#or was jones a stand in name they kept forgetting to change

[colouredbyd]

The Nightingale VI: The Capitol Has Teeth

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: a wounded alliance begins to form. old memories resurface under the cover of night—constellations, names, and things left unsaid. the arena is changing, and the Capitol is already tightening its grip.

warnings: scenes of violence, characters death, graphic content, blood, emotional distress, violence, injury care, body horror (mild), themes of control and helplessness, mild language, intense fear, reflective of the brutal nature of the Hunger Games.

word count: 8.9k (totally didnt take 3 days to write)

authors note: i love this chapter so so much, ugh. ps. so many hidden easters in this chapter..

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This is day two of the Games, and the Garden is changing.

The trees loom higher than they did yesterday—though maybe it’s not the trees that have grown. Maybe it’s me, shrinking by the hour, forgetting how to measure anything except the ache in my chest and the sound of my own heartbeat.

The canopy above is a patchwork of rust-colored leaves, their edges curled and blackened like they’ve been touched by fire. They drip something sticky onto the ground, sap or blood or something that smells too sweet to be natural. The earth beneath our feet shifts softly sometimes, like it's breathing. And in the corners of my vision, I keep catching flickers—ghosts of motion, glimmers of light that vanish when I try to focus. I turn my head and see nothing but bark. Stones that look like teeth. Vines that might’ve been ropes.

We don’t speak. There’s no need to. The silence between us is heavier than the air.

Regulus walks ahead, every step deliberate. That same quiet intensity he’s always carried—like he was carved from silence and taught how to move without making the world flinch. He reads the terrain with his eyes, his hands, the angle of his shoulders. Every few paces, his fingers lift to the back of his neck—light and quick, like a whisper he’s trying to chase away. I’ve seen him do it before. I didn’t think much of it then. But now, I see how often. How unconscious. Like a tether—his mind checking a leash only he can feel.

He hasn’t spoken since last night. Neither have I. There’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t come out as a prayer or a scream.

Yesterday there were three cannons. Three faces in the sky.

Emmeline Vance from District 4. Mundungus Fletcher from 12. Hestia Jones from 8.

I didn’t know them—not really. I remembered their faces at the Reaping, the slight tremble in Hestia’s hands, the way Emmeline had kept her chin raised too high, defiant even when her voice cracked. But names blur quickly out here. Still, I forced myself to look. To hold their eyes as long as the sky would let me. It felt like the only thing I could offer—acknowledgement. A witness. Something human.

My heart clenched, waiting for a fourth. Bracing for the face I wouldn’t survive seeing. But it didn’t come.

No Regulus.

And the relief that washed over me was sharp and selfish and so full of guilt I could barely stand it. Because part of me still thinks that as long as he’s alive, I can be too. Like if I can just keep him breathing, I won't become one of those faces. A name no one knew well enough to mourn. But maybe that’s a lie we tell ourselves to keep walking.

I glance at Regulus again and wonder, not for the first time, what it’s cost him to survive all this. What corners of himself he’s had to cut away to keep going. What softness he’s buried. What screams he’s swallowed.

His profile is turned to the trees now, neck long and throat bruised with old scrapes. There’s a sliver of dried blood along his collarbone—too thin to worry about but too stark to ignore. His hands hang loose at his sides, stained from the last time we dug through mud for shelter. Hands that used to tremble in the Capitol’s glare. Hands that no longer do.

The Capitol doesn’t need to kill you with blades or bombs. It just waits. Patient, calculating. Watching as the days chip away at you until there’s nothing left but instinct and ash. Until the war lives in your bones and mercy is a myth you no longer afford. It doesn’t pull the trigger—it hands you the weapon, then teaches you how to aim at yourself.

It silences you slowly. Hollowing out the soft parts first—grief, love, hope—until only survival remains. It makes memory sharp. Makes kindness dangerous. It turns every name you loved into a weakness, every soft moment into something that could get you killed. That’s the Capitol’s real talent: it doesn’t need to kill you. It teaches you how to do it on your own.

And Regulus—he carries every one of those lessons behind his eyes. He walks like someone who’s memorized loss. Like the air itself cuts him, and still he keeps moving. He doesn’t look back. Maybe because he can’t. Maybe because looking means remembering. And remembering means bleeding all over again.

But I do. I always do.

Because someone has to. Someone has to hold onto what we were before they renamed us tributes and strung us up like symbols. Someone has to remember that we were people once. That we had birthdays and favorite songs. That we laughed. That kindness wasn’t a liability.

I wonder if he remembers that, too. Or if he buried hope with the rest of the dead.

We keep walking, the Garden thick around us, the silence breathing down our necks. And still, I say nothing.

But gods, I want to.

I want to call his name and watch it settle on his skin like something warm. I want to press my hand to the curve of his spine and remind him that he doesn’t have to carry all of this alone.

I want him to look at me the way he used to—like I was something he couldn’t afford to lose.

Not here. Not in the Garden, where the trees eavesdrop and the wind keeps score. Here, tenderness is a trap. 

He doesn’t need to tell me why he’s quiet. I already know.

The longer we’re still, the louder the Garden gets. The wind carries laughter sometimes, or the sound of footsteps that don’t belong to either of us. Once I swore I heard my mother singing. The exact lullaby she used to hum when I couldn’t sleep. The notes hung between the branches like fruit.

Because we both knew the truth: the arena isn’t just a place.

It’s a mind.

It watches. It learns. It carves open your past and feeds it back to you with blood on its fingers. It waits until you forget you’re a tribute, and then it strikes. Not with teeth or claws, but with memories. With softness. With the illusion of something kind, until it becomes the thing that kills you.

I walk beside him now, watching the way he moves—controlled, deliberate, like he’s holding something back. Maybe rage. Maybe grief. Maybe something colder. There’s a part of me that wants to reach for him, to remind him I’m still here. That we’re not entirely gone yet. But I don’t.

I haven’t spoken since the camera shattered. I don’t think Regulus has either.

The Garden is quieter than it was yesterday. Not peaceful—never peaceful. Just… still. Like the calm that presses down on your chest right before a scream. Even the birds are gone, if they were ever real to begin with.

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve blinked without seeing anything at all.

How many times I’ve heard my name, whispered low and sweet, threading through the trees like a secret—and turned to find nothing but bark and silence. The branches know my name now. They’ve learned how to say it with the same lilt my brother used to, the same pause my mother would make before pulling me into her arms.

I think I’m starting to forget what real sounds like. What true sounds like.

We were moving through a dense patch of undergrowth when something ahead caught the corner of my eye. It wasn’t a sound or a cry—just the faintest flicker of motion, too small to be a threat, too subtle to ignore. I stopped. My foot hovered above a root as my gaze dropped to the forest floor, sifting through the layers of leaves and dirt.

That’s when I saw him.

A boy, half-swallowed by the roots of an overturned tree—limbs tangled like he’d fallen from the sky and the forest had tried to claim him before he hit the ground. His body was twisted awkwardly, one leg bent beneath him, the other dragged out behind like he’d been running and never quite stopped. Dirt smudged his cheek, blood crusted at his temple, and his arm was curled protectively over his ribs, as if even unconscious, he was trying to shield something.

For a breathless second, I thought he was dead.

Then his fingers moved—just once. A faint tremble, barely there.

I stepped forward before I even realized it, breath catching in my throat.

“We can’t,” Regulus said. His voice was low.

I turned toward him, but he didn’t look at me. His eyes were locked on the boy, sharp and gleaming like the blade he kept hidden at his side. I could feel the tension coiled in him, the way his breath had shortened, how his grip on me tightened just slightly as the boy coughed again.

“What if it’s a setup?” Regulus muttered. “What if someone left him there to draw us out? We’re in the Garden. Nothing’s real here. Not pain. Not mercy. Not dying.”

His hand was still on my arm. The contact sent little aftershocks skimming through my nerves, but it was the way he said dying that made my stomach twist. Like he wasn’t afraid of it, just tired of watching it happen.

“I don’t think he’s pretending,” I said, softer now, but steady. “No one pretends to bleed like that.”

Regulus didn’t let go. He looked at me then, and for a moment, his expression faltered. Just enough for the mask to slip. Just enough for me to see what was beneath it—fear, maybe. Or something heavier.

“I can’t protect you if you walk into a trap.”

I swallowed hard. His fingers were still wrapped around my arm, thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist like he was trying to convince himself it was fine. That I was still breathing. That I was still warm. I could’ve told him I wasn’t the one who needed protecting, not from this, not now—but the words stayed in my throat.

“I’m going,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to come with me. But I’m not walking away.”

I moved toward the boy, lowering myself into a crouch until my knees met the damp, moss-covered earth. The scent of soil and something metallic filled my lungs as I leaned closer. His breathing was shallow and ragged, every rise of his chest uneven, as if each breath was a decision his body had to wrestle with. Blood had seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, a deep maroon stain spreading across his side, dark and tacky. Most of it had dried, crusted in streaks where it had mingled with dirt and sweat, but fresh droplets still clung near the wound—bright enough to mean danger, slow enough to mean time was running out.

His body looked wrong somehow, too twisted to be resting, too still to be safe. One leg was curled beneath him in an unnatural position, the angle of it suggesting a break or worse. His arm had fallen across his ribs, bent awkwardly as if he'd collapsed mid-flight and never gotten the chance to move again. His face was pale beneath the grime, the sort of pallor that came with too many hours of pain left unattended. One eye was swollen shut, puffed and bruised, while the other remained barely open, glassy and confused. He blinked once, slowly, as if even that motion cost him something. His gaze didn’t quite find mine.

He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. There was something delicate about him, something unfinished, like he hadn’t been given enough time to grow into himself before being thrown into this place. His lips were cracked and flaking, the corners stained with blood and dust. I studied his features, searching for a name, a memory, anything to anchor him to the world outside this nightmare. 

He must have been one of the quiet ones during the interviews—the kind of tribute whose voice got lost beneath the roar of louder stories. The kind no one truly noticed until their portrait appeared in the sky, accompanied by that mournful anthem. He didn’t look like a killer. He didn’t look like he belonged in the Games. But then again, none of us did.

The heat coming off him was feverish, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. It radiated from him in waves, pulsing with every weak breath, and I knew then that the wound had festered longer than it should have. His body was fighting a war it was already losing.

Behind me, I felt the shift of movement before I saw it—Regulus lowering himself into a crouch beside us. His expression was unreadable, all sharp lines and shadows. He didn’t speak. His eyes scanned the boy with clinical precision, taking in the damage, calculating the risk. One hand hovered near his knife, fingers ghosting the hilt like a reflex, like his body didn’t quite know how to be still without the comfort of a blade in reach. But he didn’t draw it. He stayed where he was, close but guarded, alert but not hostile.

The suspicion had not entirely left his features, but it had softened. Not into trust—Regulus didn’t give that freely—but into something quieter, something cautious and heavy with restraint. It was enough. For now.

“His leg’s broken,” he said, scanning the injury like it was a riddle. “Might be his ribs too.”

He stared at the boy a moment longer, then reached into his pack without a word.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t believe in softness, not out loud. But he still acted on it, always in the quietest ways.

Regulus took most of the weight, one of the boy’s arms draped across his shoulder, the other hanging lifeless at his side. I stayed close, supporting from behind, one hand steady on his back, the other ready to grab him if he collapsed. He was light—too light—and every step made him wince. He didn’t say a word. Just stumbled and clung on.

Regulus led the way, his pace steady but quick, each step a careful rhythm, as though he was trying to stay two steps ahead of danger. His eyes flicked over his shoulder frequently, watching the boy who staggered just behind, trying to keep pace. I saw the way his jaw tightened with each stumble, the way his grip on his knife never fully relaxed. He was wary, cautious, a man who had learned the hard way to trust no one. Not even someone in a condition like this boy’s.

The boy’s breathing was shallow, rattling in his chest like the prelude to something worse. He coughed, a wet, miserable sound that seemed to echo through the quiet woods, and muttered something I couldn’t catch. His voice was weak, barely a whisper, and when his head dropped forward, I felt a momentary surge of panic. For a moment, he looked like he might just collapse, crumple under his own weight, and we’d be left here with him, an easy target for whatever might be watching from the shadows.

I slowed my pace, moving closer to him, and whispered, my voice tight with worry. “We’re almost there,” I said, though it felt more like a promise to myself than to him. “Just hold on.”

I wasn’t sure if he even heard me. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and he swayed as if his body couldn’t quite keep up with the effort of standing. I could feel Regulus watching us, his gaze sharp and calculating. He was already thinking two steps ahead, thinking about the next danger we might face. Even here, in this moment, we weren’t safe.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding through the underbrush, we emerged into a small clearing. The trees opened up just enough to give us a breath, the weight of the forest lifting slightly, as if the earth itself had parted to let us pass. The ground beneath us was soft, covered in thick, spongy moss that swallowed the sound of our footsteps, offering a temporary reprieve from the harshness of the forest.

Regulus moved swiftly, lowering the boy to the ground, his movements more tender than I would have expected, more careful than he probably intended to show. I knelt beside the boy, brushing the damp curls from his forehead, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. It was too much warmth, too much for someone so young, someone who had already been through so much.

His breaths came in short, labored gasps, each one sounding like it took all the effort he had left. I could feel the weight of his fever in the tremors of his body, the way his skin was flushed, slick with sweat despite the coolness of the night. I gently pressed my fingers to his wrist, trying to find his pulse, but it was weak, barely there.

I didn’t know how long he could last like this. The wound he’d sustained was bad, worse than I had first thought, and there was nothing we could do for him right now except wait. Wait and watch, hoping it wasn’t too late.

The air around us seemed to hold its breath, the quiet of the forest pressing in from all sides. For a moment, the world felt impossibly still, as if the trees themselves had paused to witness what was happening here.

Regulus moved behind me, his presence a quiet shadow at my back. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his gaze on the boy, feel the tension in the way he stood, watchful and poised. He wasn’t ready to let go of the boy, not yet. I understood that—this was dangerous, and we couldn’t afford to trust anyone fully, not in the Garden.

 But as I looked at the boy, his chest rising and falling too slowly, his body trembling with fever, I knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t going to last long unless we did something

I reached for the canteen with steady hands, though inside, I felt anything but calm. The metal was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from the boy’s fevered body. I tilted it carefully toward his mouth, trying to find the balance between urgency and gentleness. “Can you drink?” I asked, my voice quiet, measured, like I was afraid the sound itself might scare him back into unconsciousness.

His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and rimmed with dirt, glassy with pain and exhaustion. They looked too old for someone his age—haunted, like he had already seen too much. He blinked up at me slowly, uncomprehending, and his cracked lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Only a thin rasp of air, dry and broken. I tilted the canteen again, just enough to let a trickle of water touch his mouth.

He flinched slightly at first, then swallowed—a small, effortful motion that looked like it took everything out of him. A second later, he coughed, the sound low and grating, each breath catching in his throat like it was scraping against gravel. I steadied his shoulder, trying to keep him upright as his body shook. His skin was far too warm beneath my fingers, and his pulse fluttered weakly like a moth against glass.

Behind me, Regulus stood motionless, arms folded tightly across his chest, his frame half-shadowed by the last light filtering through the trees. His face was a mask—neutral, unreadable—but I knew better than to think he was at ease. His eyes didn’t leave the boy, not for a second. Every twitch of movement, every inhale, every subtle flicker in the boy’s expression was caught in his gaze. He wasn’t just watching—he was assessing. Calculating. Always preparing for the moment things might turn.

The boy stirred a little more, his head turning slightly as his eyes squinted against the light. I leaned closer, my tone softening into something gentler, something I hoped he could anchor to. “Hey,” I murmured. “You’re okay. We found you in the woods. You were hurt, but you’re safe now.”

His gaze darted between us, unfocused and flickering. I saw the fear begin to rise in his eyes—not wild panic, not the kind that screamed or thrashed, but the quieter kind, the kind that sank its teeth in slowly. It was buried beneath layers of exhaustion and pain, but it was there, tightening his expression, making his breath catch as he tried to place where he was and who we were.

“We need to know your name,” I said, more gently now, as though coaxing it out of him could unravel some of the fear. “Just your name, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer right away. His attention snapped to Regulus, narrowed in on him like he sensed something dangerous beneath the silence. I followed his gaze and saw what he did—Regulus hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, but the stillness of his posture was deceptive. He was coiled beneath it, ready. There was a tension in his stance, like the entire forest could shift and he’d still be the first to react. Something in the boy recognized that. He wasn’t just looking at a stranger. He was looking at a threat.

Finally, after another strained pause, the boy swallowed and whispered, “Evan.”

His voice was paper-thin and frayed at the edges. The name hung between us for a moment, fragile and weightless. I turned to Regulus, catching his eyes for a brief second.

I looked back at the boy and nodded. “Okay, Evan,” I said softly, like his name was something sacred, something I didn’t want to break. “We’re going to help you. That wound—it needs care, but you’re not alone anymore. We’ll take care of it, and we’ll figure the rest out together.”

Evan’s gaze didn’t waver, but something inside it dimmed slightly, like he didn’t quite believe me, like he’d already seen too much to think anything here could be safe. “There’s no such thing,” he murmured, his words barely audible, worn thin from pain. “Safe doesn’t exist here.”

I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

Regulus finally moved, crouching low beside us, his knees brushing the moss, and his shadow stretched long and dark over the clearing. His presence was grounding, solid, but it brought with it the weight of reality. This wasn’t just an act of kindness. It was a decision with consequences.

His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm. “Are you alone?”

Evan’s head dipped in the faintest of nods. “I don’t know where my district partner is,” he said, voice rough. “We got separated.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of possibilities. Regulus glanced at me, and for a second, I saw the flicker again. He was thinking. Calculating how this changed things. How long we could afford to care.

“When?” Regulus pressed.

“Since the bloodbath,” Evan said. “I tried to climb a tree after. I Thought I saw movement. I fell. Think I broke something.” He winced as he tried to shift. “Been there since. Two days, maybe.”

I reached for the first aid kit, pulling out a strip of clean cloth and the last of our antiseptic. The gash on his side had bled through his shirt. It was ragged and deep, but not too wide—if we kept it clean, he might have a chance.

“This’ll sting,” I warned, my voice low, almost apologetic as I prepared the antiseptic.

Evan didn’t flinch at my words. He just nodded, his fingers digging into the moss beneath him like it might anchor him to something solid, something real. The tremble of his hand was faint, almost imperceptible, but I saw it—saw the effort it took for him to hold himself still. His skin was already raw, burned with the fever he’d been running, and I knew this was going to make it worse.

I dabbed the cloth across his wound, and a sharp hiss escaped him, his breath a shallow, quick intake, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t pull away. He just endured it. The sound of his breath was the only thing I could hear, ragged and unsteady.

I focused on the task, moving carefully. The world around us felt distant, like everything else had slowed down in that moment. The air was thick, heavy with the tension between us. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze fixed on Evan with a mix of watchfulness and something else—something unreadable. He handed me what I needed without a word, his movements precise and fluid, like he had already decided he would do what was necessary, whether he wanted to or not.

The silence stretched, a fragile thread that might snap at any moment, but it held. We worked in synchrony, each of us trapped in our own thoughts, the weight of what was happening pressing against us, unspoken but shared. The moment felt like it was balanced on the edge of something unnamed, something too complex to voice.

When I finished, I leaned back slightly, wiping my hands on my pants, suddenly aware of how still the air had become, how heavy my own breath felt.“You need rest,” I said, trying to make the words sound like a command, but it came out more like a suggestion—a plea. His body was barely holding itself together, and I could see how exhausted he was. He needed sleep more than anything else. 

Evan blinked slowly, his gaze drifting between us. I could see the questions in his eyes—too many to count, and none of them answered yet. “Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words felt like they were stuck. I didn’t have a good answer. Not one that would make sense to him, or to me, for that matter. But before I could speak, Regulus answered, his tone low but firm, like he was stating a simple fact.

“We’re not sure we are.”

His words hung in the air, sharp, blunt. There was no malice in his voice—just the quiet honesty of someone who had learned the hard way not to promise things he wasn’t sure he could keep. I felt the weight of it, the honesty of it, even though part of me wanted to argue. Wanted to say that we were helping, that there was something between us that demanded it. But Regulus had said it. And in that moment, I couldn’t deny it. 

I glanced at him sharply, but his face didn’t shift. There was no anger, no bitterness, just an unwavering calm.

Evan’s eyelids fluttered shut as if the effort of staying awake had finally become too much. His voice came in a soft rasp, as fragile as his breath. “Fair enough.”

The acceptance in his words struck me more deeply than I expected. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t pleading. He was just... resigned. Maybe it was the fever, or the pain, or just the weight of everything that had happened, but in that moment, his voice was quiet, but there was a sort of strength in it too. The kind of strength that didn’t come from fighting back, but from accepting the world as it was—however hard that might be.

And as he lay there, silent, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, I felt something shift. Something delicate, but undeniable. It wasn’t that I understood Evan, not fully. But in that moment, with his simple admission, I felt connected to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

I looked back at Regulus, catching the fleeting glance he gave me—brief, unreadable—but I could sense it. Whatever had brought us here, whatever decision had been made when we chose to help him, it wasn’t just about the boy on the ground. It was about us. And whatever was happening between us, unspoken but felt, was just beginning to unfold.

Regulus stood again and moved to the fire pit, kneeling to strike the flint. I stayed by Evan’s side, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips moved soundlessly—like he was whispering something to himself in sleep. Maybe a name. Maybe a prayer.

Across the clearing, sparks jumped from stone to kindling. The fire began to catch. Regulus didn’t look at me, but I could feel the tension still radiating from him like heat.

He didn’t trust Evan. But he’d carried him here.

And something about that mattered more than either of us could admit.

It's been a few hours since Evan fell asleep. I tried to sleep. I really did, but I couldn't take my eyes off the horizon above me. The sky above isn’t real—too static, too perfect, as if someone painted it from memory and forgot that stars are supposed to flicker. The air smells like damp earth and something artificial beneath it, the Capitol’s idea of what a forest should be. It’s close but never quite right, like a lullaby sung off-key.

Beside me, Regulus lies just barely within reach. Our arms aren’t touching, but he’s close enough that I can feel the heat of him radiating in the space between us. I can sense the rhythm of his breathing in the rise and fall of the silence, the way the air stirs gently whenever he exhales. It’s the kind of silence that isn’t empty—it’s thick with the weight of unspoken things, of years that passed without permission, of names we don’t call each other anymore.

I don’t know when I started watching him instead of the sky.

The years haven’t changed the shape of him, not really. He’s still all edges and quiet restraint, still wears silence like armor. But in the dim blue light, with the trees casting soft shadows across his face, he looks younger. Softer. Like the boy I used to know before the world asked him to become someone else.

( i highly recommend playing Space Song by Beach House here)

My gaze lifts to the stars, or the simulation of them, and a thought drifts through my mind before I can catch it.

“I used to draw stars on you.” I say.

The words slip out quieter than I expect, drifting into the dark like breath on glass. They hang there for a moment, fragile and unclaimed. My voice barely belongs to me—it sounds younger somehow, like it was pulled from another version of myself. I don’t even know if I meant to say it aloud. Maybe it’s just a memory trying to make itself real again.

But he hears. Of course he does.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just breathes. The rhythm of it is steady, but there’s something underneath it now—something old and aching. Then, after a pause that feels too full, he murmurs, “On my wrist.”

His voice is rough, like it had to scrape its way up from somewhere deep.

Another pause. Longer, softer.

“My arm. My collarbone, once,” he adds, as though he’s cataloging each place with care, brushing dust from the bones of the past. “You got bolder every year.”

A smile finds me, faint and slow and a little sad. It hurts to hold it, but I let it bloom anyway. “You always moved before the ink dried.”

“You always scolded me when it smudged.”

“I didn’t scold,” I whisper, the corners of my voice tugged by something tender. “I just… hated when they stopped looking like stars.”

He turns his head, just enough that I can see the side of his face in the blue-dark hush. The sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his mouth. There’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier, something raw and open that I recognize, even after all this time.

“They looked like stars to me,” he says. His voice is steady now, quieter than the night, but clearer somehow. “Always.”

I close my eyes for a second and let myself slip backward, into a different time.

I used to steal ink from the shops when no one was watching. A cracked bottle, a stolen brush, a piece of charcoal snapped in half and hidden beneath my coat. We’d sneak into our hideout—our haven in the woods behind the lumber mill, where the branches reached toward the sky like they were trying to remember it—and I’d press his hand flat against the floorboards, the skin of his wrist pale and waiting.

He was always so still for me. Not for anyone else. Not even for himself. But for me—he let me paint on him like he was a blank space meant to be filled. Only for me.

Never for anyone else. Not for the world. Not for the Capitol. Not even for himself. But when I touched him, when I painted him, he became quiet in a way that felt like surrender, or maybe trust. He let me draw constellations on his skin like I was writing a language only the two of us could read.

He’d watch me with those storm-colored eyes—eyes that never gave anything away unless you knew where to look. Half-curious, half-somewhere-else. Eyes that carried entire winters in their silence.

I always began with Altair. The lead star. Three dots in a line—clean, sharp, deliberate. A shape with direction. Then I’d connect it to Vega, to Deneb, tracing faint arcs across his forearm, letting the brush kiss the contours of his bones. I’d mark Orion’s belt along his wrist. Sketch Canis Major where his veins ran faintly blue beneath the surface. Each stroke was careful, slow, reverent. A sky unfolding. A map no one else could see.

Sometimes, when I was finished, he’d flex his fingers slightly, and the stars would shimmer. Smudge. Shift. And I’d scowl like I didn’t expect it, even though I always did.

But other times, he’d just let them sit there—those tiny galaxies drawn down the pathways of his hands—like he knew they weren’t really stars. Like he knew they were promises.

And like he needed them anyway.

“I learned constellations just so I could give them to you,” I say now. “I didn’t have anything else. Not really. No money. No gifts. Just ink and time and my hands.”

“You gave me more than that,” he says quietly. “You gave me a map.”

My chest pulls tight. I don’t answer.

“You said it would help me find my way back,” he continues, the words hesitant now, like he’s stepping over glass. “Even if I got lost. Even if I was taken away.”

I turn my head toward him. His profile is made of angles and shadows, but I see him. I see the boy he used to be beneath the man the Capitol sculpted. I see the softness he buried.

“I didn’t think you’d ever really leave.” I whisper.

He’s silent for a long time. Too long.

“I didn’t think I’d have to,” he says finally, and his voice cracks like something old breaking open again.

The ache between us spreads like ink in water.

I reach out before I can stop myself. My fingers brush against his wrist, finding the place I used to start with. That delicate patch of skin beneath the bones, where his pulse beats like it remembers me. I press there, gently. My thumb moves in a slow, absent circle. My body remembers the motion of drawing.

“I always started with Altair.” I whisper.

His breath catches. “You did.”

“Three dots. A line.”

“You were always so careful about it,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “So precise. You’d tilt your head when you worked, like you were trying to see the stars from a different angle. Bite the inside of your cheek when you were focused. You got ink on your nose half the time.”

A laugh escapes me, soft and slightly stunned by the memory. It catches in my throat, but it’s real—like it came from somewhere deep and untouched by the passing years. “And you never told me.”

His silence lingers for a moment, and then the faintest smile touches his lips, but it’s more in the way his eyes soften than anything else. “I liked watching you forget the world.”

The air feels thicker between us now, heavier with the weight of something unspoken, something raw. It’s an intimacy that feels familiar, but different, like we’re seeing each other in a light we haven’t allowed ourselves to look at in far too long.

I trace the memory of Altair now, just the lightest touch of my fingertip across his skin. No ink. No need for it. The shape is still there, imprinted beneath the surface, burned into both of us. A constellation we never erased. A story neither of us stopped carrying, no matter how much time has passed or how much we tried to forget.

His voice is quieter now, almost reverent when he speaks. “Why Altair?”

I pause, my finger hovering for just a second longer. The air around us feels thick with the weight of his question, as if the answer means more than I ever realized. I exhale slowly before speaking, my words soft but sure. “It was the first star I learned. It means the flying bird in Arabic.”

He’s quiet for a long time, the kind of silence that feels like it could stretch on forever if we let it. I keep tracing, my finger moving along his skin like it’s the only thing tethering me to the past.

“You were so angry, back then,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, though I know he hears me. “And quiet. Like you didn’t trust the world not to hurt you, so you stayed locked up tight. I think… I wanted to give you something gentle. Something that didn’t take. Something that didn’t demand anything.”

Regulus randomly flinched, one hand shooting up to the back of his neck. He pressed his palm there for a beat too long, like he was trying to smother a sudden sting.

“Something I could hold,” he says, the words fragile, like they might slip away if he doesn’t let them go now.

I nod, my throat tight, and keep tracing, my hand steady despite the trembling inside me. “Something you could follow.” I whisper back, the words tasting bittersweet on my tongue. It’s the truth, and maybe that’s what makes it hurt the most.

He shifts. His wrist turns under mine, his fingers brushing my palm. The contact is so slight, but it feels like gravity.

“That’s when you started calling me Starling,” I say softly, watching him through the dark.

But he shakes his head, slow and certain. “That’s when I understood why.”

I blink. “What?”

He exhales, like the words cost something to carry. “The first time you sang to me, I called you Starling. I think I was twelve. Maybe younger. But I didn’t understand the name then. Not really.” His voice drops lower now, like he’s peeling something open inside himself—something delicate, something hidden. “Not until you started tracing constellations on my arms with your fingers. Not until I saw how you looked at the night—like you could read it.”

I stay quiet. There’s something sacred about his voice right now. Like if I speak too soon, it’ll break the spell.

“You didn’t just look up at the stars,” he says. “You pulled them down. Wove them into songs. Hid them in your laugh. In the way you moved. I started calling you Starling because I thought it sounded small and beautiful. Something fragile, something soft.”

He pauses, and I feel it more than I hear it—that moment when something shifts in him.

“But then I saw you,” he continues, quieter now. “Really saw you. And I realized… you were never small.”

His voice hitches, just slightly, like the truth is scraping its way out of him.

“You made me feel like you were reachable,” he says. “And that terrified me.”

My breath stutters.

I want to tell him he was the only one I ever drew stars for—that no one else’s skin ever felt sacred enough to hold a sky. That I memorized the way his veins curved just so I could map the constellations with more care on his pale skin. That I sometimes woke up at night with ink-stained fingers, reaching out for a boy who was already fading into headlines and hollow eyes.

Instead, I just look at him.

“You always smudged them,” I say.

He closes his eyes. “I know. But I remembered every single one.”

It happens so fast, I almost don’t have time to understand it. One moment, I’m lying there beside him, my fingers gliding over his skin, tracing the shapes of constellations that feel almost sacred—quiet, intimate. The moment is soft, and time feels still, a fleeting sense of peace that I cling to like a lifeline.

But then, without warning, everything shifts. It’s not like the breathless panic I’ve felt before, the kind you get when you're running, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air. No, this is something entirely different. 

This is fire. It burns through me, flooding my chest with heat so sharp it feels like it could tear me apart from the inside. It steals my breath in one agonizing, violent wave. My ribs feel like they’re closing in, the air choking on its way out, and I can’t do anything but gasp in frantic desperation.

A scream claws its way up my throat, raw and strangled, as if it wants to rip through me, but it doesn’t come out right. It’s twisted—broken. 

It’s not even a scream anymore. It’s just agony, squeezing the air out of my lungs, twisting it into something unrecognizable. I claw at my throat, desperate for some relief, for just a single breath. But the fire inside only grows, the pain consuming everything until all I know is the burning in my chest. The stars I was tracing, the peace I felt only moments before, seem like distant memories now. The world tilts, spins, and I can’t find my footing. Everything goes dark at the edges of my vision.

Regulus is there, though—his hands on me, pulling me toward him, but even his voice feels far away. I hear his name, his frantic shouts, but they don’t make sense. It’s like I’m drowning in this fire, trapped in a nightmare I can’t escape. The world around me starts to blur, a thick haze of panic and pain. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is claw at my chest, trying to get air, trying to fight the fire that’s burning through me.

“Reg—” I try to say his name, but it comes out cracked and broken.

My fingers twitch, then seize. My whole body is shaking, twisting with something I can’t name. It feels like my insides are folding in on themselves, like they’re being turned to ash from the inside out.

Regulus is on his feet in an instant.

And then I feel it. A cold pressure on my neck, Regulus’s hands—frantic, shaking as he tries to steady me. His fingers are everywhere, his voice breaking through the fog of panic, but none of it matters. Nothing matters except for the suffocating burn that fills every inch of me. Every part of my body wants to scream again, but nothing comes out. Only the fire. Only the suffocating weight of it.

Regulus was on me in seconds. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice cracked. “Tell me where it hurts—tell me what’s happening—”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even find the air to scream. My throat burned. My vision blurred. It felt like something was crawling inside me, twisting up through my spine, dragging barbed wires through my veins. I hit the dirt, shaking.

“Reg—Regulus—” I choked out, barely managing the sound. “I—I can’t—”

He caught me before I collapsed fully, hands gripping my shoulders like he could hold my body together through force alone. “No, no, no—stay with me. Look at me. Breathe.” His voice was wild now, breaking in places. “Breathe, please. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I dropped to the forest floor like a puppet with cut strings, convulsing, nails digging into the dirt. My insides felt like they were tearing, every nerve lit up with flame. “Can’t—breathe,” I gasped. “It—it hurts—inside—”

“Where?” Regulus dropped beside me, eyes wild. “Where does it hurt? Starling—look at me.”

My hand flew to my ribs, fingers twitching violently. Regulus followed the motion, his hands already on me, searching, trying to stop the shaking. I could feel the panic building in him, in his breath, in the sharpness of his voice. “What is this? What did this?”

Evan stumbled out from behind the trees, his face pale, eyes wide with confusion. He looked between Regulus and me, his breath shallow and quick. "What’s going on?" His voice cracked, the panic seeping through with every word.

Regulus's voice was tight, his eyes frantic as they flicked over me. “She’s hurt.” His words were clipped, jagged. “She was fine—just a second ago—”

I tried to speak, to tell them I was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. My throat constricted, and I choked again, a violent, desperate gasp of air that scraped through me. The pain was crawling up my chest now, sharper, more intense with each passing second. It was a fire, biting at my insides, and it felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.

Regulus was still watching me closely, his hands trembling at his sides. Then, in an instant, his gaze snapped down to my shirt. His eyes locked on the blood, barely visible at first, just a thin red line starting to stain the fabric beneath my ribs.

His breath hitched, and I heard him mutter, almost to himself, "A cut." Then, louder, with a growing urgency, “There. A thorn. A branch must’ve scratched her—”

I wanted to shake my head, to tell them it wasn’t that, that it wasn’t just a scratch, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The pain was suffocating, pulling me deeper into something I couldn’t escape. 

Evan stepped closer, his expression stark with fear. “She barely moved,” he said, his voice trembling. His gaze flicked from me to Regulus, looking for answers.

Regulus's fingers brushed over my skin, just above the wound. I felt the slightest touch, and I screamed again, the sound tearing through me like a jagged, broken thing. The pain intensified, the fire spreading through my chest and down my limbs, as if the poison was winding its way through every part of me.

Regulus's face went pale, the reality of the situation sinking in. “It’s poisoned,” he said, his voice low, dark with the weight of the truth. 

“Fast-acting. It must’ve been one of the plants.” His words were grim, carrying the knowledge of something far worse than a simple wound. The poison was already inside me, coursing through my veins, and I could feel it.

He moved quickly, grabbing cloth from the first-aid kit and pressing it against the wound, hard, as though trying to stop the poison from spreading. I barely registered the motion, my head swimming with the overwhelming sensation of burning, of being torn apart from the inside out.

“Stay with me,” Regulus’s voice cut through the haze, hoarse and desperate. His eyes were locked onto mine, his face drawn tight with fear, but his hands were steady, pressing the cloth harder against my side. “Look at me. Breathe, Starling. Please.”

The world started to fade. The edges of my vision blurred, the colors and shapes melting into a dull, dark haze. My limbs felt distant, almost foreign, as though I couldn’t feel them at all. There was ringing in my ears, a high-pitched whine that clawed at my mind, and I thought—I thought—I might lose myself in it.

Regulus’s hand gripped mine, his voice low but firm. “Stay with me, (Y/N), I need you to fight this. Please.”

I wanted to tell him I couldn’t. I wanted to tell him it was too much, that I was already slipping away, but the words wouldn’t form.

And then, as if the world itself had decided to turn against us, I felt the ground shudder beneath us.

 At first, it was just a tremor, a soft shake that could’ve been mistaken for a gust of wind, but then it intensified. The trees around us creaked and groaned, their trunks bending unnaturally as though they were being pulled by an invisible force. The leaves rustled, a low, eerie whisper carried by the wind.

 The ground beneath our feet shifted again, a deep, unsettling rumble like the earth itself was alive and angry.

Regulus’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. “The arena... it’s changing.”

The trees began to move. Not just sway in the wind, but move. Their branches twisted, reaching down like fingers grasping for something to hold, something to claim. The ground beneath us seemed to shift, warping and rippling in ways that defied logic. It was as if the earth itself was trying to consume us, to pull us deeper into its hungry depths.

Regulus pulled me up, his hands shaking as he dragged me to my feet. “We need to get out of here. Now!”

Evan was already moving, his face a mixture of disbelief and terror. “What’s going on? What the hell is happening?”

“There’s no time!” Regulus shouted, urgency flooding his voice as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes frantic. “The trees—look at the trees!”

I could barely keep up, each step feeling like a battle against the poison coursing through my veins, my limbs weak and unresponsive. But I could hear it—the snap of branches, the groan of the earth, the sudden, unnatural stillness that filled the air. Something was coming.

And then, we saw them.

Through the trees, coming toward us, two figures emerged. 

Caradoc Dearborn and Charity Burbage, both from District 10.

Their weapons drawn, their faces grim. They didn’t see us at first. Their focus was elsewhere—on the shifting ground, the movement in the trees, the unsettling sounds of the arena alive with fury.

But then, they stepped too close.

Charity took another step forward, her eyes still scanning the shifting landscape, her footsteps heavy against the uneven ground. The wind was picking up, howling through the trees as the air grew thicker, heavier. The world felt off balance, like something had tipped and we were all about to fall into its chaos.

She didn’t notice it at first, the ground beneath her feet moving, the soil rippling like water disturbed by a pebble. She took another step—and then, with a sickening crack, the earth buckled beneath her. 

Her foot sank into the ground like it was soft mud, but there was no give, no escape. She tried to pull it out, but the ground around her was shifting, curling around her ankle like a viper’s grip.

Charity’s scream rang out, but the earth didn’t let her escape. She tried to pull her leg free, but the ground twisted around her, thick roots and vines wrapping around her like serpents. Her hands scraped at the soil, but it was no use—the earth had claimed her.

Caradoc rushed forward, his face pale with fear, but before he could reach her, the ground opened wide beneath his feet. His body jerked as he fell, his hands flailing for something—anything—but the roots shot out like claws, dragging him under.

His eyes locked onto mine, wide with terror, as the earth swallowed him whole. He struggled, his body convulsing, but the soil was stronger, crushing him until there was nothing left but an empty hole where he had been.

The arena stood still for a moment, as if savoring the silence it had created. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. The echoes of their deaths reverberated in my chest, the horror of what the arena could do to us settling like a cold stone in my gut.

The forest was trying to eat us.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts against Regulus’s neck. I could feel his heart pounding like a war drum.

Regulus had me in his arms before I fully understood I couldn't walk. My legs had gone limp, a dull weight dragging behind the panic in my chest. I could feel my fingers twitching against his shoulder, but I couldn't lift them. The pain had shifted—no longer sharp, just heavy. Like something inside me was curling inward, fading.

“I’ve got you, love” Regulus murmured, voice close to my ear. I could feel the strain in it, the tightness, like he was fighting to keep it from cracking. “Just hold on. Please.”

The nickname made me want to cry.

Evan was ahead, hacking at a wall of thick vines that had grown impossibly fast, curling over the path we’d come from. The ground shook beneath us—roots bulging and splitting the earth, trees bending low like giants being pulled from the sky. 

The Garden wasn’t just alive. It was hunting.

“Faster,” Evan called back, his voice wild with terror. “It’s closing!”

My breath hitched again. Regulus faltered, feeling it.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, stopping just for a second. His eyes met mine, desperate. “Stay awake. Stay with me. Just a little longer, alright?”

I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him I was trying. That I didn’t mean to be slipping. But my lips were too heavy.

“I don’t want to go.” I finally managed, my voice barely a breath.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “You don’t get to leave me. Not again. Not like this.”

A branch snapped behind us. The ground moaned as if something deep beneath it had begun to stir.

Regulus turned and ran, gripping me tighter against his chest. I could feel the pounding of his heart, fast and wild. For a moment, I imagined I was the star again—drawn on his skin, clinging to the lines of his pulse.

Behind us, the trees twisted inward, forming a wall of writhing limbs and screaming bark. The last glimpse I caught was a blood-red moon above the canopy, blinking like an eye.

Evan screamed again—something about the path—but all I could hear now was Regulus’s breathing. Harsh. Panicked. Real.

The world was shaking. The earth howled. And through it all, Regulus ran.

I wanted to tell him thank you. I wanted to say his name. I wanted to scream.

But all I could do was close my eyes and hope the forest didn't get there first.

They are watching us, always.

It is only day two, and already the Garden is trying to chew through our bones.

The Capitol has teeth.

taglist: @fadingcollectivenightmare @spidermansfangirl   @foulwaterss @slaybestieslay946 @aelinwya @yvessentials @sickly-afraid @urfunnyvalentin3 @hufflebubble53

[saviorinred]

This is day 5 of the Whumptober ran by @ouatprompts

This prompt was supernatural saturdyas; prompts were heroes & villains - alone - “how long has it been?”

I had already planned on writing a short story based around season 5 with killian jones and for then decided to just go along with the prompt “Alone” since I already had this in mind.

Characters: Killian Jones

Show: once upon a time

Like I said, this was an idea I already had made and so I just changed it to go along with the prompt “Alone” of this days.

——————————

Killian had lost track of how long he’d been wandering the desolate paths of the Underworld. Time had no meaning here, not anymore. The oppressive, stagnant air clung to him, thick and cold, like the ever-present reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here. Or maybe he was. After all, this place was made for the lost, for the forgotten—and that’s exactly what he was now.

Emma had left. She had to. There had been no other choice, not if she wanted to save herself and the others. He’d told her to go, to leave him behind. It was the only way. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

His footsteps dragged through the endless dust, his eyes scanning the broken, crumbling world around him, but he saw nothing. No one. It was as if the Underworld had swallowed everything whole, leaving him alone to face the weight of his decisions, his past, and the gnawing silence.

Killian stopped by the river, the dark water moving sluggishly past him, reflecting the eerie glow of the blood-red sky. He crouched by the edge, dipping his hand into the water. It felt cold—numbingly cold—but it wasn’t real. None of this felt real. Or maybe it was too real. He couldn’t tell anymore.

With a sharp sigh, he rose to his feet, looking out at the barren landscape. His mind was a mess of regrets, second-guessing his decision to stay behind. What if Emma didn’t come back? What if she had no reason to?

“Bloody hell…” he muttered to himself, running a hand over his face, his fingers brushing the scruff of his beard. How long had he been down here? Long enough to start losing himself to the isolation, to the fear that maybe, just maybe, he’d been right all along.

That he wasn’t worth saving.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a deeper chill than the Underworld’s cold. He had always feared it, hadn’t he? Being left behind. Forgotten. Alone.

Killian’s jaw tightened, and he started walking again, unable to stand still for too long. The movement kept the doubts at bay. Kept him from sinking into despair. But every step felt heavier as if the weight of this place was dragging him down with each passing hour. There were no signs of Emma. No familiar voice calling his name, no magic rippling through the air to tell him she was close. Nothing.

He wasn’t even sure she could get back here. He’d helped her escape, giving her the chance to go on with her life. A life without him.

The thought twisted in his gut, and Killian stopped in his tracks, staring at the empty horizon. “How long has it been?” he whispered to no one, his voice barely carrying in the still air. “How long before you forget about me?”

The Underworld didn’t answer. It never did. Just silence, broken only by the occasional rumble of distant thunder.

He clenched his fists, feeling the frustration rise inside him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to find their way back to each other like they always had. They’d been through too much, fought too hard, to let it end like this. But what if Emma had moved on? What if she’d realized that her life didn’t need him in it anymore?

“No.” He shook his head, refusing to let the doubt take root. “She wouldn’t do that.”

But the longer he stayed here, the harder it was to hold on to that belief. The Underworld had a way of getting inside your head, of feeding on your deepest fears, your darkest thoughts. And right now, Killian’s greatest fear was that Emma was better off without him.

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time, he felt truly alone. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word. The world he had known—the people he loved—felt so far away like they existed in another lifetime. And maybe they did. He wasn’t sure he could make it back to them. And if he couldn’t, would they remember him? Or would he become just another lost soul, forgotten in the shadows of the Underworld?

Killian closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He had to believe in Emma. He had to believe that she would find him, that she wouldn’t leave him down here. Not for good.

But as the thunder rolled in the distance and the cold air wrapped around him like a shroud, that belief felt harder and harder to hold on to.

For now, he was alone.

—————-

[teyvatdetective]

Hello! Here is an excerpt of my Midsomer Murders oneshot! Its been so long since I started writing it that I've actually finished the show! I had no idea that another one of the sergeants was also named Charlie when I started it, and now it's too late for me to change it in my brain lol

This fic is based off of s14e4 The Oblong Murders. It follows the investigation into the whereabouts of Lucy Oliver from the pov of Ben Jones and my oc, Charlie Aycott. I'm trying to not follow everything that happens in the episode TOO closely other than the details of the mystery and subsequent murder.

Enjoy!

Ben scratched at his neck under his colorful scarf. He’d never ordinarily wear something like this, but it was part of the character he had to play. He even wore dummy glasses and grew a beard for the occasion. Well, he’d really stopped shaving because of his vacation but it’ll do for undercover work. If the introductory course to this had been that dull, Ben was worried about his luck getting through this. He let out a deep sigh and slapped his hands to his knees before getting up and turning to leave. He made it about four steps before being stopped by a tall, broad man with the worst combover he’d seen in ages.

“They didn’t say anythin’ about the free love… like in the brochure. I hope we’ve not been brought ‘ere under false pretenses.” He tapped the brochure on Ben’s shoulder, looking much more concerned than Ben though necessary.

Ben gave him a polite nod, clearly not intending to hold a conversation. He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the other man sauntered off before moving to leave as well.

“Oh… you made a friend there!” The blonde whose phone rang stopped Ben again. Getting out of here was going to be harder than he thought. 

“Blaze Leadbetter.” She continued, taking Ben’s hand for a shake.

“Cosmo Jones”, Ben responded a little slower than he usually would, nearly forgetting his cover name.

“Oh! Cosmo! I like…” The flirtatious tones in her voice set off alarms in Ben’s head. He’d rather not have to deal with all that on top of investigating.

“As I live and breathe… is that you Cosmo?” A man standing over Blaze’s shoulder inserted himself quickly into the conversation. “It’s been far too long.”

“You and Sam know each other?” Blaze looked between the two men, curiosity in her eyes.

“Old friends” Ben gave a friendly smile to ‘Sam’ standing across from him. Glad he didn’t have to guess at whatever name Charlie would be using. He almost didn’t recognize the other man when Blaze’s phone rang, but his eyes gave him away. Face to face, Ben made notes of all the things Charlie had changed to disguise himself. His hair, normally in wild blonde curls, had been tamed. His glasses had been shed, and his usually too-casual getup was replaced with a button up shirt and some slacks. Not even Charlie’s usually scruffy beard had made the cut, his slim face was clean shaven. If Ben had passed the other man on the street he would’ve had to look twice to recognize him.

“Oh it's been far too long.” Charlie continued, coming right up to Ben and clasping his shoulder. “Shall we walk for a bit? Catch up and make our phone calls?”

“Sure” Ben smiled slightly. Getting away from the crowd and lining up their stories was a smart move. “Nice meeting you Blaze.”

The two men rushed out, leaving Blaze looking like she had more to say. She watched the two make their exit and quirked her head.

They were quiet as they made their way outside and into the large and well kept grounds of the manor. The hedges were in bloom, and the sun filtered through the ivy covered pergola that closed in the path. Charlie peeked behind them to check they were alone.

“So… Cosmo.” He bumped shoulders with Ben as they walked. “We here for the same reason?”

“Lucy Oliver?” Ben looked over to him as they walked.

“Lucy Oliver.” Charlie nodded as they continued on. “What have you got so far?” “She’s a family friend of George Bullard. Went missing a couple months back after spending some time here with the Oblong Foundation. Nobody’s heard from her and the Foundation is claiming that they have no involvement.” Charlie listened intently, most of this he knew already, save for the connection to George.

“There was a P.I. hired by her parents to look into it. George said they fell out over payment and he dropped the case. I took over his cover to be here.” Ben continued.

“Is that what people are saying?” Charlie scoffed. “I doubt George has the full picture.”

“How do you mean?” 

“A few of her friends hired me shortly after that last P.I. bailed on the Olivers. They told me that he’d caught wind of Lucy having a… close… relationship with Freddie Raft, the foundation’s financial manager. They called me because nobody else would take it on after that.”

“Typical.” Ben shook his head. They stopped at a bench on the outer corner of the garden. “Any thoughts so far?”

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to talk to Freddie yet or ask around. But my best guess would be that if her disappearance does have something to do with the Foundation… it would have to be because she came across something she shouldn’t have to do with the accounts.”

“You think it might not have anything to do with these crazies?” Ben sounded surprised. 

“It could, but I doubt it. Most of the cases I’ve read up on involving groups like this, the killings were for mundane reasons. Obscured by the absurdity of everything around them. And, even more unlikely but she could have simply left and had something happen to her afterwards. We both know weirder things have happened.”

“True.” Ben scratched at his beard for a moment. “Alright I have to call in an update.”

“Ah, tell Tom I say hi, I’ll make sure nobody is coming.”

“Oh…” Ben’s eyes softened for a moment. “Tom retired, his cousin transferred in and took over for him.”

“Hah! The Barnaby dynasty.” Charlie chuckled to himself for a moment. “Well let him know you have an ally in here either way. Nab me when you’ve finished.”

Charlie hooked his thumbs into his pockets and slouched slightly as he wandered back down the path. He reached a respectful distance and let out a sigh, leaning on a nearby tree.  He had a good view of the path and would have ample time to warn Ben. He let his mind wander a bit, thinking back on the cases he’d worked on with Ben before. Their first was several years ago now. Charlie’s detective agency had barely been open a few months before one of his fellow choir members was killed. He was very impressed with Ben’s voice when he was eventually forced to join the choir by Barnaby and his wife. Charlie had almost convinced him to stay with the group when the case was closed. Almost.

He’d grown much more fond of Ben than he should’ve. If he’d had any indication that Ben was also interested in men he would’ve gone for it by now, but he valued their friendship too much to jeopardize it. In any case, he was very glad that they would be able to work together on this one. Working with Ben was always more enjoyable than working alone.

[jbharrisauthor]

But seriously, someone tell me, is “Jones” like the “Smith” of the Whoniverse? At last count: Ianto Jones (Torchwood Eugene Jones (Torchwood minor character, S01E09 Martha Jones (Doctor Who Harriett Jones (Doctor Who

there are probably more I’ve missed but like what is going on here

[imagines-nerd]

“Hiding Mr. President”

You sighed as you rummaged through the papers in front of you. Letters from fans and potential sponsors were stacked onto your desk. Being Loki’s secretary had its perks (free travel and endless amount of delicious cuisines upon arriving at a new location) but the workload made it that much exhausting.

Also, you couldn’t help but have a tiny crush on the candidate himself. He was dashing with a charisma that left the whole room swoon over the man but you had to admit, he was trouble.

The number of women and men you had to kick out of his room on multiple occasions was way above your pay grade. Yes, you were paid handsomely but seeing the man that you have fallen for have one too many rendezvous was shattering.

Though you cared about him, you still kept it professional. He was your boss and the media would have a field day if they found out you were sleeping with the man.

The door to your office flew open, revealing a disheveled Loki. His eyes were wide with fear and he looked like he was attacked.

“You’ve got to help me, ____! I don’t know what to do.”

You stood up from your desk. “Mr. Laufeyson, what happened to you!?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just…please! I need somewhere to hide.”

You nodded and quickly looked around the room to see a possible hiding place. Your office was small with no other exits or even a closet. The only place you could think of was your desk.

“Hide here! It’s not very spacious but it’s better than standing out in the open.”

He quickly went around your desk and crawled under your desk. As soon as you sat down on your chair, your office door once again flies open, revealing a rather large man, his face red with rage.

“WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS THAT SNAKE OF A BOSS OF YOURS!?”

“I have no idea where he is but may I ask why you need him?”

“I caught him messing around with my wife and he had the nerve to do it at MY HOUSE! If you don’t tell me where he is, I swear I will tear this building room-by-room until I find that vile man!”

You rose both of your hands, hoping that he will take the hint that you were innocent. “I’m so sorry to hear about that sir but I have not seen Mr. Laufeyson since last week. Last I heard, he went off for a small vacation to the Bahamas. I’m sure he will be back any day and I can even schedule a-“

“Forget it! Tell your boss that I will be seeing him as soon as he back from wherever the hell he left to. If he ever comes near me or my family again, he is dead. TELL HIM THAT!”

You nodded quickly. “Will do, sir. He will never touch your family again.” Without another word, the man left, slamming the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes and sighed as your boss crawled out from his hiding space.

“Thank you so much, ____! You are a true life saver!”

“Did you really sleep with that man’s wife?”

He shrugged, a smirk forming on his lips. “She wanted to show her appreciation for her future President. I couldn’t let her down.”

“What if he would’ve looked under the desk or had a weapon!? Do you know how dangerous that is!?”

His demeanor changed, a solemn look on his face. “I didn’t really think of that. I’m sorry, ____. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Taking a deep breath, you began looking through the papers until you found the document you needed. Handing it towards Loki, you said, “Mr. Jones is still expecting your response about the sponsor. He says you can both benefit with your campaign leading against everyone else.”

He took the document, quickly skimming it. “Tell him thanks but no thanks. His discriminatory past won’t fit well in my campaign. Besides, the man has been also canoodling with the other candidates and that instantly puts him in the rejected list.”

You nodded, scribbling some notes down on your notepad. “Noted. I was going to say no once I noticed his name but I wanted to run it with you first.”

He smiled. “And this is why we make an excellent team. Without you, I’m pretty much nothing.”

“Maybe. Without me, Mr. Angry Man would’ve already found you.”

“And I thank you for not ratting me out. We both know destroying this face of mine would be devastating for the cameras tomorrow.”

You smiled. “Of course. So, will that be all Mr. Laufeyson?”

“That will be all. By the way, you know you can just call me Loki, right?”

“I thought you preferred Mr. Laufeyson. That’s what you clearly stated during my first interview with you.”

He shrugged. “I feel like since we’ve been on this campaign trail for a while now and you saved my life, Loki will suffice.”

“Okay. Thank you, Loki.”

He smiled, walking towards the door. “No problem. If anyone needs me, I’m still vacation.”

“Roger that.”

As soon as he left, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. You hoped he didn’t notice your blushing face when he complimented you.

…knowing Loki, he definitely did.

[popcrone818]

Spitfire - sweet pea x reader

Part two

Here is part two to spitfire, if you like it please don’t forget to comment on it. I love hearing feedback. If anyone wants to help out and beta my work I would love that too. Shoot me a message or ask with anything. I’m also thinking of creating a tag list so if you want to be on that then let me know.

Also gif not mine let me know if you know who’s it is

Sweet Pea POV

I watched as she walked up on stage once the music started, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her as she discarded her shirt looking around for something. Her eyes found mine as she tossed her shirt and I brought my beer up to my lips as she got rid of her jeans leaving her in a red lace lingerie set. My eyes widened at the sight and she never took her eyes off me. I could feel the heat travelling to my dick as she finished up and took off to the side of the stage where I could see Toni was waiting for her. Fangs and I made our way over to the two girls as Rory pulled her jeans up her legs. I took her new jacket off Toni and walked over to her. I placed the leather on her shoulders and she pushed her arms through the sleeves, I gathered up her red hair and pulled it gently out of her collar and rested it over her left shoulder before I rested both of my hands on her shoulders.

“You’re officially a serpent now. How do you think your brothers going to react once he finds out?” I lent down to whisper in her ear. I felt her tense up under my palms.

“I guess he’ll just never find out then.” She shrugged and I squeezed her shoulders gently before sitting down at the bar and looking at Toni for a drink.

“You’re brother is going to kill you Rory.” I heard Jones say from beside me. I noticed out of the corner of my eye he had taken my place behind Rory gently squeezing her shoulders. I felt my jaw clench slightly as she shrugged and took a swig of her beer.

“Honestly I think he needs to get his head out of his ass. You guys are actually really cool and I’m glad I get to call you my friends now too. Let him kill me he wouldn’t he loves me too much.”I felt something warm inside me but quickly shut it down and forgot about it as the door to the wyrm was thrown open I didn’t Bohr looking behind me as the intruders made their way up to the bar and stopped just short of Rory and I being at the end.

“Aurora! We’re going home now!” I heard the Northsider yell as I saw Rory stand up to face her brother before taking another sip of beer.

“Um, no thanks, I’m good here.” I watched as she turned her back on him and he stood taller standing over her trying to regain control of the situation and ultimately Rory. I stood up next to her slightly closer than was probably necessary as one of the other bulldogs walked up beside Red. I let her hand gently rest on my own as she placed her body in front of mine.

“You’re one of them now? A serpent?” Red asked squinting his eyes in his sisters direction looking down at her. My body stiffened and I took a small step closer, my lower stomach now in contact with her back. I felt my fists clench beside me. My anger at the disrespect for his sister settling in my stomach.

“Yes now please leave before you make a fool of yourself even more than your doing now!” She pointed to the door and Red followed her finger. I felt her hand on my bicep as she almost gave me whiplash with her strength pulling me back to the bar.

“You know, I’d still bang you Andrew’s even if you are just another serpent slut.” I heard one of the bulldogs whisper in her ear, closest to me, he seemed to be taunting her and me, knowing he would get a rise out me by saying that. I stood up and let my fist connect with the bulldogs jaw. I was not about to let him just walk all over her like that my protective instincts kicking in at the way Rory had tensed up at his words. Soon enough the bulldog landed a punch on my left cheek but I was quick with another blow to his pretty little face. I felt Jones pull me off the bulldog with Red doing the same to him.

“You’ve just made a big mistake Rory.” Red yelled as he dragged the bulldogs out of the wyrm. I turned myself back to my beer taking a swig to calm myself down in an effort to not snap again. I could taste a slight metallic flavour to the beer and and I brought my hand up to observe the damage on my lip.

“You didn’t need to do that Sweet Pea, I can handle Reggie.” She told me as she placed a small hand on my left cheek, I winced slightly, surely there would be a bruise there, she was gentle as she touched my face taking in the wince at the initial contact o her cold hands. I felt as all of my anger washed away with one simple small touch from one small girl.

“What’s serpent law number 1 Rory?” I held her gaze as I asked her the question.

“No serpent stands alone.” She recited as I nodded and turned my head away from her touch not liking how weak I felt under her fingers, but also not hating the way my skin tingled from her fingers, I would not let some Northsider have this effect on me. “I better go have a screaming match with my brother, I’ll see you guys later.” Toni nodded at her and I watched as she made her way out of the wyrm. I felt a slap to the back of my head.

“What was all that dude?” I heard Fangs ask from beside me. I shrugged at him.

“No women should be treated like that, serpent or not.” I got Toni to pass me another beer. “Round of pool before we head off too?” I asked him. He nodded and Toni followed us over to the pool tables. As I racked up the balls Toni turned her head to me. A questioning look hiding behind her brown eyes.

“You like her don’t you?” I scoffed as I took my shot.

“I barely like you two.” The game went smoothly and as usual Fangs got his ass handed to him and he pushed $20 into my chest. He’ll never learn.

“You would never let anyone touch you like she did tonight, not even to patch you up.” Toni just wouldn’t drop it. I groaned as Fangs put away the cue’s and balls.

“Just drop it okay she’s an Andrew’s anyway.” I shrugged and walked out of the wyrm up to my bike. I decided against a helmet and turned the key hearing the engine roar to life before I sped off in the direction of the Northside. She should be home by now, I just wanted to make sure she was safe, that’s what I kept telling myself as I turned down her street. I slowed down almost stopping outside her house and noticed the living room light on, I could faintly here yelling over the loud sound of my engine and I knew she was home safe. The curtains by the door shifted so I took off again revving the engine slightly before changing gears and heading back to sunnyside trailer park.

Aurora POV

“She’s a serpent now dad!” I heard Archie telling dad as soon as I walked in the door, my serpent jacket hanging from my elbow as it got a touch warm on the walk home.

“That better be you Aurora and you better have a damn good reason for joining the serpents!” I heard my dad yell as I tried to sneak my way into my bedroom.

“Yeah dad, its me.” I purposely didn’t answer the question about being a serpent.

“How did FP allow you to become a serpent?” My dad questioned as I walked into the kitchen.

“FP doesn’t know, some guy named Tall Boy initiated me. With the help of a serpent Archie’s age. It’s fine dad I’d rather be protected than not with the black hood business going on.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Placing my jacket over the back of the couch.

“You can’t be a serpent Rory! They came to our house to fight me!” Archie yelled at me getting closer.

“That’s because you waved a gun in Sweet Pea’s face! Yes I know exactly what happened and I also know that you threw the first punch, so don’t even try to tell me it was their fault or that they’re thugs because as far as I’m aware you are at fault right now not us.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Archie’s ja dropped a I mentioned us and not just the serpents. I heard a soft rumble of an engine pass by the house. Archie made his way over to the front window by the door and peaked his head out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I threw my arms out beside me.

“Language young lady!” My dad yelled over me and Archie.

“You think they’re going to come back for round 2. Believe it or not but family members of serpents are actually protected too. So unless I specifically tell them not to protect you Sweet Pea cannot touch you again. And believe me, right now I’m this fucking close.”

“Aurora!”

“Sorry dad, I just can’t believe Archie right now.”

“I’m not too thrilled about you being a serpent either Aurora. But if you think this is going to protect you and us from the black hood I’m willing to make an exception.” Dad shrugged which only angered Archie even further.

“Dad! She’s a serpent, Jughead is a serpent, your best friend is a serpent and he is currently behind bars. Don’t you think she would be safer without them?” Archie raised his arms before laying them down by his sides.

“Look, FP is an adult, he chose them when he was her age. Jughead is just following in his fathers footsteps for protection just like Rory. Once FP gets out he can decide if she stays or goes. As for you Rory, I want you to go and tell FP about this little development tomorrow. See what your godfather has to say about all of this. Because I sure as hell cannot deal with the two of you right now, so I’m going to bed.” With a wave of his hand dad stomped his way up the stairs. Archie and I stayed still glaring at each other until the slam of a door broke us out of it.

“I seriously can’t believe you did this Rory, they’re bad people and now you have ruined your life, for what? A guy? Sweet Pea was his name? You’ve got to be-,” my hand collided with the side of his face.

“Don’t you dare even think I did this for a guy. Because in the last two days the serpents have actually been there for me more than you have since dad got shot. Ive made three really good friends and Jug and I are closer than ever before. Don’t even think you know what is going on in my life. You only care about yourself. And for the record I don’t like Sweet Pea as anything more than a friend.”

“Aurora! He’s the one that did Jughead’s initiation, you saw what he looked like afterwards.” Archie was trying to get me to turn against them.

“Yes I was there. I watched Sweet Pea with his brass knuckles get Jug in the side of the face, also I was the one to clean him up after and I went to the Whyte with him to get his jacket, where Sweet Pea was an asshole to me and I never back down you know that. Which is how I got to where I am now, but I couldn’t be happier Archie. So please for once try to be my brother instead of an asshole.” With that I turned away grabbing my jacket and headed upstairs to my bedroom slamming the door before I flopped face down on my bed. My phone vibrated with a message as I rolled over to look at the ceiling. I groaned before taking it out to check it.

Sweet Pea: hope you got home safe, also hope you didn’t get your ass handed to you by red.

I laughed silently at him being a dork. He wont even acknowledge that Archie is my brother. I’m pretty sure his brain would spontaneously combust.

Me: yes I’m home safe. I put him in his place don’t worry about me, I’m tough 🤯

Shortly after I hit send I got another message from Jug this time.

Juggie: did Archie and your dad kill you?

Me: dad wasn’t happy at first but then I mentioned how family members are protected too and he seemed to ease out of it. But I’m this close to letting Sweet Pea off his leash to go after Archie again. I’m fucking over it all. All the Northside, Southside bullshit. Juggie what do I do?

Juggie: you do nothing, we got your back and I’m sure Sweet Pea would kill anyone that gave you shit. He’s loyal like that.

Me: and another thing why does Sweet Pea keep coming up in conversations I have? Archie accused me of sleeping with him. Ive only known him like two days.

Juggie: you brought him up in this convo Rory, don’t try blame me this time, I think you’ve got a crush!

Me: I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH! He’s just a good friend now after he got over the fact that I’m a northsider.

Juggie: sure whatever you reckon. Anyway tomorrow after school meet me at pops we gotta talk.

Me: sure thing I’ll see you then. Goodnight x

Juggie: goodnight x

I changed out of my clothing for the day and into my pyjama shirt before pulling the covers back on my bed and climbing in. Before I could close my eyes my phone vibrated against the side table.

Sweet Pea: sure you’re tough, anyway just wanted to make sure your got home okay from the wyrm and to say goodnight.

Me: goodnight Sweet Pea.

I fell asleep thinking about a certain tall dark and handsome serpent that night.

A couple of months after my initiation I had gotten wind that Mayor McCoy was raiding Southside high and anyone with a jacket was going down. I ran with Jughead into the school only to see two deputies push Sweet Pea into a row of lockers. Toni not far from him with only one deputy on her. I locked eyes with Sweet Pea before he mouthed ‘run’ to me. I turned around and followed Jug down the steps of Southside high. We took off running in the direction of Northside, more specifically to my house where he and I could regroup and discuss what we just saw and what we do about it now.

“What the fuck just happened?” I asked Jug as I made us both some coffee.

“Mantle said he got JJ from a serpent for Veronica’s party the other night when Cheryl was almost raped by some guy Veronica knew in New York. So the serpents and Southside high were raided, I don’t know how long they’re going to be locked up for though.” Jug put his head in his hands and groaned, this was just one big mess.

“I’m going to fucking kill Reggie!” I slammed my hand down on the counter before leaning closer to Jughead. “I know for a fact it was a Ghoulie who sold that to him.” He nodded with me. The rest of the night Jug and I spent watching movies and trying to not think about our friends that had just been locked up.

Jug couldn’t go to school the next day as Southside high was still being raided before the serpents would be released so I told him he could stay at mine, Archie and dad wouldn’t mind so I was on my way to school, jacket hanging off my shoulders when Reggie Mantle decided to be a dick and come up to me at my locker.

“So your really one of them now? I thought you had standards, but I guess not.” He shrugged leaning on the locker beside mine, I ignored him as he lent down slightly to whisper in my ear. “I’d still fuck you, though I’m sure you been passed around the serpents enough.” I slammed my locker door shut before my fist connected to Reggie’s face. I heard a sickening crack and smiled triumphantly before turning around and walking away. “Just like that serpent toy of yours always so hot headed.” I heard him wheeze out through his broken nose. I took a deep calming breath before I stomped back over to Reggie.

“A) not my toy just a friend, and B) you’re the reason my friends are currently locked up. Get your head out of your ass Mantle, you know it was a Ghoulie who sold you the JJ, you just don’t like the serpents.” I flicked my hair in his face as he held his nose blood rushing out. I rushed into the nearest bathroom and ran my hand under some cold water. My knuckles were already starting to bruise up.

“Students of Riverdale High, this is your principal, emails have been sent out to your parents, effective immediately, Southside High will be shutdown. Students will be transferred to other schools in the district, including this one.” I heard the voice of principal Weatherbee come over the speakers, I silently did a small cheer as I wouldn’t be the only one in this school wearing a serpent jacket. Betty would be happy Jug is coming back. I was excited as I’m sure Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni would all be coming here, the rest of the day I couldn’t focus too excited for my friends to be joining this school and I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

Juggie: did you hear Southside is being shut down?

Me: yeah heard he announcement this morning. I’m excited for you all to be here though. Have you heard anything about when they’re getting let out?

Juggie: yeah this afternoon they get out, want to join me in getting Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea out?

Me: fuck yes I do, meet you at the station after school?

Juggie: 👍

I hopped in my car after school watching as Reggie sent me a death glare from his spot leaning against his precious Bella. Not long after I left school I joined Jughead at the station where Fangs, Sweet Pea and Toni were being uncuffed. I ran up and pulled Toni into a bone crushing hug which she returned. Fangs then mockingly held out his arms and I pulled him into me as Jug hugged Toni. My eyes swept over Sweet Pea who looked slightly uncomfortable at all the affection being thrown around and when I pulled away from Fangs I walked up to him.

“I’m glad your okay.” I told him before I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around his middle under his jacket and held him tightly. His head rested on mine as mine rested on his chest. His height is ridiculous. I caught Toni’s smirk as she watched us before we pulled away. “Who’s up for Pop’s?” I got a chorus of ‘hell yeah’ as Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea climbed into my car and Jug climbed onto his bike. We sent the rest of the night laughing and sharing funny stories at a booth in pop’s before our worlds would be turned upside down tomorrow at school. We all knew that the Southside high students wouldn’t be be welcomed at Riverdale high and they were dreading it. I told them I would would walk through the doors with them and help Sweet Pea beat up anyone that would look at them differently. I had told them about Reggie this morning and how I handled it, Sweet Pea gave me a high five and Jughead just shook his head at us. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I looked around before pulling it out thinking it was Betty.

ToniT: you wanna be a bit more obvious?

I gave her a look and she typed out another message, three dots showing up on my screen.

ToniT: you and sweet pea are scarily alike, and you keep looking at him with heart eyes 😍😍.

Me: no I don’t. And I just don’t like being messed with. You saw the way I stood up to sweet pea when I first met him. Stop trying to play matchmaker, if you think we’re so alike wouldn’t that be a bad thing if we were together?

ToniT:mmm so you’ve thought bout you and him together? That’s so cute! No one has ever stood up to him the way you did that night. No one usually gets a chance before they’re on their ass.

Me:I’m done with this conversation.

I shook my head and pocketed my phone again.

“Who was that?” Jughead asked nudging me with his shoulder.

“Archie.” I lied taking a long sip of my coffee milkshake. I made eye contact with Toni before the night started to get away from us and we all decided to head off. Being the only Northsider I decided to walk home. Just as I left the parking lot of pop’s I heard a bike stop beside me.

“Want a ride trouble?” I turned to see Sweet Pea holding out his helmet. I grinned and nodded before taking his helmet and kicking my leg over the bike. He sped off down the road and I finally felt free. I had started the ride with a death grip on Sweet Pea but by the time we got to my house I held both arms out beside me and enjoyed the feeling of the air rushing through my body.

Sweet Pea POV

I watched as Rory pushed through the doors of Southside high just as I was pushed into a row of lockers by two deputies. Assholes couldn’t even take me one on one. I mouthed ‘run’ to her as a pair of handcuffs were tightened around my wrists. I let out a curse as they were tightened too tight and I watched and Topaz was also arrested beside me. I just hope Rory got out safe she was wearing her jacket, if she was caught wearing it in Southside high she would also be arrested. We spent the night locked up but I never saw Rory so hopefully she was going to be okay with Jones. Once we were let out we had been informed that Southside high was being shutdown. I knew Jones would be pissed but Fangs, Toni and I couldn’t be happier. I was finally going to be able to make something of myself and get out of this shit hole of a town. Jones and Rory came and joined us once we were uncuffed, she watched as the cuffs were taken off us, I never wanted her to see this I was hoping she would just see us tomorrow for our first day but I had been wrong. She threw herself at Toni. The two smaller girls holding each other close, Fangs held out his arms for Rory to run into. My fists clenched before I released them and flexed my hands. Lastly she came over to me, usually I’m not one who is big into hugs but watching the way both Toni and Fangs melted into her embrace made me crave the feeling of her arms wrapped around me.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She told me looking down and fiddling with a ring on her right middle finger. I couldn’t take it anymore and I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her tightly to my chest, she wrapped her arms around my stomach and rested her head on my chest. I felt her small cold hands rest on my back just above my jeans. I felt my heart beating erratically in my chest and wondered if she could hear it as I placed my head on top of hers, inhaling he scent of vanilla and sweet pea, loving the way she felt in my arms. “Who’s up for Pop’s?” She asked as she pulled away from me. We all agreed and the three of us followed her out to her car as Jones got on his bike.

At Pop’s we all ended up laughing hysterically at some stories that the three of us told about our lives. Memories growing up with the two of them and the mischief we used to get up to. Rory had decided to tell us what had happened between her and Mantle that morning and how she handled it. I gave her a high five and a wide grin knowing she was capable of looking after herself regardless of being a northsider. I noticed her right hand had bruises on the knuckles and absentmindedly reached for her hand, our fingers brushed together gently before she pulled her hand off the table and rested it in her lap. I silently sighed and took another sip of my milkshake not making eye contact with anyone at the booth. I heard a vibration coming from Rory but didn’t bother to look up. More vibrations came as I heard her nails clicking away at the screen of her phone.

“Who was that?” I heard Jones ask her and my head shot up. Her eyes found mine before she replied to him.

“Archie.” She said and shrugged, I could seen it in her eyes she was lying but I thought I would leave it be for the time being. A few hours later we all decided it was getting late and we should all leave. I watched her as she started walking out of the parking lot and turned left instead of right like the rest of us would. I quickly climbed on my bike and took off after her, she stopped in the sidewalk before she realised it was me.

“Want a ride trouble?” I asked her chuckling to myself, I was one to talk, trouble always found me, and right now the trouble that found me was in the form of a Northside serpent. I held out my helmet to her not caring that I didn’t have one for myself now, she grinned and took it. I ensured that it was done up under her chin correctly and told her to hang on as I took off. I heard her shriek slightly as her grip on my waist tightened. I chuckled and sped a bit faster wanting her to hold me tighter. Halfway to her house I felt her arms let go of my body. I took a look in the side mirror and watched as her eyes closed and her arms spread out on either side of her body. She was breathtaking but I missed the feeling of her arms around my body. Once we got to her place she placed her hands on my shoulders and kicked her leg over my bike pushing her body off it using my shoulders as leverage. She handed me back my helmet and we just stared at each other not knowing what to say to the other.

“Want a ride in the morning?” I asked her clipping the helmet to the handlebars of my bike. She nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. I think this is the most shy I’ve ever seen her, she usually always has something witty to say to me.

A week later and Weatherbee had given all serpents ‘uniforms’ to wear as he thought none of us would be able to afford Riverdale High appropriate clothing, and we all had to cover our tattoos. Which resulted in me having to wear a turtle neck. We were all sitting in the student lounge when Rory walked in and almost pissed herself laughing at Toni and I. I glared at har as she walked up to us. She sat herself down on my lap and poked my turtle neck covered tattoo.

“Loving the turtle neck there Sweet Pea.” She giggled again as she looked around us strangely. “Where’s Fangs?” She asked once she stopped giggling.

“He refused to wear the uniform so Weatherbee suspended him until he wears it.” I shrugged at her as Jones walks into the lounge. Toni got up to greet him as he hands Rory a large coffee cup.

“So its either conform or be cast out?” He exclaims angrily.

“Yeah.” Toni sighs as she takes a sip from her coffee cup. Rory follows suit also taking a sip of her new coffee and moans as I feel her relax against my chest. I laugh at her.

“Is that what you sound like in bed?” I whispered in her ear laughing lightly. She shoved me in the chest lightly.

“You wish you knew what I sounded like in bed don’t you Pea?” I felt her breath on my ear as she leaned in closer to me.

“Are you two done eye fucking each other? Some of us want to keep our breakfast down before you start to take clothes off each other.” Jughead whacked Rory on the back on the head causing her head to knock gently into mine.

“Fuck you Jones.” I rubbed my head where hers had connected and she turned around on my lap to look at our friends. I wrapped my hands around her waist gently as Toni and Rory started up a conversation about Rory getting a few shifts either at the wyrm or pop’s. I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying but rather how she was talking. I watched as her eyes light up before she took her phone out of her back pocket putting all her weight onto my pelvis as she lifted the other side of her ass up to get her phone. Her tongue poked out through her teeth and she scrolled furiously through her phone looking for something to show Toni before she turned it around to show the pink haired girl. They both giggled and I felt her place her free hand on my knee absentmindedly rubbing circles with her thumb. I felt Jones kick my shin to get my attention. It shook me out of my trance as I turned my head to look around Rory at the serpent legacy. He only just raised his eyebrows at me before he looked at Rory then back to me. I shrugged and tuned back into Rory and Toni’s conversation.

“… so we need to go shopping today after school then.” I felt Rory chuckle at Toni and nodded.

“Wanna come shopping with us Sweet Pea?” Rory asked me adjusting yet again my lap.

“He doesn’t do shopping.” Toni answered before I could say I would like to go with them. I think she may have just wanted a girls shopping trip. But I also know the amount of times I’ve complained when she has dragged me shopping, so I guess she was right, but I found myself just always wanting to be around Rory. Even more now that I got to know her. Yes the first night I saw her with Jones at the wyrm I thought she was hot, then she stood up to me and said she would become a serpent just to prove me wrong and I thought the way the light captured her deep red hair was beautiful. Then she started to hang out with us more at the wyrm and I started to get to know her more, the day we were all hauled into the sheriffs station and I saw her push through Southside highs doors right before I was slammed into a row of lockers I knew then and there that I needed to protect her from everything bad that goes on in the serpents. I knew she could handle herself but I also just wanted her to see me as something more than just a hot headed serpent going nowhere. In the time I have known her she and I have gotten really close, as well as Toni and Fangs, but sometimes I feel like she enjoys our slight banter and may even be more comfortable around me than the other two. In different ways she is friends with all of us. She and Jones have been friends since they were born, so they have an unbreakable bond with each other, like brother and sister, but less fighting. She and Fangs are on the verge of that brother-sister bond as well, they play fight and play wrestle like she’s one of the guys. She and Toni have that weird girly bond, they talk about shoes and clothes and boys, when us boys aren’t around though, Jones doesn’t want to hear about who Rory thinks is bangable this week, I find myself not wanting to be part of that conversation either. But with Rory and I its just comfortable. She can come up to me and sit in my lap without it being weird, we flirt with each other and we push buttons, I can pull her into a long, tight hug and she will know I needed that then and hug me back just as tight. She gets me, and I get her. We are one in the same but yet we both balance each other out. One touch from her and my anger can dissipate into thin air. One touch from me and she’s smiling again instead of frowning. I hated to see her frown, it made me wonder what she was thinking about. Every time she touches me though I get brought right back to the night she became a serpent almost three months ago now. When the bulldogs came in and I had a busted lip from Mantle, the way she had held my face in her hand had sent electricity through my whole being. At the time I thought she was trying to make me weak, but as time went on I noticed that when I was around her I actually felt stronger.

“Hey! Serpent slut!” Mantle strode in and Toni and Rory looked over, he could be talking about either one of them, but either way I didn’t like it as Rory got up off me and walked over to him.

“What do you want mutt?” She crossed her arms over her chest having left her coffee near me in case she needed her hands.

“I’m offering you a spot in my bed this weekend after Cheryl’s party,” he reached up and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, I saw red as he touched her and I was on my feet and heading over to them before I saw her grab his wrist twisting it painfully before she snarled and grit her teeth.

“Let’s make this very clear Reggie. I have never, nor will I ever think about being in a bed with you. I don’t need fleas from the likes of you.” She released his wrist and I lent against the couch Rory and I had been previously seated on.

“Oh but you’ll get bitten by one of those greasy snakes? I can see a faint mark on your neck there,” he reached up again and pointed to her neck. “Who gave that to you? One of them or all of them?” Her hand flew up to her neck and she looked back over to me. That’s my cue.

“Back off bulldog! She doesn’t want you.” I pushed her gently behind me. I knew this was partly my fault anyway. Last night I jokingly gave her a hickey while we were at the wyrm when she wouldn’t stop moving around on my lap.

“Oh but she wants you? A fucking snake? Pfft as if, serpent.” I pushed him in the chest as Toni and Jones came over to us. Toni taking Rory and leaving the lounge before things got messy. Mantle, Jones and I were suspended for two days because of the fight. After school got out I heard a knock on my door, groaning I got up off the couch to open it. I stood at my front door in a pair of sweats and no shirt as the ac in my trailer had shit itself and it was stupidly hot in there. I came face to face with a pair of bright green eyes.

“You gonna let me in?” She crossed her arms over her chest and I moved out of the way for her to make her way in. She sat down on the couch and shrugged off her light jacket resting it on the back of the couch. “You know I could have handled Reggie right?” She asked me as I moved into the kitchen to get some water for us.

“It was partly my fault that he started it anyway, I’m sure if he didn’t see the hickey it wouldn’t have escalated like it did.” I handed her the glass of water and sat down beside her. I watched as she took in everything about my trailer, I started to feel a bit self conscious as I noticed a small pile of clothes by the bathroom door and a bunch of empty take out boxes on the dinning room table. She looked back at me as she took a sip of her water. I knew she was used to a fancier home, her dad owned Andrew’s construction for fucks sakes she had it good and had a nice two story home on the Northside, and I lived alone in a tiny ass trailer on the Southside.

“I know but I can fight my own battles Pea, I don’t need you to do it for me all the time. I am a serpent too and I’ve been dealing with Reggie longer than I’ve known you.” She shrugged at me as she lifted her leg up so she could turn her whole body to me.

“I know you can, I just don’t like feeling useless when I know my friends are being looked down on. And again if I hadn’t have given that to you he probably wouldn’t have started it.” She placed her glass down on the coffee table in front of us before she started to fiddle with the rings on her fingers. I placed my much larger hands over hers and pried them apart from each other making her look up at me.

“I can’t keep letting you get suspended for fights over me anymore Pea. You need to lay off or your never going to lose the reputation of hot head.” She pulled her hands from mine and stood up.

“Maybe I just want to protect my friends, did you ever think about that? He many times have I gotten into fights over anything but people talking down to the Southside? How many time have you seen me punch someone who didn’t deserve it for being vulgar or disrespectful to either you or Toni, of even Fangs? What do you want me to do? Roll over and pretend nothing is happening? Just let people walk all over you? News flash Rory, that isn’t the way I was raised. I was raised a serpent, no serpent stands alone and I’ll be damned if I’m the one to leave you alone when you need me.” I ran my hands through my hair standing up halfway through my rant.

“Damnit Sweet Pea! I don’t need you to protect me! I am my own person, I can handle a couple of dim witted bulldogs and I can even handle some serpents. I’m not some fragile fucking doll for you to protect.” She started to pace around in my lounge room pulling at the roots of her hair. This was the first time I think I had ever seen her so worked up before.

“Well I’m sorry for taking an interest in the well being of my friend, Rory.” I took a step closer to her and she held up her hands in front of her.

“Then don’t.” She stopped pacing and turned to look at my eyes the best she could. I stooped my head down slightly so I could also see her eyes. “Just forget you ever fucking knew me because I can’t keep sitting here watching as you get yourself beaten to a pulp for me.” She tugged at her roots before she turned around and was out the door. I went to go after her but the door slammed in my face and I heard her car speed off. I punched the door causing a big hole to crumble. As I rested my head on the broken wood I thought about what I could have possibly done for her to hate me. I came up blank and decided to talk to her tomorrow at school.

Fangs and Toni had come by soon after Rory left.

“Dude! What happened to your door?” Fangs asked examining the splintered wood. I stayed sitting on my couch with my hands in my hair trying not to cry at the thought of never seeing Rory again.

“I think his anger got the best of him again, but my question is; who was it aimed at?” Toni asked as she made her way into the kitchen to pull out a beer for each of us.

“Myself.” I grumbled running my hands through my hair once again. I saw Fangs give Toni a look.

“He pissed off Rory, and now he blames himself for whatever happened, if I’m wrong tell me because I don’t see her here and she usually is. You two are usually watching movies and cuddling on the couch when we get here.” I groaned and shot Toni a glare, why did she have to be right. “Thought so, now what did you do?”

“She told me she could have handled Mantle today and I told her that I did it because I care about my friends and want to protect them. She then yelled at me, something about not being a fragile doll and told me to forget I ever knew her and then walked out the door.” I ran my hands through my hair again, missing the feeling of Rory dong it whenever she was bored.

“I know why she’s pissed then, but maybe just give her a bit of space and try talking to her in like a week or so.” Toni told me. “Now I’m going to check on my other friend because if I’m right as to why she is pissed then she needs me as much as you need Fangs. And you’re also a fucking idiot Sweet Pea, Fangs talk some sense into this dumbass please.” She put her hand on my knee and I jerked away. Too many times that hand had been Rory’s. Fangs saluted and I nodded as she took off out of my trailer and jumped on her bike.

“You like her don’t you?” Fangs turned to me.

“I think I remember this conversation from a couple of months ago, answer is still ‘I barely like you’.”

“Yes, but Toni and I aren’t Rory. You let her play with your hair, sit on your lap, you give each other hickies all the time, and I’m sure I’ve seen you smile and blush more in the last three months than I have in my whole life of knowing you. You’ve also gotten into a lot more fights since meeting her too. That Jason guy was the first one for seemingly no reason until Toni explained what had happened the night she became a serpent. You like her you dumbass and she likes you, your just too stubborn to admit it yourself and to her. She left and got pissed because you called her a friend and nothing more.” I shook my head at him.

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Void of Extinction by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 2/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 2: Mother

“Good morning James, it is time to get up.”

James woke to the sunlight beaming on his face, stretching his arms to the sky as he groaned. He sat up in bed, wiping his face with the palm of his hand to wake himself from sleep. He slid his legs to the side, feeling his toes touch the light carpet beneath the bed. Shaking his head, he stood from the bed. “Status report.”

“It is currently 9am, pollution level 68%, you have no appointments today.”

“Bloody hell.” He groaned. “What happened to my 7am alarm?”

“You cancelled that alarm, James. Your alarm was set for 9am to begin work at 10am.”

“I cancelled it…” He stood in the middle of his room. “When did I cancel the bloody alarm?”

“I show you cancelled the alarm at 1:30am and set a new alarm for 9am.”

“What the bloody…” He didn’t remember doing anything at 1:30 am. As far as he knew he had been sleeping. He sat down on the chair next to him, running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything happening during the evening that would have caused him to reset his alarm. The longer he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He didn’t need a migraine this morning, he was already late for work now.

He dressed quickly, exiting his apartment to head to the diner.

He was certain that Granny was going to fire him for being this late. When he stepped into the diner she shook her head and pointed to the kitchen.

“You need to get that alarm of yours fixed.”

“Yes Ma’am. I’m going to call a repairman straight away.”

“Get to work.”

The rest of his shift went as usual, James stayed two hours after his shift to assist Granny with the late evening rush, feeling guilty about being late once again. Once the diner had died down, he gathered his coat and was headed to the door. A man sitting in a corner booth caught his attention. It wasn’t that he recognized the man, not entirely, but he seemed familiar.

Something about him gave him a sense of Déjà vu. The headache blinded him as he tried to access the information, the man took notice of him as he grabbed ahold of the nearest bench, trying to steady himself.

“Oi, you look like you could use some help.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to brush him off, pushing the door to the diner open and stepping into the busy street. The man followed him, which annoyed James. “I said I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mate.”

He glanced at the man, narrowing his eyes, there was something about him. “I’m…” The headache blinded him again and he staggered to the edge of the diner, walking back toward his car, and reaching in his pocket for his inhibitor.

“I wouldn’t take that.” The man warned behind him.

“Who are you?” He asked angrily, tripping backwards against his car.

“I’m Will, we spoke the other day. I just want to talk to you about Emma.”

James fell to his knees as it felt like pins and needles were attacking his body, he pulled the inhibitor toward his arm and the man reached down and grabbed at the injector. “Get away from me, what are you doing?”

“Killian, don’t inject that.”

The name shook him, pictures flashed in his brain, the blonde-haired woman from his dreams staring at him with emerald, green eyes, the name falling from her lips like it somehow belonged to him. Killian. He was losing his mind. He pressed the injector to his arm and pushed, a loud hiss emitting as the cool liquid entered his veins. He fell back against the car, exhaling with a groan.

“Dammit mate, I’m trying to help you.”

“You stay away from me before I call the cops.”

“Bloody hell…look, the more you inject that stuff, the more you forget. They messed with your brain, made you all foggy and shite.” James stared at the man as if he had just grown two heads. “You keep getting headaches right? Things don’t add up, and when you think about them, you get a headache.”

“You’re bloody crazy.” He stood up, grabbing the door to his car and yanking it open. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Will Scarlet.” He shouted before James shut the door.

“Will what?”

“My name, Will Scarlet. Write it down or something.” He turned and left the alley, running in the opposite direction of the diner.

James shook his head, looking at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Write it down.

He didn’t need to write it down, did he? The man was a lunatic. But…he knew about the headaches; how did he know about them? How did he know that things were out of place?

He looked around the floor of his vintage car, trying to find anything to write with. People thought he was crazy for hanging onto a relic from the 1900’s. It cost him a fortune to repair it. And somehow he knew how to fix everything on his Chevy Chevelle, but anytime he tried to remember how he knew, the headaches came.

He found a marker lying under the mat of the passenger side, grabbing it, he tried to find something to write on. With the absence of paper, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt up and scribbled against his flesh in black ink.

Will Scarlet

~*~

“It’s not like him to be gone for this long without contacting me. Even if he were working on something, he would have mentioned it.”

“Could the resistance have removed him from the playing field?” Mayor Mills asked from her place at her desk.

“Was he working on a case that had to do with the resistance?” David questioned.

David’s new partner, Killian Jones had been missing for weeks now, no message, no contact, just gone. Killian had been quiet about his most recent case; he knew it had something to do with a contact who had reached out to him, and Killian was following a lead, but he wasn’t ready to share information yet. He hadn’t known the man long, he was aware that he was mostly a private person, but he would never just take off without talking to the Captain first.

“Officer Jones case was confidential. We need to find him but keep it quiet. Killian could have found something that could destroy the Resistance, we have to get to him before they do.” She turned to the holo screen in front of her.

David glanced at the screen in front of the Mayor. “Resistance riders made it past the walls?” He inquired nervously.

“Yes, last night we had a breach on the west side. Officer Locksley apprehended two of them. But the rest got away.”

“What were they after?”

“Trying to take down the security net near the harbor. I suspect they have a group in the foglands.”

“What are the plans to take that out?”

“No plans. We’ll let Hive do that for us.”

David exhaled, a look of shock on his face. “You want to work with the Hive?”

“Of course not.” She snorted. “But, when you have an infestation, it’s easier to let the predators take each other out. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I don’t trust the Hive any more than I trust the Resistance.”

“Officer Nolan, The Hive operate outside the walls, they remove the danger before it breaches our city. And if something were to sneak its way inside, to infest our people with lies and misinformation, we have the Gold Collective to remove it, for the good of Storybrooke.”

“That’s another group I don’t trust, how is it for the good of Storybrooke to let them make pod people!” He exclaimed.

“The Void are able to become trustful members of our society again, the Gold Collective has done a great service to our community. And as far as the Hive are concerned, as long as they continue to operate outside our walls, I welcome their removal of our shared problem.”

“So how are either of them any different than the Resistance?”

The Mayor stood. “The idea of the Resistance threatens to destroy everything we hold dear. If even a single one of them is left standing, everyone we know and love, our values, our safety, are in danger. They will bring the plague to Storybrooke, they cannot be trusted, and they must be destroyed.”

David nodded, taking his leave as he returned to the lower levels of the station. He knew that Regina was right, the Resistance stood to destroy everything they had worked so hard to build after the plague hit. He knew that locking people out, building the walls, was not something that the town initially embraced. He too felt guilty when they seemed to doom so many on the other side of the wall. But they had to protect their town.

When the Gold Collective first appeared, run by a man with no past yet unlimited money, taking people off the streets and experimenting on them, the Mayor went after them with the full force of the Storybrooke PD. Then the Hive came. They had kept the Hive from breaching the station walls, drove them back behind the walls and ended their yearlong power grab.

But then a strange thing started happening, townsfolk who had disappeared, those who had been experimented on during the war, returned, with no memory of who they were. Loved ones who no longer recognized their family or friends.

The Mayor came out publicly, condemning the Collective for their interference with her citizens, and then six months later, quietly began accepting the practice. David didn’t know what had changed, only that Regina seemed to think that whatever Gold and his collective was doing, was protecting them. The people who had disappeared were a danger to society, conspirators who agreed with the Resistance, they needed to be stopped before their reckless behavior allowed the plague to spread inside the walls of Storybrooke.

And so, they stopped searching for the agents of the collective, when someone showed up without their memories, the town simply helped to get them acclimated to their work. People turned a blind eye to the reason they went missing, accepting them as new members of their society.

At the same time, the Hive stopped advancing on the town, disappearing into the shadows on the other side of the town’s walls.

Only the Resistance fought back, the war outside the walls between the two factions was escalating. At night they could see the fires burning beyond the mountains. The smoke had become so heavy that they could no longer see the horizon over the water. The area became known as the foglands. The heavily guarded wasteland that the Resistance currently controlled.

Many nights they would send raids to the walls, trying to take down the security net that connected the walls. The resistance would not stop until it fell. And if the walls fell, the plague would take them all.

He had not heard of a single soul surviving the plague. No cure had been found. Without the walls, they would all die. The Resistance had to be stopped.

His com unit beeped, alerting him that he had reached his destination. Stepping out of the electric vehicle he walked the stairs to his home. Opening the door, he smelled the fragrant aroma of chicken baking in the back of the house. He could hear his wife’s voice in the background, the alluring melody of the song she was humming making his heart smile with joy.

When he turned the corner, Mary Margaret had her back to him, swaying back and forth to the music she was singing softly to. He crept up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. “Mmm it smells wonderful in here.”

She melted into him, humming lightly. “You’re late, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I had a meeting with Regina.”

“And what did the Mayor want with my husband.” She sang softly.

“The usual, how to destroy the Resistance.” He chuckled and then paused. “But she’s more concerned about Officer Killian at the moment.”

She turned in his arms, a grave look on her face. “Is he still missing? Hasn’t it been weeks, David.”

“I know. Regina thinks the Resistance might have gotten to him.” He sighed. “I hope she’s wrong. I’m worried about him, it’s not like him to just go silent.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been to his apartment, the diner on 5th, the Chinese place he goes to, no one has seen him in weeks.” He sat down at the table. “Regina told me to keep digging, she thinks he’s important, whatever he was working on before he disappeared might be what we need to take down the Resistance once and for all.”

She embraced him, pulling him against her chest. “I know if anyone can find him, you will.”

He looked up and smiled at her as she bent down to press her lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my Prince Charming.” She broke the contact, turning back to her dinner. “Oh, by the way, I have to go out tonight. I forgot to buy the ham for dinner tomorrow.”

“You should have told me; I could have picked it up for you. If you want, I can call the service, I know you don’t trust the LRU’s but they provide quick service.”

She snorted, “Never, why would anyone trust something called a Life Replacement Unit? Even the name blatantly calls out that they mean to replace us. It’s no bother for me to go to the store. It’s how they did it years ago, and besides I enjoy getting out of the house.”

“Well, I have some work to catch up on so I’ll try and get it done before you get back, maybe we can spend the evening watching the holo.”

She turned back toward him and smiled. “I would love that.”

~*~

James parked his Chevelle in the assigned spot at the back of the building, watching as the platform descended into the ground, sending the car to rest beneath the apartment.

He looked up at the building, noticing the way the fog had rolled in from the harbor and hugged the side of the building. He glanced ominously toward the horizon; the smoke looked darker than it had in days. No one was talking about what was happening outside the walls, in the depths of the waters that banked against the town.

“Hey.”

He jumped and turned toward a dark-haired woman. “It’s bad form to sneak up on a man, lass.”

“Sorry about that.” She giggled. “I was wondering if you could spare a lightstick?”

Killian shook his head. “I don’t use those. Bad for your health.” He shrugged and stepped away from the woman.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” She chased after him.

“Look, I already told you, I don’t do the stuff. Neither should you, lass.” Before he could enter the building the woman grabbed him by the arm. He turned toward her quickly as she glared at him. “Listen you siren, while I appreciate a beautiful woman such as yourself getting all handsy with me, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood for that either.” He growled. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now.”

With a quick move, she tightened her grip on his arm, pushing his sleeve further up his forearm, staring at the black ink on his arm. “How do you know Will Scarlet?” Every sensor in his brain went off at once.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded. “If you know that lunatic, I want nothing to do with you. He’s crazy as a loon and so are you.” He reached for the door to his building before he felt a pain in the back of his neck and the world around him faded to black.

He heard noises around him as the ache in his neck seemed to radiate through his body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he knew he wasn’t near his apartment anymore. He could hear the sound of seagulls off in the distance and the slosh of water all around him. He opened his eyes but could only see darkness and the fabric placed over his head clung to him. Whoever had taken him didn’t want him to see where he was going or how he got there.

He tried to sit up when his leg hit something hard next to him, sending a clatter of noise off to his right as something smashed to the ground.

“I think our guest has woken up.” Someone grumbled.

“We’re almost there.” He heard another voice.

“She wants to talk to him as soon as we arrive.” He heard the woman’s voice from the apartment.

“This is a stupid idea.” The first voice whispered. “Bringing him here is going to get us all killed.”

“We don’t even know if he’s on our side.”

“Stop talking.” The woman’s voice rang out again. “I’m going to go help dock the boat.”

James sat for what felt like a lifetime as he waited for the voices to come back, instead he listened to the strange sound of the engine, the whirl of a generator somewhere deep below him. He fell forward as the boat hit against something solid.

“Land ho.” A voice boomed to his left.

Arms suddenly were grabbing him, dragging him to his feet. “Who are you, just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He begged.

“You ain’t in no danger ‘ere.” The man squawked. “Just don’t be no trouble.”

James tripped over the stairs and the woman’s voice shrilled behind him. “Would you idiots be careful; mother will be really angry if you injure our prize.”

“Sorry Ma’am.” The voice to his right said apologetically with a loud sneeze.

“Maybe if he learned to walk, sister, we wouldn’t have no trouble.” The voice to his left grumbled angrily.

Once he stepped down again, he could tell he was standing on planks that were connected to a dock. The sway of the ground meant he was over water still. “I’ll take him from here.” He felt the woman slide up beside him, grabbing him by the arm. “She just wants to talk to you, that’s all. If you aren’t interested in what she has to say, you can go back to your miserable existence afterwards.”

“Who’s this she?” He asked nervously.

“The Mother of the Resistance, of course.” She said with a laugh and James felt his blood run cold. He was in the foglands; he had been taken by the Resistance.

He heard a metal door squeal open on rusty hinges and he stepped onto solid ground, as soon as it slammed shut, the itchy fabric was pulled from his head, and he tried to adjust his eyes to the dark glowing lights around him.

“Welcome to the foglands.” The woman announced.

“I’m positively glowing with anticipation.” He said smugly and the woman snorted beside him.

“Oh, they said you were a sarcastic one. I wasn’t sure if you retained that in your new existence.”

“Retained what? New existence?” he asked in confusion. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for all of that yet.” She grinned as they stepped into a large metal room, water swirling around at their feet.

“Do you intend to drown me, leave me for dead?” He asked incredulously, staring around him at the boxed in room.

“No one is leaving anyone for dead.” A loud voice boomed and echoed through the room. At the other end of the box, a woman stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight illuminating her face through a grate in the ceiling.

“And just who the hell are you?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I’m the Mother of the Resistance.” She paused, stepping closer to him. “But you can call me Mary Margaret.”

[em-responds-to-things]

one shot // m.p

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Reader

Requested: @rennywilson

Summary: 4 times you almost kissed. 1 time you did.

Song Pairing: Mabel - One Shot (Remix)

GIF Not Mine

i.

It was at John Wilson's party that it happened. The first time you noticed Maddy and where your feelings for her first developed. You were all in Freshman year so the game of choice that night was spin the bottle. You watched on with excitement and nerves as it got nearer your turn, wondering who your first kiss would be.

Your turn came and you spun the bottle. It turned and turned, slowing down as it went. Your eyes followed it, glancing up so often to see who it missed before landing on Maddy where the bottle was pointing. A series of 'oohs' filled the room along with various hollers. Warmth spread to your cheeks as you leaned forward, copying Maddy. You braced yourself for the kiss only for it not to happen. Instead she pecked you on the cheek. You didn’t know why but your stomach sank in disappointment as you sat back into the circle, trying to focus back on the game even though the warmth of her lips on your cheek filled your thoughts.

ii.

You had your first kiss eventually. It was Sam Jones behind the bleachers before his football practice. Maddy's kiss was more memorable though. You wondered what a kiss on the lips would feel like and whether it would taste of her chapstick she was wearing that day.

You were both sat on the empty stage going through lines for the annual play. You were helping Maddy by standing in for her scene partner. The scene itself was a profession of love. The words she spoke felt real, Maddy was one hell of a good actress that’s for sure. You leaned forward as did she, the scene ended with a kiss.

"And then we kiss." She grinned, her nose brushing yours. "What do you think?"

"That was amazing." You said, brushing off the feelings that had just erupted. "You killed it."

"Thank you for doing this, Y/N." Maddy thanked you, her smile making your stomach do front flips. You were so gone for her.

iii.

Prom was the one day of the school year where you dress up and dance to pop music with your friends. The punch was spiked so everyone was a little tipsy, enough to have a good time but not too much the teachers will tell. You were sat at a table by yourself, playing with the empty cup in your hand. Your date had ditched you so you were alone, watching your friends dance with their own dates.

You wondered when it was socially acceptable to leave when someone came to a stop in front of you. You looked up to see that it was Maddy, grinning with her hand held out for you to take. Your breath hitched as you took her in, she looked amazing in her blue dress. "Dance with me." She said, it wasn’t a question but rather a statement.

You took her hand and let her lead you to the dance floor. As soon has she had her arms crossed behind your neck it felt like the whole gym had disappeared and it was just you two. "You look amazing tonight."

"Thanks." She said, looking away. You were sure she was trying to hide the blush that had dusted her cheeks. "You don’t look too bad yourself." You mumbled a thanks, looking down bashfully. "So what were you doing all alone?"

"My date ditched me." You told her, laughing a little to try and hide the fact that it hurt a little. You may have not been that into them but it still hurt that they left you for someone else.

"It’s their loss." She assured you. You thanked her before silence settled over the two of you, letting the music take over.

The song changed to a slower one and without thinking you leaned close to Maddy, her doing to the same thing. Your eyes flickered between her eyes and lips. She bit her lip, looking at you expectantly. This was your chance. The moment didn’t get far however, as the sound of someone calling Maddy’s name broke into your bubble. You assured her it was fine to leave but you didn’t miss the look of disappointment she had as if she didn’t want to leave you.

iv.

It was the party of the century, so the football team says. You went because you wanted to, even just for one night, forget about the pressures of succeeding and your feelings for Maddy. You wanted to forget about how she was way out of your league and very much into Nate Jacobs so you drank.

You reached to pour yourself another drink when a hand stopped you. You looked over to see that it was Maddy who was looking at you with worry in her eyes. "I think you’ve had enough."

"'m fine." You mumbled trying to reach for it again but she took it off you making you stumble slightly.

"Fuck, Y/N. You’re not fine. You’re wasted. What’s going on?" She asked, concern in her voice. You never drank this much at parties. It was always the other way round, you taking care of her. When Maddy noticed you weren’t slowing down she stopped drinking herself to keep an eye on you.

"It’s you." You huffed, any and all filters you had were out of the window. "It’s always been you Maddy. You’re so fucking pretty it hurts."

"Let’s get you home." She said, not acknowledging what you said as she knew you wouldn’t remember in the morning. She wrapped her arm around your waist and helped lead you to her car. You leaned forward with the intention of kissing her only for her to gently push you back. "Not like this, Y/N. We can talk tomorrow, okay?" You didn’t say anything, you just followed her to the car. Your sober mind would definitely feel humiliated right now but you were drunk so it didn’t matter.

+1

You kept your eyes screwed shut not wanting to face the world just yet. Memories of last night were patchy but the important ones were ingrained in your head. You had tried to kiss Maddy. About right now you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. "You’re awake." A soft voice broke your racing thoughts. You gulped knowing it was Maddy's voice. You had hoped to have a little more time to prepare for this encounter. "How are you feeling?"

"My head is killing." You mumbled, turning to face her.

"Well you didn’t slow down much last night." She grinned.

"I’m sorry." You apologised, grimacing at all the embarrassing things you did.

"Don’t be. Everyone needs to let loose once in a while." Maddy said. "And as for the kiss? I wanted it to be the right moment and last night was not the right moment."

"Y-you wanted to kiss me?" You stuttered out, her confession making you feel a little more awake. You were both sat up in bed facing each other.

"Of course. Have done for a while." She admitted, blushing slightly.

"Is now the right moment?" You asked, suddenly feeling brave.

"I think it is." Maddy said, leaning forward and pressing her lips on yours. The kiss was soft and you could taste the remnants of her cherry chapstick on her lips. It was well worth the wait.

Tag List: @mayaslifeinabox @princess-of-the-fandoms @live--aloud @les-bio-lie @ivvitm1109 @seninjakitey @lover2448 @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @marvelismylifffe @genius2050 @myriadimagines

[ironmandeficiency]

who’s my commander

pairing: no pairing

word count: 3352

summary: you’re introducing anakin to your battalion and it turns into a nightmare of epic proportions (for him). everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves.

a/n: based on the finest pieces of comedy in history, abbot and costello’s “who’s on first”. the clones are all original & will soon give more information about them, don’t worry.

jones lands the laat/i on the surface of felucia and you’re already dreading the idea of leaving your men here. it has nothing to do with the man you’re entrusting them to and everything to do with the cursed reputation this planet has for its hostility. if you weren’t leaving your men behind you’d be glad to leave.

the doors opened unceremoniously and you were barely adjusted to the light when you saw members of the five-oh-first approaching you behind their general. “anakin, it’s been too long! how are you?”

he smiles and takes your hand in one of his. “i’ve been worse, my friend. now i’d like you to introduce me to your command team, since none of us have worked together before.”

rex, who was standing at anakin’s right, knew what was about to happen. many of the lavender-clad men of the 25th battalion were known for being jokers back in their cadet days and had a reputation for such all around the gar. nearly a third were banned from 79’s for their well-meaning antics and when they were around, everyone was guaranteed to have a good time (if they had a sense of humor, that is).

the names of their higher-ranking officers, however, were the best and longest-running prank any clone had ever seen. it started out as a way to piss off the longnecks but it soon evolved to a new, unforeseen method to screw with the seppies.

and now, it was going to mind fuck one of the best generals in the republic army.

“absolutely, but i will warn you, sometimes our men give themselves funny names.” it’s hard work to keep your voice from betraying the joke. you’ve done this song and dance often and it never stops being funny. this time, you hope one of your men are close enough to record this one. “names like crappemm, jort-“

“jort?”

“yes, and his batchmate ba.”

“i see.”

 how was “jort” the one that stuck out?

anakin nods and you smile. He probably doesn’t believe the names you rattled off are actual men in your battalion but he’ll learn soon enough when your men begin to make sheep noises that you weren’t joking.

“anyway, who’s my commander, what’s my captain, and i don’t know is my sergeant.”

the dumbfounded look you’re given by your fellow general almost sends you into the force right then and there. “that’s... what i want to find out.”

“so listen then. who’s my commander, what’s my captain, and i don’t know is my sergeant.” you don’t need the force to see that anakin’s men are enjoying the confusion radiating from him, his second in command stepping out of anakin’s line of vision so he can bring a hand to his head in amused exasperation.

“are you their general?”

“yes.”

“have you been their general since the start of the war?”

“yes.”

“yet you don’t know their names?!”

“well i should.”

more men from both the twenty-fifth and the five-oh-first have gathered to witness the mind boggling conversation between their generals. over rex’s shoulder you see two five-oh-first troopers enthusiastically eating from a bag of air-combusted kernels popular on coruscant. now that you think about it, it’s been too long since you enjoyed the snack. you’d have to find some next time your men are on leave.

“so then who’s your commander?”

“yes.” he’s right but he just didn’t realize it yet. ‘this is going to be fun… if he doesn’t fight me before i leave.’

“i mean the man’s name.”

“who.”

“your commander?”

“who.”

“the trooper that is your second in command!”

“who.”

rex turns to the commander in question. he had found his way to rex’s side where the latter now stood slightly behind anakin, discretely staying out of his general’s peripherals. “does this ever get old?” rex had never seen the well-known introductions of jedi to the twenty-fifth in person and quickly decided that the holos he had seen didn’t do it justice. 

“not really, since you never know what to expect from each general.” who pulls a holodisc from a pouch kept around his waist and turns it on, presenting it to the man beside him. it’s a picture of general windu, his face frozen in a stupefied daze of perplexion. “here’s our first moments with the 91st several months back. it was my favorite, but skywalker’s becoming a high contender for the best reaction in my book.”

rex removed his helmet and lightly thwacked who with it. “general skywalker’s a smart man, he’ll figure it out soon.”

general skywalker did not, in fact, figure it out soon.

“who is my commander!”

“i’m asking you who your commander is!” anakin was dumbfounded as to why you were asking him, a man who has never seen your troopers a day in his life, the name of your commander. he’d have to get kix to check you for a concussion before you left because this wasn’t normal.

you let out a good-natured sigh before continuing your explanation. at this point you could tell it was going to take anakin a little while to understand the concept of your men’s names and hoped that kit would be okay with you running a bit late for your rendezvous. “that’s the man’s name!”

“that’s who’s name?”

“yes.”

“well go ahead and tell me!”

“that’s it!”

“your commander’s who?”

“yes.”

lavender hurriedly shushed cornflower blue in mixed efforts to contain the laughter. if anakin noticed the commotion around him it wasn’t acknowledged, much to the relief of everyone privy to the scene playing out.

fives was most definitely recording his general making a fool of himself and intended to spread it like wildfire across the arc trooper communication channels. to fives’s distant left, a fellow arc trooper from your battalion was doing the same but in slightly better quality. see, because has been through this scenario plenty of times to know how to keep his footage from getting shaky. the five-oh-first arc trooper, however, had no such advantage, his hud shaking periodically from his chortling.

“look, all i’m trying to figure out is who responds when you’re calling for your commander!”

“yes!”

anakin fixes a glare on you and you returned it with more mirth than was probably warranted. the last time a fellow jedi had been so cross at this situation was back when you were working with master windu. the man had so little patience these days that if he still had hair, it’d have probably fallen out during your last encounter with him.

when because sends you the footage of this latest introduction, you’d have the perfect reason for your tardiness. you’d also be equipped with a way to make your former master smile and a bribe to convince kit to take you for a swim.

“look, general, all i’m trying to find out is what’s the name of your commander!”

“no, what’s the name of my captain!”

“i’m not asking who your captain is, i’m-“

“who’s my commander!”

“one trooper at a time!”

behind his helmet, fives is crying from holding his laughter, and it’d be a correct assumption that most of the five-oh-first is doing the same as well as some of the shinies of the twenty-fifth.

“don’t change my men around!”

“i’m not changing anyone!”

“take it easy there, anakin.”

anakin wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he has no karking idea what kind of banthashit is going on here. “what’s the name of your commander?”

“no, what is my captain! i’ve said this already.”

“i’m not asking you who’s your captain!”

“who is my commander!”

“i don’t know!”

“he’s my sergeant, but we’re not talking about him right now.”

the sound of a helmet clattering to the ground draws your attention to where ba and jort are doing their best to silence a member of the five-oh-first with blue stripes on his face. the man in blue seems to be having a difficult time holding it together, judging by how he’s clutching his side and hunched, trying to fix his breathing.

anakin also turns toward the choking trooper and is worried when he sees hardcase almost on the ground. from what, anakin doesn’t know, but it doesn’t look good.

“he’s fine, generals! popping kernel just went down the wrong hole!” clever one, that jort was. always knew what to say at the right moment.

anakin, once he accepted that his man was okay, turned back toward you. if you weren’t so close to him you could fool yourself into thinking that his eye wasn’t twitching (it was).

“how did i bring up your sergeant?!”

“you mentioned his name, general.”

“if i mentioned your sergeant’s name, who did i say was your sergeant?”

you have to draw from the force to keep your expression neutral. maker, if you knew anakin would be this easily duped by your men, you would have requested to work with him much earlier into the war.

“he’s my commander.”

“what’s your commander?”

“what’s my captain.”

“i don’t know!”

“he’s my sergeant.”

“there i go, back to your sergeant!”

jesse’s hand snakes it’s way back into the bag of popping kernels kix held, the medic swatting at it blindly before moving the bag into the hand furthest from the cog-tatted man beside him. his eyes were glued to the scene in front of him, the general’s confusion making for wonderful entertainment. it made him forget for a moment that they were on felucia, also known as one of the worst hellholes a clone could be assigned to.

“all i’m trying to find out is who’s your sergeant?”

“why are you so insistent on making who my sergeant?” you can feel the force signatures of your men and at this moment, they’re so bright and happy it’s almost staggering.

“what am i making your sergeant?!”

“no, what is my captain, and who is my commander!”

“i don’t know!”

you remind skywalker the rank i don’t know holds with a quick shout of “sergeant!” and leave it there.

until anakin takes a deep breath to center himself, asking if you’ve got arc troopers.

“sure do.”

“give me their names.”

“why,-“ you try to give him the name of your arcs but he interrupts you before you can finish.

“i just thought i’d ask you!”

“well i just thought i’d answer you!”

anakin is losing his cool again and wonders to himself when you got so snarky. “then tell me who is your arc trooper-“

“who is my commander.”

“stop talking about your commander!”

if you weren’t such good friends with the jedi in front of you, it’d be safe to bet that you’d be sporting at least one black eye (if not a broken rib or two alongside it).

“give me an arc trooper’s name!” ‘now we’re getting somewhere!’ you think to yourself.

you answer him honestly, the same way you have been since you stepped off the laat/i. “why.”

“because!”

“oh, he’s an arc trooper too. how did you know?”

anakin sputters for a moment before quieting. he was trying to understand… whatever was going on. but so far, you weren’t giving him anything but a headache.

crappemm is approached by a member of the five-oh-first in arc gear. the man was surprisingly indistinct for a member of his battalion, no tattoos or facial hair to set him apart from the others. from what crappemm had seen and heard of the battalion he was set to work with on this hellhole, skywalker’s men were known for their out-of-this-box methods of setting themselves apart.

this one, however, seemed to keep things simple. 

crappemm loves his crazy brothers, there was no doubt, but sometimes he can’t handle the constant noise and hubbub that chased his vod’e like flies chased honey. being around this one was refreshing, to say the least.

the arc trooper was amused by what was going on, but the difference between this one and the others was that he wasn’t letting his emotions take over. he kept his composure and was quiet, the only thing breaking the stoicism was a smirk and the occasional light shaking of his shoulders. crappemm was gonna stick around this one.

“please tell me this is really happening and i’m not hallucinating.” the lavender man was so caught up in enjoying the lack of cackling from beside him that he almost missed the words directed to him from the man in blue.

“well vod,” crappemm set a hand on the arc’s shoulder with a grin, “i’m happy to report that this is actually happening in real time.”

the arc sighed in relief. “thank you. i didn’t think i was capable of thinking of something this bloody crazy but it’s nice to be sure. the name’s echo.” echo extended a hand toward him and the other happily accepted it.

“crappemm.” they fall into an easy, comfortable silence as they enjoy the generals that were still going at it.

“look! you got a lieutenant?”

“sure.”

“the lieutenant’s name?”

“tomorrow.”

anakin was flabbergasted. he might as well ask one of your men for his name if you weren’t going to tell him. then again, what reason did you have to not tell him right then? “you’re not going to tell me today?”

“i’m telling you today.”

“then go ahead, tell me.”

“tomorrow.”

“what time?”

“what time what?” anakin was beginning to talk you into circles, which is something no one has ever been able to do the entire time you’ve played this game with your men. you weren’t supposed to be the one asking questions, that was his part in this!

“what time tomorrow are you going to tell me who your lieutenant is?”

ah, that’s what he meant. “now listen, who is not the lieutenant.”

your fellow general threw his arms up in frustration barely contained. “i’ll break your arm if you say who’s your commander one more time! i wanna know, what’s the lieutenant’s name?”

“what’s my captain’s name!”

“i don’t know!”

“sergeant!”

you can tell it’s getting harder for some of the men to not give in to the urge to shriek and guffaw and cackle and roll on the ground holding their sides. sithspit, it’s getting hard for you to keep a straight face through all of this.

nearby, commander who shakes his head at the captain of the five-oh-first. “i thought you said your general would get it, rex.” the tease was evident in his voice and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to know just how much he was taking pride in his jetti’s ability to fuck with “the hero with no fear” so profoundly.

rex shrugged noncommittally. “i thought he would’ve understood by now too, but i guess not.”

who chortled and patted rex’s shoulder almost in sympathy (a vod that didn’t know who as well as he did would have thought so, but not rex). he playfully pushed the hand away and refocused his attention to his general.

“so if i were going down the chain of command, the first one i’d give orders to would be who?”

“now that’s the first thing you’ve said right since i got here!” you don’t even acknowledge the fact he said this as a question because he was right! finally!

anakin didn’t seem to like your reply. that was made clear when he shouted, almost at the top of his lungs, “i don’t even know what i’m talking about!”

there were a few snorts of laughter from all sides and some of yours were smart enough to make some sort of noise to cover them up. if anakin caught on now, the whole thing would be screwed.

“all you gotta do is give the orders to the commander!”

“and who’s going to act on the orders?”

“naturally.” you think he’s starting to get it but you aren’t sure. he’s getting closer though, which is a relief as much as it is bringing an end to the prank.

“look! when i have to give a command, somebody’s gonna have to act on it! who carries out the order?!” wait a minute, never mind. he was still oblivious. if kit didn’t like this video he was going to have your ass for being late. you’ve gotta at least try to help the poor guy now that your ass is on the line (you’ve never had to do this before, usually whatever general gets too exasperated to keep it going as long as anakin has).

“naturally.”

“naturally?” he asks once again.

“naturally.” you confirm.

he ponders this for a moment before continuing, “so i should expect my order to be carried out by naturally.”

“no, you don’t! it gets done by who!”

“naturally.”

“that’s different.”

he was using naturally as a name instead of a state of being, a description, which is what you were trying to get through his head. however, it was having the opposite effect.

jort has never heard this particular turn of events and he was thinking that after today, there would be a shiny named naturally that would make his way into the affections of question company. he honestly couldn’t wait for the day and told ba and hardcase the same. they nodded and ba had thrown out the number designation of a shiny that had been weaseling his way into his good side as a good candidate for the name before returning their attention to the fiasco that was their generals.

“that’s what i said!”

“you’re not saying that!”

“i give the command to naturally!”

“you give the command to who!”

“naturally.”

“that’s it.”

“that’s what i said!”

how much longer was this going to last? kit said he needed you for something time-sensitive and you had to set time aside for the mishaps that you knew would always happen when you went to do important stuff. you were a magnet for weird shit happening and this conversation is a symbol of said weird shit.

with a deep breath, you continue. “listen. you ask me.”

anakin’s reply was quick and certain. where did he get the confidence to talk like he knew what he was talking about? probably an obi-wan thing. “i give the order to naturally.”

‘ugh, not this again!’ “no you don’t, you give it to who!”

“i give the order to who?”

“naturally.”

“same as you!” it’s not the same context but it seems that anakin is too busy trying to wrap his mind around this insanity to put the pieces together.

“okay,” anakin continues, “i give the order to who and whoever goes and passes the order to what! what sends it down to i don’t know, and i don’t know passed the information to tomorrow!! perfect flow of command!”

you nod, encouraging him to keep going.

“now let’s say i need some recon done before we make a plan of attack.” anakin’s trying to analyze the shitshow you threw in front of him as logically as he can with the budding headache. “i give an order to because! why? i don’t know, and i don’t kriffing care!”

that last bit was unexpected. “what’d you say?”

“i said, ‘i don’t kriffing care!’”

“oh, he’s our best sniper.”

anakin let out a yell of anger and bafflement you’d never heard from him before. you turned toward the laat/i waiting patiently for you to board and climbed in, sending a trickster’s smile to the men you were leaving behind.

your friend had clearly given up, his head almost dropping from his inability to comprehend whatever it was you were going on about. he’d figure out their names on his own since you weren’t going to be of any help.

while en route to where kit had wanted you to meet him, you received a holocomm from a mirthful general kenobi who could barely contain his laughter. he must have seen the holo of his former padawan you reasoned. he promised to not share it with other generals as long as you found another way to bring anakin down a couple pegs next time you saw him.

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Pretender Next Door Part 2 Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  Warning: Swearing.  Summary: Lying is despicable, but nothing beats the humiliation of pretending you have a lovely boyfriend when, in fact, you have none. Could your handsome neighbor help you, though?  Words: 2138.  Part 1 _____________________________________ It went better you thought it would. Your colleagues were mostly friendly and open, your work environment seemed both interesting and challenging enough, and living in the new apartment was comfortable and pretty peaceful. Well, that man from the 5th floor was singing songs from Bridget Jones Diary on Friday mornings really loudly, but you were an early bird, so you didn’t care, truly. You hadn’t seen Steve much, though it was more an advantage rather than not. He wasn’t bringing any girls into his apartment, and it really bothered you. Worse, he wasn’t bringing any boys either. Your last hope was that Steve belonged to some kind of swingers club or something and had orgies in a different place.

Swingers club? Damn, girl. This man was making you crazy.

You did your best to forget about that perfection of a man living next door. You needed to build your life from scratch in this mad city of New York, and having relationships now was not on your list. In fact, it had never been.

One busy month had already passed when you got a chance to talk to Steve again. You were stepping inside the elevator, tired after work. Next week you were organizing a big holiday party for employees, and things were going more and more stressful with each day. It turned out that way more people had allergies they didn’t state previously, most of them new employees like you, and you had to adjust the menu; then that band your VP of Marketing wanted to have suddenly asked more money than you discussed before, and…

Well, event planning was always like that. Why complaining now when you spend all those years in college and then decided to move to NY? It was predictable. What was unpredictable was you lying to your married colleagues that you had a boyfriend. Why on Earth did you say that? Yes, it was a bit embarrassing to be the only woman who wasn’t in a relationship, but did you ultimately have to lie about it? It was so stupid and childish. Surely, there were more than one single woman in New York.

Anyway, you had a bottle of white wine and Netflix movies waiting for you at home. You would deal with everything else later, including your imaginary boyfriend.

“Wait, please!”

You snapped out of your thoughts and immediately pressed a button to leave the doors open, and the next second Steve almost flew inside the elevator. Oh, was he just in front of you and you hadn’t seen him again? Seriously, you needed to put yourself together.

“Hello.” You smiled a bit shyly and pressed another button to get the elevator moving.

He looked as handsome as always in his dark blue jacket and… oh God, he could wear nothing at all and still looked like a prince. No clothes at all would be far more preferable…

“Hello.” His glowing smile made it hard to keep your eyes off his face.

Nonono, just stop staring and keep your eyes down. You had enough things on your plate already, there was no place left for a giant sun named Steve Rogers who would indeed burn you to ashes the same second you decide to come closer.

“So, are we going the same floor?” He suddenly asked. Wait, did he forget you literally lived next door?

“Um, yes.”

Steve scratched the back of his head; for a few seconds he seemed lost in thought. You decided to drop it. Maybe he had a bad memory or something.

“Oh, I get it, you probably visiting my new neighbor.” He just grinned through those perfectly white teeth.

What? Did he already forget he spent at least half an hour in your hallway repairing your bookshelf? Just how bad was his memory if he didn’t recognize your face, for God’s sake? Well, anyway, if you wanted him to have a flaw, you had to be happy he got one. Better than being a secret swinger, wasn’t it?

“Actually, I am your new neighbor.” You let out an awkward laugh and stared at your pretty kitten heels shoes you bought before leaving Key West. Why were you upset? You just thought about not getting into relationship with anyone. Besides, you doubted you had a chance to date Steve Rogers even if New York’s female population would be five times smaller its actual size.

Lost in your thoughts again, you missed his immediate change of expression, his face completely red with embarrassment and shame.

“God, I’m an idiot with a fish’s memory span.” He groaned and looked somewhere up, shutting his eyes for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry! I mean, of course I remember you, Y/N, it just, ugh, you know… you just look a bit different and… Jesus Christ, I’m gonna say something stupid again, aren’t I?.. Just, ugh, sorry.”

With the guilt all over his pretty face he reminded you of a puppy who ate someone’s shoe, and you chuckled. It wasn’t as bad as you though, he still remembered your name. It was true you were different comparing to the day he met you – you were wearing way more makeup, including bright lipstick, to look older for your colleagues who were in their 40s and 50s. You also had a nice New Look black dress, and your hair were curled. Although you did not expect to look so different to others, maybe Steve simply didn’t take a closer look at your face that time?

And you could still take it as his flaw. Not bad enough, but still something!

“Don’t worry, you only saw me two times in your life.” You laughed it off and stepped out of the elevator once the doors were open. “Now if you see here a grumpy old woman with Ikea bags please remember the way I looked today.”

Steve followed you into a narrow corridor and burst out laughing, his face slowly losing its funny redness. You suspected he still felt kind of guilty, but he tried to keep it cool when you bid him goodbye and entered your apartment.

Thinking of any other possible flaws he might have, you took off your shoes and threw you bag on the comfy grey sofa in the middle of the room. You were finally home. Now you could change into your favorite blue pyjamas and fluffy slippers, take off your makeup and have some good time watching your favorite romcoms. Although you didn’t have anything for dinner, you could easily order something like a nice pizza or lasagna from that family-owned pizzeria around the corner.

The next hour you spent in a tub, washing away your worries. One was still there though: what were you supposed to do with your imaginary boyfriend? Your biggest issue was that your colleagues asked you to bring him to the party. Of course, they thought it was a nice gesture since they often brought their own husbands and boyfriends, but now they just made your life way more difficult. Even if you could say your boyfriend got sick or something at the day of the event, what then? Thankfully, no one demanded to see your photos yet, but they could. And they might ask you to bring him to dinners they had altogether sometimes, and God knows what else.

You were stupid enough to make up some super romantic story about a perfect guy any girl would like to date. It was embarrassing to think of it now, but you definitely got affected by the marriage stories of your colleagues who spent the whole lunch hour talking about their lovely husbands. Your problem was you tried to fit in too much.

Well, you probably had to come up with something about breaking up once you moved to NY. Funny, because your “boyfriend” was living here and waiting for you for a year to come over and transform your long-distance relationships into something bigger. Hell, you even said you might marry him. Why were you so careless? Why did your colleagues’ opinions matter so much?

You sighed, putting on an old black hoodie. You were hopeless.

Then you heard the doorbell rang and frowned. You were not expecting anyone since you didn’t order your pizza yet.

You hurried to the door in your slippers and put your hair into a ponytail on the way. It was around 8 pm. Who could it be? Did someone just mistake your apartment for someone’s else? You knew your aunt wasn’t coming without telling you first, and no one else knew where you moved to.

But you opened the door, and you found glowing Steve there with a plate in his hands. You were so stunned you just kept standing there until you heard him snicker. Wait, what? Steve? Did he need to borrow anything? Why was he here?

“H-hi Steve. Please, come in.” You stepped back awkwardly to let him go inside and saw him smiling even wider once he spotted your fluffy blue slippers. Could it get even more humiliating than that?

“Hi there. I’ve actually come to apologize properly for the… well, you know.” He almost looked like he was blushing a bit. “And I brought you a lemon pie. Although I baked it myself, I swear it’s not poisonous!”

Great, your absolutely perfect blue-eyed neighbor with blond hair and a winning smile was so nice he brought you a homemade pie. Girl, you were losing it. Maybe he was a serial killer instead of a swinger? It would make sense, indeed. Maybe it wasn’t wise touching this pie? Damn, you hoped he tried to kill you instead of just being nice, because Steve was clearly out of this world.

“I mean… not like baked it the way my mother did… more like googling an easy recipe online and putting everything I found into an instant pot…”

You were ready to slap yourself when you saw Steve fidgeting nervously in the hallway. You had to keep your lovely neighbor out of your mind.

“Thank you so much.” Taking the plate from his huge warm hands you felt your body temperature rising. “But you didn’t have to do that. There’s nothing to be sorry about!”

“No, I was being stupid and…”

“Well, whatever. Just come here and share this pie with me so I can check if it’s poisonous or not.” You tried your best to make a joke out of it and laughed, nodding towards the kitchen. “I can make either tea or coffee. What would you prefer? Um, if you’d like to stay, of course.”

“Only if you don’t mind the guy who couldn’t recognise his own neighbor.”

You spent the next hour chatting about anything and everything. Even though you had never been talkative with people you barely knew, Steve had seemed so trustworthy and friendly you were not able to stop. He talked a lot too, telling you more about himself, claiming he was “just a kid from Brooklyn.” He didn’t finish his university degree because of some financial issues and was now working in an auto repair shop. He still wanted to return to engineering, though, but the only jobs he was offered were some unpaid internships and things like that. And he also played guitar. And he had just finished renovating his own apartment.

The only flaw you found was his issue with keeping the rooms clean as he was overly impressed with your place and how tidy it was. Well, it was something.

Then you had somehow told him about your work, new company, colleagues, the event, and… and that imaginary boyfriend of yours. When you realized you complained about your silly lies, it was already late. Steve was biting his lips not to laugh. Oh, great. Now he was thinking how pitiful you were, pretending to have someone in order to gain some respect from your new coworkers. What kind of girl would say these things to a man like him? You were clearly out of your mind. The only good thing about it was that Steve would probably walk out of your apartment and never come back again.

“Please don’t think I’m laughing at you. It’s… a bit funny, I mean, that you think there’s nothing you could do with your issue.” He grinned at you, almost pouting like a little baby. “Think of it, you just need to ask some guy you know to pretend he’s your boyfriend. Ask him to come with you to this holiday event, and then some time later you can say you broke up with him.”

For a minute you fell silent, staring at the guy in front of you with wide eyes.

“Wait, but I don’t know anyone here. I can’t merely go to anyone on the street and ask him to do this for me, right?”

“Well, for starters, you know me.”

[alcalavicci]

So there’s a really interesting interview with Deborah Pratt here. If you don’t want to pay for it, I’ll paste what I can below, but a few points first. 

Deborah says she doesn’t know where Dean is, and says she misses him. I guess she hasn’t had contact with him since he left for NZ? And with Russ Tamblyn saying Dean’s hanging in there in answer to a recent Twitter question, that brings up more questions about his condition.

Deborah claims she came up with the idea of Quantum Leap, which I’ve never seen come up before. Also Don wanted to send Sam home?? I feel like she’s misremembering a lot of details/making herself seem better than she is.

“Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished… He woke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time tht his next leap will be the leap home…”

The premise of Quantum Leap succinctly and empathetically explained by a voice that spoke to viewers week to week, setting the scene at the opening of the episode. It is a voice that left an indelible print on the show, from its inception to its finale. This is the voice of its Head Writer. No, not Donald P. Bellisario, but a woman of color who was leaps ahead of her time – co-executive producer and uncredited co-creator, Deborah M. Pratt.

Deborah wrote or co-wrote 40 episodes of this sci-fi gem and her authorship of the show runs deep through its five seasons. Aside from the opening narration, Deborah is audible as the voice of Admiral Al Calavicci’s pocket computer, Ziggy. She also guest stars in the episode ‘A Portrait for Troian’ (S2, Ep11) as a grieving widow who hears the voice of her husband calling her.

Deeper still, Quantum Leap was a family affair. It was co-created with her husband at the time, Bellisario, and their daughter, also named Troian, appears as a little girl in ‘Another Mother’ (S2, Ep13, who can not only see Al, but also sees Sam as he really is, rather than as her recently divorced mom.

Prior to helming Quantum Leap, Deborah rose through the ranks as an actress, racing the screen in Happy Days, CHiPS, The Dean Martin Show and many more, and was also a writer on shows such as Airwolf and Magnum P.I. She is a five-time Emmy nominee, Golden Globe nominee and winner of countless other awards. She went on to produce CBS comedy cop show, Tequila and Bonetti, and then to co-create and produce the TV series adaptation of Sandra Bullock tech thriller, The Net. But Quantum Leap was Deborah’s brainchild – one which is emblazoned on the hearts of its faithful fans.

Deborah has since moved into directing, including on hit show Grey’s Anatomy (2020), but was generous with her time when spoke in late 2020 to leap back into the past.

It does seem that you were really ahead of your time as a female head writer and a showrunner in the ’90s, especially in science fiction TV. Was it hard for you to progress and to get Quantum Leap made?

“Usually women were relegated to comedy, very rarely was it drama or heavy drama. It’s changed, finally, with people like Shonda Rhimes (Grey’s Anatomy, Bridgerton, Scandal). But yes, I was a true pioneer, even though I don’t have a ‘created by’ credit, it was a ‘co-created by’ show – with Don. I brought him the original concept, and we were married, and he said ‘Let me just run with this. I can get it made.’ And to his credit, he understands how to tell a story to the audience. He simplified it in a way that you could welcome Quantum Leap into the world. But it was still a tough show to sell.

“I think we went back three times to pitch it to the network. It was complicated to explain. Brandon Tartikoff [the executive] said ‘It’s a great idea – It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen on TV. Let me think about it.’ Then he asked us to come back, ‘I want you to pitch it to me like I’m six years old, then pitch it to me like I’m 80 years old’ and finally he took it. Then even after the show first aired, they decided to introduce that opening where I tell the story. That was created to explain every week to a new viewer what was going on and it worked really well.”

On rewatch now, the best part of three decades later, the show feels groundbreaking in terms of the subjects you cover. Did you feel like you were pushing the envelope?

“I feel we got to do so much on that show. I remember when I did ‘Black on White on Fire’ [S3, Ep7], the networks in the South in the United States wouldn’t air it because it was a black/white relationship. Even though there is no scene where you see a black person and a white person being intimate.

You saw Sam, who was white, and the girl who was white, but because he was playing someone who was black, it was an issue. They wouldn’t air the show in the South. This was around 1992.

“It was challenging for sure. I think we pushed the limits.

“The beauty of the show too, was that it was about hope, which I see so little of on television today. Everything’s so dark, so mean, so vicious, bloody – how many people can you kill? How mean can you make your lead characters and antiheroes. I think it’s why I didn’t work as much afterwards. A) I was a woman, and B) a black woman. There weren’t any black female executive producers that I knew of in drama. I got to do <em>The Net</em> because it had a female lead, but that was almost ten years after <em>Quantum Leap</em> was created. Any show I brought in that had a black lead was never bought, or a female lead, was never bought. 

“I remember I wrote a big action piece – like an Indiana Jones, but female-driven, feature film – and pitched it and the studio executive said, ‘Yeah, yeah, but when did the guy come and rescue her?’ And I said, ‘She doesn’t – she rescues him.’ The look on his face. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

The show darted around TV schedules, but the fans remained with it, and still to this day hold it dear to their hearts. Was that palpable at the time, or has that grown since?

“I think near the end of the first season, Harriet Margulies [Production Assistant on the show] found a chat room after an episode where people from across the country talked about it and it became the ‘watercooler.’ We were the first television show that had a chat room as a watercooler. Before that, it was literally you going into your office and standing around the watercooler and talking about movies or TV shows you were watching. Suddenly, it was online. So we started to go into the chat room and talk to people about what they liked and what they didn’t. Not necessarily telling them who we were, but that fan base is what kept us on the air because the network didn’t know what to do with us. There was no show like it, so they couldn’t like pair us with anybody.

“In the five years we were on, I think they moved the show six times and the fans still found it, they followed it, they watched it. That’s how we knew we had something unique and special. To this day, I’ll go into a meeting with a young executive who’ll go, ‘I have to tell you, I loved Quantum Leap. I used to watch it with my mom and dad’.”

Scott Bakula was such a great hero and heartthrob as Dr. Sam. What was he like to work with?

“He was so approachable, you know, in the sense that he had this great, easy acting style. He took chances and he was likeable – in a way that he could be a man’s man and a woman’s man at the same time. He’s really a brilliant actor. I am saddened by the fact that he has not had the opportunity to do movies in the way that could really have lifted his career. He’s had an incredibly successful television career. He’s a good actor. He’s a kind man. I’ve always admired him and felt like when we were working together, I had a friend that I loved to write for because he was always so giving and willing and wanting to take chances as an actor. So it was fun to go down to the trailer and say, ‘Guess what? You’re going to be pregnant this week’.

He does everything in the show from sing and dance to baseball, football, hopping over car bonnets to fights and martial arts. Did you know he had such a wide skill set from the outset, or did you write the challenges for him to rise to?

“I think we had conversations with him about that. I also knew that he had been on Broadway doing musicals. I knew he could sing and dance. When I wrote ‘Sea Bride’ [S2, Ep20], I wrote a tango number – that was unique for him. When Don knew that he could play the guitar… We asked Scott, ‘What do you want to do?’ And he said he wanted to do a musical and I think that’s how the ‘Catch a Falling Star’ episode [S2, Ep10] came about, which involves a performance of ‘Man of LaMancha’.”

Admiral Al Calavicci – he’s so much more than wisecracking and surface jokes or flirtation. There’s so much depth to his character. Was that fleshed out early on with an end to end journey for him in mind, or did his character evolve through the seasons?

“It was a little bit of both. Dean Stockwell had been on Broadway at five-years-old and had been a major child movie star. I remember when we wrote the show where Sam had the chance to save Al – ‘The Leap B4, Ep1] – he was so good in that. I’ll never forget how beautiful that was. And then in the very, very end, I love the fact that Sam did change history and Al ended up wih his beautiful wife with five kids.

“I remember once asking Dean, ‘Do you want us to write more drama for you? Big dramatic moments?’ And he said, ‘I want you to look at me right now. I want you to tell me what you see.’ And I said, ‘Well, your performance, the pain, fear and loss and all that, because you’re such an incredible actor.’ And he said ‘For me to perform that, I have to be it and live it. So don’t do too many.’ 

“He had that depth of acting talent. He is so good – Dean,  wherever you are, I love you. I miss you.”

The episodes that follow later in the seasons involving celebrities – Sam as Elvis, Dr. Ruth, or Lee Harvey Oswald, was that kind of a direction that you always foresaw? It feels like a sea change as the show progressed.

“The stories were designed, for the most part, to be so, so simple in that they were everyday stories. They weren’t change-the-world stories. I think the biggest one was Lee Harvey Oswald, and maybe the one involving Marilyn Monroe – those were with people that could have had a ripple effect.

“But there were other little kisses with history in the show, but they were very hard to do. They ran into a child version of Donald Trump in a taxi cab, [‘It’s A Wonderful Leap’ – S4, Ep18], then they ran into a little boy who is supposed to be Michael Jackson – Sam teaches him to moonwalk [‘Camikazi Kid’ – S1, Ep8]. The first time I did a kiss with history was ‘Star-Crossed’ [S1, Ep3] – Sam meets up with the woman that left him at the altar and they’re at the Watergate Hotel. That was fun stuff.”

Sam managed to awkwardly kiss lots of ladies in that sense of ‘Oh God, they’re going to kiss me and I’ve got to be this person, what am I supposed to do.’

“We never, ever really discussed what happened to Sam. We didn’t want him to be encumbered by a relationship. But I didn’t get to kiss him. My husband wouldn’t leave the set on the episode I was in!”

Your move into directing – from your TV drama Cora Unashamed back in 2000, to Grey’s Anatomy just last year. Is that something you wanted to do sooner? Were there barriers prohibiting you?

“I was supposed to direct on Quantum Leap four times. Every time it was coming up, something would happen. The only women who directed on the show were two black women – Debi Allen [Fame, Everybody Hate Chris, Jane the Virgin] and the other was a woman named Anita Addison. They each did two shows.

I said, ‘If I’m not doing this, I want black women.’ There were no other black women. And it was a fight. I tried to get black women directors on the show, but I could never get them past.

Then when I went to do The Net, the studio blocked it. I give huge amounts of credit for executive producing to Shonda Rhimes and what she has been able to do. She did what I thought I was going to be able to do. She’s so talented and I’m such a fan of her and her shows. I’m looking forward to what she’s going to do on Netflix. And it was an honour to do Grey’s Anatomy because I’m a fan of the show and I’m really grateful to have that opportunity.”

Has there been progress in terms of female directors and filmmakers being given opportunities?

“It’s very hard for women because there aren’t a lot of women executives at the studios. There are more now. And so there is an evolution that’s happening, but it still feels slow. There were shows run by people I gave opportunities to back in the day, but when I said, “hey, I want to direct on your show,” the response was, “oh, there’s too much machismo. There’s too many male hormones around here. They’ll eat you alive.” And I went, “no, they won’t, you’ll protect me. How about if I do my job?” And that was only last year. But there are more opportunities. There are more women making decisions, but we have to do more because women’s stories and women’s voices are more than half the population – we need to hear those stories. The historic ones as well as the contemporary ones.”

Is there a leap that was your favourite overall? That you feel made you made your mark with?

“’The Color of Truth’ [S1, Ep7] touched so many people and it opened a dialogue. I remember we got a letter from a teacher who said she brought the VHS in and she played it to her class, up until Jesse [Sam as an ageing black chauffeur in ’50s Deep South] goes and sits down at the counter in the restaurant. Then she stopped it and asked the students what they thought happened next. They thought that he just ordered lunch. And then she played the rest and that hostility and the animosity he endures and the fact that he had to get up and leave really incensed these children. They had never heard of or experienced racism. They didn’t want to believe that it really happened. This is how history gets buried and why television is so powerful and important. It opened a conversation that she could not have necessarily had in her classroom, according to her, had she not brought that show in to share with her students.

“We had another letter that was very moving, and I want to say it might’ve been ‘The Leap Home’ [S2, Ep1-2]. There was a couple who wrote and said they had a child that was on a cancer ward and every Thursday the whole ward would watch Quantum Leap. Their child was dying and they had kind of given up and it was just time to help that child transition out of this world. They watched the show and she said, ‘We realized we gave up hope. When we watched the show, we realized we didn’t have to give up hope and we wanted to write to you. It’s now six months later and the crisis has passed. The cancer is in remission. Our child is up and going back to school. And we just want to thank you for reminding us that hope has its own power’.”

Its power and poignancy has never diminished. Though the final episode, ‘Mirror Image’ (S5, Ep22), with the caption saying Sam doesn’t get to go home, does leave a sucker punch.

“That was our last fight. Don was going to send him home. And I said, ‘You can’t, you can’t send him home. If you ever, ever, which we’ve not ever been able to get Universal to let us do it, want to do a movie… If you want to keep the story going, you have to leave Sam out there in the hearts of people, leaving people thinking he could leap into their lives’. And at first Don said, ‘No, no, we need to bring him home’. And I said, ‘Do not bring him home. Or you will end the show. If you leave the hope out there, that Sam is out there and he could leap into your life and make a difference’. You keep the show alive in the hearts and the minds of the fans. And I think I was right.”

The ending was poetic for me as a viewer, but your point about Sam still being out there – Is there a leap back to the future for Quantum Leap?

“I started writing a project called <em>Time Child</em> about Sammy Jo Fuller. I actually wrote a trilogy in Season 5 where Sam leapt back three times into the same family and the second time he leapt he ended up in bed with this character and conceived a child. Then the third time he leapt in, he met her at 10 years old – a girl named Sammy Jo Fuller. So in my vision, Sammy Jo Fuller grows up. I actually have Al say, ‘Sammy is in the future with me. We’re trying to bring you home.’ That was my set-up way back in 1993, in Season 5, to say someday, Sammy Jo being his daughter might take over…. 

“This was the ’90s. Women heroes didn’t exist really – other than comic books – Wonder Woman was there, Super Girl was there. But I set it up in the show that Sammy Jo was going to bring him home. Sadly, I have not been able to get Don and the studio to give me the green light for Time Child. It might happen someday.”

Right now, it feels like we need more shows that offer hope. Is there a place for a reboot on streaming platforms?

“Universal keep saying they want to bring it back. They’re not going to give it up to Netflix because they have [US streaming service] Peacock now and still have NBC. I personally think it should be on a full blown network. The hard part would be that it would have to be recast if there was a female version using my character Sammy Jo Fuller. Or if they just redid the show, it would be interesting in the sense that there was such an innocence about the show. I still believe that there is an audience out there that wants it, that longs for looking at the past through the eyes of somebody in the present. But who would that person be if you did the show now, what are those eyes like? 

“We’re living in the time of COVID and suddenly you go back in time. How do you warn people that this is going to happen? How do you warn people about 9/11? How do you warn people about things in the future?

“I mean, one of the beauties of that innocence too, and I thought that was a great gift from Don to the concept, was that Sam’s memory as Swiss cheese – he didn’t remember things and that made it a lot easier, and Al was not allowed to tell him what was happening in the present. There’s a lot of detail woven into the mythology that allowed it to be innocent and in the moment of time travel. You didn’t have to drag the future back with you.”

Do you have an actress in mind to play Sammy Jo in a reboot?

“Oh my gosh, Jennifer Garner. I always felt she would be a great female Sam. She’s an ‘every woman.’ She’s funny. She does great drama. When I think of a female Sam or even Sammy Jo, I think Jennifer – in a heartbeat. She’s so great in Alias. That show just never stopped. You couldn’t take a breath. If I had to go younger, somebody that would have that kind of believable humour that you think could actually rescue you – maybe Jennifer Lawrence. She’s pretty formidable in that sense.”

“To bring Quantum Leap back. If they’re thinking about it, now’s the time to happen. Tell people to write to Universal! Write for the attention of Pearlena Igbokwe – if anyone can bring it back, she can do it. Write! Write to Pearlena – she’s the one that’ll make it happen. That’s how we stayed on the air for five and a half years. Fans unite and write!”

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (6/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9K’ish this chapter and some ‘ish is going to happen AN: Hello, hi, here are some explanations and feelings and then some more feelings and drama and stuff is going to happen, guys. Thanks for being top notch and excellent and reading all these words. I think you’re swell. 

|| Also on Ao3 or you can read all those words from the start ||

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​ @thejollyroger-writer​

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-four days and, approximately, eleven hours old when the Earth appears to lose its entire atmosphere. 

She doesn’t gasp, which is kind of disappointing. She just, kind of, sort of freezes, muscles tensing and body going taught with the tension that had been lingering just under the surface of everything since she made the one decision that changed everything. 

Someone curses. 

Emma can’t tell if it’s Ruby or Shakespeare, but there’s some kind of scuffle happening just out of the edge of her vision and there are goons in the living room she hadn’t noticed before. 

She still hasn’t moved. 

She isn’t entirely sure she can. 

Coward. 

The Darkness laughs gleefully, a sound that grates on Emma’s ears and feels a bit like nails on a chalkboard or just, actual, literal nails. He’s moving his fingers, a quick tap against each other, bouncing from one foot to the other and it’s as unnatural as it is disturbing. 

“Oh, I knew that would be good, but I never expected it to play out like that,” he says. The words rush out of him, as if he can’t say them quickly enough to keep up with whatever dance he’s doing in the middle of the rug. 

The rug has tassels on it. 

“Beautiful,” the Darkness continues. “Absolutely beautiful. Tell me, Savior, how does it feel to get that off your chest? I’d imagine it’s a relief.”

Emma exhales, another mistake, but she’s piling those up faster than she can count them at this point and the space between her and Killian feels as vast as several Grand Canyons. She turns her head slowly, not trusting herself to go any faster and he’s staring straight ahead. 

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t close his mouth. 

She can see him breathing, shoulders shaking with the effort of doing it consistently and she understands that. She assumes the oxygen levels can’t possibly be the same once the atmosphere has been compromised. 

“Although,” the Darkness says, leaning towards Emma with a very specific glint in his eyes. “It appears to be quite a shock to both of you. Thoughts, dead man?” Killian doesn’t answer him. His gaze snaps towards Emma, darker than she can remember it and that’s not right at all. 

He’s not supposed to look like that. 

He’s not supposed to feel like that. 

The buzzing in her head is barely more than an echo now. 

“Say it again,” Killian mutters, and at first Emma doesn’t understand. She’s half a second away from mumbling what under her breath, but then he’s half a step in front of her and it somehow feels even farther away. “Say it again. The truth, Emma.” Her eyes flutter closed at the sound of her own name, the pain and disappointment and absolute hurt obvious in all four letters. 

“I’m the reason Liam is dead.” “How?” The question catches her off guard, an edge to his voice that’s brand-new as well and maybe they’ve just been teleported to a different timeline entirely. That would almost make more sense. 

“I don’t—” Emma starts, but Killian’s already shaking her head and a goon groans when Ruby, presumably, kicks him in the heel. “Yeah, that’s not fair, is it?” “You’re asking me about fair? Honestly? With a goddamn demon a foot away from us?” “Oh now, I resent that,” the Darkness chides. Ruby sounds like she’s trying to actually beat several people with her Louboutins. “I’m hardly a demon.” “What the hell are you then?” “Something the world has been waiting a very long time for. But you haven’t gotten your answers yet have you? And you want them. Oh, do you. I can feel it you know, dead man. The need and the questions and the certainty that something was wrong since the start. Because you’ve always believed that haven’t you? It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong.”

The Darkness grins again – slow and reptilian, the movement snaking across his face until his entire expression looks twisted and inhuman. His eyebrows jump and twist, certainty in every shift as the lights flicker around them. 

Emma does her best to stay upright, but it’s becoming an increasingly difficult challenge. The words keep bouncing around her head, ricocheting off nerve endings and synapses and whatever else makes up the human brain. 

It’s like a scratched CD, stuck on one string of lyrics and one sentence, a few words that play on repeat and threaten to drive Emma even more insane than she already is. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

She’s been wrong since the start. 

“It didn’t make sense,” the Darkness whispers, leering at Killian with wide eyes that have suddenly taken on a distinctly yellow pallor. “Even then. Even now. He was young. He had his whole life ahead of him and she stole that from you.” Emma must make a noise because she can feel Ruby’s eyes land on her, but she’s not entirely sure what it is, just knows that it hurts every single inch of her. She wraps her arms around her middle, desperate to keep herself together in a metaphorical and literal sense. 

Killian keeps blinking. 

Like he’s trying to figure out what is and isn’t real.

“How, Swan?” 

Her breath catches when he looks at her – pleading and desperate and so impossibly blue she knows she’d never be able to forget it. He called her Swan again. 

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers. “She, um...well, she died. I went back across the street, remember? It was..it was lunch and I was soaking wet and—” “—You kept trying to spray me with the hose.” “That’s not what happened at all.” Killian doesn’t quite smile, but there’s almost an attempt and Emma appreciates that. “We were going to go ride our bikes down the hill later.” “Yeah, yeah,” she nods, and her tongue feels far too big for her mouth. “I went upstairs, to change and get the mud out from underneath my fingernails and I heard a crash and I...I got back to the kitchen and Ingrid was dead.”

“She wasn’t later, though.” “Yeah, I think you’ve already figured out how that happened.” “Did you know?” “That touching Ingrid would bring her back to life? Or that she could only stay alive for a certain amount of time? Or that when she kissed me goodnight later I’d kill her?” 

Killian’s eyes flash, another string of fairly impressive curses from the peanut gallery and, maybe, one of the goons and the Darkness is frustratingly silent. Emma drags her hand roughly over her cheek, no doubt leaving an angry red streak in her wake, but the tears have started to fall or are still falling and she’s kind of angry now. 

She’s kind of furious. 

And so goddamn alone she’s positive she reeks with it. 

“Any of those actually,” Killian mumbles. He doesn’t reach towards her, but he doesn’t back away again and Emma’s really starting to cling to these half victories. 

“No. That was—” “—That was the first time.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact and a little pitying, which is a little disappointing, but Emma barely musters up a nod of agreement so maybe she deserves the pity. 

“And you,” he whispers. “You didn’t…” “What was I supposed to say? I had no idea what had happened. It was all...everything happened so quickly. Ingrid was dead and I didn’t want her to be dead and then suddenly she wasn’t and—God, I didn’t want Liam to be dead. I wouldn’t…” Emma runs out of air, lips dry from breathing erratically through her mouth “I couldn’t do that to you,” she whispers. “Not when—” “—Not when she was so consumed with several other very important emotions,” the Darkness interrupts, a note of impatience in his voice that seems more unfair than just about anything else that’s happened in the last few minutes. 

One of the lightbulbs in the nearest decorative lamp shatters. 

“And that, of course, is the crux of our little meeting here.” Killian tilts his head. “It’s a meeting then, is it?” “Have I brought you here against your will, dead man? Have I bound you? Gagged you? Dragged through the streets kicking and screaming?” “You did kill me.” “No, no, no, that wasn’t me. That was Mr. Teach. We’ve covered that already.” “Seems a little bit like splitting hairs,” Emma grumbles, a hint of decidedly out of place sarcasm. She knows Ruby is smiling at her. 

“It’s a fact, Ms. Swan,” the Darkness corrects. “And very important to our little tale. Are you and the dead man done discussing things? Because I’d like to get to the point of all of this.” “There’s a point?” He scoffs, almost amused. “Of course there is. And it’s a very important, very sharp point that will change the course of everything.” “Why did you bring up Liam?” Killian asks. “That—Emma hadn’t told me before.” “You know it’s rather disappointing to be proved so incredibly wrong in such a short span of time. You’re quite lacking on the intelligent front. I explained that already.” The last few words come out a bit like a hiss – more reptilian jokes and puns and allusions and Emma can hear the disappointment lingering in Killian’s voice. She licks her lips again. “And you seem like you’re wasting time,” Emma challenges. “Teach said you were trying to bring someone back. Someone important to you? A kid, maybe? Where are they?” She regrets the question as soon as it’s out of her mouth. 

The Darkness doesn’t yell. Doesn’t say anything. But his eyes go impossibly dark, no color, just a vast expanse of nothing that seems to stretch out in front of Emma and she can feel the rage ripple in the air around them. 

It tastes like rotten eggs, a stench that doesn’t remind her of anything and yet somehow feels impossibly familiar, as if it’s always been lingering just on the edge of her consciousness, an almost that threatens to drag her away. 

“Don’t talk about him,” the Darkness seethes. “Not yet. Not until I explain what has to happen.” “And what has to happen, exactly?” Ruby asks, twisting against her own strand of rope and there’s suddenly a gag in her mouth. She flinches at the fabric, stuffed in between her lips, and both Emma and Killian lunge forward at the same time. 

The Darkness clicks his tongue. “No, no, none of that. I have the upper hand here. I do.” There’s a distinct lack of confidence in the sentence, like he’s convincing himself or reminding himself and the realization sends a rush of something that may almost be misplaced confidence down Emma’s spine. 

“Of course you do,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Why did you bring up Liam? And what...you keep calling me different things.” “I’m not.” Emma opens her mouth to object, but reconsiders it as soon as she sees the look on his face and the floor creaks under Killian’s feet when he shifts towards her. Her lungs appreciate that. It’s easier to breathe when he lingers in her space. 

“I’m not,” the Darkness repeats. “I’m telling you what you are. This is the start. This house and the belief it fostered in you. You’re brimming with belief, Savior.” “That’s not true.” “Ah, but isn’t it? You grew up here, trusted everything that happened here and even after it all disappeared, you remembered it, didn’t you? Knew it was true and honest and it kept you both of those things. It made you even more powerful.” Emma blinks. “I don’t—” “—I know, I know, you don’t understand and it can’t possibly be real and you couldn’t be more wrong. Haven’t you ever wondered what happened to your parents?” She stumbles over her own feet, an impressive achievement since she doesn’t really move, but it feels as if the foundations of the entire goddamn house shift underneath her. Killian’s breath is warm on her neck as soon as Emma rolls her shoulders, desperate to maintain her flimsy grip on the situation. 

“Just keep breathing, love,” he whispers. 

“Yeah, easy for you to say.” He chuckles, and Emma isn’t sure if the brush of something she feels on the curve of her shoulder is his lips or just her own misplaced and decidedly wishful thinking, but it’s nice either way and she inhales until it feels as if her lungs will burst. 

“Jokes at the end of the world, Swan? That’s impressive.” “Something, something full of surprises.” It’s definitely his lips. 

Ruby groans through her gag. 

“You know they loved you quite a bit, Savior,” the Darkness says, seemingly unperturbed by flirting at the end of the world. Emma assumes that’s not exactly how he sees it. “Your parents, that is. Fought tooth and nail to protect you.” “My parents gave me up,” Emma argues. She’s been told the story hundreds of times, heard it in every house and from every social worker, the ones she barely remembers before Ingrid and the ones that are ingrained in her memory after. 

The story never changed. It only ever seemed to get worse, more proof that she deserved everything she got and needed to push and run and the Darkness shakes his head deftly. 

He’s got that amused look in his eyes again. 

“Tell me something, Savior, what do you know of magic?” “Aside from my ability to wake the dead?” He hums, stuffing his hands in his pockets and Emma only just notices how unkempt he looks. There are wrinkles in his pants and a few tears in his jacket, a hole in his right sleeve that looks large enough to stick several fingers through. The hem of his shirt is frayed and he’s missing a button on his waistcoat. 

He’s wearing a waistcoat. 

That seems strange. 

“Yes, aside from that.” Emma shrugs. “Nothing. This is...this is the real world. Magic—” “—Oh, don’t tell me you believe magic isn’t real, Savior. Don’t insult both of us like that.” “Explain it then.” It’s more misplaced confidence – a demand Emma can’t possibly make, but it makes the Darkness laugh again and half a dozen frames fall off the wall by the staircase. Killian shifts, fingers brushing over the side of Emma’s arm and it’s selfish and greedy and absolutely, positively wrong, but she twists into. Like a selfish, greedy asshole.   “That,” the Darkness says, nodding at their hands. “That’s it.” Emma tries not to growl. It does not work. “What’s what?”

“Magic. We live in a world where magic used to fill the air. It lingered in the wind and the trees, grew out of certainty and feeling and love. It was...rampant. It was a wonderful place.” “And then?” “And then something happened. The world grew too lopsided. There needed more of a balance and magic started to grow more and more scarce. It started to change as well, a twist and a bastardization to it that shifted the very fabric of magic as itself. There was a split, Savior. Between light magic and dark, between those with power and those who understood it. And for quite some time that was acceptable.” “Who accepted it?” Emma asks, but she’s got a horrible feeling that she already knows the answer. “You? The Darkness?” “In the flesh. As they say.” “Did you twist magic yourself?” He waves a dismissive hand in the air, as if he’s almost embarrassed, but Emma can feel the surge of power and she’s certain the walls have started to shake. A few of the goons mumble something that sounds like master and power and the whole thing has taken a rather cultish turn. Killian’s fingers tighten against her sleeve. 

“How old are you?” he asks. “And how long has your son been dead?” The rest of the frames fall off the wall. A few more lights shatter and one of the chairs not currently being occupied by someone who may actually be a hostage at this point, topples over. 

Killian arches an eyebrow. “It’s been quite some time hasn’t it? That’s what Teach said. You’d been looking for something...something that would be able to bring him back. How long has it been? How many times have you been wrong?”

“Enough,” the Darkness shouts. “We’re not talking about Baelfire yet.” “Yet.” “You’ve already been dead once, I wouldn’t try to push my luck. Not when you’re standing so close to your own personal noose.” Emma hisses, the words slamming into her like shards of glass and she actually has to look down to make sure she’s not bleeding out on the rug. She assumes neither Shakespeare nor Nemo would appreciate that. 

And she’s already done a shit job of making a good first impression. 

“What happened to my parents?” she asks. “Everything I was ever told was that they were gone, gave me up and didn’t—didn’t want me. That’s...there was no one there.” The Darkness shrugs, rocking back on his heels and his confidence appears to have returned as soon as Killian tensed at his threat. He moves, circling around the room like a goddamn vulture and the death puns really need to stop. 

Emma wishes she could sit down. 

“Some of that is true,” the Darkness concedes. “But I suppose part of the reason there was no one there had to do with me. And, well, as the dead man says, I’ve been looking for something that will fix things for quite some time.” “You’re still talking in riddles.” “And you keep interrupting. Where was I? Magic changing?” 

Emma nods, and it feels absurd, a hint of normal in a conversation that is anything but. She can see Nemo trying to unknot the rope twisted around him out of the corner of her eye. She bites her lip. 

“That’s right,” the Darkness muses. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling, a forced casualness to it that Emma couldn’t possibly hate more. “The universe is big and vast and obnoxious, Savior. It has rules and regulations and power is never given to those who really, truly deserve it. There are limitations to all magic, always some kind of price that must be paid, but there was also a rumor, about a magic that was stronger than anything else. That could defy the laws and exceed expectations. That might be able to change things that otherwise ought not to be changed.” Emma’s throat is shrinking. She’s positive. “And what was that?” “Why, True Love, of course.” “That’s impossible.” “Is it?” The argument is sitting on the tip of her tongue, begging to be made. It’s there and real and rational, a hint of normal, but Emma’s never been entirely normal and she can’t bring herself to actually say anything. 

The Darkness grins. “It’s nice when I’m right.” “What does that have to do with me, though?” Emma asks. “I’m—I’ve never seen anyone else go around waking the dead or—”

“—Being the product of True Love with her own True Love, makes the power run twice over.” It’s honestly a miracle she hasn’t fallen over once during this conversation. In the grand scheme of almost victories and emotional upheavals, Emma might be most proud of that one, particular thing. Her knees feel like they’re made of granite at this point. 

“Excuse me?” she breathes, and Ruby might try and laugh at her poor attempt at polite. 

The Darkness stops walking. “What part of that was confusing?” “Well...I mean, all of it?” “Ah, this is why it would have been better to find you earlier, Savior. You’d get your answers, I’d get my boy and we’d rule the cosmos.”

Emma still doesn’t fall over. She makes the single most ridiculous noise in the history of any noise made by any living organism, but she doesn’t actually fall over. She does, however, sag slightly, a rush of oxygen and emotion and hair in her eyes. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Emma breathes, voice turning manic and she’s started looking for escape routes and windows to jump out of. 

She’s fairly certain they can’t outrun the Darkness. 

The Darkness shakes his head in frustration. They are all in desperate need of haircuts. “It’s growing incredibly difficult to spell out every single thing to all of you,” he sighs. “There was a rumor, of a magic that was going to change everything, a strength that had previously never been seen and, very likely, would never be seen again. It was a convergence of everything, a happy accident that could change the fates with a flash of her fingers. And, well, I regret to tell you, Savior that, at first, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You thought it was my parents.” “I did. That kind of love, oh—” He lets out a low whistle, shivering exaggeratedly and Emma has to bite down on both of her lips to stop herself from doing something foolish. “It was potent,” the Darkness continues. “Like a field of flowers and sunshine and all those particularly good things. Nauseating, if not useful. They loved each other and they loved you. And I believed if I was able to bottle that, then I’d be able to bring my boy back.” “It didn’t work, though.” “Obviously not,” he growls, and Emma doesn’t think she imagines how his teeth have been growing sharper every time he flashes them. “I’d never dealt in True Love before. It was intoxicating, that kind of power and the rush of what I could do. But it was also volatile and it knew that I was, well, not of the same cloth shall we say.” “You’re talking about it like it’s alive,” Killian says. The accusation in his voice is obvious and the Darkness laughs softly at it. 

“Because it is. Magic is a living, breathing entity that’s part of everyone in possession of it. The people are alive, why shouldn’t the magic be?” Emma considers that for a moment, loathe to admit that it makes more sense than just about any of the shit the guy has been spewing. She’s never been entirely sure what happened that made her this, but ever since that first moment on the other side of the street, she’s been aware of it, of the hum beneath her skin, the rush in her veins and the buzzing in her ears that roars to life every single time Killian glances her direction. 

The Darkness makes another noise of triumph. 

“Oh, this is going to work,” he says, sounding as if he’s half talking to himself again and possibly doing his best to psych himself up. “Where was I?” “You’re a shit story teller,” Killian hisses. He’s moved again, turning his back on the villain and staring at Emma with a look that’s different and the same as all the other ones, treading a line that feels impossibly important. His lips twitch slightly. 

“And you’re incredibly rude, dead man.” “Did you kill my parents?” Emma asks. She reaches out again, more instinct and want and less-than-good adjectives, but she swears she can feel the warmth radiating off Killian and he feels so goddamn alive, she’s got to make sure he’s real. 

“Not on purpose.” “I’m not sure the universe gives a fuck about that.” Emma jerks her head towards him, almost prepared for the slink of a smile that moves across his face. “I suppose you’re right,” the Darkness shrugs. “It wasn’t my intention to kill them. That would have been foolish. I wasn’t sure how any of this was going to work, why would I use my entire magic supply in one fell swoop?” Her stomach leaps into her throat as soon as the weight of those words settle into every single corner of her brain and the sob that wracks through Emma’s entire body hurts more than those metaphorical glass shards from a few minutes before. 

She can’t catch her breath, feels like she’s run several marathons and sprinted up and down the hill on the other side of town. Her vision swims in front of her, black spots appearing in her eye line and everything feels as if it’s flipped over and then being kicked for good measure. 

And it’s everything she’s always feared, the deepest, darkest worries in the deepest, darkest corners of her, the certainty that someone, eventually, would find her and keep her and make sure they wring every last bit of magic out of her, until there was nothing left, just a shall of a something that maybe belonged to someone at some point. 

“It was admittedly a little frustrating when they went and died like that,” the Darkness mutters, no trace of actual remorse in the words. 

Emma isn’t sure who tries to move quicker. 

Ruby kicks at the goon closest to her, drawing a hiss of pain out of him when it appears her heel has actually made him bleed. Her eyes are no more than slits, but the anger is practically reverberating around her, and Nemo has gotten rid of the knots twisted around his wrists with relative ease. 

He slams his right fist into the face that lunges towards him. There’s a crack of skin and skin and more yelling, something that sounds like a jaw snapping and Emma can’t stop shivering. Shakespeare doesn’t bother undoing anything. He just stands up with the chair still strapped to him, swinging it around like it’s an actual weapon and managing to take down three men twice his size in the process. 

Killian, for his part, hasn’t moved away from Emma – or turned back around to the scene that’s dissolved into absolute chaos behind him. He drags his hands over her jacket-covered arms, scrunching fabric under his fingers and she can’t blink, can’t look away or breathe or do anything except tilt her head up and try and remember that there's something good and something to believe in and it’s not the right moment, is the absolute worst moment, but there might not be another moment and—

“I love you,” Emma whispers, barely loud enough to hear herself. She knows Killian does. 

The force of his smile is so strong she swears it settles into the pit of her stomach and the base of her heels, a weight that doesn’t threaten to yank her down, but steadies her and calms her and his grip on her arms tightens slightly. 

Like he’s making sure she’s there too. 

Killian’s eyes flutter, Emma’s nails digging into her palms again to stop herself from tracing her thumb over the scar on his cheek. He doesn’t sigh, but he might exhale, letting go of something that might just be everything and—

“Thank God,” he mutters. “I love you. I can’t...I can’t remember when I didn’t.” Emma’s relief is wrong. It’s out of place and ill-timed, but that could probably be the subhead of her life at this point and she needed him to know. 

At least once. 

And she doesn’t realize at first, can’t hear anything over the rush of magic and belief, but then Ruby yells her name and some goon slams his foot into her stomach and everything that might have been good suddenly comes crashing down. 

Literally. 

Another lamp falls over 

“I’d hate to interrupt and I really do loathe rehashing plot points, but I do love being right,” the Darkness says, slow and measured and so victorious Emma is certain it will be the reason she can’t ever get the goosebumps off her arms. “Now, none of you are going to try that again are you?” he asks, glancing back over his shoulder at the re-tied rope and upright chairs. 

There are tears on Ruby’s cheeks. 

“I’d hate to have to take steps,” the Darkness adds. “Savior, please tell your friends not to distract me again.” Emma swallows back the lump of emotion sitting in the middle of her throat. She tries to take a step towards Ruby, but two different goons move into her space and they must be multiplying somewhere. Maybe they’re actually clones. 

Magic clones make sense at this point. 

“It’s ok,” she whispers, a lie that makes even more tears spring to her eyes. She must be close to setting a record. “It’s...we’re going to be ok.” The Darkness hums in agreement. “There, now that that’s settled. Let’s get back to the task. True Love, dead parents, a missing baby who just...disappeared as soon as I turned my back.” “What?” 

“I genuinely do not know how to make that any clearer.” “Your magic, love,” Killian mumbles. “You must have...have you ever teleported before?”

She gapes at him. “Are you serious?” “I have no idea, at this point.”

“It’s entirely possible that you did,” the Darkness says. He’s stopped walking, perched instead on the top of the slightly ornate couch in the corner of the room. Every kick of his legs out makes Emma grit her teeth. “As I said, your magic is quite a bit different than mine. It might not have appreciated being, well, targeted like that. Although it did set us on this path now.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “And what path is that?” “I need your magic, Savior. The same magic that was prophesied as the strongest of any magic the world has ever seen. You see, it’s taken a very long time to make sure that that happened, but your little display with the dead man helps explain it.” “Why did Killian have to die? That’s...that’s the one part I can’t figure out.” “That’s the one part you can’t figure out?” Killian mutters, grunting slightly when Emma steps on his foot. His grin is absurd. It makes it easier to breathe. 

God. 

“You met Cora again recently, yes?” the Darkness asks, Emma nodding before he’s finished the question. “Then you know that our former Madam Mayor had quite a talent. She could see what people wanted and was particularly good at discerning those with other abilities. I’d almost given up on finding you, Savior. I’d been searching for so long and, well, it’s not as if True Love happens every day. In fact, your parents are the last case I’ve found until today.” Emma’s knees finally give up. 

She crashes to the ground in a heap, a twist of limbs and Killian’s distinct inability to hold onto her when she moves. The tears on her cheeks feel as if they’re burning their way down her skin.

Killian’s head snaps towards her, eyes wide and that same pleading look from before. As if he’s desperate for more confirmation or more magic and Emma is loath to realize she can’t bring herself to produce either.  

She feels drained and exhausted and the Darkness is still talking. 

“Is that surprising?” he asks lightly, another leg kick that ends with his boot ripping the back of the couch. “I’m honestly a little disappointed in myself that I didn’t realize from the very beginning. As soon as I got to this charming little hamlet, it was obvious. The feel of it. It hangs here, like a blanket. But, as they say, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself and, well, I trusted Cora. That was foolish of me.” “Is that why you killed her?” Emma rasps, voice scratching its way out of her. 

The Darkness quirks his lips. “It was certainly part of the reason. A large part. Cora was positive that Mr. Jones had magic. She told me he was desperate to leave this life behind, couldn’t stand to be holed up in this house for a moment long and, oh—” He glances at the stunned expressions on Nemo and Shakespeare’s faces, another smile and press of his tongue against his cheek. It’s disarming, the confidence there and the evil that makes the word evil seem less absurd in context. 

“Touchy subject, isn’t it?” Killian can’t seem to decide where to move. He wobbles on his feet, jerking between Emma, still on the floor, and his uncles, still tied up in their own goddamn chairs. His hand shakes when he reaches up to tug on his hair. 

“That’s not,” he starts, but the rest of the sentence gets caught in his mouth. “I’m so sorry.” “Can I get back to my story?” the Darkness asks lightly, and Emma doesn’t think before she reacts. She throws her hand out, swiping it through air that suddenly feels a bit like soup and the rush that flashes through her veins is as overwhelming as it is intoxicating. 

She’s got no idea what she’s trying to accomplish, only knows that she has to do something, anything, and Killian’s strangled Emma as soon as it happens seems to slink down her spine. Right next to the promises and the guarantees and that one, particular smile. 

Emma’s never actually seen a body fly across a living room that’s decorated well enough to belong in several different magazines and someone gasps when the Darkness slams into the far wall. It might be her. She might gasp. 

The Darkness laughs. 

Loudly. 

He stays down for a moment, shoulders shaking until he lifts himself up, sitting cross legged on the floor with his chin resting on his fingers. It’s ridiculous. 

“Power,” he says simply. “And it was never the dead man’s.” “Explain that,” Emma demands. She doesn’t remember standing, but her knees crack with the effort of it and there’s sweat pooling at the base of her spine. 

“Cora was wrong. Well, not entirely wrong, but not entirely right. You’ve always had magic, Savior. The power of your parent's True Love passed onto you. And that would have made you a valuable ally. But then you ended up here, in this town and in that house, with this very specific house across the street. 

“You grew up and you believed and you trusted and you fell in love didn’t you? You didn’t know what that would mean, but you were only a child, so I suppose it’s an acceptable naiveté. It festered in you and grew, every single time you were here and every single time you promised. That’s why it’s stronger in some places than others in this town. This house, the hill—oh, it’s rife with magic, that sort of thing always leaves a mark behind.” “You’re avoiding the answer,” Emma accuses. Her fingers twist at her side, something that feels like actual sparks shooting out the ends. 

The Darkness shakes his head. “I’m prefacing. There’s a difference. I’d hate for the dead man to accuse me of pitiful storytelling again. Your magic grew here, Savior and it latched onto the subject of your own True Love. That’s what Cora felt. That exchange and that want. It took root in him, even after you were gone.

“She believed that the dead man could do a job for me. Use his magic to help me retrieve a water that would bring my boy back. I needed magic to transport that water, and then if it didn’t work, I had his True Love power. Of course none of that was true, and the dead man was a stubborn fool.”

Emma sighs again, not sure where to look. She hates that it makes sense. She hates that she wants it to make sense even more, but she’s been on some kind of greedy kick over the last few days and a mythical, magical connection with Killian would almost be reassuring. 

The floor creaks when he moves. 

“Something about the sun, probably,” he mutters, and Emma’s laugh isn’t really that. It’s an exhale of disbelief and the absolute opposite of that. 

“Orbiting or whatever.” “It’s really not helping my non-stalker claim.” “Yeah, I’m kind of almost ok with that.” “That’s good news.” They really are very good at flirting at the most inopportune times. And the Darkness is standing up again, moving across the room with measured steps and a hint of magic that casts a shadow on the edge of Emma’s vision. 

“He’s a bit like a puppy dog, isn’t he?” the Darkness asks, and Emma doesn’t miss the acid there. He may be right and True Love may be a real thing that can alter the fate of the cosmos, but the villain of the story is very clearly starting to grow impatient with all of them. “Following you around as easily as if there’s a leash there. Doesn’t that bother you, dead man? It’s made all of this almost too easy.”

Emma lowers her brows in confusion, startled by the distinct lack of consistency in this conversation. Killian flinches, grimacing in something that might be pain. 

Of the excruciating variety. 

“Hey, hey,” Emma says, already drifting dangerously close to desperation. “What’s happening right now? Hey, look at me.” She can see every one of his teeth when he shifts his head, the cords of his neck standing out and the pinch of his forehead will probably last weeks. 

Emma hopes they have weeks. She’s suddenly not so sure. 

“C’mon, look at me,” Emma presses. She rests her hands on his chest, pulse racing under like it’s trying to prove a point. 

He might shake his head, but it’s difficult to tell, everything coming to some kind of metaphorical head and the Darkness is frustratingly silent. Emma’s eyes drag across his face, trying to find something or a clue and she can’t believe she just thought the word clue, even in her head. 

She gasps when Killian moves, wrapping his fingers around the end of his left arm and Emma wishes she’d stop just realizing things. 

It’s jarring. 

Particularly when the villain of the story has stopped being silent and started laughing again and he’s definitely taken lessons from comic books. 

“Magic,” Emma mumbles. Killian still hasn’t opened his eyes. And the Darkness is getting stronger – metaphorically and literally and it’s hard to see her own hand on Killian’s shirt. 

“Leaves a mark,” the Darkness says. His skin glitters in the shadows, a hint of light that doesn’t do much to help the twist of Emma’s internal organs. “I’d imagine feeling the loss of one’s hand when one isn’t, in fact, dead would be rather traumatic.”

He moves his eyebrows, letting them fly up towards his hairline and Emma has no idea what to do next. Her own magic feels like it’s fizzling out in her right foot. “What say you, dead man?” the Darkness continues. “Does it hurt a little bit?” There’s a muffled groan, but Emma isn’t sure if it comes from Killian or one of his uncles and she has to lean back when his head drops forward. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Emma chants. She also wishes she could stop lying. “Just look at me. I’m right here. You’re fine.” She casts a glance towards Ruby, not sure what she’s looking for but the edge Emma suddenly finds herself perched on feels perilously steep. Ruby does her best to mumble something against the gag, jerking her shoulders and twisting her head until the fabric falls to her chin. 

She’s definitely kicked another goon in the process. 

“God, shit, fuck,” Ruby hisses, and Shakespeare may actually snicker. “Why’d you cut off his goddamn hand? Jeez, Em, the question is obvious.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’ve been a little busy.” “Yeah, yeah, sure. Hey, over here, Dark One—” “—You know, I do have a name,” the Darkness quips, easy as ever, but Emma is far too busy trying to avoid as much of Killian as she can to be bothered with it. 

“Yeah, I genuinely do not care. Why’d you have to cut off his hand? Wasn’t he already dead?”

“Oh yes, exceedingly dead. Six feet under, metaphorically speaking. As dead as a doornail. One foot in the grave. Several other clichés. But I needed to know why Cora was wrong. I could feel it you know, when I saw him, the magic—” “—Wait, you felt it?” Emma snaps. The Darkness smirks at her. 

“I wouldn’t have trusted Mr. Teach with a task quite that critical. After all, the water was gone and I still wasn’t sure where to find you, Savior. But then Mr. Teach summoned me and what did I find? A man with True Love magic practically percolating off him and, well, True Love has to work both ways, doesn’t it? So I took a little souvenir. It’s been a rather expansive plan, dearie, I’d think you’d almost be impressed.”

“Only if you explain it.” The Darkness’ eyes, well...darken, and Emma can feel her own magic react to that, a pleasant return, although the power she can tell is simmering in the pit of her stomach isn’t particularly good. It’s anger and something drifting closer to hatred and she wants to do something, wants to destroy and ruin and— “Emma,” Killian breathes. He’s still bent awkwardly in front of her, hair hanging in the minimal space between them, and his voice is barely that, but his fingers reach for her and that may be something. 

Or everything. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to...we’re going to figure it out, babe. It’s going to be fine.”

He makes a noise at the endearment that she absolutely, positively was not planning on saying, although, to be fair, she also wasn’t planning on telling him she loved him, so Emma can’t be all too frustrated with her own subconscious. It felt kind of nice to say anyway. 

“Don’t,” he says, a contradiction she doesn’t entirely understand. “Please.” Oh. She understands. 

And the shadows on the floor are getting longer – she’s positive. 

“I’m not leaving,” Emma promises. “Right here. I’m staying right here. No more running. I wouldn't. Not...we’re going to be ok, right?”

She means it as a confirmation, but it sounds like she’s double checking too. Killian grimaces. HIs hair is matted to his forehead, moisture on his cheeks that may be sweat or tears and Emma’s fingers tingle. 

“It hurts.” “I know it does. I know. I…” Emma’s head snaps around, trying to find something, anything, that will help but the Darkness is back on the couch and the goons are moving closer to them and she’s only like sixty-seven percent positive Ruby is trying to untie Nemo. 

Killian cries out, a flash of pain that Emma feels in every inch of her. His eyes fly open, not quite clear and not quite looking at her and something is very, very, inextricably wrong. 

He stumbles, wobbling on his feet as his knees buckle under him and Emma takes another step back, twisting her arms behind her. One of his uncles tries to move, but there are more punches thrown and Ruby’s heels should be marked as their own brand of weaponry and the tears on Killian’s cheeks feel as if they’re branding themselves on Emma’s soul. 

“What the hell is happening right now?” she demands. 

The Darkness giggles. Honestly. It’s a giggle and it’s horrible and horrendous and some other words that starts with the letter ‘h.’ 

Hopping off the couch, his feet barely making any noise on the carpet. They’re going to have to buy a new carpet. This one is probably marked or something now. 

And the shadows have started creeping up the wall. 

Emma can hear her pulse hammering in her ears as the Darkness moves towards her, slow measured steps that don’t match up to the sneer on his face. She ignores that for a moment, dropping to her knees instead to try and work her way back into Killian’s eye line. She can’t – his head is pressed against the floor, body taut with tension and an impossibly straight spine, a few noises every other second that sound like complete and utter agony. 

“It’s not real,” Emma says, another lie or promise she can’t keep and she doesn’t mean to gasp when he looks up at her. 

The expression there doesn’t make any sense. It’s not hatred, it’s more, the opposite of everything she’d felt during impossibly out-of-place declarations. The blue in his eyes has turned nearly black, everything a hint darker than it was a moment before. 

“You left.” Emma swallows, terror climbing up every one of her vertebrae and taking root at the base of her spine. Her eyes are ridiculously dry. It’s probably because she can’t remember the last time she actually blinked. 

“You left,” Killian says again, voice not quite as gruff as it had been. “You left. You said you wouldn’t and you did. You never came back.” “Killian, I…” “No, no, no, you left. You said you’d come back and you never did and then it was too late and everything got so quiet. It all stopped. Like I stopped. Just...drifting on waves.” Emma’s breath is coming in pants, not doing much to help the sting in her lungs and the possible crack forming in her heart. There are still tears on Killian’s face, falling over skin and into the scruff of a beard that’s become almost familiar and oddly comforting in the last few days. 

God, she wants to touch him. 

She wants to kiss him and fix this and stop whatever the hell is causing that look on his face. 

Like he hates her. 

Like he knows she’s wrong. 

“It got so quiet,” he whispers. “It was...I knew it was wrong and I...it was too late and I…” Killian trails off, face contorted in pain again. Emma’s hand darts out, a mistake and an instinct and those two words don’t seem like they should go together. 

The Darkness clicks his tongue. 

“I think,” he starts slowly, feet moving in front of Emma’s outstretched fingers, “what the dead man is trying to say is that he thought of you in his final moments. Isn’t that interesting? Some would almost say romantic.”

She doesn’t stand up easily, which is a little frustrating because Emma assumes the hero of the story should be able to support her own weight, literally and metaphorically, but she eventually gets back to her feet, rolling her shoulders and shaking her hair onto her back. 

It’s fake confidence, a mask and another, slightly more necessary, lie. And she knows she’s not fooling anyone, but she doesn’t have another plan and—

“Why’d you take his hand?” The Darkness laughs. “I needed it.” “Why?” “Several reasons. The first, and most important, was to find you. As I said, I could practically taste that magic. Sweet on my tongue as soon as I set foot on that deck. It almost made the blood less obvious.”

Emma bites on her lip to stop herself from making any noise – and the peanut gallery is doing enough of that anyway, low curses and louder grunts and Ruby’s taken one of her heels off, swatting at goon hard enough that it will definitely leave a mark. 

“There was quite a lot of blood, Savior,” the Darkness adds, nodding towards her like he wants to make sure she’s still a rapt audience. “Did you know that True Love magic has a tendency to focus itself in certain locations?” Emma shakes her head. She thinks she shakes her head. She’s not entirely sure how she’s still standing. “It does,” the Darkness guarantees. “Settles into something that’s of relative importance to the person. Of course, that’s usually the heart, but occasionally, it’s something else.” “And I couldn't take the dead man’s heart. People knew he’d left Storybrooke. He still had a family and Cora...oh Cora. She’d made so many mistakes, she severely limited my options. Luckily for her, there was another spot that felt particularly magical, maybe even more than the heart. I was pleasantly surprised.”

Emma falls over. 

It’s disappointing. 

So I can hold your hand. 

“His hand,” she mumbles, and the Darkness honest to God winks at her. 

“His hand. Chock full of magic. To an almost absurd degree. I knew that it would lead me to the true source of the True Love magic and, well, I’ll be blunt with you Savior, I had hoped it would lead me to you. Because, still being blunt of course, holding your True Love’s hand may be your greatest undoing.” Emma is never sure what happens next. She can feel the surge of something wash over her, a snap of fingers and rush of power and every single light on the entire goddamn street goes out. 

Killian screams. 

It feels a bit like being thrown into boiling pitch, every single one of Emma’s nerve endings jolting under her skin until she’s certain she’s being ripped apart at the seams and nothing has ever felt worse. Her head is on a swivel, looking for an ally or a friend or those people from her dream that she’s fairly certain she understands now, but there’s only darkness and a hint of laughter that lingers on the edge of everything. 

She crawls forward, trying not to get too close to Killian while also getting close to Killian. 

His whole body is shaking, vibrating with pain and the distinct feeling of being alone and trapped in that house for the rest of his life. 

“Killian,” Emma breathes, but he doesn’t look at her. She’s not sure he even realizes she’s there. “Killian, please! I’m...here. I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t real. None of it is real.” “Ah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that Savior,” the Darkness contends. “Because, you see, having that little bit of the dead man in my possession has made it very easy to get, well, forgive the pun, but to get a hand on that same dead man. He’s not magic. He’s been holding onto it, trying to remember and linger in it, a hint of a memory I’m certain was very comforting in his final moments. Did you think of her when you died, dead man?” The question hangs for a moment and Emma can’t hear Killian breathing. Until she hears him speaking. “That was…” he mutters, every letter an obvious pain, “all...that was all…” “That’s what I thought,” the Darkness says. “Would you look at that, Savior? You’re right smack dab in the middle of both of the dead man’s worst moments. Losing his brother and losing himself. And now I’ve got that as well. Right in the palm of my hand. Or his hand? Ah, the specifics don’t matter.” “Speak goddamn English,” Emma shouts. 

The smile disappears. Any sense of polite disappears. And Emma sees the Darkness for what he is, just that. The villain of the story and a man who’d stop at nothing for his magic and his power and the chance to have what he’d already lost. 

“I can control him,” he says softly. “Twist those feelings, that hint of magic to my own being. That’s why he had to know what you’d done to his brother. To clear your heart and purify your magic and make him absolutely, completely mine. Because you see, Savior, True Love is a two-way street, but I’ve just washed out his side of the road. You’ll still feel it, and he’ll have wisps of it, when I let him. So you’ve got one option now. Help me, bring back my son and, occasionally, I’ll let your dead man remember you.” “Or?” “Or, I’ll spend the rest of eternity making him live this moment on loop. And I’ll take you without your permission.”

Emma scoffs. It’s ridiculous. Although she isn’t certain she’s ever been more pissed off, genuinely and completely furious, the kind that burns straight through her and lingers in her toes, so she figures it kind of, almost makes sense.

“Fuck you,” she sneers, gaze snapping back towards Killian. He can’t look at her. Emma licks her lips, mind racing and heart racing and the magic she’s apparently full of feels as if it’s crackling between every strand of her hair. “Killian,” she says, softer that time and she’s got half an idea that may work. “How often did you go to the hill? After, I mean. When it was...when you were a kid, after me, and after I left. Did you go to the hill a lot?” He winces. 

It’s honestly not the response she was hoping for. 

“There’s got to be something good, Killian,” Emma presses. The floor creaks underneath the Darkness’ feet. She assumes that’s a sign. This might work. “Some memory or some moment. It wasn’t all bad, was it?” He can barely shake his head, eyes screwed shut in pain, but his hair shifts slightly against his forehead and Emma’s laugh rattles out of her. “No,” he breathes. “It wasn’t.” “He went up there all the time,” another voice adds, and Emma looks up to find Nemo's eyes serious and gaze intent as Ruby tries to work the gag away from his chin. “Every other day at least. If we couldn’t find him, he was there.” “Yeah?” Nemo nods. “He’s got a picture of you. Stuck in the back drawer of his dresser. I know—I know he doesn’t think we realize it’s there, but, well...we knew it was there. The whole time. You’re young and you—you’re holding—” “—A stuffed animal,” Emma mutters, another nod from Nemo. 

“I won it,” Killian adds. His voice is still questionably soft, as if it’s a struggle to even open his mouth. “It was one of those fair games. Knock over the milk bottles and win a prize.” “But I thought it was fixed.” “Yelled at the guy until you turned beet red.” “I did not,” Emma argues, and she can’t believe she’s arguing with a man who’s already died and feels like he’s dying and the Darkness sounds like it’s suffocating behind her. She can see Killian’s eyes a little clearer. They’re the right shade of blue. 

He shakes his head, half a smirk and all her smile. “No, Swan. You yelled and shouted and called him a downright dirty liar and you stomped your foot.” “Yeah, that might be true.” “And he gave me another round for free.” “So you could win me a stuffed duck with a lopsided bill.” “Ah, not everything is perfect.” “It felt like it was.” Killian hums – a sound that quickly turns back into pain and Emma’s breath hitches loudly. “You still left though,” he whispers. “I never—Liam was gone and no one could ever tell me and—” “I kept those pictures too,” Emma interrupts, and the light that flares around them is practically blinding. “The duck was...I think the duck got lost somewhere between Florida and Minnesota and a string of houses, but I kept those pictures and they’re—they’re in my room. Now. I always wanted to come back. For you. Because—” She doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Eventually that will frustrate her quite a bit. Eventually that will feel like the single worst thing to ever happen to her. 

The Darkness doesn’t scream. He doesn’t roar. There’s not much more than a low growl in the back of his throat, but Emma isn’t sure she’s ever heard a more threatening noise and his eyes look almost yellow when she turns towards him. 

Not entirely of her own free will. 

She almost misses the snap of fingers, any hint of light from her or the power of True Love of whatever gone in an instant and there’s a bottle of something in his hand. It’s liquid, that much she can make out, inky black and sloshing against the side of a glass vial that looks like it came straight out of an 18th century apothecary. 

It honestly may have. Emma has no idea how old the Darkness is. 

“I’ve had enough of this,” the Darkness says, deceptively even. “You’ve clearly picked the wrong option, Savior. I’d rather not spend much more time fighting against you and that stubborn streak of yours. Luckily,” he shakes the vial and Emma swears her blood runs cold, “I’ve got enough of this to keep you on your own leash for quite some time.”

He tosses the cork carelessly over his shoulder, suddenly in front of Emma and she kind of resents that everything seems to slow. 

It makes it far too obvious that Killian is also moving. 

And that there is not a single glove in sight. 

Emma shakes her head dumbly, a mumbled no that barely makes it past her lips and if Killian is certain her hair is capable of reflecting the sun, then she can come up with some equally sentimental nonsense about his eyes – something about the ocean and waves and the suddenly peaceful moments after a storm has cleared. 

“No,” Emma murmurs again, the lump in her throat too large. Her heart feels like it’s about to explode. “Don’t, don’t—” “You came back, Swan,” Killian says. He smiles at her. And wraps his fingers around hers, jerking her closer to his side when the Darkness flips the vial of something towards Emma. 

Or where Emma was. 

The liquid misses her completely, body flat against Killian’s chest. She doesn’t move at first, can’t bring herself to know what is already there, but someone screams and she’s fairly certain it’s Ruby. 

Emma digs her teeth into her lip, and he’s already colder than she expected, but he’s also just as solid and certain as she always imagined he’d be and his eyes are closed when she sits up.

“Killian,” she whispers, dragging the tips of her fingers over the curve of his cheek. He doesn’t move. He won’t. Because Killian Jones is dead – and that’s not going to change. 

[killiansprincss]

Never Forget You Ch.10

Summary: Season 6A Canon Divergence.

Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule.

Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Also on A03

CHAPTER TEN

Henry Mills was sick of Neverland. He wants to go home more than anything. So when Killian said he wanted to meet him, and then Emma somehow magically contacted him, all the pieces just fell into place.

And now Killian Jones was standing just a few feet away from Emma Swan and the entire Charming family for the first time in 25 years.

“Swan”

“Killian!”

Killian takes a look at Emma and the little brother he had met a few hours ago.

Emma looks the same as she did before she was cursed. A little more polished and not a strong lost girl in her eyes anymore. But it was still his Emma. Then he looks to David and Snow, who look a lot more mature than he remembered them.

“David. Lady Snow. Dave, you look..” Killian begins.

“If you say old, I will cut off your other hand.” David cuts him off leaving a smile on Killians face.

“It’s good to see you.” He settles on saying, still in awe that they were all here.

“Uncle Neal, come upstairs with me, I wanna hear about the uncle I never got to know” Henry says sensing the tension between his mother and Killian, gesturing for his grandparents to follow to leave the two alone.

“Swan. It's really you?” Kilian asks, still scared it’s some cruel trick.

Emma nods, trying to stop herself from tearing up. “It’s me. I’m really here.”

“You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this day.” Emma thinks he’s going to come over and kiss her, or wrap his arms around her. But he doesn't.

“Killian. I missed you so much.” Emma tells him, taking a few steps closer.

Killian takes a step back. “I can’t. This. I thought it would just be Henry. I didn't expect to see you here.”

Emma understands he’s hurt and confused, but that doesn’t mean seeing him back away from her hurts her any less.

“Henry told me everything. I know about the fairies and why it’s hard to leave the island. But we can figure it out together. Like we always do.” She tells him, slowly taking a step towards him. “We took down the Snow Queen together, we defeated Pan together, and we defeated our darkness together. Hell we even went back in time and made sure my parents met each other, we did all that together! And now, I’m here and we will do whatever it takes to take down that fairy bitch and go home. Have the future we always planned.”

She takes another step towards him and takes his handed hook in hers. They were so close they could hear each other's heartbeats.

“Killian I missed you so much.” Emma tells him, wanting nothing more than to feel the taste of his lips on hers.

“Swan. My years on this blasted Island have been the worst years of my life. But I can’t go back with you. If you take the boy, you’ll stand a chance of escaping. It’s not in my fate that I return.” Killian says despite how much it hurts.

Emma just shakes her head. “No. I can’t accept that. There is no way I am leaving this Island without you. To hell with what you think about fate, I know that is not what fate has in store for us. Zeus brought you back for a reason, okay. He would not have brought you back just so you can be in the place that makes you feel like you’re the worst person in the world.”

Killian can barely look at Emma. “You wouldn’t want me anyways. After all I’ve done. I’m not the man you deserve.”

Emma wants to laugh, “Are you being serious right now? After all we’ve been through? I made you a Dark One because I didn’t want to risk the possibility of losing you. I did lose you, twice! I came down to the Underworld to save you! And then I lost you, and that broke me. I didn’t know how I was going to survive without you, but then by a literal miracle, you came back to me! And then we were slowly planning our future together. And then I was cursed. I understand how you feel, but think about how I feel. I woke up one day with two lives in my head, not like my parents; their lives were mostly based on false memories.”

Emma takes another step towards Killian who tried to walk away. “I was having visions for years. I kept seeing this tall dark haired stranger with blue eyes. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was seeing you. I saw our moments together. I saw you because you’re my soulmate Killian my true love. If you don’t want to come back to Storybrooke with me, then that’s on you. Not me.”

“I need some air.” She says as Killian doesn't respond and goes outside.

_______________

“You doing okay kiddo?”

Emma looks up to see her father coming down the ladder, plopping himself onto the ground beside her.

“Let me guess, you heard our argument?” She asks, slightly embarrassed.

David chuckles, “walls in Neverland aren’t exactly thick like in Storybrooke. You want to talk about it?”

“What was it like?” She asks, “when you woke up from your curse? When you realised you had 2 lives in your head.”  

“Well I can’t say I know what you’re going through seeing as I was in a coma for 28 years til you finally showed up.” He says causing them both to chuckle. “But I think I know where you’re coming from, I remember you telling Alex a few times that you were seeing your soulmate in your dreams, I assumed it was Hook you were seeing. It’s like when I was cursed, I knew I was married to Kathryn and we had a life together, but anytime I saw your mother I saw visions of her, of us, in the Enchanted Forest, and I didn’t know what I was seeing, but I knew it meant something, which is why I kept going after her. Though I remember you trying to stop me!”

“Hey don’t blame me! You sent me through the wardrobe, how was I supposed to know my 10 year old sons fantasies about you two being my parents was real!” Emma says laughing. This was exactly what her father did, he would make her laugh to forget about her problems. “But did you feel bad, at all? About the things you said and did when you were cursed, how did you manage it?”

“Ah so this is what it’s about. You feel guilty that you grew up loved with your brother, whilst Killian and Henry suffered.” David says stroking his daughters hair, the way he always did to calm her down in the past.

“Yeah that and also I don’t know how to deal with these two lives. It’s not like when me and Henry were in New York, those were all false memories. I was an orphan, I know I remember that, but then I also remember my life where you raised me and I was surrounded by love.” Emma was feeling so lost since waking up, and she didn’t exactly know what the plan now was.

“Well, I know that after we broke the curse, I went to Kathryn and she felt the same, guilt over something we couldn’t control. But with you, you were in control of your life with us, you made friends and bonds on your own, you need to realise that your friendship with Alex and Phillip, that is still real. But Henry and Killian are also real, they didn’t forget you. It’s been a traumatic 25 years for them, give it time and we can figure out a plan on how to defeat the fairies of this realm.”

“And what do I do about Killian?” She finally asks.

“Give him space. He knows how much he loves you, it’s clearly been hard on him. True Love never fails, always remember that.” He whispers, and Emma knows he’s right. Love always wins.

_____________

Henry was eager to get home to Storybrooke, but he was aware 25 years had passed since he was last there and wanted to know how it had changed, and if it was finally safe.

“Wait so you and my mom have matching scars because of a sword fight?” Henry asks his uncle, fascinated to know all about him.

Neal nods, “oh yeah, mom and dad were not happy. I accidentally cut her first and she started bleeding, so she begged me to let her cut me so we’d be matching and they’d be less likely to be angry.”

Henry’s smile is animated, he loved hearing stories like this. “We’re they less angry?”

Neal looks to his mother. “No. I believe you were both grounded for 2 weeks, and swords were locked up. Though I believe your grandpa, Henry gave in and gave them sword fighting lessons whilst I was at work.”

Henry smiles, he remembers when his grandpa gave him lessons, and Killian too. “Awesome! Now I’ve got a cool uncle to teach me how to sword fight too!”

“What else do you want to know? I’m enjoying getting to know the nephew I had no idea I had!” Neal asks. He was similar to Henry in the way he just accepted the fact he had a nephew and was eager to learn all there was about him.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Henry asks.

Neal does a silent chuckle, of course this is what he wanted to know. “I do. Her name is Thalia, I’ve known her since I was younger and we were rivals during High School, we hated each other, but it was after we’d graduated we realised maybe we don’t hate one another.”

“Sounds like my Mom and Killian.” Henry says looking down at them arguing. They’ll resolve whatever issue they have going on soon enough, they would never stay mad long.

“I’ll tell you about Thalia, if you tell me about Killian-he’s so cool!” Neal whispers to his nephew.

Henry grins. “Deal.

*****

“Thalia Cameron , you’re late .” Mrs. Groves, their History of the Enchanted Forest teacher, said as she saw Thalia tried to sneak in at the back of the class.

Thalia sighs. “I’m so sorry Mrs.Groves, I was working the breakfast shift at Granny’s and I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

Mrs. Groves walks over to her desk and hands her back her paper. “Maybe you should be focusing on your studies instead of your work. I expected better of you.”

Thalia rolls her eyes and turns her paper over. 67 out of 100. That was her worst score in a while. She wanted to do well in this class, she loved learning about where she came from and how Storybrooke was never meant to exist-but unlike most of the other kids in this class, her father didn’t have the greatest respect for Storybrooke or the Enchanted Forest.

“Hey don’t worry about it, she’s in a bad mood today. And that quiz was so hard, I only got a 73.” Neal Nolan whispers to her.

“Thanks Charming.” She smiles back.

God dammit Neal Nolan. Son of the Charmings, son of the family her father hates most.

Thalia’s father was a knight of King George, who was in charge of finding Prince James’, David, or Prince Charming as his kingdom came to call him. Thalia's father swore his allegiance to King George, and therefore hated the shepherd in disguise. Growing up she was taught to hate his family.

She was raised by her father and never knew her mother. All she knew was that her father was married to a woman in his cursed life, and when time started to move again but their memories had not returned, her mother fell pregnant. But then the curse broke and her mother abandoned her father and went back to her real husband. Thalia was born in the Enchanted Forest and when everyone was cursed again, baby Thalia turned up on her father's doorstep and was told it was his problem.  

Thalia's father hated what this curse had given him, and so he raised Thalia but he didn’t love her. Thalia was a reminder that he was much happier cursed, at least he had someone who loved him.

That evening Thalia was working at Granny’s again, a double shift. She wanted to work so she could save enough money and move out when she graduated High School. She loved this town, despite her father, and loved its quirks and magical mishaps.

Although she groans when she sees the Charming Family on table 7, her section. She better get good tips.

“Hi guys, what can I get for you?” She asks as she approaches their booth.

She can see Neal grinning as she takes out her notepad.

“What specials do you have?”  He asks with a cocky smile.

Thalia rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be a dick Neal, she’s just trying to work.” Emma, his sister tells him, causing him to roll his eyes.

She liked Emma, she was always really nice when she served her, she was so different from her brother.

“2 cheeseburgers, 2 grilled cheese with 2 potions of onion rings and 2 portions of fries please Thalia.” David, the prince tells her. Despite what her father told her growing up, he didn’t seem all that bad.

As she’s clearing up their table, Neal lingers. “You know I can lend you my Enchanted Forest History notes if you like.”

She looks perplexed. “What’s the catch Charming?”

Neal shrugs, “no catch. Just thought you’d need them, if you’re working here a lot and you’re getting good grades again it’ll get Mrs. Groves off your back. And then we can go back to competing on who can get the highest mark.”

Thalia smiles, “thanks, that would be great. And don’t worry I’ll be sure to whoop your ass on the next quiz.”

——

Neal's biggest regret was not having the courage to ask Thalia to Prom. They had always been rivals, but their senior year was different, they were being nice to each other and Neal hated to admit but he thinks he has feelings for her.

He ended up going alone, Robin took Alex of course and he decided he didn’t really want to go with some random girl he didn’t know that well.

“Hey Charming, couldn’t get a date?” It was Thalia. She looked beautiful in a crimson red dress and her brown hair tied up.

“No, I had a line of girls ask me and I had to turn them down.” He replies causing Thalia to roll her eyes.

“I’m gonna regret this, but do you want to dance?” She asks, Neal is as shocked as anything. “I shouldn’t mock you, I don’t have a date either. I was holding out for this one guy but he never asked.”

Neal kicked himself for not realising until years later she meant him. “I’d love to. Just don’t step on my toes” he teased

So Thalia took her hand and laced it with Neal's as they stepped onto the dance floor. The song was slow, so she wrapped her arms around Neal’s neck as they slowly moved to the rhythm.

“Wow you’re actually pretty good at this.” Thalia comments as their bodies are pressed close together as they dance.

“Well I am a prince, it’s expected of me.” Neal teases.

“God you never let that go, do you Charming?” Thalia teases back.

Neither know what happened next, except all of a sudden their lips were on each other. It’s like they’ve been waiting for this moment all their life, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe they’ve been avoiding their feelings for a while. But it feels right.

Thalia breaks the kiss. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Neal, still flustered, just says, “it’s fine. I-I liked it.”

Whatever he said or did, it wasn’t right, and Thalia ran off and he didn’t see her for the rest of the night .

___

“Wait you’re telling me you kissed her at Prom and then you didn’t go after her? And yet you’re still together?” Henry asks after Neal had finished telling his story.

Neal laughs, “it was pretty complicated. We were kinda stubborn and wouldn’t admit that we actually liked each other. It was only when she was moving out of her father's home that I had the guts to talk to her about that night and asked her out for real.”

It was actually Neal that managed to get her out of her house. When he saw her in Granny’s and her makeup didn’t quite cover the shiner and bruised lip her father so clearly had given to her, he made her come to Emma’s house for a couple nights until they managed to find her an apartment. But Thalia’s abusive shitbag of a father was her story to tell.

“Stubbornness is a Charming family trait, you and your sister get it from your father.” Snow comments. “Let’s hope you haven’t inherited it Henry.”

“I can’t wait to hear more!” Henry smiles.

“There’s plenty where that came from, now I want to hear about my pirate brother in law!” Neal says

And so Henry launches into one of he and Hook's adventures, when they save Emma from the alternate reality.

[bravonovel]

The Billionaire Alpha's Secret Baby novel read online - Grace Jones and Connor Shelby - Bravonovel

The Billionaire Alpha's Secret Baby

https://www.bravonovel.com/the-billionaire-alphas-secret-baby-8246

The Billionaire Alpha's Secret Baby novel is a romance story about Grace Jones and Connor Shelby.

Blurb : Still reeling from the heartbreak of being abandoned by someone she called her mate after a one night stand, Grace Jones gets a more shocking discovery. She was pregnant. To her horror, she was carrying the child of someone whose name she didn’t even know. Seven years later, Grace saves a young billionaire from the brink of death who also turned out to be someone from her past. After what happened to her seven years ago she loathed men. For someone she felt was her mate to abandon her like that what else could they not do? Alpha Connor Shelby! The CEO of SHELBY REALTOR (UK) LTD, and the Alpha of Lumia pack had his fate intertwined with a rankless wolf and a single mother. Will he accept her? Ride along as we journey through the story of a rankless wolf with a child falling in love an Alpha of a reputable pack and the CEO of the company that took everything from her.

You can read this novel online on Bravonovel and keep track of the latest chapters

The Billionaire Alpha's Secret Baby novel Chapter 1

ARIZONA COLLEGE

SEVEN YEARS AGO

GRACE

In silence we studied each other on a bed, evaluating, doubting, and considering by turns, because it was so sudden, so unexpected.

We were merely strangers turned drink buddies few hours ago. We didn' t even know our names yet. He only jokingly called me Ms. Budweiser because I said I loved beer more, while I laughed hard and loud, calling him Mr. Chardonnay because he said he only drank wine.

But I and my friends made him take beer . It was a way to apologize for bumping into him and ruining his white T-shirt.

I was going to get another round of drink while he was heading to the rest room as I could remember it. However due to my crazy hurrying, and the excitement of our finals, I had bumped into him and caused him to spill his drink on himself and at the same time holding me from tripping over.

He snaked his firm hand around my waist to keep me steady and our eyes locked.

At that instant, the world suddenly went silent, the deafening music from blaring speakers around us became a distant sound to me

His steel-grey heart-stopping eyes drew me in and drowned me. My head swooned, my heart beat took an unnatural speed, jamming itself against my ribcage. Thousands of angry butterflies sprang up in my stomach, fluttering like they were being chased by a predator.

All that happened at once.

If I was reading my experience in a romance novel, I'd sneer and scowl at the writer for being unnecessarily corny and cheeky. I'd call the book a cliché but still go ahead to read it.

However, this particular cliché wasn' t happening to some lucky female protagonist.

It was happening to me, Grace, the nerdy, boring twenty three year old virgin who was about graduating college without a boyfriend or a mate.

Not that I had one before and broke up with them for some reasons. At all. I never had any.

I would have called what just happened'a love at first sight' and I was sure he would have too, owing to the way he kept his eyes on mine for the thousands of seconds our eyes locked.

Or have I finally found my mate? I wondered vaguely. Finding one's mate was one of the most difficult thing now in the twenty-first century werewolf kingdom. People just get themselves partners and call them boyfriends or girlfriend or wives or husbands and humans did since we were sharing almost the same fate.

After our bump, we had muttered repeated sorrys to each other with effusive awkward gestures. I couldn't let him go like that after all that chemistry between us, so I had come out from my shell of shyness and awkwardness and asked him to join me and my friends on our drinking table.

Now here we are, in my dimly lit tiny college room, inhaling each other's breathe, with our eyes locked and our breathing accelerated, standing so close our noses could meet. We were both drunk but knew this feeling wasn't instigated from alcohol.

I wanted him and wasn't ashamed for the first time in my life to admit it. I had vowed never to do it till I found the one that made my heart flutter in my chest. Or if I found my mate.

I wasn' t sure about the latter, but my heart was a living testimony of the effect of this young beautiful man standing in front of me.

I took two steps backward, to get a fuller and more concise view of the first man I was going to share my bed with.

He was many inches taller than I was, literally towering over me with his firmly squared broad shoulders. Strands of his dark brown hair which fell across his temples accentuated his sexiness. His oblong angular face was never the type I could forget in a hurry.

Should I go on about his full lips and how it interrupts my breathing whenever I stare at them?

As we stood few inches apart, I yearned to press my lips against that bare skin that ran from his throat to his chest and my breast against that white stained shirt.

With a sigh that was really surrender, I ignored my racing heart and took a step further.

We looked at each other and then our lips met and lingered. I felt myself sinking into the bliss of the sweetest sensations and my hands came up on their own to touch his face. I knew I was desired but, just for the moment, I felt loved and it was what I needed.

We both knew it would have been okay to wait, get to know each other and talk more, however, we both also knew we couldn't wait. This felt too right. I didn't feel a single pang of guilt or the need to be cautious.

He didn't give me a chance to change my mind.

He crushed my body to his, one hand on my back, the other on my hips, pressing me against his hard body. I gasped with sheer pleasure and then to my horror, I began to tremble. This was the first time and I wasn 't familiar with the moves and I felt awkward, unable to respond as I wanted to.

“Hey…” he murmured against my hair and his arms loosened, as though he understood, as though he was well aware of the fact that he was my very first. He began to stroke my hair gently, persuasively, so that my eyes closed and I began to relax.

His hands moved to my back, beginning an unhurried exploration that made me shiver again, but this time in the most delicious manner .

I began to respond, my hands sliding up his back and across his shoulders in a thrilling exploration of my own. I opened my eyes, saw his throat where the collar was open and pressed my lips against it. I felt a deep shudder run through him that might have been my own, so deeply did it thrill him. I reached up to thread my fingers through his hair and used it to pull his face down to mine.

Our lips met and fused with an ecstasy that seared me to the depth of my being. We broke apart and gazed at each other, and then he was pressing kisses all over my face and I held my head back to expose my throat for more. I was awash with sensation, but it only built up the urgency for our lips to meet again... and again.

His hands were on the zip at the back of my dress and I began to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged out of it as I stepped out of my dress and kicked it away in a frenzy, and he pressed me against his chest again with only the fragile silk of my slip between us.

He kissed his way down my neck, to my shoulders and slid the straps from them. The slip caught at my hips, but none of us noticed because now, my bare breasts were pressed against his naked chest and we both gasped.

He turned me slightly from him, lifting his face to kiss and then his hands moved down to my breast, grasping, massaging it and then playing with my nipple. My groan of pleasure was lost against his lips and, as I felt my legs go weak, he picked me up and carried me unto my bed.

He kicked back his shoes, threw back the quilt, put me on the bed and stood looking down at me while he took off the rest of his clothes.

The curtains hadn't been closed and a surprisingly bright moon bathed us both in a silvery glow.

"Do you know how lovely you are?" he asked as he lay beside me.

He didn't expect an answer, and I was quite incapable of giving one because his mouth had fastened on to my breast and his tongue was flicking my nipples into a frenzy of desire. He moved to the other breast and the delicious torment began anew.

“Chardonnay…” I breathed, but he took no notice, sliding the petticoat from my hips, and then my stockings and suspenders, and kissing his way over the warm flesh he exposed.

"Chardonnay…" I breathed again, writhing with the most exquisitely unendurable ecstasy I had ever known, but now his own passion overwhelmed him as he entered me, going in real slow and when my core gave passage to his huge member, he began thrusting hard and desperately in the need to quench his own fires.

I held fiercely, pressing his hips against mine as we sought and found the final explosion of passion.

Mr. Chardonnay kissed me with hot, spent and grateful lips and then he collapsed against me , moving down to rest his face between my breasts. I pulled the quilt over us and cuddled him to myself while out breathing turned to normal.

It was a long time before he stirred, then he rolled off my body and propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at me.

"I'm crazy about you, Ms. Budweiser," he said huskily. "How do you feel about me?"

I couldn't answer. The whole thing was feeling so surreal to me. "I'm here, and I 'm not a one-night stander." was my response.

"We don't even know each other's real names yet. I'm-"

"Tomorrow," I cut him short with a sleepy tone. "Let's tell each other our names tomorrow and other things we should know about us." I said with finality in my voice.

He sighed.

But he wouldn't understand. Seeing him on my bed by morning when I wake up was going to convince me that this wonderful moments weren't a dream. And that I had found the love of my life.

I had gone through college as a nerdy boring girl without a mate or a boyfriend and a werewolf with zero rank. If not for my two best friends, my life would have been more than the hell it had been here in Stratford College.

But here I was on the last day of my final year making love with the most beautiful man I had ever met, who could possibly be my mate or boyfriend after today.

I felt giddy with happiness and relief. It was all too fast and going too well , I was dreading disappointments.

“Let's know each other wolf's name at least.” he murmured, dragging me from my train of thoughts.

I pushed him over on his back, then propped myself over him, my breast brushing against his chest. "I don't want to talk tonight. Tomorrow will do. Go to sleep." I kissed his eyes shut and then studied, and it almost hurt me how handsome he looked with his face relaxed and the moon turning the sun-bleached ends of his brown hair to silver.

I kissed his forehead, clasped my eyes shut and let myself drown into dream land.

…...

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[multi-fandom-shipper-20]

Realisation - MerlinXReader (Kingsman)

A/N: Just a little something I cooked up for Merlin (Mark Strong) Fans. 

Word Count: 2,258

You were in your room in the vast Kingsman Mansion, preparing to go on a mission with Eggsy and Roxy, your music blaring from your bluetooth speaker on your vanity, laptop open to the mission statement for you to memorize it. The plan was simple, something you had done a million times before but for some reason this mission felt a little different, you were apprehensive, tense even. A voice came over your glasses that startled you to begin with however you relaxed once you realized that it was just Merlin. “Everything alright, Y/N?” he questioned as you pulled on your tights. “Why wouldn’t it be?” You chirped trying to convince him as much as yourself. Without you noticing the track changed on the speaker from a gentle blues number to Paloma Faith. It wasn’t unusual for that change to happen since you always kept your playlist on shuffle yet the title of the song hit you within the first few bars. Focusing on the task at hand you tried to ignore the feeling of betrayal you felt towards your playlist as you looked down, checking to see if the tights had gathered at the waist. “Y/N! I wish you would warn me!” Merlin squeaked in embarrassment. “Shit! Sorry Merlin! I forgot you were there!” You cursed as you put your eyes to the wall. “Were you even listening, Y/N?” Merlin sighed. You imagined him leaning against the console in the comms room, head in his hands. “I got distracted” You admitted sheepishly. Yet again you heard the hiccup of your playlist changing over the speaker, this time it was a Robbie Williams song. “How ironic” you thought to yourself. “Y/N, if you three are going to make it to the mission on time, you need to stop getting distracted and actually get dressed. The car leaves in 15.” Merlin grumbled as he shut off the video/audio link. You quickly threw on your chosen dress for the evening, then you spent the next 10 minutes placing your wig on before shutting off the speaker and slipping into your heels almost forgetting to grab your cardigan and clutch bag. You were greeted by Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin at the front door to the mansion. “Ready to go, kid?” Eggsy questioned his smirk plastered on his face. “I’m only a few weeks younger than you, Gary” you remarked as his smirk faltered, you knew he preferred his nickname to his given name. “You look glamorous Y/N” Roxy smiled genuinely as she pulled you in for a hug. “Likewise, Rox” you smiled back, embracing the other woman. It got quiet as your gazed turned to Merlin. “Well?” You questioned as the silence became unbearable. “You look mission ready.” Merlin nodded his approval. “Where’s Harry when you need a compliment?” You teased, a giant grin playing at your lips. “Just remember the mission. All should go without a hitch if you follow the plan” Merlin grumbled as he rolled his eyes at your comment. Turning to face Eggsy and Roxy, you waited for them to head into the car before you joined them. “And for god sake, DON’T GET KILLED!” Merlin yelled as the heavy doors closed. The car ride to the mission was peaceful for the first 5 minutes, that was until Eggsy had to open his mouth. “So Y/N, you’ve been awfully distant lately. After missions you tend to head to bed straight away instead of joining us for the debriefing and a drink to wind down.” “I’ve just been tired, that’s all Eggsy” you countered as you flicked open your compact mirror to check over your make-up. “Are you sure it has nothing to do with a certain well dressed man back at mission control?” he tried seeing through your lie almost immediately. “Eggsy! He could hear you, you know!” Roxy squealed as she clasped her hand over his mouth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Eggsy.” You grumbled as you turned your head away from him. Now wasn’t the time to be having this discussion, you needed to focus on the mission and not get distracted by thoughts of Merlin running through your head. When you arrived to the venue of your mission, you diverted straight to the powder room. “Maybe I shouldn’t have downed that glass of squash before I left” You thought to yourself on the other hand that wasn’t the only thing that was bugging you. Was it that obvious that you had a thing for Merlin? If Eggsy and Roxy had picked up on it who else knew? Washing your hands for what felt like the 100th time in the space of a few minutes. “Focus Y/N! This is a big mission and if this goes well you can go back home, pour yourself a glass of Apple and Blackcurrant squash then settle down to watch Family Guy and American Dad before drifting off to sleep” You mentally slapped yourself in an attempt to get your priorities straight. Thankfully, once you had returned to the task at hand and rejoined both Eggsy and Roxy, the mission went without a hitch. Your target was acquired meaning once Eggsy or Roxy had interrogated them they would probably have a cooling off period in one of the ice boxes before being released into general police custody. The card ride back to the mansion was coated in adrenaline fueled silence, the previous interrogation into your private affairs seemingly forgotten. “Our little discussion isn’t over, Y/N. I will get answers.” Eggsy commented as though he had read your thoughts. “Let it go, Eggsy. We have more urgent matters at hand” Roxy snapped as her foot jabbed into the leg of the target. “I don’t ask you about the things you and Princess Tilde get up to, Unwin. So butt out” you hissed, he was slowly getting on your last nerve. You were the first one to exit the car and enter the mansion, stopping in your tracks as your eyes met Merlin’s as he descended the staircase. For a second, you thought you saw the one thing you had been wanting to see for months now, but it had gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I’ll be in my room if you need me” you spoke with a little more anger than you had expected. “Duly noted” Merlin nodded, his eyes leaving yours once the doors reopened behind you to reveal Eggsy, Roxy and your target. Throwing your heels into the wardrobe you let the bedroom door slam shut. “Dammit Eggsy. Why do you always seem to get on my last nerve?” You asked no one in particular. Spying your speaker, you picked it up and reconnected your phone before walking over to the vanity to take the evenings outfit off. As soon as you hit play on your phone a silly Boyzone song began to play but that didn’t stop you from singing along. While you danced around your room to the song, you changed into your favourite nightwear, Disney Pajamas and a silk chemise. There was an occasion where you would swap out the chemise for a kimono or a fluffy dressing gown but that one was primarily for the winter. As song after song played through your speaker, you continued to dance until your anger towards Eggsy had all but dissipated. Falling on your bed, you laughed at your childishness. You laid there for a moment, just catching your breath. It had occurred to you to turn off the speaker and ultimately the music but your movements were interrupted by a soft knock at your door. At first you thought you had imagined it so you ignored it until you heard it again, this time a little bit louder. Still unsure about whether or not it was really happening you finally opened the door to find Merlin standing there, still dressed to the nines in his “penguin suit” as he often called it. “To what do I owe the pleasure to your presence at my door at this time of night?” you questioned, pleasantly surprised. Before he could speak, your playlist skipped into a Sister Sledge song, causing your eyes to widen in shock and dive head first to where your phone lay to shut it off, but Merlin’s hand caught yours before you could take the leap. “Y/N, we need to talk.” he spoke sternly as he turned you to face him. “Oh?” was all you could utter as your eyes met his again, your free hand colliding with his broad chest in an attempt to steady yourself. “Why weren’t you with Eggsy and Roxy interrogating the target?” he question, unphased by the compromising position. You felt the vibrations of his voice though his chest as he spoke but your eyes didn’t leave his. Your ears picked up the change of song yet again, this time to a Sir Tom Jones number which caused a faint blush to dust your cheeks. You knew Merlin could hear it as well however his demeanor wasn’t affected and his green/grey ones staring into your darker oceanic blue ones, not flickering, almost as though he was daring you to blink first. “I asked you a question, Y/N.” he spoke again, breaking the silence, a low groan emanating from his throat. “God damn! That has to be the most sexiest sound to ever come out of that man’s mouth! Besides his voice-. Shit, Y/N! Focus for christ sake! Right he asked a question. What was it?!” you asked yourself a frown appearing on your face as you attempted to remember the question. Merlin waited patiently for you to recall the question, unmoving and quietly breathing. Click. The song had changed again this time to a song more suitable for a nightclub than a bedroom, you recognised it as a Riton and Oliver Heldens collaboration with the help of Vula. You didn’t entirely hate the song but ever since Merlin had walked into your room, it had seemed to have decided to pick the most inappropriate songs in your playlist. “Y/N, don’t make me ask you again” Merlin grumbled, his grip on your wrist tightening enough to get your attention but not hard enough to leave a bruise. “I don’t like doing interrogations. Besides, those two have a whole good cop/bad cop routine going for them, if I tried to hone in on that I could end up ruining it.” you shrugged as you pulled away from him. Each step you took towards your bed, he matched it however instead of going to your bed he went to sit on the stool by the vanity. It went quiet again for a moment, long enough for you to hear the track change again, this time to a movie soundtrack, one where there’s a dance scene that you had always wanted to recreate. “You know, if you really don’t like interrogations that much, I could always pull you out of field operations and you could help me out here” Merlin suggested, though his voice was quiet as if his mouth was beginning to dry up. Your eyes left your hands that lay in your lap to meet his again. “Me? Help you?” you questioned, your brows furrowing in confusion. As far as you knew no one in the history of Kingsman had helped the tech wiz. That had always been a solo operation until the previous tech wiz had brought in a trainee before retirement. “Are you looking to retire, Merlin?” you asked before you could stop yourself. His eyes lit up at that question and you thought that he was going to start laughing as his stoic facade had cracked allowing the hint of a smile to shine through. “Not for a few good years yet, Y/N. I just thought it was a better option than staying in the field and having to deal with interrogations.” he shrugged, as he bought his hands to grab yours that still sat in your lap. “Can I sleep on it?” you hummed a twinkle in your eyes as they rose from both of your hands entwined together. “Sure, let me know by the end of the week and we’ll get the transfer sorted, ready for Monday” he spoke, reassuringly. This time the smile reached the corner of his eyes so you knew that it was genuine. “There it is again. Silence. Neither of us moving or saying a word” you thought to yourself. Click. Another new song started playing. This time it was a Robbie Williams song but he wasn’t alone he had a woman with him. It took you a few minutes to recognize it as Nicole Kidman. Still neither of you moving, you just allowed the song to speak for you both. Towards the climax of the song, Merlin stood and headed towards the door. You followed his lead, holding the door for him to step out of. “Well I guess, I’ll let you get some rest. It’s getting late” Merlin hummed as he turned to face you once again. “Goodnight, Merlin” you smiled as you leant against the door, ready to close it as soon as he disappeared down the hall. “It’s Hamish” you looked at him with confusion as clear as day on your face. “My real name. It’s Hamish” he clarified as he backed away from the door “Well, goodnight Hamish.” you corrected, popping your head out so that he could hear you. “Goodnight, Y/N” he smiled to himself as he turned to walk down the hall.

[phenomenal1500]

The Blood In My Veins | Black Sails

Chapter 39: The Deciding Fight

For Chapter 38: The Living Dead | Part 2 click here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I turned around Charles' chair and his arm went around my thighs to pull me onto his lap while in the meantime Flint had left the table. Teach had also left us alone and both men were making themselves ready for the pistols and swords.

~~~

In the distance the both of us watched Flint choosing his sword and gun and I softly jerked my head back to glare at Charles.

"I don't think he will stand a chance." I sighed while staring back at Flint and Teach.

"I'll talk to him." He tapped me on my thigh so I would raise to my feet and he slowly grabbed the chair's backrest to pull himself upright too.

Instead of sitting back down, I leaned my lower back against the wooden table where not a minute ago the argument had taken place and kept my gaze at Charles who approached the red haired man.

I sort of felt bad about turning my back on Flint for the second time, but if I wanted to help Flint gain his fleet that meant risking losing almost everything I have and I don't like the idea of it going totally wrong, losing everything.

~~~

(POV Charles Vane)

"You can't win." The man before me grunted in disbelief. "I heard you spent weeks becalmed, deprived of food and water. At your best it would have been a dogfight, but diminished...."

"I'm not that diminished."

Flint stated as he switched his gaze my way, elevating his hand, within it the sword he had chosen.

"He's been off the account for years. He'll be more vulnerable than he remembers himself being."

"He's not that vulnerable. And for what? You subject yourself to certain death for an island full of weaklings and Ingrates?"

"Those men will go where they are led." The man hissed through his teeth, believing everything he said himself. "Rogers captured their minds before you could, but let's not pretend that they can't be won again. And let's not pretend that either of us believes for a moment that I'm doing this for their sakes." Narrowing my eyes I started to grow tired of the stubborn man that had no interest in listening to my advice. I was aware of the sentence, if a man wanted something he would get it because I was just like that, but I did understand when I was outnumbered in strength and it was time to stop.

"I gave you my word. Shook your head. Pledged to defend the island with you. But my pledge to him began a long time before I ever knew your name. What I owe him-...."

"I don't care."

Confused, I backed down a bit as I smirked to myself in annoyance.

This man was unbelievable sometimes.

"I don't care that you shook my hand. I don't care what you feel you owe him. This is too important to be clouded by any of that. They took my home. I can't walk away from that. Can you? Can she?" I lowered my head.

She hadn't agreed with me and my opinions at first, though she respected them.

I didn't do the same for her which made me regret it now, even after I had apologized to her.

I knew why she hated to let Nassau go, but I didn't want to put her or that little one's life in danger.

The voice of the still talking man made me look back up, first to Naida, then to Flint.

"Forget me, forget Teach, forget loyalty, compacts, honor, debts, all of it. The only question that matters is this. Who are you?" Slowly I closed and opened my eyes while inhaling deeply.

Flint had left me alone and in the corner of my eye I had noticed Naida looking empathetically at me.

Perhaps I should listen to Flint a bit more.

"Charles?" She softly asked, me knowing she wanted to hear the answer he had given me.

"He won't stop."

Naida's face changed from hopeful to sadness and I felt the urge to change my mind once more.

Something deep down told me to stop playing games with myself and stop trying to brainwash myself by trying to convince myself Nassau is dead.

Lost in my thoughts, Naida had nodded at me before she smoothly moved with her boots over the hot sand, joining the group of men on the land-side of the island with me joining her later.

"This is a matter of honor to be settled once and for good in the here and now. The parties have agreed to combat and have accepted common practice. The parties have further agreed there will be no quarter asked nor given."

~~~

(POV Naida Jones)

The man was explaining the rules while standing in the middle of Flint and Teach and afterwards stepped back to give the sign to the men who were instructed to give the chosen weaponry to them when the sign was given, like it was given now. The pistols were placed in their hands and Flint and Teach didn't break their gazes from one another's eyes as they grabbed it.

Lowering their hands with the pistols in them, they turned themselves around, both the other way, and started to walk a certain distance between each other, stopping at their chosen swords which were pricked into the white sand as a border to clarify the outlined space between them.

"Cock your pistols!"

I could hear the hammers click and both pistols were loaded, ready to make the perfect shot.

"From this moment, there's to be no movement until a count of three! One.... two.... three!"

It went too fast to see who had shot first or who had the best aim, though, the sound was clear that both pistols worked and Flint was the one standing upright while Teach was the one on the ground, making it easier to declare who had the best shot.

All the men around me from our side started to gasp and whisper things while I could feel the hand from Charles slither around my waist.

It looked like Teach wasn't standing up soon and maybe the shot had been fatal.