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itshalza · 3 years

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At My Side

Eternalduo (Eret and Foolish) origin story fanfic? Yes please!

- They/Them pronouns for Eret

- Loosely based on "Peace and Love on the Planet Earth" from Steven Universe

!! Content Warning: Nothing.

Summary: Foolish wakes up in the mortal realm, completely unaware of how it works. When he stumbles into Eret's kingdom, friendship ensues.

Foolish woke up under a canopy of trees. Dim beams of sunlight shone through the leaves of the tall oak trees. Birds chirped lightly in the trees. He blinked slightly, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Then a figure covered his vision.

The totem shouted, scurrying backward until his back hit the trunk of a tree. Birds squeaked and flew from the tree. Foolish began speaking quickly. “Get away from me. Don’t come any closer. What the-”

He was cut off by a long:

Baaaaa

Foolish stopped speaking, the fear slowly leaving his eyes. “What are you?” He asked.

The creature let out another noise before beginning to munch on the grass.

“Can you at least tell me where I am?”

Baaaaa

“How did I get here? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

It looked up at him, not a thought behind its eyes.

Foolish raised an eyebrow before slowly standing up. “Fine then, keep your secrets.” He said spitefully. He hesitated and took cautious steps away from the beast. It didn’t react, so Foolish moved faster to get away.

It didn’t take him long to realize that this was not the realm he was used to. The Godly Realm was much, much brighter than this. And there wasn’t much grass, and this certainly wasn’t the temple he was used to.

“Oh Gods,” He muttered in annoyance. He was no longer in the Godly Realm after all… this is the mortal realm. He rubbed his furrowed brow, closing his eyes and sighing. He didn’t remember how he was put down here, but he knew it was probably a punishment for something.

He moved out of the forest and moved towards the only signs of civilization he could find. A large village was in the distance. Houses made of stone and wood encircled a large, grand structure, seemingly a castle, in the center of the village.

Foolish wandered around the streets, eyes on him. He was definitely out of place here. His golden skin stuck out like a sore thumb. These creatures were definitely different from him, and they knew that too.

He eventually made his way to a marketplace. The bustling environment was just busy enough to allow him to blend in. He stopped paying attention to where he was walking taking in the scenery around him. However, he quickly began paying attention again when he was collided with, falling backward onto the cobblestone street below.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” Their deep voice rang out, adjusting their cloak. They offered Foolish a hand. He pulled himself up, dusting off his attire.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He said lightly. Foolish looked up, emerald eyes meeting… sunglasses. It was rather peculiar; through the sunglasses appeared to be a light, but it must have been a trick of the mind.

The stranger took in Foolish’s appearance before smirking slightly. “You’re not from around here, are you?” They said, almost knowingly.

Foolish hesitated for a moment. Why should he tell them anything? The two just met less than a minute ago. But he needed to figure out what was happening and why he found himself in the mortal realm. He laughed lightly. “Not exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck lightly.

The stranger nodded slightly. “I think I understand.” They said. They looked around the crowd before adjusting the sunglasses. “Well, do you want to come with me? I might be able to help you figure out some things.” They suggested.

He opened his mouth, intending to refuse the offer. He had just met the mortal, how was he supposed to trust them? For all he knew this might just be a ruse to steal from him. Not that Foolish had any belongings to get stolen.

The totem looked around before sighing in defeat. He didn’t have many other options other than going with them. “Sure, that would be helpful.” he conceded.

The stranger offered the god their hand. He took it apprehensively as they began to weave through the crowd of townspeople. They moved toward the center of the village, toward the grand stone castle. Rainbow banners adorned the large, sturdy cobblestone walls surrounding the castle. There was a set of large wooden doors set in a stone archway. The place seemed fit for a king, something the cloaked stranger definitely wasn’t. But that didn’t stop them from their trajectory to the doors.

Foolish trailed behind, slowly getting more confused by their actions. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” He questioned.

They let out a low chuckle. Shaking their head, the stranger replied. “I’m fairly certain.” The stranger looked back at him with a light smirk, mumbling something, but the words were lost among the noise of the crowd around them.

The totem followed hesitantly. They did not seem to stop their approach to the castle doors. Foolish waited for a moment or two for them to change their path, and of course, they didn’t waver. “See, the only reason I doubt that is because you seem to be heading right for the castle doors and-” he started before trailing off.

The two stopped at the large wooden doors. Foolish seemed dumbfounded as the stranger lowered the hood of their cloak. The guards gave a curt bow to them before opening the doors.

The King took a few steps into the castle grounds before turning back to the god. A smirk adorned their features. “So are you gonna come in or what?” They asked in a teasing manner.

Foolish cleared his throat, clamoring to regain his composure. “Yeah, of course.” He said quickly, moving to follow the seemingly unbothered king. He couldn’t believe that happened. He just completely embarrassed himself in front of the ruler of the town he found himself in. Surely they would find that disrespectful. “Your Highness, I am so sorry, I-” He started, trailing off when he heard them chuckle.

“There’s no need for the formalities.” They said with a wave of the hand. Foolish blinked a few times, trying to wrap his brain around this situation. “Especially because I believe that your title may supersede mine.” They said, giving a knowing look.

Foolish let out a sigh of relief. So they were aware of his godhood. That was relieving to know, but also terrifying. Were they planning something? What were they going to do with him? They didn’t seem to have any bad intentions, but who knows?

He didn’t get a chance to say anything in response, as a servant approached them with their crown. The ruler ran a hand through their curled locks. They rested the crown on their head while listening to the servant’s word. The crown sat gracefully on their dark hair; it looked like it truly belonged on the silhouette of their regal figure.

“I’m going to take my guest to my chambers. In the meantime, can you prepare a room for him?” They said to the girl. She gave a nod before giving a bow of respect before heading off down a hallway.

They took a deep breath before turning back to Foolish. “Sorry about that. I know your time is valuable.” They said before continuing their way through the halls of the castle. Foolish looked around, getting caught up in the architecture and art along the walls. The place looked perfect. There wasn’t a single thing out of place or a thing the god would have changed if he was the one who built the palace.

The ruler moved toward a door, opening it slowly. “We can talk more here. I don’t want any listening ears to hear. Rumors spread like wildfire.” They said. They held the door open for Foolish to enter.

He entered the room, looking around. The quarters were definitely grand compared to a normal bedroom, but Foolish would consider them humble compared to what he expected from a king’s chamber. Light seeped in from the sheer curtains. The king led him to a sofa toward the corner of the bedroom, taking the cloak off and draping it across the bed, revealing formalwear. They must have worn the cloak as a disguise to go into the marketplace.

“Your Highness, I-”

The king chuckled, shaking their head. “I told you not to call me that, but I never introduced myself, how stupid was that.” They said lightly. They sat on the chair across from Foolish. “Please, call me Eret.”

Foolish was suddenly aware of the fact that he had never introduced himself either. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Eret. My name is Foolish.” He said with a grin.

“So what’s the occasion that our little kingdom is being visited by a god like yourself?” They asked softly. They adjusted their position in the chair before chuckling. “If I would have known you were visiting, I would have cleaned up a bit.” They said jokingly.

“Cleaned up a bit? This place looks pristine.” Foolish mused. He looked around the room with an excited smile. “Also, I love the architecture, and did you see the chandelier in the entrance hall, it’s amazing.”

The king chuckled. “I have seen the chandelier.” They said lightly.

Eret seemed like a weight lifted off their shoulders. Their posture was no longer as straight as a board, and their shoulders were considerably less tense. It had been so long since they were able to be this informal with someone. Everywhere else they were the King, but in this room with Foolish, they were Eret once again. In fact, it had been so long since they heard someone use their first name.

“But I highly doubt you came here just to compliment our castle, though I do appreciate it.” They said. They absentmindedly fidgeted with a button on their shirt, listening intently.

Foolish chuckled nervously. “That’s the thing.” He said. He took a deep breath, looking around the room. “I don’t remember what happened. I remember being in the realm of the gods, and then I remember waking up in the woods.” He was being straightforward because that’s all he knew. There wasn’t much else to say. “There was a creature who looked like a cloud and ate grass and he was not very helpful in my search for answers.” He began recounting the events of his arrival.

Eret laughed genuinely, a sound they hadn’t heard in a long time. They clearly overestimated how much understanding Foolish would have of the mortal realm. “It sounds like you ran into a sheep.” They said with a grin.

“Well, this sheep was not very helpful.” He said spitefully. He sighed in annoyance, to Eret’s amusement. He continued, losing his anger toward the animal. “I left him in the woods and I started walking toward your city. It was the only thing I saw.” He said.

Eret nodded. “I’m just wondering why you got sent here of all places.” They said before their face paled slightly. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, that’s not what I meant. I just mean that our small kingdom is hardly worthy of a visit from a god.” They rambled nervously.

“Eret calm down, dude. I’m not gonna smite you or anything.” Foolish joked, laughing. Eret laughed, nervousness still filling his voice.

Once the moment passed, Eret looked up at him, bright eyes peering at him through their sunglasses. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you the god of?” They asked. The kingdom wasn’t exactly known for being religious or knowing much about the pantheon of gods. They were free to practice any religion, and there wasn’t much of an emphasis on it anyway.

Foolish thought of a way to phrase it. “The easiest way I can explain it is ‘Undying’. I help things last. Permanence and equilibrium. Saying ‘the god of life’ doesn’t do it justice, because life implies death, implies an end. That’s just not what I do.” He said, being careful with his words. He didn’t want to be misinterpreted. He didn’t want Eret to assume he was something he’s not.

Eret listened, taking in everything he said. They nodded. “Well, we are happy to have your presence.” They said, giving a slight bow of the head.

“No, you don’t have to do that stuff. The bowing and formalities. I was never one for being worshipped. Just consider me a friend.” He said, a smile forming across his face.

They smiled slightly in response. “Of course.” They said. They leaned back in the chair, brushing a few loose curls from their eyes. “Although we will have to introduce you to the people. The whole marketplace saw you. I wouldn’t want any rumors to start to spread about your intentions. The last thing we need is an angry mob.” They said, furrowing their brow slightly as they thought.

“Oh well, that’s no problem. I can just go out and talk to them, I’ve always been a people person. I-” Foolish started, a grin on his face before Eret stopped him.

“No, no, no that won’t do.” They said, shaking their head. “I know you don’t like the formalities but I feel like your arrival warrants a bit more than a trip to the market.”

“So you’re gonna throw me a party?” He asked, growing excited.

“You could say that. A little bit more formal than that. I can have the tailor make you a formal outfit and I can have a banquet planned for the end of the week if you wish.” They said.

“What’s a banquet?”

Eret sighed, a soft smile appearing across their face. “A fancy word for a party.”

Foolish grinned. “I’m in.”

The next few days were filled with making preparations for the introductory banquet and getting used to the mortal realm. Foolish didn’t seem to have any of the powers he displayed in the realm of the gods, but he was hoping they would come back in time. What’s the point of a party if he couldn’t do his best party trick: summoning lightning?

He was still getting used to the kingdom. It was cold compared to the weather he was used to in his desert domain in the godly realm, but he was growing accustomed to it. He was also exploring the different options of food the castle could provide. He was a god, therefore he didn’t have to eat mortal food, but that didn’t mean it didn’t taste good.

Eret was helping Foolish adjust to his new situation. When they weren’t in meetings or busy preparing for the banquet, they would be introducing Foolish to concepts of the mortal realm. It didn’t always go well. They had to drag the disgruntled god from the royal stables when he began to give a sheep a piece of his mind, assuming it was the same unhelpful sheep he met on his first day.

But most of the time it went well. Seeing Foolish have a lack of understanding of basic concepts was quite funny, but Eret displayed nothing but overwhelming patience.

Eret was working hard to make the banquet a success. They didn’t just consider Foolish a royal asset like they believed he would be at their first meeting. They were growing to consider him a friend. And if the gods allowed it, they were going to throw their new friend the best banquet he could ever want.

Indeed, it was the best banquet he could ever want, because Foolish had no idea what to expect, and he had nothing to base his expectations on. When he walked into the ballroom, he was amazed. It was his first time in the room, and he was amazed by the architecture of the room. When he spent time building his own grand structures in his realm, he always struggled with the interior the most, so seeing such a magnificent design inspired awe.

Eret was busy getting any last-minute preparations in order when they noticed Foolish walk into the room. They finished up their conversation before heading in his direction.

“I hate to break it to you, Foolish, but you have your bow tie on upside down.”

Foolish broke his attention from the light fixture to his outfit. The tailor did a wonderful job on the suit, Foolish just had trouble putting the ensemble on correctly.

“Is it really that big of a deal?”

Eret laughed. “I suppose not.” They said. “It gives character.”

Foolish chuckled before giving a confused look. “Is that a good thing?”

“I’d say so.”

“Well, I’d say thanks.”

Eret raised an eyebrow at the weird wording of his reply before brushing it off. “Anyway the guests are expected to come any minute now. I’m probably just going to say a few words of an introduction and explanation, and you can say something if you want. No pressure or anything. Then it’ll just be kind of a mingling kind of situation.” They explained.

Foolish nodded slightly. “Rodger dodger.” He acknowledged.

It didn’t take long for the guests to start filing into the ballroom, chatting in hushed excitement over the expected announcement. They had all heard about the stranger with golden skin who wandered the marketplace, and no matter what kind of rumor they heard, they were excited to finally figure out the truth.

The king eventually stood up from their seat at the head table, smoothing out their semi-formal gown instinctively. They tapped their silverware against the champagne glass, the soft clinks enough to mostly quiet the crowd of guests.

“So by now, I’m assuming you’ve noticed the elephant in the room? Or should I say god in the room?”

Half the crowd responded with laughter, while the other gave gasps of surprise.

“Yes. Our small kingdom is being visited by a god for reasons unknown to myself, or himself for that matter. Foolish, the god of the undying, finds himself in the mortal realm for reasons he cannot remember, but I think it’s only right that we welcome him with open arms.”

The room started chattering, but Eret was quick to calm their concerns.

“I’m inviting him in as a friend, nothing like what you’re thinking, I can assure you of that. Over the past few days, I have been shown nothing but kindness from Foolish and I’d expect nothing less from him to you all.”

Foolish, seated at Eret’s right side, stood up. “Yeah, I’m not exactly into the whole ‘worshipping thing.’ I was thrown here by chance and I’m just here to help out... I think. I mean, I really don’t know what I was put down here for, but I’m gonna help regardless. I didn’t expect anything coming in here, but I’ve received a great friendship from your king and I’m hoping I can make even more friends and prove I’m here to help.” He said sincerely. He spoke informally at the start but quickly remembered the situation he was in. He began acting more proper, but it was clearly unnatural.

The room chuckled at his words.

Eret smiled, knowing that the words of kindness were probably the only genuine ones they had received in a long time. “I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.” They took a deep breath, gesturing to Foolish that he could return to his seat if he wanted. “So I arranged this banquet as a meet and greet situation. That way you all could get to know him better throughout the night. So enjoy yourselves.” They said before sitting back in their seat as well.

The meal went well, and the mingling was going even better. Foolish was a natural entertainer, and the people of the kingdom were loving him. Any fears in their minds dissipated, surely he had no bad intentions.

As the night began to a close, Foolish began to look for Eret. His main objective was to thank them, but he had a couple questions in mind as well. He eventually found them on the balcony. Their silhouette outlines by the moonlight as they leaned against the banister, gazing at the stars.

“Did I scare you off with my extremely charming personality?” Foolish mused with a toothy grin.

Eret chuckled lightly. “More like with your extremely inflated ego.” They retorted, but the smile on their face showed there was no seriousness behind his words.

Foolish laughed too, joining them along the banister.

They looked back out to the horizon. “It’s nothing you did; the parties have always gotten a little too overwhelming for me. Sometimes it’s just nice to take a break and get some fresh air.”

Foolish paused for a moment. “Yeah, I can’t relate.” He said bluntly. “Anyway, I have a couple of questions before you mortals make no sense to me.”

The royal laughed. “Go on.”

“What’s that noise I keep hearing?”

Eret looked back at him. “What do you mean?” He furrowed his brow slightly, assuming that this was a genuine problem.

Foolish, too, seemed confused. “You don’t hear it? It’s like-” he started before hesitantly humming the tune of the melody of the string quartet playing on the stage in the ballroom. “It’s fainter now, but I think it’s coming from those guys with the wooden weapons.”

Eret looked at Foolish, trying to read if he was joking. “You have to be kidding me.” They said lightheartedly.

Foolish only shook his head, his look only becoming more confused.

Eret covered their mouth, laughing the hardest they have in a long time. “Foolish that’s music. They’re playing the music on their instruments. Those aren’t weapons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s music. It’s a form of art.”

“What’s the point?”

Eret slowly stopped laughing, realizing this would be harder to explain than he thought. He never really thought about it.

“It’s harmony and melody, two forces that are tugging at each other but ultimately work together to form the beauty you’re hearing..”

“But once it’s over, it’s gone. It’s forgotten.”

“But the emotions and memories it leaves behind aren’t.”

Foolish opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He contemplated the other’s words for a moment. He was used to permanence, to constancy. Everything here in this realm was temporary, but it sure was beautiful.

In the moment, he wondered if his and Eret’s friendship would remain a constant. He hoped it would be.

He had no idea how quickly he would be proven wrong.

The silence was nice. It was comfortable. But it too wasn’t permanent.

“Thank you. For the banquet, and for everything before that too. If you hadn’t taken me in I’d probably still be harassing that sheep. It means a lot.” Foolish said. His eyes didn’t leave the horizon.

Eret slowly smiled. “I should be thanking you actually.” They said. They brushed a few curls from their eyes. “Our friendship has helped me more than you could ever know.”

They stared out to the horizon, both enjoying the quiet moment and wondering what would come next for them. The refrain of the quartet humming in their ears as they took in the fresh air.

Eret was the first one to break the silence. “I’ll help you get back to your realm, if that’s what you wish. But until you find your way, you’ll always have a place at my side.”

Foolish couldn’t help but smile, emerald eyes looking over at them. “And you have a place at mine.”

As the music faded away and the crowd dispersed, the pair’s friendship was set in stone.

This nice, tender moment would live in their minds forever.

Well… one of their minds at least

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eclecticmiasma · 4 years

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Loveless (Yandere!Giorno x Reader)

🌠Commissioned Fic!🌠

SFW

“We finally have the life we always dreamed of...yet you scorn me at every turn.”

[Warnings: general yandere scariness, captivity]

Art credit: 荒巻ミカ on Pixiv

Another gilded trinket lays scattered across the floor. Thick silence hangs in the air like an asphyxiant, snuffing out all words before they even leave your throat. Your eyes pierce his own, defiant, enraged to be in this position once again. By now, he should have accepted that this will always be the outcome of his attempts to purchase your love and affection. But the nearly imperceptible signs of hurt that tug at his features tell you that he hasn’t.

All you had wanted was to speak with him. After months of swimming in deep depression, isolated and terrified, you finally worked up the courage to appeal to the kind young boy you know is walled deep inside of your captor. Everything about his appearance has changed, but the love and passion in his liquid blue eyes is the same. You were there when he first set foot in Italy, after all.

Not as Don Giorno Giovanna, but as Haruno.

When he saw you in the doorway of his study, he lit up like you hadn’t seen in years. He had dreamed of the day you would come to him of your own accord. He promptly ushered his guards from the fire-lit room and took your trembling hand in his own. It really was Haruno, you thought, as he smiled that familiar sheepish grin. The realization put you at ease.

“I…wanted to see you,” You lied, swallowing your fear. The warmth that radiated from Giorno was nearly palpable. His lithe arms pulled you into a gentle embrace, and for the first time you felt him relax. He buried his nose in your hair and squeezed you tight- almost like he was afraid to let go. You couldn’t bring yourself to hold him back, “…t-to talk to you.”

When he pulled away, he looked you up and down. He was positively beaming with pride.

“Anything you want, tesora, it’s yours.”

You bit your lip as he led you to a plush sofa next to the fireplace. Its warmth grounded you to reality. Giorno asked if you wanted something to drink, but you knew you couldn’t stomach even an ounce of liquid. Even water made you nauseous as of late.

Minutes passed before you found your voice. Giorno simply watched the shadows of your features dance in the light of the flames. He looked so sweet in that moment, so genuinely happy. Part of you wondered if you’d misunderstood him, that maybe he truly hadn’t meant to hurt you. Without thinking, you squeezed his hand with real affection.

“You…sent me another gift,” You started, pulling a rose gold locket from your dress. It was inlaid with tiny diamonds that spelled your name, and undeniably beautiful- but the sight of it made bile rise in your throat. It was the final straw. Before Giorno could respond, you turned his hand and pressed it against his palm, “I came here to give it back.”

His expression faded like ashes scattered by the wind. His brows knitted together as he slowly put the pieces together. You weren’t there to finally return his affection, you weren’t there to proclaim yourself as his own- you came to change his heart. A feat no one had ever achieved. His head nodded and a small, resigned smile appeared. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

“I know it isn’t much, but think of it as a token of my love,” He replied, looking past your exasperated stare and holding the locket up to your neck. Something inside of you snapped and you yanked the glittering necklace from his fingertips.

“This is not love!” You shrieked, throwing the jewelry with all of your might. It broke and speckled the marbled floor.

And now you’re here. Sitting in the wake of your combined decisions. Drowning in the air around you. The fire, once comforting, feels like it’s burning you alive. Tears streak your face as despair sets in. When the silence is finally broken, you hear the crack in Giorno’s voice.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” He suddenly stands, stepping over the shards of jewelry to stand before the fireplace. His shadow looms over the entire study, “For years, I’ve done nothing but vie for your affection, but use everything within my power to protect you. We finally have the life we always dreamed of…Yet you scorn me at every turn.”

“The life we dreamed of?” Despite your trepidation, you find yourself moving to your feet, temper rising, “We used to dream of packing our little bags and building a giant tree house to live in, not this! You grew that tree in the alley behind my place that we would always sit in and pretend we were finally adults…that we were finally free-”

“We were children,” He interrupted, still refusing to face you, “We knew nothing.”

“Haruno knew that it’s wrong to take people as your prisoner. Haruno knew he didn’t want to follow in his parents’ footsteps,” Giorno finally whips around to face you, incredulous, but you continue your rant unabated, “Haruno hated people like you, Haruno would have understood that you abuse me and then buy my affection just like your father did to your mother. I refuse to be bought, Haruno-”

Blinding pain radiates up the left side of your face. It takes a second to register that you’ve been struck. Even Giorno stares at his open palm, shocked. You clutch your cheek and clench your teeth through fresh tears. He swallows hard, and his expression turns to stone.

“Haruno was a scared little boy that had no agency, beaten and broken into silence,” He takes a step forward, and you take a step back.

“Haruno didn’t understand that some people in this world are born evil, that nothing can ever fix them,” Your right leg catches the wooden coffee table and you tumble to the floor.

“Haruno had to grow up and learn that the only way you can protect that which you love is to hold on to it for dear life,” His voice raises to a fever pitch. Your arms rush to cover your face in anticipation of being struck once again.

But it never comes.

When the moment passes, you dare to peek through blurry eyes. The room around you is lush with greenery, an explosion of flowers and vines. A thick oak tree had grown where the sofa was, branches nearly reaching the ceiling. You lower your arms and gaze around the study in a mixture of wonder and fear. Giorno stands above your cowering form, back hunched, sobbing.

“Haruno is dead!” He shouts, collapsing at your feet. The tree breathes and stretches with life, puncturing holes in the roof above. Bits of dust and debris tumble down around you, but Giorno seems to not notice. You watch, entranced, as he cries.

“G-Giorno…” You mutter, afraid to reach out to him but resigned that you must. As much as he has hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to run away.

Giorno remembers the last time he cried. Flashes of his own body impaled on the Colosseum gates, of blood dripping, of Narancia’s limp body as he lay it to rest on a bed of flowers- he remembers it well. It wrenches his heart, twists it so he can’t breathe. Nearly everyone who has ever been important to him has been ripped away by the cruelest of fates.

Except for you.

“I’m sorry,” He chokes, clutching himself tight. For some reason, fate has left you alone. Despite his immense love for you, your body continues to live and breathe just as he does. But you’ve made it abundantly clear that fate doesn’t have to intervene to remove you from his life. If something doesn’t change, he could lose you all the same, “I’m so sorry…”

You tentatively reach out and touch his shoulder. He shakes his head, but makes no move to stop you. Even as your other hand gently strokes his hair, fingertips gliding along his disheveled golden locks, you remain silent. As much as you want to comfort him, you won’t lie to him any longer. His apology remains unaccepted.

“If you’re sorry, if you truly love me like you say you do, you have to let me go…” Giorno’s tear-filled eyes meet yours. He looks terrified. A vision of Haruno weeping as you checked his face for bruises briefly replaces him. Your hands unconsciously slide to cup his reddened cheeks, just like back then, “I love you Giorno, I always have. But this has to be on my own terms. Don’t you see?”

The fear in his eyes dims slightly. His own hands cover yours. They’re larger than they used to be, and more calloused, but comforting all the same. He swallows hard and forces himself to smile softly.

“I understand,” He croaks, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. Relief flows through you as you release your breath. Perhaps Haruno truly is gone, and you’ll never reclaim the memories you have with him. But that doesn’t mean Giorno can’t change, that you can’t rebuild your relationship into something just as beautiful as you once had. For the first time in months, you feel a sliver of optimism.

As elation overtakes you, you throw your arms around Giorno, “I knew that I could reach you,” You smile into his neck, tears staining his shoulders. Hesitantly, he holds you back. The last time you touched him voluntarily was a distant memory. As his hand rubs circles into the small of your back, he can’t help but smile himself.

“I understand…” He assures you again, sighing against you. Some of the fauna that covers the room morphs back into furniture as his emotions settle. The burgeoning tree works its way back into a sofa. Giorno holds you tight against him, and for once you don’t mind. You hardly even notice the changes around you, content in your hope that one day Giorno will be himself again. You don’t even notice the thin vine that coils itself up your leg and around your waist.

Up your abdomen.

Over your ribs.

By the time you’re aware of it, it’s reducing your airflow by squeezing tight like a boa constrictor. Puzzled, you open your mouth to speak. Pink flower petals fall out from where your tongue once was. Giorno strokes your hair behind your ears, shushing the panicked noises that escape your throat.

“I understand.”

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

#yandere #yandere!giorno #yandere!giorno x reader #giorno giovanna #yandere!giorno giovanna #sfw #fics #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #part 5 #vento aureo #tw: yandere #tw: captivity #angst #vento aureo spoilers #jjba spoilers #tw: mentions of death #x reader

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the-melting-world · 4 years

Text

The Empress | Side B: “Oats In the Water”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener loses control…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI Appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel

Track Origins: “Oats In the Water” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: blood, violent descriptions

~ 1.4k words

The very large portal that Kipling opened has just taken her best friend Khleo. Kipling and Ozy were too caught up in their argument to notice...

The rain was coming down harder. Kipling was tired of arguing with Ozy. She was getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and this conversation was going nowhere. If Ozy said one more thing about her so-called third eye, she was going to lose it. Ozy was still shouting at Kip when she finally decided to tune him out completely and go back to what she was doing with Khleo. Based on how the storm was growing, it didn’t seem like going back to the grotto was an option.

Kip looked over to where Khleo was standing. Only, he wasn’t standing there anymore.

“Khleo?”

Not only was Khleo gone but so was the portal.

Kipling heard Ozy’s incredulous gasp before she registered the reality of the situation.

“No, no, no. Khleo. I told you to wait!”

Kipling turned slowly, her eyes burning in Ozy’s direction despite the rain.

“Ozy.” Kipling bit at his name. “Where is Khleo? Where’s the jump off?”

For the first time, Ozy looked unsure. He never looked unsure when it came to the portals. He always had the answers, always knew what to do and how to do it. Now he was looking down at his hands, counting his fingers, muttering under his breath, glancing this way and that.

Kipling barely noticed that her hand that wore the gauntlet was slowly curling into a fist.

“Ozy. The jump!”

“We never made one!” He burst.

Kipling was squeezing her hand so tightly that it went numb. “So? Make one now.”

Ozy faltered. “I only know how to make exit portals after the entry portal is opened. You can’t create exits if the entrance no longer exists.”

“What? What do you mean you can’t...” Kip trailed off, disbelieving.

Ozy threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know how to get Khleo out!” He could barely bring himself to look at Kipling. The way she backed up on trembling legs, eyes darting around the rocky shelf for something to hold her up – she was in shock.

“I told Khleo to wait,” Ozy groaned weakly, barely feeling the tropical storm beating down on them both. The water sluicing down his face, mixing in with his tears turned from warm to cold as the winds picked up.

Kip kept turning in circles, as if that monstrous portal would show up at any moment and bring back her friend.

“He’s gone? Khleo’s gone? You… Ozy, you…”

Her spinning was starting to make Ozy feel sick.

“I told him to wait, Kip! I told him to wait for me.” Ozy approached, determined to take Kip’s shoulders and steady her. “Khleo didn’t listen to me and neither did you, Kip. You didn’t lock the portal right! No one ever listens to me!”

Kipling reluctantly came to a halt, but she shoved Ozy’s hands away. It seemed her emotions had finally caught up to what was registering in her brain. Because now she was screaming.

“That was my best friend, Ozy.” She raised up her gauntlet. “My best friend!”

Then there was only rage. Blood. The cracking of skin. Bone breaking.

Now...Ozy was on his knees, trying to hold his face together. Begging. Painful sobs under the blanket of blood and disrupted cartilage.

Kip looked down at her hand that wore the gauntlet. Looked at the sticky evidence of violence that refused to go with the rain.

A storm so tiresome and overwhelming created its own vortex of wrath all around them.

A storm so great and yet… so empty.

***

Kipling woke up again covered in seawater. She wasn’t in her and Asra’s bedroom this time. She was in the reading room. There was standing water everywhere, like a small flood had passed through. All of their magical artifacts were drifting about, some getting ruined.

Not again.

Kipling didn’t scream or sob or call out for Asra as she had done in the past. She had grown tired of putting her body through more stress. This unwelcome teleporting in her sleep became more terrifying with each new incident, but they also happened frequently enough to be normal at this point.

Once Kipling’s disorientation subsided, she sat up on the reading table to see that she had disturbed Asra’s deck. All of the minor and major arcana were scattered about the table, damp and wilting under the weight of the saltwater.

Kip cursed as she tried to gather them up. Really, it was pointless. There was water everywhere.

“Kip! Kipling!”

Asra appeared before the doorway, white curls disheveled, the hem of his loose pants soaking as he picked his way across the flooded room, and concern streaking his features.

Kipling wished he didn’t have to worry about her all the time. To know that he wanted to help her and could do nothing about it really made her heart ache.

When Kip began to apologize, Asra cut her off with warm, unconditional embraces. Each one was peppered with soft encouragements and even softer kisses.

Kip wished she could lean into them and forget that this even happened. Flooding the room where they did their readings was not the end of the world. A little drying spell was all it took to set things right.

But Kip had ignored this problem too many times. She couldn’t control her primary magic. She couldn’t suppress it anymore. It was tied to her memories and ever since she and Asra had defeated the Devil, her memories hadn’t stopped making their way back to her.

***

Asra slid the cup of lemongrass tea across the table to Kip.

“You know,” he said quietly, “not all the cards got wet. There was one that, for whatever reason, remained untouched by the water.”

Kipling wasn’t ready to walk away from the subject of her memories. She stared down at the cup of hot tea, unable to bring herself to drink it.

“When I woke up from…” it was still hard to talk about it “the Lazaret… did this ever happen? The nightmares and the portals appearing out of nowhere?”

Asra sighed. “Only a few times, but yes. I didn’t know what to make of it. The more of your motor skills you recovered, the less your primary magic would flare up.”

Kip considered this. “That was probably because once I had more control over my body, I could suppress the magic better. The more I remember about my time in the Melting World, the more I can recall being taught how to keep my magic limited and weak until it eventually became second nature.”

Asra reached across the table and fed his fingers around Kipling’s wrist.

“But you got older, stronger. Your magic grew. It’s not something that’s meant to be suppressed. It never will be.”

Kip closed her eyes as a wave of anxiety suddenly caught her off guard. She flinched at the thought of a circular Door exploding into existence, interrupting her peace. Just an emotionless, bottomless stomach that took what she loved the most when she least expected it.

Why would Kip ever want to go willingly through one?

Asra squeezed her wrist. “Kip? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“The recent nightmares I’ve been having have all been the same. But I realize now that it was a memory. There were other children there. They were my cousins… my friends.”

Asra didn’t interrupt. Kip stretched her mind to places she otherwise wouldn’t.

“Ozy.”

With Ozy she associated old books, older artifacts. Sharing silly rhymes that hid darker truths. Becoming masters of grey magic without the help of grownups.

“And…”

Her memory flickered more sharply with the next one.

“Khleo.”

With Khleo it was all wildflowers and warm leisure. Sometimes midnight rendezvous to take out secrets and safely wonder at them.

Asra’s fingers pressed into her wrist. “Is that all?”

Kip looked at him. No. Not even close. Ozy and Khleo. There was so much behind both of them. So much emotion. Kip looked down at her tea. It was too early. Too soon to unpack all of that right now.

“That card that survived the flood,” Kip said, her lip quirking up in an effort to salvage some lightheartedness to get through the day, “which one was it?”

Asra, knowing Kip’s limits and respecting them, mirrored her grin, regarding her no longer with concern, but with genuine intrigue.

“The Empress.”

#kipling the apprentice #kipling bronne #khleo the barhand #ozy the grey mage #asra alnazar #asra #the arcana #my writing #arcana albums #arcana albums: the empress #asra the arcana #the arcana fic

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fenweak · 4 years

Photo

As requested! This rec list features Kazer Kid Fics -- Jonny and Patrick both with kids and babies AND as kids and babies, with a small dash of de-aging and a spoonful of mpreg.

⭐ for my personal faves

My Other Rec Lists 🍭 Rec me a fic? 🍭

The Ones Where They Have Kids

No Capes by sorrylatenew ⭐ - j/p as parents; implied mpreg

Husbands. Dads. Retired superheroes.

The Reeducation of Misters Kane and Toews + timestamp by jezziejay - single dad Patrick, teacher Jonny ⭐

In which Kaner sort of has a kid, and Mr. Toews doesn't know which of them is the bigger brat.

AU featuring teacher!Jon and hockey-player!Kaner. With bonus 'Hawks characters, love notes, pasta jewelry, Be Better Pizzas, pirouettes, a sprinke of angst and guest appearance by Derek Jeter.

trust your intuition (it's just like goin' fishin') by poeelektra - 1988 as parents

They’re on the periphery of the Home Wares section of Target, heading with purposeful stride toward Sporting Goods, when Gabe declares that he wants a doll for his “Been Good” toy.

Every Little Thing He Does (is magic) by jezziejay - single dad Patrick

Jonny Toews is a bewitching man who moves into a mysterious mansion in a small town. Soon, he opens Bell, Book & Candle, a curiosity shop full of candles, lotions, etc., and is enthralling the children of local police chief (Patrick Kane), who believe he is a witch (but not a bad one.) But not everyone in town is appreciative of their quirky new neighbor, and it may take a little bit of magic for him to truly become part of the community.

Under Cover by heartstrings - 1988 as parents

"Just get in the fucking blanket fort, Kaner."

Feels Like Family To Me + prequels by exmanhater - 1988 as parents

Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane plan, create, and obtain their family.

living next door to alice series by cinderlily - 1988 as parents

"It started with a phone call."Patrick and Jonny are suddenly given the opportunity to be parents. This is how they stumble through it.

some say love is a burning thing podfic by exmanhater - 1988 as parents

If anyone had told Johnny upon entering the NHL that thirteen years later he'd not only have a kid with Patrick Kane, but would be getting ready to go on a 'date night,’ he'd have said they must be smoking some pretty good shit.And then he'd have to wait a decade to eat his words.

In the Middle of the Night - 1988 as parents

Gone are the days when it took a cold, wet washcloth on his face to wake him up. Or: Five times Pat and Jonny's daughter wakes them up, plus one time they wake her up.

so show me family - single dad Patrick

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one. ~Jane Howard

Fill It Up With Love by Frosting50 - single dad Pat; implied mpreg

So Pat’s senior year doesn’t turn out exactly like he’d planned. He still gets his degree in accounting, but he also gets a little girl named Emma. She’s all fat pink cheeks, curly brown hair, and blue eyes. She might have Ryan’s chin, but she’s all Pat’s. And the first time she falls asleep on his chest, chubby hand curled around his thumb, skin so soft and sweet he damn-near feels bowled over with how much he loves her. He didn’t know he could love anyone so much; it makes his heart feel too big for his chest, and he knows that he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to give her the world.

peas & carrots by altri_uccelli - 1988 as parents

Unapologetic Halloween fluff, or: Jonny forgets what day it is, but Kaner's on it.

Can You Lyft Me Up? by Mullsandmutts - single dad Patrick

Even high profile athletes like Chicago Blackhawks Captain Jonathan Toews are forced to utilize paid transportation from time to time. An accidental "share my ride" selection on an app results in a life-altering ride with an mouthy Russian driver (Artemi), an unfairly attractive single father (Patrick Kane) and his adorable sassy (and color-matching-challenged) preschool daughter (introducing Molly Donna Patricia Amelia Kane aka Mo). Jonathan refuses to feel too sketch when he negotiates a plan with the driver to "accidentally" have more shared rides with his new friends. When Mo has a traumatic incident at day camp, Patrick's heart is broken and Jonny enlists the help of Temi and the ever-meddling Patrick Sharp to get smiles back on both Kane faces. Jonathan finds himself more and more drawn to Patrick but Patrick's fears of being a good enough parent for Mo and meeting all of her needs could keep them apart. Will Temi, the Sharp family and a trio of nosy aunts in Buffalo be enough to help Jonathan and Patrick realize what they could have together or will Patrick's stubbornness and Jonathan's fear of ruining their friendship keep them apart? Stay tuned to find out ....

Three by Linsky - i won’t spoil it

Patrick doesn’t think he’s a pervert. But how would he know? Maybe a pervert is just a thing you are, and it doesn’t feel any different from being a normal person, until you do something perverted. Maybe that’s him.After all, he does have two names on his wrist.

All Your Memories by toewsandconfused - 1988 as parents; amnesiafic

Pat went to sleep a bachelor in the Trump Towers and woke up next to Jonny in the suburbs with three kids calling him Daddy. Struggling to figure out his new reality Patrick had ruled out dream, was banking on delusion because even though it meant he was losing his mind, it seemed safer than some kind of late-onset amnesia. He didn’t want to face that idea that this really was his life; that Jonny was his, that those beautiful kids were his, and he couldn’t remember any of it. The idea that the memories of their life together could be lost forever was too terrifying to deal with. Losing his mind was preferable to losing his memories.

Chelsea, Chelsea I Believe by empathapathique - single dad Pat ⭐

Patrick meets a girl his rookie year.

Don't Let Go by aohatsu - 1988 as adoptive parents

“So you were already with the boy you saved when the fire started?”Patrick pauses, but shakes his head. “No, there was an explosion—I don’t really know what it was, but then it was just me and Tigre, and it’s like, in a situation like that, you don’t really think? You just do. So I grabbed the kid and went through the fire escape. It’s not like I decided I wanted to save anybody, it was just the only option.”

Always Be My Baby by juliusschmidt - single dad Patrick

The thing is, you don’t just grow up once.

as careless as you are certain - single dad Patrick

March through August, 2015.

the one with the baby yentas series by forochel

Tazer has a son and Kaner is his son's kindergarten teacher.

It's the Magic of Risking Everything by conformityissuicide - single dad Jonny

When Jonny is thirteen he meets a small kid from Buffalo at a hockey tournament.

Then he has a gay crisis, a baby girl, and gets drafted 3rd overall by an Original Six franchise.

When he meets Patrick Kane again at prospect camp he doesn’t feel anything but excitement.

And then it all goes to hell.

"of gifts and fireflies" by huntersandangels - single dad Jon

Patrick Kane hasn’t lived a charmed life despite money flowing through his veins. The journey he is currently on, though paved with good intentions, proves to be a harder challenge than he could ever be ready for. The people he meets along the way give him a much more valued gift than his grandfather could ever dream of giving him.

I'm gonna love you til my lungs give out by arenadomatthews - 1988 as parents

“Papa, Dad, you guys are retiring today?” Bryan asks, looking up at his parents.“Yeah buddy, we are. Are you gonna behave while Dad and I are doing our press conference?” Patrick asks.

“Duh, Dad. I'm not a baby anymore,” he scoffs.

“He's right, Pat. He's our big boy now,” Jonny adds.

“Yeah, I'm going into 4th grade,” Bryan boasts pridefully.Patrick and Jonathan are finally announcing their retirement after 20 NHL seasons. However, their retirement ceremony will come with a twist: they'll be publicly coming out and revealing their family

Your Daddy's Aim Is True by thefourthvine; podfic by isweedan - cup wish baby! ⭐

patch it up by gasmsinc - 1988 as parents

Jonny stares at his daughter for a long moment. She stares back, eyes unwavering. She has Kaner’s baby blues, but at five she’s already mastered Jonny’s dead on the inside stare. Her kindergarten teacher claims she uses the unwavering look to bully other students into doing what she wants, and it’s something they should work on at home, but Jonny’s baby is a natural born leader, and he’s not going to get in her way of becoming the president, or, better yet, the supreme ruler of the universe.

Your patch,” says Jonny.

Baby, It's Hot Outside by toewsyourheart - single dad Pat

Jonny goes for a popsicle and gets a little bit more than he bargained for.

Take All That's Left - divorced single dad Pat

It’s been 6 years now, and he’s grown to enjoy the city since signing with the Rangers to follow Anna, who’d found a job in Brooklyn.

But Chicago; Chicago was Patrick’s first love, all his important firsts – it’s all been hers, and having to leave had been heartbreaking. Too many memories from Chicago were heartbreaking, and yet he always yearned for the city, always felt more comfortable walking her streets than any other place in the world. No other place quite felt like home the way Chicago did.

Isn’t She Lovely by windsthatwhisper + podfic by kanetcews (lavenderharry) - wish baby!

It's nine in the morning when Pat and Jonny stumble down the stairs, sluggish with sleep.

There’s a baby carrier on the kitchen island.

Jonny blinks, blinks again, then turns to get a cup of coffee.

Recreation, Entertainment, Art, or Sport by trademarkgiggle

of course jonathan toews can juggle

so show me family series by peeks, tazer - teacher Pat

“Just admit you like him.”

“Shut up, Sharpy,” Patrick says, before he rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the smirk widening on Sharpy’s lips. “Don’t you have your kids’ parents to bother?”

“No, my last kid left a couple minutes ago, so I’m totally here to watch you and Jonathan Toews make heart eyes at each other,” Sharpy laughs, waltzing into Patrick’s classroom. He immediately makes his way to see Sadie, who greets her dad with a hug.

(In which Patrick Kane is terrible at feelings but luckily, Patrick Sharp is a total bro.)

The Ones Where They’re With Kids

In My Blood and In My Bones + Nothing Sweet or Gentle by fourfreedoms ⭐

Patrick’s not really into dudes—he’s done that whole thing a couple of times—that’s rock-n-roll after all, but god, when Jonathan smiles, he looks really good.Johnny is a nanny. Patrick's a musician. They fall in love. Inspired by the movie What Maisie Knew.

the kids are alright

Patrick works at the sporting goods store Jonny takes his peewee team to for equipment.

given to us as free-flying souls by Mayhem10

Jonathan had never really considered himself particularly good with kids. He didn’t avoid them or anything and it’s not like they burst into tears when they saw his face, but he never was exactly sure what to do with them, these little people running around at waist height. It just wasn’t his area.So, of course, Patrick was basically the child whisperer.

(or five times Jonathan saw Patrick with kids and one time Patrick saw him)

Hide Your Face So The World Will Never Find You (Paper Faces On Parade) by huntersandangels

Jonathan Toews, farm owner and guardian of his nephew, is in desperate need of capable farm hands. Patrick Kane certainly does not fit the description but when a mutual friend confides in him that Patrick has lost everything he owned and is in serious need himself and offers Jonathan money to hire him, how can he say no?

Patrick Kane loves statistics and spending his money on thoroughly planned ‘adventures’ for his friends when he’s not partying away the rest of his fortune. If he wins the bet he can continue to plot freely but if he loses his extra curriculum activities have to stop. He agrees to go on an ‘adventure’ himself and settles in the Toews Farm posing as a farm hand. But as the time goes by, the less pretend it feels-and the more he enjoys Jonathan and Etienne’s company and the quite life in the farm; to the point where he’s not sure whether he wants to win the bet or lose...

Baby, You're the One by jezziejay ⭐

6k words of Jonathan Toews having feelings about babies. And feelings about Kaner. And feelings about putting a baby in Kaner.

The Ones Where They Are Kids

The Cat and the Fiddle series by james - childhood soulmates!

When Donna's son is four, he creates an imaginary friend.

i want to know what you know by sointimate - childhood sweethearts

Patrick is six years old and he's about to do the scariest thing he's ever done in his whole life.

Colorblind by july_v ⭐

Jon is five when he meets Patrick. It's also the time he begins to understand colors as more than an abstract concept.

How to become a man series+ coda by liketheroad, mockturtletale

In which Kaner gets spontaneously de-aged into a six-year-old, and he and Tazer both have a lot of growing up to do.

Romper Room by james - de-aged 1988

Sharpie doesn't really think this should be part of his duty as alternate captain. Luckily, none of this is his fault. A.K.A., the one where Kaner and Johnny are five.

you ruined everything in the best way by thisissirius + podfic by exmanhater .⭐ - de-aged Saader

Kaner's looking down at the kid, though, frowning. He crouches down. "Hey, kid, where are your parents?

"The kid's bottom lip juts out and starts wobbling. Fuck, that means he's going to start crying, right?

"Oh shi—oot, kid, don't cry," Kaner says. "I mean, if you don't know where they are, we can find 'em?"

"Kaner," Sharpy presses. "That's Saad."

don't worry about your body - de-aged Jonny

No one said anything. Everyone stared at each other then down at the tiny human being that was standing where Jonny had been. Kaner felt his mouth go entirely dry, and his stomach drop out from underneath him.

What the fuck, man.

Can You Picture It? by RemyJane

In which Kaner turns into a baby and everyone besides Jonny seems to understand. Includes excessive cuddling, ridiculously adorable baby-Kaner, and feelings. Jonny eventually figures everything out.

Never Getting That Shirt Back by ice_hot_13 - de-aged Pat

Patrick is de-aged into a toddler, and when he's with Jonny, he isn't a holy terror.

Je T'aime by banks99 (Nodiggity15) - de-aged Jonny

“He won’t take a bath. He’s arguing with me. It’s like he didn’t even change at all.” Kaner’s not pouting, fuck you very much.

MPREG

I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting) by svmadelyn ⭐ -mpreg!pat

There's a lot of different ways this summary could go, like:Patrick Kane gets more than a gold medal in Sochi.

Or, the classic: It's too late to pull out now.Or: Patrick Kane continues to thrive in high pressure situations.Or: Patrick Kane gets knocked up, goes to White Castle, and finds love, not necessarily in that order.

But, ultimately, all that really matters is this: Patrick Kane is keeping his baby.

private passions and secret storms (all the secrets series) by CoffeeKristin, Frosting50 - mpreg!pat

Jonny’s life is good - great even. He loves Patrick and their kids, and even if they don’t always have time for each other, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. But when Jeff Carter comes into his life, Jonny’s world gets turned upside down. It’s going to take everything he’s got to convince Patrick to give him a second - maybe even a third - chance.

Patrick’s blindsided by Jonny’s betrayal and putting his family back together is a lot harder than he expected when their past comes back to haunt them.Can love conquer all?

Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be by windsthatwhisper - mpreg!jonny

Jonny and Pat's life is a cycle of curse words, late night feedings, and five minute handjobs in the hallway closet.

Aka, I wanted some 1988 w/ a baby feels so I wrote this blurb of a thing in about seven minutes.

efficacy by thirteentorafters - mpreg!patrick

“You,” Patrick says, jabbing a finger angrily at Jonny. “Are gonna fucking help me, dickface.”

Opening his mouth to ask what the hell is going on; Jonny’s eyes drop to Patrick’s stomach. Jonny is acquainted with Patrick’s naked body and the last time they met, Patrick wasn’t fat. Or paunchy. Except that doesn’t look like usual fat. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah, ‘oh fuck’,” Patrick says, imitating Jonny’s tone. “You knocked me up, asshole. What are you gonna do about it?”

Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be by windsthatwhisper - mpreg!jonny

Jonny and Pat's life is a cycle of curse words, late night feedings, and five minute handjobs in the hallway closet.

Looked So Fine (I Just Had To Speak) by svmadelyn - !!!! ⭐

Patrick Kane’s talking penis maintains a ‘to do’ list. It is as follows:1. Jonathan Toews

Phone Tag by hawkeytime (jayyloo) - mpreg!Jonny

"Hi mom. Sorry I couldn’t catch you, so I guess I’ll just, uh.. leave a message. See, the thing is… my super-potent sperm may or may not have managed to knock Jonny up. Okay bye."

"Yes, hello, is this Hockey Canada? I just want it written on the record, today, June 31, 2015, that my incredibly improbable unborn child with Jonathan Toews will be playing for America. Yes, I’ll hold.

"Or: Pat accidentally knocks Jonny up. A saga told in a series of voicemails

A Royal Baby - mpreg!Pat

A cough from the doorway cuts Seabs off mid sentence. Duncs is standing watching them, a particularly somber expression on his face. "Jonny, I'm sorry to interrupt but you have a visitor that you'll want to go see right away.""Now really isn't a good time," Jonny tells him, not even putting down his fork."Trust me Your Highness," Duncs says, "This will be worth it."

[Patrick and Jonathan think their time brief time together at the Olympics is all they can ever have. Patrick's ensuing pregnancy proves otherwise.]

sun sweet berries of the earth series by gasmsinc - mpreg!Pat; a/b/o

There is a spirit living in Patrick State Park.“Listen,” says Jonny. “I didn’t mean to step on your crown.”The spirit’s bottom lip wobbles.

Tame the Roads That Can't Be Tamed by Linsky - mpreg!Pat; a/b/o

Patrick’s flown a million times. He’s never gotten airsick before. Even on last year’s epic flight to Denver, when they hit massive turbulence and half the team was groaning over barf bags, Patrick’s stomach was fine. And maybe he’s sick, sure—but why doesn’t he feel sick the rest of the time? Why is it only mornings and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Oh fucking no.

(Or: In which it is difficult to be a wolf in the NHL, especially when you're not that good at condoms.)

Carve His Name With Pride ⭐ - mpreg!Jonny

Jonny leaves behind a home, a house, and a hockey career the month after he learns that he’s pregnant.

Eyass - mpreg!Jonny

"I dunno," Kaner tells him. "Whatever you need, man. You’re having a baby! That’s a lot of work. I want to be here for you."

Somehow, in the dozens of conversations he’s had with teammates and friends and family in the past few days, no one has said those exact words to Jonny: “you’re having a baby”. He has to comb his fingers through his hair and take a deep, steadying breath to compose himself.

Kaner notices and smiles at him; a crooked, beautiful thing. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

Heartburn and Survival by dedougal - mpreg!Jonny

They were in Canada when Jonny found out he was pregnant. Afterwards, Jonny used that as a point in his bulleted list of arguments about why Jack should represent Canada but, to be entirely truthful, finding out in Canada - finding out anywhere - was pretty disastrous.

Three Cups and a Pup by Miss_Psychotic, nommedeplume - mpreg!Patrick

The Story of Alpha Jonny and Omega Kaner getting their shit together and learning how to be Adulting Adults (Finally)

Chips and Cribs by whatislife - mpreg!Jonny

“What do you mean there are no chips,” Jonny asks from where he is standing by the island, hand resting on his stomach. “Weren’t they on the list? Did you not buy them?”(Patrick just wants to sleep.)

#patrick kane #jonathan toews #1988 #blackhawks #hockey rpf #chicago blackhawks #kazer #kaner #it's possible i have missed some stuff #it's been so long since i reread anything 1988!#askbox is open for your suggestions on this (╯▽╰ )

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leeknow-bestboy · 4 years

Text

If You Close One Eye - Chapter Two

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5878

Chapter: 2/?

Next / previous / first

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

The streets of Seoul bustled as night fell, clubs and pubs lighting their headlights for the passerby's attention. Not a single soul felt real then- as if it was all nothing more than a scene in the movie. Most importantly he knew, not one person dedicated a thought to Minho at that time.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he had no urge to cry. The tears ended, they've gone, he was past that. Instead, the shock had settled back in. Even his warm, soft covers and a light breeze from outside couldn't comfort him now. The distant sound of civilization... it all proved no use as he dissociated farther.

Calling the police had been an easy first step, so was giving his account of the incident. No, the hard part came in between.

Laying there waiting for help had been... jarring. Lightly said it was hell; crying, scared and anguished, it hadn't even hit yet that he found what he asked for, have been looking for over the last few weeks. All he knew was that he will never forget the sight, and as the sun went down, he kept his light on; terrified of falling asleep.

Blinking rapidly, even late into the night it hadn't left him. Should he call his old psychiatrist? The hallucinations didn't seem to return despite his distress, at least. No pills kept them away, but they hadn't worsened at all like he feared.

Sitting frozen in place he recounted the voice answering his emergency call, deep and reassuring. The warm hands which pulled him to his feet, the worried gaze of the patrolling officer- a kindhearted man in uniform who hugged and comforted him until he calmed down enough to speak coherently. He remembered the backup call for investigation crew one, staying in the man's hold until others arrived. He remembered a tall man speaking, another squeezing his shoulder and commanding the others.

He remembered the officer taking him to the station, same one who found him in that state, the kind mister Kim- worriedly glancing at him as he drove. The tall one joined them, only ceasing in his stream of questions after a pointed glare from Kim.

"Pill, he's the only witness. There was a corpse out there." The tall man defended, crossing his arms and looking out the window without another word.

Arriving there, Minho was struck by how much he wanted to go home. Not to his apartment, mother or sister, not to anywhere he could set his mind to either, but a home he didn't have, didn't know at that time.

"Come on, lets get you some water." Kim offered, leading Minho inside with a warm hand on his back, not before taking his backpack away and placing it where belongings of suspects went presumably.

"Are you cold?" He asked worriedly, noticing the slight shiver that went through Minho as he sat down.

At his hesitant nod Kim left his side, talking in hushed tones to another worker before returning and ruffling Minho's hair.

"I'm heading back out; someone has to stay on patrol. Jae, be nice." He warned, stepping out of the room.

As he left, the worker from before had entered back in carrying a yellow blanket and a cup, and Minho dully noted that he seemed a few years younger than himself. An intern?

A loud cough brought his attention to who he understood by now was an investigator- the tall guy who joined them in the ride, dubbed Jae by officer Kim.

"Are you okay to start?" he asked.

And so, they did.

Turning his gaze to the window in present day, Minho tried his best to forget the things said at his investigation as it led to farther memories of the incident. Passing his statement had gone fine, leading up to his release. The officer had been kind enough to drive him home without being asked, not wanting him to roam the streets in his shaken-up state. He imagined they would summon him back tomorrow, seeing as he collected a lot of valuable information on Chelle's case over time, but that had been it.

Should he look up cat videos? Minho sniffed, shuffling back till his back hit the wall. A sudden movement made him jump, relaxing immediately when he saw Dori and Soonie both jumped up to check on him.

"I'm okay, don't worry." He lied, wiping at his face with a sleeve.

An unfinished drawing; the field from today, Seoul's towers in the distance.

"…I'm not, I'm not okay." Minho corrected, bitterness filling his mouth.

He jumped up, running to crane over the toilet as nausea hit. He didn't even have any dinner, but his appetite had fled the scene for now, so it didn't matter. First night, it was only the first night- he'll get better for sure, he promised himself. He was only shocked, this can't be the end of normalcy for him. He still had a lot to look forward to, he didn't want this day to scar the rest of his life, wouldn't let it.

For now, he let himself go through it. He didn't even like Chelle, but that never meant he wanted this to happen. What was he expecting, anyway? For her to show up one day, alive and well as if nothing happened? On some level this was inevitable, wasn't it?

Dragging his feet to the kitchen, he fixed himself a glass of water and headed back to bed, where he sat and waited for sunrise. He had a few assignments still due, but he was in no mindset to do those.

Eventually light broke, dark circles evident under Minho's eyes. He got up, picking four of the empty water cups to put away and making some coffee for a change.

It was around seven AM that a knock sounded, alerting Minho who's been nodding off and shaking awake with a shiver every couple of minutes for the past hour and a half.

He stood, head spinning as he opened the door to a policeman he only vaguely recognized as the one left in charge of the scene the day before.

"…Minho, right?" The officer started after a while, undoubtedly noticing Minho's tired eyes and deciding to drop the formalities for the time being.

"I am. You have questions for me?" Minho confirmed, fighting the urge to sigh deeply.

"I do. Would you mind if we head out? I can wait for you to change, if you'd like." The cop asked.

Minho stared, realizing he hadn't changed or washed up over the past 24 hours. In comparison, the cop had been clean shaven- black hair in a pretty cut that ended right over his ears. His eyes, sharp and fox like, seemed to hold just the right amount of chill and wit expected of a detective. Moreover, he seemed a sharp contrast to last night's tall detective wearing round glasses, short blond hair messed by wind and small eyes tired yet warm.

"I'd rather we head out right away." Minho decided, trying his best not to let himself get intimidated. Describing the first detective as tall might have been fair, yet standing next to the seemingly icy man he realized he too had a good eight centimeters on him- he was just built a bit wider.

"Before we go, you said yesterday that you have files with information on the case. I'd like to see those" The man requested. Minho nodded, speeding to his bedside where his bag had been left stranded containing everything he's gathered before he left for yesterday's search.

He blinked hard, hoping to stay alert even at his tired state as he handed over his recent list of loose ends. Despite doing so, he failed to notice the man's impressed gaze scanning over the information. "Let's go." He said eventually, seeming oddly pleased. "Bring the bag with you."

The car ride had been silent for a while, Minho struggling to stay awake and missing all the concerned glances the other took in his direction. It was broken, eventually, by an unexpected offer trailing from the driver's side.

"Up for some coffee?" The cop asked, eyes twinkling as a cheeky smile spread across his features. Shocked, Minho nodded and noted over to himself- never judge by first impression. The moment the cop smiled, the ice broke- it was as if all the stars in the universe found a new home in his eyes, lips shaped in a heart.

The cop huffed a laughter, and Minho wondered how that person ever left a cold impression to begin with. "I'm gonna get an iced americano for me, what would you like?"

"The same." Minho said quietly, flustered. The cop hummed, obviously agreeing with that choice before his smile grew even more, a feat Minho hadn't thought was possible.

"Hold on," he instructed, stopping the car near a café and stepping outside. Soon enough he returned, two cups of iced americanos and a small croissant in hand.

"You look tired, some sugar might do you good." He explained, and it turned clear to Minho that he was one kind gesture away from breaking into tears.

"Let's go, I have questions still." Ah, there it was. Alright, fair enough- he might have been playing the role of the good cop, there was no need to take it personally.

At the station, Minho was faced with a few familiar faces; The tall blond detective, and the boy who brought him a blanket. Officer Kim, however, was nowhere in sight. Instead, a new addition was some guy seated on a waiting chair meant for fugitives, sleeping with a hand thrown over his face, covered head to toe in blankets and snoring quietly.

"Sit down." The blond detective instructed, pointing with his chin towards the chair he had sat in before, next to an office table with two additional chairs on its inner side. The detective himself had elected to lean against the wall, as if rejecting the idea of sitting next to his partner during this.

"Look at this." The black haired commented lowly, placing the bag they brought in the other's hands before sitting in the chair opposite of Minho.

"Would you like some water?" A voice piped in. Looking to his left, Minho found that it was the boy. Black hair messy, he could now tell for sure he wasn't an employee since he wasn't in uniform, and Minho dumbly recalled that he wasn't wearing it the day former either. Smiling lightly, he shook his head- he still had some of his iced americano left.

"Let's go over these again- You are: Lee Minho, a major in criminology, minors in dance. Twenty-one years old."

"Yes." Minho confirmed confidently.

"Yesterday, late afternoon, you were following Chelle's tracks, a girl who's dated your sister and has gone missing without notice. Attending a location that she had occupied in her last moments according to her Instagram page, you have encountered her corpse. Is that correct?"

"Yes." Minho confirmed, quieter this time.

"Over the passing weeks since her disappearance, you have acquired extensive information on Chelle's life and behavioral patterns, coming to know her well- leading to her discovery."

Minho nodded. Please be done soon…

"This was done under the request of your younger sister, eighteen-year-old Lee Ryujin."

"Almost nineteen." Minho corrected numbly. Her birthday was due next week, so nineteen.

"This is good." The tall detective commented, startling the table's occupants. He handed out the papers, slamming them on the table.

"You were right, Bri. We could use that kind of mindset." He continued, throwing Minho into a state of confusion. What was this about?

A groan behind them made the black-haired detective straighten up, leading to Minho looking behind him as well. "Oh, you're awake?"

The sleeping man stretched, making a few painful sounds and moving his hand away from his face. At the sudden recognition, Minho couldn't help but stare.

"Chan?" he asked, disbelief clear in his tired voice.

"Minho? You’re here too." He noted, taking in where he was as his expression fell horribly.

"We called him in after you went home. You can leave, you know." The tall detective commented in a hard tone, hinting on the fact he had told him this numerous times before.

"I can't go home like this; I need to know what happened." Chan insisted, sitting up and leaning his face into his hands. The image had been devastating, unlike anything Minho expected of Chan's character. At that moment the intern returned, carrying a big cup of nice smelling brown liquid and offering it to the grieving man quietly. As he accepted, the intern sat by him and comfortingly held his hand- a kind gesture, filling Minho with sudden affection towards the boy.

"To be honest, we didn't bring you in for questioning." The dark-haired detective spoke, capturing Minho's attention once more.

"We need people who think like you," he continued, communicating with his partner with his eyes, sending him off somewhere-

"And we were wondering if you would agree to an internship, here, with our team."

Minho perked up, surprised. An internship? What for? Why? And how come?

"We investigate hard cases, where people have gone missing or worse. There are a few other teams, this is response crew one. Generally speaking, we are in charge of district nine as well as that part of Seoul's outskirts."

Minho froze, adrenaline starting to pump through his body. "You want me to investigate missing person cases?"

The detective paused, eyes turning sad. "That might be a bit much at this time. Please consider it."

The blond detective returned, carrying a few files which he offered to Minho. "The terms aren't bad, right Innie?"

Minho turned, making eye contact with the boy. "Pretty good. I don't deal with investigations though; I'd rather make coffee." He added.

Reading his terms, they did seem pretty good. The pay was high, and he was promised to get credited over cases he took part in. As for hours, they seemed to be flexible enough for a college student to partake.

What?

Minho stopped, eyes lifting from the paper. Never in his life did he intend to pursue a career as a police detective, hadn’t considered it seriously even. The offer itself had nothing attractive about it, nothing to aid him in his career path and ultimately-

It meant, what happened yesterday?

That will happen again.

Minho felt himself choking up even as he made an effort to settle his breath. These people expected him, they really thought he could go through it again. It hadn't been a day, and still-

What kind of obscure offer was that?

Minho stood, turning away with the intent of leaving that place for good. From the other side, the detective had sighed. "Could you take the papers with you? Think about it?"

It was then that Minho looked up and saw, Chan had been looking at him all that while. He didn't seem judging or tired, although his eyes were red, they were filled with expectations. It seemed that, without knowing Minho that well, he fully believed the other would take and sign those papers, and it hit him that for Chan he was the only real detective at presence.

Had he not taken that request from Ryujin… he wouldn't have found her. He wouldn't have seen it, he wouldn't, and then...

And then she'd have stayed there.

And no one would have ever found her, because no one was looking. Even if Chan was looking, he never would have found her, because none of the information he gave was what led to her and because Chan was not Minho, didn't think like him.

And that wasn't okay.

"Oh?" The tall detective sounded, pleasantly surprised as Minho sat back down and pulled a pen out of the batch near the computer, neatly signing his name in big letters. If he didn't, he knew it would haunt him forever, the thought that he would have left Chelle to lay in a field if given a chance.

"What can I say kid, welcome to the crew."

After that, he had learned the names of all the office workers. The detective in charge; Park Jaehyung or Jae, his partner; called Young K on the field, Kang Younghyun normally and Brian by close friends. Their boss, an impressive man named Park Sungjin, would show up here and there but mostly worked odd hours. The head of the emergency call unit who had coincidentally picked up his call was a shy man named Yoon Dowoon, and head officer Kim- the title had Jae wheezing for air, was normally called Kim Wonpil. The intern, referred to as Innie by the others, stood up and formally introduced himself as Yang Jeongin, grin shining brightly enough to draw everyone's eyes to himself.

"For Chelle's case." Young k spoke up, immediately drawing Chan and Minho's attention.

"We found that she had shot herself. Her parents asked to cremate her as soon as we called, but the forensics team decided to get an autopsy anyway. It seems that the time of death was right around the upload of her last post, which makes it a bit difficult to tell if there is anything more to it. We have no reason to suspect that much, either."

As he went on, Chan covered his mouth, tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

"Some things we found a bit strange, but it could be that a wild animal got to the scene before us. Since the art suggests she went there herself, it isn't too far fetched to assume she went out to die."

Minho stared at the ground, hand lifting to pass his fingers through his hair. "Can I call my sister?"

Young k nodded. "Of course. Go ahead."

Minho fished his phone out, staring at Ryujin's contact. He hadn't found it in him to call her last night, but now that its been confirmed he had no other choice.

"Hello! Oppa? How are you?" Ryujin voice sounded, breaking Minho's heart farther.

"Ryu, where are you?" He asked, skipping formalities.

"I'm at home! Did anything happen?" She asked, concerned.

"Please sit down." Minho instructed, stalling.

"Yes? I'm seated. Are you alright? What's going on?" She asked with slight panic.

"I'm at a police station. I found Chelle yesterday, Ryu, she didn't make it." Minho said, hoping to make the pain quick.

"What? What do you mean she didn't make it?" Ryujin asked, confused.

Young k grimaced, gesturing for Minho to pass him the phone. As he did, he elected not to put her on speaker.

"Ryujin? This is Officer Kang speaking. We regret to inform you that my crew has recovered the body of Chelle, twenty-one-year-old, yesterday during late afternoon."

The cries that followed will remain in Minho's memory for the rest of his life, and suddenly he felt thankful to Young K for letting the memory relate to himself, a cop, rather than Ryujin's brother.

The ride back home had been uneventful, Young K deciding to leave Minho be in his fatigued state. By now his head had started to pound, making it clear he wouldn't make another night without sleep.

Frustrated, Minho lifted a hand to rub over his face. There it was: the drawing of the field, now colored more fully. It seemed that this particular hallucination would stay with him a while.

"Are you okay?" Young k asked, worried but not overbearing. No, he wasn't okay- but that was a private issue.

"As okay as I can be." He replied, hoping to end it at that. Young k nodded, full focus back on the road.

That night's sleep had been broken, Minho waking up every thirty or less minutes from vivid nightmares he couldn't fight off. By morning it felt as if his head was split in two, and he couldn't imagine attending his classes for the day. Instead he stayed in, arm thrown over his eyes in despair. He will get through this, he better.

Soon, for sure- he will get to sleep. Right?

Deciding to at least fix himself up, Minho stood up and took off his shirt as a start. Walking over to the bathroom sink, he brushed his teeth lazily for a while and checked the dark circles under his eyes. Next, he took his good cleanser and foamed it, spreading it on his face before washing it off. Toweling off the right side of his face, he could read big letters written on a whiteboard.

Example number one: the post-impressionistic art of Vincent Van Gogh

Notable works: Wheat Field With Crows, Starry Night, Sunflower On A Vessel, The Potato Eaters.

Background: Born in 1853, Van Gogh has been traveling for most his life, finding inspiration in different places and subjects. Van Gogh had famously suffered from prolonged psychotic episodes that were reflected heavily in his art, resulting in him taking his own life on 1890.

Minho blinked, faced back with nothing but his reflection. He picked up the dropped towel, a striking thought sending shivers down his spine.

There was no way, was there?

Jogging back to his bedside, he picked up his phone with shaking hands before typing the painter's name into the search bar. Changing his mind, he deleted it- he'd be out of his mind to think that a hallucination of his could be of importance. This was a result of his mind playing tricks, nothing more, and he should remember that. Hold on to reality, don't confuse it with illusion.

The illusions, he thought, might be worsening after all.

Turning back to finish what he started, Minho picked out his contact lens and stripped the rest of the way, stepping into a warm relieving shower. However, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched- not disturbingly so, but somehow reassuringly. He stared at air, reminding himself that the bathroom had no windows and trying to empty his head.

On the other end of the bathroom, the mirror had fogged up.

When done, Minho threw on a hoodie and joggers, deciding to go on a run despite his exhaustion. Staying here, he though, would do him no good.

It was late noon when his phone rang, Jae calling him up to the station. Everything had progressed so fast, But Minho figured it was a better pace for coping rather than dwelling on each unfortunate development in his life.

Fortunately, he had been near the station at that point, having refused to return to the stifling apartment after his Jog. As he ran there, he was comforted once again by the feeling of normalcy- the couples, children and teenagers roaming the streets with no fear. Soon, he swore. Soon he'll recover and feel as unbothered as they do, as he used to feel.

Once at the station Minho was confused to see Chan once more, seated on the waiting chair as he had last time. Rather than greeting him or even glancing his way at the sound of the door closing, the blond seemed occupied with daydreams. Following his gaze, Minho figured he was probably fixated on nothing in particular, seeing as it fell on the unexciting sight of Jeongin watering some flowerpots by the windowsill.

"Hello to you too." Rang Jae's voice from where he was standing at the start of the corridor. Minho turned, realizing he had completely ignored the man earlier.

"Hello hyung. How are you?" He asked calmly, hoping to sooth the other's anger, that he hadn't realized was non-existent.

"If you talk politely to Jae, he's going to grow a bigger ego." Warned a smooth voice that entered behind Minho, softly closing the door behind him.

"Officer Kim!" Minho called, smiling at the man he recognized as his savior during what was arguably the most scarring experience in his life. At the title the man smiled, and Minho could swear he saw flowers bloom around him for added effect, a bright halo shining around his head like a real-life saint sent by god himself.

"I heard you've joined team one! That's very impressive. I'll have you know they're the best of the best, you can learn a lot by interning here with them. That and I'm glad you seem to be better, I kept worrying about you, you know."

Minho's eyes warmed, turning glossy. That was a very cool thing to say, which was probably what warranted Jae to speak next.

"You say that and then pretend to be some hero. You're just Wonpil, resident snake." He commented, eyes squinting with pretend annoyance. Ah, Minho noted. So, they are friends.

A small rustling of Jeongin squeezing past Jae into the hallway averted Minho's attention back to Chan, who still hadn't spoken a word. Comically, it seemed, his gaze followed the intern.

"Chan?" Minho asked, slight amusement sneaking into his voice. Chan sighed, moving his gaze to the floor. It seemed that he had been quite out of it, and Minho suddenly wondered if Chan had it any better, or if he too was unable to sleep like himself.

"Chan!" he tried again, this time snapping the elder out of his trans.

"Minho? Hello! How long have you been standing there? Hyungs too?" He asked, visibly flustered.

"You'd be surprised." Jae chuckled, quickly correcting himself to lessen the blow,

"Not too long, don't worry. I get like that too when I work."

Chan hummed, marking the end of the discussion. Accepting that fact, Jae had instead picked up his explanation of the relevant topic at hand.

"Chan, since you're here as Dowoon's volunteer, I expect you to take responsibility and show us we can count on your help. You two won't go through the same materials, obviously, since detectives in training don’t correspond with call receptors at all, but since Dowoon is busy I agreed to take you in for the general introduction to the law system. I assume Minho doesn't need this sort of thing?"

Minho shook his head, processing the new information. Then, Chan came to volunteer at the emergency call center? That sounded impressive. As for training, at least, his college classes would be of some use.

"Great. To make a point, I am also busy- and I'm going to be busier with Minho from now on. Please ask Jeongin for help if it's anything basic, he knows his way around better than maybe half the newly hired cops, even if he says he wants no part of it."

After the short disclaimer, Jae made way for a closet at the end of the room. Unlocking it smoothly, he pulled out some neat files to lay on the table. Turning to a shorter cabinet on the other end of the room, he struggled with the lock numbers, eventually asking Wonpil for help. When they did crack it open, it made a rusted sound- creaking and opening painfully with force. Pulling out a thick, heavy book from the bottom, Jae sneezed with feeling- erupting a tall cloud of the dust that gathered on top of it.

"Jesus." He commented, wiping his nose. Figuring out the outcome, Minho stifled a laugh as the taller dumped the dusty book unceremoniously into Chan's arms, causing the other to stagger a bit.

"Good luck." Minho mouthed, earning a nose scrunch in return. It was essential to find pleasure in the little things in life, such as being spared of having to read that monstrous fossil and getting to watch Chan suffer through it instead.

"Get started on that, then. Minho, come take a look." Jae instructed, Wonpil sending Chan a look full of sympathy.

And so, it begun.

Over the past week Minho had gotten used to the reduced amount of sleep he was getting, returning to his classes and working as earnestly as ever. After classes ended on some days, he would pay a visit to the station, where training went by surprisingly fast and without an issue. At night, he would still fail to rest for over forty minutes at a time- but that was sure to get better, wasn't it?

Before he knew it, life settled back in a routine.

Entering the office, Minho sighed at the sight of Chan, staring dreamily at Jeongin's back. That weird habit of his had started to turn less spontaneous, everyone noticed- yet collectively decided not to address it. Looking over to Jeongin, the boy had probably noticed as well, judging by the soft blush spreading onto his ears.

"Minho! Good, I have a lot to show you today." Young k welcomed, walking out of the hallway and over to the table they always used. As Minho looked over, he noticed Jae was present as well, although he seemed to be in a sour mood.

"We talked for a while and decided to hand you some cold and ongoing cases to read. Personally I find closed cases a little boring, and we don't want you to try and adopt our own thinking patterns as guidelines -creativity is important, it's why you're here-, so I vetoed we won't give those to you."

Minho nodded, sitting down and accepting the folder Young K offered. "These are some girls and boys who have gone missing, we hadn't found helpful leads on them since."

At the numerous pictures, Minho's anxiety peaked. "So many?" he asked in petrified shock, earning a deeper frown from Jae.

"It's more often than it seems that people are reported missing. A larger number of people we have found successfully, safe and sound, and a smaller number were not as lucky. All in all, we experience many more successful investigations than futile ones, but remember that cold cases gather over time, and some of these are still in the process of investigation."

Minho swallowed, looking over pictures. There was one girl in particular who slightly resembled Ryujin, whose image he had to put away quickly before his mind got to make that into brand new nightmare fuel.

"You don't have to choose by face," Young k intervened, taking away the pictures before farther scarring could be caused.

"We can choose one for you. What do you say?" He offered, looking to Jae at the lack of reply from Minho.

Jae sighed, expression signaling that he was less than pleased to face Minho with the cases, and Minho wondered if he was touchy over sharing what he ultimately failed to crack. After a moment Jae had fixed his attitude, pulling an unusually thick file from the closet and slamming it next to the folder.

"This girl, her case has been cold for four weeks, making eight weeks in total since she had gone missing. If you have any insight on the matter," he paused,

"Please report to me. I've been working on her since the day she went missing."

Reading the files for a while, Minho had eventually requested to take them home. At his request, Young K beamed with pride- telling him that of course he could, under the condition that he takes care not to damage them.

That night he had spent reading. Min-ra, seventeen-year-old; no enemies, no behavioral issues, no dating history. A happy girl to all who knew her, confident and comfortable in her own skin. Independent, she would spend some nights attending high school parties and sleeping over with minimal concern from her parents. As such, she hadn't been reported missing until 34 hours of silence.

Minho switched through pictures, saddened at a pretty selfie the girl took by a window and posted online the night before. The view had felt familiar, similar to the one from his own room, and he wondered if she too liked to sit next to her window and watch the cars drive on occasion.

From the window Minho could see a main road, littered with pubs and restaurants whose signs have been lit beautifully in preparation for the night crowd. By whim he had looked up her address- she lived in the other end of the district with both her parents, a little sister and two cats. Relieved, he looked up a map anyway, and quickly noticed a detail that piqued his interest.

Looking at the map, the kid's house was located in a family friendly apartment building block near a wide road that seemed easy to drive on to reach her place. However, said road only split from the main road a considerable distance away from the apartment, and made a few inconvenient twists that could prolong the way for any vehicle by about ten minutes.

Tracing the channels with his fingers, Minho noticed that a straight distance towards the main road led to a convenient bus stop, and immediately concluded that the alleys connecting the two could easily serve as a shortcut. At that realization, Minho's blood froze, and he hoped to be wrong on his developing theory.

A closer look had provided farther support. For a convenient shortcut, a person would have to pass in an alley that went a short distance behind one of the main road's clubs. Breath hitching, Minho threw on a pair of shoes and ran down to start his car, not minding that he was still in sweatpants and a tee, ignoring the fact it had been four AM and that he could possibly be faced with the drunk crowd himself. Blood searing in his ears, he couldn't cease in his movement until he stood there, dark alleys curving into a spot for large waste containers.

Picking his phone, he numbly dialed Jae's number, hoping the other would pick up.

"Minho? Do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing awake-" Jae ranted, exposing the fact he hasn't been sleeping either.

"Hyung, I'm sorry but, you need to get over here." Minho choked breathlessly. In front of him stood a huge garbage container, filled to the brim with trash that clearly hadn't been vacated for at least two months. The scent coming off the pile had been so horribly and sickingly sweet, that Minho didn't have to guess anymore. To make himself clear, he rephrased: speaking with his shirt over his nose.

"The girl, your cold case- I found her, she died. I texted you the address, so please be quick hyung."

Jisung hummed, finishing up a work he had started a week former and signing with a HAN at the edge. Depicting water had always been a bit hard, but the image was so vividly burned into his mind that he couldn't help it. Pastel art of a foggy bathroom mirror showcasing the torso and upward of a showering man, face blurred by steam- it was so beautiful he could cry.

Checking the time, Jisung wasn't even surprised to find that he stayed up till near four AM painting again- that much was normal and happened fairly often. Stretching and rubbing his left eye, he left a trail of color on his cheek at the sudden new imagery of a club at night. Rolling his shoulders, he sighed and set out a new canvas; it's not like he had an intention to sleep tonight anyway.

#Minsung #jeongchan #stray kids fanfiction #skz #lee know #han jisung #lee minho #bang chan #yang jeongin #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #tw original character death #tw original character cheating #tw descriptive imagery #tw homophobia #heart of mine #golden boi #fried fusilli #mean boycrush

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missantichrist · 5 years

Text

About my Apprentice

BASICS

Name: Atlas

Birthday: April 17

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Gay

Favorite flower: Tiger Lily

Favorite food: Crab cakes

Favorite drink: Absinthe

Love Interest: Muriel

This lovely art below is by @fantasmagorias and Atlas is the one in the back row on the right :)

(Literally everything else under the cut. I just didn’t want people who don’t care about my Arcana stuff to have to scroll through all of... that ⇩)

APPEARANCE/PHYSICAL TRAITS

Height: 6’2”

Body type/build: He’s thin, lanky, and muscular. Think Julian but a little bit more toned muscle, less dorito and more hourglass and instead of a pancake butt, he thicc

Skin: He’s white, but not pale. He has no special birthmarks/scars or beauty marks. Just a gangly white boy who’s become a little bronzed from living in sunny Vesuvia.

Hair: He has light golden blonde hair (lighter than Lucio’s by quite a bit, but not platinum). On one side of his head his hair swoops over like Julian’s, but the other side is shaven save for 3 braids that run around to the back of his neck. (My friend @fantasmagorias drew Atlas perfectly, including his complex hairdo. It was like he literally jumped from my brain to hers. I’ll attach that at the bottom of this post!)

Eyes: He has bright white eyes. I strongly agree with the theory I heard that each character in the Arcana’s eyes match their patron Arcana. Atlas’ is the fool, so he has white eyes like Scout!

Distinguishing features: He has very defined cheekbones, a sharp jawline and what I can best describe as curious brows. He’s definitely got a fun, mischievous look to him. Even when his face is in its resting state, he looks like he’s smirking and always has an adventurous glint in his eyes. When he smiles you can’t help but smile too, as his smile is very bright and nearly always genuine.

Clothing: Atlas makes most of his own clothes, and if he isn’t wearing something handmade, he’s wearing something Asra or Nadia got him. He’s always dressed very funky and in bright colours, like orange, blue, purple, and green.

Default outfit - Tits out Vesuvia! He wears a loose white tunic with brassy buttons that clasp at the waist, leaving most of his chest exposed, and a blue and purple paisley patterned scarf that no one has seem him leave the shop without. Over his top, her wears a sleeveless cardigan that drapes just below his booty that is a deep, bright royal purple with bright orange and gold embroidery. He wears high waisted pants that were originally white, but are now a light tan/beige, decorated with darker beige markings and small white beads. Around his lower waist his shirt is kept shut (so that only his tiddies are showing and not his entire front because wow what a sin that would be) by a light green sash that was “artiscally” stained with light orange and blue markings. He wears tall tattered light brown boots with tassels/fringe on them.

Travelling outfit - He romances Muriel, so his travelling outfit includes a thick cloak that was gifted to him from Nadia and a colourful blue and purple paisley patterned scarf Asra gifted him. (The cloak looks exactly like Muriel’s except the fur is bright white and rather than being lined green it is lined the same colour of blue as his scarf). He wears the same silly, tattered brown boots he always does.

Masquerade outfit - Atlas wears a wolf mask at the masquerade (this plays both into the fact that Muriel’s familiar is a wolf and the fact that the fool is most commonly represented by/with a dog). His mask is white and glittery, adorned with pearls from the waters of Prakra. He wears a long, multi-layered, flowy, deep blue skirt with gems decorating the silky inner fabric of the skirt. It looks like the night sky when light reflects off of it and moves like calm water. His top is a loose white silk that covers his back and abdomen and tucks seamlessly into his skirt and is belted with a gold sash. His arms, shoulders and neck are adorned in gold, a pattern similar to that of Asra’s masquerade outfit’s gold accents, except the gold pattern travels all the way from his shoulders to his wrists, where it is clasped in place by thick gold wristicuffs that each have a single large pearl in the center. He wears a thick gold choker around his neck that looks exactly like the wrist cuffs except neck-sized (lol). When he attends the masquerade he has his makeup done by Natiqa, who opted for a simple look with dramatic gold eyeliner and some highlight.

PERSONALITY/INTERESTS

Personality: Atlas is very straightforward and not afraid to speak his mind, he is constantly making silly quips and jokes; he loves making others laugh. He has what I call a “hero complex”; essentially he loves protecting and saving people. Anyone he can’t save he blames himself for. He blames himself for both Morga and Khamgalai’s death, but because of his positive attitude and his habit of pushing anything negative deep down inside him and his need to not let anyone around him feel down, he doesn’t tell anyone.

He romances Muriel, and in his route he’s very loud and obnoxious. Muriel hated him at first, but slowly, because of Atlas’ high energy and positivity, Muriel came out of his shell quite a bit and grew to love Atlas.

But, Atlas is not always loud and high energy. He gets lost in his thoughts often and becomes quite serious, especially after being in a tough or scary situation, even though when he was in the situation, he was making jokes and laughing through his stress. (He very much so relieves his anxieties through comedy).

He very rarely gets angry, but when he does it’s terrifying. He becomes a raging inferno that nothing and no one can stop from raging on. This is because he pushes his self-hatred so far down that he’s an emotional bomb just waiting to go off.

Likes: Being a hero

Dislikes: Failure

Fears: Losing loved ones

Habits: He will throw himself headfirst into danger without thinking if he sees someone who needs help.

TRIVIA

I keep my ocs as canon as I possibly can, that’s why Atlas has no last name. He has no idea who his family is or where he’s from. The only thing he does know about his past is that he died of the plague and that he had a mysterious aunt who he’s pretty sure has died. Pretty much, anything Asra doesn’t know, Atlas doesn’t.

As far as bonus (lemon) 😏😏 material, Atlas is a vers switch. When he’s subbing he loves being tied up and edged to the point of tears leaking from his eyes. Like Asra, he very much so enjoys delayed gratification during sex. When he’s topping, he’s a soft domme and consistently checks to make sure his partner is doing okay. But he is not gentle. He likes to hear his partner scream, being vocal turns him on *so much.*

Tagging a few Arcana sluts: @vesuviannights @queenofeden @16reapergrell66 @fantasmagorias @superlemonsweet @kidlightnings @athousandstarstodreamon @llyrel @dd-d--dd-d @lemon-trap @devofuck @thesanguinerose @candygirl3473

#the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc #the arcana oc #atlas the apprentice #the arcana muriel #muriel #muriel the arcana #muriel's route #the arcana asra #asra the arcana #asra #asra alnazaar

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pure-pazaak · 4 years

Text

been having a lot of cringe thoughts about my fail suicide squad OC recently and now you gotta read about her

Her name is Clarissa Roche

Her villain name is Synt (part of “clairvoyant” in Norwegian)

She’s a possession telepath (project her mind into someone else and control them) via making eye contact.

She’s always been a low-level telepath but never told anyone when she was younger. She used her ability to manipulate others throughout her educational career.

The trade off of being able to manipulate others is both needing to make eye contact and the headaches that follow. If she tried to use her powers for more than a few minutes, Clarissa would spend the next few days with a raging headache.

She did have control over who she manipulated. It would be a conscious choice when making eye contact with someone if she would cause them to do something or not.

She’s some sort of scholar. I’m thinking some sort of art history? Like... she’s a very good painter.

[clarissa voice] i’m the quirky bisexual art hoe main character at this museum and everyone wants me carnally [tucks hair behind her ears]

Unironically I want her to have had a relationship with June Moone just to be like “.... of course I knew Dr. Moone! Very well ;)”

I think her fc is gonna be Anya Taylor-Joy because I’ve been wanting to use her as a fc for soooo long. Especially with her red hair as Beth in The Queen’s Gambit.

She was living the high life, working for a museum, partying with her university colleagues, making a name for herself in the art history world. Then at a museum, she met a man... who was another telepath. One who could control emotions and soothe the pains and fears of others. Having never met another telepath, Clarissa was instantly intrigued and drawn to him. They fell hard and fast for each other, twisting into a messy and manipulative relationship on both sides. Clarissa thought she was so clever, being able to make this man do things he would have never done... Or so she thought.

In reality, he was a much more powerful telepath than he originally revealed, and had been manipulating Clarissa the entire time. Sure, she had some free will -- like when they decided to rob their first bank together (soothe the teller, force their hand to open the safe for them and tie themselves and the other employees up and delete the recordings), but he was so powerful she never questioned his motives.

They went on a spree of petty crime, making more money robbing banks and stealing than they ever did from either of their jobs. Clarissa loved him so much and knew he loved her back because he spent every night next to her for the past four months they knew each other. She loved him so much that she trusted him enough to follow him to another job, a heist setup. Nothing out of the ordinary. Get in the van, get out at the warehouse, meet and manipulate the crew, profit.

Except at the warehouse there were no lackeys. The crew of the man she loved so much were there, and were quick to capture her, mainly because he stopped all of her movement. From there, Clarissa was studied like a lab rat, pumped full of experimental drugs to unlock her true telepathic powers.

Her ability to control others was boosted to the point where she would *never* need to disconnect; the pain that came from a few minutes of manipulation was pushed to hours and hours. She had total control over others, making them mimic her every motion like a puppet.

The trade off was the strain it put on her mental state. The headaches still persisted, but painkillers were pumped into her to push them away. The longer she stayed connected with someone, the more it frayed her true self.

Slowly, the true Clarissa was lost. The man used her and abused her, turning her into a puppet of his own, and through her he controlled everything. She would spend days, weeks, sometimes months connected to people in order to complete the orders he put out, with little time between the next connection. For two years she was trapped in that cycle, infiltrating governments and banks and his enemies and destroying them from the inside out. Clarissa was gone, but Synt was found.

But like every great villain who gains too much power too quickly, there’s eventually a downfall. And they fell hard. Their base was raided (by ARGUS???); he escaped, leaving Clarissa to take the fall. He had broken his connection to her too quickly, completely shattering Clarissa’s mind. She put up no fight as she was surrounded and quickly taken to ??? (probably Arkham Asylum. I’m not sure where her story takes place). There, they realized that she was lost and trapped in her own mind.

Most notably, the one thing Clarissa did have control over was her powers. They had files on her and her powers from before she was kidnapped, and it was noted that besides the power increase, Clarissa now longer had no control over starting a connection. Any eye contact with her turned into control, and she could control multiple people at once.

Even if currently all that control could do was cause the guards and doctors to fall on the ground in a catatonic state like she was.

It took nearly a year of work, but between intensive therapy and combinations of drugs, Clarissa was brought back. She was brought out of her mind and her new powers were fully studied.

Clarissa knew what she did was wrong, but she felt like she couldn’t be blamed because most of the time she wasn’t even herself. Would she do it again? No. Would she still like to cause a little mayhem? Potentially, as long as she didn’t break again.

This attitude was what gave her her “villain” status. She couldn’t be trusted with her own powers.

Still, her powers were fascinating, and combined with her natural charm, she was not the most hated person in Arkham.

It was found that Clarissa could withstand 3 minutes at most fully connected to someone before her mind began to fray again. When she was connected, she had total control over them, to a terrifying degree. She was also able to control her own body when in the mind of another, their bodies mimicking each other as she controlled them.

A new system to control her powers were established: a locked band over her eyes, the key held by a caretaker. Whenever she was out of her cell, she would be blinded and chained to a caretaker. This was to ensure that she could never escape, and that she could never force off the band if she did manage to escape.

To be fair, Clarissa never did try to escape, but she was definitely a manipulative force even with her eyes covered. It was a part of her personality.

In her cell, she could have the band taken off, but she was never allowed around others without it on.

Once she was considered “sane”, ARGUS began to show interest in her. A telepath, one under lock and key, could be useful. Use her to control an enemy, get them to surrender and arrest or kill them before Clarissa started to become lost in their joined minds? It would be a valuable asset.

And so she was transferred to Belle Reve...

And that’s all I really have right now. I’m thinking the reason why ARGUS really wants her for TFX is because her old manipulator might be the person they’re targeting. Like... she might have insight on him. I’ve got some scenes in my head about her.

Like one of the features of her villain outfit is a small needle in a bracelet connected to a timer. When her blindfold is unlocked, the timer is started. If it’s not stopped by whoever holds the key/remote, then she’s injected with a sedative that’ll make Clarissa drop like a fly and sever her connection. It’s also useful if she refuses to cut a connection with someone (it can also be triggered manually).

I originally thought of some gags that could be played off if she had to be connected to someone but now I’m thinking her blindfold might be upgraded slightly as to allow her to have some sort of sensor/vision ability so she can find her way around and identify basic aspects of people. It doesn’t allow her to actually see (or allow others to see her eyes), but it makes it so she can have some sort of independence and be able to fight without resorting to manipulation (ie use a gun).

I’m thinking her villain costume is some sort of jewel-toned green or purple with silver and black. It’s surprisingly casual and similar to the outfit she wore under her manipulator.

Eventually she finds out that her manipulator allegedly has a drug that’ll “cure” her at the cost of potentially losing her powers completely. She wants to be better, but not lose the base sense of telepathy that made her her. Moral quandaries ensue.

That is all so far.

#clarissa roche #ooh i feel so fancy already having a tag for her.#long post #apologies in advance if the readmore doesnt work #needle tw #manipulation tw #abusive relationship tw

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eterneli · 5 years

Text

ACT 2 - [EVENTIDE]

when he woke, there was an odd warmth lingering in that narrow space between his lungs and diaphragm, and a glimpse of the sun kissing his lashes. the air was, however, algid. a little too hard to breathe, a little too much like a thousand shards of ice lacerating his nostrils.

above he could make out the darkening skies, filled with lavender and indigo clouds, covering up the last stars of the night. a swirl of apricot and dead azure transfigured the horizon as a bright star 149 million kilometers away began rustling out of the confinements of its crib, mere fingertips peeking by the horizon, leaving behind a sliver of charcoal for the moon to lay on. the remaining phosphorescence from the gradually lighting sky danced along reflection of a calm lake to his left.

by the edge of said lake, dipping toes into the water, was désirée.

meanwhile baekhyun struggled to rise from the comforting bed of nature, where frosted grass tickled the back of his neck and pierced through the fabric of his clothing. he managed, after a few moments of recovery from disorientation. and as he walked towards here curious eyes wanders. left, right, up, down.

it looked like a crib built between two tall mountains, hiding secrets away, a large corridor leading to an endless horizon -- the edge of the earth, perhaps. whatever it was, it felt almost ethereal, too exquisite to be real.

something had to give. the lack of a heartbeat was what did it for him.

“where are we?” he finally spoke.

for a good thirty seconds she did not speak, serenely humming a random tune as slender toes danced upon the surface of the water. he waited.

”somewhere. nowhere. everywhere.”

brows furrowed and his jaw clenched.

yet another vague response, yet another dead end. why did he take her hand again?

just as lips parted to protest a giggle consumed the echo-prominent valley. his head snapped to the right to find a field of kaleidoscopic daffodils and a small figure running through it, a puff of chestnut locks bouncing atop its head with each hop and small hands caressing the surface of the flower ocean with the tenuity of a bee.

“who is that?”

he asked, but the answer was already at the back of his mind.

“why don’t you see for yourself?”

she finally glanced over, jet-black locks being tucked behind her ear and a nauseating simper stretching her porcelain cheeks.

although unwillingly, he turned on his heels and marched east. the closer he got to the child, the clearer its features became. the pianist only halted when he was a few three feet away, mostly because the child stopped running and turned around to face him.

the little boy’s cheeks were imperceptibly round, the kind of round that comes with the age, rosy lips formed a curious pout, the fair complex contrasting with the dark material of his clothing as long lashed fluttered with each blink, tiny palms clenching the hem of his shirt while a perfectly sculptured nose scrunched up over the pollen swirling in the air.

in that moment, time stood still and so did his breath.

unknowingly, he reached forward. for what? he was unsure.

but that was futile, and he knew it. he knew it as soon as cold fingertips met the soft and warm skin and the boy busted into a trillion speckles of light, eaten away by the wind as she materialized in the boy’s place.

”what...” he wanted to shout, or maybe collapse when his legs threatened to give in. only a whisper made it out, choked, cracked as lips curved into a disheartened smile. “is this a joke?”

she chuckled, all too calmly as bare feet traveled along the fresh green down below, pacing around through dainty flowers as these parted to make way, as if she was majesty.

“it is not.”

infuriating. she was utterly infuriating.

“then what?! what is this place? what are these mind games?” he inquired yet again.

and yet again she dodged, tone unwavering, unlike his.

”you wanted help, did you not? to go back. and i can help you bring that part of yourself back.”

he breathed because, really, that was all he could do. in and out. maybe it would help suppressing the urge of ripping her heart out (did she even have one?).

“i’m certain that you are already aware of how everything has a price in this world of ours. this is no different, particularly because it doesn’t please the gods. defying nature is a dangerous thing, baekhyun.”

tell me something i don’t know.

“i know.”

she beamed, slender fingers coiling around the middle part of a flower’s stem before breaking it in half and snuggling it into her locks, at her temple’s height.

”my ways are unconventional. it has a one hundred percent success rate though.”

“what even are you? and what is in it for you?”

silence filled the dormant valley as she settled by the edge of the field. each breath she took was one borrowed from his lungs.

”i am something, yet nothing. i am darkness but also light. i am someone offering the one thing you desire the most and that is all you need to know.” vague, but that he already expected. “all i ask for in return is a favor, one that i shall collect when the time is right. you are not allowed to refuse it when i come nor question whatever i ask of you.”

”sounds ominous and much like selling my soul away.” he retorted.

”at least you would have a soul to sell.” (she wasn’t wrong.)

”how would we go about it?”

she looked aggravatingly triumphant.

”you would be put through trials, however many it took. we would seal a formal pact, bound by words and blood. you actually already forged the papers when you took my hand, only your signature is missing.”

talk about selling your soul to the devil.

”what kind of trials?”

her head tilted and, under that light, she almost looked innocent. except there was nothing innocent nor holy about this woman.

”it depends on your nature, your desires, your past and your vision for the future. it takes different shapes for different people.”

“what’s the catch?” he almost sounded monotonous and she must’ve not expected it because her brows raised for a brief second.

”what makes you think there is one?”

”there always is.”

“you are clever.” her palms clasped together. “it isn’t much of a catch, but there is something. if the trials take too long you risk crossing the line and getting lost in your own mind, beyond saving. but as i said, one hundred percent rate of success so far.”

he didn’t question if it would physically hurt because the thought of being stuck in his own mind sounded a little more terrifying than any external injury. it should be fine though...right?

”and the consequences? no one comes back from the dead unsullied.” that much he gathered on his search.

”it varies. as i mentioned, it is a process particular to each person. it’s a leap of faith you would have to take.”

”how can you guarantee any of this? how can i trust that you will keep your word and help?”

she clicked her tongue and he pondered if she was finally getting impatient.

”the pact. it is not a one-way transaction. it is me, devoting a fragment of my existence, while you promise me something in return. if the pact is not honored, by either party, death is certain.”

”i thought you were immortal. actually immortal.”

”you are brilliant, baekhyun. brilliant enough to know there is no such things. the gods wouldn’t be pleased with a creature greater than them now, would they?”

it wasn’t a lie. nature has its balance and would punish any and all who got in its way.

”what other oddities should i be made aware of?”

by then he had made it back to the lake, as did she, standing a few feet apart.

“you will age the retained years. seven, in your case, as you are lucky enough to be a young vampire. and you will carry a mark on your body until i come to collect the debt, as will i. it manifests in the shape of a tattoo, more discreet to the human eye.” her demonstration was discreet and mute when raising the sleeve that had been cloaking her arm up until then, exposing a myriad of ink art etched into her skin, familiar and foreign pieces, a sight he caught by the corner of hazel hues before she could roll the silky material down again.

”any further questions?”

there was one the vampire had been mulling over ever since she brought it up. a part of him wished to voice it immediately, but apprehension over a possible answer lead to hesitation, which lead to a longer pause than originally intended. she didn’t seem to mind though, judging by the way she had been drawn back to the water, feet barely dipped fully into it. (it seemed cold, but so was she.)

“am i allowed to make a single request in this pact?”

he wouldn’t call it discontent, exactly, the way her demeanor shifted upon his inquiry. it was more of discomfort, as if he was pushing her out of a comfort zone, or maybe past the limit.

”speak and we shall see.” her tone wavered then and there. it was stern, different from the dull one she had been using ‘till then.

”i do not wish to be asked to kill any of my loved ones.”

perhaps he should be offended, enraged even, because she laughed. boisterous and short, but she still did.

the edges of her lips had curved into an impish simper, features contorting into a somewhat mocking expression. ”ah, yes. you innocent children seem to think you are the center of the universe. do not worry, baekhyun, for i am not here to disrupt your insignificant life. any favor i ask of you will be of my interest, not yours.”

he didn’t respond, didn’t really know how to. (she seemed to always render him speechless at some point. it was irritating.)

so she filled the space and he almost thanked her.

”anything else?”

”no.”

”are you ready then?”

”i am.”

those penetrating chocolate orbs seemed bottomless as she approached him, closed the distance step by step. she offered him a smile, candied this time around, as the world around them seemed to begin to deteriorate, falling into a pit of ventablack below their feet. they were left in complete darkness, except he could still see her clearly, as if a particular light illuminated them.

she held a hand out, pale and dainty, just as she did before.

he glanced over at it and then at his own.

“will you trust me?” she giggled. it made him uneasy.

he wanted to say no and run. run far away.

but he didn’t.

he took it.

and this time her touch wasn’t warm.

it was cold. the type of cold that burns.

#memoriae.#BBH: i am you; you are me.#( i didn't mean to make it this long #but it happened #anyway. 5/6 more to go?#p.s: if u read pls ignore grammatical errors. it was 3am #my brain was dead. )

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olivia-lovecraft · 5 years

Text

A Case for Immortality

Olivia traded one dark passenger for another. In the absence of Arcasius, the warden and guardian of her soul, Mortality had become her shadow. Unlike the shadow entity, though, Mortality was a demanding presence. It lingered in the peripherals of her mind and caressed her thoughts frequently. It tainted her dreams and brought new pain to old wounds. She saw its reflection in the world around her and feared its hunger. It was slowly stealing her life from her, hour by hour, day by day, and it could not be bargained with.

Mortality was the shadow everyone shared with Death.

As her morbid thoughts threatened to stain a perfectly beautiful day, Olivia forced herself to focus her attention outwardly. Her fingers brushed along the words engraved upon the display’s placard. Her eyes followed in the wake of her touch, but it took her a few tries to retain what she was reading.

‘The Barrens Crocolisk average a length of between 11.5 feet and 16.5 feet, but there have been specimens known to reach 20 feet and weighing up to 2,400 pounds. Despite their size these creatures are adept ambush predators and can move with near blinding speed when the moment is right to attack.’

Olivia lifted her green gaze from the information card and observed the scene beyond the velvet ropes. Captured with taxidermy, a large crocolisk is rising up out of the artfully designed riverbed with its powerful jaws open. The second subject of the scene was a young zhevra, frozen, terrified, in the final moment of its fictional life. If the snapshot of the predator and prey were to come to life, the crocolisk’s mouth would close around the ungulate’s throat. The enormous reptilian creature was a face of death during its life, but Olivia knew that the true fate of both the subjects of the exhibit was not so natural. They had been hunted, skinned, and then built up again from unnatural materials. They were posed, like any other model, and found their immortality lifeless.

“They are really beautiful, aren’t they?”

When her grisly daydreams were interrupted a second time, the intervention came in the form of a voice soft and deep. The stranger gently announced himself as he moved up to observe the display.

“I don’t think I have ever seen either of these creatures captured with such artistry. It is rather moving scene, don’t you think?”

Olivia put on a smile and turned to address the man, but all of her intent was stolen away as she studied his face. Out of the corner of her eye, his manner, attire, and hair afforded him a familiar presence, but seeing him fully took her breath away.

“Sir Corbin?” She whispered, her fingertips covering her lips as the man stepped forward to catch her from falling.

“I am so sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man whispered while helping to keep her to keep her footing.

The resemblance between the stranger and the man to whom Olivia was once promised was uncanny. So much so that she could not find purchase in reality for several moments. She wasn’t even aware that the man led her to a nearby bench and helped her sit down, while staying close and speaking softly to comfort her.

“Are you alright, miss? Should I call for medical aid?”

When at last his voice cut through her confusion, she could hear that he wasn’t the knight who died several decades ago. His accent was distinctly southern, like that of a Stormwind native. His eyes were brown, and Corbin’s had been blue. His face was without scars, and Corbin’s had been riddled with faint reminders that he was a soldier and a knight.

“I’m sorry. You look remarkably similar to a man I once knew,” Olivia whispered hoarsely. “His name was Sir Corbin Anders.”

A cordial smile spread over the man’s features as he subtly shook his head.

“I do not know that name. I am Father Marek Luxster. Are you alright then?”

He slid down the bench to give Olivia some space but watched her as if her condition may relapse.

“Oh yes. Just startled. Maybe a little tired,” Olivia laughed. “I was daydreaming and didn’t hear you approach.”

A melodiously warm chuckle bubbled up and he nodded.

“I was afraid of that. It is why I tried to announce myself. I am quite taken by these displays myself, though. The artists responsible for these pieces truly capture nature in imaginative ways. Well, at least I consider them to be imaginative. I have never seen a crocolisk in the wild.”

Olivia looked back to the display and hummed pensively. Her thoughts were at war as she observed the predator and prey in new light. As silence stretched out, she gave into instinct and potentially impolite honesty.

“I suppose I really haven’t considered them to be sculptures, but you are right. Artists made them this way.”

“Well, it could be argued that nature made them this way,” the priest corrected.

“No. They died at the hands of humanoids. Guns and traps. I don’t consider such things to be natural in the same way that they are natural,” Olivia remarked as she shook her head. She glanced to the man and found him looking at her curiously and decided to continue. “Artists have made them caricatures of what we know them to be. An ambush predator and its elegant prey. It is a snapshot of what may have been if they had lived on together. But they were taken from nature and brought here to serve their lifeless immortality in a dead zoo.”

Marek turned away to look at the display. Just as it had when Olivia was considering his point of view, silence filled in the space between them. Her sigh broke it only subtly and she started to stand, assuming her macabre assessment had upset the priest. However, he turned and reached for her without touching her.

“I have not seen it that way, but you are absolutely correct. You have a very unique outlook, miss.”

Although he didn’t draw the last word out, Olivia realized she hadn’t introduced herself. She chuckled and took his hand to shake it, despite the original intent behind the gesture.

“Olivia Lovecraft. I am glad I have not darkened your day with my gruesome assessments, Father.”

He stood up as he shook her hand, still smiling.

“Not at all, Miss Lovecraft. It is refreshing to see these things through the eyes of another. I am especially fascinated by your use of the words ‘lifeless’ and ‘immortality’ in conjunction to one another. I wanted to say that it is a contradiction, but…well, it is rather apt, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is something I have coined? I consider the things here, in the museum, the relics and artifacts, the legacies and ideals on display, to all be lifeless immortality. These creatures died once, but now they are here. Just like the portraits in the art hall on the second floor, every subject is immortalized beside the artist who captured them.”

His dark eyes gleamed as Marek listened to the woman with intense interest. Again, she saw Corbin in the priest’s expression, but while it made her heart ache, she was strong enough to resist succumbing to the pain.

“I can’t help but feel as though there is disappointment in your tone, Miss Lovecraft.”

“A bit,” she confessed as another sigh betrayed her. “It seems like such a tragedy that immortality only comes as lifeless or half-life existences.”

“Do you really believe that? What about the Elves and Draenei? The Celestials and Dragons? Would you suggest they all lead half-lives?”

“No. But, time has proved that their immortality is imperfect. I suppose, though, that would suggest, like time, mortality is a construct, and nothing can evade Death’s embrace forever.”

“No. I don’t believe anything natural can,” Marek agreed. His lips parted, as if he had insight to offer on the topic, but he was interrupted.

“Father, the curator will see you now,” a young woman reported. She stood at smart attention and waited for him to turn and follow her back from where she came. A subtle sigh escaped the man and he smiled one last time to Olivia.

“It has been very lovely making your acquaintance, Miss Lovecraft. If you ever desire to continue our musings, you should be able to find me here on the weekends.”

Olivia bowed her head, acknowledging his words and their parting in the gesture.

“Thank you, Father. I am sure to return one day.”

Without a nod, the man turned and let the woman guide him back to his business, leaving Olivia to her thoughts, and the case for immortality.

#story #enter Father Luxster #future faces

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csjolly · 5 years

Note

Ooh how about a pirate Killian, princess Emma fic please!? Thanks!!

I might continue this! It gets a lil angsty, but it should pan out pretty well. Rating is T for language!!

His tongue sat dry in his mouth, leaking the foul iron tang of blood into his bruised cheek and between his teeth. If it weren’t for the castle healer’s opium supply, Killian might have passed out from the pain instead of staring deliriously at the white-marveled ceiling of the sick ward.

The chains around his wrist secured him tightly to the bed, rendering his hand useless in escape. His hook lay wayward on the bedside table, angled away and out of his reach, next to its detached brace and leather harness. Killian shifted his weight stubbornly, only to be met with another bite of pain and a searing flash up his ribcage. The gash that snaked across his torso wound from his navel to his chest, curving only under his arm to end on his side. The nurses had done well enough to suture it, but the shame that came from being blindsided didn’t falter for a second.

After all, he was the incorrigible Captain Killian “Hook” Jones- scourge of the 7 seas- and he had been slashed into defeat by a girl.

The blow might have been softened if she had been old enough to know what she was doing, but the young maiden’s attack had been purely an accident. He, the most feared pirate in all the realms- the scoundrel that the men feared and the women lusted after- was maimed most avidly by an unintentional persecutor!

The girl had been recklessly running through the dusted corridors of the port village, swinging a heavy sword after her younger friend, another girl who couldn’t have been more than 17. They were play fighting, shrieking down the cobblestone pathways with giggles and whips of frosted blonde and brunette hair.

She had caught him by mistake, aiming for a sac of flour in a lonesome cart that her friend had jumped behind. The pirate captain happened to walk out the tavern door that laid right in front of the flour cart at the most inopportune moment possible, and ended up sprawled across the pavement with the bloodied wound streaking around his body like a messily carved promise.

Blue eyes flashed wildly at his surroundings, daring to lay a glare upon his attacker, only to find a trembling little lass with wide green eyes and tangled blonde locks peering down at him guiltily.

“Shit- Ruby…shit… oh, God. Shit.” She cursed frantically, her hands flying to her hair as her face paled. Her sword had clattered to the ground the minute she’d seen the damage it had done. It shined as a stark contrast against the stone, coated by the dark wash of the Killian’s blood.

The younger girl, a tall brunette with dark eyes and a pale complexion, jumped from behind the cart and scampered to the blonde.

“Holy shit…” She mumbled at the scene, offering little more than the mortified assessment. The blonde huffed exasperatedly, hands twisting knots in the fabric of her dirtied skirts.“Yeah, we covered that bit!” She snapped, but her voice was shaky and she had to avert her gaze from the grunting man on the floor.

The brunette- Ruby, apparently- paid no mind to the other girl, kneeling to inspect the jagged injury. “It doesn’t look too deep, but he needs help, Emma. We have to get him back to the castle.”

That remark had Killian nearly jumping out of his skin, twisting urgently to sit up. The pain knocked him right back down, and the two girls became a little blurrier as he struggled to breathe.

“No,” He wheezed out, “No castles.” The girls shared a nervous glance, before the blonde one, Emma, kneeled and grabbed his hand in hers.She stuttered warily, holding back terrified tears,“I’m sorry, I swear, it was an accident- oh god, I’m sorry.”

If he hadn’t been gutted so thoroughly, he would have felt the need to comfort the girl, but his pain won out as he let a hiss fall from his lips. Ruby’s attention seemed glued to Killian’s left side, and the brunette sucked a deep breath in.

“Emma-” Ruby started, and Killian had an inkling as to what the girl’s sight had locked on.

Emma continued obliviously, despite her friends attempts to get her attention,“It’s okay, my parents will help you. You’re in good hands.” He couldn’t help the indignation at that one, because she had bloody stabbed him, but was interrupted by the other girl.

Ruby seemed to choke on a gulp, and smacked Emma’s arm, beckoning wildly to Killian’s left side- directly to the deadly curve of metal that rested in his sleeve. “Emma!” She bit out, red lips curving into a grimace, “He’s going to need it. You managed to maim Captain fucking Hook.”

Killian’s weary body chose that moment to let his vision tumble into a black stupor, and he promptly feel unconscious.

The metal clanked loudly against the frame of the cot he was chained to, outlining his strained curses.

It seemed like hours had passed until the door opened, letting light peer into the dimly lit castle room only for a minute, as the blonde girl from before slipped in.

She hesitated by the entry way for a minute, before jutting her chin in the air and steering herself to sit confidently in the wooden chair by his bedside.

He raised an eyebrow (which took nearly all of his energy in itself) and tilted his head to get a better look at her. She was older than he had originally assumed- early twenties, maybe- porcelain cheeks dusted with freckles and a rosy blush arching its way across her features. Her hair was combed back, now, and she rested in a white nightgown instead of the dress she had on in the village. “Sorry,” She began meekly, but it sounded more like a question, and she didn’t bother to finish.

Killian stared at her for a moment in cold silence, before cracking into a weakened chuckle. He found himself heaving in laughter within minutes at the sheer ridiculous nature of the situation he had found himself in, and the girl seemed to surprised to join in on the humor.

When he had calmed down enough to ensure that he hadn’t ruptured any stitching beneath his badges, he turned back to Emma.

“For which thing, love, attacking me unprovoked or locking me up?” He drawled, unable to grasp the energy he had found in the hilarity of the situation mere moments before.

She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, dropping her chin to her hands. “Your crimes of piracy are what got you locked up, and I told you it was an accident, Hook.”

He licked his lips bitterly, and closed his eyes with a sigh. “Figuring as we’ve become so well acquainted, you might as well call me Killian,” He was half joking, but nodded softly to her, “After all, having felt the metal of your blade in my chest has brought us quite close, wouldn’t you say?”

She blushed profusely, nearly choking at his compulsive flirtations. “You’re making me regret not leaving you there to die in the street.”

He stubbornly furrowed his brows and silenced himself to an empty conversation, but Emma seemed to have other plans.

“Look, you should be healed enough to face the trial my parents want to give you in about a week,” He looked at her questioningly before she rolled her eyes and confirmed, “Yeah, princess, pirate, whatever. Anyways, I’d say that getting stabbed is punishment enough, and I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

He was about to shuffle in that low tone of his that he didn’t need her help- he had survived more dire straights on his own. Something about the determination in her eyes as she stood to leave dampened the words on his tongue, and he clenched his jaw to nod in thanks instead.

“Quit cheating!” She demanded, as he set down yet another hand of winning cards. Killian just chuckled darkly and collected the deck back to reshuffle. The last five days had led to late night card games in the sick ward, and eventually in the cells when Killian had healed enough. He couldn’t help feeling drawn to the young princess, like a moth to a flame. Each night she snuck in, he seemed to gain a piece of a puzzle that he hadn’t known he’d been solving. Her bubbled laugh and her shining smile seemed like corner pieces, but the moments of silent tension, where he couldn’t tell if she was about to kiss him or smack him- those were lost in the middle of the mess.

There was something artful in his steady hand and the flow of the cards that had Emma mesmerized, before a loud knocking on the other cell doors grabbed her attention. Both sets of eyes trained on the door, his blue ones narrowed in defense and her green ones wide in curiosity.

The door creaked open to reveal a young boy, maybe 13, tiptoeing into the room with a sheepish grin on his face. “Leo,” Emma hissed, “What are you doing here? You’ll get us caught!” The boy shrugged noncommittally, “I wanted to see if it was really him.”

Emma rolled her eyes and turned to Killian. “This is my brother,” she looked back at the boy pointedly, “Leo, be nice.”

The boy snorted and stuck out his hand. Killian’s chain was loosened just enough for him to reach out and shake it firmly.

“So you’re a pirate, huh?” He blurted out ungracefully, and Emma elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Leo!” “Quit being so protective of him, he’s in my dungeon too!”

Killian let the two bicker for a minute before interrupting. “You two are hot-headed enough to be pirates yourselves.”

Emma shook her head disapprovingly, but Leo’s face stretched into a wide grin. Taking it as a hint to continue, Killian directed towards him, “In fact, if you ever get tired of this royal business, I’m sure I can find a place for you on my ship.” Emma let out a strangled yelp at this, shoving her brother behind her.

“Not if I can help it!” She insisted, but a playful gleam in her eyes let Killian know he wasn’t about to be at the receiving end of her sword again.

“You’re gonna die in two days anyway,” Leo reminded him, and the weight of the trial seemed to blanket a little heavier than before. Killian tilted his head up and met Emma’s eyes, which were averted and guilt-ridden.

Killian smiled openly, covertly tucking Emma’s hand into his own. “Don’t be so sure of that, my boy.”

Leo dawned a skeptical look and shook his head, but was ultimately corrected. Two days later, as King David and Queen Snow sat impatiently on their thrones in the trial hall, awaiting the prisoner Captain Hook’s arrival to his sentencing, a grinning Emma stumbled into the room with her hair mussed and her skirts ruffled. Leo’s face soured knowingly at his sister’s appearance, scrunching his nose in disgust and fiddling with his new deck of cards.

The royal family waited for much longer than they should have for the captured captain to be brought to them- given that the pirate had already long-since escaped, and was well on his way back to his ship. Emma had a blushing glow about her, as if she was holding back a smile the entire time that the guards prattled on about the pirate’s mysterious escape, and how ‘no one knows where the cell keys went, your majesties’.

That wasn’t strictly true, though, because Emma knew quite well where they keys had gone. In fact, if they ever were to resurface again, one might be able to spot the Princess’s sly fingerprints and the captain’s coy reflection in the shiny metal surface.

#sorry it took forever #but its FINALLY done #oh boy this drove me crazy to write but I love love love it #asks

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fallforcs · 6 years

Text

Cinnamon

Art by: @jell-obeans

Author: @theonceoverthinker

Summary: What starts out as a simple apple picking trip for Emma Swan takes an unexpected twist when she discovers that the nice connection she’s finding between herself and the farm’s owner Killian Jones might be something more profound and, for Emma, terrifying than she bargained for. Emma then finds herself on a journey that pulls her between her own insecurities, her growing feelings for Killian, and the very will of Mother Nature itself. Can Killian truly be the apple of her eye or will the worms of Emma’s past keep her from taking that first bite?

Rating: G (Nothing of an equivalence to a trigger)

A/N: I want to give a couple of shoutouts.

First, to my beta, @lassluna. I can’t even begin to tell you what your tireless work on this story meant to me. Whenever I needed you, you were on our Google Doc ready to work. You’re an amazing beta – catching things before I could all the time. You were incredibly supportive and I felt that you were always working with me because you believed in my story and my writing. And your help with the story itself can’t be overstated. Honestly, there were times where I didn’t think I could finish this story, but knowing that I was doing it for you kept me going. Working with you was a privilege and I hope it was even a tenth of that for you.

Second, to my artist, @jell-obeans. Not only did you take on making me a piece at the last second, but you completely captured the tone I was going for. Your artwork presents a relaxed and casual sense of intimacy between Emma and Killian, and that’s exactly what I wanted my piece to offer for my readers. There’s a nice use of earthy autumn colors and the setting of the artwork gives off a nice sense of closeness. Finally, that Monopoly board and the tea box give a great sense of detail that I just love. It’s freakin’ gorgeous and I can’t thank you enough for all of your hard work.

Finally, a note to my readers. Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. When someone puts together a work and takes the time to painstakingly make sure that it delivers an experience that’s in its own way original, entertaining, and personal, it’s such a cool thing when that work is actually seen. So trust when I express my appreciation to you for giving me that, and I hope that “Cinnamon” can delight and warm your soul in return.

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Upstate New York was truly something to see.

Around every corner Emma turned, she saw acres and acres of trees that cascaded along the landscape like snow piled onto a mountain. Every single one of those trees had the warm colors of autumn, and on their own, they’d be beautiful enough – Emma had certainly seen plenty of them on their own – but together, they melded and practically terraformed the steep inclines they rested on into a place she wouldn’t have minded getting lost in one day.

It was her first time to this part of the country. She’d been to New York, but it was always to the city on a job. This may has well have been a different state. Whereas New York City was an urban jungle – not without its greenery, but mostly sectioned-off greenery – Hudson was a dense forest with towns and road in the spaces between it. It moved alongside the land, and that made for a more difficult, but also more beautiful drive.

But among all the beautiful aspects of the countryside, again, none stood out more that those trees.

That’s actually what had brought her up here today.

Her friend Regina had bought the apples that contained the seeds of what would become a magnificent tree that was so very similar to those now on the other side of Emma’s window many years ago. Regina had always wanted a big apple tree in her yard, and she told Emma that when she first tasted the fruit of this one particular apple only available at this one particular farm, she knew it had to be that one. After trying one of the apples from the bags Regina had brought home, Emma had to agree.

Regina spent months trying to plant it before finally consulting a gardener – one Robin Locksley. Together – by Regina’s insistence together – they worked the land. As they worked, Regina began to swear to Emma that she was smelling marigolds all day long. She’d joke about him probably keeping seeds in his pockets.

It didn’t take long afterwards to realize what had happened. Regina had to ask Robin to be sure, but indeed, Robin’s favorite scent was those of marigolds.

When it came to the matter of the heart, everyone knew what it meant when you smelled someone’s favorite scent whenever you were in their presence. The world they lived in was by no means magical, but this was one truth that persisted throughout time that science could grant no other explanation. At the dawn of this realization, first recorded in journals from the Renaissance, the concept was thought to be a myth, but it was granted solidification as a fact through time and repetition.

Regina had found her soulmate.

Emma recalled Regina telling the story perfectly. Robin had laughed when she told him, but only at the fact that the pervasive smell of apples wasn’t just because of their efforts to grow the tree. The rest took care of itself. With their love secured, finally, not one, but two things grew. The first was Regina’s tree and the second was a love that was just as strong as the bark below the sunrise-colored leaves.

After a few years, the tree began to falter in its fruits. The apples lost their firmness and batch after batch became more inedible than the last. Regina and Robin had meant to go back to the same farm where Regina first got those apples. That was the plan.

But then life happened.

Time slipped away from them. Regina became mayor and their free weekends became fluxes of going to her stepson Roland’s baseball games and taking him to wilderness survival club meeting in between town meetings, tending to their neighbor’s trees and flowers, and general chores.

And then Robin became sick.

That’s where their story had left off, but it wouldn’t be the end if Emma had anything to say about it.

Emma wasn’t a doctor and there was little a bail bondsperson could do to take the occasional load off Regina’s back, not that it would probably be accepted, knowing Regina.

What she did have though was a currently empty schedule and the perfect idea for a gift that would lift the family’s spirits.

It was going to be a simple trip. Emma had made sure of it, and if everything went according to plan, she’d be home by midnight.

Can’t wait to spend another six hours on the road, as if the last six weren’t fun enough.

It would be a long day trip to be sure, but the shitty thing about her type of business was that one never knew when their next client would call asking for her immediate services, and the fact was that an apartment wedged in the corner of Maine didn’t pay for itself.

Google Maps had told her that she’d be approaching Jones Farms in just a few minutes, three to be precise.

Finally, after hours of passing through them, the forests came to an end and a subsequent clearing revealed a series of farms over the next few miles. Jones Farms was the fifth that Emma saw. She found the spot where she could park and her yellow bug – her sole companion on this elongated trip – at last got a well-deserved rest.

Emma got out of her car and as she stretched – a relief she couldn’t understate if she tried after such a long trip – she took in her surroundings. Right in front of her stood a wooden farm with a storefront alongside it and a wide stretch of trees behind it. Emma could just make out the sight of an apple or two across the distance. Just then, the door to the storefront opened, and Emma turned her attention that way. She noticed a man exit and come into her line of view, though somewhat masked by the shadow from underneath the roof of the patio. Upon taking notice of her, the man waved Emma over.

Emma was about to head to the storefront and get started on business. Then, as she took a deep breath of the crisp air, she smelled something she hadn’t expected alongside it.

Cinnamon?

The aroma didn’t as much dance up her nose as opposed to hit her nostrils like a brick to the face. And it wasn’t like Emma disliked it. It was actually the opposite, really. But it did leave a lingering question, one Emma couldn’t answer so easily:

Why did The Great Outdoors smell like a snickerdoodle?

Her curiosity as well as her mission compelled her to go forward towards the shop.

“Hello,” the man said. “Welcome to Jones Farms.” When Emma finally got close enough to make out the man’s features, she blinked.

To be fair, Emma didn’t know what to expect from the farm hands when she came here, but what she didn’t expect was him.

The man before Emma was roughly half a head taller than her. He had piercing blue eyes, dark brown hair with a set of bangs that were swept back, and a tasteful bit of scruff that peaked at the space between his nose and mouth and otherwise ran across his chin. A black jacket covered his upper torso and arms and below was a pair of dark jeans, but neither entirely masked the subtle hints of muscle.

All this to say, he was quite handsome.

Not a bad person to spend an hour or two with.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before, but it’s nice to meet you all the same. Killian’s the name,” he went on to say, extending a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma,” she responded meeting his hand with her own. “Emma Swan.” They shook, and Emma couldn’t describe it, but just the feeling of touching him was…nice.

His whole demeanor was nice, in fact.

No, not nice. Kind.

People were a generally easy read for Emma. One didn’t survive long as a bail bondsperson without such an ability. She’d always had an affinity for spotting lies for as long as she could remember, and the rest had developed with age. These days, Emma could easily tell someone’s intentions on sight, as if a map of their person was drawing itself right in front of her.

And right now, Killian’s map pointed to the big heart on his sleeves. It wasn’t a bad way to be. He was certainly more comfortable around new people than Emma tended to be, but Emma supposed that came with the job, customer service and all that. In any event, he had an air about him and Emma couldn’t help but find it infectious.

“It’s a pleasure. Now, how may I assist you today?”

“I’m looking for some Bloody Ploughmans.”

Killian raised both of his brows and bulged his eyes. “Such language,” he said, the mock offense in his voice as clear as glass, and a gloved hand clutching at his lapel as if to milk the reaction for even more. Emma gave a gentle roll of the eyes with a smirk that was quickly returned with a charming smile. “Sorry, can’t help but use that joke on the customers. To be fair, you would too if you had something with that name.” He released a small chuckle and Emma allowed her smirk to soften into a more genuine smile. Noticeably grateful, Killian gave a thankful nod. “In any event, a fine apple.”

“And you’re the only place that has them.”

“That’s because there’s few apple farmers who come from across the sea where they’re found.”

Emma nodded. The accent in his voice made it obvious that he was British.

“You’ve good taste,” Killian continued.

“Not me, actually,” Emma pointed out. “My friend. You may remember – she came here a few years ago – Regina Mills?”

Killian’s eyes brightened with what Emma could assume was recognition.

“Yes,” Killian confirmed. “I think a decade has past since then. I remember her because she insisted on trying every apple at the farm while she was here. People often make that promise – mostly kids – but she was the first to actually do it, and the only!” He started to laugh, and Emma found herself unexpectedly compelled to join in.

That’s Regina for you.

“She told me about that,” Emma said jovially. “And if you think that’s crazy, you should’ve seen her when her favorite cereal got discontinued! She broke open her piggy bank and dragged me all over town. We went to every supermarket and bought as many boxes as we could carry!”

“Did you two grow up together?” Killian was smiling at her.

“Yeah.”

“Relatives or friends?”

“Kind of both.”

Killian quirked his brow, looking as confused as a penguin in a desert. “I don’t follow.”

“Foster siblings,” Emma said, following a moment’s hesitation.

“Ah. Gotcha,” Killian said with a soft grin. His appreciation may have been unspoken, but the gentle sprouts of his dimples told Emma quite a bit of his gratefulness for sharing something like that to someone who was little more than a stranger.

It definitely made Emma feel better. She was always tremulous when it came to bringing up something like that, but though Killian had asked for specifics until it became unavoidable, it was clearly not his intention for her to reveal that and he’d given just the right reaction to it, leaving the ball in her court for more information without a bit of pressure.

“So anyway,” Emma resumed, getting back on topic, “Regina planted an apple tree with some seeds from that apple, but the fruit these days has got all these bumps on them – Regina said it’s something called brown rot – and she wanted to grow another. She had a hard time getting back down here, so I came here to get them for her.”

“Quite a generous offer,” Kilian said. “Regina’s taste seemed to have remained the same, both in apples and in company.”

Emma smirked. “You use that line on all your customers?”

Killian returned the expression without missing a beat. “Only for the best.” Emma felt a compulsion to blush.

This guy’s either the best salesman in the world or he’s Superman.

Well, whatever he is, I’ve got to get moving. Besides, it’s starting to look cloudy.

“So, how about we get started?” Emma suggested. “Bloody Ploughmans are great and all – my favorites – but I really want to make this just a one day trip and traffic is probably going to be a bitch getting back to Maine as it is.” At the location of Emma’s hometown, Killian’s brow raised.

“Maine? Well, that’s one hell of a day trip, but I can surely understand, so, as the lady insists.”

Emma nodded gratefully, and as she did, she noticed the smell of cinnamon and how it was still so strong in the air.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s that smell? I feel like I’m in a bakery.”

Much to Emma’s confusion, Killian gaped and the brow that was already raised as well as its brother practically flew out of his head. “Is this really your first time visiting an apple farm?”

“Yeah,” Emma answered, stuck between feeling guilty and laughing at the expression on Killian’s face through her befuddlement at the question.

With a click of his tongue, Killian smirked. “No wonder. You’ve never had an apple cider donut?”

Apple cider donut?

The words flowed off Killian’s tongue, and mental images of the idea of the snack started floating through Emma’s head. To add to that, the traces of cinnamon in the air made it all the more enticing. “Can’t say I have. They sound pretty good.”

“They’re better than good, Emma.” Killian pressed his lips together and looked at his store thoughtfully for a brief moment before turning back to Emma. “You know what, Emma? Come on in. I’ll give you a freshly made one, on the house.”

Emma was about to decline at the behest of her inner-chiding about her already expected-to-be long ride home, but her gurgling stomach betrayed her. Another smirk crossed Killian’s face, and if it didn’t look so good on his face, Emma might just be annoyed by it. Regardless, she was hungry and the donuts sounded delicious. “Lead the way,” she said as she signaled for him to do just that with a finger pointed towards the door.

“It’s weird though,” Killian commented as they enclosed on the shop’s entrance.

“What?”

“I smell the donuts too, but I haven’t made any today.” Killian then shrugged. “But then again, that machine is powerful and it’s old, too. Perhaps it’s just gotten a bit of a residual smell with age.”

Emma shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

“But trust me when I say this, Emma: If you think the cinnamon is powerful now, when this thing gets kicking, your nose will be straight-up filled with the stuff.”

And whether it was the hunger softly making itself known through the pangs in her stomach or the aroma that she started to feel acting as a premonition for the success for the rest of the day going forward, but Emma found the idea of a cinnamon-filled shop to be not only delightful, but also worthy of a show of delight and one final disclosement about herself.

“Well,” Emma said, smiling. “Cinnamon just happens to be my favorite smell, so get cooking.” Killian grinned and with that, he opened the door to the store and the two of them walked in.

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True enough to Emma’s expectations and Killian’s word, as soon as Killian put the apple cider donut machine to work, the smell of cinnamon grew ten times stronger.

The batter, Killian told Emma, had already been prepared and refrigerated the night before, so all he had to do was place some in the machine, and it would do the rest. Watching it go was quite the spectacle. The machine molded the batter into the correct shape for the donuts and plopped them onto a conveyor belt that would from there take them to be fried and adorned with their cinnamon sugar coating. It was a cool process to watch and Emma would’ve been lying if she said otherwise.

The two of them filled the time waiting for the donuts to finish with light conversation, first with a cursory tour around the store, and afterwards with Killian showing Emma how his apple cider machine worked.

When the donuts were at last done, Killian stood at the end of the donut-making machine, grinning like a mad scientist as the coating was sprinkled on the freshly fried pastries. “Gotta love that smell – the cinnamon and sugar coming together. Best in the world if you ask me!”

“It does smell good.” Emma took another whiff and felt goosebumps as she took it is. “I love my cinnamon candle at home, but it has nothing on this.”

“And it gets even better! Just wait until you taste one!” A moment later, an apple cider donut was in her hand and another in Killian’s. He clinked their donuts together and took a bite, with Emma immediately following suit.

What next hit Emma’s lips she could most closely describe as a lightning bolt of sweetness. Sugar and cinnamon so fresh that Emma swore they came off their original plants spread across her tongue like fireworks. The pastry itself hit her teeth like a goose down pillow and when it opened, the texture of warm cake spread through her mouth. Emma closed her eyes as she absorbed the taste while the rest of her donut radiated warmth between her fingers.

Ooh. Is that–?

“Cinnamon? Yup, it’s in the donut batter too,” Killian said. Emma nearly choked on her donut, releasing a cough so that she wouldn’t spit out her food. Her eyes bulged open.

Is he psychic?

Killian seemed to think so. At Emma’s reaction, he gave her a shit-eating grin. “You’re a surprisingly easy read, Emma, and even for me.”

“You read everyone so well?”

“All part of the job, love. I’m quite an old hat at it.”

No, not psychic. Just cocky.

Though I’ll admit: cocky looks good on him.

Emma returned the smirk, not ready to be defeated at the game she excelled so well at. “Well, I’m pretty good at reading people too, and you’re not exactly War and Peace yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Killian asked, his smirk having grown somehow even wider than before. “Then what am I thinking?”

This is too easy.

“You’re itching for me stroke your ego and compliment your donuts,” Emma answered, with not a single beat missed in the process. Killian looked impressed, his cocky smirk still present, but his eyes forfeiting his amazement.

“Very good. Now will you?”

She took a deep breath, revelling as cinnamon danced around her nose once more. “Yeah, they’re pretty good.”

The smirk on Killian’s face dissolved into a smile. “Always nice to hear.”

Emma was about to say something – granted, jokingly – about not letting the compliment go to his head when suddenly, a loud noise beat her to the punch.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

As the noise sounded off, Emma turned her head. Atop the cashier’s counter was a loud and colorful birdhouse with a clock in the top center of it. At the moment, a blue and yellow bird were rolling around a semicircle stretched out in front of the display of the time.

“The kids love it,” Killian commented, “and it’s a great reminder to check on our inventory regularly, especially in our peak season.” Nodding, Emma looked at the time, but before another second passed, her curious expression turned violently into a gawk.

Shit! It’s already one!

Killian had clearly noticed the change of face. “Are you okay, Emma?”

Emma sighed, remembering herself.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said. “It’s just that I didn’t think I’d be here this long. I’ve gotta get moving. Look, thanks for the donut. It was really good. Tell you what: I’ll grab a half a dozen of those for the road and take two bags of the Bloody Ploughmans.” Emma dug her hand into the pocket of her jeans, the leather of her wallet brushing against her fingers, but she soon stopped at the sight in front of her: Killian frowning. “What?”

“Come on, Emma,” he whined. “It’s your first time at an apple farm, and I’m not about to let you just buy the apples without picking them first.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Killian, but I can’t.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Killian chided, waving a finger. “There’s nothing like the feeling of pulling an apple right off a tree and taking a bite out of it. It forms an intimate bond between yourself and nature.” Emma raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Besides,” he continued, “I sold out of my pre-picked bags of them yesterday. Unless you can come back another day, you haven’t a choice.”

Emma pouted to herself. “No, I can’t. It took me hours to get up here and this is the only day I’ll be able to do it for like a month.”

“Look, Emma. If you want, I could go and pick the apples for you if you really don’t want to. I know the situation’s hardly ideal what with the weather so perhaps I can assist.”

Still pouting, Emma resigned herself to the idea. “It’s okay. There’s nothing else to do here. I may as well help you.”

So much for my quick trip.

Also, I should grab some gloves from my car. From the way Killian’s talking, it might get cold soon.

Killian smiled, practically stubbornly in the face of Emma’s pout. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun,” he encouraged. “And I’ll come with you, take some pictures on your phone, and you can show Regina what a good time you had!” When faced with Killian’s grin, Emma felt her pout give out right before she grinned too. Killian seemed to be able to tell that he’d won the battle, his teeth flashing. “Will,” he called to a man sitting by the cash register in front of the store. “I’m going to accompany our lovely patron to the orchard for her first proper picking. You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Aye, aye!” the cashier said cheerfully. Content enough with the circumstances, Emma and Killian started for the exit out of the store. “Uh, before you go, Killian,” the man continued just before Killian could touch the doorknob, his tone now smaller. “Just reminding you that you said I could leave in two hours. I really need to get home soon.” Despite the meekness of Will’s words, Emma noticed that there was an underlying urgency to them too.

What’s beating him?

“Of course, Mr. Smee. We should be back with time to spare. Now come, Emma! The orchards await!”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Jones Farms ended up being far more extensive than Emma thought. While the trees looked to be close to the house and storefront, the walk to the orchards had taken about five minutes, and Killian told Emma as they strolled through the trees that the Bloody Ploughmans were in the back of the fields, past the dozens of Macintoshes, Galas, and Granny Smiths alongside their path. The trek made Emma feel like the layers of trees were practically swallowing her whole. She looked to Killian who contrarily seemed so at home as he navigated through the dense forest. His eyes were shifting from branch to branch, muttering to himself about the state of the fruits on the trees and the fences on the border of the orchard that were just visible from the path. From what she could make out from his mutters and expressions, it all looked good.

Just before Emma was about to turn her head back to focus on the way ahead, Killian met her eye. Instantaneously, his expression popped from one of intense focus to one of an equally intense embarrassment.

“So sorry for the quiet, Emma!” Killian said. “Just wanted to check on everything. You can never be too careful with one’s livelihood when it’s forced to lay bare against mankind and the elements, and since I’m here and all, may as well look now.”

“I get it,” Emma replied, assuaging Killian of his clear guilt. “It’s your business, and work always means more when you’re your own boss.”

Killian quirked a brow. “You know from experience?”

“I’m a freelance bail bondsperson.”

“That’s pretty cool! What’s the work like? Is it like all the TV shows?” Emma almost wanted to laugh at the childlike enthusiasm on Killian’s face. It was wide-eyed, curious, and honestly just cute.

All of that made it hard for her to do what she needed to next.

Emma scrunched her face and shook her head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but not really. I mean, sometimes, you’ll get a runner, and then you’ll have to play detective to find them, but it doesn’t happen often. Usually, I’m just filing paperwork, checking with the courthouses, and driving to defendant’s houses to check on them and make sure they haven’t skipped town. Thankfully, for most of the people I’ve worked with, they haven’t. It’s not the easiest lesson to learn when you’re a foster kid, but in my field of work, you realize that more people are good than not.”

Killian’s face fell, but only slightly. “Well, it’s at least an optimistic aspect of society nowadays, that those who you help are also working to help themselves.”

“Exactly,” Emma said, a feeling of profound satisfaction in her gut and a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. She hardly ever talked about work – mostly because it was as mundane as she described most of the time – but Killian just got what that mundanity meant.

I wonder what his story is…

…Couldn’t hurt to ask.

“By the way,” she continued, “how’d you get all the way from England to have an apple farm here in the states? They don’t have apple farms across the Atlantic?”

“They do, but –”

Wait, don’t tell me.

“Trying to avoid someone?”

Despite the interruptance, Killian seemed to take the question well, a brief low chuckle coming through his throat.

“That depends: Does an entire country count as someone?” Emma’s eyes bulged. Killian seemed to understand immediately where Emma’s mind had gone. “No, trust me. I’m not a criminal,” he explained. “Quite the opposite actually.”

“Oh?”

Killian pursed his lips. Though Emma could tell from there that the subject made Killian uncomfortable, right before she could stop him, Killian started speaking. “My brother and I were in the navy back home. He was killed in the line of duty and I lost my hand.”

Shit.

Emma grimaced, feeling guilty for ever bringing up the topic. She couldn’t imagine losing a limb, much less someone so close to her in a war. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It is what it is.” Killian took a deep breath. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to spare Killian any further pain, Emma spoke again.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you want.”

“It’s alright,” Killian dismissed. “You told me a bit of your story. The least I can do is give you a glimmer of mine.”

Emma – touched – felt her hand drift to her chest.

“After being honorably discharged, I left the country,” Killian continued. “Life in England had never been easy for me, so I decided to make a new start in a new country.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yes. Our parents are long gone, one more loosely fitting that definition than the other, but gone all the same. I’ve Mr. Smee as an employee and a few townspeople as friends, but otherwise, no one really.”

Now that was a weird sensation. While it wasn’t something she was used to growing up, Emma’s small town these days carried with it a sense of intimacy. She had Regina who she was close to, but there were others as well and given the nature of small towns, she had at least some idea of everyone’s business. Sometimes, it was too much for her, especially due to her upbringing, but to be by yourself with all this land, Emma couldn’t imagine it.

“It doesn’t get lonely?”

“Oh, it does. To tell you the truth, I’ve hoped that one day, perhaps my soulmate will drop by the farm and from there, we’d settle down here together.”

Emma snorted, perhaps a tad more condescendingly than intended, but not enough that it looked like she hurt Killian in the process.

“You’re into that stuff?”

Killian raised a brow. “Who wouldn’t be?” She met his eye, and once more, he seemed able to read her thoughts. “You?” he asked, his surprise evident.

“Eh,” Emma shrugged.

“Hmm. I’ve always loved the idea,” he responded with a shrug of his own. “Being around someone and everything just feeling…right. Kind of like a safety net. The rest of the world gives us so much pain. It’d be nice to have one person who was always on your side, who you could always rely on, and could always rely on you.”

Boy, is that naive.

But Emma didn’t give voice to the thought. After all, when Killian finally found his soulmate, odds are that they’d have the same idea of what a soulmate is. And maybe it really would be as easy as that for them. For his sake, she hoped that was true.

As for her…

“I don’t know. I guess it just feels weird, like being in an arranged marriage by the universe.”

It was an understatement of her true thoughts, to be sure, but it was serviceable for their conversation.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Killian said, musing. “I’d say it’s closer to…an apple farmer showing you where to find the trees you want are.”

Jeez, he’s a total romantic.

But hey, if anyone can make the whole soulmates thing work, it’s probably him.

I can’t imagine anyone would turn him down with a face like that, and that’s before they’d spend a minute with him.

“Speaking of,” Emma redirected, “so what about the apple farming?”

“My brother Liam and I used to work odd jobs as teenagers to make money. We found being farmhands for this one couple’s orchard to be the best of them. Besides, even though I wanted to leave my old life behind, it didn’t mean I wanted to leave my brother. You know what’s funny?” Emma hummed inquisitively. “You said earlier that Bloody Ploughmans were your favorite apple. Well, they were Liam’s favorite too. And speaking of,” Killian said, pointing ahead. “Look, we’ve arrived!”

Indeed they had. Emma’s gaze followed Killian’s finger. Beyond a small clearing was a messily labeled was a sign for Bloody Ploughmans and three rows of trees that extended back until a fence roughly three hundred feet away.

“Emma,” Killian said, walking past Emma until he could face her from the front. “I’m going to check on the fence at the back of this section.” He then produced a folded bag out of his coat pocket. “Why don’t you get a head start, and I’ll be right back?” She nodded and took the bag, and with a final toothy smile, Killian took off, leaving Emma alone.

For a moment, all Emma could do was take in the trees. There was such a beautiful familiarity in seeing the Bloody Ploughmans. After the tree in Regina’s yard had proved itself to be ill beyond repair, Regina had chopped it down, leaving only a small stump where the strong bark once stood. Emma had forgotten how they stood, shorter to the ground than she remembered, but also fuller in its fruits and still as commanding in their presence as ever.

With the crunching leaves below her boots as her only companion, Emma stepped towards the closest apple tree.

Suspended in the air, just a half a foot above Emma’s head was a gorgeous looking apple. It was perfectly plump in its shape and was a shade of red that she recognized all-too-well.

Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Raising a hand up to the apple’s base, Emma pulled it towards her, twisting it slightly when she felt weakness in the top of the stem. When the apple was finally released, the branch that held it flung backwards – and as Emma found out before she could even hope to move to stop it – right into Killian’s unprepared face.

Oh crap.

Killian released a grunt that was deprived of any and all grace at the impact.

“Sorry,” Emma said meekly, an apologetic smile on her face. Killian enclosed his hand around the branch and steadied it. He didn’t look mad, but simply startled. As he sputtered, a leaf revealed itself to be in KIllian’s mouth, much to his clear disgust.

For the record, Emma did feel guilty. Truly, she did.

But she couldn’t help herself when she felt a bout of giggles in her chest as Killian coughed and pushed the leaf away.

So, after losing a battle of wills she never had a shot in hell of winning, Emma released a small chuckle, and much to her relief, Killian joined in.

“Might I suggest a less violent approach to picking apples?” he asked, chuckling not only from the absurdity of his previous situation, but also from the triumph that came with ridding himself of the stray leaf once and for all. “Not that your approach isn’t effective, but I’m quite fond of my face the way it is.”

So am I.

“Lead the way.”

“You got it, love,” Killian replied, a flirtatious wink at the word.

Emma felt her cheeks get pleasantly warm, making the cold air around her face feel all but nonexistent.

Killian took an apple less than a foot above him into his hand and with the other, took the branch.

“What you want to do is hold the apple - and you were right to give it a little twist at the stem - but what you want to do is keep the branch steady too. It’s not good for the tree for it to flail like that.” Emma watched closely, and as Killian spoke, she noticed his left hand - unlike the right - was gloved.

That’s probably the prosthetic.

Emma found herself impressed. The prosthetic moved almost as well as his hand did, perhaps a touch more rigidly, but it would be nothing anyone would be able to notice of they didn’t have the hawk-like eyesight of a bailbondswoman.

“So watch what I do.” Gently, Killian removed the apple while still keeping everything else relatively the same. Once the branch was safely put back in place, Killian showed Emma the apple. It didn’t gleam like an apple on a teacher’s desk, but it had this distinct and natural beauty to it within the thin layer of dirt at its surface. “And there you have it.” Killian gestured downward with his eyes and it took Emma a moment to realize that he was pointing at her bag. Immediately, Emma opened it, and both Killian as well as her own apple from earlier fell into it.

“Thanks.”

Killian gestured towards the very apple tree he had just picked from. “Now you try, if you think you can handle grabbing an apple without causing an earthquake, that is,” he challenged. The good-natured smirk on his face made it clear that he knew she’d be one to hardly pass up a challenge.

Good guess.

“Either way, I’m about to rock your world.” After taking a second to choose the perfect apple, Emma grabbed it, and was careful to use the strategy Killian taught her. When she was done, she hovered the fruit in front of Killian’s face, just as he had done with the one he picked.

“Indeed you have,” Killian remarked. “And a very nice choice on top of that, love! See? Told you it was a good idea to come pick the apples fresh.”

“Not like I had a choice,” she said, putting the apple into her bag.

“But admit it: it was still fun.”

“Fine,” Emma relented, an amiable eye roll trailing beside her words like a trusted friend. “It was fun.” As if to solidify the point, Emma grabbed another apple in much the same way as she did the last.

She hadn’t planned for today to go how it had. She never imagined that she’d actually had to go out into the fields and get her own fruits, but being around someone like Killian, someone so open and easy to talk to made her wonder why she’d have ever wanted to do this differently.

“Not to mention, Killian said, “you were also exposed to this beautifully crisp mountain air. Bet they don’t have this back in Storybrooke! Trust me, Swan, nothing makes you feel alive quite like when your lungs are full of it.” Dramatically with his arms open like he was performing the opening of The Sound of Music , Killian took a loud and deep breath. “Go on!” he encouraged.

And Emma did, albeit without the Julie Andrews pose. She took a sharp inhale and immediately, the fresh breeze began pouring throughout her entire being.

…Alongside something else.

Cinnamon?

Emma furrowed her brow. That didn’t make sense. They must’ve been a quarter of a mile away from the storefront of Jones Farms. And there’s no way with all the wind blowing that the smell from the donuts she ate over an hour ago was still strong enough.

So why was she still smelling cinnamon as if she was right in front of the machine itself?

Wait…Didn’t Killian say something earlier?

She remembered it so clearly.

“Gotta love that smell – the cinnamon and sugar coming together. Best in the world if you ask me!”

That’s what Killian said exactly. Word for word.

No…

But if Emma was right – and she got a good feeling she was – then so much now made sense: why she felt so comfortable telling him she was a foster kid, how he was able to convince her so easily to come up here and apple pick, and why Kilian couldn’t seem to take two steps without making her smile.

We’re soulmates.

Emma’s stomach clenched. She took another breath, this time more staggard.

This really wasn’t what she expected to happen today.

Soulmate.

Killian was her soulmate.

Killian, the kind farmer.

Killian, one of the most handsome men she had ever met.

Killian, someone she had already felt okay telling bits about herself to.

…

Killian, the hopeless romantic who was just ten minutes ago waxing about how great soulmates were.

Killian, the guy who thought that he’d find his soulmate and they’d be together forever like the ending of a storybook.

Killian, the guy who was now looking at her, seemingly able to tell that something was amiss.

And of course he could.

After all, they were soulmates.

“Everything okay, Emma?”

No. Things weren’t okay by a long shot. Killian was her soulmate and she was not ready to deal with that yet. There was so much to think about, so much to talk about, and a million ways that things could go wrong if it wasn’t handled carefully. Killian’s hopes were so high, too high, and telling him right now in the middle of a picturesque apple orchard, for as photogenic as she’s sure it would be, didn’t seem the best way to ease him out of that mindset.

At the same time though, that very mindset had begged the question: Had Killian figured it out, too?

Definitely not. If he had found out, he wouldn’t hide it. He’d say something. I can read him.

But if she could read him, it stood to reason that he could probably read her too, no matter whether or not he knew.

To be blunt, Emma didn’t want him to know, or at least, not yet. To tell him now, before she could figure out what to say would open a can of worms that she knew could hurt them both.

And currently, Killian’s question over her well being hung in the air, waiting to be answered.

Emma searched for a way out, knowing that a straight up dismissal of his concerns would only arouse Killian’s suspicion. Attempts at fake concerns fizzed in and out of her mind, killed by the consequences that could ensue in their wake.

Thankfully, Emma looked at her apple bag and found her solution.

Perfect.

“I’m just hungry.” Immediately, she grabbed one of the apples she picked and shoved it into her mouth.

Damn, that’s good! But it tastes a little different. Did I just remember it wrong?

Emma scrunched her face in confusion.

Just then, Killian started chuckling.

Fuck. Why does he have to have such a cute laugh?

“Uhh,” Killian started. “You should probably know that there’s a layer of pesticides over that apple.” Emma gaped at the apple which now had a huge chunk removed from it, a chunk that was by now likely chilling in her stomach. “Nothing that’ll harm you!” Killian assured. “However, it does throw off the taste. I think that should solve that mystery for you.”

Emma chuckled, remaining conscientious as to keep the nervousness at bay despite how difficult the task ended up being. After finishing her apple over some small talk with Killian, she went back to picking apples off the tree. Killian took another bag from his coat pocket and at her behest, started assisting her.

Okay, good. We’ve just got to finish filling these bags and then I can get out of here.

She’d come back. Emma promised herself and Killian that much, however silently. For right now though, she couldn’t handle a soulmate.

For God’s sake, this was supposed to be a quick apple picking trip, not a rom-com!

“I gotta say,” Killian spoke, taking Emma from her thoughts, “I admire you for your dedication to your friend, but it’s a weird time for you to come all the way out here.”

Emma quirked her brow. “Why’s that? Some sort of festival going on?”

Killian looked at Emma as if she was crazy. “No, love. Amelia.”

Oh, please don’t say love.

She could feel her heart protest that sentiment, the tenseness that existed since she found out the truth being somewhat mitigated by the cozy feeling of the single word.

“Who’s Amelia?” Killian bit his lip, which was quite worrisome given his more chipper disposition from just a few moments ago. “Killian?”

“Amelia’s not a person, Emma,” he responded, so soberly that she felt a phantom shudder as he stared at her. “She’s a hurricane, and a bloody strong one. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of her. You can hardly walk ten miles without hearing anyone talk about it.”

“Oh crap,” Emma said, taking a hand away from her apple bag to massage her forehead.

“If you want to leave,” Killian spoke, “you need to get out of here fast.”

It didn’t take Emma long to come to a decision. She’d head out now. It was too much to not only confront the fact that they were soulmates, but to be trapped in the same town…

No. Especially not after last month…

She’d get Killian’s number or come by again after the storm let up. That way, she could talk to someone about this back home first. Maybe Regina would know what to do. Or hell, maybe she made a mistake. It was fall. Maybe everything just smelled like cinnamon up here and if she came by a few months later, the smell would be gone.

…That probably wasn’t true, but Emma entertained the notion all the same.

Emma nodded. “Let’s get these apples packed up. I’ll pay you then head out.”

“Good thin-”

Two simultaneous beeping sounds interrupted Emma’s words and a feeling of vibration from her pants let her know exactly where it was coming from.

Killian got to his phone first. He looked for a few seconds at the device before turning back to Emma, his tenuous face giving her insight into what he was about to say.

“The hurricane’s already caught up with the next town over and the main roads that lead out of here have just been shut down as a precaution.”

Words dried up on Emma lips like an ice cube in a cup of tea.

Until Hurricane Amelia let up and those lonely roads could be filled once more, she was stuck here.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After a brisk walk back to the buildings beside Jones Farms, Killian invited Emma to use his laptop in the farmhouse. Already, Hurricane Amelia’s strength started to show itself. The winds were picking up fast and it had started raining on the return trip. Still, Emma retained some degree of optimism. Until the roads were shut down from within the town, she could conceivably find a hotel to stay at and avoid Killian altogether.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on their side.

There were very few hotels in the area and those that were around either had no vacancies or were off of or directly on roads that were rapidly closing down more and more with every click on the mouse.

After an hour of searching and a final emergency alert that definitively shut down all roads in Hudson, Emma closed the laptop with a sigh.

“Nothing,” she concluded, her eyes dull with the haze that followed resignation.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I know you only planned for a day trip. But, if it helps, you’re welcome to stay here for the duration of the hurricane. I’ve a spare room upstairs that’s all yours.”

It couldn’t be understated how badly Emma didn’t want this to be her only option. Killian was a smart guy and while cinnamon seemed to be a common smell by the storefront, it would make itself apparent as an outlier soon enough. He’d figure out they were soulmates, probably before if she was being generous

However, the fact of the matter was that this was her only option. The winds had only gotten stronger and while she’d slept in her car more than her fair share of times, she’d never been stupid enough to do it during a hurricane and that wasn’t about to change.

As for Killian, she’d do what she could to handle things.

After all, if cinnamon was Killian’s favorite scent too, maybe there was some finagaling that could be done.

“Thank you,” Emma said. “That’s really sweet. Can I pay you or something?”

“Nonsense!” Killian dismissed. “Besides, you’re doing me a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“It gets lonely during these hurricanes. The power goes out more often than not, it’s dark and disgusting, I forget to buy books, and there’s little else to do around here than gorge myself on cider and donuts. It’ll be nice having a spot of company. We could have a drink, share a story by the fire, also gorge ourselves on cider and donuts, play a board game.” Killian smiled goofily at her. “I’ve got Monopoly,” he added with a shrug.

Emma, despite every bit of panic in her bones, couldn’t help but smile back at the joke. “I’m in, but only if I can play the race car.”

Killian shook his head. “I’m always the racecar, love.” At that moment, Killian lowered his eyes to the floor. Once Emma’s eyes followed suit, she saw the small dark and damp looking circle at her feet. “Tell you what. Why don’t we pause our battle over the pieces and get you out of those wet clothes? I’ve some clean sweats you can change into.”

“Aren’t you the gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman,” Killian countered, a finger pointed at nothing particular. “Now, how about I continue to show myself as a gentleman and escort you to your dwelling?” As he spoke, he mock extended his hand, as if asking a beautiful lady to dance.

If Emma hadn’t been trying to keep a secret, she’d have groaned.

Could he be any more romantic?

Hesitantly, Emma smiled and slid her fingers onto his palm, completing the joke.

Killian showed Emma the way to her bedroom. It was cozy and small with a queen sized bed, a dresser with a mirror against the front wall, and a window that gave a nice view of the orchard.

“The sweats are in the top right drawer of the dresser. If you need me, I’ll be in my room down the hall. I think I need some clean clothes myself.” With a tap against the door, Killian exited the room, leaving Emma all alone.

When his footsteps were finally out of earshot and a door clicked shut in the distance, Emma leaned against the nearest wall and sighed.

How am I going to handle this now?

After soulmates were introduced, it didn’t take long for them to realize it. For Regina, it had taken a few weeks, but she had the benefit of living far across town from Robin and by her own nature, was so focused on the Bloody Ploughmans that she went all that time missing the forest for the trees.

Killian, Emma was willing to bet, would not. Not only was he perceptive – and more emotionally speaking than most – but they were now in the same house and weren’t going anywhere until this hurricane passed. It wouldn’t take long before the smell of cinnamon became too abundant to ignore.

A sigh parted her lips.

So that left her wondering: should she tell him the truth now? On some level she wanted to. He was a great guy, if not a touch too idealistic in his views on love and harboring this secret was going to be a pain for however long she had to. That said, Emma also saw a future past the reveal, and things didn’t go smoothly there. Killian was so invested in the idea of soulmates. If Emma approached things the wrong way, it could make for a very awkward evening.

Besides, Emma reminded herself, she had a plan.

She’d go home.

She’d talk to her friends.

She’d maybe even see a therapist.

Then she’d come back and talk to Killian, when she knew the right thing to say.

But that meant until then, she’d need to fight the clock.

Emma looked out the window. Leaves flew through the air like bluebirds, and the comparison was only solidified by the unique whistle that the wind made. She was going to be stuck in the house for the night, maybe even two if things weren’t better the next day.

Of course I don’t have anything I can pretend is perfume or deodorant.

As Emma took in and mused over her situation, she took a deep breath. As the oxygen inflated her lungs like a vacuum bag, it revealed something quite curious: the smell of cinnamon was out of her nose shot.

And as loathe as she was to admit it, that revelation gave her a glimmer of hope.

Maybe Killian wouldn’t figure out they were soulmates if Emma played things smart. When they were both in their rooms, any clues that they were soul mates were nonexistent. Obviously, she couldn’t ignore Killian, but if she could keep in her room just long enough to keep any suspicions that he’d have at bay while not proving herself to be rude, she’d possibly be able to get away with their secret intact.

Just until she had that precious time to think.

A squishy feeling from below Emma’s boots drifted her away from her thoughts. Though not as big as the circle she made downstairs, this room’s beige carpet was starting to darken from the wayward drips of rain coming off of her jeans.

Speaking of thinking, I think I need to change clothes.

Emma looked at the top drawer that Killian pointed her to when she had first entered the room. Inside it was a pair of grey sweatpants as well as a matching sweatshirt. Both looked to be about a size bigger than she was, but Emma could tell that they’d fit fine enough.

So, to the sound of musical winds and thumping against the outer walls, she began to undress.

She got on the sweatpants and was about to put on the sweatshirt. Her hand had enclosed the garment when all of the sudden, less than six feet from her, there was a crash.

The entire explosion happened in an instant. Glass shattered and spread across the room like water over a beach at high tide. Right afterwards, the wind and rain began pouring in as aggressively as a hornet.

And somewhere in that mix, though she was uncertain of exactly when, Emma screamed.

“Emma!” Killian shouted as he ran inside. “Are you alright?” He looked at her with a primal fear in his eyes, only turning to look at the shattered window after a few seconds.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay. A branch must have crashed through the window.” Her words were proven true by the large piece of bark that currently leaned against her bed.

“Damn,” Killian muttered, right before turning to her again. “But at least you’re okay.”

Then something strange happened. Killian, who was noticeably only looking Emma in the eye, choked.

It was only at that point that she realized he, with a labored but steadily heaving chest, was shirtless.

In the moments where Killian had just entered the room, Emma had been too focused on the ruckus, as she should’ve been and the panic in his eyes as he examined both her and the scene.

But now the worst of the danger had passed, and his assets were fully on display.

And hers too.

Crap!

The sweatshirt - still not on her body, but pressed against her nonetheless - had done a fine job concealing Emma’s top half, but now was the time to properly wear it.

Killian seemed to realize this too. He held his left hand to his eyes and averted his gaze back towards the window.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I heard the crash and a shout-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” Emma interrupted, somewhat muffled by the sweatshirt that was going over her head. When it was finally on her person, Emma set about grabbing the stuff she’d brought into the room before stepping aside so Killian could inspect his window.

As Killian looked around, it became increasingly clear just how unsafe the area was. Glass was still falling off the window and rain was flying from the other side, and while the glass had mostly just missed him, the rain had been far more successful in that endeavor, hitting his face more and more with every passing second. After a full minute of this, Killian stepped back and turned to Emma.

“How bad?” Emma asked.

“Mother Nature’s quite upset with us. That branch did a clear number on this window and the room. I won’t be able to repair that, at least not until the storm’s gone. I can try to tape a shower curtain over it, but with the fierceness of this storm, I’m not confident it’ll hold. The most I can do otherwise is I bottle it shut with some towels.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“There’s a container down by the kitchen – big and blue, you can’t miss it – that could hold back the excess water from getting all over the floor and causing flooding. If you could get me that, that’d be great. I’m going to put my sweater back on and get to work.”

Emma headed downstairs and made her way into the kitchen. Sure enough, just as Killian said, there was a big blue container in the back.

Okay. Time to get this sucker upstairs.

Taking an edge of the container in each hand, Emma lifted it. She was all ready to go back upstairs and deliver the container to Killian when suddenly, something appeared out of the corner of her eye. Had she moved her head at any other angle, she would’ve missed it completely, but she hadn’t, and there it was, calling out to her like a sign.

A box of apple cinnamon tea and an old iron kettle right by its side.

Talk about fate.

The ensuing plan was formed in a matter of seconds and her hands were bringing the kettle to the sink after another pinch of them. Emma dropped the box and began to fill the kettle with water and stuck the last of the tea into the infuser inside of it, feeling a certain culpable delight as she got a whiff at the cinnamon, artificial for the first time since she’d discovered the truth. She set it on the stove and put the heat on.

The whole while that Emma conspired and enacted her plan, she felt her heart thumping heavily and quickly in her chest, beating as if she could be discovered at any minute.

Or like she wanted to be discovered.

Emma dismissed the notion as she continued to toil over her brew.

It’s for the best, just for now.

Once she was done, Emma grabbed the container again and brought it back upstairs to her room. As she entered, Killian was still at work, doing his best to hold the shower curtain down against the violent rain and winds. If Killian wasn’t already soaked from the downpour and his initial inspection of the window, he certainly was now. Emma quickly dropped the container in her arms and rushed to his side, holding the sides of the shower curtain he wasn’t using down.

“My hero!” Killian praised upon realizing what she was doing. The two smiled at each other and with the other sides of the shower curtain taken care of, Killian was able to make fast work of the project. After he was done, he put some extra towels on the floor and Emma put the container on top of them.

Breathless after the whole ordeal was done, Emma made a move to sit on the bed.

“Wait!” Killian cried before her tush could land. Carefully, he grabbed a piece of glass from just under her. “There’s more on there, too.”

Taking the hint, Emma leaned against the wall instead, just as she had when she first entered the room. At that moment, she noticed, much to her chagrin, that the smell of cinnamon had returned, and that the tea she prepared downstairs wasn’t anywhere close to boiling yet.

Fortunately, Killian seemed too occupied examining the destroyed room to contemplate the smell in any meaningful way. Emma looked on at the glass spread all over the floor and over the bed. The branch may have only given the window a single hit, but that single hit had evidently been more than enough to not only break the glass, but to shatter it entirely. All the while, the outside world was trying its best to wreck the window’s replacement. The wind puffed the shower curtain forward like a sail on the sea, and while it put up a good fight, there was no guarantee that it would be a solution that could unquestionably whether the storm.

All in all, Emma knew she couldn’t stay here.

Apparently, Killian picked up on that as well, for he moved to answer it for her.

“We’ll have to get you to another room,” he said.

Thankfully, Emma had a plan already brewing for that.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shrugging. “The couch looks comfy enough to spend a night or two on. I’ll ride out the storm there.”

And it seemed to be one that would work fine.

…For about as long as she was saying it.

But as soon as she was done, the pushback began.

Killian shook his head. “Not a chance. No guest of mine will stay on a couch, or at least not that couch. It my appear to be good for a nap, but trust me when I say its springs will surely kill you. No, you can have my bed, and I’ll weather that accursed thing.”

Emma groaned internally, knowing what she had to do. Damnit, the idea of them being in separate rooms was so perfect! It would’ve kept them apart and more importantly, keep the truth at bay, just until Emma figured out how to handle it.

But she couldn’t kick Killian out of his own room. Not after everything he had already done for her. Not with his low-hanging shoulders. Not with the way his hair that had fallen from the moisture of a long day’s work and a hurricane, doing more to show off his exhaustion than Emma was willing to bet his words ever would of Killian’s own volition.

And not after he had shown himself to be such a good guy.

“Why don’t we share it?” Emma suggested, fighting the hesitation that threatened to voice itself as best as she could.

Killian’s brows raised, and she could see him get smaller in the way he carried himself. “Are you sure?” he asked, the light glaze of nervousness obvious in his voice. “I-I mean, I promise to be a gentleman, of course.”

Despite her concerns, at the memory of a familiar phrase, Emma couldn’t resist the urge to make a little quip.

“I thought you were always a gentleman,” she countered.

“I-,” Killian started, but stopped his words in their tracks. After releasing a cough, he adjusted himself, looking like he was willfully banishing the worry from his system. He seemed to have accepted Emma’s offer with no reservations. “Thank you, Emma,” he said. Emma could feel his earnestness, just like she imagined he felt hers as she wordlessly told him that he was welcome.

The gratefulness there made for a meddlesome reminder that she was lying to his face.

Universe, you sure you didn’t mess this one up too?

He deserves someone who’ll be a real soulmate to him, someone who believes in the whole soulmate thing and that it really can last forever.

What he doesn’t deserve is a liar.

Suddenly, from outside the room, Emma could hear a loud whistle, pulling her from the inside of her head.

“Did you make tea?” Killian inquired, a cocked head.

“I figured it would be good to get ourselves warm after we were done with the window.”

Killian smiled. “Generous and kind. You’re one of a kind, Emma Swan, and I hope a friend.”

Emma felt her breath stagnate.

Once you figure out we’re soulmates, you’ll definitely want to be more than friends.

And that’s only going to make it worse when I tell you I can’t.

Because while you deserve a happily ever after, I don’t know if I can give you one.

I hope you know that when I finally tell you, it’s gonna hurt for me too.

He was close to her now, close enough to kiss if either of them wanted to.

It was annoying how appealing that was and how the notion so nearly overpowered her fears.

It was extra annoying given how the appeal of Killian Jones in general had so far won on more than one occasion, and she wasn’t about to let it win here.

“Monopoly!” The word burst out before Emma could process it. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for her to catch up. “Bet you won’t consider me a friend after we play Monopoly. So why don’t you get dressed and I’ll serve us up a cup of tea? Then I’ll show you how generous and kind I really am when I get those railroads from you.”

Killian smirked. “Game on, Swan. You best take the race car, cause you’re going to need it for luck. I’ll see you in five.” With that, he made off for his room, leaving Emma to descend the staircase with both hope and dread battling a what was essentially a Cold War in her chest as the scent of cinnamon vanished once more.

Oh believe me, I’ll need luck for a lot more than Monopoly.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Never let it be said that tea time couldn’t get intense.

Killian and Emma were quite the fierce competitors and Monopoly had run them well past the setting of the sun, running so late that they took a break to make dinner. All the while, their tea – and more importantly to Emma, the accompanying cinnamony aroma – continued to permeate the living room for the duration of the game.

“Shouldn’t have given you that race car,” Killian said, a good-natured tone present in his voice as he shook his head. “Told you it was lucky.”

Emma, proud of her victory, smirked. “Luck has nothing to do with it when you’re smart enough not to buy Baltic.”

“What did you want me to do? I had a Monopoly there!”

“Maybe use that to buy some houses on your yellows.”

She looked over at Killian, who was now slumping in his chair. A drawn out yawn roared from the innards of his mouth and much like a disease, it was quite contagious and suddenly, Emma was belting one out as well.

“Quite a day it’s been, between apple picking, hurricanes, a shattered window, and a positively gruesome game of Monopoly,” Killian said.

Emma, content as she rubbed her belly to alleviate the full stomach dinner and their dessert of apple cider donuts, snorted. “I’ve been to New York a few times, and the one thing I’ve learned throughout all of them is that you never know what you’re gonna get.”

“Does anything top this?”

“Not unless you count ramen burgers.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“You know, when the song said, if you can make it in New York, you could make it anywhere, our city neighbors took that a touch too literally.”

The two of them laughed for several long minutes. During that time, Emma’s guard began to drop and her mind wandered to places she hadn’t allowed it to go. She imagined a reality were she felt comfortable telling Killian they were soulmates, one where tonight could be celebrated as the first adventure in a life that would be full of them. She imagined coming home to a house draped with the scent of cinnamon and beaming, just knowing that inside was someone who would stand by her forever, no matter the obstacle.

It was a reality she had only recently barred herself from, but one that was so comforting to return to.

One that was too comforting to return to.

Shit

Emma knew she could drop the truth bomb now. Killian clearly hadn’t figured out the truth yet.

But the thought of it made her too nervous. Opening the door to the truth meant opening the door to their future together.

The only problem was that there was a chance neither of them would like where that door led, and that possibility held Emma back.

If things fail, I don’t want to hurt him.

If things fail, I don’t want to hurt me .

Killian, still oblivious to all of this, looked towards the distance at what Emma soon discovered was a clock.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Why don’t you head off to bed?”

Emma felt a hitch in her throat, rendering her nearly speechless.

“Yeah,” she croaked, wishing that there was still some of the apple cinnamon tea left.

“You sound parched. How about you go upstairs and get settled in and I’ll grab you a glass of water.”

“Are you sure? I could grab it if you want.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Besides, there’s something I wanted to check on in the kitchen.”

Emma was vaguely curious about what exactly it was that Killian wanted to check on, but the idea of having some time to herself was too alluring to possibly risk by asking questions. And so she went upstairs, making a quick trip to the bathroom before heading to the bedroom across the way. Killian’s room was cozy, furnished with a neatly made king-sized bed with a navy comforter and one nightstand at each side, beige cabinets and drawers spread around the room, and a television parallel to the door. Much like Emma’s room, there was a large window, though it thankfully wasn’t broken.

Closing the door behind her, Emma sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands, finally letting out a half-hearted groan.

Killian was right: It had been a long day, and an even longer on for her.

This whole ordeal was harder than she’d thought. When she first learned she and Killian were soulmates, Emma hadn’t come to terms with it – she still hadn’t – but at least she had a plan and didn’t feel as tight knit to him as to make her feel too guilty about implementing it to stop herself from doing so. But the later afternoon and evening had exposed more than her prowess at board games.

It had exposed something of a normalcy. Were they together, she knew when times were good, that a day like this – the introductions and storm aside – could conceivably be what she could expect. The layout felt right enough: a trip to the fields, discoveries of even more personal stories, a night playing a game or even just watching TV together, and bantering all the while.

And Emma liked that. Talking with Killian was the most natural thing in the world. Even as she swallowed her insecurities through the hours she spent together, she could hardly say she was having a bad time throughout it. Spending time with him was fun. Killian was charismatic, but not too over-the-top and made the unexpected into an adventure just through his presence and sense of humor.

Yes, when times were good, Emma could see an ideal future with Killian Jones forever by her side.

The only troubling thing was the reality she was all too aware of: Times weren’t always good, and of that inevitability, she had no vision of what could come to pass.

What was Killian like when he was sad or upset? What about when he was angry or was going through real misfortune? A couple of times throughout their games, Emma was tempted to test those emotions, but she didn’t want to cause him harm, especially when he had done nothing to warrant it.

It was the exact same reason why she had continued to hold her tongue about the very matter of them being soulmates, and why she would continue to do so for however long she’d have to.

Now how long will that be?

Emma checked her phone. She opened up the weather app and saw a rain symbol right under the word “Tomorrow.” Of course, it wasn’t indicative of whether or not the hurricane would continue, but the possibility still existed.

Another groan, this time closer to a whine came out.

Damnit. Not what I wanted to hear.

She took a pause and another deep breath. It would be hard – just as today was – but she’d figure it out.

And so Emma picked herself up and settled herself into the left most and less lived-in side of Killian’s bed, all the while continuing to lick her proverbial wounds and try to plan for what the next morning might bring. The plush mattress underneath her form cozily ensnared her and the still whistling winds began to sing her their own kind of lullaby to the beat of the tapping rain against the roof.

Emma felt her upper eyelid start to succumb to its own weight, threatening to close. Just as she was about to let them, Killian stepped into the room, a glass of water in hand.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured sleepily while he placed the glass at her nightstand. She looked at him and noticed an apprehensive expression across his features. “Everything okay?”

In an instant, Killian’s expression made a complete change, now appearing as if he were just caught.

“Yes,” he dismissed. “Everything’s alright.”

If Killian had hoped to fool Emma with what he said, he was wrong. However, the pull of sleep won out over any curiosity that she had for the matter, and she let it go.

We’ll talk tomorrow.

A duet of good night’s filled the air, and as light left the room, so did all but the sounds of natures and snores.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

CRAAAAAACK!

In the midst of ebony left shortly after a shockwave of brightness, Emma gasped, startled awake.

A fear of thunder had never been something she ever fully got over from her childhood uneasiness, but this outburst of the elements was a particularly loud one and took Emma out of her slumber with a single crack.

“You okay?” a quiet whisper from beside her spoke.

“Killian?” Emma mumbled. She coughed once and composed herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, her volume restored. “Did I wake you up?”

“No need to apologize,” he assuaged. “And no, I was up earlier from another bolt. I’ve never been great with thunder either.”

“You could tell?” Even though she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, Emma could tell he was smirking as he heard her question.

“As I said earlier, you’re an easy read.”

Not to mention, your soulmate.

And suddenly, Emma too notice of the scent of cinnamon in the air. It wasn’t heavy, but what it was was hard to ignore.

She only hoped that Killian somehow had been able to do it.

Emma, biting her lip, checked her phone for the time. It was a little past two in the morning. That crack of thunder had fully woken her up and if Killian had been up for some time like he said he was, the same could definitely be said for him.

Great.

“May I turn on a light?” Killian asked from across the darkness.

“Yeah. Go for it.” A second later, the lamp from Killian’s nightstand lit up the room. It was bright enough to cause discomfort for a moment or two, but not enough to give that feeling of needing to start the day. Emma sat up in the bed, matching Killian who was already in the position. With her phone still in her hand, she tried looking at the weather app, but the service she had enjoyed all throughout yesterday was nowhere to be found.

“You can thank the hurricane for that little inconvenience. The service went out at least an hour or two ago. Small towns, you know. Cell phone towers are the first thing to go. I’m just glad we still have power, at least for now. Of course, if you need a phone, I’ve a landline downstairs. All yours.”

“No thanks. I just wanted to see an update on the storm.”

“I’m afraid that’s still up in the air.” As if to emphasize the point, a flash of lightning as well as an accompanying crack of thunder chose that moment to present themselves to the world. It wasn’t as powerful as its predecessor, but it nonetheless had the both of them letting out a small shudder. As they locked eyes, they gave each other a comforting smile.

“How bad was the one that woke you up?” Emma asked.

“Not too bad. Definitely not as loud as the one that got you, but to be fair, I’m quite perceptive when it comes to sounds to begin with.”

Apart from a courteous chuckle, Emma said nothing and for a moment, a silence bubbled in the space between them. She looked out the window at the skies. It wasn’t easy to see, but from what she could make out, the weather was just as violent, if not more so, than it was Hurricane Amelia first started up yesterday afternoon.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” Killian said quietly.

Emma shrugged. “It’s fine,” she answered. Though careful to keep the lie off her tongue, Emma found that it was a task she found easy enough to do when she thought of her relative fortune given the circumstances. After all, a broken window aside, she was in a safe house in the middle of a harsh hurricane. “Besides, you’re a good host.”

“Thank you,” Killian said. Emma took a glance at him and saw that he was biting his lower lip.

He’s…nervous?

She was about to give voice to her concern when Killian beat her to the punch.

“Can I say something?” he asked.

“O-of course.”

“Remember last night, when you asked me when everything was alright, and I said it was?” Emma nodded, the memory as fresh as the apples on the trees outside. “Well, I lied,” he confessed.

“Yeah, I figured. Just like I told you earlier, you’re not the hardest read either.” Killian gave a chuckle that was very much like the courtesy chuckle Emma gave him earlier, but otherwise remained quiet. At a closer look, Emma saw him once again biting his lip. “So, what’s up?”

“It’s just that I-” Killian stopped and took a deep breath before starting again. “Emma, I’ve noticed something.”

Oh crap.

As Emma listened to Killian and processed his words, she began to notice the speed at which her heart was beating. “O-oh?” she uttered. “What’s that?”

Killian, clearly too caught up in his own nerves, didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that hers were shooting through the roof. “Last night, while we were playing, I realized I was smelling cinnamon all around the house.”

“You mean from the tea?” Emma quickly suggested in a vain hope to deter Killian’s line of thought.

However, it didn’t work.

“That’s what I thought at first,” Killian explained. “But I’ve been drinking that tea for years now, and it’s never been that powerful. Even when we finished, the smell was still there. So when you went up to the bedroom, I grabbed the mugs, but when I took a whiff out of mine, I could barely pick up the scent. The smell went from being everywhere to practically gone. Then I went back to my seat in the den and tried smelling for it. I even went outside to see if it was the machine. But nothing.” He stopped and took another deep breath and turned to Emma, the corner of his lips tugged up ever so slightly. “And then I thought of something you said back at the store.”

Oh crap.

“W-hat was that?” she asked as if she didn’t already know.

“How much you loved cinnamon,” he said simply. “ So I came up with a little theory and tested it. I grabbed that glass of water for you and came upstairs and when I reached my room…the smell came back. It was just as potent as it was when you left.”

Oh crap.

Emma struggled to speak or even make a single noise.

“Emma,” Killian said, his volume just above a whisper. “I think we’re soulmates.”

As Killian’s – and unbeknownst to him, Emma’s – truth proclaimed itself once and for all, only one thin went through Emma’s head.

Oh crap!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

For the first few seconds after Killian announced his and Emma’s shared fate as soulmates, Emma felt her entire self go as blank as a sheet of paper. She found her ability to speak as nonexistent as a unicorn riding atop a dragon. Her thoughts blurred like the eyesight of a drunkard. Her hearing was muffled like a groan into a pillow.

Killian found out they were soulmates.

For as much as Emma had tried to prevent him from finding out the truth, she hadn’t thought of how she’d handle it when he eventually did.

But that time had finally arrived and now the best Emma knew that she could hope to do was try and hide the fact that she knew for as long as she did.

So when those mercilessly slow seconds at last passed, she realized she’d need to react somehow to the news.

Here goes nothing.

A smile and a “yeah” that was as excited as Emma could hope for was the response she settled on.

Right beside her, Killian was beaming, as ecstatic as Emma imagined he would be.

And as ecstatic as she feared he would be.

“I can’t believe–I’d always hoped–And with you–” Killian was practically tripping over the words that came out of his mouth at a mile a minute. “This is amazing!” he cried, the volume in his voice now bereft of its respect for the quiet of the early morning and was as loud as it would’ve been in the middle of the day.

In the midst of Killian’s tornado of thrills, Emma did her best to get swept up in it too.

With the bounciness of a box of puppies, he certainly made it enticing to try.

As he talked, Emma made the effort. She pushed for a hearty laugh and she made her smile large enough to match his.

While not entirely for naught – doing as much as could be conceivably done for the ten seconds of work she could afford to give in the time she had – it did little to banish the butterflies in her chest.

Suddenly, through her cotton sweats, Emma felt a patch of heat gently pressed against her. She looked to her side and saw that Killian had placed his hand upon her forearm.

“I’m so happy,” he said, practically cooing. Emma’s smile grew smaller, but at the same time, so much more sincere. “Are you?”

It was a tough question to answer.

Killian’s short term excitement should’ve made her happy. His smile should’ve made her happy.

And they almost did.

Key word: almost.

And there lied the problem.

Killian was a perceptive man. It was something he had proven himself to be throughout the past day and Emma knew better than to doubt it now. If she lied, he’d know it.

It was one thing to project a negative emotion onto something other than its intention. Emma was able to do it earlier on the orchard by feigning hunger. It was another thing to straight up lie about an emotion’s existence.

No matter how badly she wanted to feel it.

But it didn’t stop her from trying.

“Of course,” she answered, fighting with all her might to will her words into fact.

Sadly though, despite her wish, it didn’t take.

Killian’s face crinkled as he listened. His features darkened, his smile dissolved and his brows furrowed. “No you’re not,” he said, so much conviction in his voice that Emma believed that he was as sure of the truth as the sun is sure of rising each day.

And the exposure of that one lie seemed to start a domino effect of doubt.

“Emma, you have been smelling something, right?”

At least I can tell the truth about this.

“I have,” she responded, her tone now matching his.

“When did you first notice it?” he asked immediately afterwards. There was an imperativeness to his words, but his eyes were pleading with her. They looked to be trying to find an excuse to reject the truth that was undeniably becoming so clear.

Emma worked to give him that truth, but Killian had clearly run out of patience.

“You…you said earlier that you didn’t care for soulmates,” he pointed out. Emma saw him putting puzzle pieces together and finally, reaching the conclusion Emma was most afraid of. “Emma, Did you know…the whole time?”

No, it wasn’t the whole time, but it was damn well over half of one and well past when Killian discovered it. To point out the difference would be meaningless.

So Emma said the only thing she could.

“I…” Emma sighed. “I did.”

The effect was instantaneous. Killian’s lips seemed to be forming the word “why,” but couldn’t get enough support from his diaphragm to give it any voice. He slid back down so he was once again lying in the bed. His eyes took on such a sad expression. Emma wasn’t sure whether or not there was the start of welling tears, but there grew a certain puffiness to his eyes.

In short, he looked like she’d just ripped his heart out of his chest, and hell, in that moment, she felt like that’s exactly what she did.

Killian turned so that his back was to Emma. If Emma felt at a loss for what to say or do before, it was nothing compared to how she was feeling now. A verbal apology would do nothing, a touch would feel too intimate and raw, and now she couldn’t even apologize with her eyes.

Before Emma could think anymore on it, Killian got up from the bed.

She knew she couldn’t leave what had happened at that, but what exactly she wanted to say still left her struggling to convey properly. In the end, something that was a mix of a squeak and a protest came out of Emma’s mouth, though it was as meager as the size of an ant’s leg.

“I,” Killian started, cutting her off while not even looking at her with a hurt-strained voice. “I just need a minute.”

Out of his line of vision, Emma nodded, her mouth agape from the seemingly guiltlessness of how he went about his decision. Since yesterday afternoon when they had met, he had constantly given her a choice as to how he’d behave, whether formal or friendly. For the first time though, as he’d walked out of the bedroom door, he had taken the decision for himself alone.

As the door closed, vacating Killian’s form from her line of sight, so did the smell of cinnamon vacate Emma’s nose.

And once it was gone – after staying with Emma in the midst of a hurricane – Emma realized just how much she missed its presence.

Emma, who remained sitting up in the bed, listened as the sound of creaking floors grew softer and softer. For the next hour, she continued doing just that, frozen with both regret for her lie and hope that at any second, she’d hear him come back.

It was a childish presumption and after the shock and initial run of panic had worn off, it didn’t take long for her to realize that.

So what am I supposed to do now?

Throughout their time together, Killian had only expressed a true desire for only one thing: His soulmate.

And for almost just as long, Emma knew exactly where he would find them and chose to withhold it.

Were they worth the guilt that was now cutting into her chest? Worse, were her fears worth the betrayal in Killian’s eyes or the destruction of the newly formed yet completely solid companionship they had built thus far? Were they worth the tells of doubt and worries of worthlessness that spread across his features like sand over a beach?

No, of course not. And now that the fallout had ensued, she’d regretted making it so.

And it was now her job to fix it.

But how would she do it?

Was it better to give him his space, or should she talk to him before the situation became unfixable or at the very least too awkward to mend in a meaningful way?

As Emma pondered this, she realized that she ended up answering her own question and quietly, she got up from the bed and left the room.

The walk down the staircase had Emma’s heart feel like it was thumping like a rabbit’s foot with nervousness and anticipation. It felt like a puzzle to not let the errant boards squeak, as if she would further hurt Killian by making any premature noise, and when it was at last over, she felt relief.

She found Killian sitting on the couch, a box of apple cider donuts in front of him. He didn’t seem to register her presence, apparently too caught up in her own thoughts to do anything other than look down towards his hand and prosthetic.

As the scent of cinnamon returned once more, something that Killian either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t care any longer, a fresh pang of guilt attacked her: guilt over causing this and guilt that her nerves still had power over her even as she attempted to do damage control.

Should I be doing this?

Yes, she pushed herself. She should. A lie got her into this mess, and the truth would be what would hopefully set things right.

“Hey,” Emma spoke softly. Killian blinked and turned to her. His mouth opened as if to speak, but ended up staying silent.

So Emma chose to fill the air instead.

“Can we talk?”

With his teeth pursed against his lips, Killian nodded and Emma sat down at his side.

“Are you mad?”

Killian let out a sigh, as if he was finally releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I…I don’t know. Confused, definitely. Hurt too. But- no,” he seemed to decide. “I’m not mad.”

For a moment, Emma desperately wanted to smile. Despite his suffering and what could’ve been justifiable anger, Killian had chosen to instead be kind to her and honest with himself.

Universe, this guy is way too good for me.

But she couldn’t, for with every word Killian spoke, Emma felt her guilt pound at her like the wood beneath a judge’s gavel, and despite knowing that Killian hadn’t intended it, the pain was insufferable.

She was willing to bet that his pain could match it. After all, what does one think when their soulmate lies to them about it? Rejected? Unwanted? Like a trapeze artist who just lost their safety net in the midst of the circus?

Emma knew those feelings all too well.

Never had she imagined she’d pass them along to someone else.

What do I do now?

“I’m sorry I lied, Killian,” Emma said. “The whole soulmate thing, it’s…” – how would she finish that? – “Complicated.”

Killian, despite Emma’s every expectation, gave her a soft smile. It was as thin as a piece of angel hair spaghetti, but it said all that it needed to about whether or not he’d forgive Emma.

“It could definitely be worse,” he commented, shrugging with a lightness in both his form and tone.

“Really?”

“Remember that big TV special about the soulmates who hated each others favorite smells and had to video chat just so they could stay together? I’d say this is a touch easier.”

He’s got a point there.

“You’ve got a point there,” she said, reflecting her thoughts perfectly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. A jackrabbit on methamphetamine could’ve moved slower than Emma’s thoughts. Killian had taken her lie and apology far better than Emma could’ve hoped for or even deserved.

But what would they do now?

Well, one thing was for certain: Emma needed to start explaining herself.

“I was going to tell you,” Emma explained. “Not during this trip, but I was planning on coming back to tell you.”

Killian nodded, apparently taking the information in.

“May I ask you something, Emma?”

Emma knew what was coming, but nodded just the same.

“Why don’t you want to be soulmates?” The utterance was just as predictable and heart breaking as she expected it to be, and knowing that it was coming didn’t help it feel any better. “Is it just the concept of soulmates in general, or is it me?”

“No,” Emma practically shouted. “It’s not you.”

Well, not fully, but I’ll get to that.

Killian snorted, probably at the sheer loudness of her outburst. “Good to know. But why then?”

Emma took a deep breath. She hadn’t told anyone about a good deal of this. Hell, some parts even Regina wasn’t privy to.

And now she was about to tell Killian every bit of it, warts and all.

Well, he deserves the truth.

“I grew up in the foster system.” Another deep breath came to pass before Emma realized it. “But you already knew that. What you don’t know is that my parents left me on the side of the road.” Killian gave a nod, something Emma surmised was the best he probably felt he could do without coming off as pitying.

She’d be lying if she said it went unappreciated.

“When I was fourteen, a woman named Ingrid and her husband fostered me for a bit, and she and I grew close. We went on walks to the park, amusement parks, the pier. There was hardly a weekend we weren’t together. I really thought she’d adopt me. But then, one day, a social worker came and just like that, I was off again, with hardly a goodbye from her.”

Killian made eye contact with Emma, signaling to his hand as if asking permission to use it to comfort her. Emma gave him permission with another light nod, and Killian delicately placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Emma,” he said. “You don’t have to do this. It’s okay if you want to stop.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I want to. This is just…”

“A lot,” Killian finished.

“Yeah.” Emma took another deep breath. “Besides, you told me a bit of your story. The least I can do is give you a glimmer of mine.” Emma found herself able to smile at that homage to KIllian’s words. And just like Emma, Killian’s hand drifted to his heart.

Maybe we really are soulmates.

“I dealt with it and moved on – don’t get me wrong. After I made it through the foster system, I moved to a nice town, made friends, and got a good job. And then a month ago, I got a message from her on Facebook. She had looked me up and invited me to come to her house. So I went, hoping to get some answers.”

“And did you?”

Emma bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, the volume of her voice only a touch above a whisper. Killian gave her shoulder a small squeeze, and she melted into the touch.

“So what happened?” he prompted.

“I got right to the point and asked her why she gave me up.”

Killian gave a light smirk. “You’re the blunt type,” he excused when Emma gave him a raised brow.

Fair enough.

In keeping with that very same blunt nature, Emma continued. “She had a lot to say on the subject. Turns out she wanted me, but her husband didn’t. He had commitment issues, according to Ingrid. Foster care was their compromise, but the idea of actually adopting a kid? That was a different story. Ingrid loved me, but her soulmate Spencer didn’t and there was no way she’d be able to adopt me alone on an ice cream lady’s salary. And so I went back into the system.”

“I imagine that didn’t bode well for Ingrid and Spencer.”

“You’d be right,” she said. “After I left, apparently things went south with Spencer.”

“And they were soulmates,” Killian repeated. Emma nodded.

“Ingrid said she used to smell fresh mowed grass every day before she and Spencer split up, but unless the gardeners show up, she hasn’t had a whiff of it since, and when she does, she can barely stand it.” Killian moved his arm from Emma’s shoulder onto her arm and the warmth of a tender squeeze graced her skin again.

“Swan –”

Emma lifted a hand to stop Killian’s words early, silently begging him to let her keep going. Killian closed his mouth, and she continued on.

“Before I left her house last month, Ingrid warned me about soulmates and love and all of it. She told me soulmates were like two scoops of unlabeled ice cream. You could get two that complement each other perfectly, like vanilla or chocolate, or you could get two that go together like cilantro lime and carrot top.”

“Are those actually ice cream flavors?” Killian had a face that was just as silly as his question was.

Emma, at a loss for words, albeit for an entirely different reason, gave Killian a look that screamed of exasperation with another raised eyebrow for emphasis.

Killian’s expression lost its hold, though its kindness remained as it was. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“You’d be surprised what ice cream can taste like,” Emma said, indulging him. Then, remembering her point, she sighed. “But you get it right? I mean, we’re soulmates, sure, and you’re great, but I- with what happened- how can we know if we belong together? Soulmates usually work out, but sometimes they don’t and I don’t want to end up like Ingrid. And I know that it’s just one time, but it just got me thinking: What’s going to happen when things get tough? Right now even, we live six hours away from each other and I don’t even know if either of our careers would allow us to move. Just…with the odds against us like they are, it’s..” When she was finally done speaking, she took a deep breath, finally allowing an admittedly very patient Killian to take the floor.

“It’s just got you nervous,” Killian finished.

Emma gave him a light smile. “You know me well.”

“Better now that we’re really talking.”

“And what do you think of me now?”

“That you’re an intelligent woman, although you could stand to trust a bit more.” Emma massaged the bridge of her nose with her fingers and after a moment, her entire hand encapsulated her face as she openly groaned into it.

He’s not wrong.

“You also understand love in a different way than I do, and that’s not a bad thing,” Killian continued. “Thank you for telling me your story. And I get why you’re so skittish at the idea of us being soulmates.” Emma removed her hand from her face.

“I know you want one,” Emma said. “You wanted someone who’d always be with you and live up here on the farm and survive everything with you. I’m just not sure if I can be that. That’s why I kept quiet. I just wanted some time to figure out what to say after I told you the truth.”

“And it was just a hope, but hopes can change.”

“But how much of your hopes are you willing to bargain with? I don’t even know what the answer would be with me.”

It was true. Emma liked her affordable and established home in Storybrooke. She liked being close to Regina, the closest thing to family she had. And while her job certainly had its hit-or-miss days – though she reminded herself that no job didn’t have that – she liked it more than she didn’t and it was the first career she felt she’d ever been truly good at.

Even if things worked out with Killian, could she see herself giving all of that up? And if not, would there be room for compromise or would they just fall apart?

So much of her didn’t want to find that out.

And suddenly, she felt that same racking of nerves that she allowed to control her all throughout yesterday.

“Emma,” Killian called. She looked up at him.

Guess I got caught up in my own head.

“You’re getting caught up in that head of yours,” he mock chided. Emma took a deep breath.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too good at that?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to,” he countered, smirking. “Emma, I honestly understand what you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

“More than you would think,” Killian commented. He bit his lip and Emma by now was more than well aware of his own tell of nervousness. “Remember when I told you about my parents?”

Emma nodded slowly. “Yeah. You said they were gone, but one more than the other?”

“Indeed I did,” he concurred. “My mother died when my brother and I were young. She said she and my father were soulmates and that she’d smell a freshly printed pound every day when he came home from work, just as he’d recount the smell of the sea whenever he was by her side to us.”

“It didn’t last?”

“No. Shortly after her death, he left us. Apparently, he loved the smell of pounds so much, that he made off with a briefcase of them one day, but forgot us on the way out. While I didn’t get to spend much time with my mother, I know she’d never have wanted that.”

“You’re right,” Emma agreed. “I can’t see anyone related to you who’d do that.”

“Then I’m happy to know I take more after her then. Anyway, Liam and I did a lot of traveling when we were on our own, and do you know what I discovered along the way?”

“Bloody Ploughmans?” Emma quipped.

“Smart ass,” Killian shot back, smiling all the while. “No, Emma. Soulmates. All kinds. Ones that worked out, and ones that didn’t. Ones that were divorced, widowed, went off into the sunset, and everything in between. And I realized what made the good ones good and the bad ones bad: Effort. Emma, even soulmates are still human, and no matter what, humans will do as humans do. What will make us work or not work will be the effort we give to each other. And I like you, Emma. I like you a lot. I promise that if we try, I’ll work with you night and day to build a future and a life together.”

Suddenly, Emma felt a weight on her hand, very much like the one she felt hours ago when Killian first discovered their shared destiny.

“So can we at least try?” he finished.

Emma took in what he said. She took in everything – about him, about her, about her past, about his past, about the smell of cinnamon that permeated every bit of air that they breathed, and about their hearts. And in between it all, a fight ensued from within her. Pulses nervous and infatuous lunged for each other like two wrestlers in a championship.

Finally, when she was at last done taking things in, and one set of emotions finally overcame the other, she took one last cinnamon-filled deep breath and gave her answer.

“Okay. Let’s try.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Emma ended up staying at Jones Farms for another three days. Together with Killian, they endured the remaining gusts and shocks of Hurricane Amelia and after it passed, began rebuilding the thankfully not-too-tattered parts of the farm side-by-side.

With every second that passed – through a greatly-needed nap following their heart-to-heart, a power outage, lots of conversations, and even another game of Monopoly – Emma felt herself feeling more comfortable with the idea of a soulmate, and thus, more in love with Killian as he showed her just the kind of soulmate he would be.

Killian had truly proven himself to be a man of his word, taking the initiative and bringing up uncomfortable subjects that Emma introduced that night such as how often they’d see each other and where they would live if things worked out.

When things worked out. That had been Emma’s push for herself. Because before the evening of their third day together, Emma had truly believed in a when for them.

And all throughout their days and nights, the rich aroma of cinnamon embraced her senses, only now, instead of queasiness that came from fears of the future, it brought on the same warmth one would get from a hearth, a symbol of the love she’d choose to let reside there in its place.

They would’ve continued, but dinner time had interrupted their bubble of isolation with something borderline unwelcome: A new client for Emma. Though she tried to give herself reasons to decline, the reality was that she couldn’t live on love alone.

Regardless of her decision, the idea was tempting.

But even Killian had supported the idea of returning to Storybrooke, and that all but solidified her answer.

“It’ll just go to prove what I already suspect,” he said. “We can overcome everything, especially a little separation.”

And so it was agreed, albeit reluctantly. Connections were made on every platform from their phones to their Facebook accounts and after a final connection in the bedroom, they were ready to leave each other.

Or as ready as they were ever going to be.

They stood in the front of Jones Farms – and Emma swore it was the spot where they’d first shook hands – as they said goodbye.

“I need to get back,” Emma moaned, more at herself than anyone else, especially Killian.

“I know,” Killian said, smiling sadly.

Emma found that it was so hard to pull away. There was a comfort with Killian, just like a spot of shade under an apple tree, and she didn’t want to lose it.

No. I won’t lose it.

“But I’ll be back soon,” she reminded both Killian and herself.

“And I’ll be waiting on bated breath until you do.”

Killian cupped Emma’s face and Emma leaned into the touch. Hardly another second passed before she closed the already small distance between their lips once more.

Like velcro being opened, Emma found it damn near impossible to separate from Killian, but it was done all the same, though their eyes stayed locked until Emma finally drove off and she was willing to bet that Killian’s remained on her for as long as her bug remained in view.

But despite that longing to be together once more and the pain that came with the wait until then, they relaxed, for they knew they’d be embracing the welcome smell of cinnamon soon.

#ffcs 2018 #fallforcs #fall for captain swan #blind date with a fanfic #cs ff #cs ff au #cinnamon #raventherambunctious #theonceoverthinker

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redwoodrroad · 5 years

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🖊 !!!

!!! oh man i really wanna talk about morten because for all i draw of him i dont talk about him enough. here’s a pretty recent screenshot of him in Skyrim, the game i made him in:

his full name is Morten Alexander Iversen, and i originally made him uuuhhhh over 6 years ago, i dont really remember but it was the first time i played skyrim–i actually named him after the lead singer of A ha, Morten Harket lmao, because i wanted him to fully encapsulate that like Nordic / Norwegian vibe (and also at the time i had an obsession with a ha and lbr it never went away); his last name is just a name i found, and his middle name is a reference to my own last name!

some general info: he’s got shoulder-length black hair that he does fishtail braids with, one on either side of his head that follow the curve of his head until he reaches the back of his ears, and then he lets it down; he also has light blue eyes, a Pretty full beard, and several scars on his nose (they might be hard to see in that picture but i draw them pretty prominently). he’s probably about 7 feet tall in-game, but in any modern retelling i do with him, he’s about 6′2″. he also has a deep voice but no, like, traditional nordic accent. if you can imagine like an east coast accent that isnt quite southern, isnt quite northern, it’s like…. somewhere in there. in the game, he tends to wear heavy armor, but he prefers using a bow for most situations and then switches to a sword with his right hand and ice / fire magic with his left hand. i dont wanna fill up my followers’ dashboards, so if you’re interested in reading about him, i put it all under the read more! :D

so in the game, he’s a nord as i said, but he doesn’t completely align with the nords–i have an ENTIRE sociological mock-up of the culture of nords in skyrim, and to sum it up, they’re very conservative, theyre close-minded, and they dont care for people (even among their OWN people) with mental illness / disabilities, people who arent so much power- / dominance-oriented, or, say it with me now: gays. on that list, morten falls under all three! hat trick!! so he kind of keeps away from his brethren in that regard; he’s also a very quiet person overall and prefers to not be in big crowds or even in big open spaces, he really likes his solitude. which is tough when youre the dragonborn and everyone knows it rip

speaking of being dragonborn, i imagine that his dragon is like…. an entire personality within himself. not that it has really any agency, but it’s a nagging sensation that draws him towards what dragons want: power, money, sex, food, naps, etc. morten’s dragon is very dominant and wants morten to go all out–it wants him to fight everything, garner lots of wealth, reach a worldwide level of notoriety, and like anything else you can imagine a greedy, power-mongering dragon might want. morten himself, however, does not want any of that; he just wants to chill. so you can imagine the duality there, huh. more physically, his dragon is like an ice-oriented dragon, so morten’s shouts (while mechanically can be whatever he wants because it’s all in the game mechanics) in my mind always have a little twist of ice. he prefers the ice-oriented shouts, and anything else not related to ice will still have little ice particles come out (even if they might be melted by fire-oriented shouts). likewise, morten’s use of magic with his hands are always ice- or cold-oriented

beyond the dragon, he has terrible memory problems, and ive worked the canon amnesia into something of like…. a trauma response? it’s way too much to go into and also has to do with some of my personal childhood experiences, so for now we’re just gonna let it be shielded by amnesia; likewise, that sort of brain-haziness also applies to present memory-storing, and morten really has trouble remembering names, dates, conversations, and even situations even as he is adventuring through Skyrim. this also applies to processing issues–he for sure has dyslexia, and not just in reading; he might hear a sentence but parse out the words in a different order–and over-stimulation, which is really why he hates being around other people or even talking to other people for a long period of time. he also suffers from depression, anxiety, and paranoia, and because of all these mental things, he really found himself becoming drawn to the Prince that oversees this general sphere of mental health: Sheogorath. during that quest where the dragonborn helps him and pelagius inside pelgius’s mind, morten was incredibly drawn to sheo and in my mind took time to sit with sheogorath at the end of the quest just to chat because sheo made him feel like…. that haze that covers his brain just lifted and let him think clearly without the stressors of the outside world affecting him. even the dragon soul stopped yelling at him in that moment because it too was soothed by sheogorath’s presence. so with that, morten grows closer to sheogorath, and in my canon, they chill out a lot in skyrim haha

i also want to say that morten grew really close with the greybeards–particularly Arngeir. Arngeir, being really the only one who Could talk to morten and who always had such helpful wisdom for him, really became something of a father figure to morten, and without needing to, morten returns a lot to the temple to just chill with arngeir, he just loves him so much.

finally, i also wanna talk about his relationships: he becomes the thane of Whiterun first and meets Lydia, and they become absolute bros. later down the line, he meets a guy (havent figured out who it is yet, might end up being an OC) who he falls for a little, and they have a thing for a long time–until this guy starts becoming really abrasive with morten and displays such a lacking in understanding of morten as someone with mental illness, so he leaves–and he’s replaced later by the beautiful and adorable Erik the Slayer, whom morten meets as the dragonborn normally does in Rorikstead, and after he gives erik’s father money for erik’s armor, and after a few months when he returns to find erik trying to become a hired mercenary, morten asks him to join him in adventuring. it takes some time, but there’s a mutual crush, there are late-night chats under the stars, drunken storytelling that involves coming-out stories and previous bad or silly relationships, and eventually a big gay kiss. and of course, a marriage in the temple of mara. i may or may not have had to hack the game with console commands to let morten marry him because he wasnt romance-able but we’re here now and they live together in the Lakeside Mansion just outside Falkreath. morten also meets Serana during the Dawnguard dlc and becomes bros with her too (and introduces her, the raging lesbian, to lydia, the rampant bisexual, and you know).

sheo is still a huge influence on morten’s life, and there are TONS of silly instances where both erik and sheo have to sit in a room together and just kind of accept the fact that on one hand morten is sleeping with an actual terrifying daedric prince and on the other hand morten is married to a boring mortal and not a fun daedric prince, can you guess which one of them holds which opinion

so right now, morten is happily married to the love of his life, he has some pals livin it up with him in the upstairs bedrooms and a prince who visits him occasionally, and his little farm is full of chickens and cows and horses and a library tower full of books and a full garden outside WITH BEES, and hes just living his best life !

thank you for asking!! i hope you enjoyed reading about my boy!! he’s my blog icon, and i love him so much. also feel free to check out my “morten tag” tag if you want to see like general vibes about him, aesthetic posts, meme shit that reminds me of him or might be something he would do or like, and art ive made that features him! and thank you again ;u;

#morten tag #tes #dragonborn #the elder scrolls skyrim #thank you so much for asking!!!!#redwoods words

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girlafraidinacoma · 5 years

Text

In The Lap of the Gods: Chapter Five - "Yes, I’m gonna be a star!”

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character

Author’s Note: *IMPORTANT UPDATE* I edited the previous chapters slightly just to finally give the story a proper timeline and a sense of consistency :) If you want to see the revisions, please check out the Ao3 link, if not, that’s cool too (08/05/19).

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

[Link to the Ao3 fic!]

Chapter Playlist:

Child of the Universe - The Byrds

Crimson and Clover - Tommy James & The Shondells

Drive My Car - The Beatles

Chapter Five - ��Yes, I’m gonna be a star!”

South Kensington, November 1969 .

The night had proven to be eventful, so much so that Wyn, Freddie, Brian and Roger thought it would be a wonderful idea to stay out until the wee hours of the morning or until they were physically ejected from the uni bar’s premises, whichever came first. That was how the four of them found themselves laughing and shouting maniacally; roving about London side-streets at around three a.m. on a Saturday morning. Currently, they were making their way back to Freddie and Roger’s place at a happy meandering pace that only drunks could manage. Yet, despite their various states of inebriation, they were managing to navigate the sprawling city with ease, dodging other revellers of the night along the way.

Roger had left his locked van at the university, deeming all of them too pissed to drive. He would come back for it later, he reminded himself. Brian, however, insisted on carrying his irreplaceable Red Special with them on their adventure home, heavy as the case may be, and ignored the others’ suggestion of leaving it at the bar or in the van with their other equipment. He would not be assuaged in the matter.

They had walked down from the Art College and caught the Tube from Ealing Broadway to South Kensington. The decision, which was suggested by Brian, had shaved off hours from their travel time had they humoured Roger’s massively over-confident ramblings about walking the whole way, saying how he’d ‘done it before’ when he was seeing a girl at the Performing Arts School. Perhaps Roger had walked the walk once, but the majority of the group had agreed that they would not be walking the nearly seven mile route to the flat, ‘no matter how many times you’ve done it before Roger, thank you very much’ . Wyn supposed that she could have walked home to her dorm, she lived in Ealing after all, but Freddie had been so insistent that they spend more time together and quite frankly, she wasn’t keen on their night being over yet.

Electricity surged through them as they walked their winding path over cobblestones, concrete and asphalt. They scorched a path through the nervous system of their town, feeling as vital as the blood that flowed in its veins. They felt as most do at that certain point in their lives, invincible, young and alive. Nothing but sheer will and the promise of a sweeter tomorrow propelled them, blindly, towards the future. As was the disease of youth.

At some stage during their journey, Freddie had linked his arm with Wyn’s and proceeded to lead the four of them in an impromptu skip-step interlude a la Dorothy Gale and company. Though the others tried to match Freddie in exuberance, their merry troupe only succeeded in nearly face-planting on the road with tripping feet and tangled limbs like some giant spider only just discovering its legs. Thankfully Brian, who had his arm snaked with Wyn’s on her left, had caught her before she fell. Freddie and Roger weren’t so lucky, but they were so drunk they probably wouldn’t feel it until the morning.

Wyn for one was grateful for his quick reflexes, even if it was his dastardly long legs which made her lose her balance in the first place. Well, that and the collective lack of physical coordination within the group in general. She was surprised that he even caught her at all, with far too many drinks between them and the case in his hand clunky as anything. But Brian held tight, and she knew that both she and “Red Spesh”, were in safe hands.

Their little stumble had left them cackling wildly, like it was the best joke they’d shared all evening; trudging on along, the blunder was soon forgotten. As Freddie and Roger forged ahead, determined to perfect the rapid skip-step change, she and Brian fell behind, chatting aimlessly about the colour shift of starlight, Edward Robert Hughes’ watercolours and Led Zeppelin II.

Wyn couldn’t help but note how Brian’s hold never faltered. The weight of his arm around her shoulders was pleasant, further remarking to him that there were certainly less uneven pavers underfoot now that he was doing the steering for them. He held on to her all the way home, perhaps even a little tighter.

About seven hours later, Wyn awoke from a deep sleep to the feeling of sunlight on her face and exposed arms. In her alcoholic haze, she had neglected to draw the curtains on the window before she turned in, and now the mid-morning light flooded Freddie’s narrow room, indicating the lateness of the hour. As she chased the remnants of sleep away, she recalled that ever the gentleman, Freddie had gallantly offered her his modest bed when they had arrived at the flat.

Rising, she quietly and neatly made up Freddie’s bed and fluffed his pillows. Having slept in only her crocheted camisole, and a pair of cotton knickers, she picked up her discarded denim skirt and socks from by the foot of the bed and slipped them on. She suddenly regretted wearing only so little, perhaps last night at the bar the alcohol and the closely packed bodies of her peers were enough to stave off the cold, but that was not the case this morning as the winter chill set in. Raiding the bombsite that called itself Freddie’s closet, she took out a thick woolen jumper and pulled it over her head, hoping Fred won’t mind her borrowing them for the time being. With her shoes nowhere to be seen, she went out of the room, curious as to where the rest of the boys were.

Padding to the next room, she knocked quietly on Roger’s bedroom door. When she received no answer she stuck her head in and peered inside. What she saw there gave her no shortage of delight, and left the incriminating scene silent as a mouse.

In the living area she found Brian’s guitar case sitting prettily on the armchair and its owner lying awkwardly on the ratty old couch. Her eyes quickly zoned in on the appearance of her missing boots at the foot of the couch that Brian was sleeping on. Vaguely, Wyn remembers her drunk and uncoordinated self struggling to pry them off her feet and Brian helping her with what seemed to be an insurmountable task at the time. He had voiced his worries that she would fall and split her head open when he had offered his assistance.

Somewhat more clearly now, Wyn remembers her body being racked with giggles as she tried not to sway so much with the alcohol in her system. She remembers standing above Brian who was seated on the couch, and holding onto his bony shoulders for support. A blush rises to her face at the memory of the guitarist’s long fingers slowly skimming her legs as he had gingerly slipped the shoes off of her feet with care. Impure thoughts about the curly-haired boy suddenly flowered in her head and Wyn, in no uncertain terms, and to her credit, aggressively chastised herself for having them about her new friend. Someone she had only known for a handful of hours.

Stop it, stop that! No! Bad Wyn!

At the moment, said friend was still asleep on the boys’ sunken couch. What was immediately obvious was that Brian was much too tall for it, his legs left dangling off at the end. The home-made throw he clutched to him barely grazed his ankles. He looked cute, though uncomfortable. His neck was bent at such an awkward angle that she frowned at the sight. Thinking to spare him from later pain, she gently shook him awake.

“Brian, Brian love, wake up.” She tried not to lean too close to him, wary of terrifying the poor man with her morning breath.

“Hnngh? Wyn, what is it?” Confusion settled over his tired features, his eyes blinking lazily as they tried to get accustomed to the light, the flutter of his eyelids were like the wings of a butterfly. He dragged a hand down his face and scratched his wild mane of curls.

“You need to see this,” She beckoned. A devilish glint was in her eye as she tugged slightly on the collar of his t-shirt. Brian rose to his feet, clutching the knitted throw tightly around him like a cape and together they tiptoed to Roger’s bedroom.

Brian’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when Wyn opened the door. Crowded together on the double bed were his bandmates fast asleep. The picture was both equal parts adorable and comical. At some time during their kip, Freddie and Roger had drawn nearer each other until they were sleeping literally one on top of the other. Roger’s head was cushioned comfortably on Freddie’s chest, a stream of drool ran from his mouth and down the line of his chin until it created a small pool on the older man's shirt. Freddie meanwhile had an arm hooked securely around the drummer’s waist, one of his legs poking out of the covers as his wide-mouthed snores were muffled by a sizeable lock of Roger’s blonde hair stuck between his lips.

A girlish giggle came from Wyn. “They look so sweet.” She said in wonder and amusement.

“If only they could stay like this.” Brian stifles his laughter with a hand. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Me too.”

“It would be so easy, you know?”

“What would?” She queried.

“Smothering Roger.” He said without a pause.

It was her turn to keep her laughter down as she rolled her eyes, “You don’t mean that. Besides, then you’ll need a bassist and a drummer for Smile.”

“You have a point,” Brian said, closing the door. They leaned on the wall outside the bedroom, continuing their conversation, the floor cool on their bare feet. “As much as Roger’s been a pain, I don’t know, truth is, Roger’s been like a brother to me ever since we started Smile.”

“Brother? I would have guessed old married couple.” Wyn stated dryly. “But you know, being a pain, it’s what siblings do best.”

“I mean I always wanted one, a brother. It was lonely sometimes you know, being an only child and having no brothers or sisters to play with.” He averted her gaze, looking a little embarrassed, picking at the yarn on his improvised cape. He really wasn’t sure where he thought this conversation was going.

If Wyn noticed his hesitation, she did not say anything of it, opting instead to keep their chat going. She sighed, suddenly struck sad at the thought of a smaller version of Brian playing all alone. She squeezed his forearm reassuringly. “I can’t imagine growing up without my brother. Yes, he lorded the eight years he had on me like it was his birthright to annoy me at every turn, but it’s a give and take too,” Wyn wanted to alleviate his embarrassment; though they only really properly began to talk just that last night, she wanted to be a good friend. She liked the sensitive, yet bumbling guitarist. She liked his thoughtful eyes, and the quiet, reserved way in which he spoke. It didn’t even bother her now, the mis-step of their first meeting, not when he showed himself to be someone who was quick to ask for her forgiveness.

“Sam, my older brother, liked to tease me constantly. Then I’d throw a tantrum and force him into my tea parties.” She said with mischief in her smile. “I’d lost count how many times he’d make me bawl my eyes out. Still, it wasn’t all bad, sometimes after school he would bring home a bag of sweets. He’d buy it with the pocket money he’d saved then share it with me. He’d even have Sherbet Lemons, though he never ate them, Sam would get them just for me, because he knew they were my favourite.” It was her turn now to feel embarrassed, she hadn’t meant to talk Brian’s ear off about Sam, but that flash of embarrassment couldn’t compare to the warmth kindling in her chest as she thought about her brother.

“Where is he now?” He asked, looking more relaxed. He had been listening to her story with a peaceful expression, the throw around his shoulder slipping.

“Oh, somewhere in the Atlantic most like, he’s a trainee pilot on a cargo ship.” Brian noticed how little Wyn’s voice became as she spoke about her brother, though there was an affectionate smile on her face. “It’s hard, we don’t get to see him a lot.”

“It sounds exciting.” He said kindly.

“Sam’s happy. Mum and dad are proud.” Wyn offered. There was a beat and then she turned to face him, looking sagely. “By the way, I’m sure Roger knows.” She said, less than masterfully steering the conversation.

“Knows what?” His brows furrowed.

“How well you think of him.” Wyn provided, breaking into a grin. “Though trust me from experience when I say, he’d be over the moon if you actually told him. Once or twice a year will do.”

Bringing his fingers to his chin, Brian considered it with great amusement. “Yeah, maybe. But it will have to be on special occasions. Can’t let it get to his head.”

“God, no.” She concurred. “But you know what else, if you and Roger are as close as you say, then I have no doubt that he’d do anything for you, when it came down to it.” Brian fell silent as she looked at him evenly.

The guitarist looked different in the morning light, gone was the tension in his shoulders, or the seemingly permanent furrow of his brow, instead he felt serene.

“What would you do? For Sam?” Brian asked with some curiosity.

Wyn gave a drawn-out exhale, mulling it over. “Hmmmm…probably kill for him? Yeah, I would kill for him.” She expressed decidedly. “Then he’d dispatch of the body, and we’ll share this deep, dark, unconscionable secret, written in blood, never to be spoken of again.”

“Right.” He replied, as if she were only talking about the weather. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah.”

Brian let out a hearty laugh at that, the sound was warm just like him.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, apropos of nothing. Praying to some deity that her face would not betray her fanciful thoughts.

“Starving.”

“Well then you can escort me to the shops. We’ll actually need ingredients if we’re going to cook us a proper breakfast. We’d be lucky if Fred or Roger had anything other than spoiled milk in the fridge.” She received no reply from Brian who merely looked at her as if he was weighing something in his mind. “Bri?”

The man in question suddenly came towards her from the spot he was leaning against the wall and stood only about a hand’s breadth away. He was looking down at her, god he was so tall, and she could feel his breath on her cheekbone. Wyn didn’t dare move. She seemed to be caught in a spell, and he too appeared in a trance of his own. Slowly, his hand reached up and carefully smoothed down an errant patch of hair that stuck out from her tresses, mussed from sleep.

She felt the material of his blanket brush her neck as he tucked her hair behind her ear. He smiled at his handiwork; his blue gaze was soft. “Lead the way.”

A short trip to Tesco's and forty minutes later, Brian and Wyn return to the apartment, the sound of murmured voices alerting them that Freddie and Roger were now up and about.

“Oh there you are, we'd thought you'd left without saying goodbye!” Fred greeted them when he opened the door. Though he wore a robe, he had not bothered to put trousers on. It was a very ‘Freddie’ look.

“Like a thief in the night.” Added Roger. His body had sunk into the armchair, almost parallel to the ground.

“Don't be silly, Roger.” Freddie said. Roger simply scoffed at his roommate as the dark-haired man continued to speak. “Not like we'd have anything worth stealing, we took the coffee table from the skip!” Freddie reminded him pleasantly.

Brian with an armful of shopping, made his way to the kitchen island to lay it down, “Technically, we all got here in the morning, and if we would have left, it still would have been morning. We wouldn’t have been thieves in the night.”

Roger just groaned in response.

Freddie pointedly looked at his taller comrade. “Go easy on him Brian, he's nursing a bitch of a hangover.”

“Is that why he's wearing sunglasses indoors?” Chirped Wyn.

“Well yes, but he does it all the time regardless.” Freddie divulged before tilting his head to the side. “Is that my top?”

Wyn looked down at the orange jumper she wore, she smiled, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. Was a little cold this morning.” Objectively speaking, she looked a bit silly, the jumper drowned her figure and the colour of the yarn was so bright she would never have the fear of getting lost in a crowd as it was so immediately recognisable it practically screamed ‘Here I am!’ . There was also the pointed feeling she had that she resembled something of a giant pumpkin. But the jumper was also very warm and so she liked it very much.

“Think no more of it darling, I’m glad you had the sense to rug up before going outside.” Her friend replied with a broad smile. Truth be told, the jumper had been overly large on Freddie too whenever he wore it, but it served him well in the past and kept him warm through many a cold day especially when they couldn’t afford the heating bills.

“I'm impressed you're up and about this morning Fred, you've had just as much as the rest of us.”

“True,” Freddie admitted, rather perkily. “But I guess I'm just excited. Can you believe it, you're looking at the new lead singer for Smile!”

Wyn laughed to herself. “I can Fred, and I do. We were there when it happened.”

“Where have you two been away?” Roger questioned rubbing at his eyes then shortly pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Wyn thought we might like to have a ‘proper breakfast’. Been to the shops, haven't we?” Brian explained, beginning to take out the groceries.

The girl clapped once, causing Roger to wince. “Yes, now anyone who doesn't help, doesn't eat.” She announced, pulling the blonde up from his seat and joining the others in the kitchen to set them all to work.

Divvying the tasks amongst themselves, they actually made short work of the breakfast preparations. Before long, she was whisking pancake batter contentedly as Roger watched their bacon sizzling away in the pan, still with his sunnies on. Brian was setting the table when he heard Freddie rummaging for something until a needle dropped and a record started to play.

The opening guitar chords was at once very familiar. A rousing cheer from Brian, Roger and Wyn complimented Freddie on his music choice. The domestic scene was immediately energized with the same excited electricity from the night before, and all four of them began to move animatedly.

Surprising them, it was Wyn who beat the three of them to it and first belted out the lyrics. Her voice was loud, and off-key but she made up for it with her unbridled joy. Her head nodded up and down and she brought her whisk up and used it as a mic, not caring for the bit of batter splattering on the island. “Asked a girl what she wanted to be, she said baby, can't you see? I want to be famous, a star on the screen, but you can do something in between.”

“Baby you can drive my car!” Sang Roger, quickly shutting of the burner and bounding to Wyn’s side to share her mic.

“Yes, Roger!” The girl shouted, happy for him to join her game.

“Yes I'm gonna be a star! Baby you can drive my car, and maybe I'll love you.” Roger gave her a wink and his signature flirtatious smirk, then picked up a wooden spoon, and with the spatula in the other hand, he began to play on the countertop, drumming to Ringo’s beat.

Wyn and Roger began to sing in unison, both thinking that they were going to put Lennon and McCartney to shame, “I told a girl that my prospects were good, and she said baby, it's understood. Working for peanuts is all very fine, but I can show you a better time! Baby you can drive my car,”

“Yes I’m gonna be a star!” Exclaimed Freddie from his spot, with gusto. His arms spread wide.

“Sing it, Freddie!” Roger cried.

Fred sauntered his way over to the duo and spun the girl quickly and without warning several times. Wyn laughed as he continued the verse, “Baby you can drive my car,”

“And Baby THEY’LL love you!” Interjected Roger as he and Wyn pointed at Fred.

“Beep beep'm beep beep yeah!” The trio burst out rowdily, shooting their hands up in the air.

From the ratty couch came a bluesy twang of strings. Brian, having taken his baby from its case, played his rendition George Harrison’s lively guitar lick. The three of them were cheering for him, practically giddy as he joined in their fun. Fred stood in front of him with a wide grin, mimicking Brian’s movements on his own air guitar, making his motions as big as possible. The view from his seat was pretty spectacular, and as Brian watched his friends dancing spiritedly around the kitchen and living area, he silently ponders if it will always be like this; whether it was his destiny to be the observer, playing for the dancers, satisfied with being on the outside and always looking in, or if he too will one day join them. He ponders if one day he will have the courage to dance for a change, to set his instrument aside without worry and have Love twirl in his arms. The guitarist continued to play for them, even when the song changes, he was happy to observe, content for now.

It was a Saturday morning, and though the couch was well worn, the coffee table a salvage job, and all four of them relatively penniless students, they laughed without a care in the world. Here, among friends, the four of them basked in a piece of heaven of their own making, nestled in the heart of London.

#bo rhap #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie #itlotg fic #brian may #brian may x original character #freddie mercury #roger taylor #gwilym lee

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