second vulnerable spot in his armor in less than thirty minutes. At the rate she was going she wouldn’t be surprised if he got off the bus in New York and took the first train back to Boston. Stirring in the chocolate she grabbed onto a shard of that thought like a lifeline.

“You live in Boston right?”

If he was surprised by her abrupt change of topic he didn’t let on.

“I do. I always enjoyed the city when we played there and it oddly reminded me of home. Figured I could do worse when finding a place to settle after everything.”

“Why not L.A. or New York?” She asked genuinely curious as she sprinkled cinnamon over the mugs, grabbing them and returning to the table. “They’re probably way better for recording and what not.”

“True-” he shrugged, accepting his drink with a nod of thanks, “but L.A. felt like a golden facade, even though I do own a house in Malibu, and New York felt like a concrete abyss. I was still a bit lost at the time and both of those cities would have swallowed me whole. Still, I craved the bustle of an urban landscape and Boston was the right fit”

“So, you did a three bears situation. Did you at least get some quality porridge out of the deal, Goldilocks?” She teased.

He had taken a sip as she asked and glared at her over the rim of the mug. Then his eyes widened in surprise, looking down at the cocoa, “Ooh, this is good, Swan, and no, there was no porridge to be had or golden locks to be seen. I’ve dyed my hair a fair share of colors but blonde was never one of them. I’ll leave that shade to those that can pull it off.”

With a flirtatious wink from him and a responding eye roll from her Emma felt that some kind of balance had been restored. She had never particularly cared what others thought of her, if she had she would have been reduced to a shell of a person by middle school, but for some reason with Killian it was different. There was something a bit broken about him that she recognized from the mirror and she definitely didn’t want to be the one to add to it.

She lifted her mug towards him, “Since you didn’t get to do this earlier: cheers to the start of a new tour.”

“And endeavoring to make every show as successful as this one,” Killian clinked his mug gently with hers, a soft smile on his face, “Cheers, love.”

Emma took a large sip, glad that her large mug hid the blush she knew was in her cheeks. As much as she’d hated the endearment when they’d first met it no longer irked her. She was discovering that there were a lot of things about Killian that no longer irked her and it made her more resolute to keep him at arm’s length. Only it seemed the harder she tried the easier it became for him to slip past her defenses.

Flustered she set her mug down a little too forcefully and pulled her notebook towards her, “I’m just gonna… until we get to the hotel. I mean, if it’s okay.”

“By all means,” he said, bemused. He tapped on his journal, “I have a bit of writing to do myself.”

“Oh, yeah. Good.”

With that less than eloquent response she forced herself to start what she’d intended to do before Killian had joined her. After nearly twenty minutes of alternately writing down some words and stealing glances at the man across from her she chastised herself and focused on the task at hand. It didn’t help that she could feel his eyes on her whenever the scratching of his pen took a pause. However, by the time the bus pulled into the hotel’s parking lot she found that she’d not only written a good chunk of what she’d wanted but that she really didn’t mind Killian’s presence in the least and that maybe the world wouldn’t exactly end if she admitted it.

#captain swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fan fic #captain swan fan fiction #cs fanfic #ouat ff #my writing

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

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Heart and Soul - Part 2

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument – though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry’s mother, Emma Swan.

READ PART ONE: ao3 // tumblr // // PART TWO ON AO3

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary -- you know, the things I do best, apparently.

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet – though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.

Thanks to @csconcertseries and @clockadile, who gave me a reason to finish this story! It feels really good to actually finish something that I’ve been working on in the midst of the chaos of the world right now, so even though the event was a month ago, I’m still super thankful for the opportunity.

-- -- --

Waking up to a message from Tink Greene on an October Thursday morning is one of the last things he expected, not having spoken to her besides the friendly neighborhood hellos since he broke off their dalliance the previous spring.

The contents of the message are even more of a surprise:

I've been hearing Henry Swan play in one of the practice rooms, and I think he would make a great addition to our student showcase for the Winter concert. He told me you've been teaching him, which explains a lot. Do you think you and he could work together on something by the beginning of December for him to play?

Of course, the first thing he wants to do is share the news with Emma. He should probably shower first. And maybe actually answer Tink.

I think that’s a grand idea. Henry has shown more growth than some of my adult students. Could you get me a song in the next week or so?

Her response comes rather quickly, given the original message was from two hours before, but he imagines there’s not much for the elementary music teacher to do all day. I’m thinking either First Noel or Hark the Herald Angels. It depends on which the recorder students are better at. He also may play it with a beginner violin student, Violet, who’s doing exceptionally well. I think he knows her.

He wonders if this is the same Violet from his soccer team, the one the boy has brought up a few times in conversation — but Tink doesn’t need to know that. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even know that, though he’s thankful that Henry trusts him enough to update him on his life during their lessons or some of the nights Killian finds himself staying for dinner.

But he still needs a response. Thanks again for those recorder students, by the way. I turned down a whole dozen of them within the first two weeks of school, the infernal instrument.

When Tink only responds with a few emojis — he tosses his phone back on the bed and pulls himself up, wondering if he is too late to meet Emma for her morning run.

So he texts her. Because that’s something they’re doing now, after her inviting him to some of Henry’s games and his joining them for dinner most nights after Henry’s lessons. It wouldn’t even be the first time she has allowed him to join her on her morning run, invited him into her place of safety and security.

(He would like to think of himself as a relatively fit human, but even he will admit that three miles, Emma’s regular distance, is a little much for him to start with, though he has been working on it more and more.)

Is it too late for me to join in on the day’s physical activities?

Even he is surprised by the pounding of his heart in his chest as he rummages through his drawers to try to find his athletic shorts, waiting for her answer, hoping for a positive.

The soft ding of her response almost causes him to jump out of his skin. Just getting ready to go, actually. I’ll meet you outside?

Perfect, is all he needs to say, splashing some cold water in his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even realize the strong grip he has on the edge of the sink until he lets go to reach for his toothbrush.

“Christ, Killian,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he runs his toothbrush under the water. It’s only a run.

But his nerves don’t disappear. If anything, they only grow exponentially, and by the time he meets her on the sidewalk outside her house, he is almost shaking from the adrenaline.

Good thing they’re going for a run, exerting this pent-up energy. He may even be able to keep up with her the whole time.

He spends the first block trying to figure out how to bring up his exciting news. And the second. But when she starts to slow down, asks him how his week has gone, he can’t keep it in any longer.

“Henry’s music teacher asked me this morning if I thought he should perform in the winter showcase.”

He can sense her excitement almost immediately, even before she slows to a stop, wiping the smooth sheen of sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her t-shirt before turning to him, the smile on her face making the physical exertion worth it. “And?”

“Of course I agreed. I know I’ve told you before, love, but your son is a very talented musician.”

She is still for a moment, looking somewhere over his shoulder, before she nods, gesturing for them to continue. “So, what, would it be a solo? Or would he be playing something with you?”

“Actually, Tink mentioned asking one of the girls in his class to play with him. A violinist, I think.”

“I wonder if it’s the same girl from his soccer team. He told me they met in orchestra, and I think that’s what she plays.”

“Violet, right? That’s what Tink said”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s got a bit of a crush, if you ask me, but don’t say anything to him about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“That’s so exciting, though. The kid deserves some excitement, with all the shit his dad is putting him through.”

At first, Killian isn’t sure that Emma even meant to say it, if they’re at that point in their friendship where she shares things like this with him.

“You know he’s trying to move away? Something about his dad giving him a job in the city, a corner highrise apartment, a position as a big shot in his company, when Neal can’t even manage to get his child support in on time every month.”

Now he really doesn’t know what to say — but she continues anyway.

“I try not to say anything bad about him around Henry, but my god, he just makes it so fucking difficult.”

Killian can’t help the chuckle that pushes through his lips. “I would assume my mum would have said the same about my father, if she ever had the chance.”

A moment too late, he realizes that it’s only the second time he’s mentioned his father, the only other being the first time they really talked when they shared lunch in her kitchen.

She doesn’t answer. He counts the time ticking away by their footsteps on the pavement, by the pounding of his heart in his chest.

She says nothing. They go almost a full block, slowing only to make sure they’re safe to cross the street.

He doesn’t know what he did. He doesn’t know what to do. So he just focuses on the pounding of his shoes against the pavement. Left, right, left, right.

“Sorry, I…” she says finally, the words going nowhere, but he feels the warmth of her fingers around his wrist, pulling him to a stop. “Can we go get lunch? Maybe that little place on Main Street? I know that’s not our regular route, it’s a little far out of the way, but—”

“Sure, love,” he says, not even needing to hear the rest of what she’s trying to say. Whatever it is, he will give her the time she needs to tell him — but there are more appropriate places for these sorts of conversations than on the sidewalk.

She asks the waitress for a table in the back, further away from the door and the line of regulars sitting at the bar, spending what feels like hours looking over the menu before the waitress returns with their drinks and to take their order. All she orders is a bowl of soup, Killian strangely in the mood for one of their salads, but the silence between them only returns when the waitress leaves their table.

Killian doesn’t mind, really. She decided that she wanted to tell him something, unlock some of the secrets of her past, which is more than he could have asked for.

“I was, uh, found outside an orphanage when I was just a few days old.”

Okay, it’s certainly not what he expected. It’s far more personal than he expected — but she’s telling him, and that’s the important part.

“I have no idea who my parents are, anything about my family, only that they wanted to name me Emma.”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath. A sip of her water. Her eyes don’t leave the spot on the table that they’re glued to.

He doesn’t mind.

“I was in and out of fosters for most of my childhood, and that’s how I met David. His mother was my last-ditch effort when I was seventeen, and if she didn’t work, I was going to be on my own. But, thankfully, she was an angel on this earth, and I spent a good few years with her, even after I aged out and as I went to college. I still think that’s why I kept coming back to Storybrooke, because it was the only place that felt like home, especially after everything that happened with Neal, except now he wants to leave Henry even more, move hours away to the city and see his own son even less than he does now.”

Still, Killian stays silent. If he’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t know what to say in the first place, and he gets the feeling that there aren’t very many people who just let Emma talk.

He will gladly be the one as often as she gives him the opportunity.

“Does Henry know that he’s trying to leave yet?”

She scoffs, looking up at him for a moment. Just a moment.

“I told him he had to be the one to tell Henry, to answer all of his questions. That he wasn’t allowed to just up and leave. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do it anyway.”

“I know it might not be want you want to hear, love, but sometimes it’s better for the parent to just up and leave if that’s what they need to do. He’ll still have to get you child support, no matter where he is.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

He doesn’t even know how to read her voice. She doesn’t sound upset, per say, but there’s definitely something much deeper than just curiosity.

“It’s just what my mother used to say, that we’d probably be better off without him than with him. But I can only hope that Neal is nowhere near the terror that Brennan Jones was.”

She nods, the very corner of her lips ticking up for just a moment. Says nothing.

And then it hits him: “Though, I suppose having a terrible dad around is something compared to having no one, no matter how much you may wish he wasn’t there.”

“Jackpot,” she mumbles. “But as hard as it is to admit, Neal really isn’t a terrible person. He can even be a good dad, when he tries to be, and Henry really looks up to him, which I don’t think he realizes. I just don’t understand how he can choose a job over his own son.”

“Granted, I don’t have the pleasure of offspring yet, but I would like to believe that I would feel the same as you do.”

Finally, she smiles. Actually makes eye contact with him. Warms his heart a few degrees. Just as the waitress brings their food.

Henry practically perfects the song — The First Noel — before Thanksgiving break, a whole three weeks before the concert. Killian even reaches out to Violet’s parents to offer to have them practice together in his studio instead of after hours at the school — or at either of their houses, which is a move that both Emma and Violet’s parents appreciate.

(Plus, with Henry taking the lead on their rehearsals, it gives him more time to sit in the corner of the studio, talking with Emma.)

They’ve built up a fine friendship since the first day of school, adding more weekly dinners as a trio, with Killian even joining Emma’s gym to work out with her with the weather getting colder.

Killian would even go so far as to say Emma and her lad have become a regular part of her life, though he still didn’t expect the day when she asked him out, sitting across the table from her brother and next to her at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

(What was different about this time? He had been to dinners with them, had spent time alone with Emma, but there was something about this that was different. He would be willing to bet it was the setting, the pressure of the situation.)

“So, Henry, your mom told me about your solo in the winter concert!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, trying to find a subject that Henry can take part in, since most of Emma and David’s conversation has centered around work.

Killian turns to the boy, seated at the far end of the table, just in time to watch his face light up in a smile. “Technically, it’s a duet, me and this one girl in my class, Violet —”

“The one from your soccer team? With the purple streaks in her hair?” David asks, the rest of the table watching Henry’s face turn bright red.

"Oh!" Mary Margaret practically squeals, which makes every eye at the table turn towards her, which Killian is sure Henry is thankful for — until she continues. “Do you have a crush on her?”

Henry sighs, his eyes falling back to his plate as his cheeks continue to turn as red as his shirt. Instead of answering Mary Margaret’s question, he says, “You know, I never understood why that’s what they call it.” His voice is small, incredibly embarrassed, as he swirls his fork around his pile of mashed potatoes. “Why is it a crush?”

Emma laughs, gently setting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, you don’t have to embarrass him,” she jokes.

“Well, then,” David says, setting his fork down on his plate so he can cross his arms across his chest. “Should we talk about your little crush instead?”

“David!” both Mary Margaret and Emma say at the same time, and Killian can’t keep the heat from rushing to his face.

Why are you embarrassed, you idiot? he asks himself, trying his best to keep his thoughts off his face. They’re not even talking about you.

Unless… they are.

He almost doesn’t allow himself to even think it. Because it’s insane to even assume it.

And then Emma rolls her eyes.

Looks at him.

Pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth.

Blushes deeper.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He tries to act like he missed her look, turns his attention down to his plate of food, but he’s sure it doesn’t work.

“Why can we bring up Henry’s and embarrass the poor boy, but I can’t do the same to my sister?” David asks, a wide grin spread across his face. Without even meaning to, Killian’s gaze rises, meeting David’s from across the table.

David winks.

Shit.

“You’re at least going to his concert together, right?” David asks, the same smirk still covering his features.

“I mean, we hadn’t really discussed it, but—” Emma starts, but Henry cuts her off:

“You mean, like a date?”

“No,” both Killian and Emma try at the same time, but it doesn’t work.

Mary Margaret’s poker face falters, turning into a grin that seems to brighten her already-shining aura. David somehow looks even more smug, though Killian wouldn’t have thought it possible.

And Emma, whose gaze Killian is very purposefully avoiding, is turning redder by the moment.

He’s sure he is, too.

(Because he desperately wants it to be a date.)

The next three weeks pass in a bit of a blur, between the holiday drunks that Emma has to deal with at the station and the last-minute lessons before recitals and concerts. It feels like the blink of an eye between their conversation at Mary Margaret and David’s thanksgiving dinner and Killian knocking on the door of the Swan’s house, making sure his light blue shirt is tucked into his dark jeans as he waits for someone to let him in. The waistcoat may have been a little more than necessary for an elementary school concert, sure, but there was talk before of Neal taking Henry and some of his friends for ice cream, giving Emma and Killian a chance to go out for dinner together.

Maybe even like a date, he allows himself to think.

It’s Emma that opens the door, and when he sees the same red dress that he remembers from last year’s concert, he’s glad he decided to go with the waistcoat — he would have been undoubtedly under-dressed without it.

Because, damn is she perfect, her golden hair falling softly over her shoulders and her lips a shade of red almost as vibrant as her dress. He tries his best to hide it, but his breath gets trapped in his chest.

She smiles. “Hey.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Killian, speak. He clears his throat. “Uh, hi. Is the lad almost ready?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Henry yells from just out of Killian’s sight, most likely from around the corner in the living room.

“How are you feeling, Henry?” Killian asks just as he comes around the corner, the bowtie of his suit unbuttoned but otherwise looking incredibly dapper from his gelled-back hair to the tips of his polished dress shoes.

He shrugs. “A little nervous, I guess, but that’s normal, right?”

Killian smiles. “Aye. Completely normal. But I know you’re going to be exceptional.”

At this, Henry smiles, slipping past Killian and out the front door. “Thanks. Now let’s go!”

Emma fiddles with her nails when she’s nervous. This is something Killian learns very quickly, sitting beside her in one of the front rows of the auditorium, especially after having noticed it in the car on the way here. It doesn’t distract him, per se; instead, it gives him something to focus on instead of his own nerves, the shaking of his leg, chewing on his bottom lip.

“He’s going to do great,” Mary Margaret says from the other side of Emma, probably sensing her nervousness the same way.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Emma says, never taking her eyes off of the index finger she is focused on. “I just—” she lets out her breath through pursed lips, turning to look over her shoulder to where Neal is sitting at the end of the row behind them. Killian follows her gaze there, only to watch his attention turn from the cell phone in his hand to the watch on his wrist. “He wants to tell Henry tonight, that he’s accepted his father’s job offer. He leaves at the end of the month, but I told him he wasn’t allowed to ruin Henry’s concert by telling him before it. I can’t really even argue with it, he at least listened to what I told him.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret mutters, setting one of her hands on top of Emma’s, which halts her ability to pick at the skin around her index finger.

“I’ve always been surprised he stuck around this long in the first place,” David— helpfully— adds, arms crossed over his chest.

Killian can feel the daggers that Mary Margaret shoots at her husband when she turns to him.

Emma manages to let out a single, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “You’re right, though, David. I never expected him to stay around after we broke up, so the fact that he’s waited this long is a bit of a miracle.”

“That’s not going to make it any easier for Henry, though,” Mary Margaret comments.

Emma just shrugs, but when she goes to respond, the house lights quickly dim to black, the spotlight shining on Belle French, the school librarian and interim principal, standing at the podium. In moments, the entire room is hushed.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” she says, the gooseneck mic only catching the last few words, the auditorium humming with low feedback. “As you all know, we here in Storybrooke love to do all we can to ensure students have the opportunities to practice the arts they choose, and music is at the core of this. Every year, we are proud to hold this showcase for our elementary students, giving them the opportunity to show off their talents to the community, as well as our elementary band and orchestra groups, who have all been practicing regularly since at least the beginning of the year. To open our concert for tonight, we have the elementary orchestra group, led by our music teacher, Miss Tink Greene.”

The auditorium fills with applause as the spotlight fades away and the curtains open to reveal a stage full of musicians, smiling out at their families and friends in the audience. When Emma turns her attention to Killian out of the corner of her eye, the smile spread across his face conjures one of her own. He looks so proud, with many of the students on the stage students of his own.

Halfway through the second song, Mary Margaret leans towards Emma, setting her hand on her arm. “I always forget just how awful elementary orchestra concerts are,” she whispers.

Emma lets out a light laugh, nodding. “Like, I’m glad Henry found something he enjoys doing, don’t get me wrong, but listening to him play a botched song on a piano and listening to a bunch of them play half-tuned violins are two different worlds.”

“Swan,” Killian whispers, his eyes never leaving the stage, even as he reaches over to set his hand on her arm. “Shush.”

Even as she rolls her eyes, Emma can’t help but smile at him. But she also can’t help herself from leaning closer to Mary Margaret and whispering, “Killian wants us to stop talking.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his sigh, but he doesn’t move to respond to her.

He leaves his hand on her arm, though.

Neither of them seem to care. Neither of them make a move.

The second song comes to an end, and they quickly begin the third — the final song, Emma is relieved to hear.

They’re followed by a blonde girl in a bright red shirt and black slacks, who plays “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on her cello; a small group of students introduced as the “elementary jazz band” who play a somewhat-recognizable jazzy rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”; and a trio that plays “I Saw Three Ships” in a round on their flute, clarinet, and violin.

Killian, of course, knows many of them, whispering things like, “Her mother tried to ask me out during one of our lessons,” and “They have the cutest little dog that really likes to lick my legs when they bring it with to pick him up,” when they are introduced.

(Emma wonders what Killian would say about her if he were whispering to someone else.)

And then next up is Henry. When the curtain opens, she doesn’t realize that she has changed her grip to holding Killian’s hand in her own — or, at least, one of them moved to hold the hand of the other — until she feels the way he straightens his shoulders, sucks in a breath between his teeth. But when she turns to him, taking her eyes away from her son, getting ready to perform, for just a moment, he meets her eyes.

Smiles.

Winks.

(The bastard.)

And turns back to the stage.

She’s glad they’re in a darkened auditorium, because she feels the way her face warms at the realization, hopes that Mary Margaret can’t hear the pounding in her chest that is only silenced when Henry starts to play, Violet playing along with him.

It’s much better than the sound of the full orchestra, Emma notices almost immediately, or any of the other groups that have played. It at least doesn’t sound like a bunch of screaming, dying animals.

Just sitting there watching him, she is overwhelmed by a sense of pride, something that washes over her like a wave as his fingers move perfectly across the piano keys. (Sure, it might not be completely perfect, maybe a handful of notes a little off between the two of them, but Emma doesn’t care.)

Killian turns to her, just slightly, if only because he knows just how bright the smile spread across her face has to be.

(He’s right.)

It warms him. It makes his heart pound in his chest, just how happy her happiness makes him. Of course, that’s not the point of taking on dedicated students like Henry, but if one of the perks of being able to share the joy of music with the lad is spending time with (falling absolutely head over heels for) his mother, he will certainly be the last to complain.

But, in looking over at her, he also happens to glance over her shoulder, where Neal is still sitting at the end of the aisle behind them.

Not even looking at the stage, his cell phone still in his hand.

Over the shoulders of Emma and Mary Margaret, David makes eye contact with him, raising one of his eyebrows in question, which Killian only responds to by nodding in Neal’s direction. David turns around, and Killian can tell by the rise and fall of his shoulders that he sighs. When he turns towards Killian again, he rolls his eyes.

The last group to play is the elementary band, who proves to be much easier on the ears than the orchestra. It’s not very large, just a dozen or so students spread across the three rows of chairs, with three percussionists standing in front of various instruments at the back of the stage.

And then, after the first song, out come the recorders.

It appears Emma spoke (thought?) too soon, trying her best not to wince through their rendition of “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas,” thankfully aided by some of the other band members to make it somewhat less terrible — but by a very small margin.

(Killian, however, does not have the same self-control, and every scrunch of his face is paired with the tightening of his hand, which still happens to be wrapped around Emma’s — though neither of them are complaining.)

The first words out of Neal’s mouth, while everyone else praises his performance, are, “You ready to get out of here, kid?”

The question is met with a glare from the rest of the group, all except Henry who just looks confused.

“Aren’t we taking some of my friends? We have to wait for them.”

Neal sighs, looking at his watch. “Well, can you rally them together? I have to be up early tomorrow so I don’t want to be out too late.”

“If you want us to, David and I would be willing to take Henry instead,” Mary Margaret says, her grip on David’s hand tightening to stop him from reacting.

Henry doesn’t answer, just turns his attention up at Neal, as if waiting to see how he responds.

He grinds his teeth together. “No, of course I’ll take him, I just — it’s been a long week and I’m a little exhausted.”

“I’m gonna go find Avery and Violet,” Henry says, obviously a little let down by Neal’s response, before walking away from the group — and, now that he’s gone, Emma allows herself to finally respond to him.

“I can’t believe you!”

Neal just rolls his eyes. Killian feels his jaw tighten, and David crosses his arms across his chest.

“God, Emma, just stop overreacting. You all knew this was going to happen someday, even Henry.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell him today. He just had his first performance, his first solo, and all he wants from you is for you to be proud of him, not to hear that you’re moving away.”

“Listen, you told me I had to wait until after the concert. The concert is over.”

“You know damn well this isn’t what I meant!” Emma moves to lunge towards him, but Killian catches her arm, holding her back.

“Not here, love,” he whispers. For a moment, Emma’s eyes are wide with anger, but when they meet his, they soften, and she nods.

Neal scoffs. “You want to call me out for being inappropriate, yet here you are, dating Henry’s music teacher.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.

We’re not dating. Killian feels the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back — this is neither the time nor the place, and besides—

“That’s none of your damn business, first of all,” Emma bites. "I will kiss and date and sleep with whoever the hell I want to, you have no say in it anymore."

"You slept with him?!"

"Again, it's none of your business whether I did or not, Neal. That's the point. God, I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now. Just make sure Henry gets to soccer practice on time tomorrow, please.”

“Now you’re going to tell me how to be his dad? Like I haven’t been doing it for ten years?”

Killian has a feeling that if his hand weren’t still wrapped around Emma’s wrist, she would have lunged again.

“Come on, Emma, let’s go,” David says, stepping between them. “He’s not worth it,” he whispers.

Still, Emma doesn’t move.

Killian tugs on her hand. “Come on, love.”

She takes a breath, apparent by the rise and fall of her shoulders, before she nods, finally turning back to face him.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They find Henry in the music room behind the auditorium, gathering his belongings. “Hey, kid,” Emma calls, walking towards him. “We’re gonna head out, okay?”

He whips around, stopping in the middle of his conversation with Avery. “Okay!” He rushes across the music room to wrap his arms around Emma’s middle. “Thanks again for coming!”

“Of course we came, lad,” Killian says, mussing his hair with a smile.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mary Margaret chirps from behind them.

“But you have fun with your dad, alright?” Emma says. “Want me to take your dress shoes home?”

“I don’t want to stay at dad’s tonight, I want to come home with you.”

“Henry, come on, we talked about this already. Your dad asked for you to stay there tonight even though it’s not his night, and you have practice in the morning anyway. Please?”

Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Why? Are you two going on a date?”

David scoffs. Mary Margaret laughs, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Killian is useless against the drop of his jaw. But it’s Emma’s answer that Henry laughs at: “What? No, come on, we’re—we’re—” she stutters.

Henry puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Killian recognizes the look immediately; he’s gotten the exact look from Emma before, on quite a few occasions.

“I can assure you, lad, I’m just taking your mother home.”

This time, it’s David who laughs, just a single bark — but it’s all Killian needs to really hear what he has just said, and he quickly feels as heat rises to the tips of his ears.

But Henry doesn’t hear it that way, thankfully, and instead flashes a large smile at them. “Then you can just take me home, too.”

“Henry, please,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry’s smile disappears, and he nods even as his gaze falls to the ground.

“Okay, mom.”

He goes to turn away from them, but Emma reaches out to put her arm on his shoulder. “Hey,” she whispers, waiting for him to look back up at her before she smiles. ‘C’mere,” she whispers, leaning down as she holds her arms out to him.

Henry complies, even managing to crack a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow after practice, alright?”

“You’ll pick me up?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, mom.”

After quickly hugging Mary Margaret and high-fiving David and Killian, the four of them make their way out of the building to their cars.

“So, are you guys going on a date?” The question practically explodes out of Mary Margaret, and David is useless against the smile that spreads across his face.

“No,” Emma says, but Killian takes a chance and shrugs.

“What do you say, Swan? Want to get something to eat?”

No one looks more surprised by this turn of events than Emma herself. Killian’s glad they’re out from under the harsh phosphorescence of the school lights so the redness of his face is (hopefully) less obvious.

David’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Do I have to give you guys the talk?”

Killian doesn’t know how to respond, truthfully; instead, Emma hits his arm with the back of her hand. “Oh my god, David.”

Mary Margaret giggles — honest-to-God giggles.

“We’re leaving now,” Emma says, and Killian certainly doesn’t argue.

“So, do you want to eat, or not?” Killian asks, finally breaking the silence in the car as they pull out of the parking lot.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Emma mumbles, failing to hide the way she fiddles with her nails. “Wherever you want to go.”

He smiles. “I know just the place.”

Much to Emma’s surprise, he takes them home. To his house, more specifically, though for a moment she fears that he will drop her off at her front door and disappear forever. Instead, he holds open his front door for her, as nervous as she is.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, helping her shrug out of her coat, which he then drapes over the back of a dining room chair. “Water? Wine? I probably have some whiskey somewhere around here, if you’re looking for something harder.”

Emma smiles, finding his obvious nerves charming. “Wine would be great.”

He hums, pulling a bottle of white out of the fridge. Of course, with the way his nerves have been acting up, he’s surprised he hasn’t already started rambling, so he’s not surprised when he opens his mouth and is unable to stop words from falling from his lips. “Liam always told me that the best way to impress a lady is to cook for her, but I was probably not supposed to divulge that information on a first date.” He hands her the glass of wine, then pours one for himself. “I was half-hoping this is where we ended up, you know. That’s why I prepared a little bit, why I thawed this piece of salmon and made sure I had what I needed for my mother’s favorite pasta recipe.” Quickly, he turns to face her, unable to stop his hand from scratching the spot behind his ear. “I hope that’s okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I never even asked—”

Emma holds her hand out, resting it against his hand on the counter. “Killian,” she says softly, and between that and her smile, he snaps his mouth shut. “Whatever you have planned, I’m sure it will be perfect.”

He wants to dive across the kitchen counter and kiss her right there, the salmon be damned. But that’s not what he does, holding himself back. Instead, he just smiles at her.

“You have too much faith in me, love,” he says, forcing himself to move to begin readying dinner.

“Maybe I’ve just gotten to know you enough to be sure that I can trust you.”

God, I love this woman, he thinks to himself, only allowing himself to pause for a moment as the realization hits him, knowing that more will draw her attention for sure. And if he called her out, asked what he was thinking about, he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself from telling her.

Because it’s true, he realizes — there’s no use hiding from it anymore. It’s true that he has fallen absolutely in love with Emma Swan, and there’s no going back now.

But the silence of the kitchen — of the whole house — gets to him before the oven is even preheated, and he has to find something to talk about before he absolutely loses his mind.

“Your lad did a great job tonight, you know,” he says, daring to glance at her over his shoulder, if only to catch the smile that he knows is on her face.

“Well, he had an incredible teacher,” she says.

“That may be true, love, but he had real talent when he started.”

“Which really is a surprise.” Emma tells him, not for the first time. “I know neither Neal or I have any musical ability, or Neal’s dad. Mary Margaret used to play the flute, but she’s not actually family, and probably hasn’t picked one up since college.”

“I know you never knew them, but maybe it’s from one of your parents.” This time, when he glances over his shoulder, she has her thumbnail between her front teeth, so he adds, “Or maybe it’s just him. It’s not unheard of.”

She attempts to smile, but it doesn’t stick. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he turns back to the counter, adding the last few sprigs of rosemary to the pan with the salmon before sticking it in the oven.

“That’ll take a little while longer than the pasta, so I’m going to wait a bit before I start that,” he starts, but when he turns back to her, she’s gone.

Shit.

“Okay,” she calls from the living room, which slows the terrified pounding of his heart almost immediately. Even after months of friendship with Emma Swan, he still somehow thought she would have walked out on him.

“So we, uh, have a little bit of time,” he says, finding his own glass of wine before following her voice into the living room. Much to his surprise, she’s sitting on the piano bench, her long, thin fingers moving gently across the keys, but not making a sound.

“You know,” she says, turning towards him as he fills the space between them. “I do know how to play one thing on the piano.” With a shy smile, she moves over on the bench to give him room to sit with her, patting it gently when he doesn’t move to join her.

But he’s useless against her, and can fight it no longer, so he does, trying to focus on something other than the warmth of her leg pressed against his. “Oh yeah? What is that?”

He's afraid to hear the answer, knows what she's about to play down deep in his soul, but he still cringes when he hears the first few notes: “Heart and Soul.”

"Anything but that, love. Literally anything."

“I don’t know about you, Killian Jones,” Emma says, letting him slip her jacket back over her arms before he leads her to the door. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had a better first date.” Even in the low light of the entryway, Killian knows that Emma can see the blush rising to his cheeks. “And I know I said it before, but that pasta was incredible. Really, one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, thank you, Swan,” he says, ducking his head to avoid her bright eyes. “I’m glad you think so. Both about the pasta and the date.”

“I may even let you walk me home.”

He’s at a loss for words — and even questions his own ability to speak when she follows up by running her tongue across her bottom lip.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“You’re a true gentleman, Killian Jones.”

“Always.” He even feels brave enough to wink at her, holding open the front door to let her through.

Their walk across the street is silent, save the light chuckle Killian allows when Emma threads her arm through his.

“This is my stop,” she says, turning to face him on her front porch. But instead of moving to open the door, she reaches out to take one of his hands in hers. Then the other.

“Yeah, I should, uh, let you get home,” he says, realizing that it is, in fact, the very last thing he wants to do.

She looks up at him, her green eyes bright in the front lights. “Yeah,” she whispers, barely audible. Swipes her tongue across her bottom lip again. And then leans forward, letting go of one of his hands only to wrap hers around his neck, and presses her lips against his. It’s soft, it’s gentle, it’s —

Perfect. Everything he imagined kissing Emma Swan would be.

And that’s why he loses himself in it, in her, for just a moment, living for the swipe of her tongue against his, before backing away. She takes a deep breath before opening her eyes, a soft smile spread across her lips.

“I don’t usually do this on a first date, love,” he whispers, leaning closer to her so he can rest his forehead against hers.

“Me neither,” she says back, her smile growing. “So take me out again tomorrow night and we can do it again.”

“Deal.”

She kisses him again, a single peck on the lips, and turns away.

tags: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @superchocovian @carpedzem @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda @singersdd @tiganasummertree @alexannam16 @therealstartraveller776 @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @pepperspotts

#my writing #megan writes things #megan finishes things #wordsbymeganmichael #cs fics #cs ff #captain swan #I don't even know how to tag things anymore

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