#and how they stayed best friends and companions seemingly for decades

[newtwithinternet]

also do we as a society agree that amy and brad are two aros in a qpr

[pep-the-artemis]

AutoMemoriam (part 1)

It is with deep sadness and reluctance that I am today writing this journal, I hope someday it may bring me solace. The idea of putting this into writing is wicked; it brings absolution to the events I wish to deny but it must be done for thinking all this to be delusion will mean I will be truly forgotten, even by myself. Last week (March 15, 3071)—while searching through the deep catacombs of Exo-planet Copper9—I Tessa James Elliot, daughter and lone heir of Sir James Elliot, died.

I am not a spectre nor do I believe in such frivolities but I must assure you that I have in fact experienced death. Now I shall bring forth the events that transpired, no matter how much traumatic pain it may induce. Underground, in the mines, we (myself, two of my allyship, and one friend) arrived at a cathedral; gothic in design yet inhuman in its details—its creation still eludes me. Out front, in the graveyard, ensnared in thick metal chain lay resting two sentinels with their jagged teeth tightly wrapped around a dismembered arm. It was best if they were left unbothered. The front door, locked, or quite possibly too heavy in its heavy oak build to be moved even with the support of my strongest allies; Carved into the hardened wood read the message:

non est locus iste honoris. Diabolus hic dormit.

We took it to find an alternate entrance, I prohibited damaging this relic believing we could find a secondary entrance or broken window large enough to allow myself and my allyship to climb through. Outside, the harsh scent of incense burned, my allyship unaware at the time but I found it utterly dizzying  and soon I lost all sense of direction or awareness collapsing to the ground. I assure the reader at this point this was not my near death experience, that was still to come. Eventually I did awake, much later than anyone would desire as I felt myself to be well rested and my companions had set up a fire—what were they burning, I hope nothing of importance. The stench of incense had now at this point died down to a manageable extent but that wasn’t the last of my bothers, the once resting guards now were howling aggressively pulling against heavy chains relentlessly. If they could not kill us, they’de give us no peace. Did they forget that I, as a human, am there superior?

Examining around I found I was connected to the emergency ventilator, it seems my respirator had broken (or tampered) leading me to intake the more harmful chemicals in the air, the incense smell was ever hallucinogenic or coincidental to the cause as I had been to many chapels before without much of a reaction. My vibrant energy reassured that I'd suffered little permanent damage although that was still an impossibility. Continuing my line of good fortune, that friend I mentioned earlier had found a loose rock, engraved with vivid imagery of burning angels, which when moved uncovered a small tunnel seemingly leading into the heart of the cathedral. They made sure to wait for me before advancing to which I was grateful but I can still not trust that girl; her eyes have the glimmer of a demons, in the corner of my eye I’m sure she transforms. If the devil lays dormant, it is within the girl—but I cannot kill her, she has caught the fancy of my allyship and has a mind unlike anyone else.

Being the most nimble and disposable, I made sure the girl took the lead with myself following behind alone; my allyship too large in stature to fit in the crevice so told to stay behind. The crevice was—to put it lightly—a cesspit for rats, not that any of those vermin had been down here in decades, the droppings had notably whitened from age but remained sludgy from the incessant moisture. The tunnel was impossibly long or witchcraft was afoot, again I am not one for superstition but I must say the warning Diabolus hic dormit began eating away at my most common of senses. Things only gotten worse when I fear hallucinations were coming over me, the sounds of a organ echoed around (slow and rhythmic with subtle errors implying the ill-practised hand); it wasn’t until the girl, who to put it light—who being polite only in the contemporary forms of media—began to complain. Her whining had never made me want her dead more.

Soon, we had made it free, entering the central hall we found the central floor had collapsed into a deep cavern below full of thick black stalagmites which in the flickering candlelight appeared to be pulsating like the entrails of a suffering beast. I truly felt that I was staring into the depths of hell. Across, on the other side of the cavern, sitting at the organ slumped was a person I recognised immediately, the local one eyed foreign girl, a native of this planet. When I first landed, it was she who first found me and my allyship, she speaks not a word of English even though her understanding is superb; I took aid from my allyship who were far more polylingual to keep translation. Bleeding out of her shoulder where once her arm was attached, she seemed to be in great pain yet continued to play; she made no indication that she had seen us but for reasons which will be made apparent shortly, she was well aware of our presence.

Not yet. 

I had a job to do and even Heaven would not deny the fact that this girl, the spawn of satan she is, was valuable; more so that if Doll (the strange character mentioned earlier sitting on the chasms other side—I speculate Doll is a cruel nickname relating to the button strapped over her missing eye) was to attack me alone, I would have no chance. The girl lives for now.

“Don’t stand too close” I warned as she approached the edge.

What was my duty here? That girl wished to learn the truth; Doll wished to know her mother; my allyship were down here on my command alone; in truth not one knew why we were here. All I knew was something here was desired by the Sin and so I was here on a path of destruction, the Sin cannot win again. Said object (or perhaps it was a place or even a metaphor) could be activated with a key, said key last seen being in the possession of Doll… what is she doing? Had she found what the Sin was looking for? Was she disappointed?

[orioo]

Main Character Squad

so. the story’s gonna contain a squad made out of 6 characters, all of which will be protagonists. they’re going to start out as strangers initially and, over the course of the introductory plot, they’re going to meet and assemble the team they are today and will continue to be unless specified otherwise! now, let’s meet the members :D

FILIP (previously known as N1)

a very important character, that will be introduced right off the bat, is Filip. he is the 2nd prince of one of the main region’s royal family. he is a very talented fighter, but (spoiler alert! this will be revealed later on in the story and shall remain a secret to the audience until then!) suffers from an uncureable disease that weakens his body with age. this disease is a side-effect to his ability to forsee future events, an ability he doesn’t have control over and only happens in short intervals of minutes at completly - and seemingly - umprompted times.

due to his weakened state, the king assigned him numerous bodyguards with specialised medical knowledge, in the event his side-effects take a harder toll on him. 

when he first gets introduced to the audience, he is in the permanent supervision of his current bodyguard, Kaji. i will divulge further details of Filip and Kaji′s past and story in another post ^^

Filip is dauntingly intelligent in all kinds of fields you could think of, but his passion lies in uncovering myths and legends about each region. this is a turning point in the plot, and will be further delved into when we get to the worldbuilding!

KAJI (previously known as N2)

the 2nd character we get to know is Filip′s loyal current bodyguard, Kaji. it’s kind of baffling to see that the prince - strong built, tall, seemingly intimidating, ROYALITY - is accompanied by a younger, shorter, less muscular, maybe just as intimidating looking guy, but don’t underestimate Kaji; his loyality to his prince -and saviour, you’ll see ;) - reaches unspeakable heights. 

Kaji is an orphan of unknown origins. he grew up in a small town located in Filip′s native region; passing from one foster family to another, never once staying in one place for too long due to his temperament issues. he had a very unstable childhood, and due to that, he learnt that the best way to protect himself - as he had nobody else to do it for him -  was to roughen up and shut everybody out. 

at one point (we’ll dive deeper into their past, it’s a gold mine, dear readers!) in his childhood, he met Filip. the prince took him under his wing and, not wanting to waste his potential, started training (with) him in various styles of combat, as he had been trained himself in the palace. Kaji grew up into a wonderful combatant and fiercely loyal to his one stable friend in his life, Filip.

he found out about Filip′s seer nature and it’s side-effects and took it upon himself to learn how to tend to him - which later got him promoted to being Filip′s personal bodyguard and companion.

SHREYA (previously known as N3)

as mentioned in the first paragraph, the main characters will start as mostly strangers to one another. Filip and Kaji are a small exception. now, with Shreya, we will be getting into the stranger danger territory, hehe. 

Shreya is a travelling mercenary. she will go to one region, across another, to reach a farther one and then return back, again and again, accepting commissions left and right for the good amount of currency. hard to find and barely ever in one place, her name is only known to those who know where to look for it, even if her prowess is well over her popularity amongst men and women in need.

she always carries a massive sword strapped on her back, her trustworthy companion in battle, although, looking at how built she is, you’d think she wouldn’t even need it. she keeps mostly to herself - side-effect of travelling alone for half a decade now - but she is actually quite the extrovert, has a confidence and wit that appeals to most.

she gets introduced a bit later on in the story, once the rest of the squad has already met. they go in search for her after one of Filip′s visions hints at her being an important piece to their messy team tableau.

once the squad has already been settled down in their specific dynamics and roles, we get to see how well she can work in a team, as opposed to her fighting on her own for years. she has a grounding presence, and more often then not can even be seen as a mother amongst the younger team members (a very cool mom at that!).

MILO (previously known as N4)

Milo is from one of the smaller regions, not quite as vast and well spoken about as Filip′s, but not lost into the unknown either. he grew up in a big, big family, with numerous siblings, lots of uncles and aunts and a frightening amount of younger cousins. most of the adults in his family are born-and-raised fishermen, taking advantage of their homeland being so close to the shore (you could even call it homewater, at this point).

Milo is expected to become a fisherman aswell, follow in his family occupation’s footsteps and all, but his passion has been fighting for as long as he could remember. be that as it may, when he was a youngster, he stumbled upon a group of teens talking vigurously about their quest to fight a horrifying beast! he could not believe it! a beast! a horrifying one! and these, albeit older than him, kids were going to defeat it! that was a turning point for young Milo, who in a sudden flare of motivation (and a hilarious amount of shining stars in his eyes) declared to his family that he would join the adventurers guild! take on commission upon quest and upon cosmission and become the most popular fighter in the entire kingdom!

reluctantly, his parents agreed to have him moved onto the nearest adventurers guild posts and, once he got assigned various amounts of training lessons and basic fighter’s knowledge classes, he got in. this is how he spent most of his years from then onto the present. 

alongside his assigned teammate turned bestfriend, Piper, he continues taking on commissions, across the kindgom and fighting off the bad guys of the world in hopes of his name becoming the most renowned one across all lands. 

his charm is unrivaled, as well as his grit and determination... and stupidity. to be brash and know your limits is one thing, but to be as assertuve and reckless as Milo is frightening. not for him!

PIPER (previously known as N5)

Piper is, for the lack of a better word, a nerd. she has always been top of the class in all domains except physical combat. she prides herself in her brains, but is always open to learning more about anything and discover as many things as she can, they’re a learning experience! 

despite her lacks of brawns, she joined the adventurers guild to take their courses and, maybe, one day get promoted to a sage - the wise and all-knowing leaders who run the guild and other insitutions in the kingdom. or a sage assitant? maybe that’d be better, less straining of a job but with just as many opportunities to learn to stuff. hmmm... she still hasn’t decided. 

young as she is, she got assigned to a partner in her journey through the adventurer guilds commission, Milo. at first, they didnt get aong at all - his recklessness and habit of heading blindly into battle contradicting her analytical views of the battlefield and reluctance to join combat herself - but their similar burning fire for adventure turned them into the best of buddies. the Brawns and the Brains, if you must. 

when she gets introduced to the audience, so does Milo. they’re actually the first ones to appear, as the very first thing that happens in the story follows the summary to one of their assigned missions and their journey back to the A.G (adventurers guild) station.

PHALA (previously known as N6)

Phala is a special case. she is an awakened demi-god, one spoken about only in myths and folktales of long forgotten about regions. she appears in one of Filip′s visions, which triggers the main introductory plot of driving the main cast into meeting eachother and assembling their yet-unnamed team. there are a lot of things to be delved into regarding her abilities and role among the team, as well as the roles that get assigned to the others following her re-awakening. all these details will be talked about in the worldbuilding post! ^^

as a demi-god, she is very knowledgeable about the world. at least, her world. the present day world is still kind of new to her, but that’s where the rest of the team will come along to help her get familiarized.

within the 6-member team, there also exists a sub-team formed out of 5 members. she is the supportive link between the other 4 members, which inevitably grants her the role of sub-team leader. when it comes to the main team, she shares her unofficial leadership with Filip, seeing as both of them are fit to lead, one way or another, and the others simply go along with this dynamic they naturally fell into.

although she doesnt consider herself worthy of the respect she gets, as she is simply a hybrid between a human and a god, her strenght surpasses her beliefs, both in the physical, combat field as well as the political one. the rest of the team respects her and follows her lead without question. after all, she is the one that -unknowingly- brought them together to form the team they currently are.

[miss-musings]

Here’s why Sessrin personally doesn’t bother me:

1. The Mythology

Granted, I’m not an expert in Japanese mythology/folklore, but I do know that there were beliefs that male dog demons could be tamed by human women who offered them food. At that point, the dog demons would become loyal to their women and protect them (and in some cases fall in love with them). (EDIT: link to a video about the folkloric roots of Inuyasha here.)

This is exactly what happened between Sesshomaru and Rin. He was hurt; she offered him food; and he revived her and protected her thereafter.

Now, I don’t know if dog demons in the Inuyasha universe are bound by this rule or if this is just an allusion to mythological beliefs. If the former, Sesshomaru either consciously or unconsciously has no choice in his loyalty to and care for Rin.

It might be like — and I hesitate to use this as an example — imprinting in The Twilight Saga. It might be that her offering him food forced his “center of gravity” to start shifting from himself and his ambitions to her and her well-being. Granted, I don’t think this is exactly like imprinting (and I’ll talk about that more in a bit), but it might be like it in that Sesshomaru had no choice in the matter as he was bound by the magic that governs his kind, so that when a girl offered him food, he became attached to her.

But even if it’s just an allusion to the mythology and Sesshomaru isn’t automatically bound to her by way of his demon nature — which the flashback to her smile before he revived her kinda hints at — her kindness still won him over to the point where he does something he’s never done before and shows compassion for a human.

So, it might be that Sesshomaru is “bound” to Rin in some form or fashion, whether by the magic that govern his demonic nature, or simply by virtue of her kindness softening his heart (much like Gohan did to Piccolo in Dragon Ball Z).

2. Undefined, Evolving Relationship

OK, so the reason I say it’s *like* imprinting but not it exactly is that you can see that the level to which Sesshomaru cares about Rin clearly evolves between when he first meets her and the end of The Final Act.

When she’s first abducted by Naraku, Sesshomaru hardly bats an eye. Maybe he’s upset, but if so, he doesn’t show it. Jaken even thinks that Sesshomaru could forsake her by not going to rescue her, and even Rin wonders whether Sesshomaru will come for her. However, he does, although his motives are clearly mixed. Maybe saving Rin was a secondary motive and he mostly wanted to destroy Naraku for insulting his pride, or maybe it was the other way around. We don’t know exactly, but Sesshomaru does confirm that he’s not there *only* to save Rin. In fact, he completely forgets about her until Naraku uses her safety as his ‘ace in the hole’ while he escapes. And, again, despite being told that Rin’s life is in danger, Sesshomaru only looks miffed and it takes him a second to decide to set off to save her. Even as Kohaku is about to cut her down, Sesshomaru just stands there.

Now, compare that to how Sesshomaru acts when Naraku abducts her right before the final battle in TFA. He’s clearly upset when he first hears about it and immediately flies off to save her. When he enters Naraku’s body, his first priority is to save Rin. And I always loved how, even once he saved her, it took him a while to finally pull out Bakusaiga and finish Naraku off. Personally, I would’ve done that the second she was safe, but oh well. It’s almost like he forgot he had a sword that could destroy everything in a single stroke. 😂

OK, so the point is that, even if Sesshomaru is automatically bound to Rin, it’s different than how the wolves in Twilight are bound to their imprintees. It wasn’t immediate, first of all, and he doesn’t act like someone whose entire ‘center of gravity’ has shifted even by the end of the series.

While he definitely cares about her well-being, he also doesn’t become overly affectionate with her either. He mostly treats her with a kind indifference, unless she’s in danger. She’s free to do whatever she wants, but he often leaves her and Jaken behind. I personally believe this is both because he doesn’t want them in the way *and* he wants to keep her out of danger.

We also know Sesshomaru hesitated in having Rin as a traveling companion in the first place.

Even if you don’t count the Forever With Lord Sesshomaru episode because it’s filler, Sesshomaru admits in TFA 9 that he should’ve left Rin in a human village for her own well-being. However she apparently wanted to travel with him, so he allowed her ... for whatever reason. (As I like to say, “Because, plot!” Sesshomaru needed character development and someone to get kidnapped to motivate him to do things.)

Even by the end of TFA, I’d argue that Sesshomaru has finally grown to the point where he’s able to let go of Rin and see that it’s best for her well-being if she *doesn’t* travel with him. Sure, he still visits her and brings her gifts, but he’s not so blindly attached to her to the point where he can’t let her go. (At least to live somewhere else; dying is a different story.)

OK... so that begs the question: who is Rin to Sesshomaru? How did he see her during the Inuyasha series? In what capacity did he care for her?

Going back to the imprinting deal, the wolf and imprintee are regarded as soulmates. Even if the wolf imprints on someone way younger than himself, he will always want to be in her life in whatever capacity is necessary and appropriate (brother, protector, best friend, etc.). Then when she’s old and mature enough, the two will have romantic feelings for each other.

We can already see that this is far different from how Sesshomaru treats Rin, at least initially. Again, he thought about leaving her in a human village after reviving her and eventually did leave her at the end of TFA. He recognizes that he doesn’t need to be in her life and shouldn’t be, either because it puts her in danger or she needs to be around other humans, but probably a bit of both.

So, is this just Sesshomaru waiting around until Rin is old enough to be a romantic interest for him, as is the case with the wolves in Twilight? I argue no, because again, he was never overly affectionate with Rin.

I think Sesshomaru sees her as someone who is under his protection in a very general way. When she’s in trouble, he will save her. If he can’t be there, he ensures Jaken and/or A-Un stays with her. While Jaken says that Sesshomaru treats her better despite Jaken being his loyal servant for decades, I think that’s because Rin — as a human and a child — requires protective attention that Jaken doesn’t need as an adult demon.

Otherwise, Rin seems to fend for herself. Sesshomaru doesn’t teach her, doesn’t provide for her (other than maybe finding that orange kimono for her off-screen, but that’s speculation), and generally doesn’t interact with her much other than protecting her.

He doesn’t seem like a father or a brother, and I don’t think *he* thinks himself in that way. At the very least, others in-universe don’t. Kagura labels Rin as Sesshomaru’s ward and Inuyasha calls her a companion. Even Jaken doesn’t give Sesshomaru and Rin’s dynamic a label in TFA 9, other than saying he treats her better than he treats Jaken (who has his own reasons for being jealous of any attention Rin would receive from Sesshomaru even if it’s because she’s a human child who needs protection in a way Jaken doesn’t).

So, anyway; what I’m trying to say is that Sesshomaru is attached to Rin in a way that’s unique and powerful, but also seemingly undefined in the Inuyasha series. He wants to keep her safe, and he definitely cares about her to the point where he risks himself to save her on multiple occasions and feels that her life was priceless compared to growing stronger by training with Tenseiga.

Now, did The Powers That Be definitely hint that Sesshomaru and Rin would end up together romantically one day (namely by pointing out similarities between her and Kagome and Izaiyoi)? Sure, but you can’t necessarily blame Sesshomaru for that.

Is a girl getting married and pregnant at 16/17, even if it was a different era, something I wish the Yashahime writers would’ve avoided? Yes.

Are people allowed to feel uncomfortable that a male demon knew and looked out for his future wife while she was still a child? Yes.

Do I understand why people are upset about Sessrin? Yes, but I personally am not.

[jaskiersvalley]

You are the one who got me hooked on Eskel/Lambert and now I can't stop writing them together how did you do this to me, shipping by osmosis

Yes! Welcome to this small ship (a whole 46 stories on AO3). But our numbers are slowly growing. And I will also point you in the direction of @ohnomybreadsticks for some quality content, especially when slipping Cahir into the mix too (canon? What’s that?). To celebrate your joining of this ship, I have a really still idea to bestow upon you.

Arriving in a town with the promise of a contract, only to find another witcher had already been by was always annoying. Even worse when the locals had chased said witcher from their midst without payment and rushed into hurriedly packing his things. At least the locals let Geralt and Jaskier pay for a room as long as they moved on from the village the next day. They even gave them the same room that had been sullied by the previous witcher. For some reason, Geralt had stiffened upon entering the room, as if met by a familiar scent but he refused to elaborate so Jaskier shrugged. If it was important, he would find out. The next moment, his attention was taken up by a leaf of parchment poking out from under the bed. Curiosity piqued, he grabbed it in a rush even though he knew Geralt wouldn’t have gone near it anyway.

“-makes things bearable. I do hope he’s okay. While I keep an ear out for whispers of him and know I cannot walk my Path and his at the same time, I worry. Winter cannot come soon enough. Even if I can’t hold him like I’d want to, I can at least make sure he can take it easy and actually enjoy being alive for a change. I’d do so much more-”

It was too intimate, probably an entry from a journal that was falling apart. Jaskier’s hear squeezed at the idea of a witcher who was so obviously in love with someone that sounded like another witcher. Maybe he needed a bit of help in romancing the love of his life. Jaskier knew what it was like, to love a witcher and not be loved in return. Maybe he could help spare someone this miserable fate.

Finding a charmed bird was quite difficult and cost a good chunk of coin but Jaskier deemed it a worthy sacrifice. The pigeon would track the intended recipient of a letter and could be used as a way to communicate over long distances.

Dear Witcher,

I am but a humble bard who happened upon a page of your journal. Your plight sings to my heart as we both seem to love someone who walks the Path and we can but quiver in our boots and hope they return to our side after each separation. While return they do, our beloveds don’t seem to realise that we would bestow upon them more than our care as friends. May I offer you solace and friendship through these letters, as one fool in love with a witcher to another.

Jaskier tied that, along with the page he had found, along with a feather from one of his hats to the pigeon. It went its way and Jaskier could only hope his offer was taken for what it was, a genuine, heartfelt companion for the broken hearted.

It took two weeks for the pigeon to return, a fresh piece of parchment tied to its leg.

Bard,

This is a most unexpected letter, I didn’t even realise I lost a page from my journal. It’s almost full now and seen more than its fair share of battles. Thank you for returning it. As for the matter of its content, I would love to say it’s none of your business and never speak of it again. Yet, despite my best caution, I am intrigued to find another who claims to love a witcher. If you’re struggling for his affections, may I suggest you feed him? While my wolf is fiercely independent, he does always look so touched and bashful when presented with little delicacies he wouldn’t have treated himself to otherwise.

Best of luck on your quest to win a fortified heart, Witcher

It was a most exciting development, not once did the mysterious witcher tell Jaskier to stop contacting him, or even dishearten him. Instead, Jaskier had been given a hint on how to woo Geralt. New tactic in mind, Jaskier set about buying sweet cakes and pastries whenever he could and presenting them to Geralt. At first, it was met with offended bafflement but, slowly, over time, Jaskier could see the hopeful glances. Even better was when, out of the blue, Jaskier was presented with a blueberry tart - his absolute favourite.

Dear Witcher,

Thank you for your help. My own wolf has mellowed and seems appreciative, if confused, by the sudden treats. He even returned the gesture. Something I’ve found he likes is his hair being played with. Mustn’t call it brushing or styling! But a quiet night by a fire, fingers carding through his hair definitely help him relax. It’s such a beautiful sight, so much power and raw strength tamed by nothing more than gentle touch. Maybe, when you next see your wolf, he might enjoy an evening with his head in your lap too.

Tell me more about your wolf though, what’s he like? I know I suffer when I cannot sing about the heroic deeds and virtues of my wolf. As a bard, thankfully i have an outlet so my heart doesn’t burst with love. But I wonder who you have that will listen to your adorations.

May your Path lead you to your wolf’s heart. Bard

Letters went back and forth between this witcher and Jaskier. Any questions about the witcher himself were ignored or not quite answered and Jaskier could appreciate that. He did learn a lot though, this witcher was kind, he was much like Geralt in that he wouldn’t take payment if there was true suffering without the means to fund the services of a witcher. There were also a few self-deprecating comments which led Jaskier to believe that the man he was exchanging letters with was shy, probably quite a gentle soul that was hardened by decades of life as a witcher.

There was one time Jaskier fretted over his pen pal. A letter had arrived, it had splatters of blood and was written with by a shaking hand. Short and to the point, so much so that Jaskier could have wept.

Bard - treasure your wolf and hold him close at night. They’re getting colder and longer. When he’s hurt, sing him a lullaby of old and even when it looks hopeless, you can be his guiding light. Remind him he’s never alone while he’s got you. Don’t let him waste your beset years together just because he’s a fool who cannot see all you have to offer.

That night, Jaskier pulled his bedroll closer and was surprised when Geralt easily allowed him to press close. Jaskier held his wolf not just for himself but for the mystery witcher who was likely injured and alone somewhere out there in the big wide world.

The exchange of letters continued. Jaskier learned about the witcher’s wolf, that he was dedicated to the Path even though he cursed it and the life he had before that too. It really sounded like whoever this sad wolf was, he had led a life of anger and disappointment. No wonder he couldn’t let in this other witcher and accept the love shown, he probably had no frame of reference for what love looked like or how to deal with it.

My dearest Witcher,

Winter draws closer and I have been invited to accompany my wolf to his home. There, I will get to meet his family which is rather nerve-wracking. I’ve heard a few stories of his brothers and while I hope they will find me to their liking, I still worry. Maybe I will use your suggestions in moderation and bring them treats as well as be a quiet but steady presence, should they need a confidant.

I do hope your winter goes well and you are able to hold your wolf in your strong arms at long last. Be honest with him. If he is as cautious with his heart as you say, and as kind under all his snark and bluster, I should hope that he will either accept all the love you have to offer with a bit of huffing. Or he will be gentle but clear in his boundaries of what his heart can and cannot offer.

Keep in touch over this winter, I have grown fond of you and your thoughtful words. Bard

Trekking up to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier didn’t think he’d get a pigeon until stashed away in the keep. Winter was cold and harsh, it made him worry for his pigeon. Or rather, their pigeon because Jaskier had noted at the bird always came back so cared for, once or twice it even had the remnants of a flower collar around its throat. Sometimes it had been given a nice bath, the soft perfume still gently wafting from its wings.

Jaskier had no idea what to expect of Kaer Morhen. It was large, ominous and cold. Drafts whipped through it and made fires flicker. Introductions were made, Jaskier nodded at Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. He didn’t miss the way Geralt looked between the two younger witchers. Obviously there was something going on there that was unusual but Jaskier didn’t know them well enough to probe.

Bard,

I’m safely back at the my winter home, surrounded by family and more. I say more because one of my brothers has brought a bard back with him. They reek of each other and it’s almost disgusting how in love they seem. The bard himself is so young. A bright ray of sunshine in this dreary old place. I don’t think these halls had ever echoed with song before. It’s annoying on some level but at the same time, his cheer and seemingly open adoration of all things witcher is disarming. Somehow, I get the feeling you would like him. If I can find out more about him, I might try and send him your way. Makes me wonder what it is about bards and witchers but now there are two pairs at least on this continent. Maybe I should shuck my swords and take up a lute if I want to keep my own wolf happy.

Stay safe and warm, hold your wolf close on these cold nights. Witcher P.S. I took your advice and laid my heart bare. I no longer sleep in my room and have never been happier.

Upon reading the letter, Jaskier squealed in delight. His witcher friend had a wolf to hold and love. Even if their Paths took opposing directions, they now both had someone for return to, to fight for.

My dearest Witcher,

Your letter was the best news. I am so pleased you and your wolf have found solace in each other. Long may your love last and may you keep each other safe. And please, do let me know of this other bard. I would love to meet him. As long as it isn’t that talentless hack, Vadlo Marx, imitating me once more. If it is, please do the world and your witcher brother a favour and snap his neck. Everyone will thank you for it in the long term, trust me.

I’ve only managed to fall in love with my wolf’s family. They’re a quiet, reserved bunch but absolutely endearing. And let me tell you about the love between two of them. I don’t think I’ve seen a love more true or pure. There’s so much I want to ask them about how they found peace with each other, how they manage out in the world without each other when on the Path. If I glean anything useful, I will be sure to pass it onto you and it might help ease your burdens when a new season rolls around.

Have a happy winter, Bard

Carefully, Jaskier fixed the letter to the pigeon and opened the window. However, the cold must have frightened it because it took off towards the door, flying through the keep with Jaskier running after it, yelling. They ended up in the kitchen where Eskel was lounging against the counter while Lambert kneaded some bread.

“Oh hello,” Eskel cooed at the pigeon and held a hand out for it to land. Grinning, he plucked the letter off with practised ease. “You came back a lot quicker than expected. Less than a day.”

Which was when Jaskier burst into the kitchen, huffing and puffing, glaring at the pigeon. He scooped the bird up from Eskel’s palm with a stern glare. “You are a little brat. Now look what you’ve done, lost my letter too. What are we going to do with you?”

Only listening with half an ear as Eskel read his letter, he paused and looked up at Jaskier in surprise.

“Bard?”

Realisation made Jaskier drop the pigeon. “Witcher? Which can only mean-” he turned to look at Lambert, “-wolf?”

“Which makes Geralt...” Eskel trailed off and let out a gruff huff as Jaskier launched himself at him in a hug.

“I am so happy for you!” Jaskier laughed brightly and Eskel could only return the hug, a smile of his own slowly blossoming across his face.

[princepokemon]

I’m BACK. Again. 😨 Between my VERY long trip away from home and school, it’s been hectic but hopefully I can get back to posting semi normally again!

Figured I’d start out with a dump of DnD doodles from my last campaign featuring my favorite boy, Mani :)

Anyway, Mani! He’s a tiefling merchant who doubled as the group's pack mule. His travelling companions were Benny the gnome archeologist and Rahm the goliath Vagabond. 

I had a great time with my friends but unfortunately our DM dipped mid campaign and I haven’t played for some time.

Here’s the character background/motivation piece I had to submit for anyone who’s into that kind of stuff. It’s sloppy but it gets the job done lol

—-

Fear is a powerful motivator. Fear of failure and death, fear of beasts and blood or the fear of being known; Manok Rhodara has molded his entire life around fleeing it.

Born into a small family of laborers in a very large city, he spent his younger years watching his parents trapped in the endless cycle of poverty. They’d toil away with seemingly no end in sight yet he still longed for something greater. Nevermind the nobles that paraded around in their carriages adorned with jewels, the simple merchant walking the streets with a full belly and spare coin was something he could wrap his brain around. His elder sister Nefaria had mocked him for his ambitions, but he kept his head down and did his best to observe the shopworkers he admired, emulating them in his precious free time.

Dreaming and doing are two different things however. His mother, a talented painter, had never successfully sold a single painting. Manok would watch her weep in their room after a day of fruitless peddling; tears muddying the beautiful discarded landscape. No one wants to sully homes with the work of an impoverished devil kin. He held out hope that the world outside the city walls didn’t hold these grudges. A fateful afternoon with his father would quickly extinguish these thoughts though.

He had so often felt the stares of disdain from the other races that he rarely acknowledged them anymore but that day he remembered them feeling particularly sharp. As they strolled through the city making their usual stops to resupply, Manok pleaded with his father to visit the local jewelers. The shopkeep was a shrewd elf who had recently lost his apprentice and Manok was confident he could wrangle a position if he could just get his foot in the door. 

Relenting, his father agreed on the condition that they never step foot in the store again if the master rejected him. Though unimpressed, the shopkeeper miraculously agreed to start training him as an errand boy after some smooth talking and a bit of pitiful begging (until he could find a “suitable” replacement he’d said). In the owner’s words, “Put a hat on and you could pass for an elf. If you keep that tail hidden and your mouth shut you might have a chance at doing this right.”.

An unusual victory was quickly dashed by an unusual misfortune as an insidious bystander took advantage of the irregular pair, swiping a handful of gems and planting a few on his father. It wasn’t long before the situation quickly devolved into a heated shouting match with police in tow and that was all it took to throw his family’s life out of kilter.

The remaining Rhodaras were scrutinized by the law after his father was branded a thief and thrown in prison. Stall owners rejected their goods and they were banned from many parts of the city. The places they could walk freely, judgmental eyes followed their every move and attempted to imprison them over minor insurrections. His sister swore revenge while his mother fell into a deep depression. Confused and scared for his life, Manok did the only thing he felt he could do. Run. So he did.

He ran for weeks and weeks stowing away on boats and picking through trash. In the forests he drank rainwater and foraged familiar plants and bark he could recognize from the markets back home. He didn’t know the full extent of his travels until he was much older but he had trekked an entire continent away to the Forest Islet.

It was there deep in the woods untouched by man, that he stumbled upon a grand weeping cherry and the fae within it: Punella. It had been decades since a sentient soul had wandered their way into her mystical grotto and even longer since she had formed a pact. A glance at his sniveling face was all it took for her to pity the boy enough to reveal her form and administer her guardian test. Three simple trials to expose his true nature. He was reserved, studious, observant and very afraid but when the kind-hearted dryad offered her guidance, he recognized a great opportunity and never looked back.

He would maintain responsibility for her grotto and in exchange for his dedication she would grant him knowledge, magic and, most crucial of all, companionship. He spent the following years learning the arts of crafting and deception while honing his hunting skills. By the time he could truly call himself ‘self-reliant’ he was nearly 17 and his thirst for knowledge was full throttle. 

His favorite of all was illusory magic, creating baubles and trinkets to decorate his camp and make him smile. What started as a hobby grew into something marketable and it wasn’t long before he was imbuing attractive charms into delicate crafts he made from the surrounding forest. Even his patron was impressed.

The woods had their own charm, but camping in a shabby hut he pieced together haphazardly had gotten old long ago. To really make a change, he’d need materials he couldn’t find surrounded by the trees. For materials he’d need someone to supply them and….. money. After some gentle encouragement, he hatched a plan to try his hand at the market once. 

Once he mustered up the confidence to venture out, he traded pelts for books. Many, many books. He spent months pouring over encyclopedias and cultural commentaries. The main subject of his study was covering elves. He knew some of their mannerisms from his time in the city but his end goal would have him immersed in their lifestyle. His time in the city taught him that tieflings are easy victims and if he was finally getting the chance to delve into the world of commerce, he was going to do it right. He didn’t need to be perfect immediately but he had to appear legitimate enough to sell enough junk to build an adequate home.

With that, the life of Manok Rhodara was snuffed out and the adventure of Manolari Nym began. Despite spending his early teens isolated in the woods, he was able to appear warm and personable to the closest neighboring townsfolk. It wasn’t long until he developed a rapport with the local craftsman and was regularly completing projects with them during his trips out from the woods. He would never stay long and his mysterious nature prompted some rumors but somehow, impossibly, the world he’d dreamed of was within his grasp.

On cold nights he thought back on his time with his family and wondered what he could have done differently. He remembered the despair and panic; He remembered how he abandoned them to escape it. But he was happy now. His days with Punella were carefree and her gentle presence was a gift. The guilt could be aching, but Mani was willing to live that and far greater if it meant keeping what they had built together.

Life is a lottery with impossible odds. If you’re lucky enough, you might get to draw again. How far would you go to protect that second chance?

[the-ineffable-demon-crowley]

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to. 

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex 

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

                     This work is a commission for @mollyplier

                                                           ⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself. 

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes. 

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to.  Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky. 

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon. 

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul. 

                                                            ⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you. 

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived. 

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement. 

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned. 

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round. 

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention. 

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned. 

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair. 

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.” 

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly. 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.” 

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-” 

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.” 

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind. 

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread. 

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante. 

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath. 

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment. 

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.” 

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight. 

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air. 

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.” 

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down. 

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car. 

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?” 

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.” 

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all. 

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered. 

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.” 

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty. 

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care. 

“Turn around, Y/N.” 

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second. 

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled. 

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display. 

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.” 

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.” 

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?” 

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count. 

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?” 

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.” 

“And she belongs to me.”  

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight. 

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you. 

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!” 

“Cum.” 

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out. 

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest. 

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.” 

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?” 

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

[swtorpadawan]

Promises

Author’s Notes: The following obviously applies to my main Jedi Knight OC, Corellan Halcyon, but I feel it could apply to a great many JKs, so i’ve used gender-neutral pronouns where possible. Graphics courtesy of Wookiepedia, since i’m away from my screen captures at the moment.  The Sith Lord known as Lord Scourge wants Revenge against Vitiate, the Sith Emperor. He wants revenge for what the ancient Sith Lord did to him three hundred years ago, granting him immortality but taking from him everything that made life worth living. He wants revenge for being forced to serve as his personal executioner for all of that time. It is true that Scourge may have started down this long and arduous path out of a sort of enlightened self-interest. Vitiate, Scourge knows full-well, is a threat to the entire galaxy. He has known that from the moment he met him in person so many years ago. The Emperor is a threat to everyone who has ever lived and to everyone who ever will live. But his anger and rage at his ‘Master’ have only deepened over the centuries. Scourge is incredibly fortunate that he burns cold, one of the side-effects that he suffers as the result of Vitiate’s ritual. Were it otherwise, the Emperor would surely have sensed the profound danger that his Wrath represented, and the unrepentant traitor has no illusions as to how that confrontation would end. After the Dromund Kaas operation, Scourge claims to stay with the Defender’s crew simply to be certain that the Emperor has left them no further surprises.   But somewhere deep down, Scourge knows that this isn’t the end of it. Something of the Emperor has survived. But he also knows the Jedi Knight will be there to see the prophecy through no matter what it takes. The Knight’s resolve is the equal of Revan’s, of the Exile’s and of Scourge’s himself. Perhaps even greater.  And Scourge will therefore aid the Jedi however he can. Lord Scourge stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him Revenge.

Fidelitin Rusk has been fighting one battle or another for his entire adult life. He is considered ruthless and sometimes even reckless by his fellow Republic soldiers, and sometimes even by his crewmates. Rusk – the third-oldest member of the crew but perhaps the oldest in practical life experience – accepts these assessments without rebuke or defense; he is what he is. His entire mindset was constructed for battles and wars that had to be won regardless of the costs. Rusk has fought so hard and for so long that there are some days when even he starts to forget why he does what he does. Indeed, there are times when Rusk disapproves of the Knight’s choices, believing that they risk too much for others and that they are far too willing to however briefly put aside the greater mission to save even a single life all while the entire galaxy stands at risk.

But deep down, the lost soldier’s only true purpose has only ever been to defend those who cannot defend themselves. He was born and raised by a colony of pacifists; that didn’t stop the Empire from annihilating his people. When he looks at the Jedi Knight – so selfless and so brave, so willing to put themselves on the line for those who need them, he is reminded of the justness of that cause. And as he wins battle after battle and that cause is served, than perhaps everything that Rusk has done has been worth it.  

Sergeant Fideltin Rusk stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him Victory.

Contrary to popular belief, Doctor Archiban Kimble knows perfectly how the rest of the galaxy, and even his closest allies aboard the Defender, view him. The man who calls himself Doc is seen as an arrogant, misogynistic, self-aggrandizing, fame-seeking, womanizing nerf-herder; a man who has left a seemingly endless line of women high and dry over the years, from Prudy and on down the list. Honestly? Doc wouldn’t have it any other way. Letting people believe that he cares so little about his personal relationships gives him a sort of shield against the things in the universe that he doesn’t want to deal with, all while still allowing him to continue to enjoy the things that keep him going.

But a man who worked his through medical school on his own merits and who has consistently chosen to serve as a combat medic on some of the most dangerous planets in the galaxy doesn’t do so just for fame, fortune and women. He could have had all that and lived in style while conducting research projects for a major pharmaceutical company back on Coruscant. No, once upon a time there was a young Archiban who set upon this path, and who did so for far nobler reasons then Doc would ever admit to anyone. Doc doesn’t know how, but for some reason, he knows that when the Jedi Knight looks at him, they see something beyond the broken healer who has put up a shell around themselves. The Knight then offers the medic an opportunity for a more meaningful existence than he could have ever dreamed of.  

Doc stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise to always Help others.

Some days, Kira Carsen feels like she’s spent her entire life just trying to be true to who she is in a galaxy that seems determined to force her to become something else. She was raised on Korriban by some of the most sadistic and fanatical Sith in the galaxy, the Children of the Emperor. Every time she sees one of her ‘siblings’ returning to the dormitories with missing pieces of their memory, she cringes and pulls up her blanket around herself. And when Kira returns one night and realizes she can’t remember what happened to her, she knows that soon, there will be nothing left of her identity, either. The survival rate of acolytes who flee the Korriban academy cannot be higher than two percent. Most flee into the wilderness and, when they aren’t immediately hunted down and killed, become ‘broken’, running around in gangs, often going mad. But ten-year old Kira smuggles herself out on an outgoing cargo ship, and a week later she’s on Nar Shaddaa. She sees the suffering of people, there. Those who are unable or unwilling to kick something up to the Hutts quickly find themselves sent down. The slums where refugees congregate are almost as cruel and unforgiving as Korriban. Life is hard, but here, Kira discovers something about herself. Inexplicably, she actually cares about other people; especially the ones who take her in, and who are too weak to fend for themselves against the predators among them. Then Kira meets Bela Kiwiiks and joins the Jedi Order. Kira is unbelievably grateful to Master Kiwiiks. The Togrutta got her off Nar Shaddaa, gave her a home and a place in the galaxy, and has given her a place in the galaxy and the chance to do some good. Master Kiwiiks is like the mother that she never had. Kiwiiks is gently but firmly trying to teach Kira to be the best Jedi she can be.      

But as proud as she is to be a Jedi, Kira Carsen is trying to be the best version of herself.

When she meets the Jedi Knight, everything changes very quickly. Somehow, the Knight trusts Kira against the Black Sun at the spaceport on Coruscant, and then later still when they’re hunting down Tarnis. When Master Satele instructs the Knight to take Kira in as a Padawan, Kira is elated. She follows the Knight’s lead, but she feels more like a partner than their apprentice. The Knight talks with her instead of at her, and they learn a great deal about themselves and the galaxy from each other. When Kira’s past is revealed, the Knight supports her unquestioningly; first against Valis, then against Master Jaric Kaedan and finally against the Emperor himself on Darth Angral’s dreadnaught. When Kira finally purges the Emperor from her mind, she feels the Knight reaching out to her, aiding her the entire time.

(All this comes before that night under the stars on Tython, when Kira finally jumps the Knight and they become far more than partners.)

Kira is still herself, learning and growing at her own pace. There are times she questions the Knight’s choices. She groans when they take in Doc and worries a great deal when they let Scourge join. But through it all, the Knight never asks Kira to compromise herself; they never tell her how she should feel or think about anything. The Knight simply asks Kira to trust them. And she does. The doubting Jedi questions many things; but they never question the Knight, because the Knight has never questioned her.

Kira Carsen stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise to let her be Herself , and because they let her become the best version of Herself she can.

T7-O1 – Teeseven to his friends – has served the Jedi Order for decades, and quite frankly, they would be hard pressed to find anyone who has done so with greater devotion. The astromech droid is more than content to carry messages and conduct reconnaissance for the Jedi as they continue to adjust to their home on Tython.

But for the mechanical servant, the most satisfying period of his existence was during the time he served as a companion to Jedi Master Ven Zallow, one of the greatest heroes of the Galactic Republic during the last galactic war. Zallow was a true champion of the ideals of both the Jedi and the Republic, serving with wisdom and strength. The little droid misses those days, fiercely. He knows the work he does for the Order is important, but nothing was more fulfilling than knowing ones actions have helped right a wrong or saved a life.  

After ten years of waiting, Teeseven is finally partnered with another hero. This one is even kinder and more powerful than Ven Zallow; they seem to do nothing but sacrifice for others. In the Jedi Knight, Teeseven has found a champion who can save the entire galaxy. Privately, the little droid does worry. He worries that the cruelties of this galaxy will weigh on the Knight, that they will become bitter with loss, and will eventually fall short of their ideals as so many Jedi have before.  But Teeseven will be there for the Knight, no matter what. They will follow the Knight into the darkest places in the galaxy, as they blaze a light. They will be the Knight’s friend, and show the Jedi the way. In return, the Knight will help Teeseven be what the droid always wanted to be.

T7-O1 stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him that they will always be Heroes.

[whitleyschn33]

What if Whitley is secretly just a fusion of Allister and Bede from Pokémon sword and shield? XD on a more serious note what if Whitley had a froslass that his mother gave him?

Are you a psychic? 

Because a couple days before I got this ask (which was weeks ago, I know, and I’m very sorry, things have been insane), I started a new Nuzlocke run of Pokemon Shield, and for kicks and giggles because of the “Whitley the Pokemon Trainer” stuff that’s been going around, I made my avatar Whitley, and of course started trying to figure out how a RWBY/Shield AU would work out.

I realized halfway through my plotting that Whitley honestly does fit Bede more than who I cast him as, but a) I wanted him to start at the same place the player does, and b) it’s my AU, so who cares?

Whitley is the younger brother of the current champion, Weiss Schnee, who became champion 2/3 years ago after leaving home to complete the Gym Challenge. Winter, the eldest Schnee sister, left home nearly a decade ago, and wound up as Galar’s Ice Gym Leader. Whitley has remained behind with their mother in their estate outside Postwick.

Willow is neglectful, an alcoholic that spends more time than not drunk in her rooms. Jacques, an abusive jackass and also a business partner of Chairwoman Salem, usually works from home, but during the lead-up and during challenge season, moves to an apartment in Wyndon to focus on the extra work sent his way. This is Whitley’s favorite time of the year, as it gives him the most freedom to leave the estate and go into the nearby towns of Postwick and Wedgehurst.

Oscar Pine and Ruby Rose are the closest things to friends Whitley has, who he visits when he gets the chance to escape his house. 

Oscar is Ruby’s cousin - her mother, Summer Rose, is Oscar’s aunt, who Oscar came to live with after his parents were killed in a freak train accident when he was fairly young. Oscar helps Summer with the Budew and Wooloo they breed, farming flowers and wool and selling both in Wedgehurst.

Ruby is the granddaughter of noted Pokemon Professor, Professor Ozpin, and currently works as his assistant while she tries to figure out what she wants to do with her life. Ruby was one of the four rookie challengers that made it into the finals of the Gym Challenge season that saw Weiss become champion, despite being two years younger, but lost against her sister in an early bracket.

Ruby’s half-sister Yang is Galar’s Fighting Gym Leader, taking the role on after making it fairly far in the finals of the gym challenge. 

Whitley and Oscar often hang around the Pokemon Lab with Ruby, taking advantage of all the interesting tech and books, as well as the comforting atmosphere. Professor Ozpin works from home a majority of the time, but comes by often enough to recognize Whitley as his grandchildren’s friend and pick up enough hints about his home life.

Close to the beginning of the new Gym Challenge season (called GCS from here on out), Ozpin invites the three of them to his home on Route 2, Ruby guiding them with her Yamper Zwei for protection.

Once there, Ozpin offers to sponsor both Oscar and Whitley in this year’s GCS, and give both of them a starting Pokemon. Oscar’s thrilled, having wanted to venture out into Galar for a while now to learn more, but Whitley is far less so, hesitant to leave his mother alone and terrified of his father’s reaction if/when he found out.

Ozpin assures him there’s no pressure - the Pokemon is his regardless of whether or not he chooses to take on the challenge, so he should just focus on getting to know his chosen Pokemon before deciding.

Oscar lets him go first, since this will be Whitley’s first Pokemon, while he’s had his own Wooloo before.

Whitley considers the Sobble for the matching aesthetics, but realizes he’s probably isn’t patient enough to deal with the constant crying. He settles for Grookey, having at least had a bit of experience with grass-types from visiting Oscar’s Budews. Oscar takes the Sobble.

A small barbecue/party is held at Ozpin’s place, then everyone heads back to Postwick. Whitley takes the Grookey home, and despite being perpetually drunk or hungover, even Willow can’t miss her son bringing home a Pokemon. Reluctantly, Whitley tells her about the professor’s offer, and Willow goes quiet, wandering off to think and leaving Whitley to bond with his Grookey. (In my playthrough, I got a female Grookey I named Rhya - what do you all think Whitley would name his?)

Nearly a week later, the night before Whitley’s heading out to give his answer to the professor, Willow comes to him to give him her blessing and supplies - a mix of her own, Winter’s, and Weiss’ - in the form of a map, money, a hat, a Bag (a case that acts like a Box, but for items rather than Pokemon), camping supplies, etc. Whitley’s understandably shocked by all this, and it certainly throws him for a loop on what he’s going to do next.

The next morning, Oscar, Ruby, and he head over to Ozpin’s place. At Ozpin’s request, he and Oscar have a battle that Whitley manages to win. Hopped up on that and spurred on by his mother’s blessing (and some not-so-subtle comments on wanting/needing a rival from Oscar), he accepts the recommendation, agreeing to accompany Oscar as they attempt the GC.

Whitley returns home briefly to pack and say goodbye to his mother, and gets one final gift - an Egg his mother found a while back, presumably from her Froslass and a random Pokemon that had been passing through the Slumbering Weald. (For your headcanon, anon~)

What happens next... would require me finishing my playthrough, and honestly a Nuzlocke probably isn’t the best way to determine what Pokemon Whitley would choose. I may go through again as a non-Nuzlocke, looking at what Pokemon are available that I think would suit Whitley and try to make a team for him. I’ve got plenty of time now.

Miscellaneous 

Gym Leaders: 

Milo is replaced with Taiyang, who, when not involved with the GCS, focuses on teaching new trainers, recommending the best of the crop to the Gym Challenge.

Nessa is replaced with Ren - a calm trainer whose Pokemon can flow like water around obstacles, or slam into opponents like a wave.

Kabu is replaced with Qrow - a trainer from an older generation trying to improve himself.

Allister is replaced with Neo - a silent Trainer that can disappear seemingly without a trace, known for her Pokemon’s ability to seemingly dodge any hit.

Opal is replaced by Maria - an older woman that seems to have secrets, searching for an apprentice to soon become the new Fairy Gym Leader. Upon meeting Ruby, who shows up to cheer on Oscar and Whitley at their matches, drags her off to convince her to be the next Fairy Gym Leader, muttering something about “having the eyes for it.”

Like said above, Melony is replaced by Winter, who got the job nearly a decade ago. Known for her powerful attacks and well-disciplined Pokemon, even her multiple type disadvantages don’t seem to turn the tides. 

Piers is replaced with Blake - a Trainer specializing in dark types that refuses to use Dynamax, concerned about the effects it may have on the Pokemon that use it constantly. She made it to the finals of the GC, but ultimately fell near the end. 

Raihan is replaced by Pyrrha - the near-unbeatable crown jewel of the Gym Challenge, the last obstacle before the finals, and the reason so few challengers make it to them. A prodigy of a trainer that took the position at 14, and has come extremely close to dethroning Weiss multiple times during her reign as champion

Others

Jaune is a Normal-type Gym Leader that just took over this year.

Nora is the Electric Gym Leader, nicknamed “the Hammer” for her tendency to oneshot opposing Pokemon with powerful Thunderbolts and Discharges.

Sun takes Marnie’s place - not Blake’s sibling, but someone that cares for her deeply, and does his best to help spread word of her cause by fighting in the Gym Challenge without Dynamax like she did.

Chairman Rose is replaced by Salem - rather than trying to solve the potential energy crisis, she simply wants to destroy the world and remake it in her own image. Cinder replaces Oleana, pulling the strings to set everything in place for Salem’s plan.

Emerald and Mercury are Bede’s substitutes - kids Salem and Cinder fund on the off-chance of being useful for dirty work.

Team Yell does not exist.

And holy shit, this has gotten long, so I’m gonna stop here before I start just flat out writing fanfiction.

But, uh.... yeah, I can very much see Whitley being a part of the Galar region! A Froslass would be a good aesthetic addition to his team - perhaps a companion rather than a competitive Pokemon, since they have so many type weaknesses.

Thank you for this ask! I thoroughly enjoyed my excuse to ramble about an AU that’s been knocking around my head for a while (and can probably be prodded into doing so again). 

Have a wonderful day/evening, and stay safe!

[paper-whales-writes]

Left Behind - Part 3

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE!! 

Pairing: Mal x Reader

Word Count: 2,475

Requested By: A hell of a lot of people

You, alongside the rest of Uma’s crew, are sat inside Ursula’s eatery. All eyes transfixed on the TV screen that is displaying the Royal Cotillion live. After giving Uma the inkling to use a love potion on Prince Ben, you are keen to see whether she will potentially use your plan over one of her own.

“Uma better get one up on Mal.” you grumble under your breath; hands gripped around the chipped mug filled with dark dregs of coffee.

“She will Y/N. Uma is nothing but a crafty lass - if anyone can tear down Mal, it’ll be ‘er.” Harry replies, drumming his hook along the wooden surface of the bar.

“I sure hope so, Harry.” You sigh.

The screen is bright: awash with colours, fabrics and fashions that you and all those trapped on the Isle could only dream of. All of them, dancing and smiling; looking well fed and healthy. Unlike everyone in the room of the eatery: gaunt children fed on scraps; with hollow cheeks and intense gazes. Children who have to fight for everything they have. So, seeing the decadence and opulence played on a screen in front of you… it’s enough to make your blood boil.

Yet, it’s not just yourself who’s watching the screen with gritted teeth – most people in the eatery are. Even Gil. Who usually smiles through any pain… or at least tries to? But instead of trying to lift everyone through it, Gil is just slumped over the bar like Harry and yourself. It’s enough for you to pat his hand in lightly – the most affection the Isle will ever permit you to give.

“Are you okay, Gil?” you ask lightly.

He turns away from the TV to look back at you; complete with a small, dejected smile. “I guess I am, Y/N. It’s just… seeing it all on the TV.”

“I know Gil, I know. It never gets any easier. Being punished for a crime we did not commit.”

He nods along with you; placing his hand over yours. “But at least we are a team now. Right?”

“Right!” You reply, squeezing your joined hands.

Harry nudges you both; drawing your attention away from Gil and back to the TV. The announcer is proudly announcing the arrival of Mal – to which everyone in the eatery groans. Soon the disgusted huffs and groans are broken by a laughing splutter. Turning in slight shock, you are confronted by the sight of Harry nearly falling off his stool laughing.

“What even is that dress?! She looks like a failure of a bloody rainbow!”

Harry starts to cackle, hand slipping on his hook ever so slightly. “Why would you ever pair orange, blue and purple? I thought Evie had more fashion sense then that!”

As you smirk over at Harry, you notice many of the eateries’ other patrons are smiling and chuckling at Harry’s outbursts. But you can’t deny that Mal looks like a fashion disaster.

“I was expecting her to look prettier. She never particularly cared about looking pretty – but she would never willingly let herself look stupid.” You murmur, sobering up from your laughter.

“That’s what love does to you.” Harry intones.

With in seconds, the comments have stung – rubbing salt into your still open wounds. Was it obvious to everyone then? That you were head over heels for her; yet she barely felt a thing? Almost as if your relationship was a strategic move on her part, to get your brains and knowledge? To use against all her and her mother’s enemies? Maybe so, maybe not. But even so, it’s pretty clear that the years you spent as her companion – even just as friends – meant next to nothing as her.

As your facial expression hardens, Harry notices and seems to wince slightly. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“An apology from Harry Hook? Am I dreaming?” You laugh, having to brush off your stinging wounds with the ever-present blanket of apathy.

“Guys, it’s Ben and he’s with… Uma?”

From the sound of Gil’s confused voice, you and Harry turn away from each other and turn your gazes to the TV screen. There she is, Uma, arm in arm with Prince Ben and waltzing among the princes and princesses of Auradon. Doing you all proud.

The next hour or so is spent watching the events of the Cotillion. All with ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’ as you watch Uma battle it out with Mal in their super-sized forms.

“Did you know that either of them could do that?” Harry asks you.

“Not. At. All.” You breathe, slightly awed at the majesty of both your ex-girlfriend and best friend’s powers.

But soon, the battle is over. Mal returns to the deck of the ship alongside cheers and shouts of being Auradon’s hero; while Uma delves down into the ocean’s depths. The former registers to you first; causing anger to surge through your veins. As if Mal gets to be the hero… even though she had the same plan that Uma did when she first came to Auradon. Yet, with Harry’s tight grasp on your arm, Uma’s disappearance dawns on you like a fresh wave of despair.

“Do you think she can get back?” You breathe.

“I don’t know…” Gil trails off, before Harry starts to pace.

“We have to find her, what if she can’t get back…” He mutters, over and over.

Standing up, you steer him to look at you, hands grasped firmly on his shoulders. “Harry, calm down. Let’s work out a plan, we can think of something. At the very least, you two start to look for her and I will deal with the crew and all these politics. Okay?”

He looks at you, desperate for anything rope to cling onto. “Okay.”

“Now go bring our girl home, no one in this crew gets left behind.”

--

The barrier is coming down. That's all you have been informed of, before being crushed in hugs from Uma, Gil and Harry. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!" Their celebrations cause a smile to light up on your face. When you were told of the boys' plan to find Uma, you happily stayed behind to look after the crew and maintain the territory. It was a task that didn't need all three of you, even though you were miserable away from all your friends. But not only have your boys found Uma, they've also managed to dismantle the political barrier of Auradon's distrust. "I'm so proud of you all!" You squeal, burying your yourself deeper into the group hug. "Come on, we need to get ready for it. We're saying goodbye to this barrier in style!" Almost like clockwork, Uma's command is enough to spur the crew to action. While members of the crew flock to spruce the ship up, Uma's hand grasps your shoulder as she tugs you towards her. "Not you. You've done enough work while I was away. We're getting new clothes." "New clothes?" You question, raising your brows. "Yes, no hesitating. Evie has given us fabric and supplies to work with... So no complaining! If Mal's going to be there when the barrier comes down, we're going to show her what she's missing out on." "Uma... I don't know." "Come on, Y/N! We both know how to sew!" Uma exclaims excitedly, squeezing your shoulder in encouragement. "Sails and tattered clothes, Uma. Not dresses." "Oh come on Y/N, you sew up wounds all the time! How can a dress be much different?" "They're wildly different, Uma! Can't we just go to Dizzy with this?" Uma sighs, stalking over to a chest that was brought upon deck when they returned. "How can you trust Dizzy with these?" She beckons you towards her. Inside the box is a cacophony of fabrics - edgy and bold just like the Isle. Uma's fingers are already itching towards a teal fabric that just screams 'open ocean'. Like a moth drawn to the flame, you start to root through the fabric until you find a lavender fabric, streaked through with silver strands and lace. Instantly, your attention is hooked. "You like it? Take it, it's yours. No strings attached." Meeting her eyes, you struggle to comprehend it. No one has given you something out of the goodness of their heart - even your place on this crew was procured through hard working and even being a snitch. Yet now, Uma is willing giving you something. "Thank you, so much." You breathe, throat clogged with emotions. The fabric is soft to the touch and with that, you're sold on Uma's idea. "Well, we better get sewing." You say meeting her eyes with a smile - You stand behind Uma, practically beaming as she sings to Mal. Somehow, some kind of magic maybe, has allowed all voices to carry across the space between the Isle and the shores of Auradon. You're still quite prickly over the fact she and Mal have seemingly buried the hatchet sometime their shared adventure. But maybe it's time to forgive Mal? She has ended up doing the right thing, even if it has taken longer than it should've. Well, that question can be answered when you'll inevitably see her... Singing along to the chorus of excited voices, you follow the others - through the cobbled streets of the Isle; across the barrier and all the way to Auradon. Even you know the barrier will no longer be in place - it's what you're all celebrating, of  course - there was still a prickle of fear within you when it came to crossing from the Isle and onto the adjoining bridge. Nothing happened. Actually no, something did happen. You surged onto the bridge and into a celebratory dance with even more vigour than before. Yet, as all things do, the dance ends. With citizens from both ends of spectrum mixing together: talking, laughing and introducing themselves. A new life being made. As you gaze around at those in the crowd, your eyes land on Harry trying to give his beloved captain a kiss, causing you to grin from ear to ear. As soon as you joined the crew, you knew there was chemistry between those two - heck, even before then! But being in their close circle really allowed you to see it. Given time, those two can create their own love story that will rival even Ben and Mal's. Just as you start to walk over to them all, a hand shoots out to grasp your arm. While you flinch in reaction, the voice that sounds right behind you makes that flinch encapsulate itself into a grimace. "Can I talk to you?" You can see Uma's gaze shooting to you, concern dancing across her dark eyes. With a small smile, you nod at her, signalling that you are okay. Then, and only then, do you turn to face Mal. "I feel like this conversation has been overdue, don't you? Especially in light of recent events." "I agree." There is silence between you as you both walk away from the celebrations. Almost as if Mal is struggling to start her spiel of apologies and what else she's planning to spit out of her mouth. It's fun to see her struggle. Usually so suave, confident and powerful; yet now silent and cowering. "Look, Y/N. I don't really know what to say." Her works are stunted, awkward. So far away from your last conversation. "An apology for leaving me behind? For forgetting me? For moving on without me so, so quickly?" You smile dangerously at her. "I-" "Thing is Mal, I honestly thought we were still dating when you left. You never told me that we weren't. The only way I knew we were not was I saw you and Ben, kissing and making undying promises to each other." She bites her lip and from over her shoulder you can see Ben watching the both of you intently. There's no way the pair of you could ever repair anything you ever had, that's crystal clear now, even a cobbling a friendship back together would be near impossible. "I, I -" "Save it, Mal. An apology isn't genuine." Turning away, you start to stalk your way over to Uma and your crew. Your friends.on your way, you pass the rest of the Core Four who stare at you in sadness. "Don't give me your pity." You snarl as you pass, "Go back to your party." With your anger, you end up finding yourself standing on the shore of Auardon. Glaring venemously past the silhouette of the Isle and to the horizon beyond. The only way to get away from all of it is to go somewhere else: where you don't have to see any of their faces or be held accountable for anyone else. "Y/N!" Your name is called by a cacophony of voices: Mal, Uma, Harry and all of the rest of the Core Four including Ben. You merely stare at them all, a brow raised. "Y/N, I am sorry! I really am! You were just a victim of my selfishness - I was stuck in my own head, my own life... I forgot that other people depended on me. I'm so sorry, I never wrote and I never got back in contact... most of all, I caused you so much pain. I'm so, so sorry!"" Mal's voice starts to break, and she forces herself to take a breath to maintain her composure. "I know that I will be probably apologising for the rest of my life. But please, can we be friends? Come to Auradon and blossom into what you always wanted to be. Please, stay and let me make it up to you." Biting your lip, you struggle to formulate a reply. In this time, Evie also breaks her way into the conversation. "All of us are sorry Y/N, we left you. With the knowledge of what the Isle is - was - like and we still did it anyway." Jay and Carlos nod along, eyes intent on you. "Can you forgive us?" There. The million-pound question. Breathily, you run your hand through your hair before stealing yourself up to reply. "It will take me a long time to forgive you. But I will try." They all visibly relax. "But, I can't heal on the Isle or in Auradon." "Y/N?" Uma questions, walking towards you slightly. "I need to get away from here, find out who I am. Please understand." They all nod and, as if there is a switch within you, you feel yourself lighten. Smiling, you turn back towards the waves lapping gently on the shore. Gazing, in anticipation, out at the new horizon beyond. Your horizon. Your future. In which you won't just be the sum of your parents or the one that they left behind.

[nerdierholler]

OC Interview Questions

I was tagged but @heraldofwho​ (thank you!) and I’m tagging @slothssassin​, @katajanokka​ , @dickeybbqpit​, and @bronzeagelove​ plus anyone else who just wants to!  I’m going to go with post-Trespasser Ithlen, because I miss her.

In a camp, somewhere near the Teviner border with a small band of scouts from the former Inquisition.

name ➔  Ithlen Lavellan Mahariel are you single ➔  There’s a sad smile, “Yes, I am.” are you happy ➔ Happy as I can be, given the circumstances. When your work consumes your time and identity, happiness can be hard to define. Things are going well, plans are being made, and I still have the luxury of enjoying the small things in life. are you angry ➔ At the moment, no. In general, sometimes. It’s always there under the surface, anger about the way parts of my life have played out, the reasoning leading up to our current state of affairs, the fact that I have once more taken on another seemingly impossible task that few will fully comprehend or thank me for should I be successful. It’s too easy to be consumed by those thoughts, and there have been times in my life when that has been the case. I try to stay focused on the task at hand these days. are your parents still married ➔ Still? They never were. I wonder how much different my life would have been had they been allowed to. The world might be a very different place as a result.

More under the cut!

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ Brecilian Forest, Ferelden hair color ➔ black, with an increasing number of grays mixed in. eye color ➔ gray birthday ➔ late fall mood ➔ Tired, always tired. Other than that, content I suppose. gender ➔ female summer or winter ➔ Summer. It probably goes back to growing up in the forest. Summer was a time of plenty. Long days where you could get so much done and still have time to enjoy yourself after. Winter was a time of patience. Watching food stores, being even more careful stalking prey, cooped up crafting or weaving in the aravels to pass the time. I liked the soups and storytelling around the fires with warm mugs though.

morning or afternoon ➔ Morning. Get up, get going, hopefully get enough done to enjoy a little break for tea later.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ I...don’t know. ‘It’s complicated’ would be the understatement of the age. But there is someone out there I care very much about and who weighs heavily on my mind. I’m not sure I’d call it love, but it’s something. do you believe in love at first sight ➔ For myself, no. I’m much too practical for that. I’m also so focused on my work that it’s usually the last thing I would ever think of when meeting someone new. who ended your last relationship ➔ We both did, him maybe more than me. We were heading down different paths, though at the time I had no idea just how different they really were. have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ *She sighs* Probably, when I was very young. I didn’t mean to and we both thought I might change my mind some day. I loved Tamlen, just not in that way, and I’m not exactly sure how he felt about that. It wasn’t something we discussed. I know we were expected to marry and he was more at home with that than I was. are you afraid of commitments ➔ Not at all, although some may look at the patterns of my life and say otherwise.

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ This week? No. But it depends on the week and who I’m with. There are times where I may hug several people in a day quite happily. have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ It’s very likely, though no one has ever approached me or sent me mysterious notes and gifts if that’s what you’re asking. have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Yes. *the word is barely a whisper*

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ I don’t see why it can’t be both, but if I have to pick one, love. Even if we aren’t in a romantic relationship, we still need love, and there are so many kinds of love. Love is important. lemonade or iced tea ➔ Neither. Hot tea is my preference year round. cats or dogs ➔ I’ve had wonderful companions of both over the years. My current situation prevents me from having either with me, but I always stop to visit with the friendly ones when I’m on my travels.

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ A few best friends. Apparently I have a long standing reputation for being distant. It’s not entirely untrue, but I have my reasons for keeping most people at an arm’s length. wild night out or romantic night in ➔ I can probably count the wild nights out I’ve had my whole life on one hand and haven’t had one in well over a decade. Romantic night in is my choice. day or night ➔ I don’t quite understand what I’m choosing here, but day I suppose if only because sometimes unpleasant things lurk in the quiet dark, especially when we’re alone.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ Caught leaving to go do something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, not that I can recall. Gotten caught after the fact? Frequently when I was growing up.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ Are there people out there who haven’t? Not to mention, I lived in a keep for 10 years, anyone who says no is lying.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ So many things. And I’ve learned that sometimes that hurt never fully goes away. wanted to disappear ➔ Many times, sometimes just to avoid getting in trouble with the Keeper, but there are still times where I want to wander away and stop being the person everyone is depending on. If I really wanted to, I probably could, but I’d never be able to look at my reflection again.

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Both. shorter or taller ➔ Most people are taller than me so this one’s not that difficult. But to tell the truth, it doesn’t matter much to me.

intelligence or attraction ➔ A pretty face can only take one so far if there’s nothing to talk about and all you end up doing is staring at each other for hours. hook-up or relationship ➔ Relationship. Hook-ups are not in the best interest of a person in my position, but that’s also just not who I am. I’ve always been too serious about things like that.

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ I've never had a family in the traditional sense. Growing up I got along well with the clan and those in it. Then the wardens were my family and it’s always a good idea to get alone with one’s commander. Seriously though, I was proud to oversee those men and women. The Inquisition was a messier family, I think that’s usually the case when politics get involved. There were good people there, but it was a huge organization and it’s probably best that most have a little more space now. would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ Surprisingly, no. If you list the many turns my life has taken, I suspect most would say it is, but it’s just life to me, and the only kind I’ve known for a very long time. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else though. have you ever ran away from home ➔ No. In fact the Keeper practically had to throw me out to get me to go with Duncan. I’ve had to leave homes since then, but I’ve never run away from them.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ I wouldn’t say she kicked me out, but the Keeper was very firm in her insistence that I join the Grey Wardens. In fairness, I would have died, or worse, if I hadn’t.

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No? Is that a thing? do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ Yes. I keep a small circle of friends and they are all close. who is your best friend ➔ Leliana and Nate. Though now I’m usually out of contact with both for longer periods. I miss them terribly.

who knows everything about you ➔ See my previous answer, though Leliana probably edges out Nate just because she’s Leliana. It’s to be expected when you choose to have one of the best spymasters in the world as your best friend.

[readyourimgaines]

hi! Could you do a Geralt x reader where the reader is his constant companion/best friend and she is another Witcher? Among the years that they’ve hunted together, they fell in love with each other. One night the reader comes home from a pretty nasty hunt and is injured. While Geralt tends to her wounds, they confess their love towards each other and kiss. And then either smut or fluff ensues. Thanks! Sorry if it’s too much!

I kept the writing as close to possible to your request, but I’ve been trying my best to keep the readers gender-neutral. Hope that’s alright and thanks for the request!

Warnings: Somewhat graphic description of a leg wound.

There were very few Witchers. One of the most famous was Geralt of Rivia. It was though he was a lone wolf. However, he happened to travel with a small pack. Y/N was never seen without Geralt, the White Wolf. He was never seen without Y/N. This was because they worked like clockwork. Watching the two fight was a sort of dance. They possessed control, speed, and elegance that most dancers lacked. 

Both Witchers were stoic beings, their unique eyes hiding all thoughts and emotions. The one thing anyone could see, the one thing they couldn’t read on reach others, was love for the other. 

After decades of travelling together, one of their dances faltered and a light shone a bit brighter.

*****

“I told you to stay in its blindspot, Y/N!” Geralt seethed, practically running with you in his arms trying to find a moving stream so he could clean the gash on your left leg. Jaskier was doing his best to keep up. 

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t forgotten your dagger with Roach,” you reminded him through gritted teeth.

Jaskier almost threw up at the sight of your leg. The griffin nipped the back of your calf with its beak and, as a result, a flap of flesh hung from your leg, dripping blood. “The bleeding got worse.” 

Geralt went moved as fast as he dared without causing you more pain. “Feeling?”

“Numb.” 

“Fuck.” Geralt adjusted his hold on you. You, knowing what he was about to do, tucked yourself into him a little tighter. He looked behind him to make sure Jaskier was still on his heels. They exchanged a nod and broke into a sprint.”

It was only about five minutes before the three of you reached the stream, Geralt following his hearing to it. Geralt laid you on the grass beside the stream as gently as possible and sent Jaskier off to find Valerian. The herb would ease some of your pain when turned to a paste with water and lavender.

“I’m lightheaded,” you muttered, turning your head to look at Geralt. “When Witcher’s grow slow and get themselves killed, hm?”

Geralt started cleaning your wound. “You’re not going to die. It’s not your time; I won’t let it be your time.”

“How come?” Your eyes were becoming heavy.”

“Because of all the people I’ve lost to these damn beasts, you’re not going to be one of them. If you and I can save Jaskier from a fucking djin, he and I can save you from the aftermath of a griffin.”

You shifted slightly at the sound of a twig breaking, Geralt laying a firm hand on your stomach to keep laying down. Jaskier was running back with valerian and lavender.

“Oh thank the gods you’re still…” Jaskier caught himself, “...awake.”

“Get the small wooden bowl from the left saddlebag and get a little water in it,” Geralt instructed. “I have to stitch this.” 

“I know. Just get it done with quickly.”

Jaskier handed the bowl to Geralt and sat by your side, pillowing your head in his lap and offering you a hand to squeeze when the pain because too much.

“Keep her awake, Jaskier,” Geralt demanded. “Jokes, tales, songs, I don’t care. Just keep her awake.” 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Jaskier shrugged with an easy smile. “But hey, you Witchers heal quickly, don’t you?” The bard patted your shoulder. 

“What jokes do you know, Master Bard?” you requested. 

“So many. Let’s see… Oh, yes! Why do ducks have tail feathers?” Jaskier took you looking at him with a furrowed brow as his cue for the punchline. “To hide their butt quacks!” The man beamed proudly at Geralt’s scoff as he threaded the needle. 

You moaned and tried to look down at Geralt’s hand when the thread was pulled through the first time. 

“No, no, no. Focus on me, Y/N. Me and my filling-less pie. Jokes… Mh! Geralt should like this one, too. I’m emotionally constipated. I haven’t given a shit in days.” That one drew a grunt from Geralt and a giggle from you. “I know more limericks than jokes. Would those suffice?” Jaskier was looking to you for the answer. 

“I don’t know what that-” you squeezed his hand, “-is.”

“A poetic jokes. Here:

Its diet is exclusively herbal;

It grazes all-day

On bunches of hay…

Passing gas with an elegant burble.”

Geralt just shook his head. He was trying to get the stitches in place as quickly as possible while keeping them neat and hurting you as little as possible. Jaskier kept telling you limericks and other silly poems until Geralt told him you should be okay to sleep. The bard didn’t waste a second in telling you a tale about an elf and a fairy working together to take down an ogre. It didn’t take you long to fall asleep.

*****

When you woke up, the pepper sky was salted with stars. A small fire was burning and crackling away, Jaskier seemingly asleep a few feet to your right. Geralt, on the other hand, was staring into the flames as though they burned him. 

“Us Witchers can’t put flames out with our minds, you know.”

Geralt didn’t look up. “There were a couple of times during your rest today I thought you died.”

“You know you can’t-”

“I won’t lose you like I lose everyone else, Y/N.” His piercing eyes met yours now. 

You pushed yourself to sit up, gripping Geralt’s arm for support. You knew the sounds of his silence. “You’re doing it again, Geralt.”

“What?” 

“Thinking more than you speak. It’s just me.”

“Just isn’t the right word. It’s always been you; I was too blind to see it until now. It was scared out of me. Before I didn’t know what it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

Rather than answering, Geralt leaned towards you and press his lips to yours. Gentle, hesitant. Both he and you had kissed other people but never each other. You rested your forehead on his, looking into each other's eyes.

“You don’t need to stop yourself from loving, Geralt.”

“We’re not supposed to fee-”

“Says who? Who’s better to know than two Witchers?” You leaned back slightly, a smug smirk stretched across your lips. “Besides, since when does Geralt-- the mighty White Wolf-- listen to the rules and guidelines of men?”

Geralt pulled you into a second kiss by the back of your neck and you giggled into the kiss.

[daesungindistress]

This isn't in response to anything in particular, no "new" news, just something that's been building for a while.

For my own mental and physical -- yes, physical -- health, I need to take a few steps back from everything. At least until this controversy re: Daesung is resolved.

After renting for all of my adult life, I just purchased a home for the first time. If I've been a little quiet here the past few days, it's because I've been in the process of packing and moving. There is a lot of work that needs to be done now that I'm finally here, not just around the house itself but with my small business that I've picked up and relocated as well. With this move, I'm essentially restarting my life in a new area and I need to be charged and ready for anything and everything life throws my way.

As a first-time homebuyer, the last month has been stressful; throwing oneself into something totally new usually is. The day I made an offer on the house, we experienced a sudden equipment failure at work and lost months' worth of customers' orders. It wasn't my fault, but I felt responsible nonetheless. That night, desperately needing to decompress, I came home to the realization that something was wrong with my cat. I took her to the vet for bloodwork, fluids, and antibiotics, and spent the next 3 days trying to syringe feed her... but ultimately could only look on, powerless, as she went from not eating or drinking to struggling to swallow, drool dripping from her chin, unable to rest, fighting for every labored breath. On July 1st I made the decision to end her suffering and let her go peacefully.

She was my constant companion. My only pet of the last 10 years and a daily presence in my life for over a decade, by my side through so much change. She slept beside me every night and was there to greet me at the door every evening when I came home. She was such a comfort to me. Every fic I've written for this fandom, she was curled up on my lap throughout it.

Died of cancer, it turns out. I didn't even know she was sick. She seemed fine right up until the day she suddenly wasn't... and it had to be right during a time when I was more financially stretched thin than I've ever been. $1,100 in diagnostic tests later and all I had to show for it was a dead friend and a crippling sense of guilt. I cried for her every day for nearly three weeks straight. Everywhere I looked I saw her still, in all her usual spots around the apartment, staring up at me. She was only 10, almost 11. I thought we would have more years together. More time.

We always fall into that trap, don't we? Thinking we have time.

Meanwhile, things with the house were moving along. The day she was euthanized I had to rush straight from the clinic to the bank to wire my earnest money. Told the banker with a teary laugh not to worry about my red eyes or my sniffling. "I'm not sick or contagious, just had my cat put down." The next day home inspections began and the reports and addendums came pouring in. I was in a state of near-constant communication with my realtor and my lender. I had to tell my loan officer about the vet bills to make sure it wasn't going to be a problem; you're not supposed to incur any large expenses just prior to purchasing a home as you risk the loan being rejected. I won't lie... this was a factor in me letting her go when I did (one of many). I couldn't afford to keep treating her. It wasn't until later, post mortem, that I got confirmation that it was cancer, and with it, a measure of closure.

I was finally working through it, or past it, no tears for almost a week when this bomb with Daesung dropped. Woke up to the worst ask: "What do you think of Daesung's new scandal?" In the 5 days that followed I was anxiety personified. I was back to crying incessantly. I'd get chills every time the thought of what was happening crossed my mind. Waking up every morning sweating and shaking. I was weak and hungry but couldn't bear the thought of eating. Choking down a slice of cheese seemed impossible; I had to take my nausea meds that I save for migraines just to keep it from coming back up. I thought, 'What the hell is going on? I'm not like this, this isn't me!'

One night I noticed some clothes were looser than usual and had the thought to weigh myself. I was shocked to find that I had lost around 17 lbs -- almost 13% of my body weight. I haven't weighed this little since high school. I have no idea how long it had been declining as my weight has always been steady enough that I don't need to check it regularly. Of course, I then began worrying about potential health issues besides "just" grief and stress. My cat seemed fine until she wasn't, I had no idea about the tumor in her lung until it was the end... could it be...?

Then I closed on the home on Monday, despite a few last-minute, headache-inducing setbacks that I won't go into here.

Over the last few days I have been so busy and so focused on the task at hand -- moving out and moving in -- that I've finally gotten my appetite back, and with it some of the weight, so that's one less thing to worry about, along with the homebuying process and the move itself. It helps that my parents are visiting so I'm not totally alone with my thoughts. I'm not thinking about the loss of my cat as often either, though the memory of her final days still moves me to tears here and there.

That leaves this ordeal with Daesung.

I'm handling it a lot better now than I was near the start, but I still feel a stab of fear every time I think of him. Fear for him. Every. Damn. Time.

More than anything, I want him to come out of this okay. I want to believe everything will be okay in the end. But I can't keep scaring and stressing myself sick over him, literally, at a time when I need to be strong for the sake of my own future. I've stopped challenging opinions on reddit, asianjunkie, etc. I've stopped checking entirely. It accomplishes nothing and I always end up at the bottom of a dogpile anyway, fending off opponents on all sides. Let's face it, fighting with strangers on the internet will have no tangible effect on the outcome of this. All it's doing is dragging me under.

And if I know one thing, it's that Daesung would not want that. "A singer who brings people happiness." That is what he aims to be, that is what he successfully became after clawing his way back from the events of 2011. "Let me protect your happiness," he sings, and says, on the regular.

But this is a far cry from happiness. This is anxiety and dread seemingly without end, fearing the worst, trying not to dwell on it yet trying to prepare for it. It's the exact opposite of everything he's ever wanted. And it would torment him to know how those who love him and want the best for him are hurting because of him.

So it's time to get some distance. I'll still be around, just less than usual, maybe. And to those of you who've been sending me asks, I appreciate them all, even if some of them don't get a reply.

That being said... I stand with Daesung. And I stand strong. I'm not swallowing this nonsense the Korean media is going all out to force down our throats. I believe in Daesung, and when this has passed, I will still be here for him, happy -- no, overjoyed to welcome him back. He is still a member of Big Bang and I expect the others -- Jiyong, Youngbae, Seunghyun -- will stand by him too when the time is right.

And if he leaves? Just to get it out of the way, I don't believe he will, because if he does that's it, Big Bang is officially over. But let's just say he does, hypothetically. If, after this, he decides to give Korea the middle finger and focus his efforts in Japan instead? I'll be here, on this same blog, still cheering him on in his solo career.

As for the fans who've lost their trust and turned their backs on him, fine, whatever. I'm used to the fandom ignoring him, overlooking him, seeing him as little more than a big voice and a bright smile. People like to say Seungri was the "least popular", but outside of Japan, that honor goes to Daesung. Especially in the English-speaking side of the fandom. Don't believe me, go scroll through English Big Bang fanfic and let me know how many feature him. Or should I say how few. I've tried to keep quiet about it, tried not to complain. Do you know how vanishingly rare active Daesung blogs have been in my 3+ years here? Since the beginning I've been over here in my little corner of the internet, surviving on scraps, so in a way, this is nothing new. Drop him if you want to -- and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.

I've never needed anyone's approval or agreement to be fond of him. I came to like him on my own, without anyone's persuasion, and if that changes it won't be because of anything his newest critics have to say. The lack of support for him in this difficult time saddens me, but it won't stop me. And I sincerely hope that, for the sake of this entire fandom, it won't stop him either.

Stay strong, Daesung. I will try to do the same.

[merryfortune]

Vrains Rare Pair Week - Day 2

Day 2 / Dec 24 - Fairy Tales / Horror Stories

·         Ship: Takeru/Aoi

  Once upon a time, there was a young king. To call him egotistical would be improper but he was self-absorbed. The King was a man named Akira and he was a man of peace and mind. He did not war monger but, his life was not without strife. Though, much of it was self-imposed.

  One way in which most his strife was self-impose can be best demonstrated by how, one day, he became intrigued by how much the women in his life loved him. Thus, he posed them a question.

  He had his wife and sister heralded to his throne room where he welcomed them with the guise of a game. His wife, the mischievous Queen Ema, and his sister, the near hermitic Princess Aoi, awaited them. Both were eager to bond. It felt like their darling King never paid any attention to either of them due to his tenuous work as king.

  Akira looked down upon them and then asked: “How much do you two love me?”

  Such a question elicited a look between Ema and Aoi which was incredulous to say the least, but they relented. They played along nonetheless. Ema sighed and smiled.

  “You are the apple of my eye, the love of my life.” she replied in due earnestness.

  Aoi shifted. “I love you as much as the salt on my food…” she murmured.

  Ema glanced at her sister-in-law and then unto her husband. She blinked. She smiled and was intrigued by such a statement.

  King Akira, however, was not as benevolent in reaction. In fact, far from it. He was enraged by the response his sister had given him. His wife had doused him in fair praise, but his sister seemed to have little response. His brow knitted together.

  “Ema, my love, for your reply, I want you to go find the royal seamstress immediately and have her make a new gown for you.” Akira said and then his sharp eyes fell over to Aoi. “However, Aoi, because of your response, I want you stripped of your privileges as princess for a whole year. In this year, I want you to live as a peasant. I have spoiled you too much if you feel it fit to bite the hand which feeds you. I want you to repent for your lack of love for me, your elder brother.”

  Aoi attempted to protest but, as it was said – so it was done.

  She was escorted out by one of the royal knights and taken to her chambers. She gathered what she could. She took a few of her finer dresses and some of her jewellery. Once she had made her selections of what possessions she would take with her in the big, wide world she had been spurned onto, she was then banished from the castle.

  She was taken to the edge of the capital and told to live as she pleased so long as it was under the guise of being a common woman and not a princess. Aoi obeyed. She traded in some of her clothes and jewels for money. However, there was one thing Aoi would never sell and that was her signet ring with a four-leaf clover design. That ring was far too precious to ever go without. With that money, she purchased more common clothes as she realised someone might be more willing to take her as a board if she looked like she could do the hard yards.

  So, for a few days, she flitted from building to building in search of work. Each day, the clothes she wore grew dirtier and dirtier despite her best efforts to keep clean. It was on the end of her second week as a supposed peasant girl that she found work. A cheery shepherd and his quiet son took her on as a watcher of their fields.

  There, Aoi grew accustomed to her new life as a shepherdess. She was awkward, and they were awkward with her but soon, they grew. She came to understand them as people. Their names were Shoichi and Yusaku; Yusaku had a job in the town as a baker and thus, was no longer interested in taking shifts in the field with his assumed father. They were good people though. They didn’t pry and gave her the space she needed. They didn’t even ask why such an improvised girl as her would be in possession of such a marvellous signet ring as hers. Thus, it was a quiet household that was often without gossip or event. But, it was nice. Aoi preferred it that way, to be honest.

  Time passed quicker than Aoi thought it would. Before she knew it, she had been working with Shoichi and Yusaku for about six months. Her days as a princess now seemed a life time away and yet, her days resuming as such seemed so close. After all, another six months and she would be permitted to re-joining her family at the castle.

  But, it was at this mid-point that Aoi found herself nostalgic for the fine silks and makeup that she used to wear. She sighed. But, as she fell deeper into these feelings, she came to a conclusion. Yusaku was at work with the bakers and Shoichi had taken some stock to market to sell. She would have a few hours to herself and thus, her mind wandered, and ideas bloomed.

  Rather than don the guise of the peasant girl, Aoi decided to bedeck herself in her decadent dresses. She chose the powdery blue one with white accents. She twirled around the house in it, content with herself. But, alas, she looked out the window and saw that the troublesome poddy lamb – Ai – had gotten loose again; likely in search of his favourite companion, Yusaku.

  Without enough time to get changed, Aoi resolved to simply fulfil her duties in a ballgown rather than anything practical. So, she charged out – high heels and all – into the field. She dragged Ai by the scruff of his neck before he could get too far down the road and tied him up again.

  Ai brayed at her, whining. Aoi stuck her tongue out back. Ai was full of personality. She then went inside and tried to fix Ai something to drink; some milk. She came back and fed him as is. Then, once she finished feeding Ai, she felt too exhausted to get changed again. So, she sighed and relented.

  Today, she would simply wear what she desired for her work. So, for a few hours, she tended the fields in her stunning, powder blue dress with angelic motifs. It was kind of fun. More fun than wearing her drab brown uniform.

  As Aoi tended the fields, she thought alone, she was completely unaware that someone had spotted her in her dress.

  The young and vivacious Prince Takeru had come to visit. He and his carriage and all his men passed by the field in which Aoi tended, completely unaware. He had come on royal duties as he was from a seaside kingdom faraway, nothing like the landlocked capital of Sol Vrains, Den City. He wanted to discuss treaties with King Akira, among other things such as see the sights.

  And the sights he saw! He never thought he would ever see such a beautiful shepherdess. He fell in love with the sight of her and all her sheep as they mowed around her and her gorgeous gown. Immediately, Prince Takeru was struck with the arrow of love.

  However, being of the temperament he was – which was to say outlandish and ridiculous – his love burned so hard that it robbed him of his energy. He had always been of a peculiar constitution; sometimes, he was frail and other times he was seemingly indestructible. No one could ever predict his health, and no one could have predicted how the beautiful shepherdess he had fallen in love with had impacted him.

  As he passed by and into the city, he grew sick with yearning and love for the girl he didn’t even know. He was ailed so harshly by this infatuation that his body grew weak and he failed to meet with Prince Akira at the time they had appointed for conversations of the princely and kingly duties.

  His royal doctor, and childhood friend, Kiku attempted to heal him but none of her remedies worked. Thus, Takeru took her hand and smiled.

  “Kiku, the only cure for my sickness is to eat a loaf of bread prepared by the beautiful shepherdess from the field.” he told her with a quivering voice.

  Kiku sighed and realised that if his illness was emotional, then there was nothing she could do with herb and spell.  She wished desperately that she could chastise her Prince for being so ridiculous but as his friend, she decided not to lest he become wounded. So, she relented. Kiku organised a search party. She and Takeru’s men scoured all of Den City in search of the shepherdess who tended her sheep in such an impractical yet gorgeous outfit.

  They asked and asked but no one knew the girl they spoke of. But, with Takeru’s health growing dire, Kiku decided to resort to drastic measures. Instead, she returned to the farm that they had passed by – the one where they saw the girl.

  “I come in the name of Prince Takeru,” she told Shoichi and Yusaku, “and our prince is gravely ill with love. Does a woman live here?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got a girl boarding with us.” Shoichi replied.

  “Does she know how to bake?” Kiku asked.

  “Yeah.” Yusaku replied.

  “Excellent. Now, is by any chance, you would be interested in what might constitute as treason? I desire to con my Prince into think he’s eating the bread made by his fictitious love. I mean, what sort of shepherdess wears a ball gown whilst with her sheep?”

  “What?” Aoi piped up as she came down stairs to see what the fuss was. Her eyes widened.

 “Regardless, I think that if Prince Takeru thinks that he’s eating bread made by such a woman, he will be cured of his ridiculous infatuation.” Kiku finished.

  “Oh look, speak of the devil,” Shoichi said and he ushered Aoi closer, “here’s the girl you’re looking for. Our blue rose in this den of men.”

  “You flatter me, Shoichi.” Aoi replied awkwardly.

  “So, would you be willing? Just one loaf of bread.”

  “Very well then…” Aoi murmured.

  Kiku stayed a while. Aoi, in the meantime, baked the bread – with some input from Yusaku. He always found it strange that things as simple as baking bread sometimes seemed a touch beyond Aoi’s skill set. Regardless, come the eventide, Kiku was sent off with a warm loaf of bread.

  And Aoi realised something awful. As she washed her hands, she realised that her signet ring – the one her parents gave her before their untimely demise – had disappeared. She tore apart the house in search of it but quickly came to a grim conclusion: she had accidentally baked it into the loaf of bread.

  A conclusion that soon proved correct.

  Kiku arrived at the castle and was quickly whisked up to Prince Takeru’s guest room. She handed over the bread, still warm, and Prince Takeru serenely unwound the cloth that covered it. He smiled. He broke off a piece and began eating it. Already his flushed cheeks paled, and his clammy complexion improved. Kiku smiled.

  But then, Prince Takeru bit into the ring. He removed it from his mouth and his eyes widened. They glittered and Kiku’s heart dropped.

  “The beautiful shepherdess,” he began breathlessly, “she must requite me. Hence why this is in the bread she gave me. Did you swear you to secrecy?”

  Kiku, unable to respond, merely nodded.

  Prince Takeru put aside the bread and forced himself to his feet. He was as unsteady as a foal. He grabbed his coat, a burning crimson, and he grinned.

  “Take me to this girl at once, I want to be married to her!” he announced.

  Kiku was flabbergasted and there was nothing she could do. Her Prince Takeru bore onwards and was soon, by demand, taken to the cottage at the edge of town – to the inelegant surprise of the men who lived there.

  “I am Prince Takeru!” he said as he banged on the door. “And I wish to become the betrothed of the shepherdess who lives here!”

  Ai cooed from his yard, intrigued.

  Shoichi opened the door to Prince Takeru. “The girl who lives here doesn’t even know how to bake bread properly. You don’t want to marry her.”

  “Fiend, you must want her for yourself.” Prince Takeru spat.

  “I can assure you otherwise.” Shoichi countered.

  He hazarded a look over his shoulder, “Yusaku, where’s Aoi?”

  Yusaku shrugged.

  “I’m here.” Aoi said.

  And, again, she descended down the stairs of the two-tier cottage and all eyes widened. She wore a pastel blue dress with white, angel-themed decals.

  “So, I hear you found my ring.” Aoi said.

  Prince Takeru barged past Shoichi and Yusaku. It seemed there was little they could do to stop him. Though, Kiku apologised profusely in lieu of the prince.

  Aoi stepped off the final ledge. “It’s good to meet you, Prince Takeru. I’ve heard of you. I’m Princess Aoi of Sol Vrains.”

  “You’re WHO?” Shoichi yelled.

  “I am the hermit princess, Aoi of Sol Vrains: my brother, Akira, is the king.” Princess Aoi said.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Princess Aoi.” Prince Takeru said.

  “By the gods…” Kiku gasped.

  “We had a princess living with us this whole goddamn time?” Shoichi snapped at Yusaku.

  “Apparently.” Yusaku shrugged back.

  “Now, Princess Aoi,” Prince Takeru said as he readied the four-leaf clover ring, “I would like to ask for your hand in marriage. As immediately as possible.”

  “I accept. On two conditions.” Princess Aoi replied.

  “Whatever you ask. No feat is too herculean.” Prince Takeru replied.

  “The first of which is that I want my brother to be in attendance and to have a seat of honour. The second of my conditions is that I shall be the one to prepare your meal our wedding.” Princess Aoi said.

  “…Huh?” Shoichi exclaimed; still too dazed by the whole situation to realise that two of royal blood had just gotten engaged under his roof.

  “Easy.” Prince Takeru beamed. “I look forward to your cooking, Aoi.”

  And thus, a wedding was held in Den City and what a grand wedding it was. Folks from all walks of life got together for it. From those held in esteem in the country Prince Takeru represented to the likes of Shoichi and Yusaku, as well as their poddy lamb Ai. With, of course, King Akira and Queen Ema in attendance.

  The ceremony was grandiose and the kiss that sealed it was warm. The dinner party that ensued in the castle simmered. Plates upon plates of food. All of it was beautiful and well made. Everyone, bar Prince Takeru, was soon given something to eat and to say grace before.

  As in accordance with her conditions, it was Princess Aoi who brought out the final plate. She held it closely. Compared to that of the professional chefs, it was meagre and even ugly looking but from afar, Prince Takeru eyed it with eagerness. Princess Aoi smiled. Her heart fluttered upon such a look.

  “Here you go, my husband.” she said. “Now, you are not allowed to change a single thing about it. You will eat it as I have prepared it.”

  “With pleasure, my wife.” Prince Takeru replied.

  King Akira, sitting adjacent to such a lovey-dovey scene harrumphed to the amusement of his wife.

  Princess Aoi took her seat beside her husband her brother.

  “Thank you for this meal.” Prince Takeru exclaimed.

  He then took arms against his food. He ate it with great vigour. Princess Aoi smiled but then, Prince Takeru placed his knife and fork down.

  “It needs… salt.” Prince Takeru said.

  “Like I said, you must eat it as I have prepared it. Even if it requires salt, like you believe.” Princess Aoi replied, very seriously.

  “But its really, really good – I didn’t mean any offence.” Prince Takeru hastily added.

  “I know, my love,” Prince Aoi glanced at her brother, “I know.”

  And thus, in that moment, King Akira had a moment of thunderstruck disbelief. When he had asked his sister – in the game – how much did she love him? He had misunderstood.

[wondertrevcentral]

I see a lot of well-intentioned fans of Wonder Woman worrying that Steve Trevor’s return somehow negates what he did for Diana. I would like to change this conversation, for Wonder Woman, and for many movies where the impossible is part of the appeal.

At the end of Wonder Woman, Steve Trevor flies a plane full of poison into the sky and detonates it, sacrificing himself, after telling Diana that he loves her and he wishes they had more time to be together. The anguish of watching Steve’s plane explode, and the inspiration of his love, helps to propel Diana into wielding her awesome powers in full. She handily beats the bad guy, her uncle Ares.

Steve’s goodbye to Diana and death are well-staged and effectively wrought. It’s emotional and wrenching, and losing the first man that she loved a hundred years ago has followed Diana into the present day. “Thank you for bringing him back to me,” she writes in a candid e-mail to Bruce Wayne, who had sent her the WWI picture of Diana, Steve, and their trusty companions that kicked off Wonder Woman‘s flashback. The watch that Steve gave her, and that Diana has clearly kept as a treasured memento, rests nearby.

Ever since Wonder Woman‘s sequel was confirmed last year and Chris Pine rumored to be involved in some capacity, we’ve talked here about how they’ll bring the beloved character back: is he but a dream within a dream? A clone? A hallucination? Did Steve’s plane somehow get frozen, preserving him as a young man, as superheroic Steves are wont to do? Godly resurrection? Illusions? Aliens?

Whatever it is that brings back some version of Steve Trevor, it’s likely going to be one of the bigger reveals of Wonder Woman 1984, and I’m guessing our guesses will be off. What it does not do is somehow devalue or change what Steve did out of love for Diana and to help save the world in 1917.

Here’s the thing about death as fictional a plot device: it’s the oldest trope in the book. It’s far older than books—death, and heroes trying to defy it and return a loved one from that state, are among the first stories that humans told each other. Onscreen, in big action movies, death is often used cheaply. We’re so used to it happening we don’t blink when a trenchful of people take heavy fire in a movie like Wonder Woman. A narratively well-earned death like Steve Trevor’s makes more of an emotional impact, sure, and it can make for a more resonant movie-going experience. But the idea that Steve should have to stay statically dead in a fantastical film where anything is possible in order to somehow elevate his actions and what they did to Diana is mind-boggling to me.

Here’s the thing about death: in real life, it is one of the worst things that the people left behind will ever experience. Death is cruel, merciless, and it can leave you feeling like there’s an expanding black hole lodged in your chest for many years. For the rest of your life.

Here’s the thing about death if we could reverse it here like we can in fiction: not a goddamn person on planet Earth would lament lost heroism or sacrifice or any other grandiose romantic bullshit we lay on death to try to make sense of it. Your loved one died to save you but now they’re back again? Sorry, Steve, I’m just not feeling it anymore because of all of that squandered heroism, no one would say ever.

The fact of the matter where Wonder Woman is concerned is that Steve Trevor did what he did in 1917 and it was surely one of the worst things that Diana went through. Having Steve return in some capacity 67 years later does not alter that past. Steve’s death also did not make Wonder Woman a hero. Diana was already a hero, and the loss of him served as a catalyst at a dire moment. That’s what losing someone does: it changes you like a chemical reaction. But it does not create or define you.

We go to see movies like Wonder Woman, Avengers, and Star Wars in order to escape into fictional realities where people get to do the impossible and have abilities that we can only dream about. So often, our heroes rise to the occasion because of a poignant loss, because this is an instinct that we can all understand. Iron Man with Yinsen. Batman and his parents. Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. Captain America with Dr. Erskine and later Bucky Barnes. Spider-Man and his Uncle Ben.

But giving death the slip and coming back from it is also a huge appeal of comic books and their film incarnations. Incredible powers like the use of the Force and the capacity to appear as a Force ghost are part and parcel of what makes Star Wars tick. We want to witness worlds where death can’t quite hold us.

It used to be a longstanding fan and creator expectation in Marvel Comics that nobody had to “stay” dead except for Uncle Ben and Bucky Barnes. Those deaths were seen as being so essential to the narratives of Peter Parker and Steve Rogers that they could not be retconned or revived.

Then in 2005, comics writer Ed Brubaker and artist Steve Epting brought Bucky back onto the scene as the brainwashed assassin The Winter Soldier. It turned out that Bucky had not died in World War II after all, but was taken by the Russians, given a bionic arm, and reprogrammed to do their bidding for decades.

Bucky’s return from “the dead” is a perfect example of how such an important character’s revival does not negate the impact that his life and loss created in the first place. In fact, if anything, Brubaker created in The Winter Soldier arc the most tragic and brilliant foil possible for Captain America.

What is more difficult than having to face your best friend turned into your enemy? The film version of Winter Soldier is particularly excellent for the same reason. Cap’s agony at having to fight his old friend, and his unrelenting conflict about it and steadfast belief that Bucky was still Bucky beneath the brainwashing, helped make Winter Soldier into one of the most exciting and moving of the Marvel movies. Their continued melodrama and connection have carried through Civil War and Infinity War, and Bucky is a huge fan favorite. It’s hard to imagine where the MCU would have gone without the Winter Soldier storyline as a part of it.

Yet Marvel has also begun to overplay its hand where these tropes are concerned. They’ve been placing all of their chips on grief as the one failsafe to motivate a hero for too long. It worked so effectively for them before as a critical plot device that Infinity War can be read as a culminating series of attempts at impactful permadeaths in order to galvanize our heroes.

As the Russo brothers and Marvel Studios co-president Kevin Feige gleefully tease that some of the characters lost in Infinity War will really stay dead, they’re missing the point of why we love these films. We don’t need characters that we adore to remain dead for their lives to matter, but we’d like it if their deaths meant something when they happen instead of merely serving as a momentary plot beat.

It’s this kind of cheapened take on death-as-heroic-motivation that makes the Russos open Avengers: Infinity War with the horrific genocide of the Asgardians and the brutal deaths of Loki and Heimdall, just so that Thor is feeling sad and mad enough to go on a reckless quest. Do they know Thor at all? He would have done that anyway.

Will Loki or Heimdall ever return? I’d love that. Loki has also come back from death, not once, but twice, because he still had great things to contribute to the MCU narrative. Good characters in fantastical films don’t need to stay dead, but they do need good plotlines. The problem here doesn’t hinge on whether these characters should come back, but whether they should have died so wastefully in the first place. I don’t go into Avengers for gritty genocidal realism. I want to see them do the impossible.

Does Bucky Barnes’ return to the world cancel out who he was before or the value of how he seemingly died fighting alongside Steve Rogers, Steve’s shield in his hand?  Hardly. It heightened the emotional impact of both characters in the modern day because of what they shared in the past. Thus it would likely be with a reunited Diana Prince and Steve Trevor.

We cannot know the circumstances of how they will come together again, but their history, and Diana having felt Steve’s loss, makes the relationship all the richer and all the more compelling. Their experiences are something that we will never experience, but we can have the chance to cheat death and live vicariously through them.

Source.

[someinvisible-string]

I Don’t Need You to Save Me (But Would You Run Away With Me)

Summary: A lot can happen in ten years; mistakes, triumphs, questions, and answers, all things that Killian Jones doesn't know if he wants or even deserves. But with his 10 year high school reunion, he will have to finally come face to face with the center of all his questions and perhaps get the answers he needs.

A/N: This fic would be near as good if it weren't for my wonderful beta @writemyanchor , nor would it exist without the Captain Swan Little Bang. Beautiful artwork by @shippingtheswann  

Trigger Warnings for financial and verbal abuse and mentions of past physical abuse.

AO3

Storybrooke—Present Day

Killian stared at himself in the mirror attempting to work his tie into a presentable knot, which was proving difficult with one hand. He sighed and tossed it onto his dresser, feeling frustrated. Yet another reason to skip out on his 10-year high school reunion. Others being that he needed to catch up on some shows that were piling up on his DVR and the mountain of essays that needed grading sitting on his kitchen counter.

His phone ringing shook him out of his thoughts and he fished his phone out of his back pocket without bothering to look at his caller ID.

“Hello, David,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“You’re coming tonight,” was all David had to say in response.

“I don’t know...” Killian started, but David cut him off.

“Come on man, don’t you want to see everyone?”

“David, everyone still lives here; I see everyone from school all the time.”

“Not everyone.”

“You know she won’t be there,” Killian sighed, thinking about reason number one (and really the only reason) he didn’t want to go to this reunion.

“You don’t know that. She could surprise us all,” David said.

“We haven’t heard from her since she ran away.”

“So? Doesn’t mean she still can’t come tonight.”

“That is highly unlikely.”

“Stranger things have happened. Look just come to the thing, please? Mary Margaret busted her butt working on this and she’d love for you to come. Just stay for one drink.”

Killian ran his hand through his hair, knowing that he really wasn’t going to be able to get out of going tonight. “All right, just one drink though.”

“Great! We’ll see you at Granny’s!” David hung up before Killian could say anything else. He sat down on his bed, head in his hand. He could feel a migraine beginning to brew behind his eyes, but he had said he’d go for at least one drink and if Killian Jones was anything, he was a man of his word.

He got up, taking one last look in the mirror and deciding against the tie tonight. He was most likely going to be there for only a half hour, an hour tops, with people he saw nearly every day.  No need to impress anyone.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma sat in yet another administrative office swinging her legs back and forth as she waited for another new set of foster parents to finish signing all the forms officially enrolling her in Storybrooke High School. The Smiths seemed all right as far as new foster parents went. She was their only foster child; they had another biological daughter who was away at college, but Emma had been with many “nice enough” foster families who turned out to be anything but. She had to leave her last foster home when someone noticed the bruises on her arms and figured out that her foster father had taken to hitting her and the other children with a thick switch. He did it when they did anything he deemed “out of order” and everything seemed to be out of order there. Emma still had a particularly nasty bruise on her shoulder for accidentally knocking his beer into his lap.

“All right, Emma,” her new principal said as she opened the door to her office. “You’re all signed in, and now I just have a few things to go over with you.”

“Okay.” Emma hitched her worn backpack higher on her unbruised shoulder.

“Here is your schedule for the semester,” she said, handing Emma a thick piece of stock paper. “Now seeing as how you are coming to us mid-semester, we’ve taken the liberty of assigning you to a tutor during your study hall period on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“I’m sure I can catch up on my own,” Emma said, her jaw tight and her shoulders squared.

“Be that as it may, I would feel much better if you had some help starting out. Give it a month and if your teachers tell me that you are caught up with the material, then you can tell your tutor that you’ll no longer be needing his services.”

“Fine,” Emma sighed and took her schedule from the principal.

“I hope you enjoy your time here at Storybrooke High,” she said, trying to smile warmly at her.

Emma bit her tongue, keeping her sarcastic retort in her mouth where it belonged and simply nodded at the woman. She made her way out of the office and into the hall, schedule in hand and no idea where to go.

“Hi!”

Emma looked up and saw a chipper brunette with a pixie cut waving enthusiastically at her. Emma instantly knew she had to be one of those perky student council types administration always asked to show the transfer students around.

“I’m Mary Margaret,” the girl continued, “and Mrs. Pendragon told me to show you around for the day! It’s nice to meet you.” She took Emma’s hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, too...” Emma replied, forcing a smile. She knew exactly what she was in for: a chipper goody two-shoes shadowing her around the school and giving her useless bits of information about a school that’s only been around for 20 years or so instead of the good stuff like which bathroom was the easiest to sneak out of or what food in the cafeteria to avoid.

“So to start off, I guess I’ll tell you a little about the school. Storybrooke High was founded in 1983,” Mary Margaret prattled on as they walked down the hall.

As far as Emma could see, Storybrooke High was one big building with the athletic fields nearby and a seemingly massive football stadium. There were various trophies displayed in a large glass case in the main hall that seemed to be the central hub of the school, leading her to believe that sports were a big deal there.

“Oh, and you have to join yearbook! It’s a great way to get involved and see what’s going on and I’m not saying that just because I’m the editor.” Mary-Margaret’s voice broke Emma out of her thoughts.

Emma didn’t have the heart to tell her that with her record she probably wouldn’t be there by the end of the year to see the actual book published. So instead she settled with, “Oh thanks, but I think I should just try to focus on school work before I start joining clubs and stuff.”

“Of course.” Mary Margaret started to say something else, but was interrupted by the bell ringing. “Oh, is it lunch time already?”

“Looks like it,” Emma said as students started flooding the halls and floating towards the cafeteria.

“Well, why don’t you come sit with me and my friends? I promise they’re all super nice!”

“Oh um, well actually...” Emma stuttered. She had never received an invitation to sit with her tour guide before. “I should probably go get my books from the library, you know?”

Mary Margaret’s face fell. “Oh, okay. Do you want me to show you where the library is then?”

“You don’t have to miss part of your lunch for me. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll find my way.” Emma followed the directions Mary Margaret had given her, feeling a small twinge of guilt in her chest as she walked away.

It’s for the best, she told herself. What’s the use in making friends when you’re probably going to have to move again anyways?

If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that it sucked being the new kid. Everyone already had their friends and cliques so it was almost worse being the person who hovered awkwardly around the edges of the group than just being “the loner.” The absolute worst was getting just close enough to someone to start even considering them a friend, only to have something happen that would force Emma to change foster families again.

New family. New school. New kids.

Same bullshit.

Storybrooke—Present Day

Killian opened the door to the diner, a quick survey of the room showing him that his expectations of the night hadn’t been far off. Mary Margaret and David sat in their usual booth in the corner and Ruby Lucas was serving drinks behind the bar, holding court with her old posse of theater nerds while Victor Whale stood by and tried to flirt with her. Killian had an odd little flashback to high school, everyone sitting in similar spots as they did in the cafeteria. The meathead jocks–now meathead businessmen–sat together with their cheerleader-turned-PTA parent wives. Thankfully, he saw the school librarian and one of his close friends, Belle French, sitting in a corner by herself. So Killian got himself a drink and sat down next to her.

“Suddenly high school doesn’t seem like it was ten years ago does it?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she said, “you’d think people would have changed somewhat in a decade.”

“Maybe at our twenty-year reunion, then?” he smiled at her, glad to have a companion for the night. He opened his mouth to ask her how the library renovations were going. After taking over for her mother, Belle had finally found enough money in the budget to put all new computers in. However, Killian was disrupted from his thoughts when the bell above the front door chimed.

“Oh my god,” Belle said once she saw who walked in.

Killian turned and his jaw instantly dropped because Emma Swan, a vision in red, had once again walked unexpectedly into his life.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma breathed a sigh of relief once she entered the library. At least no matter what school she was in, the libraries were there to comfort her with their familiar and soothing, musty scent.

She walked up to the librarian and handed her her schedule. “I need some textbooks, please.”

“Well, we’ll get these for you, dear. I’ll grab the textbooks from the back and the books for your English class are going to be in those two back shelves.” She handed Emma a list of novels to check out and pointed to the back corner.

Emma groaned inwardly as she pulled her required texts from the shelves. She had read The Great Gatsby twice and Romeo and Juliet three times already. Hopefully, her English teacher would take pity on her and let her read something else.

Emma walked back to the front desk to find a guy about her age standing there instead of the nice librarian from before.

“She’s still in the back getting your textbooks, but I can check out those books for you if you want,” he explained, motioning to the stack in her hands. He was tall and lanky, with a nose he still needed to grow into, and the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen.

“Thanks.” Emma put her books on the desk and he wrote down the titles in an old record book. “They keep it old school here, don’t they?”

“If it ain’t broke, no need to fix it,” he shrugged. “At least that’s what Mrs. French always says when I try to talk her into getting a new system.”

“A bit stubborn, I’m guessing?”

“Just a tad,” he smiled at her, extending his hand for her to shake, and Emma noted that the kids at that school seemed to really be into the whole hand-shaking thing. “I’m Killian.”

“Emma,” she returned with a small smile.

“You’re new, I take it?”

“What was your first clue?” Emma tilted her head in mock confusion.

“I don’t know, just something about you. Maybe your expression?”

“Ha ha,” Emma laughed with a roll of her eyes.

“All right, dear, here are your books.” Mrs. French the librarian returned, heaving the stack of books onto the desk.

“I told you I could have gotten those for you,” Killian said to the woman.

“Nonsense, dear, it’s good for my health.” She waved him away with a roll of her eyes. “So, you two have been getting to know each other?”

“A bit, yeah,” Killian said, looking at Emma with a curious expression.

Suddenly she felt her walls slam back up, knowing she couldn’t make the same mistakes she’d made before: too many boys with kind smiles and sweet words had hurt her more than she ever could have expected.

She wasn’t going to be stupid this time around.

“Yeah, just a bit. I should go put these in my locker before next period,” she said, grabbing her books off the desk.

“You want some help?” Killian called after her.

“I got it,” Emma half shouted over her shoulder, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be going into that library again.

Storybrooke—Present Day

“I can’t believe she’s here,” Belle whispered to an awestruck Killian.

“Yeah,” he responded, his eyes taking in the sight of a woman he had not seen in over a decade. Her blonde hair was curled and looked so soft he longed to run his fingers through it. Then there was the tight red dress and sky high heels that left little to the imagination.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something to her?” Belle asked him.

“I-I-” Killian scrambled for words. “What would I even say to her?”

“How about, ‘Hi! How have you been since high school?’” Belle raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s what these reunions are for.”

“Belle, you don’t understand,” Killian whispered in a rush, “I can’t just go up to her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Jesus, Killian, just do it.” Belle pushed him harder than he was expecting for a woman half his size and he nearly fell out of his chair. The whole room looked towards him, including Emma. Oh how he wished he could have just melted into the floor right there. When he imagined meeting Emma again, he was always calm, cool, collected and in control of the situation. This moment could not have been further from his imagination.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

The first few days at Storybrooke High went by fast for Emma. She attended her classes, lived through the embarrassing announcements from teachers that she was new, and had even found a nice, grassy hilltop where she could spend her lunch period alone with a book. By Friday, she knew her way around the school well enough that she only got turned around once. However, that one mix-up led to her running late to her study hall period, forcing her to stumble into the library and hurry to a seat.

“Well, hello again.”

Emma looked up and saw Killian with that soft, kind smile of his.

“Do you live in here or something?” she asked incredulously, pulling her Algebra II textbook out of her backpack.

“Let’s go with ‘or something’,” he said, staying seated in the chair next to her.

“Um, you might have to move soon,” she said defensively.

“Why?”

“Because I’m saving this seat for someone?”

“Well, it turns out that I was actually saving that seat you’re sitting in for someone,” he smirked at her. “The girl I’m tutoring.”

Realization dawned on Emma as she took in his smug expression—the obvious air of superiority and the pity in his eyes.  

Emma definitely didn’t need nor want anything from him.

“Look, I didn’t ask for a tutor,” she finally said. “The principal just gave me one in case I needed to catch up and I’m perfectly capable of catching up on my own.” Emma couldn’t help the slight bite in her tone, but she didn’t care.

“Okay, point taken.” Killian leaned back, holding his hands up in defeat. “Well, since they probably aren’t going to just unassign me from being your tutor, I have a proposition for you.” Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but he was quick to say, “Not like that!” a bit too loudly, considering they were in a library.

Killian’s blush matched Emma’s as several other students around them turned their way.  He lowered his head and leaned closer to her, speaking quietly, “What I’m trying to say is that we can just be study partners. We can do homework together and help each other out if we need to.”

Emma mulled it over. At least this way when she had a question it wouldn’t feel as embarrassing to ask him. The playing field would be even. And in all honesty, Mr. Spencer was a really hard teacher and she didn’t really have the best Algebra II teacher at her last school.

“Okay,” she shrugged.  “I guess we can give it a shot.” They ended up shaking on it, and Emma told herself that the little tingle of electricity that shot up her arm when their hands touched was simply because she was excited to do better in the class than she originally expected. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Killian may have been the closest thing she’d had to a friend in ages.

Storybrooke—Present Day

Killian could hear the whispers directed towards Emma as she walked up to the bar and he recalled all of the rumors that had cropped up when she suddenly stopped coming to school all those years ago.

“She’s in the Witness Protection Program and had to leave for her safety!”

“No, no. She’s the criminal and had to leave because the cops were after her!”

“No. I heard it was because she got knocked up and her foster family didn’t want her anymore!”

“Nah, she ran off with the baby daddy!”

None of the so-called “theories” were ever close to why she actually left, and only Killian really knew what had happened. He felt a stone of residual anger plummet in his stomach at the memory.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret called and parted the crowd of people milling about. She enveloped Emma in a hug when she finally got to her and Killian could see Emma’s shoulders tense as her eyes widened in surprise—she never was great with receiving the love and kindness she deserved. Nevertheless, Mary Margaret guided Emma back to the booth that she and David occupied with a few of their friends.

Emma sat on the very edge seat, the closest to the door, because she was always ready to run  Even after ten years, Killian could still read her like an open book.

“What happened between you two?” Belle asked, bringing him back to the present

“A lot, Belle. I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay. But, Killian, you really should go and talk to her. I’m sure whatever happened between you can be mended.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I’m not saying you have to make things right in a night, but you should at least make the first step towards making things better. What’s that thing you always tell me?”

Killian looked down at his clenched hand. “‘A man unwilling to fight, deserves what he gets.’”

“And what exactly is hiding in the corner with me going to get you?” She smirked triumphantly at him. Killian groaned and looked towards the ceiling, knowing that Belle had a point.

“Fine, I’ll go talk to her.” He stood up, his hand sweaty and knees weak. His heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest as he walked towards her. Everything else fell to the wayside and suddenly all he could see was her.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma tried to keep Killian at arm's length, tried to keep her walls up so that when and if she eventually had to leave the only one who got hurt would be her. But the thing about Killian Jones, she was learning, was that he had a way of slowly knocking those walls down, one by one.

Somewhere in those study hall hours spent trying to decipher their homework, Emma stopped fearing that she would suddenly need to be moved to a new home or that she might need to take matters into her own hands and run away. Instead, her head was filled with the little jokes and comments Killian made while trying to work through their homework, the way his blue eyes brightened whenever she actually laughed with him, the way his bangs would sometimes flop over his forehead and into his eyes. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about how much she wanted to brush those locks of hair with her hand.  

One day, there was a particularly large amount of homework Mr. Spencer had assigned in order to prepare them for his upcoming midterm...or so he had said. Emma just thought he enjoyed the loud groans of frustration coming from his class.

“Swan?” Killian asked, using her last name as he had taken to calling her. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to get through all this homework in study hall.”

“You’re right,” Emma said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is just a cruel and unusual amount of homework.”

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go to Granny’s after school so we can finish and then start studying for his midterm,” he said in a rush.

Emma could read between the lines. This wasn’t an innocent invitation to study; this was an invitation to something more. Her heart sank when she realized she was going to have to say no to whatever he had in mind.

“Oh, Killian, I’m sorry, but I actually have to go look for a job after school.” Emma knew he was trying to hide it, but she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Oh, no worries then. I understand. You should try the movie theater. They’re always looking for people there.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you trying to save up for college?”

Emma shook her head. “My foster parents think it’ll be a good way to get to know people here and my caseworker agrees.” Emma didn’t really like telling people that she was in the foster system since she already stuck out enough as a new kid in ratty hand-me-downs. She didn’t need people knowing that she was an orphan on top of that.

But with Killian, she didn’t want to keep that part of herself a secret anymore.

“Well, if you want to get to know people here, you should get a job at Granny’s. Her granddaughter Ruby is in our grade and she knows everyone.”

“You think Granny would hire me?”

“I don’t see why not. Trust me, if Ruby can work there, so can you.”

And with that, Killian met her on the front steps of the school once the final bell rang and they walked to Granny’s Diner together. Once inside, Killian discreetly pointed to an older woman who was slinging out plates onto the front counter faster than she could say “Order Up!”

“That’s Granny,” Killian said. “Just go introduce yourself and tell her you’re interested in a job here. You have your resume in your backpack, so you’re all set.” Gently, he pushed her towards Granny, who was right in the middle of taking someone’s order.

“I can’t do it now, she’s talking to someone!” Emma tried to turn and walk out the door, but Killian caught her by the elbow.

“Look, she’s finished! Go on. The worst she can say is ‘no.’”

“Can I get you kids anything, or are you just going to block my doorway?” Granny asked, suddenly in front of them with her hands on her hips and a half-smile that made her look authoritative and friendly at the same time.

“Yes, actually,” Emma said before she lost her nerve. “A job, please? I would like a job.”

“Hmm, what hours can you work, darlin’?”

“After school? And on weekends. I can even come in and open if you need me to some days.”

“Ever worked in a diner before?”

“Once, in Minnesota.” Emma handed Granny her resume, hoping she didn’t ask any more questions about that. Her foster family in Minnesota had been so awful that she had started sleeping in the restaurant’s boiler room just to avoid going home. It was a wonder she never got caught.

“Well then,” Granny said, perusing Emma’s resume over the top of her half-moon glasses, “it looks like you’ve got a job, Miss Swan.”

“Really?” Emma said, looking over at Killian in disbelief.

“Really. Now come back tomorrow after school and we’ll start training you when it’s slow.”

Emma smiled brighter than she had in a long time. “Thank you!”

Storybrooke—Present Day

“Emma?” Killian tapped her on the shoulder, not sure what he was expecting her to do when she saw him. He wasn’t expecting the smile that she gave him when she turned and realized it was him.

“Killian?” she said in disbelief, her eyes scanning up and down his body.

“Aye, love, it’s me,” he said, standing a bit straighter. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. A bit surprised to see you here, to be honest.”

“You can thank me for that,” Mary Margaret piped in.

“She tracked me down online last month and practically forced me to come,” Emma smirked.

“I did not force you! I just suggested that you should come up from Boston and visit us,” Mary Margaret said innocently

“Yes, to the point that I thought if I didn’t say ‘yes’ you’d drive down and force me into your car.”

“Well, however I persuaded you to come, the point is you’re here! We missed you! For a minute, it seemed like you weren’t going to come.”

Emma shot a quick look at Killian who averted his gaze to the drink in his hand. A deep feeling of shame brewed in his chest because he knew what had happened—what he had done to make Emma want to leave and never come back.

She probably didn’t think he’d come tonight.

“Well, I’m here now,” Emma deflected with a wave of her hand. “I’d much rather hear about how you’re doing. How’s Leo?” she asked Mary-Margaret.

As Mary Margaret launched into talking about her and David’s son, Killian allowed himself to look at Emma a bit more closely. She looked as beautiful as she always had: her arms were toned and muscular; her face had matured, and her expression was brighter and more open than it had been years ago.

His eyes darted down to her left hand and he couldn’t help the excited swoop in his chest when he didn’t find a ring on her fourth finger.

“Earth to Killian,” Mary Margaret waved at him, pulling him out of his trance.

“Right, sorry. What were we talking about?”

“Your job, remember? How you’re a teacher now?”

“Oh right, sorry. I must have zoned out for a moment.” He blushed furiously.

Smooth, Killian. Real smooth.

“What subject do you teach?” Emma asked.

“AP European History and Honors US History.”

“You always did love history,” Emma said with a small smile.

“Aye, I did. What about you, Swan? Where do you work?”

“I’m a cop in Boston,” she said, but Killian could tell there was something she was keeping from them.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her upper arms protectively. She had always done that back then.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Killian and Emma had ended up staying at the diner for a while after Granny offered her a job. Emma had some forms to fill out and they ended up studying for the midterm until it got dark.

“Killian?” Emma asked as he walked her home. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did, but sure.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile slightly at his teasing. “What I told you earlier, about how I’m in the foster system...Could you please not tell anyone? It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything...”

“You just want people to know on your own terms,” Killian finished.

“Yeah.”

“No problem, Swan. I understand.”

“You do?”

“I was in a group home for a few months, two years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she started, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“It’s not your fault. My dad walked out on me, my brother, and my mom when I was three. My mom got sick and, well, she didn’t get better so my brother had to prove he was able to take care of me. Now it’s just me and Liam.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be not to have someone on the outside.” Killian rocked back nervously on his heels. “Well, I shared. What’s your story, Swan?”

Emma rolled her eyes at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

 Emma turned and saw his earnest expression. It was clear he wanted to know her; her vulnerabilities, walls, and secrets. It was all too much because she had never bothered to get this close to anyone in a long time.

It excited her.

It terrified her.

“I can walk the rest of the way back myself,” she said quickly before Killian could protest, she had hurried ahead of him. Arms crossed, head down, and refusing to look back.

Storybrooke—Present Day

“So how do you like it? Your job I mean,” Killian said hoping, he wasn’t overstepping.

“I like it,  but I actually need a refill. Talk later, yeah?” Emma said, holding up her nearly empty glass. She rushed back towards the bar before David could reach their group.

“Is she alright?” David asked Mary Margaret.

“I hope so. I mean, I remember her being a bit skittish back in the day.  I thought since she agreed to come tonight, she might have come out of her shell a bit more.”

“Maybe this is her out of her shell,” David joked.

“No. It’s not,” Killian muttered, his eyes still on Emma as she stood at the bar. “Well, you always knew her the best back then,” Mary Margaret shrugged. “She asked if you would be here tonight.”

His head whipped back to Mary-Margaret. “She did?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I was trying so hard to get you to come tonight?” David said, nudging Killian in the shoulder.

“I think you should go talk to her,” Mary Margaret said.

Killian sighed, looking towards the bar. “You’re right.”

With shaking hands he hoped no one noticed, Killian walked to her while simultaneously trying to figure out what to say.

“You always come after me,” Emma said as he approached, her back still to Killian as she waited for her refill.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose...” He took the place beside her, signaling Ruby for another drink.

“I’m a big girl, Killian.” Emma kept her eyes in front of her. “I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Killian said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of his voice.

Emma turned to him, anger and hurt written all over her face.“You have no right to talk to me like that.”

Killian turned to her. “Like what?”

“Like...Like somehow you were more affected by it than I was,” Emma all but growled.

“I’m not the one who left in the middle of the night,” he muttered, white knuckling his glass.

“You know better than anyone in this room why I had to leave. You do not get to hold that over my head, Killian.”

“I know why you had to leave, but what I don’t understand is why you never tried to contact me. No phone call, no letter.  For ten damn years, Emma. And then you just come back here and I don’t know how to even begin processing that you’re back and you’re here and...”  Killian trailed off, a lump in his throat and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You think I don’t feel exactly what you’re feeling right now? Mary Margaret didn’t even know for sure if you were coming tonight.”

“And what if I hadn’t? Would you have even bothered to reach out if it wasn’t convenient for you?” Killian said, suddenly realizing he was shouting at her and the room had gone quiet, everyone staring at them in embarrassed curiosity.

“That fact that you have to ask that makes me wonder if I even knew you at all,” Emma said before she turned and stormed away.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma eased into her new job at Granny’s. The training went well and Granny was willing to work around Emma’s schedule: “If you ever feel like you need some time off to study or to go on a school trip, you come to me and I’ll make sure you get that time, honey,” Granny had told her, a firm yet gentle hand resting on Emma’s shoulder.

Her foster mother had even gone with Emma to the Bank of Storybrooke to help her open an account, “You’re almost grown up now,” she said. “You really should have your own checking account.” Mrs. Smith gave Emma’s clothes a once over. “Maybe it’s time for some new clothes, too. Every lady needs a good wardrobe.”

Emma had beamed; she had never had a foster mother offer to take her shopping for brand new clothes.

“Really?” Emma smiled. “Thank you so much.”

They walked down the street together towards the big boutique on Main Street and Emma couldn’t help but wonder...

Is this what it’s like to have a mom? Someone who offers to buy you clothes and helps you with all the scary financial stuff they should teach in school? Someone who wants to spend the afternoon with you? Without a house full of other children?

Emma couldn’t help the warm feeling in her chest as she and her foster mother drove home, then later as Mrs. Smith helped Emma organize her new clothes in her closet.

On Monday, Emma strode into study hall where she knew Killian would be waiting for her at their usual table. She was finally determined to put the past behind her; she had a new job, new wardrobe,  and maybe even a new home—at least until graduation.

Maybe Emma could have a friend too?

“Hey,” she said, dropping down into the seat next to Killian.

“Hey,” he responded, a little awkwardly, which was understandable.

“Look, I’m sorry about Thursday. Sometimes I have a hard time when people try to get to know me.” She shifted uneasily in her seat.

“It’s okay, Emma,” he smiled gently at her. “But you should know I want to get to know you...beyond how much you despise Algebra II.”

Emma laughed quietly and blushed. “Okay, I think I can handle that,” she said as relief spread across her chest.

And just like that, Emma had officially made a friend. The first one she’d since she could remember.

Storybrooke—Present Day

Killian felt awful watching Emma leave Granny’s. Regret pooled in his stomach at the way he had spoken to her, and it rooted him to the spot.

“So, that didn’t go well,” David said behind him.

Killian sighed and turned towards his friend. “Why did she come tonight?” Killian asked, paying no mind to how childish he sounded.

“It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she missed you, could it?”

“David, she didn’t even try to get in contact with me after she left. I stayed in this tiny town all these years. Never changed my address, my phone number, nothing. And she didn’t even try. So don’t give me that bullshit,” Killian finished bitterly before taking a long drink. The rum burned all the way down and settled uneasily in his belly.

“For a smart man, Killian, you really can be an idiot sometimes.” David sighed. “Go talk to her if you’re so hung up on why she hasn’t reached out to you all these years. Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is hard for her, too?”

“What makes you think you even know her?” Killian asked.

“Mary Margaret is persistent, she might know Emma almost as well as you do.” David shrugged as if that explained everything. “Now, I’m not going to pretend I know the full story of you and Emma. But I know that it would devastate both of you if you missed this opportunity to reconnect, all over a stupid argument you had ten years ago.”

Killian wanted to argue with David, but he knew his friend was right.

So instead, Killian downed the rest of his drink and sighed. “I think I know where she might be.”

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Once Emma and Killian became friends, they were nearly inseparable. He would sit in the diner during Emma’s shifts and afterwards they would go to his house and watch movies, do homework together, or just relax. Emma found herself telling him about everything; her past foster parents who saw her as nothing but a meal ticket, the old foster siblings that would bully and break her down until all she wanted to do was lock herself away and cry. She described the group homes, with the scratchy sheets and that musty smell that never seemed to go away.

The worst was the day Emma realized the couples looking to adopt never really stopped to look at her. Instead, they focused their attentions on the little ones—the ones who were still new and unhurt by the system. They didn’t want someone who’d spent most of her life in the system, someone who was almost eighteen and was far too sarcastic and jaded and damaged. Someone like Emma Swan.

And for each secret that Emma gave him, Killian gave her one of his own.

He told her how hard it was for him and Liam to get by and how Liam gave up a good position in the Navy just to take care of him. How Killian doubted he’d ever be able to repay Liam for everything he had sacrificed for him.

The swings on the playground halfway between Emma and Killian’s houses soon became their ‘spot.’ They would meet there and walk to school. Nights after Emma got off work,  they would linger there on the swings, toes digging into the sand as they idled, talking and prolonging their time together before going their separate ways.  

One night after Emma had gotten home from her shift, she saw her foster parents sitting at the dining room table, papers spread out in front of them and reading glasses low on their noses.

“Emma, could you come here for a moment?” her foster mother called as soon as Emma set foot in the house.

“What’s up?” Emma said, setting her backpack on the ground and sitting in one of the chairs opposite them.

It felt strange sitting at the table with them since she usually closed at Granny’s and had dinner at the diner with Killian. She ate lunch at school and in the mornings Emma was in such a rush that she only had time to grab a few granola bars out of the pantry before heading out the door.

“Well, we were going over our finances for the month,” her foster father started.

“And even with the money we’re getting from the state,” Mrs. Smith said, “it looks like this month is going to be a little tight.”

“Oh,” Emma said, ringing her hands underneath the table.

Is this it? Are they going to send me back? God, how could I have been so stupid, thinking I could have found a home?

Emma glanced back and forth between her foster parents.

“Sweetie, we don’t want to worry you, but with the new clothes and school supplies we bought you, it would be nice if we could get a little help,” Mrs. Smith continued, placing her hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“I can pay you back for the clothes,” Emma said quickly, an anxious knot forming in her chest.

“Could you? That would be wonderful,” she said with a smile.

But Emma still felt uneasy, despite her foster mother’s insistence that everything would be okay.

Storybrooke—Present Day

Killian’s feet pounded out the familiar path from Granny’s to the playground that stood between his and Emma’s old houses. He found her at the swings, listlessly swaying back and forth, her feet never leaving the ground.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, slightly out of breath as he sat in the swing next to her. It was a bit of a tight fit, but Killian managed.

“You know after you get yelled at by someone you don’t really want to sit next to them on a swing set,” Emma said, tone drawl as she looked away from him.

“Look, Emma,” Killian sighed, “I’m sorry I said all those things to you.”

“You were a real asshole back there.”

“You’re right, I was.” Killian looked down at his lap. “I just didn’t know what to say to you. I know that’s a shit reason and doesn’t excuse my behavior.”

“You know, it makes it hard to stay mad at you when you talk like Mr. Darcy,” Emma huffed.

“Aye, and I know that you’ll try your hardest to stay mad at me,” Killian smirked at her, catching her eye. Emma’s lips twitched up into the smallest of smiles, but Killian knew he was far from forgiven.

“That doesn’t mean that I’m letting you off the hook,” Emma said. “It wasn’t easy for me to come here tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“It was just too hard to come back,” she explained. “I didn’t even tell Mary Margaret I was coming until I was in my car on the way here. Even then, I had to fight with myself to not  turn my car right around and head back to Boston.”

“They aren’t here,” Killian said. Emma’s eyes snapped up at his words. “I don’t know if Mary Margaret told you, but both of them were arrested about a year after you left.”

“Serves them right,” Emma said, kicking the ground, “but that’s not entirely the reason I almost didn’t come.”

“Oh? What’s the other reason?”

“Come on, Killian, you know why.” Emma turned in her swing to face him, her eyes locking with his.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

A new quarter started and Emma could hardly believe she had made it this long with a new foster family. Both she and Killian had passed their midterms and Mr. Spencer had agreed that Emma was doing well enough that she didn’t need the required tutoring anymore.

“You know,” Emma said on their first day back from Spring Break, “you don’t have to keep hanging out with me in the new quarter. I officially don’t need a tutor according to the school.”

“Oh,” Killian said, looking down at his notebook. “I mean, I understand if you’d rather be doing other things during study hall, but if you wanted to keep studying together, that’d be cool too, I guess.”

“You still want to?”

“Of course I do,” Killian smiled, suddenly shy. “I mean, we’re friends. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with you for an extra hour a day?”

“You’re such a sap, you know that?” Emma smiled and sat down next to him.

“Only for you, love,” he grinned. “Are you working tonight?”

“No. Granny decided to let me have the day off since I worked so much during the break. Why?”

“Want to come over to my house and watch a movie?”

“Sure. I just have to stop by my house to grab a couple things real quick.”

The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough for Emma. She had been to Killian’s house plenty of times before, but she still couldn’t stop the small, excited flip in her stomach every time he asked her to hang out outside of school.

Killian walked Emma home, where Emma popped in to tell her foster mother where she was headed.

“Oh and, Emma?” Mrs. Smith called just before Emma was out the door. Emma had been afraid of that tone because she knew it well, and she knew what was coming next.

“Yes?”

“I hate to ask you again, but, well...You know how cold it’s been and we’ve been running the heat a little more than usual?”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Emma said, feeling her cheeks burn since Killian was standing right there by the front door and would undoubtedly have questions. “Can we do this later, though? Killian and I are on our way to his house to watch a movie.”

“Emma, why doesn’t your friend get a head start?” her foster mother suggested, a sudden coldness behind her eyes.

“It’s okay, Emma. I’ll meet you at the swings,” Killian said before backing out of the house.

“You know, I’d have thought you’d be a little more grateful,” Mrs. Smith said, looking down her nose at Emma.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very small under the gaze of her supposed “guardian.”

“I am—” Emma began.

“We knew that taking in someone your age and with your history was going to be a challenge,” she continued. “And my husband and I are trying to make your life here comfortable. You must know how difficult it is for us to ask you to contribute.  Our daughter worked all through high school and she was happy to share her earnings with us. Now, if you feel like you’re too good for that then maybe I should just call your social worker and we can see about getting you moved in with a better foster family.”

“No, no,” Emma shook her head, her throat tight and her eyes clouding with tears. “Please don’t call her. I promise I can contribute if that’s what you want me to do. How much do you need?”

“How much did you make in tips over school break?”

“About two-hundred dollars,” Emma admitted quietly.

“Perfect! I think one-hundred should be enough to help us. Thank you so much for contributing to the family, Emma.” Her foster mother wrapped her arms around her, but Emma felt no warmth in her embrace.

Emma felt her heart rise to her throat as she walked upstairs to her bedroom where she kept the jar with her tips. She counted out the money with shaking hands before going back downstairs and shoving the money into Mrs. Smith’s hands.

“I’ll be back later,” Emma said as she walked out the door, feeling a weight settle on her shoulders.

She tried to shake it before Killian could tell something was wrong.

“Hey, are you okay?” Killian asked when she finally made it to the swings.

“Just a disagreement with my foster mom, but it’s fine. I handled it,” she said. “Let’s just get to your house so we can watch a movie and eat too much popcorn.” She tried to laugh, but it came out hollow and forced.

“Really? Emma, does that happen a lot?” Killian asked, concern all over his face.

“Does what happen?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Your foster mother basically asking you to pay rent.”

Emma thought for a second about how easy it would be to just tell Killian everything, but telling Killian would probably just cause more problems. He would tell his brother, and God only knows what Liam would do.

“It only happens every once in a while,” Emma explained, looking at Killian’s forehead instead of his eyes. “But please promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this?”

“Emma—” Killian took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Just promise me,” Emma said, forcing herself to look into his eyes.

“Okay.” Killian still looked worried. “But if there’s something wrong, you can tell me.”

“I know that, but really it’s fine,” Emma said. “So what movie are we watching?”

“Princess Bride?” he offered.

Emma knew he was only suggesting it because it was her favorite, but she didn’t call him out on it since she could use the comfort of the classic.

“Only if I get to freely quote the movie no matter how annoying you think it is.”

“Deal,” he smiled reluctantly, and they sped off to his and Liam’s small cottage near the docks where they spent most of the afternoon watching movies and pelting each other with little popcorn kernels.

After The Princess Bride, they put in Pirates of the Caribbean since Emma still didn’t  want to return to her house.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Killian asked as the credits rolled after the second movie.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Liam’s making spaghetti and it’s one of the few recipes he doesn’t mess up.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it’s simply an offer I can’t refuse.”

They both shared a quiet laugh and Liam came home not much later, a spark of recognition flashing across over his face when Killian introduced her to him.

“So you’re the Emma I’ve heard so much about,” Liam said. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Killian’s told you about me?” she asked, looking at Killian who was now a brilliant shade of pink.

“Can hardly stop talking about you,” Liam grinned.

“Okay, I think she gets it, brother,” Killian gritted through his teeth.

“Oh, so you’ve asked her to Spring Fling already then?” Liam asked. Emma gasped and looked over at Killian, who looked just as shocked.

“No, I hadn’t gotten a chance to yet, but thank you, Liam,” Killian growled.

“You were going to ask me to a dance?” Emma said, a nervous giggle erupting out of her mouth.

“Aye, before this git ruined it.” Killian blushed even harder.

“I’m only trying to help you out, little brother,” Liam said before leaving them for the kitchen.

“So the cat’s out of the bag, I suppose,” Killian said, scratching nervously behind his ear.

“Yeah, I guess I should get a dress then,” Emma smiled at him.

The grin that spread across Killian's face was the brightest that Emma had ever seen.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. I’d love to go as friends,” Emma said.

She didn’t miss the flash of hurt across Killian’s face.

“As would I, Swan,” he smiled quickly.

They heard Liam calling to them from the kitchen, and less than an hour later they were having a delicious spaghetti dinner to celebrate.

But as Emma walked home from their house later that night, she couldn’t get Killian’s faltering smile out of her mind.

Storybrooke—Present Day

“What are you saying?” Killian asked her. “Killian, I don’t think it should surprise you that when I first met you I was really jaded towards the whole high school experience. I didn’t see the point of making friends because I was sure I was just going to be moved in a few weeks, so...what was the point?” She sighed, gathering her thoughts before she continued. “Then I met you and not only did you want to be my friend, but you wanted to be more.

“And that scared me more than I expected it to. And then you did what you did and...that just felt like a punch to the stomach.” Emma looked down at her hands, sniffling and blinking quickly. “It felt like you were trying to get me rehomed, which I know sounds crazy now, but I was so scared and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Emma, those people were financially abusing you. I couldn’t not say anything,” Killian said, reaching out to thread his fingers gently through her hair. He thought of the last time his hand had caressed those golden strands on that last night before she had disappeared.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” Emma said, pulling away from his touch.

“Aye, I know that now.” Killian looked down at his feet before looking up into her eyes once more. “I’m sorry, Swan. I never should have told anyone without coming to you first. You’re right, it was your secret to tell.” He took a deep breath and shook his head “I just couldn’t stand by and watch you be taken advantage of by those people. You deserved, you still deserve, to be treated with respect and kindness.”

Emma nodded. “I know now that what you did back then was for the best. Actually, I’m glad you did it because it means that those people are never going to get the chance to manipulate another child like me. Of course, at first, I was furious at you. That’s why I didn’t reach out.

“But as time passed, I was able to look back on the situation as an adult and I just felt so grateful and then so...guilty about what I said and how I left and...I did want to contact you. It was just that, so much time had passed that I was sure you had moved or changed your number. And even if you hadn’t, why would you take my call anyways? You probably hate me for the way I left.”

“I could never hate you, Swan,” Killian assured her.

“You sure?” Emma sighed. “I would hate me.”

“I’m not going to lie. I was angry for a long time and t I’ve let that go.” He shook his head. “But I could never hate you, love. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you.”

Emma looked overwhelmed by his statement, her eyes wide and her lips parted as she tried to search for something to say. Finally, she settled with, “Good,” a small, nervous smile on her face.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma was going to a dance. Not only that, but Emma was going to a dance with a date.

A small part of her wanted to scoff that dances were lame and so was anyone who wanted to spend the night in an uncomfortable dress inside a gym that smelled like socks. But Emma couldn’t help feeling excited.

She finished up her shift at Granny’s, tip money and her paycheck burning a hole in her pocket as she wandered over to the boutique down the street from the diner. As she walked in, she saw some other girls her age shopping for dresses, each accompanied by their mothers. Emma felt a pit in her stomach; she didn’t want Mrs. Smith shopping with her because Emma knew her generosity came with a price. She felt it was best to simply use her own money to buy what she needed.

Emma began flipping through the seemingly endless racks of dresses, anxiety settling in her chest since she had no idea what she was even looking for.

“Emma!” someone called from one of the rows of dresses.

Emma looked over and saw it was Mary Margaret with her mother.

“Hi,” Emma smiled, suddenly grateful to have someone she could bounce ideas off of.

“What are you doing here? Are you going to the dance?” Mary Margaret asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I am actually. I assume you’re going too?”

“Definitely. My boyfriend David asked me today at lunch,” Mary Margaret said, looking over at the pile of dresses Emma had slung over her arm. “Is there someone helping you pick out a dress? Mrs. Smith?”

“Oh, um, no. It’s just me,” Emma said, hoisting her mountain of dresses higher up her arm.

“Did you want help, hon?” Mary Margaret’s mother offered.

“Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you, Mrs...”

“Blanchard. But please, call me Eva. And really, it’s no trouble at all. This place can be overwhelming.”

“No, really—” Emma began again.

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Eva insisted with a warm smile.

Emma finally gave in and shopped with Mary Margaret and her mother, and she couldn't help but compare it to the time she and her foster mother had gone shopping. Instead of hurriedly shoving clothes at her, Eva carefully considered each girl’s selection of dresses with care and thoughtfulness before handing them a few to go and try on. Then she would sit patiently and ask for poses and spins from the both of them and Emma felt a contentedness she had never felt before as she and Mary Margaret picked out their dresses.

Emma realized that while she might not know what it was like to go shopping with her mom, she did know what it was like to shopping with a girlfriend. And she had loved every minute of it.

The days leading up to the dance flew by and before Emma knew it, she was in her bedroom the night of the big event, zipping up her dress and putting on her shoes. She stood in front of her mirror admiring her reflection, something she rarely did. The fuller, pale pink skirt of the dress almost made Emma feel like a princess, and she could practically see Killian and her moving together across the dance floor.

It made her stomach flip.

Emma heard her foster parents’ car start and back out of the driveway outside her window. She hadn’t mentioned the dance to either of them, hoping to avoid the awkward pictures they seemed to like taking, judging by the numerous photos they had of their daughter scattered across the mantle.

Emma grabbed her purse and after making absolutely sure they were gone, went to meet Killian at the swings.

“Wow, you look—” he started when she came into view, his eyes wide and a smile on his face.

“I know,” Emma blushed, grabbing his hand. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“You’re excited for this, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’ve never been to one of these things before. Don’t want to miss anything,” she said as they hurried down the street.

The dance was everything Emma could have wanted—she and Killian danced, they ate, they laughed; she never wanted the night to end. When the dance was officially over at half-past ten, Emma’s feet hurt, she was tired, breathless, and had never been happier.

“Thank you for this,” she said as he walked her home. Emma had told him she could walk on her own, but he had insisted.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Did you have a good time?” He looked down somewhat sheepishly.

“Of course I did,” Emma said, taking his hand again. “I couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

“Me either,” he said with a small grin of his own.

They had reached her door, but Emma wasn’t ready to say goodbye and it seemed Killian wasn’t either.

“Do you know what would make it just a bit better though?” he asked.

“What?”

“A kiss, maybe?”

“You want to kiss me?” Emma asked, her heart beating so fast she was sure Killian could hear it.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now.”

Emma didn't know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

She’d had other kisses before, but none of them had ever made her feel like this. She was completely weightless and her knees went weak as she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her and as they broke apart, her hand found his collar and she gripped it like her life depended on it. His hand caressed her face before catching a lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger.

“That was...” Killian breathed, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

“Something we’ll have to do again sometime,” Emma finished as she took a step back. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Monday? Yeah, th-that sounds great...Yeah, I’ll see you then.” Killian stumbled over

his words, his cheeks flushed and his smile bright.

Emma smiled and walked up the pathway to her front door, feeling like her feet were barely touching the ground.

She opened the front door as quietly as she could, taken by surprise when the living room light flicked on.

“How was the dance?” Mrs. Smith was sitting there on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, and contempt dripping from her words.

“It was fine,” Emma said, starting up the stairs and hoping to avoid whatever tirade was about to come.

“And that dress, is it new? The shoes? The makeup?” her foster mother continued to question.

“I paid for it all myself, with the money I got from Granny’s,” Emma explained, halting halfway up the stairs.

“How nice.” Mrs. Smith stood. “And while you were out, did you happen to tell anyone about our little arrangement?”

“What?”

“I got a call today from your social worker.” Mrs. Smith crossed her arms thoughtfully and tilted her head. “She was concerned that we were stealing money from you. Now, who would have told her something like that?”

“I don’t kn—”

“Your little boyfriend, that’s who,” Mrs. Smith snapped, following Emma up the stairs. “Did you tell him about our arrangement?”

“No, of course not,” Emma said, tears stinging her eyes.

“Bullshit. You’re not as dumb as you look. You think I didn’t know there was a dance tonight?”

“I-I—”

“I-I-I...Maybe you are stupid,” Mrs. Smith sneered. “Maybe that’s why no one wanted you.” She was towering over Emma, her eyes snapping down to Emma’s dress. “This piece of trash isn’t even worth the money you paid for it. You wasted a good hundred bucks buying all of this shit. Money I could have used.”

“It’s my money!”

“NO, IT’S NOT!” Mrs. Smith roared. “You live in my house, you eat my food, you wear the clothes that I bought for you. You owe me that money for everything I do for you!”

Emma could only stare up at her, unable to speak or move as Mrs. Smith shook with anger. Then, after a moment she said, “Get out.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I said, get out! Go down to the bank and withdraw every penny you spent on this night and pay it back to my family. Then leave.”

“But I don’t have enough to do that!”

“Well then, we’ll have to make another arrangement. How about no food for a week? Or you can sleep in the garage and freeze. I don’t care! Whatever it takes, you are paying me back!’ Mrs. Smith grabbed Emma’s arm and forced her down the stairs. She tried to struggle but ended up twisting her ankle on the bottom step.

Emma limped out of the house, her mind racing with a million thoughts. She knew there was no way she was going to continue living in that house; she’d rather live at her old foster home.

Tears started falling down her face as she wondered how she could have been so stupid, thinking she might have actually found a family.

Emma looked back and saw the tree that nearly touched her bedroom window and before Emma knew what she was doing, she was climbing the tree. Breaking into her room was easy enough—she never bothered locking her window and the screen popped out easily. Emma quickly and quietly gathered all of her precious possessions —an old tattered copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, a mood ring she’d won from a claw machine, the baby blanket she’d been found in—and shoved all of them in a duffel bag. She looked down at her dress before gently pulling it over her head and folding that into her bag as well.  Emma dressed in jeans and a sweater and, taking care not to make any noise, carefully climbed back out the window.

Storybrooke—Present Day

“How’s Liam, by the way?” Emma asked. “I feel really awful for the way I spoke to him.”

The question, as innocent as it seemed, hit Killian like a punch to the gut. Although he’d answered this question plenty of times before, it never made it any easier.

“Liam’s gone. There was an accident at the cannery about a year after you left.”

“Oh my God, Killian. I’m so sorry.” Emma reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s...well it’s not alright, but it’s—” Killian struggled to find a way to put his feelings into words.

“I understand,” Emma said. “Are you okay?”

“I suppose. I worked at the cannery after graduation to help pay for college. Same accident took this from me too.” Killian held up his prosthetic hand.

Without hesitation, Emma gently took his prosthetic hand in hers, studying it for a few minutes. Her eyes flickered back up to his and they reflected the sorrow that Killian still felt in his heart.

He pulled his hand back from her and cleared his throat.

“The settlement money helped put me through school and now I’m a teacher at our alma mater.” He tipped his prosthetic towards her and tried to grin.

“I feel awful—” Emma started.

“Well, don’t. None of this is your fault.”

“But I’ll never get to apologize to him.”

“It’s okay, really. He understood. He just...always wanted to help people, you know? He thought he was doing what was right.”

“He did. If it wasn’t for him, that family would have kept bleeding me dry.” She paused, and then with a small smile added, “Plus, if it wasn’t for Liam, you probably never would have asked me out.”

“Hey, I had something very romantic planned. The bugger just had to ruin it,” Killian laughed. And to his relief, so did Emma.

Storybrooke—10 Years Ago

Emma stood outside of Killian’s house, trying to figure out which window was his, having never been in his bedroom before. Her duffel bag was at her feet and her pockets were full of the money she had just emptied out of her account.

Once Emma figured out which window to aim for, she began tossing small rocks at it until Killian, bleary-eyed and hair ruffled from sleep,  opened the window.

“Swan, what’s going on?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emma tried to keep herself from shouting.

“Tell anyone what? Emma, what’s wrong?”

“My foster mother got a call from my social worker. Someone told her about her taking my waitressing money.”

“I didn’t call her,” Killian said, hand coming up to run through his hair. “Liam—” he started hesitantly but stopped when a light flicked on behind him. Emma could barely hear Liam enter Killian’s room, but Killian didn’t tear his eyes away from her. “Why don’t you come inside?” he asked.

Emma waited impatiently for Killian to come and open the front door before storming inside and right up to Liam. “Did you call CPS?”

“Emma…” Liam started softly.

“Did you call CPS?” she demanded again.

“Yes, okay? The Smiths weren’t treating you right,” Liam said. “I was in high school with their daughter. She didn’t work a day in her life; they lied to you. Her mum and dad paid for everything. Those two are already getting money to foster you, they don’t need to be taking your money too.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest and stood straight, not backing down.

“You ruined everything!” Emma tried to blink away the tears that were clouding her vision.

“Swan...” Killian stepped towards her and tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she twisted out of his reach.

“And you!” Emma turned her anger towards him. “Why did you tell him in the first place?!”

“Because you needed help,” Killian said, voice shaking.

“I don’t need you or your brother to save me! I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life and I can keep doing it without either of you!” Emma turned on her heel and walked out of the Jones brothers’ cottage without looking back.

“Swan! Please wait,” Killian said, running after her. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know...somewhere. Anywhere is better than here,” Emma snapped, grabbing her bag off the ground.

“Please, just stay here with us. We can help you.” Killian grabbed hold of her arm and  Emma looked into his eyes, eyes that were almost completely colorless in the moonlight. Eyes that only a few hours ago she had never wanted to look away from.

“I don’t want your help,” Emma growled, wrenching her arm out of his grip. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and turned around without looking back.

By the time the sun rose, Emma had walked through most of Storybrooke to get to the bus station, where she had spent the last few hours. She had a one-way ticket to Portland, Maine and from there she would find another place to run to since running was what she was good at. She wasn’t the girl who got to enjoy school dances or made Honor Roll. She wasn’t the girl that could have a boyfriend. She was a runaway—just a kid practically forgotten by the system, unloved and unlovable.

These were the thoughts running through Emma’s mind as she took her seat on the bus and leaned her head against the window.

“Ticket, please?” the bus driver asked as he walked the aisle. “Are you okay?” The concern in his voice caught her off guard.

“Yeah, why?” Emma answered, handing him her ticket.

“You’re crying,” he said.

Emma reached up and felt her cheek, wet with fresh tears.

“Oh, it’s just allergies. I promise.” Emma forced a shaky laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. The bus driver appeared unconvinced but moved on to the next passenger anyway.

Emma slumped into her seat and leaned back, the tears free-flowing down her face no matter how much she willed them to stop. As the bus roared to life and pulled out of the bus station, Emma turned to get one last look at Storybrooke. The smaller the town became behind her, the more Emma realized how much she wanted Killian to be in the seat next to her, running off to wherever it was she was headed next.

Storybrooke—Present Day

“Can I ask you one more question?” Killian asked as their laughter faded.

“Shoot.”

“Are you staying the night here?” Killian blushed, realizing how forward he sounded.

Emma nodded. “I am, actually. I got a room at Granny’s.”

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“No,” Emma smiled. “Not yet.”

“Good. Good,” Killian nodded. “Well, I’m actually very busy,” he said. Emma laughed and gave his shoulder a small shove. “But I think I can take you to dinner if you would like?” he added shyly.

“I think I would like that,” Emma smirked at him. “But I need to know for sure.”

“And how will you do that?” Killian asked, realizing that their faces were now mere inches apart.

“I have an idea,” Emma whispered before leaning in.

Their lips met and Killian’s mind went wonderfully and blissfully blank of all thoughts that didn’t involve the woman in his arms. All he could think, feel, smell was Emma—her hair, her skin, her lips.

He drank her in then, as he did that night all those years ago.

“Are you sure now?” Killian asked as they broke apart.

“I’m very sure,” Emma chuckled. “We talked about the past all night. I think tomorrow we can talk about the present, and maybe even the future.”

Killian smiled and leaned in once more, their kiss sealing a promise to let the past go and to look finally towards the future.

Together.