#give the strongest shot of tequila

[elitehoe]

Fuck it, the Elite should've fucking been there tonight for the Dynamite anniversary. There wouldn't even be a god damn All ELITE Wrestling or Dynamite anniversary without them.

[katsukikitten]

Tw: Suicidal themes and description of attempt. Pt2

The American Hero commission is just as shady as Japan's, if not worse. Run in an obvious front to hide the "classified" floors that ran deep beneath the city, right under the feet of unsuspecting or uncaring citizens. The government is so desperate to hide secret divisions that not even heroes should know about it.

But Katsuki does.

Only because he can't let sleeping dogs lie.

Remembering Izuku spilling his guts to him one day, figuratively and literally, having had far too much to drink at his own birthday party. Izuku excused himself outside, vomiting up his anxious feelings that didn't mix well with his twelve shots of tequila.

Lady Nagant

And all that Izuku knew of her before that dumb ass passed out into Bakugou's arms. It wasn't unusual for this to happen when Izuku drank too much, hell even sober he'd call Bakugou in the middle of the night to tell him some dark secret he couldn't bear to keep with himself any longer. Katsuki was used to hearing things he shouldn't, normally he'd file it away and hardly gave it second thought.

But the name rang in Katsuki's ears until he searched it up himself, finding that she was part of something the hero commission tried so desperately to both cover up and "disband." A division that took care of threats to hero society no matter who or what the person was.

Any threat.

Bakugou was sure he fell under the category of any. Especially with his big mouth, accidents could happen, even to the strongest heroes.

Or so the virtuous society claims.

The irony of the city skyscraper isn't lost on Bakugou. Named after some long since dead hero who's estate paid for the construction of it but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that not a single cent went to anything that would actually help the community.

Instead living and dead hero's families all did the same, desperately clawing to ingrain and immortalize a hero into society in hopes to make a killing in profits.

Times like these Bakugou realizes why asshole villains like Shigiraki and Dabi wanted to send it all to hell.

Hero society was just another form of capitalism which bred nothing but greed.

The fuck was he fighting for anyway?

Nothing was going to change it and it was obvious every move he made was the wrong one.

Bakugou's leg bounces as he sits in the corner of the embassy lobby waiting to be called back into the shrink's office. Right arm pressed snugly into the wall before he grips onto his knee tightly to make it stop moving. Mind jumping back and forth between the day's earlier events with the hero, who's name he still didn't bother to remember, and how everything seemed to be askew.

Tilted, blurred or blacked out in globs of sticky ink, his view on life turning that much more nihilistic with each passing year while everyone around him felt the opposite.

He digs the heel of his palm into his left eye as if that will help him adjust. Spiced caramel scenting the air and he can feel eyes on him again.

Listen not with your ears but here.

Stupid fucking woman, why was she popping up into his head now as his heart races. Right eye burning, giving him a throbbing headache as he tries to force sight into it. Tries to will it.

But as it has been for the past eighteen years he can't see any more than he could yesterday.

Until he holds his breath to count and then for a fraction of a second he can see it. Can see the rough outline of a person, like a black silhouette on an even blacker backdrop.

"Bakugou Katsuki." He opens his eye with a squint as he stares up at the last minute appointment the old hag insisted he take. The doctor was young, around the same age as him, his thick file in her manicured hands has him grinding his teeth.

He hadn't had a mandatory session in years, probably since Kirishima couldn't hold up the rubble any longer, passing out while Bakugou watched him faint, his jagged cliffside skin turning soft and smooth before being nearly crushed to death under a half standing building. Kirishima was in the hospital for weeks and Katsuki struggled to eat.

It was the first instance of quirk failure, of losing his grip on the tightly wound fuse of his temper.

He leveled an entire block.

The second was with Izuku, when the emerald haired man was stabbed through his solar plexus, blood flying from his mouth, staining his chin and throat. And what did that dumb ass Deku say, "Are you alright, Kaachan?" before falling to his knees, further impaling himself on the rod that lodged in his body.

Katsuki blacked out after that. Not that his body fell from the sight, oh no. His mind switched off and Katsuki worked on rage and instinct alone.

The crater Bakugou created is still there today, record breaking and comparable to that of an atomic bomb or sizable meteor from space.

The media dubbed him nuclear after that.

But they didn't fucking know what it was like, watching your friends cheat death over and over again. In more horrific ways than the last.

But how many times could his friends win, even with a padded hand? Each time they cheated the meticulous god they raised their chances of losing the next time.

Katsuki knew from experience, with each brush with Death, he became closer than the last.

The ignorant public, the apathetic hero commission, they didn't understand.

Couldn't understand that Bakugou has an undying need to win. Not for bragging rights or to be the best, although those were welcomed, but because Bakugou Katsuki refused to have blood on his hands.

He needed his complete victory.

And having it since his first year at UA. Of saving his friends, his co workers time and time again over the decades despite the doctor's speaking of him never being able to do pro hero work again.

He saved them, he had to save them. Denki, Mina, Ochaco, Shoto, Kirishima, all of them. Yes, even Shitty Deku, especially shitty Deku, idiots all of them, pushing themselves too hard and never asking for help.

"Bakugou Katsuki." She repeats and this time Bakugou stands. His presence already making a hush fall over the lobby, more eyes on him except this time he could glare from his good side.

Snarling his teeth at their eyes fixated on him and their mouth agape like dead fish. They suddenly find the floor or their phones interesting as he stops in front of the woman.

He has to look down at her, even in her four inch heels, she gives a tight smile but turns in her long pencil skirt until they reach her office. She's smart and enters first, letting Bakugou stand by the door while she comes around her desk and sits.

Her hand gesturing for him to shut the door and take a seat, silently he obeys. But not without a suck of his teeth.

It smells like cinnamon and paper in the office, it's sparsely decorated, her degree and accomplishments hanging on the same wall as the door, had Bakugou's eye not wandered around the room he wouldn't have seen them.

So she liked her accomplishments but didn't wanna brag? Or was it one of those psychological tricks therapists do?

A box of tissues sits on her desk, a small crystal candy bowl that looks more like it belonged to an old woman. He snorts seeing the assortment of random candy. There was a three musketeers for Shitty hair, a twix for Icyhot and Deku, the couple always wanting to split, and even a lemon warhead for Dunceface.

He leaves the sweets alone as she settles.

"Coffee Mr. Dynamight?" She asks as she places her reading glasses near the tip of her nose.

"No." He spies the keurig, knows he doesn't want any of that shit.

"Well, I'm glad you're here today, when Clair-"

"Clair?" Bakugou scoffs, leaning back in his chair. She lets her dark eyes rove over his relaxed body language. How his arm slumps over the back of a chair and she almost misses his calculating eyes.

"Clair, Clairity, your hero mentor." She tries to keep the bite out of her tone, tries to remember Bakugou would sometimes use arrogance as a defense or wall but something tells her he really didn't bother to remember this time around considering the circumstances.

"Hmm." A non committal hum, a milky and sharp eye coming back to look at her. Burning gaze making even the professional shift in her seat.

"I'll get straight to the point then and won't waste your time but I believe we should start you off on a low dose of your old prescriptions again. Just to try to level you out."

"Why? I'm not suicidal?" He scoffs, glaring at his thick file, he hates that goddamn thing. Most doctors like her pushing for drugs first, although he'd never had it happen so quickly before.

Guess she could take the record for that.

"You were at one point, that doesn't just go away." She flicks through the papers, pretending as if it was a small thing she could have misread before looking back up at him. He returns her glare, snarling lips before he shifts in the chair, a more defensive stance, feigned arrogance thrown out the window in favor of full on agitation.

It wasn't like Bakugou thought medicine was pussy shit, he knew it wasn't. Was happy to hear it was working out for Kaminari's anxiety and especially Izuku's panic attacks but almost every brand he was on made him feel worse.

Less than.

Less than a hero.

Less than a man.

Less than Bakugou Katsuki.

Even if he'll never admit he set the bar at an impossible height.

"Maybe for me it did." Ironic he would lie when he hates a liar the most. Maybe because they remind him of himself sometimes.

Spreading half truths that he was fine when he wasn't. His blistering anger burns everyone around him, especially himself. Although he was on the mend until this past year.

Soon Katsuki's scent overpowers the cinnamon candle in the room. She gives him a long knowing look.

"Medicine paired with talk therapy is quite effective. It put your outbursts in remission and -"

"No." He barks, "I ain't taking shit. I'll talk to you til the fuckin sun explodes before I ever take another god damn zombie pill. Drop it." His quirk flares at the end, the smallest pop on his chest and several down his right arm. He stands, giving her his back as he leaves since he had nothing more to say.

Typical of Bakugou's luck it pours down sheets of thick freezing rain and there wasn't an umbrella in sight.

Not that he wanted one, hands angrily in the pockets of her hero suit that clung to him even tighter now thanks to the wet weather. Pressing his face in the high collar of his winter suit as he lets gravity pull his posture downward. Feeling as if he was walking through sludge, as if the steel of his knee plates and boots were attracted to the Earth's magnetic core making his legs feel as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

Still he pushes on, slowly as the cold sinks into his bone marrow until he's home.

The apartment complex smells worse when it rains, the old heating system of the building smells like it's burning something. Most likely the hair or paws of the scurrying rats Bakugou had heard last night and all he can think about is how badly he wanted a long hot bath and to never wake up when he went to bed.

Or at least be able to sleep in til noon, if his internal clock would allow him.

On the bright side his couch should be here, needing to be assembled but there none the less. As he comes into the narrow hallway of the sixth floor he snarls when he doesn't see a couch or a mattress, frame or box spring, anywhere to be found.

Quickly he pulls out his phone, droplets of water from his hair making it difficult for him to navigate the sensitive touch screen before he's biting off his thick gloves to tuck under his arm. Pulling up two emails. One saying his couch was delivered and the other claiming his mattress was delayed.

What the fuck? Delayed and delivered. Where the fuck was his couch?

He thinks maybe he should try to ask a neighbor if they'd seen any delivery guys or who walked off with his package.

He hears shuffling coming from apartment 6D and figured he'd start there.

Your door opens slightly before he can even knock.

"Oh my friendly neighbor." You let the sarcasm shine through, "I-"

But before you can finish Bakugou's already spying the oversized cardboard box propped up against the wall by your kitchen, a picture of the couch he ordered plastered on the side.

"Why is my fuckin package in your apartment?" His voice is a growl, strong hand gripping the door just above the chain. He's broken plenty of stupid little door chains and this cheap one that was probably on its last leg was going to be the last thing that stopped him now.

"I took it from the hallway so it wouldn't get stolen????" Your voice goes up at the end in disbelief.

"By you ya mean?"

"Wow." You bark out a humorless laugh as you unhook the chain, "I was trying to be nice. I was going to buy us takeout at the only nice place round here and help you build it but nooooo!"

"Noooo! Now my neighbor gets to try to build this complicated as fuck couch by himself, get frustrated, quit and sleep on the couch cushions wishing he'd been nicer to me." You hold open the door for him to drag the couch box out. He rolls his eyes as you speak. His gloves fall from under his arm onto the floor of your apartment as he grabs onto the box and lifts. Carrying the heavy and awkward couch on his own with ease before you slam the door the second the last of that cardboard clears your threshold.

"Asshole!" You call through the front door before he's fighting with his own to get it open.

Not even bothering to change as he rips open the box, flipping through the instructions. There were only pictures, the words in a language he wasn't familiar with.

"Fuck." He separated everything the best he could. Easily holding up the heavy metal as he tries to assemble but somehow the wrong leg or screw is used and after his fifth attempt at step four he loses it.

Letting it drop with a loud thud and a cuss. His downstairs neighbors quick to bang on the ceiling with their broom and he hits his fist back in response.

Rising to take a shower like that may be the solution and when he comes back the couch will be built on its own. Letting the hot water burn into his skin as he stands under the stream, using the last of his travel sized shit and thinking about the train stops from hell he'll have to take to find what he needs.

He comes back to the project at hand after dressing in a long sleeved shirt and boxers. There was just no way in hell he was going to be able to have the patience to do this tonight. His right eye and arm burning before he digs in his small bag to place two numbing drops into his eye to hopefully last him until he finally falls asleep.

"Sleep on the couch cushions"

Growling at how true your words turned out to be as he rifles through the box for the soft portion of the sofa.

He lies on the dark cushions on the floor. The half put together pieces of furniture, mostly incorrect, sits facing him. As if mocking him with a half smirk to remind him of another one of his failures. Because who the fuck couldn't put their couch together, the soft linen of the dark couch already suffering from a hand print singe or two as he needed to put the couch together for something to sleep on.

He checks his phone again and the mattress is still very much lost in this hellscape of a city. Makes Bakugou toss his phone roughly and the screen cracks even more.

What the fuck am I even good for? Can't even build a fuckin couch.

The late night thoughts creep in as they always do and now he's regretting not asking for those sleeping pills he used to get. Although she probably wouldn't have prescribed them considering what happened the last time he had them. Taking the orange bottle out of the medicine cabinet with blurry vision, reading his useless name before he titled the full month's worth into his mouth and swallowed thickly. Apathetic to the bitterant coating that stuck to his tongue and back of his throat. Forcing him to swallow mouthfuls of saliva as the small white pills struggled to make it down past the lump in his throat.

He only did it because he felt his double dose wasn't going to cut it, far from able to get a peaceful sleep. And it sure as fuck wasn't going to stop the sour, toxic voice in his head that monologues about everything he'd ever done. Forgiven or not.

Remember when Shoto got fuckin skewered because you couldn't respond fast enough? The pills made you sluggish as hell and icy hot almost died cause of it.

Remember when you had to tell Mina that Kirishima might not wake up because she was too hysterical to understand the doctor? You just had to take the weekend off because of your 'mental health' didn't you. Couldn't hold it together long enough for the doctor to clear you for the week.

Remember when you let yourself get taken by Touya and your friends put themselves in danger and almost got expelled because you're too weak?

Remember that little girl you couldn't save? It couldn't have been that hard to catch her, she was only four blocks away.

Remember when you were the downfall of Allmight?

You know you're not living up to Edgeshot or Beat Jeanist's legacy, they wasted their time and lives on you.

Remember when you told Izuku to take a swine dive off the school building cause he was quirkless? It should have been you, you worthless piece of shit.

What's the fucking point? Why fight? It never ends, just lie down and die like the pathetic dog you are.

Oftentimes Bakugou found himself agreeing, he wasn't living up to their legacy, his chest scars screaming at the thought. He picks at the fabric of the cushion as his mind marinates in his failures. In the fallen faces of his friends, of the quiet nights of sitting with their unconscious bodies and how he should have been with them and not on another mission. Of the aftermath of unspeakable shit and knowing exactly how the human body shouldn't bend or break.

Tears prick his eyes and slowly fall from his nose but he does nothing to stop it, he feels numb if anything, hollow feeling in his chest where the anger rotted away everything until his chest cavity was empty.

Nothing but a weighted nothingness, a void, or black hole that gnawed away at his insides, sharp cold teeth scraping at his bones until there was nothing left.

The smallest part of him, the part that took decades to give a soft voice to, whispers that he's glad he didn't have the pills right now. Because he would tip the bottle back and take as many as he could.

And this time Izuku wouldn't have a weird feeling to come check on Bakugou in the middle of the night.

Even if he did, he wouldn't make it in time thanks to the massive ocean and land mass between them.

The thought brings him some comfort as twisted as it was but at least he wouldn't have to gag around Izuku's panicked fingers just to vomit all over his friend again.

Stupid fuckin Deku.

Bakugou's phone rings once, then twice. Illuminating the living room with harsh artificial light, Bakugou waits for it to go to voicemail. If it's important they'll leave one and if it's from Japan they should be smart enough to do the math for the time difference and realize he was probably asleep.

At least he should be.

Fingers grabbing at the broken glass and letting his faceid open the phone. Palming his right eye where the tears burn when they escape in fat drops. Wiping them away with a stone cold face as he plays the one voicemail

Izuku: Kaachan, I just wanted to check on you, you don't have to call back. I know it's late. I'm just having a weird feeling. Eijirou-kun said he hasn't heard from you either. Which isn't unlike you but I know how you can be. Well not how you can be. Just- just you usually check in with one of us or you text fuck you in the group chat and-

Izuku's laugh rings out in the small space when he realizes what he's doing.

Izuku: I'm rambling! I know you hate that. …… I'm just worried about you, ev-everyone is. Anyway just a call or text away! Bye Kaachan. I love you. Oh uh that's weird I know but Dr. Yuki suggests I be more open about what I'm feeling, so I'm telling my friends I love them now. Since that whole thing with Shouto-kun. Hopefully it won't make you too uncomfortable. ….. even just a middle finger emoji, to let me know you're alive, would be enough. Bye Kaachan, I'll see you soon.

Finally that nerd shuts up, Katsuki's fingers moving against the fractured glass finding Izuku's direct chat at the way at the bottom of his logs. He clears his throat before tapping the mic symbol to send a voice memo.

Katsuki: Dumb ass Deku, do you know what time it is? Course I'm livin'! Ain't shit gonna kill me. Now fuck off if ya don't have anything better to do.

Three dots pop up quickly making Bakugou think that Izuku is glued to his phone while Shouto prepares cold soba for the pair.

Izuku: Sorry Kaachan I know it's late. Thank you ❤️

Katsuki: ❤️

Katsuki: 🖕

Katsuki shoots Kirishima and then the group text a quick reply, telling them America was as shitty as all the other times he's been here and that he hadn't had time to find a new hole in the wall restaurant to tell them about.

He locks his phone.

Thinks as he is shrouded in the darkness under the comforter he bought on the way home, couch cushions trying to slip as his hulking frame turns.

He thinks he should buy you coffee as an apology for his asshole behavior.

And maybe, just maybe, he won't choke on his pride as he asks you for help.

[hellbound-bartender]

❝ heeyy kitty cat~ gimme ya strongest shit, i wanna get fucked up. ❞

❝ Listen, baby, I'll give you it, but don't come clinging onto me..tch i got my own things going on. . .❞

The bartender would turn around before pulling out a box. He'd grab the liquor that was once inside the box and poured into a cup along with a shot of tequila. He would huff in annoyance before turning around to slide the drink to the other.

[centralperkchenford]

chenford + Tim doesn't realize how close Genny and Lucy have gotten and he's got some thoughts about it

Ahhh sorry this took so long! Sometimes inspiration doesn’t hit me right away! But I hope you enjoy it! Once again I combined two prompts because they fit together 😌

It's you and me, that's my whole world.

Chenford + Tim doesn't realize how close Genny and Lucy have gotten and he's got some thoughts about it

Chenford + a double date with Chenford, Genny & her new boyfriend.

It starts with a lunch, Lucy tells him she will be back in a couple of hours. Tim doesn’t question it, he simply kisses her goodbye and tells her to have fun. She kisses him back and then skips to the door.

Tim realizes he hasn’t ask who she’s going to lunch with. He figures it’s Tamara or even Nyla who she seems to be getting closer with.

“Who are you going to lunch with?” He asks as her hand is on the door handle.

“Oh Genny!” She says brightly and then she’s gone before he can say anything more. Tim is surprised it’s Genny, she is the last person he thinks Lucy would have lunch with. Not that it’s a bad thing, he’s glad Lucy and Genny are getting along so well.

He doesn’t think of it any more until Lucy comes home a few hours later a big grin on her face.

“Hi.” He says as she makes her way over to him kissing him on the cheek.

“How was your lunch?”

“It was great. Genny is great, she’s starting all over again with two young kids and she’s thriving.” Tim nods and pulls Lucy closer. “She’s always been stronger than me. I have no doubt she and the boys will be fine.”

Lucy pulls away from him, “Tim, you are the strongest person I know. You have been through so much and you have come out stronger.”

But Tim shakes his head. “I had to be strong and tough for Genny and my mom. Genny always has had this braveness about her that just can’t be touched.”

Lucy shakes her head and kisses him gently. “You don’t give yourself enough credit baby. You are you despite everything that has happened to you. You are strong because of that, don’t put yourself down so much.”

Tim just blinks at her wondering if she will ever stop surprising him with her words. He hopes not, because sometimes that’s what get him through his day.

A few days later, Tim has the day off and is planning on making Lucy dinner when his phone rings.

“Hello?” He answers.

“Hi baby.” Comes Lucy voice through the phone. He grins happy to hear her voice after not seeing her all day.

“Hi Luce. Are you off work yet? I’m going to—”

“I’m going out with Genny.” She says quickly. “The boys both have sleepovers and so I invited her to hang with me Lopez and Harper.”

Tim sighs as he looks at the counter full of ingredients. “Okay.” He says slowly. He guesses a night alone would be nice but he much rather spend it with Lucy tucked in at his side.

“I won’t be out late.” She promises him.

“Okay. Have fun.” He says. She says bye and they hang up. Tim sighs and starts to put all the ingredients away. So much for that plan. He doesn’t mind Lucy hanging out with Genny, he just has this funny feeling in the pit of his stomach he can’t get rid of.

There’s a knock on the door a little after 1am and Tim jumps up to answer it. Lucy still isn’t home and he’s losing his mind a little. He checks to see who it is and is relived to see his sister and Lucy. He opens the door and Lucy practically jumps into his arms.

“Timmm.” She slurs and Tim grunts as he tries to hold her up. He looks over at Genny who just shrugs.

“We had a good time.” She says causally as if it’s not 1:00 in the morning.

“Uh huh.” Says Tim. “Stay there.” He gives her a look and she holds up her hands. Tim brings Lucy inside depositing her on the couch. He goes back and gets her a glass of water.

“Drink.” He tells her. “I’ll be right back.” He heads back over to the door, Genny is still standing there waiting patiently.

“How much did she drink?” He asks her. Genny sighs.

“The girl loves tequila. I think she had maybe 5 shots and a beer.”

Tim closes his eyes and then looks over his shoulder at Lucy who is still holding the glass of water. It doesn’t look full, so he knows she drank some of it.

“What did you do other than just drink?” He asks her. Genny shrugs again.

“We just talked Tim. Geez what’s with all the questions.” She says and she looks at him as if she’s trying to figure him out.

Tim pinches his nose and just shakes his head at his sister. He really doesn’t want to get into this right now, he just wants to make sure Lucy is okay and then get her to bed.

“It doesn’t matter Gen. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

Genny nods and gives him one last look before she walks away. Tim closes the door behind and heads over to where Lucy is. She’s laying down now, a pillow covering her face. Tim laughs and bends down and removes the pillow.

“How you doing baby?” He asks softly.

“I shouldn’t drink anymore.” She mumbles. “I’m not in my twenties anymore.”

Tim laughs again as he kisses her forehead. “C’mon on Luce. Let’s get you to bed.” He stands up and then offers his hand to her which she reluctantly takes groaning as he pulls her up.

He leads her to the bedroom and sits her on the bed and starts to undress her. He pulls out one of his shirts and puts it on her. She moves herself to the headboard and lays down.

“Did you have fun tonight despite drinking too much?” He asks. He heads into the bathroom to get more water and Advil, knowing she would need it soon.

“Yes. Your sister is cool. She fits right in with us.” Us Tim assumes is Angela and Nyla.

“That’s good.” He says coming back out and handing the Advil and water to her. “Thank you for including her, she probably appreciates it.”

Lucy shrugs and she gulps down the water and Advil. “She’s family, of course I’m going to include her.”

Tim climbs into bed after her. “It also means a lot to me Luce. Gen and I didn’t have a great childhood. I mean—”

Despite being half asleep and out of it, Lucy still reaches across to cup his cheek.

“She’s family. You don’t have to be the only one looking after her anymore Tim.”

Tim wraps himself around her, and after a few minutes he realizes Lucy is asleep. The funny feeling returned, a feeling he can’t quite name. He will talk to Lucy later about it. For now he just closes his eyes and sleeps.

A few days later, Tim sees Genny at the station. She’s looking around the station and waves him over when she sees him. He walks over quickly, his heart beating fast. Did something happen to the boys?

“Hey Gen. What are you doing here?” He asks as he approaches her. Genny shifts a little bit not answering his question right away.

“Is Lucy around?” She asks she looks around the bullpen again as if Lucy is magically going to appear.

“She’s on patrol.” He answers. “Why do you need her?”

Genny gives him a long look. “We are meeting for lunch.” She says. “She said to meet her at the station.”

Tim nods but the funny feeling is back. “You guys have become close.” He blurts out. “Like really fast.”

Genny huffs our a laugh in disbelief. “I’m sorry am I not allowed to hang out with your girlfriend?”

“No. Of course you are Gen but you two barely know each other. You went to one lunch and one girls night out and you are suddenly best friends.”

“Again am I not allowed to be friends with your girlfriend?” She asks a little hotly

“You never have before. Not even Isabel.” Tim shoots back.

“Well maybe I never saw a future for you with them. Maybe I see that with Lucy. She’s a great girl Tim. And I have seen the way you guys are together, the way you look at each other. There’s no denying she is the one for you.”

Tim gapes at his sister. He doesn’t disagree with what she is saying. He just can’t believe his sister who has only seen them together a handful of times came to that conclusion. That Lucy is the one for him.

“You love her right?” Asks Genny. And Tim looks at her and nods. He does love Lucy. They haven’t said it out loud yet but it was just a matter of time.

“Yea I love her.” He admits and Genny grins. “Well she loves you too.”

Tim nods and smiles at his sister. Lucy loves him. He’s not sure how he got so lucky. Just then Tim sees Lucy walking up with Aaron. She waves at them and smiles at Aaron before walking over to them.

“Hey.” She says. Her eyes are on Tim first searching his face and then on Genny.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks Genny. His sister nods at her smiling.

“I’ll be right there.” Lucy tells her. Genny nods and walks away a little to give them so privacy.

“Hey.” Lucy says touching his arm briefly before pulling away. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I’m fine Lucy. Have fun with Genny.” He says and winces at how flat it sounds.

“Okay.” Lucy says and he knows she heard it too. He sighs as he watches them go, and walk out the station doors. This is good he thinks to himself stop being an idiot Bradford.

He goes back to work and tries to forget about the funny feeling welling up in his stomach. He will talk to Lucy later about it.

Later comes when Lucy gets home after him. He’s already on the couch, the TV on low. He glances up when he sees her coming in.

“Hey.” He scoots over to make room next to him but Lucy doesn’t sit down. She stands in front of him and studies him for a minute before speaking.

“Why are you being so weird about Genny and I hanging out?”

“I’m not.” He protests but Lucy gives him a look. Tim sighs because the thing he is, he’s not sure why he is being so weird. Maybe it’s because even though he would do anything for Genny, she still goes to other people. Like Nolan. And now Lucy.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I am just not used to sharing you. And I’m not used to Genny hanging out with my girlfriend.”

Lucy stares at him.

“You’re jealous?”

“Not jealous. ” replies Tim hesitantly because he still can’t place a emotion on what he’s feeling. And maybe it is jealously. Lucy gives him another look, as if she doesn’t believe him at all.

“It’s not jealousy- not really.” Tim says still hestiant. “It’s just I’m not used to my girlfriend hanging out with my sister. Isabel knew her but barely. Rachel never knew her. And Ashley talked to her once and that was when I was going in for emergency surgery.”

Lucy does sit down now, and looks at him. “It’s okay to have feelings about it Tim. But don’t hold them back. You have been acting weird and I thought you didn’t want me hanging out with Genny.”

Tim nods and motions her to come closer. She does. “I’m sorry. I like that you are getting along with my sister. I really do.”

Lucy nods against his chest. “Well that’s good.” She says and it’s more muffled now. “Because we are going on a double date with Genny and her boyfriend.”

Tim gently lifts her head from his chest and gives her a alarmed look. “What? Since when does my sister have a boyfriend?”

Lucy shrugs. “She just mentioned him to me. It’s new but he seems like a good guy Tim.”

Tim clenches his jaw, no matter how old they were he would always be protective of his sister.

“And you agreed to go on a double date with them?” He asks quietly. Lucy frowns at his tone, and moves away from him.

“You don’t have to go Tim. I will go by myself but Genny will be disappointed.”

Tim shook his head at her. He would never make her go alone, he just would have liked to vet this guy out first.

“No it’s fine Luce.” He says. “I want to go.”

Lucy gives him a long look, one he can’t quite decipher and then moves closer to him.

“Okay. Tomorrow night okay?” She says. Tim sighs but he leans over to kiss her. Okay.

Lucy and Tim arrive to the restaurant first and they are seated. Tim is nervous he’s not sure why after all it’s just his sister. Genny and her date show up, fifteen minutes later. Tim gets up to greet his sister. She’s standing next to a good looking man, brown hair and green eyes. He smiles brightly at both Tim and Lucy.

“Zach this is my brother Tim and his girlfriend Lucy.” Zach reaches out to shake Tim’s hand and then Lucy’s.

“Genny says you are both police officers?” He says sitting down and Genny sits down next to him.

“I’m on patrol but I’m studying to be a detective and Tim’s a Metro sergeant.” Lucy replies. Zach nods and turns to Tim. His green eyes kind and Tim really doesn’t hate him.

“Genny speaks very highly of you. Of you both actually. I’m glad we could do this.” Zach says and Tim turns to Genny but then quickly back to Zach. “How did you two meet?” He asks curiously.

“At the baseball practices actually.” Said Zach. “My son is also on the team. And Genny and I just clicked. And our Tyler and my son did too.. it was just kind of history from there.”

Tim smiles at him because he really is happy for his sister. After that the conversation is nice and causal. Tim really didn’t have anything to be worried about, Zach is a nice guy and he really seemed to like Genny.

Later as they are getting ready to leave, Genny pulls Tim aside. Lucy is still chatting with Zach.

“Thanks for coming on this date.” Says Genny. “I know these really aren’t your thing.”

Tim shrugs his shoulders. “I did it for you Gen.” he says and then adds. “But I really do like Zach.”

Genny gives him a quick hug. “Thanks Tim. And I like Lucy too. I will be stealing her away for more girl’s night out.”

Tim laughs and turns to look at his girlfriend who is now looking at him a curious expression on her face.

“Fine. But don’t take her too much. I would like at least some time with her.” He says teasingly and Genny punches his shoulder.

They head over to Zach and Lucy. Lucy instantly tucks herself into Tim’s side.

“It was nice meeting you both.” Zach says sincerely. “We should do this again.”

Tim shakes his hand again and Lucy gives Genny a quick hug. “Lunch Saturday?” She asks glancing at Tim and then back at his sister. Tim rolls his eyes. “Luce, you can have lunch with Genny. I’m not stopping you.”

Lucy smiles at him and then looks back at Genny to confirm. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

They go their separate ways, and Tim and Lucy hold hands until they get to Tim’s truck.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” She says nudging him. “Zach’s nice. I like him.”

“I agree.” Says Tim quietly. And then he backs her against his truck. “I may be a little grumpy on Saturday though.”

Lucy snorts and stands up to kiss him on the lips. “Don’t worry it’s just lunch. And then I’m all yours.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m holding you to that.” He says whispering in her ear. She grins up at him and pulls him closer by his jacket.

“You know we still have tonight.”

Tim groans a little and then reaches over to open her door.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

[fiction-is-passion]

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

As an adult around 26 of age. I hate seeing people especially minors who don't know about bars and or alcohol consumption. So, as an alcoholic conasùre. I'm here to give you tips when writing and or rping.

However. IF you have a trigger for alcohol consumption, you can skip reading this.

Those that are curious and wanna learn, here it is.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

1. Realisticly, you cannot just buy a liquor bottle or take it from the shelf. Employees and bartenders would notice and would ask you to not take it and will probably kick you out.

2. Hard liqour depending on what you get ie vodka. You would get fucked up more by taking 7 shots of it. For tequila, bar tenders would have a slice of lemon or lime on the rim. Everclear which is 97% alcohol by volume is the strongest alcohol known to man would be reserved for super soldiers and aliens that can take it.

3. Wine doesnt get you super drunk but it will make you bubbly.

4. Beer depending on brand is different in each country. If you're setting is in Korea. Have Korean beer, or have liquor specifically for that country such as soju being predominantly in Korea. American embassy has American alcohol so search for countries or bases.

5. Bars for weekdays will close at midnight. Weekends they close at 2 am or in huge cities 4 am.

6. Water is hugely necessary to make you sober. Food such as pizza, chips, calzones will sober you up too. For hangovers, drinks like pickle juice is a go to quick and easy thing for hangovers. For medications for hangovers should be ibuprofen or aspirin. Anti inflamatory drugs will also help. Avoid taking any other medications for hangovers that might go against your medication prescribed to you.

7. If your under the age of 21 in America, buying alcohol will get you in trouble. In other countries will be different, please look them up.

8. For the 21 and over crowd. Know your alcohol by volume. Different brands will have different a.b.v. this means you should know which brand a person is talking about.

9. Dark alcohol such as Whiskey and Rum should be mixed with dark sodas. Clear liqour can be mixed with light sodas such as sprites. Look up different cocktails and see what works.

10. Know cocktail names if your character likes fruity drinks. Some include Cosmopolitan, Screwdriver, Purple Haze, etc.

11. Lastly is the club or bars theme. The theme of the bar should fit with the setting and plot. Characters hanging out and chit chatting with or without alcohol consumption is up to the concent of the role player.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I think these plot points gets a bad rap because of trauma connections and miscommunication. Understanding concent and responsibilities is why you can have fun and stay safe. Understanding your limits and when it's time to go home and stop.

Go ahead and do your own googling and see what you like and i hope these tips were helpful.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

[molt3ngold]

God gives his toughest battles (being violently hungover) to his strongest soldiers (dumb bitch who did tequila shots on a Thursday)

[feitania]

Psssst eris pls tell me your headcanons for the tr boys (of your choice) alcohol tolerance hehe

as long as they aren't such leightweights as you they'll be fine

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: alcohol (abuse), slightly suggestive content

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: Inui, Hanma, Yuzuha, Hinata, Mitsuya, Souya, Draken, Sanzu, Takeomi, Shinichiro, Mikey, Izana

𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: don't drink kids! Also my alcohol tolerance is broken so if you think I try making it sound like they all want to actively kill each othery, I don't. If you can handle more than Inui hit me up we need to prove someone your immortality

The one with the highest tolerance is Inui. You could give this man a bottle of your strongest rum and he would still flawlessly walk home in his heels like the runaway model he is. He needs at least two different types of liquor to feel something, he's so dead inside not even tequila can faze him. Only absinth makes him fuzzy and dopey, super clingy and a little bit horny. When you want to have a drinking night out or a club date with him you can safely assume he will be the one carrying you home, holding your hair back and tucking you in gently before getting you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen for the next day.

Sanzu and Takeomi are monsters. The older Akashi brother is the nightmare of every bar and liquor store, drinking until morning and still demanding more. They kick him out after they hit 4 am and thatam just stands up, walks to the nearest convenience store and gets more beer. The funny thing is, when you pick him up Takeomi is still able to hold a normal conversation and even starts reading a book when you two get into bed. He might feel a little sick looking at the small letters but he has to keep face. Sanzu on the other hand never tried drinks other than gin or high class shit like that. He can drink a whole bottle of bombay sapphire and is still sober. Sanzu also doesn't get a hangover. If you want him to melt into you and moan about life you need at least two bottles of whatever and soda to make the effect stronger. But when he's drunk he is ready to slow dance with you on the empty street and talk about his past. Dude gets super emotional. He proposed to you twice. Twice because he only ever got drunk two times.

Next in line is Hanma who, I assume, started drinking at the age of 12 or something. This boy asks you if you want to share some cheap sangria with him and the next thing you know is that you're at a rave holding a random girls hand, wearing a shirt that isn't yours and downing some weird looking drink while Hanma cheers for you to ex the whiskey bottle he stole for you. You can only remember bits and pieces when he drags you out to party but luckily hanma doesn't and will probably never have enough money to even get close to being drunk so he can always tell you what awkward things you have said and done.

Yuzuha holds her alcohol like a champ. This woman can out-drink most of the boys and still win in a fight, what a woman. Doesn't mean she doesn't get tipsy. When she has a bottle of wine and 5 or 6 shots of hard liquor intus Yuzuha turns into a soft romantic. Hugging you from behind, planting kisses all over your face and whispering sweet love confessions into your ears. Sadly, she gets sober again rather fast and sweet Yuzuha time is over. The rest of the night she's off to search for her brother.

Hinata comes right after. She's a strong drinker, always hot on Inui's heels and sometimes even holding her alcohol better than Yuzuha. The only down is that, once she's drunk she is drunk drunk. You have to forcefully drag her home so she doesn't start a fight or tries drinking herself into a coma. She also doesn't really sober up and talks to you in bed hile you try to sleep. Hinata gets super motivated until her stomach says hello and then you have to hold your girlfriends hair out of her face while she kisses the cold floor.

Mitsuya, Souya and Draken can all hold their level up relatively okay but a few shots and they are down bad. Like, they are good with wine and beer but after some whiskey you can just leave them to be because standing up straight won't work. While Mitsuya gets unusual aggressive before passing out in your arms and using you as a body pillow, Draken gets horny. It's not like he can seduce you with how he slurs every word and walks into walls and street lamps but he tries anyway. Talking all about how he will make this night unforgettable for you and running into his front door a second after. Souya just gets sad. Babyboy needs you to take him home and reassure that you still love him. He talks a lot when he's drunk but doesn't get a hangover or even a stomach ache. He just needs some sleep and a lot of water and then he's fine again. Just don't let his brother get him to start drinking cocktails. He downs 3 because they taste so good and ends up forgetting everything. Where he lives, his name, if you're really his s/o or not...

The sano brothers are. The worst. Shinichiro can have three glasses of wine and falls from his chair at the forth. Wakasa and the others always have to carry him home and you have to hide your alcohol from him because this man doesn't want to acknowledge that he is so, so bad at holding his alcohol level. Izana is a bit better at handling his shit but he gets the worst hangover and you have to stay with him the whole time to baby him. He gets soft and touch starved after a simple mojito and falls asleep standing after a light sparkling wine. Mikey, with all love, isn't allowed to drink at all becaude the risk is higj that he starts accusing you of stalking him because he doesn't recognize you anymore. He doesn't even want to sleep in your bed and repeats every sentence he says. And that after 3 beers.

[ashiemochi]

*boop* hey bby, how do you think Leon would react to getting his ass SMOKED by Reader in a drinking contest? Like, taking shots, chugging a beer, or something of the sort? Maybe with Vendetta Leon? 👀👀👀

honeybee!! Leon would be fucking SPEECHLESS - especially since he had just met you and didn't expect you to be so heavy weight towards alcohol. I think Leon met you in one of the bars with a big jug of beer whilst he only ordered a shot of whatever strong that bartender's got.

"Bad night?" You asked, nudging your chin to his shot of whiskey that you knew it knocks men out in an instant.

Leon chuckled, shaking his head as he kept his eyes down on his drink, "Wouldn't have worded it better. What about you?"

You returned to your drink and shrugged nonchalantly, "Nothing - just having some fun." Then you ticked your eyes to his shot glass between his fingers, "Careful - last time someone drank that, they got dicks drawn on their face."

Leon raised an eyebrow at you, something sparkling in those blue eyes.

"Is that a threat?" Leon asked, tilting his head from the side as he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously and playfully. You had a coy smile as you took an innocent sip from your beer.

"I am a well-known penis artist after all."

Leon held eye contact as he brought the shot glass up to his lips, staring at you with such intensity through half-lidded eyes as he chugged the whole thing down in one gulp. Your eyes trailed down to his bopping Adam's apple, counting the scattered moles imprinted into his beautiful tanned skin.

The glass was slammed back onto the island and the agent had a tilted grin, clearly unbothered by the stinging sensation of the alcohol. His eyes were challenging and that's all your mind needed to be made.

You snickered faintly, Leon catching your small impressed smile on your red lips before you began chugging the beer nonstop. Drops rolled down from the corner of your lips, dripping down your collarbones and your shirt, not allowing Leon to look away from you.

Utterly in awe, Leon silently watched you down the whole jug before you let out a heavy sigh once you emptied it, the jug thudding dully onto the wooden island. You spared him a prideful stare and Leon chuckled, raising one hand whilst keeping his eyes on you.

"Another round over here."

It must've been hours since the 'drink off' had started. Every glass, bottle, shot, jug; all were drunk by you two. You seemed to be holding onto your alcohol very well, a hazy smile on your face as you leaned back against your chair with one last shot glass of the strongest tequila.

Leon was out of it. He always assumed he could handle his drinks well, perfectly even. Leon had his arms onto the table, one covering his eyes and the other holding onto the shot of tequila. His liver was probably cursing at him with its entire non-existent lungs, disowning him as its owner.

"What, Kennedy? Giving up already?" You teased and Leon huffed at you, shaking his head at your tactic to make him drink more. He would never fall for that.

Yet he did.

Leon downed the tequila, the burning in his throat becoming so stinging that it was numb to the alcohol. He hissed through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation before reopening them, settling them onto the last shot he got left. Then Leon looked up at you through droopy eyes and a heavy head.

You flashed him a quick smile before downing your last shot and Leon could've sworn he saw you cringe at the taste but he assumed it was the alcohol in his system playing tricks on him.

That was the last thing he remembered before Leon groaned, leaning his head onto the table as his vision blackened, hearing a faint and distant-

"Holy fuck - hey, Kennedy. Wake up!"

The next day Leon woke up, his head was the epitome of Big Ben striking midnight on New Year's Eve. The pounding made Leon so sick that he had to hurriedly drag his body to his bathroom to empty his guts. Leon doesn't even remember getting to his motel room in the first place. His memory was all hazy and fuzzy as Leon groaned deeply, pinching the space between his aching eyes.

"Fuck... Shit - okay, never again..."

That was a lie.

Leon pulled himself up to the mirror, splashing water onto his face to freshen up before he'd go and treat his hangover. Narrowing his eyes at the scribbles on his face, Leon leaned towards the mirror a little to make out some smudged numbers on his forehead accompanied by a dick on his cheek and a red lipstick stain on the other.

Leon blinked at this, fingertip reaching up to the smudged lipstick on his cheek before his heart jumped to his throat (along with vomit) and he picked up his phone to save the number before it was completely wiped.

Leon: Is this Y/L/N?

You: And who might you be?

Leon: Forgotten me already? I'm hurt. It's Leon,

You: Ah, Kennedy! How's your head?

Leon: Haha, very funny. I'm not done with you just yet.

You: What, up for round two already? Dinner first - sheesh, I'm a lady with dignity.

Leon: Alright, sweetheart, dinner it is then. Is 8 good? Different restaurant. Same bar ;)

You: ha, you got it, Kennedy.

You: Looking forward to beating your ass again <3 :)

[dumbkiri]

Buried Secrets Three

Parts: [1, 2, Here]

Summary: [Name] remembers a Wednesday night. Then she gets pulled back into reality where she meets the new Robin. Deathstroke ends up hurting Dick Grayson in more ways than one. [Name], even when injured, jumps after Jason. Now she’s going to fix his broken mind. 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female! Reader, Jason Todd x Motherly! Reader

Genre: Slight Angst, Boring Action

Word Count: 5.1k, 14 pages //wow never writing that much again...my fingers hurt

Warning: Mentions of suicide

It was a Wednesday night. [Name] was wearing a black dress that hugged her curves and heels that made her two inches taller. Her makeup was done with a natural look to it, but more highlight. Her body was covered in a light sweat with bodies barely touching her own limbs. She danced to the music that vibrated through her chest with a rhythm she could barely follow. She needed a night of no fighting crime all on her own and let herself have fun for once. 

“Ride it, just lose control…” 

[Name] felt a group of people come near her and they proudly danced with her. There were slight touches near her back, her legs and arms. She didn’t mind the company. She felt a lonely either way. 

“Ride it, ride it, baby let me feel you…” 

The song was very hip swaying and arms waving to the beat of the song. She didn’t care who was around her or touching her body. She wanted to forget the evening she was supposed to spend time with her boyfriend. [Name] was only left with a message. 

Hey, I can’t come tonight, but I’ll make it up to you. I heard that you had to tell me something important. I’ll see you later at the apartment. 

[Name] felt a stranger’s arm wrap around her abdomen and pull her to their body. She followed the pull and began dancing against the stranger’s front. She could tell it was a male and he was very fit. His hands were on her waist and his fingers were gripping her with a firm, protective grasp. He was making sure no one took her away from him. 

[Name] wished Dick acted this way with her. Although lately, he had been distant with her. As much as she wants to forget him tonight, she couldn’t help wonder about what he was doing. 

“What’s a beautiful lady like you doing alone?” The man dancing with her asked. His voice was deep and she could tell the man was older. Older than her and Dick. Yet [Name] didn’t mind the age gap. Older men had experience. 

[Name] leaned her head against his chest and looked up at him. Her [e.color] eyes locked with brown ones. They were devoid of any emotion, but the smile on his face tried to prove otherwise. She knew this man. And he knew her. But in this moment, they didn’t care for their identities. They wanted something from each other. 

“Are you here to kill me?” [Name] asked setting her hands on top of Slade’s gently. 

Slade scoffed and leaned his head down to hers, “If I wanted to kill you, it would have happened earlier.” He removed his hands and intertwined his fingers with her own. It was a small gesture of reassurance. 

“Been through some bad shit, I should be a sad bitch…”

[Name] brought their intertwined hands toward her chest making Slade hug her body close to his. She swayed to the new song that came on. She recognized it, 7 Rings by Ariana Grande. 

“Who woulda thought it'd turn me to a savage…”

She looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders, “All men go back on their words.” She let go of his hands and pushed herself away from him. Fraternizing with the enemy was disgusting, she should be thinking. But looking back at the man she left at the dance floor made her heart race. [Name] pushed passed the people who blocked her way as she wanted to go to the bar. 

“I want it, I got it…”

[Name] walked up to the bar and called over the bartender. She ordered her drink and stood waiting for the glasses. “You have experience with guys going back on their word, but not men. That's different,” Slade appeared by her left side with his arms on the bar. He was smooth and persistent. She had to give him that. 

“Three shots of Tequila Rose,” The bartender slid the shot glasses off to [Name] and she gave him a nod of thanks. 

Slade chuckled, “Really?” He was judging her choice of alcohol.  

“Hey, I have to argue with a little birdie tomorrow and if he finds me passed out in my apartment, he’s going to flip.” She downed the first shot easily. “If he finds out I spent a night with his, no, our enemy, let’s just say our relationship would be rocky.” 

Slade furrowed his eyebrows, “I thought you were drinking for some other reason.”

[Name] took her second shot glass in her hand, “Is there another reason beside him cancelling another important date again?” 

Slade stayed quiet and watched her down the second. Then the third. He took a seat next to her and ordered his own drink. He silently watched the woman next to him ask for a glass of water, but he stopped the bartender. “Actually get her the same drink I’m having.” 

[Name] sighed and turned her body to Slade, “What do you want, Slade? Information on the Titans because I can’t give you anything. I plan on quitting the team, so-”

“I wanted to check on you,” Slade admitted with his eyes directed to the bottles of alcohol displayed behind the bar. 

“I want it. I got it…”

“Why would you check on me? As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Lonely, yes. Although I know the consequences of dating a guy who can’t stop crime fighting.” [Name] leaned closer to Slade and she pressed her index finger on his chest. “Seriously, are you here to kill me?” 

“No,” Slade said firmly and gripped her hand tightly in his. His brown eyes locked with her [e.color] ones. He pulled her closer to his body and whispered in her ear. “Grayson is cheating on you with Dawn, your old teammate.” 

“Wearing a ring, but ain’t gon’ be…”

“W-what?” [Name] asked with a racing heart. She had stumbled backwards, but Slade caught her quickly. This time he wasn’t letting her go. He had her in his arms. He watched her eyes get watery as fresh tears began to fall down her face. “You’re lying,” [Name] concluded and tried to push against him, but he was strong. 

“No,” He started not minding the weak punches he was receiving from her, “I have proof, check my jacket pocket.” 

“What do you mean? I’m sorry by the way…”

[Name] sniffled and wiped her eyes. Her shaky hand found itself in his jacket pocket and she felt photos between her fingertips. She stopped herself and leaned her head onto Slade’s shoulder. [Name] wasn’t prepared for this.

“Never coming back down, can’t you see…”

“Look at them,” Slade instructed her and rested his hands on her hips. “You have to.”

[Name] pulled the photos out and picked up her head. Slade had proof of Dick’s infidelity. Dawn was happily in his arms, their legs intertwined like vines on a wall. A coat of sweat on their heated bodies. Blanket hiding the position they were in. Dawn had her eyes closed in ecstasy and [Name]’s own boyfriend was the cause of it. 

“I could, but wouldn’t stay…”

[Name] threw the photos at Slade and ripped his hands off her hips. She stormed away from the bar and made her way out of the club. She took her phone out of her purse and dialed Dick’s number. When the cold air of September brushed past her, shivers were sent down her spine. She pressed the call button and put her phone against her ear. He picked up on the fifth ring. 

“Hey, [Name]?”

“Where are you?” She asked quickly and began taking her heels off. Her feet started to ache. 

Dick paused before he came up with an answer, “At Titan’s base, is everything okay?” 

“You liar,” She spat and paced in front of the club where people began giving her weird looks because her eyes were slowly glowing red. Her hands held onto her heels and red swirls surrounded her clenched fist. “Send me your location.” 

“[Name], I’m at the base,” Dick clarified with a strong tone. He was getting annoyed, she could tell. 

“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” She began crying again. “I’ve sacrificed everything for you. I gave you everything and you repay me by-” Her phone was taken from her hand and the culprit was the one who told her about the secret. 

Slade pressed the end call button and he put her phone in his pocket, “I think it’s time for you to go home." 

"Go home? There's no place for me to go. Dick has keys to my apartment and a tracker in my phone. He probably already knows where I'm at." [Name] concluded and plopped herself down on the edge of the sidewalk. Her face buried in her hands. Her body shivering from the cold and her tears didn't warm her up. Her heart began to close up until she felt a hand on her bare shoulder. 

"I have a place you can go," Slade's voice sounded genuine and [Name] knew that he could be lying. Lead her into a trap when she was vulnerable. She was the strongest Titan, Slade knew that. Was he only being so nice to her because he wanted to use her power. 

[Name] wiped at her teary eye, “Just because you showed my boyfriend’s infidelity to me doesn’t mean I’ll switch up and fight the Titans. I’m not that weak minded.” 

Slade chuckled and sat by her. He examined the photos like he did so many times and ripped them apart. [Name] bit her lip and watched him silently as he ripped all the photos into tiny pieces. “I’m not making you fight your team. It was an idea I considered, but your power is meant for so much more.” 

“You want to use me?” She questioned glaring at him and the torn up pieces. It was like she was staring at her own heart. All [Name] wanted was for Dick to love her the same way she did him. To hold her like he held Dawn. It wasn’t too much to ask for. 

“You can read into my mind, how about you tell me what I want,” Slade leaned closer to her. 

[Name]’s eyes glowed red and she found out his intentions. She wasn’t thinking what he was. But now that the idea was planted in her head, she thought about it more. “Okay, okay, you can stop thinking about those things now.” [Name] looked away with a slight blush on her cheeks. 

She let her head rest on her shaking knees, “I know he has cheated on me, but I can’t do the same thing. Dick-”

“Don’t say his name,” Slade whispered and grabbed her chin making her look at him. “I can make you forget about him, just let me in.” 

“Okay,” [Name] breathlessly said. 

……

“You tried to control his mind,” Slade dropped his gun on the wooden table with a huff. He plopped onto the seat in front of [Name] and examined her sad state. He crossed his arms and gave her a look of distrust, “You ended up killing a man because of your actions.”

[Name] snorted, “I just showed him his fear and he acted on it. He was going to fight the Titans because you were a coward not to.” Her tears were dried up and the only evidence that she was crying was the tracks on her face. 

Then Slade got off the chair and walked behind her. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she heard a body dragging on the floor. Although dead people don't groan in pain. A chair was thrown next to her and Slade dropped the person he was dragging onto it. 

[Name]'s eyes widen. This teenager was wearing a Robin costume. Bruce got a second Robin, did Dick know about this?

"I found a flightless bird alone. Let’s just say he left his nest too early." Slade commented and began tying the Robin up allowing no escape for him. The rope would have been rubbing the skin raw, but because Robin wore gloves his wrists were protected. Unlike hers. 

As the seconds went by, [Name] grew worried about the boy. He was really beaten up by Slade which meant he put up quite a fight. His face was decorated with bruises just like hers. 

 Slade finished and walked off, but not without making sure his captives were knocked out for good. 

……

“Kori, watch out!” 

“Don’t worry about me! Go get Jason!”

[Name] shivered when her ears tried processing the voices that spoke. She blinked her eyes open and saw three silhouettes fighting each other. It was a blur until her eyes finally focused in the darkness. She saw her enemy fight off what [Name] knew as the Titans. Or at least two members. She was in the corner of the room with nothing bounding her and she had a choice to make. 

Leave the Titans and get John or fight with the Titans and face them later on. 

[Name] pushed herself off the floor and dusted her clothes off. She saw a woman get blown backwards from one of Deathstroke’s gadgets and it rendered her immobile. Deathstroke saw this as an opportunity to kill her, yet he didn’t deliver the last blow because Dick was there to stop him. The move caught Deathstroke off guard which [Name] believed it was her time to step in. To help Dick like she did long ago. 

Although the woman from earlier woke up just in time to fire at him with her own ability. Then a green light caught everyone's attention only for it to go off and a piercing sound rang in their ears. Their eyes shut tightly because of the blinding light. [Name] uncovered her ears and opened her eyes to see Deathstroke already standing. He had the detonator in his hand. 

Then he pressed it without so much of a thought. Dick was the first to react on instinct and he ran to see if Robin truly did fall. 

[Name] looked passed Deathstroke and saw the fear in the teen’s eyes as he began tilting backwards. She didn’t even notice him in danger. Her mind was wrapped up in- 

“You care too much, Grayson,” Deathstroke said loud enough for Dick to hear and right in [Name]’s ear. She stayed still not processing why her body couldn’t move from its spot. Her feet were rooted to the ground. Her hands subconsciously went to her abdomen where she felt a sticky substance. Then her mouth opened up choking on her own blood. 

Deathstroke slid his sword out from [Name]’s wound and he pushed her forward to which she stumbled. “No!” Dick yelled still holding onto Robin’s gloved hand. [Name] looked at her wound then to Dick. It looked like he was crying, but the only time she saw him cry was out of happiness when John was born. 

“John,” She whispered her son’s name even when she was bleeding out. 

Then she saw Robin’s hand slipped from Dick’s. He was falling to his death. But [Name] wasn’t going to let him die. Instead she stumbled her way to the broken window and jumped out. She could have sworn she felt Dick’s fingers graze her leg. 

[Name]’s eyes glowed red and she reached out to Robin with whatever determination she had left. She felt his gloved hand hold her bloody one and she wrapped him tightly in an embrace. “I won’t let you go,” Her whisper was gone with the rushing wind and [Name] had slowened their descent to the ground using her last strength. 

Her back touched the cement softly and Robin was curled up on her side. He held her tightly which was painful for [Name], but she hugged him back. She knew he was scared beyond belief. He had a chance of dying. 

“[Name]! Jason!” Dick yelled from the building. 

That was all [Name] heard before she fell asleep. The last thing she saw was the Superman logo. 

……

Dick watched John cry for the tenth time and he was completely tensed. All John did was cry about [Name] and it made his heart ache. After all, Dick was the one to cause her so much pain. 

“You guys have a very cute baby, but he’s very loud,” Donna tried to lighten up the mood by visiting Dick in the kitchen. Her brown eyes landed on John who was sulking in the corner lightly punching the walls with his tiny fists. “I can see he also inherited your anger-” 

Dick glared at her.

“Issues. But have you at least let the kid see his mom?” Donna walked over to the fridge and took a drink out.

“So he can see what I did to his mom?” Dick questioned with a sharp tone. He wasn’t going to let John see the bruises or cuts on [Name]. He was going to protect the image John had of his mother. 

Donna shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe she’ll wake up if he visits her?” She said it as a joke, but John’s head perked up at the mention of his mother. He wobbled over to Donna and pulled at her jeans. He gave her a smile, “See Mama.” 

“No.” Dick snapped and put his face into his hands. 

His mean reply only made John cry more. The little boy fell onto his butt and cried crocodile tears. “Mama! Mama! Mama!” John cried over and over. Snot and tears running down his red face. Donna gave Dick the “he’s your son, fix the problem” look to which he sighed. 

“Awe is John feeling down?” Dawn came into the kitchen and swept John into her arms. John continued crying as Dawn cleaned his nose with a tissue. Dick watched Dawn seeing how the two of them looked slightly compatible. She didn’t mind John crying or sneezing on her. Dick thought Dawn would have made a great mother. 

“Please put my son down,” A voice interrupted Dick’s thoughts and he turned around in his chair to see [Name]. She looked fine, well better than fine actually. Her face was healed up and she stood with her back straight. Her eyes were unwavering and only directed to Dawn. 

“[Name], you’re awake,” Dawn said with a strained smile noticing the hostility she was receiving. 

[Name]’s neutral look turned into a glare, “My son, you can let go of him now.” 

Dawn set John gently onto the floor and the boy ran over to his mom with wide arms. He embraced her legs and babbled for a bit then looked up at her. She smiled down at him and picked him up. [Name] let her forehead touch John’s gently and she looked into his happiest memories. She saw herself and John at home playing with his favorite toys. The stuffed lion sitting next to him proudly.

Then she remembered something. She pecked John on the cheek and looked at the old Titans, “I need to see Robin.”

Dick gave her a questioning gaze, “Is everything okay?”

“Can you lead me to him? Maybe we can find out together.” [Name] suggested and gestured for him to show her the way. 

……

“I need time alone with him, Dick. I can feel his mind. It’s all twisted and I can feel him falling.” [Name] stood outside the door holding herself with shaky arms. 

Dick was holding onto a quiet John, “Alright, just let me know if you need some help. He’ll listen to me.” 

“Like I believe you,” [Name] smiled sadly and walked into Jason’s room closing the door after her. And looking at Jason. It was worse than she thought.

Falling. He was stuck in an endless fall. Jason Todd was losing himself. He was reliving the night he fell. It was just him falling and he continued to do so. 

“Jason!”

He wasn’t going to stop falling. When was he going to stop falling!

[Name] sadly observed Jason’s still form. His back was facing her and he was looking out the window. [Name] knew better, he wasn’t staring at the beautiful view offered to him. He only saw himself falling. His eyes went up and down looking at the building he fell from. [Name] stepped up and knew what she had to do. Her hand reached out for his. Her fingers dancing on his palm and red swirls danced with her digits. Her eyes glowed red and she made herself appeared in his fall. 

Someone save me! Stop me from falling!

“I won’t let-.” 

“How fucked up are you!” Rachel came storming into Jason’s room ruining the connection [Name] was trying to make with the suffering boy. Rachel ran up to him with her voice cracking, “All you do is give people reasons to hate you.” 

Jason numbly replied with his eyes still on the window, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

[Name] looked into his mind. Jason never stopped falling. 

Rachel continued, “The crosses on my mirror.” It was like she was trying to refresh Jason’s mind. Tell him what he did wrong.

Jason removed his eyes from the window and gave his attention to Rachel, “I still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Rachel yelled as her eyes glowed red and her voice got deeper; demonic. 

[Name]’s arms spread out and she stepped in front of Jason. Red like solar flares spread above her body like a phoenix. “Cut it out!” The older female yelled and Rachel immediately backed down. Jason didn’t notice the kind act [Name] did in trying to protect him. Instead with his voice cracking, he declared, “I’m sick of this shit.” 

Jason ran out of the room and [Name] followed after him. She needed to tend to his broken mind. She needed to get him away from the toxic titans. The negative feedback and accusation he received was doing him no good. 

“Fuck!” Rachel yelled out and ran after Jason, “Don’t fucking walk away from me!”

“Whoa! Hey, what’s happening here?” Dawn, being the nice one, asked concerned with Kory and Hank also interested. 

Rachel stopped following Jason and looked at the adults, “Jason drew crucifixes all over my mirror.” 

“Bullshit,” Jason said obviously pissed that he was being blamed for something he didn’t do.

 “Jason, it’s okay if you’re angry,” Dawn sided with Rachel and gave Jason a look [Name] was all too familiar with. It was a look [Name] would give John when he did something bad like draw on the walls. Dawn was treating Jason like a baby. In reality, he needed to be cared for and trusted like a colleague; a team member. 

“I didn’t do shit, okay? Jason’s voice kept cracking, “Don’t blame me for her voodoo issues.” 

[Name] cringed. Wrong thing to say at this moment, but he was in the right. 

Donna jumped in, walking from behind Jason, “What’s all the drama about?”

“Somebody drew crosses on Rachel’s mirror and she thinks Jason did it,” Dawn filled Donna on the latest gossip. [Name] had to step in soon, but she didn’t want to alter reality. When she does, she loses a bit of her sanity each time. 

“I know he did it, “ Rachel cried with a hint of anger in her trembling voice. 

“Cute idea with the bourbon bottle. Not my type though. I’m more of a sour mash guy,” Hank stepped in with a territorial stance, “You ever go in my room and pull that shit again, I’ll forget what team you’re on.” 

Jason looked at Hank with confusion. ‘Why? Why is this happening to me?’

[Name] could see his mind and she saw him falling deeper into the abyss his own teammates were making for him. “Stop this,” [Name] whispered feeling her heart ache for the sad teen. 

Donna stared accusingly at the male, “Why, Jason?” 

“I don’t know what happened guys, but I didn’t do it.” Jason said defeated. 

“What about the picture of Ellis,” Dawn questioned.

“The orange soda bottle.” Donna glared at him.

“He did it to you guys too?” Rachel asked relieved knowing that she wasn’t the only one who he was pulling pranks on. 

“I said stop this!” [Name] roared and the Phoenix appeared above her again protecting Jason from their false accusations. They all quieted down and backed away from the protective woman. “Jason didn’t do anything of what you guys are accusing him of. He’s broken right now and if you had half the mind,  which I now know you don’t, you would have noticed the trauma he’s suffered!” 

“I can’t believe this,” Jason stared at his once teammates, “but you’re all insane. I rather be with Deathstroke than with you assholes.” 

Ding! 

The elevator opened up and Dick walked in holding John with his left arm and his right holding a gun. [Name] scoffed, “Seriously, you’re holding a gun and John next to each other. Dick that’s not safe, go read a book on parenting,” [Name] scolded and went to take John away from him, but he pulled back. 

“He’s here,” Dick said out of breath. 

“Who?” Hank asked still heated about Jason. 

“Deathstroke, here, in the tower.” Dick explained further, “He took pictures of all of us.” His brown eyes scanned [Name]’s frightened form. He remembered seeing a photo of himself laying his head at her bedside when she was healing. 

“Dick, talk to me,” Hank tried to reach out to the former Robin, “what’s with the gun?” 

Dick stared into space, “Jason.” Then he ran out to find the said teen. [Name] followed after him, “Dick, be careful, you still have John in your arms.” 

……

“Jason!” Dick called out to the teen shifting John into a more comfortable position. 

“I keep falling,” Jason informed his leader. 

Dick looked at [Name], “I thought you said you could help him.” He was accusing her. 

“Yeah blame me, Rachel was the one who barged in when I was trying to make a connection just make sure no one stops us this time.” [Name] rolled her eyes at Dick and walked toward Jason. She was going to help him now. 

“Hey,” She called out softly, “I can help you.”

“No,” Jason cried, “It won’t stop.” His pink chapped lips trembled. 

Dick stepped in, “Listen-”

“Bruce wasn’t the first one, you know...tried to help me,” Jason was sad. His heart was broken even before he met the Titans. Which is why he fought with so much anger. “I can make a list. Relatives, teachers, cops. Dick and now you. Nobody’s been up to the task, Phoenix.”

There was a pause before he continued, “I got a poison in me. Shit spreads, it can infect even the healthiest people.” Jason took a shaky breath in and each word he spoke, [Name] took a step forward. 

“You know,” [Name] began, “I thought the same thing myself, Jason. I was born with a powerful magic ability. It killed a lot of people, so the only thing I could do was to shut myself out from the world. I kept low and only interacted with people when I needed to.” 

She stepped onto the edge of the building, standing proudly next to Jason. “Yet that didn’t stop my chaos magic from growing stronger. It acted on its own and well when you hit the lowest point of life, you think of terrible things. So I came up with a plan to off myself. Maybe the world would be better without a poison like me, I thought. But then I was saved.” 

“Why don’t you just step away,” Dick told Jason and [Name] whipped her head at the older male. She was trying to reach Jason, but she couldn’t do it if he was distracted. She didn’t want to alter his reality without his permission. 

Jason shook his head, “No.”

“Step away from the ledge, Jason.” Dick tried again. 

The boy said nothing and Dick sat by [Name]’s legs with John sitting happily in his lap. [Name] gave a side glare at Dick and mouthed, “You seriously sitting here with John?” 

He mouthed back with a smile, “You’ll catch us.” 

Dick spoke outloud for Jason to hear, “I guess we’ll sit here. Together.”

She focused back on the task at hand. “Please, tell me what you think you did so wrong,” [Name] begged the teen and she saw a slight movement of his head. He was so close to looking at her. 

“I fucked it all up,” Jason began, his voice cracking again, “coming here. You know, it’s happened before. I once spent two nights in juvie and four fucking people died.” He sighed exasperated, “It follows me like a curse.”

[Name] shook her head, “No, the only thing that follows you is the truth.” At this point, she didn’t know if her words were meant for herself, Dick or Jason. Maybe the three of them needed to hear it. “We all have our regrets, our guilt and our own suffering.”

“I’m the reason they all hate each other,” Jason sniffled, “The reason that kid got shot, the reason this place won’t work.” 

[Name] shook her head. 

Jason exhaled, “But I can fix it. Remove the poison.” He leaned forward and moved his left foot out. But Dick’s voice stopped him. 

“Jason, wait,” Dick looked at [Name] as if he was telling her it’s now or never, “lend [Name] your hand. She’ll stop you from falling.” 

Jason looked over at the trio then to [Name]’s outstretched hand. He stared at her soft hand wanting to hold it, but he couldn’t. “Who s-saved you?” Jason had to know her story. She said she was saved, but who saves people who are infected with poison? 

[Name] gave him a kind smile and gestured to her boys behind her, “They both did at different times. Like I said earlier, I planned to kill myself in my teens. Although, Boy Wonder had other plans. He said he wanted to take me out and I called bullshit.” 

Jason snorted. He was slowly coming back. 

“Then he actually took me out on a date. He gave me flowers, affection and love. Then he gave me the greatest gift of all.” 

“Which was?” Jason asked, his tears still evident. 

[Name] smiled and looked down at John, “My beautiful son.”

Jason looked at her hand again and then to her, “How do I know you’ll stop me from falling?”

“Because I won’t let you go.” 

Jason held her hand and she pulled him into a soft embrace. She held him like a mother holds her own child. Then she pressed a kiss onto Jason’s forehead removing that terrible trauma suffocating him. 

“My little Jaybird,” [Name] whispered and Jason buried his head in the crook of her neck letting his tears fall

[providencepeakrp]

WELCOME TO COYOTE UGLY NIGHT.

A night where the music is a little louder than usual, the drinks a little cheaper, and everyone within a hundred miles of Providence Peak knows it. Coyote Ugly nights are tradition for The Jagged Yard. The streets outside are lined with food trucks, most of which stay open late for all your drunken desires. The drink specials are always something new, but the Coyote is a drink that is always featured out of respect of the night itself. So, if you’re looking to have a good night with booze, music, and some of the best food around, maybe you should come on over to the Jagged Yard.

EVENT DETAILS

This event will be kicking off at 9pm EST 11/20/2020. This gives our new members one hour to get their blogs turned in and settled before jumping into the event. It will run until 11/22/2020 at 11:59pm EST.

All other threads should be paused until this event has ended.

In game though, this event will technically take place on Saturday 11/21/2020.

This event is taking place at The Jagged Yard. While it is our first Coyote Ugly night in terms of writing, these events do take place once a month. Therefore, this is something that has definitely happened in the past and Providence Peak is no stranger to this.

If you have a character that would like to volunteer to help work at a food truck, please let us know.

Don’t forget to have fun and make the best of this event. It’s a night of relaxation for the residents of Providence Peak. A time for everyone to let loose and let their wild side come out to play.

Please tag all event related posts with providence.event.

DRINK SPECIALS

The Redeye

Bourbon paired with Deja Brew’s strongest. Guaranteed to keep you up all night long.

Wolf’s Bite

A bitter Absinthe and sour juice mix that is sure to leave a mark in the morning.

Icy Blast

Cool peppermint Vodka topped with icy peaks of whipped cream.

The Coyote

A shot of The Jagged Yard’s strongest Tequila and a chaser of tomorrow’s regrets.

FOOD TRUCKS

Mr. Po Boys

Farm to Table

Sweet Sensations

Greasy Grub

Edibles

[keyniestus]

A Late Night and Some Intriguing Patrons

Keyniestus rushed through Silvermoon, hurriedly tidying his hair and tucking in his shirt. The sun had already set quite some time ago. He found himself in front of Wayfarer’s, a small crowd already gathered outside. “Oh gods.” 

He dodged his way through the crowd of late night drinkers and into the doorway.  The bar was busier than he usually saw on a Sunday night. He made his way behind the bar, finding an unknown Sin’ dorei serving drinks. He quickly grabbed his tabard from beneath the counter and pulled it over his head. 

“So sorry I’m late!” He looked to the elf. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

The Sin’ dorei gives Key a small nod and smile. “No worries. I just hopped behind the bar to serve drinks. Seemed to be getting quite busy.”

“Oh, yes. Well, many thanks for the help. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.” Key continues brushing his disheveled hair back.

“Oh, of course. I may stay for a bit to help out.”

Keyniestus gave a small sigh of relief to himself as he looked around the busy bar. “Much appreciated.” He looked around the counter, littered with empty glasses, and began cleaning them up. He then walked down the length of the bar, checking in with the patrons.

---

The bar had died down substantially at this point, only a few tired patrons left at the counter.  Keyniestus pulled a towel out, wiping down the bar, breathing a bit of a sigh of relief after quite a long night.

He tucks the last of the remaining empty glasses into a bin beneath the counter. Upon standing up, he watched an elven woman saunter in, slurring her word as she approached the counter.

“Barkeep! Give me your strongest!” She attempted to give a wink. “And how much for you?”

Keyniestus shook his head as he set down a shot glass, pouring out a vodka shot. “Let me know how that treats you.”

The woman took the shot, almost falling into the counter. “I’d like you to treat me.”

Key smiled, a bit uncomfortably. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

He made his way back down to the end of the bar. 

After some time, a heavily armored man made his way into Wayfarer’s, taking up a spot in the corner of the bar. Key made his way over. “Evening. Anything I can get for you?”

The man looked up. “Oh, something strong and savory, if you’ve got it.”

Key nodded. “I think I can do that.” He rummaged around the shelves for a moment and pulled out a bottle of tequila from the back. He set it down on the counter and set a margarita glass down next to it. He mixed the tequila together with some lime juice, red pepper juice, and honey before pouring into the glass. “Let me know what you think of that.” He said as he slid the glass over to the man.

The man removed his helm, revealing a flowing mane of blonde hair before taking the glass. “Absolutely.” He took a sip. “I will be coming to you for more of these, no doubt.” He said with a small smile.

---

As the evening carried on, the Sin’ dorei woman continuing to make advances at Key, then slowly looping the blonde warrior at the end of the bar in as well. Key began engaging the warrior in a conversation filled with much blushing and chuckling. After sometime, the plastered elf stumbled down the bar and took up the stool next to the warrior. “What do you say you and I go upstairs?”

“I...Ummm...I don’t....” The warrior’s face grew red as he looked down at his hands. “I don’t think...I don’t think I am your type.”

Key watched the interaction, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, come on. You can’t know until you try.” She pulled her elbows up on the counter and cradled her face in her hands, blinking with wide eyes at the man.

“I-Umm.” He began nervously playing with the sketchbook in his hands.

Keyniestus sighed heavily and tossed his towel down on the counter, glaring at the woman now.

“Alright. I’ve put up with enough tonight. You’re just bothering other patrons at this point.”

The woman looked over to Key and blinked her eyes innocently. “Me?” She looked over to the warrior. “Am I bothering you?”

The warrior’s face grew an even deeper shade of red. He said nothing, his eyes looking further into his lap.

“I think it’s best you return back down there to your friend.” Keyniestus nodded towards the opposite end of the bar.

The woman scoffed as she got up, steadying herself on the bar, and returned to her seat at the end. She plopped down and looked back to her friend. “Bartender hates me. Probably going to spit in my drinks now.”

Key shakes his head and looks back to the warrior. “I apologize for that.”

The warrior gives a faint smile. “It’s quite alright. Not your fault.”

---

Time passed as Keyniestus and the warrior got more invested in conversation. He was now showing Key his many sketches of landscapes and buildings. 

���A traveller, eh?” Key said, with a smile.

“I am, of sorts. Make my way around.” The warrior blushed.

“What’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

The tauren taking up the security post for the night suddenly approached the bar. “May want to close up early tonight.”

Key looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

The tauren nodded his head over to the entrance, where a group had gathered, caught up in heated conversation. “Things look like they may get out of hand.”

Keyniestus frowned. He looked to the warrior. “Give me just a moment.” He made his way around the counter and over towards the group.

To be continued...

[targeryan]

3, 10, 22, 28, 32 & 46

3, 22 & 32 have already been answered sadly, but u did give me lots of asks so mad respect for that

and thank u so much for asking!

10. favorite milkshake flavor?

i am the strongest believer in chocolate milkshake supremacy. u cannot change my mind on this.

28. what’s your sign?

i'm a scorpio 😔😔😔

a NOVEMBER scorpio at that

46. favorite liquor?

vodka but like mixed with something (screwdriver supremacy) because i find shots disgusting. second place probably goes to tequila and then gin. but at heart i'm a wine person bc of how cheap and accessible it is (thanks shady shop near the park for ur contribution to society <3 )

valentines day asks!!

[lovemesomesurveys]

800 questions survey part 14

651) If you could be trained up in any profession of your choice by top professionals what profession would you choose? I really don’t know. It’s hard to imagine when you have absolutely no idea what you want to do or even what you could do because you look down on yourself so much and you’re completely unmotivated. 

652) If someone else’s child was being an annoying little runt would you go tell them off or do something about it? I'd probably just leave unless for some reason I couldn’t. If I couldn’t, I’m sure I wouldn’t do anything but it’d be written all over my face and my body language would give it away, too.

653) Do you believe in karma? No.

654) Do you believe in revenge? I’m not a revengeful person.

655) Do you believe in fairies? No.

656) Do you believe in a god? Yes.

657) Do you believe there used to be dragons? No.

658) Who would you want to be with on a desert island? I’d like to just not be on the deserted island at all, ya know?

659) What’s the worst show on television? I don’t know anymore. I just stick to what I like.

660) Who’s your favourite god from ancient history? I’m a Christian, I only believe in one God.

661) What one device would you want to see added to a mobile phone? *shrug*

662) Where do you see yourself in 1 months’ time? Sitting here doing the same thing.

663) Where do you see yourself in 1 years’ time? Sitting here doing the same thing...

664) Where do you see yourself in 10 years’ time? ....

665) What was the best thing about your old school? Which one?

666) What was the worst thing about your old school?

667) If you could change your name to anything what would your new name be? Nah, I’ll keep mine.

668) Do you watch too much TV? No. I have it on for background noise much of the time to be honest. I have my shows I watch and keep up with, other times I have something on that I tune in and out of, and then there’s quite a bit of time where it’s just on in the background and I’m not paying attention at all.

669) Have you ever planted a tree? No.

670) What’s the heaviest thing you can lift? I can’t lift more than like 5lbs to be honest.

671) What was the last present you received? A Baby Yoda mini backpack.

672) Are your ears lobed or attached? Attached.

673) How often do you wash your ears? Every couple days when I shower. 674) Could you go out with someone who had a child from a previous relationship? No. I’m 31 years old and if I ever date (who knows when...), I’m looking for something long-term. I don’t want to have children, so that wouldn’t work. I feel like the older I get, though, the harder it will be to find a guy without at least one kid, so... I don’t know what I’ll do. I honestly don’t know what’s going on with my dating life, or severe lack thereof. At this point in time I don’t feel like I’m in a place to date, but the years are passing and I’m getting older and I don’t know if it’ll ever change. I don’t know what’s going on with me and the whole dating thing and why I’m not wanting to pursue anything. I feel like I should want to and yet I don’t. Will I ever?

675) What was your first alcoholic drink? Tequila shot. Or if we’re talking mixed drink, it was Redbull and vodka. 

676) What was your first job? I haven’t had one.

677) What was your first car? (or what would you like it to be?) I haven’t had one and I don’t know what I’d want if I ever were to drive.

678) What was your first mobile phone? A gray Motorola flip phone.

679) What is your first proper memory? I have spotty memories of preschool.

680) Who was your first teacher? I’m blanking on my preschool teacher’s name.

681) Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane? Atlanta, Georgia. 

682) Who was your first best friend? These two girls in preschool, Crystal and Star.

683) What was your first detention for? I never had detention.

684) What’s your strongest voluntary muscle? My arms, but even then I’m weak. I used to have really great upper body strength once upon a time when I was active.

685) Who was your first kiss? My boyfriend at the time, Derek.

686) What was the first film you remember seeing at the cinema? The first one that comes to mind is The Rugrats Movie, but I know that wasn’t the first.

687) What thing that you’ve made are you most proud of? Nothing.

688) Could you ever be someone’s bodyguard? Haaa, no. I’d be useless.

689) Michelangelo’s David… Masterpiece or filth? I respect it.

690) Do you like other people buying you clothes? Sure, my family knows me well.

691) Have you ever brought a present for someone that they hated/disliked? I don’t think I’ve given someone something they hated.

692) What nicknames do you have/have had? My nicknames now are Steph, Sis, and Boobala/Boob (lol my family and I call each other those two). When I was a kid my nicknames, besides Steph, were Step on Me and Noodles. 

693) Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? When my cousins and I played house and school we’d pretend there were more students and such. Like, we’d describe what they looked like, what they were wearing, and gave them a name. We’d pretend to talk to them and whatnot. But I never had an actual imaginary friend.

694) Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? I sure need to.

695) Have you ever carved a pumpkin? Yes. I did every year since I was a kid up until a few years ago.

696) Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? Probably an influence for how not to be or do...

697) Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help etc? Receiving is nice, but I love getting gifts for my loved ones. 

698) If you were a member of the spice girls, what would your spice handle be? Sleepy Spice.

699) If you were to become a famous singer, what would your debut album be called? Blah.

700) If you could join any music group which would you want to join? Nah.

[thejollyroger-writer]

What Happens in Berkshire {{1/2}}

SUMMARY: When Emma’s boyfriend leaves her for the woman he’s been cheating with, she accepts an offer from her hospital to move to England. While she is out celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends before they head back to America, she drunkenly kisses the statue of Captain Hook in front of Eton College, and he comes to life. Together, he and Emma try to figure out what this curse means for them by searching for the witch that cursed him in the first place — are they really True Love, as he wants to believe they are, or did Emma’s magic go awry?

a/n: IT’S HEEEEERE! IT’S STATUE FIC TIME!  it all started with this post (via @write-it-motherfuckers and it’s grown into this beautiful, monstrous two-shot about magic and True Love and tight pants and magic. Thanks to the always-lovely @cssns mods AGAIN for hosting events like this one, that allow us to roll with all the weirdness that comes to us – without you, we certainly wouldn’t have this story, to @shireness-says for constantly talking me out of overthinking, and to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite for helping me make this story into what is appears before you as. Seriously, it wouldn’t be the same without you.  Also, check out Meredith’s ( @captainsjedi ) amazing art for this story and many others! Somehow she is always able to capture the ideas floating around in my head and pin them down long enough to make aesthetics.

RATED G // CURRENTLY 12 K AND COUNTING // ALSO ON AO3

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Emma Swan does not get stupid drunk. 

Usually. 

Most of the time, she can down a few beers, a mixed drink or three, and even after adding a few shots in there, she can still have full memory in the morning. Besides, getting that drunk usually means losing control of her magic, and while the time she made it snow in August in their sweltering apartment or when she procured a mini fireworks display in the palm of her hand were both fun, it’s never been something she felt comfortable doing, always waking the next morning with a pounding headache and the harsh warnings of Ingrid, the woman that helped her hone her powers, howling at the forefront of her memory: only use your magic when necessary, and never for fun. She’s almost never lost her head, and even fewer times than that has she lost her memory. Sure, there was that one time in college with the jungle juice, and Ruby’s 25th birthday when all they did was shots, but both of those times, she was already in her apartment. 

But today was her thirtieth birthday, and her goal was to get drunk — especially after everything else that led her here. They are out not only to celebrate her birthday, but also her move to England after her decision to accept the position offered to her by the Princess Margaret Hospital, which just happens to be in the same town Belle’s university is in. The move that she decided to take because she wanted something new — and because Neal decided after four years that he wanted something new, as well. 

Only for him, it was breaking up with her and dating one of the women from his office, telling her that she “wasn’t good enough” for him anymore, even though she was at least a hundred times better than he was in the first place. 

Ruby’s pretty sure he was cheating on her anyway, but she was always too blind to see it. 

So she accepted the position from the hospital headhunters and packed up everything she owned, using Belle to do apartment walkthroughs, though she decided just to take the apartment next to the one Belle shares with her colleague. Two weeks later, she was on a plane all by herself, wishing she didn’t have to wait a month for Ruby and Mary Margaret to help her — but that month has passed, her apartment now filled with her things and fully furnished, and now they’re all out to celebrate before Ruby and Mary Margaret fly back home.

But it’s her birthday, god damn it, and she is going to celebrate. She’s already been here for a few weeks, but she’s already loving Windsor, loving England, how different it is from Boston, from New England, but still a little reminiscent of home. She’ll be just fine here on her own. 

Neal would have hated it here anyway, if he would have decided that he cared enough to come with her. If he actually loved her. Emma doesn’t need him, doesn’t need anyone, just needs to take some time and take care of herself. 

Neal can go fuck himself. Or fuck that woman from his office that he was already fucking. 

Alright, she might already be pretty drunk. But she wants more. She wants to forget, forget him enough to celebrate even more, and she’s maybe almost there. 

But it’s two in the morning, last call at the only bar Belle had ever been to in this part of town, and she’s run out of time. 

So Ruby buys them another round of shots, of whatever the strongest alcohol that would affect Emma the most — and, even wincing as much externally as she is on the inside, she knows the answer is tequila. One more, a double after Ruby insists, a small orange juice chaser, and they’re out, the smiling, greying bartender locking the door behind them. 

The weather in Berkshire is far from perfect, though perhaps better than it could have been at the end of October. Instead of the regular downpour that Belle told them to expect, it’s simply drizzling, the air around them wet instead of drenching. So, of course, they decide to go for a walk. 

Which just gives Ruby another reason to gripe. 

“You can’t even, just, make us a protective bubble? Or a big umbrella?” 

Emma rolls her eyes. 

“You already know that I can’t,” she says, though she feels the way her magic hums through her, just itching to be used. 

Ruby groans, loud enough to be heard by the whole group. “What good is it to be best friends with a witch, if she can’t even use her magic to keep us dry?” 

Emma rolls her eyes. Again. 

“I’m not going through this with you again,” she snaps. “I can’t just use my magic. It doesn’t work like that.” Of course, she always wished she could, but this is a thought that she chooses to keep to herself. 

What’s the purpose of having magic if she’s not allowed to use it? 

Thankfully, Belle changes the subject. “Did you know that Berkshire is where — where the original Captain Hook was from?” Belle asks, her words coming slowly and slurred. 

“Really?” Mary Margaret seems genuinely interested, the only one of them that has stayed fully away from alcohol on their trip, mainly because of the ever-growing baby bump, though she never was one to get anywhere beyond tipsy since that first margarita experience during her sophomore year of college, where Emma had to talk her out of streaking across campus. 

“Yeah, there’s a statue of him and everything.” 

“Let’s go see it!” Ruby suggests, arm wrapped around Emma’s shoulders, though she seems to miss the fact that Emma seems to currently be having trouble standing on her own as it is. 

The walk is only a few blocks, all of them thankfully sporting waterproof coats that Belle insisted they all bring with, even though Ruby had to sit on her suitcase to close it before the jacket was added. How that woman seemed to wear so little clothing but still have trouble fitting everything into a suitcase was beyond all of them. Their walk is quiet, all of them trying their hardest not to let the drizzle get to them any deeper than their coats. 

But then they see it, lit up by a light recessed into the sidewalk before him, and he’s… well, he’s perfect. The most incredible-looking man Emma has ever seen, and he’s made out of damned stone. Just her luck. 

Of course, it’s not the first time Emma has seen the statue – in fact, she’s gone the past month eating her lunch on a nearby bench without even knowing it was supposed to be Captain Hook. 

In hindsight, the hook that he has in place of his left hand probably would have been a good clue. 

She remembers the first time she walked past this statue, meeting Belle for lunch in her office in the library. She had been taken aback by its perfection from that very first moment, the world seeming to slow around her as she stared at him. Something about him seemed to comfort her, bring the chaos of her life to a pause, just long enough for her to catch her breath and focus on something else for a little while at a time.

So she kept coming back. Eating lunch on the bench beside him has been a regular occurrence for her, and she’s spent a few days a week just sitting there, looking up at his anguished face. Sometimes she even talks to him, as long as no one is around to hear — which isn’t very often, given it’s the middle of a college campus in the beginning of the fall. 

He’s become… a friend, of sorts. Someone she can talk to without using her international minutes to call Mary Margaret. A confidant, who she knows won’t go around spewing her secrets. 

Because, you know, he’s a statue. 

Belle is saying something in the background, explaining to them the history of the statue, of the story of Peter Pan and how the town believes that Barrie’s villain is based off of this statue that has been here for as long as anyone can remember. Emma is trying to listen to the story, she really is, but there is just something about the statue standing in front of her that steals her attention, just as it has every other time she’s found herself near it. Every time she tries to focus on his features, it’s as if the rest of the world around them goes silent. 

It’s just a weird side effect from the tequila, she tells herself, but even the voice in her head is muffled as she stares at him.

He’s gorgeous, even for a damned statue. 

“I thought he was an old, skinny guy with a handlebar mustache?” Emma asks, realizing halfway through her sentence that she cut Belle off in the middle of a thought. 

“Why, because of that animated movie?” Belle asks, turning her attention to Emma, but Emma’s eyes are still glued to the statue. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“The version of him in that movie is nothing like the Hook that Barrie described. People have given him a black perm and bushy eyebrows, but Barrie himself described our villain as ‘in a word, the handsomest man I have ever seen, and he was a magnificent pirate and not wholly unheroic.’ He had black hair, yes, but it didn’t have to be a perm, and there is nothing in Barrie’s description to say that he is a tall, thin old man.”

Ruby comes to stand beside Emma, her eyes trained on the statue in the same way. “This is a perfect specimen of a man, and he’s made from a slab of marble.”

“Do we know the artist who made it?” Mary Margaret asks from the back of the group, always interested in artists. 

Belle is silent for a moment, then turns to face the group, her eyebrows forming a low ‘v’ on her forehead. “Actually, I’m not sure about that. From what I know, the statue has been here for longer than the college has.”

“So no one knows where it came from?”

“Well, there’s an old wives’ tale that he used to be a sailor, a pirate, who watched the woman he loved die in his arms and was cursed for not doing anything to save her, cursed to stand here and wait for his True Love to save him.”

“But obviously that’s not true,” Mary Margaret comments, perhaps not sounding quite as convincing as she was hoping to. 

“No,” Emma replies, and Belle shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

A beat of silence passes between the four of them, each of them staring at the statue from a different angle, overcome by the spell he has them under. 

And then, suddenly, Ruby starts laughing. Cackling, almost, unable to stand up straight until she takes a wheezing deep breath, clapping her hand against Emma’s shoulder. 

“It’s your birthday, Swan!” she barely gets out, cackling again. “Go up and give him a kiss!” 

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret scolds from the other side of the statue, leaning to the side to stare at her around the man’s perfectly sculpted legs, so realistic that they can actually see the curves of muscles beneath the marble britches. 

But Belle and Emma are just drunk enough to join in with the laughter, also thinking it’s a good idea. 

“What the hell,” Emma says, shrugging. “I’m thirty years old and my boyfriend just broke up with me. It’s probably safer than a one-night stand.” 

Belle thinks this is particularly funny, and her laughter, echoing around the courtyard around them, drives Ruby into another fit of laughter herself. 

“Come on, guys, help me up!” Emma yells, hooking her arm around the leg of the statue, trying to use it to hoist herself up on the pedestal. Mary Margaret, the only one of them sober enough to give her any actual assistance, walks over to her, understanding that it would do more harm to try to talk her out of this than to just help her. 

One foot up on the pedestal, then the other, grasping her free hand around the curve of his arm, the hand of which is wrapped around the hilt of his sword. She almost loses her footing as she tries to move her grasp from his leg to his other arm, finding a hold on his hook. Finally, she has reached the platform, standing almost face to face with the statue, though it stands a few inches taller than she does. He really is a magnificent piece of art, from the individual strands of hair on his head to the stubble covering his chin to the embroidery work on his vest — amazing detail, she realizes even in her drunken haze, for a statue that has been standing for longer than the college around it, details surviving the wind and the rain that she has already discovered are regular for England. For a moment, Emma is overcome with compassion for the man standing before her, for the sadness visible not only in his eyes, but that’s written across his whole face. 

Christ, she thinks, I must have had more to drink than I thought. 

“Just kiss him, damn it!” Ruby yells, laughing at her some more, and Emma stares back at him for another moment before pulling her face to his, pressing her lips hard against the cold, wet stone. 

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, suddenly, a flash of lightning strikes on the other side of the building beside them, startling Emma enough to almost lose her footing, so focused on keeping her balance that she does not notice the spark of magic that erupts from her fingertips at the same time another flash of lightning hits just a few feet from where they are, the thunder from both of them rolling almost simultaneously in the charged air around them. 

“Emma, get down from there!” Mary Margaret yells, just as Emma feels the stone beneath her fingers start to change, and when she looks up, the statue has turned into a man. A real-life, living, breathing man with twinkling eyes and a bright smile.

“Hello, love,” he says, his voice dark and deep. 

Taken aback, she moves to take a step back, forgetting for a moment where she is, and the edge of her boot slips off the edge of the pedestal. For the briefest moment, she believes this is how she dies — falling to her death after kissing a statue and hallucinating. But when she feels a warm, hard arm wrap around her waist, she automatically moves her arms around his neck. 

He smiles. 

Everyone is quiet for a moment, still trying to piece together what has happened in front of them. While the rest of the girls share glances, though, Emma finds herself only able to focus on the man in front of her, the very real man who has come to life under her fingertips. Or, to be more specific, she can only focus on his eyes. They are unlike any color she has ever seen, lit up only by the streetlights around them and the few recessed into the pavement, specifically there to light up the statue, a bright blue that reminds her of the brightest, clearest sky, but at the same time somehow also the dark blue of the depths of the ocean. 

“How did—” she starts, somehow more sober than moments before, but the words get lodged in her throat even further when he smiles at her. Swallowing her nerves, she takes a breath and tries again. “What happened? How are you… not a statue?” 

His smile grows, somehow, overtaking his eyes as the brightest feature on his face, since it seems to radiate its own light. 

“I have my suspicions, love, but I do know that I am forever grateful for it.” 

“I’m not your love,” she mumbles, the words coming out much less defiant than they sounded in her head. 

But what if… Belle’s comment from earlier suddenly comes rushing back to her:  ‘cursed to stand here and wait for his True Love to save him.’

That’s insane. 

This whole situation is insane. 

“Emma,” Ruby says from below them, and both Emma and the statue-man turn their heads towards her. “What in the hell just happened?” 

“He's…” Belle tries, then shakes her head. “That’s damn impossible, that is.” 

“You must have done it with your magic, Emma,” Mary Margaret says matter-of-factly, the obviousness of it all washing away any memory of what Belle may have said earlier. 

“Is it really…” Belle starts again, snapping her eyes to the man still standing against Emma, holding her against his hard, sculpted chest, the ridges of his muscles almost as prominent as when they were made of stone. 

Not that she really notices that. Of course not. 

“Are you really Captain Hook?” Belle asks, and Emma thinks it’s a joke at first, until she looks down at the seriousness painted across her friend’s face. 

“Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” he says, nodding down towards Belle, then quickly flitting his eyes from her to Mary Margaret, to Ruby, and back to Emma, a sparkle in his gaze that was not there before. “In every way imaginable,” he mutters, pressing his lips closer to her ear so only she can hear it before leaning back again and quickly winking at her. “Though, yes, you seem to have heard of me by my more colorful moniker, Hook.” Finally, he unwraps his hands from her waist and moves to step off the pedestal, which he accomplishes with the help of Mary Margaret before reaching his own hand up to assist Emma. When she reaches the ground beside him, he leans in towards her again, his breath warm against her cheek, and he whispers, “I was hoping it would be you,” before turning his attention back to the half-circle of women now gathered around him. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Mary Margaret asks. 

Ruby is the first to respond, failing to even attempt to hide the way her eyes take in his whole body. “I have a few ideas.” 

For some reason, Ruby’s comment makes Emma’s stomach sink, but she ignores the feeling, just as she chooses to ignore the quickening rain falling all around them. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“I appreciate that, love, truly,” the man says. Killian. The statue that has come to life has a name.  

“The couch in my apartment is still unclaimed,” Emma suggests quickly, before Ruby can add another of her comments. “As long as it’s okay with the rest of you, he can stay there for the night. And we can figure out what to do in the morning when we’re all in a better shape.” 

They all silently agree, and when Emma turns to face Killian, to see if he has anything to say about their plan, he simply smiles at her, his hook resting in the guard of his sword and his other hand propped on his hip.

“Can I at least have the name of my savior and her lovely acquaintances?” he asks, reaching his arm out in hopes of shaking their hands, starting with Mary Margaret. While Mary Margaret and Belle remain casual, Ruby sways into his body, pressing her free hand against his chest.  

Though she cannot figure out why, this causes heat to rise to Emma’s cheeks, but it is nothing compared to the rush of warmth that Emma feels over her body when, instead of simply shaking her hand, Killian raises it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. His lips are soft, warm, welcoming — though she has no reason to notice that. 

What the actual fuck? 

“I thank you, again, Swan,” he says, choosing her last name for some reason, his eyes still shining bright, and she has to turn her gaze down to the sidewalk to stop herself from getting lost in them. 

“We should head back,” Belle says, and Emma has never been more thankful for the quickening rain before in her life. “The rain will probably just get worse.” 

“Can you tell us what happened to you, Killian?” Mary Margaret asks as they all begin to follow Belle back down the road and to Emma’s apartment.

“I would really rather not go into detail as of yet,” he says softly, his eyes turned down to the ground. “But the much-shortened version of it is that I fell in love with another man’s wife and she chose to run away with me, though her husband came after us and—” Emma hears his voice falter, can see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he struggles for a moment, the rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes a deep breath. “He killed her,” he says finally, though he has not completely pulled himself back together. “And then convinced a witch to cast a curse to turn me into a statue until my True Love came and broke it.”

“And, uh, how long ago was this?” Emma asks, filling the silence that settled at the end of his story. 

“What year is it now?” 

Emma’s eyes grow wide, and when she doesn’t respond right away, Ruby fills in with the answer: “2019.” 

She hears him take a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his mouth and his scruff before pushing his fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, though Emma is fairly sure she is the only one that heard him. “It was just upwards of four hundred years ago.”

Silence settles around them again as they all think about this statement. Emma has so much more she wants to ask him, questions about his love and this witch and how the hell she broke the spell the witch cast on him. 

But half-drunk and surrounded by her friends, all three of whom will overthink her growing interest in him, is not the right time to bring up these questions. So, instead of voicing the concerns that cloud her already-clouded mind, she reaches out and finds his hand with her own, turning to him just in time to see the soft smile that spreads across his features, so different in contrast with the rest of the persona he has shown them over the past few minutes. 

By the time they make it back across the small town and to their apartment, the drizzle that was in the air when they left the bar has turned into a torrential downpour, which isn’t as much of a problem for the girls as it is for Killian, who has been wearing the same outfit for four hundred years — that very outfit which now is dripping puddles in the entryway as the girls dig through their suitcases for clothing for him to wear until they can go out the next morning and get him something more modern. 

“I have a pair of sweatpants?” Emma offers, running from her room with them and another towel to where he is waiting. “Though I do have to apologize, you’ll have to… uh…” She is useless against the blush that rises to her cheeks, even more so when she raises her eyes to find a knowing smirk on his face. “I have nothing for you to, uh, wear under them.” 

He leans in towards her, adding a smile to his smirk as his lips almost graze her ear. “No different than usual, love,” he murmurs, pulling away to watch Emma’s eyes widen in realization before he says, “Now, where should I go to change, unless you would like to offer your assistance?” 

“Take off your boots,” she responds, trying not to let the effect he has on her show on her face. “The bathroom is on the other side of the fridge.” 

His smirk disappears in a second. “The what now?”

“Oh, shit. Right, four hundred years,” she says, then points to the appliance in question, waiting for him to step out of his boots to follow her. “That large silver thing is the fridge. It’s where we keep cold food.” 

“Ah.” 

“I guess the world has changed a lot over the last four hundred years, huh?” she asks, trying to fill the silence again. 

“Aye, love, it seems it did,” he says softly, swaying into her space again. “Though I will say, I am thankful for the assistance you and your acquaintances have to offer. And incredibly indebted to you for breaking my curse. Even if you’re a tad wary of believing what that means about you and I.” 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes a step back from him, needing to put more space between them. “I’m not wary of anything, Jones.” 

“I beg to differ, love. You’re a bit of an open book.” 

I’m not your love, she moves to snap back at him, the words on the tip of her tongue, but they don’t come once she turns her gaze up to his, once she sees the sincerity in his sky blue gaze. Her next breath doesn’t come, either, lodged with the words halfway down her throat and unable to budge.

“I found a shirt that might fit him!” Mary Margaret yells, running into the hallway before Emma can step away from him again, her friend’s eyes widen for a moment before she takes hold of herself. 

“Good,” Emma says quickly, shoving the sweatpants into his arms as she backs away from him, her hands finding the hallway wall behind her. Her breath is still stuck in her lungs, though, and she’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to dislodge it if he keeps looking at her like that. Turning to Mary Margaret, she points to the bathroom as he reaches out to take the shirt from Mary Margaret. “Now he can go get changed, and we can all go to bed.” 

Not even waiting for a response, she turns and rushes down the hallway into her bedroom, practically slamming the door behind her. 

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It takes her much longer to fall asleep than it should after all the alcohol she consumed. Usually, her body is ready to pass out, barely having the energy to scroll through social media before sleep overtakes her; but tonight, she does not even worry about trying to use her phone. Instead, she lays still, her eyes set on the ceiling but her mind set on anything but, small sparks of magic tingling between her fingers. 

What the fuck even happened today? ‘True Love’s kiss’ is absolutely insane, and there’s no way that was what happened with Killian. It must have been her magic, gone awry with her drunken stupor, mixed with the weird weather and that story Belle put in her head. 

Except… 

Except his story wasn’t that far off from the one Belle told them. Cursed by a witch. That’s impossible. Or, there was a point in her life where she would have believed it was impossible. But then she turned twenty and learned that she was a magic-wielder. And if she was a magic-wielder — a witch, by all senses of the word — then why was it so hard for her to believe Killian’s story? 

She already knows the answer to that. It’s because of what it would mean if it’s true. What it would mean about her. About them. 

Maybe if she hadn’t just gotten out of a relationship, especially the relationship she believed was never going to end, it would be a little easier to comprehend. Maybe. She seriously doubts it, she can’t even kid herself with that. But maybe if she hadn’t been so blind and put everything she had into her relationship with Neal, she would not have been as destroyed. And maybe — maybe — if her heart hadn’t been that destroyed just a few days before she moved across a damned ocean, she may have been more open to letting someone else in. Instead, she had decided to bar her heart from more hurt, had decided not to let anyone else in. 

And then Killian came back to life. 

It would be a completely different story if she didn’t feel so drawn to him, if she didn’t actually enjoy his company so much after so short a time. (And, who is she kidding, if he wasn’t so gorgeous.) 

There’s far too much to unpack there, so she tries to close her eyes —  only to see his shining blue ones staring right back at her, sparkling with mischief when he is not being terribly forward. 

What is happening to her? 

She tries to quiet her mind, and when sleep finally does overtake her, all of her dreams are filled with tight leather pants and shining ocean blue eyes. 

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“This is the most terrible swill I have ever tasted,” he comments, setting the mug of coffee back on the saucer in front of him, his face contorted into an expression of pure disgust. He’s tasted a lot of things in his time, especially over all the years he’s spent on ships — hard bread, half-purified saltwater, more kinds of fish than a man should have to endure, but this — it’s all nothing compared to whatever the infernal black liquid in the mug before him is. 

“Alright then,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma rolls her eyes as she pulls the mug back in front of her. “Mark it down, Killian does not like coffee.” 

“For a man who hasn’t eaten for four hundred years, you sure are pretty picky, Jones,” Emma comments, and when she turns to jeer at him, he narrows his eyes, and points the end of his now-hookless brace in her direction. 

He’s still not quite sure why he had to leave his hook behind this morning. Belle tried to tell him that he wouldn’t need it, though he barely agreed with her; it had always proven useful to him in the past, and there was no way for him to know if he was going to need it in this new world. Emma had just told him that it would draw attention to him, which was probably slightly more valid, though it took him years to get past the insecurity of having a hook in the first place. 

And then Mary Margaret, apparently their voice of reason, pointed out just how much easier it would be to try on new clothing without the hook, and he saw the sense behind this and agreed. 

“A man knows what he likes.” 

“Or, more appropriately, what he doesn’t,” she jokes. 

He is already enthralled with her. She’s utterly brilliant in every way that entices him the most: her smarts, the way she is not afraid to speak her mind, how she does not hold back from putting him in his place, not to mention the way he is drawn towards her. Beyond the fact that she has broken his curse, he is thankful for her, to say the very least, though she does not yet seem ready to feel the same about him.  

The waitress drops a plate in front of him and a glass of orange liquid in front of Ruby. He does not miss the way the woman’s eyes scan him, or the half-smile that she offers before turning away — but he also does not miss the flash of anger that crosses Emma’s face at the woman’s attention. He has never had trouble winning affections of women, but the last thing he wants to do is lose what little affection the blonde goddess before him has for him. So, after she takes another sip from the mug, apparently liking the brown liquid — coffee — much more than he does, he smiles warmly at her, picking up the pastry on the plate before him, trying to work the cogs of thought rolling through his head into that one expression before he takes a bite. 

“Oh!” he exclaims, his momentarily-closed eyes missing the way Emma’s eyes go wide at the sound. “This, however, is a confectionery delight.” He takes another bite, closing his eyes again as he quickly chews the mouthful he has just taken. “What do you call this again?” 

“A muffin.” 

“Muffin,” he repeats, liking the way it feels on his tongue, though before he has a chance to say anything else, a loud rumble from his stomach takes the place of any words he may say. “I did order more food than this, aye?” 

Emma smiles at him. “I ordered you waffles. If you think your muffin is good, wait until you get to those.” 

“Thank you, love,” he says, then turns his attention back towards his muffin, though it takes everything in him not to focus on the bright smile that is still spread across Emma’s face. 

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“What is the next thing on our to-do list, Emma?” Mary Margaret asks, signing the bill from their breakfast as everyone gathers their things to leave. 

“Well, Killian needs some clothing that isn’t leather and sopping wet, or scraps from some suitcases.”

While Emma assumed this wasn’t going to be the easiest feat for a man who had never even heard of denim (and who admitted to her the night before he never wore any sort of undergarment), she didn’t expect it to be fun. 

It started when she was standing beside him surrounded by packages of boxers and briefs (after, of course, winning the argument against Ruby of who should help him make this decision), trying to keep her cool and not let the heat she feels rushing through her body show on her cheeks.  

“Why do we need to start with these again, love?” he asks, reading over the words on the back of the boxer-brief package as she does the same with the boxers, if only to avoid his eyes. 

She sighs, wondering how in the world she found herself in this situation. “Because you’re going to need to wear these when you try on pants, so we need to buy them first so you can take them out of the package.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him nod as he turns his attention towards the package in her hands. 

“And, uh, what —” he tries, then takes a moment to cough before starting again, trying to hide his own embarrassment. “What seems to be the difference between these again?” 

Wetting her bottom lip, Emma shakes her head and closes her eyes, still not entirely sure this isn’t just a big, embarrassing dream. “The ones you’re holding are tighter, so they… hold you in place better.”

“Aha.” A beat passes, and he gestures the end of the brace towards her. “So those…?”

“They’re looser, yes.”

“What if, uh…” he starts, darting his eyes towards Emma, but the moment she meets them, he turns his gaze back down to the package in his hand. “What if I choose one of these and decide I do not like them?” 

Emma reaches over and pulls the package from his hand, holding them both at her side as she turns to look at him. “We’ll just buy both and I’ll keep the ones you don’t want, okay?” 

At this, his eyes go wide, his cheeks even redder than they were before, and he fails to hide the way his eyes snap down to her hips before returning to the package in his hand, seemingly needing to avert his gaze. “You wear these, as well?” 

“As pajamas, Killian. I wear them as pajamas,” she replies, rolling her eyes, but she can’t help but smile at him. “Let’s go buy these so we can move on to pants.” 

As they turn away from the aisle and head towards the cash registers, Killian bumps his arm into hers, and when she turns to him, he wags his eyebrows across his forehead. “Are you going to help me with those, too, love?” he asks, his voice deep, embarrassment completely melted away as if they hadn’t been discussing the benefits of boxers versus boxer-briefs just moments ago. 

“Uh, no,” she replies cooly, watching his face fall. “You can handle pants on your own, though I will help you with the fun part, if you need it.” His face lights up in an instant, an almost-inappropriate response on his lips, but when she adds, “The shirts,” it almost disappears again.

“Putting clothing back on is hardly the fun part, wouldn’t you say, love?”

“Jesus, Killian,” Emma breathes, rolling her eyes. “We’re here to buy you clothing.” 

He shrugs, swaying away from her again, and she immediately misses the warmth where his skin pressed against her own, though she tries her hardest to ignore it, even as a chill passes through her body. “Your loss.”

But watching him come out of the dressing room in the first pair of jeans he deems to fit him reasonably enough is definitely not her loss. 

Though the fact that Ruby is sitting beside her when he comes out wearing the first pair takes some of the excitement away. 

“What do you think, Swan?” he asks, coming back around the corner, and before he sees them sitting there, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and gets distracted. “I could get used to this denim,” he comments, his eyes going wide as he admires his reflection from multiple angles. 

Ruby lets out a low whistle, and Killian’s eyes snap towards her, his face reddening a few shades when he realizes she’s there. “So could I,” she comments, and Emma elbows her hard.  

“They look great,” she comments, trying her hardest to not make it obvious that she is most definitely amazed with how the dark denim moulds to the curves of his ass. Emma is fairly sure that she’s never stared at a man’s ass with the severity she’s trying to avoid staring at his. “Do they fit you? Are they comfortable?” 

“Well, not as comfortable as my leathers, I will say, but I see why they’ve become more popular.” 

“Did you try the other sizes?”

“The first was definitely too small, since I struggled to even squeeze my thighs into them. But I’m so used to the tightness of my old breeches that I think any looser would make me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Ruby mumbles, and though Emma tries to ignore her, she fears the anger she feels still shows on her face. Still, though, she tries to push it down. 

“Ready for the next part of the adventure?” she asks, needing to change the subject.

Killian’s face lights up, smiling at her as he slips his hand into his back pocket. “The fun part, aye,” he says, winking at her, and she avoids Ruby’s glare as she follows him back into the dressing room. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️

“Holy shit,” she breathes, the words slipping past her tongue without her permission, and once Killian has tossed the long-sleeved shirt Mary Margaret loaned him on the bench of the dressing room, he turns to her. His eyes have darkened to a stormy blue-grey, his brows low on his face. 

“What?” he asks, a hard bite to the word that Emma feels in her stomach.

“Your tattoos,” she says quickly, trying to alleviate the tension between them, at the same time Killian angrily asks, “My scars?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Your tattoos,” she says again, reaching out to gently run her finger along the one furthest down his forearm, a heart with a dagger through it, all behind a ribbon that reads “Milah” in elegant letters, though she finds herself unable to contain the sparks that shoot from her fingertips at the contact and pulls her hand away quickly, clutching it to her chest. 

When she turns her eyes up to his, they are slowly turning back to a less angry shade of blue. “You have… you have so many,” she whispers, moving just a touch closer to him so she can take a better look at the art that covers his body, for some reason feeling the need to touch them all, though the way her magic responded to his touch simultaneously makes her want to recoil and lean into him all at once.

“Aye, love,” he answers, and she takes the chance to reach her fingers out once more, only a few sparks this time as she begins tracing the circle of the compass on his right bicep that has Greek letters at the compass points and is surrounded with lettering in a different language beside flowers that turn into intricate, swirling linework leading to a skull and crossbones on the front of his right shoulder. “That’s what years spent on the seas will do to a man.” 

“What do they all mean?” she asks, her eyes falling to the very top edge of an anchor in a sea of swirling blue that peeks out over the top of his newly-acquired jeans. 

“They don’t all have to mean things, you know?” 

Her fingers ghost across his chest, both emitting and filling her with a warmth she has never felt before even though she is barely touching the dark chest hair that covers him as her fingers move towards his left shoulder, where the corner of the intricate piece that covers his back comes around with a kraken’s tentacle, tangled with the leather straps that hold his brace on his arm. 

“But some of them do?” 

“Aye,” he breathes, her fingers reaching over his shoulder. Here, he reaches up to hold her wrist, stopping her fingers from moving any further. Pulling her hand away from him, he moves it back to his right shoulder, to the compass. “This one is my first, for my brother. His initials are the north, and the most important lesson he taught me before he was taken is what it says around it.” 

“What language is it in?” 

“You can’t read Gaeilge?” he asks, a touch of humor to his voice, as if he’s joking; but when he looks down at her, at the confused expression on her face, she knows he’s serious. “It’s in Irish, since that’s where my brother and I were born. It says ‘a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.’ And the flowers are for my mother, Alyce, since lilies and daisies were her favorite.” 

“How old were you when she passed?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she traces the outline of the compass with her index finger. 

“Six. And Liam was ten. We only stayed in Ireland long enough to bury her before father found us passage to England on a ship.”

“Where you joined the Navy?” 

“Obviously not right away, but yes. England was…” his eyes fall to the ground, rubbing his hand against the side of his face. “Let’s just say Liam and I did not have the nicest childhoods, but we — we don’t have to get into that today.” When he looks back up at her, he tries to pull the corners of his lips up into a smile. “The skull and crossbones explains itself, though,” he continues, as if he weren’t talking about the death of his mother and his rough childhood. “Handsome British Naval Lieutenant turned pirate captain. The Jolly Roger became my life. The ship became the only home I ever had.” 

A beat of silence passes between them, Emma’s eyes still set on the intricate flowers around his compass, her fingers lightly tracing the lines and trying to ignore the soft warmth that continues to slowly fill her body, the soft hum of her magic more intense than it has ever been before. 

“Can I see the one on your back?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, but when she raises her eyes to try to gauge his response, she realizes that he has been watching her intently. It is not until she meets his eyes, almost losing herself in the oceans she finds there, that he slowly nods. 

“Just, don’t… don’t touch it, please,” he mumbles, as if he is ashamed of it — and when he turns around, Emma sees why. 

The artwork is incredible, of course: a ship, bright yellow and brown, caught in the middle of a dark storm, with the tentacles of a kraken coming up out of the sea, some wrapped around the ship and others wrapping around his body. 

But that’s not what Emma’s focus is on. 

If Killian had said nothing, she probably would not have noticed them, but with his whispered words on her mind as she looks at the colors covering the muscles there, she can also see the mangled lines of scars running in every direction, casting small shadows over his back from the harsh fluorescent lights off the dressing room. 

She has nothing to say. There is nothing she can say that would do anything except thicken the tension that lies between them. She watches the rise and fall off his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, then meets his eyes in the mirror. His face is set, hardened, the muscles of his jaw ticking as he grinds them together. 

“Let’s try on one of these t-shirts, yeah?” she asks, smiling softly at him. Of course she wants to know what happened to him, was interested in the story behind his scars, but he is obviously ashamed of them. She has scars of her own, both physical and mental, so she understands the fear that he’s trying his best to hide. If he ever decides that he does want to tell her, then she will be thankful for that day. Maybe someday, she’ll do the same thing for him, let him in enough to learn of her past, her parents that left her on the side of the road, the foster families that never liked her enough to keep her. Getting the hell out of Maine as soon as she was able. 

Maybe someday. 

For now, she just reaches behind her and picks up one of the folded t-shirts that he picked out, a soft blue color that reminded her of his eyes as soon as she ran her hand against the soft fabric. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking the shirt from her hand but avoiding her eyes. “This is the part you said you’d help me with, aye?“ The sadness in his eyes is completely gone, every trace of the past conversation replaced with a single wink.

Emma can’t help but let out the soft chuckle that rises through her chest as she reaches out to bunch up the material so she can help guide it over his head. He gets his right arm through on his own, but seems to be struggling with the left, not sure exactly how to guide the brace through the hole, so Emma reaches out to help. 

But when she wraps her fingers around the edge of the leather strap between his skin and the cool metal, he tears it out of her grasp, his eyes wide and angry when she snaps her eyes to meet his. 

“I can only help you if you let me, Killian,” she says softly, and the longest moment she has ever felt passes before the angry lines on his face smooth away, and he nods. She reaches out again, purposefully trying to avoid contact with the brace. 

“Sorry, love,” he mumbles as they work together to get the tip of his brace through the arm hole, but smiles at her as she helps him smooth down the front of the material. “What do you think?” 

She takes a step back to let him look in the mirror, joining him to look at his reflection. “I mean, it fits. And I like the color. But what I think doesn’t really matter as much as what you think.” 

He smooths the material over his stomach before reaching down to pick up the next t-shirt on the bench. “Is this one smaller?” 

“Yeah, we started with the bigger one.” 

“Can we try the smaller?” 

Emma nods, reaching out to help him take off the large, not even meaning to brush her fingers along his ribcage, but suddenly becoming very aware of the hitch of his breath when her fingers run along the rigid muscles of his chest. And then she makes the mistake of looking up at his face, meeting his eyes in time to watch them darken for just a flash, turning from the bright midday sky to the deep depths of the dark ocean.

“Sorry,” she whispers, her voice much weaker than she anticipated, and she finds herself wondering if his lips are as warm as his skin, as soft and gentle and welcoming as she originally thought they might be.

So she takes a step back, pulling away from him and letting his shirt fall back into place. 

“No, love,” he says gently, reaching down to pull the fabric up as far as he’s able, only needing her help to slide the brace out. “It is I who should be sorry. It’s not your fault I’ve been without a woman’s touch for four hundred years.” She helps him pull the fabric up over his head, taking it from him to refold it but continuing to avoid his eyes. 

Until he reaches out and places his index finger under her chin, pulling her gaze back up to meet his. “I’m truly thankful for all your assistance.  I missed four hundred years, I would be lost here without you.”

The faintest beginning of a smile passes across her face, but that seems to be enough for him, and he holds the next t-shirt out between them. He helps as much as he’s able with this one, though it proves itself to be much more difficult than removing it on his own. The medium is much tighter across his chest, clinging closer to the ridges of his muscles and the sleeves cropped short enough to reveal all but the very top of the compass on his bicep. 

This time when he looks at himself in the mirror, he smiles. “I like this much better, do you agree?” 

She rolls his eyes at him again, but when a smile begins to grow across her features this time, she lets it. She’s faced again with the absurdity of it all, the fact that he’s real, that he’s here beside her — that he’s so absolutely full of himself — but also because damn does she agree. She keeps her mouth shut as he tries on some other colors, keeps her jealousy to herself when every single color he puts on compliments him somehow — the black bringing out the brightness of his eyes, the red his light complexion, the white v-neck a stark contrast to the dark chest hair that peeks out from below the collar while barely doing anything to hide the muscles it is hiding. 

But when he slides a charcoal grey button-down shirt over the crisp white t-shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone as he turns to face the mirror, Emma loses her ability to keep her mouth shut any longer. 

“Is there anything you don’t look good in?” She tries to pull the words back, clamping her hand over her mouth, but it is too late — and when he turns to her, eyes wide with surprise as he runs his tongue over his smiling bottom lip, there is nothing she can do to hide the embarrassment that rises up her cheeks. 

“No, darling,” he replies, which just makes her redden more. “I would like to believe not.” 

They leave the store with three pairs of pants, a handful of t-shirts, a few long-sleeved Henleys (that are, in her opinion, the most unfair-looking on him, though she manages to keep it to herself this time), two button-downs, and a pair of black leather boots. 

As she swipes her debit card through the machine, Mary Margaret leans closer to her, mumbling in her ear, “I thought that money was for emergencies?” 

Sliding the card back into her wallet, she turns to Mary Margaret. “Are you saying that randomly bringing some man to life and being responsible for him isn’t what you would classify as an emergency?” 

Mary Margaret has no response to this. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Belle signs them into a study room in the library of Eton College before leading them to the section in one of the back corners where their special “Captain Hook” collection resides — because researching Killian is the next thing they need to do. There are books on J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan ; carefully-bound original versions of Barrie’s play and of the original novel form. There are books on what has been learned about Hook, collections of papers written on him, on the fables about the statue, about what can be proven about these fables — which begins, and ends, at the existence of a British Naval Captain, Killian Jones, born in the 1580’s and whose love was killed in front of him and his left hand chopped off on the deck of his ship a few years prior to his disappearance in 1618, according to his discovered Captain’s Logs. 

But that’s it. They spend the next few hours mulling over a few shelves’ worth of materials to discover anything they can about Killian, and all they get is a speculation about his birth and death. 

Though, after Belle reads the last of these findings out loud, Emma rests her forehead against the table in front of her, Mary Margaret and Ruby turn to her, waiting for a response. 

Emma pushes herself to her feet, her breath heavy in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she tries, coming out barely a breath. “I need — I need some air.” 

Before anyone can respond, she is out of their study room and around the corner. 

Thankfully, no one follows her for a few minutes. She finds a bench, her eyes closed as she focuses on the slowly-slowing beat of her heart, on the measured draw of her breath. This is all so much, too much, far too much to handle on top of everything else happening to her recently, and she pushes herself away from the bench, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the shelf, her head flooding with too many thoughts. The break up, the move — all the way across a fucking ocean — and now stories of True Love, corroborated by academic papers and things from this… shelf. 

She turns on her heel, turns back towards the shelf, slowly running her finger along the spines, one shelf and then the next, top to bottom, until she is sitting on the floor beside the shelf. 

Except the bottom shelf is empty, so she can see behind it, where the shelf meets the wall — and there, she sees it: a small, leather-bound book behind the shelf, stuck between the metal and the wall. She reaches back, curling her fingers around the leather binding, and when she finally frees it, she feels the air leave her lungs, suddenly lightheaded and simultaneously weighed down in ways that she has never felt before. 

Jones

Etched into the cover, surrounded by the same intricate, swirling linework around Killian’s Jolly Roger tattoo, is his last name. She opens to the first page, covered in perfect calligraphic penmanship, and reading her slow translation of the old-fashioned spelling certainly doesn’t make it any easier to breathe. 

22 June 1604

Todaye, as the first day of my posytion as captain of His Majestie’s Jewel of the Realm , I, Liam Jones, do begyn here the Captain’s Logs for saide vessyl, where I will hence-forth keep reckord of alle pertinent informatyon. Here, I shal keep track of the dailie happenyngs withe and around the ship, begyning todaye with my taking over as Captain. 

There are more pages of the same, of Captain Jones recording the journeys and missions of the Jewel of the Realm. Until, one day, it changes to a less-perfect script, fewer loops and curls and more ink splattered across the pages. 

04 March 1607

Todaye, our greate captain was takyn from us, kylled on a mission comissyoned by our kinge. As per his last entrie, the kinge sent us to fynd a flower on a smal northern islande under the gyse as a medicinal herbe that would help overcome a great syckness that has spread through the lande. In hopes of provieng me wrong,  Liam  Captain Jones cut his own arme wyth this plante and was quicklie kiled by this herbe, which turns out to be not medicyn, but poisyn. In his deathe, I, Lieutenant Killian Jones, have taken up his posytione as captain of this vessle.

Because of the coruptyn of the kinge, the kynd of man that would send his naval officyr to collect this poisyn for him, I have decyded to sail this ship not in the name of the kinge, but insted now in the name of pyracy. This shyp is no longer the Jewel of the Realm , but wyll hence-forthe sayl under the name of the Jolly Roger , flying pirate colors. 

She continues to flip through the pages, reading clips here and there as Killian describes the workings of a pirate ship. 

Slowly paging through it, Emma can’t believe what she is seeing before her very eyes. “This is… impossible,” she whispers, running her index finger down one of the pages that catches her eye.

12 April 1610

Milah’s husband founde his waie to the JR todae. The whole crewe tryed to fight him offe, but were useles agynst whatever forms of Blacke magyk he has at his dysposal, and as I was dueling with him, I tooke a particularle bad blow to my left hande, cleaved clean offe, whych the Crocidyle tooke with him when he disapeard. We could not act in tyme to save Milah from his Evil, either, and there was nothyng I could do as he crushed her hearte before mye very eyes and she crumpld to the deck, pledging her love to me wyth her last breathe as the vyle man dysapearred into a cloud of ashe and smoke. I vowed to her that I would avenge the wrong that her wycked husband did againste her, and even as her bodie now lay on the bottom of the Sea, it is a vow that I feare wyll follow me to the grayve. 

“Impossible,” she breathes again, knowing that the words corroborate the story he recalled to her with more detail than she could have imagined. So she turns to the end, and though the last few pages are blank, there are a few covered in a script other than Killian’s, she assumes after he is cursed and his First Mate takes over. 

18 Jan. 1618. 

Captain Jones was todaie deceivd by a member of hys own crewe, believed now to be working undere the orders of Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark Magicyan marryd to the Captain’s love Milah. Folowyng the directione of this man, he and Jones, along with meself and Lt Humphrey, ventured into the foreyst northe of the English towne Berkshyre to fynd a wytch said to have a spelle to lead him to his enemie and help defeat hym once and for alle. Instead, folowing the wytch’s instruction, we watchd helples-ly as his bodie instead transformyd into stone before our eyes. Instead of transcrybing, I have included it in the backe of this booke in hopes that one daye we may fynd a way to sayv our goode Captain from the wytch’s kurse. 

Quickly finishing the end of the page, which turns out to be the last written page in the book, Emma turns through the remaining pages until she finds what the First Mate said he left in the book, though it seems to be by some sort of miracle that it is still attached. 

Stuck between two of the last few pages, Emma finds a small piece of paper, no more than two inches wide, which was probably rolled up at one point, though it has since then folded flat; when she unrolls it, she finds it to be around a foot long. The writing on it is more calligraphic than the script from the Captain’s Log, parts of it more difficult to read with age and part of the bottom corner torn off, but at she reads it, she feels the breath leave her lungs. 

Captain Killian Jones, cursed synce the d———s brother’s lyfe-less body into the Sea, now fynds himselfe cursed for alle eternity to watche the World move around hym, use-less agaynst the kurse of time that will ——— of the villainous blakness that filles hys heart after —————— untile the daie his One True Love saves hym with True Love’s Kyss. 

Using the shelf behind her to help her back to her feet, she rushes back around the corner to the study room, the leather-bound book clutched between her hands. She wants to just reveal what she has found, but she has another plan, one that would allow her to corroborate this story of Killian’s.

“Killian!” she yells, pulling open the door, and every eye in the room is wide as they turn towards her. 

“Yes, love?” 

“When — when was Milah killed? What day?” 

“Emma, you can’t really expect— “ Mary Margaret says, but Killian holds up his hand, silencing her as he speaks. 

“The twelfth of April, sixteen hundred and ten.” His answer comes immediately, not even needing a moment to pull the answer from the back of his mind. 

“And what about — what about the day Liam died?” 

“The fourth of March, four years prior. Swan, what is this about?” 

In response, Emma tosses the book down on the table, where it slides across the surface and lands in front of him. 

Killian’s eyes go wide, a smile spreading across his face as he runs his thumb over the embossed leather cover — but everyone else in the room is utterly confused. 

“What is this?” Ruby asks as Killian flips open the cover and begins to read over the pages in front of them. 

“This is the Captain’s Log from my ship, though how this library managed to get their hands on it is a bloody miracle. It has — it has everything in it. It starts during Liam’s time as a Captain, the mission the king sent us on that got him killed. The turn to piracy. Milah. It’s all there.”

Mary Margaret and Belle turn towards Emma at his words, Ruby’s eyes set on the script from across the table. 

Emma nods. “I read through it, and it’s all there. It has Milah’s death, Killian losing his hand, getting deceived and visiting the witch.”

“Where did you find this?” Belle asks, turning to look at the pages over Killian’s shoulder. 

“It must have fallen behind the shelf at some point, it was wedged between it and the wall all the way at the bottom.“ 

"Brilliant,” Belle whispers, and when Emma turns to Killian, he is brightly beaming at her, as if he can tell that this find brought her so much closer to actually believing all the madness that is happening around them. 

“And,” she says, holding up the slip of paper that she has kept between her fingers. “I think I know what to do next." 

They make a plan — and not one that the rest of the girls like. Killian still has the map in his satchel that he used to find the witch’s cabin the first time around, and even though the town has changed a lot over the past few hundred years, they can get a general idea from natural landmarks and as soon as they are out of the town, Emma will cast a locator spell on the witch’s parchment from the journal to take them the rest of the way there. 

"I just don’t understand why just the two of you are going,” Mary Margaret argues, and not for the first time. “You don’t have to go alone, so I don’t see why you’re insisting on doing just that." 

"Admit it, darling,” Killian says, leaning closer to bump his shoulder against hers. “You just want to get me alone." 

Emma rolls her eyes at him, hoping that it is enough to hide the blush that rises to her cheeks when she realizes that he’s actually right — he’s growing on her, damn it, and she is actually beginning to like spending time with him.

Though neither of these reasons are the ones behind her insistence that they go alone. "This is a journey that Killian and I should take together, just the two of us,” Emma says quickly, trying not to wince at how hopeful that sounds. “Besides, he’s an excellent swordsman and I’m a magic-wielder. I’m sure we’re more than capable of taking care of anything that we come across on this journey." 

Finally, Mary Margaret smiles in response to this, and again Emma tries not to wince at how hopeful she looks.

"We should get home and prepare for this adventure, though,” Belle says, always the voice of reason. “Plus then the two of you can get ready to fly back home tomorrow." 

“Can I ask you a favor first, ladies?” Killian asks, pushing away from the table, and Emma turns her attention towards him. “This is one of the places where one would go to procure new information, right?” 

Emma nods, and he nods in return. 

“What do I have to do to borrow a few books? To help me learn about the four hundred years of updated technological advancements that I have missed.”

Emma turns to Belle, who is already digging through her purse to find her employee ID. “Of course,” she says. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

“I’d like to spend some time to peruse what’s available,” he says, making his way out of the room. “I’ll be back before too long.”

In what Emma realizes immediately is an out-of-character goodbye for him, he leaves the room without another word. She watches as he walks away from their room, heading away from their corner of the library, and by the time he has turned the corner and exited her line of sight, she realizes Ruby is trying to talk to her, though she heard none of it. 

“What?” 

“I said, what do you think you’re going to do?” 

“What do you mean ‘what am I going to do’? I’m going to see what we can learn about him and this — this witch that cursed him to try to get him back where he needs to be.”

“What does that mean?” Mary Margaret asks, dropping the pen from her hand onto the notebook in front of her. 

“You know,” she tries, twirling the end of her ponytail around her pointer finger. “He has to have something…” She shakes her head, not even sure exactly what she is trying to say. Not even sure what the excuse she is trying to make is. “… Somewhere he can… somewhere…” It’s still too much to try to take in, too much to try to take as seriously as her friends want her to. 

When she looks up at Belle, she is also shaking her head. “If the stories are true, and if what he’s been telling us is true, he’s been a statue since the 1600s. That means he has nowhere, no one, no home. Nothing except us, the people that were there when the curse was broken.” 

Emma shrugs, trying to avoid anyone else’s gaze. She supposes it could be worse; she at least has friends that are willing to help her figure out whatever the hell her life has become. If she was alone, just her and Killian, it would be a completely different story. 

One where she never kissed a damned statue in the first place. Never broke a True Love curse on a drunken dare. Never brought an incredibly attractive man back to life to follow a prophecy, apparently. 

“I just…” she tries, holding her head in her hands, and then repositions herself to lean back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, focusing her eyes on the ceiling. “I have no idea what any of this means. What am I supposed to do with him? How do I explain to customs that he has no passport because he was born in 1580-whatever and has been a statue for four hundred years when I want to go back to America? I barely make enough money to sustain myself, nonetheless this new person, who has none of the skills or knowledge he needs to get a job. Is he going to live in the spare bedroom for the rest of my life?” 

Mary Margaret reaches over to gently run her hand across Emma’s back. “But he’s your True Love. That has to mean something.”

Emma grinds her jaw together, squeezing her eyes shut before snapping her head to the side to look at her friend. “Not at the moment it doesn’t. My relationship literally just fell apart. I wasn’t — I wasn’t even ready to find some gorgeous Berkshire guy to have a quick fling with and never speak to again, so I definitely wasn’t ready to break some bullshit one True Love curse on a drunk dare. You can’t just — love doesn’t just work like that.”

Ruby leans across the table towards Emma, worry painted across her face. “So what do you think you’re going to do?” she asks, her voice soft. 

Emma crosses her arms on the table in front of her, resting her forehead on top of them. “At least I don’t have to leave for America in the morning,” she reminds them, simultaneously changing the subject. She really doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, none of her friends push her any further.

"Besides,” Belle adds. “We don’t want to keep you two from travelling back home any longer than we need to." 

Mary Margaret smiles, no doubt thinking of David and their two-year-old son back at home, but Ruby just waves her hand, dismissing the thought. 

"All I have to look forward to back at home is going back to work, and even saying that I'm looking forward to it is a stretch." 

"Ruby,” Emma groans, not wanting to have this argument again, but there’s no need once Mary Margaret speaks again. 

“Whether you like it or not, Ruby Lucas, you’re getting on that plane with me tomorrow and going back to Boston." 

Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest, looking even more like a teenager when she adds a roll of her eyes. "Ugh, fine." 

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

tagging the crew:  @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @teamhook @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @jonirobinson64 @nikkiemms @bmbbcs4evr @spartanguard @stahlop @jennjenn615 @xrandomdreamx @kday426 @courtorderedcake @kingofmyheart14 @aprilqueen84 @pirateherokillian @capswantrue @socmono @superchocovian @darkcolinodonorgasm 

(it you’re not here and want to be, let me know!! – there will be a part two!)

[bbbarneswrites]

Future’s Now

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: For every time Bucky thought of his past, you made him think of his future. Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 4,314 words

Notes: Hello! It’s been a very long time since I posted something...and for that I’m sorry. My writing skills seem to be drying out each day and even when I want to write, I just can’t put anything together. This piece started last year and I finally got myself to finish it! It’s not my best but it’s something. I’m hoping to be posting another piece soon until next week. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy this one. Feedback’s always welcome! Happy reading! <3

As soon Bucky steps into the bar, he’s welcomed with the warm temperature of the crowd and its noise, the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, he admits, but the Winter Soldier knows how to blend in anywhere like no one else.

(Plus, this is as near as he can get to his apartment so he can’t exactly complain).

The small dancefloor is packed with people, mostly young and drunk and way too happy when compared to his shit mood but that doesn’t stop him from taking the farthest seat at the bar’s counter, his brown locks falling against his face as soon as he places his order for the strongest drink in the menu. That’s all he needs for now–a drink (that won’t make him drunk, much to his dismay) and a few hours away from the Tower and its residents, including his long lost best-friend.

After completing his fourth mission in about a week and a half, Bucky can’t help but feel annoyed and useless as his teammates keep pestering him about his well-being. Always hearing something among the lines of coping and therapy and health, he pushes all those concerns away because those are things that doesn’t matter now.

Not to his redemption, anyway. Because neither of those things will ever erase whatever shit he’s done over and over for decades in a row.

But this is his easy way out.

It should be easy enough. To spend a night somewhere around people who don’t give a fuck about him or his health. People who might hate him for what he’s done. People who’d rather have their drinks than to pay attention to what’s surrounding them. He just needs a night where he can be a nobody instead of a super soldier in a team of super human beings. And so, that’s the last thing on his mind as he takes sip after sip from his bitter drink–getting recognized.

That doesn’t happen until he takes a note on you standing right beside him, having taken the duty of ordering another round of drinks for your friends. Even though Bucky isn’t in the party looking for something or someone, he has eyes and he can’t deny you’re beautiful. And it’s funny how you’re the first girl to really catch his eye during his first hour spent at the bar.

Your hair frames your face just perfectly and the little make-up you’re wearing it’s enough to do its job and highlight your features. Your outfit isn’t the boldest one he’s seen around but it still makes him squirm a little on his seat, his eyes incapable of not flickering over the expense of your legs exposed by a black skirt, t-shirt tucked under the waistband.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

But his mistake is to think you’re just another face in the crowd.

“You know, if your mugshot hadn’t been plastered in the news for months in a row, you’d give a nice NYU senior.” You say smartly, lips holding back a grin and eyes brimming with amusement while all Bucky can seem to do is stare dumbly, like a fish out of water. “A hipster-like senior, maybe? Really into arts and acting if you squint.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his mere raise of eyebrows is enough of an answer for you, given that you huff out a little laugh and turn your attention back to the bartender, now lining up six little cups of tequila in front of you.

Putting two and two together and now everything makes sense–the young crowd, the pop music and the insistent drinking. It’s a fucking student party and he’s right in the middle of it. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, Bucky admits, but he’s surprised to acknowledge that he doesn’t want to leave. Not now, anyway.

“Guess you’d be surprised to know I was an art student back in the day.” Bucky finally breaks his silence, unable to hold back a little grin as he watches you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Not all history books put that up, huh?”

You chuckle incredulously, eyes firmly set on his imposing frame as he just shakes his head with a deep breath and turns his attention back to the glass hanging from his fingers, holding back back a grin of his own. Bittersweet is the right word for the feeling beaming in his chest, as he misses the days where he could just talk to a girl like a normal guy but dreads the problematic person he’s become after all these years.

Bucky wonders if you’d still give him the time of your day if you knew only half of what he’s done as the soldier.

“Yeah, not all books do that. It’s a shame, really, if you ask me.” You sigh dramatically, placing a hand on your chest until Bucky is snickering in reply and you’re laughing at his sassy reaction. “Okay, so if you really were an art student, what’s your deal when it comes to it? Paintings? Performances?”

Bucky takes a sip of his drink, his lips curving in a small grin as he watches your antecipation over his answer–raised eyebrows, elbows resting on the counter, the tequila shots momentarily forgotten as you stare at him.

For someone who just wanted to get lost in a crowd less than ten minutes ago, he’s very well enjoying being the center of your interest and attention so far, much to his surprise. Oh, life, and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words.

“Just sketching, mostly.” He answers with a small shrug, his eyes falling to the dirty wooden counter. Once you hum encouragingly, curious eyes still upon his bulky frame, Bucky continues. “Just got in art school for Steve. Wouldn’t let his sorry ass miss a chance just ‘cause he’d get beat up by bullies.”

When Bucky dares to glance up to you again, your eyes are somewhat sorrowful but there’s still a little hint of playfulness that you take up with an amused smile, making you look suddenly mischievous just like that.

He decides right then that he likes the sight, and it makes him think that if this was any other kind of life or universe (where he isn’t as fucked up as he is now), he’d do something about it.

“College kids are a bit more level-headed, you know. Or are supposed to be.” You tease, throwing him a cheeky wink as your fingers reach for one of the little tequila cups lined up in front of you. “Not all of us drink our problems to oblivion like I’m doing now. Or beat up other kids. Just sometimes.”

As you shrug and down the shot in one go with a grimace, Bucky can’t help but smirk.

Maybe he was hoping to be recognized, deep down in his consciousness. Maybe he was hoping to have someone to spit drunk but bitter truths to his face about his past. Maybe he was hoping for someone who wouldn’t coddle him, just take things as messy as they are. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that he didn’t want to meet someone in that night. But he’s pleasantly surprised to know all of that really is happening–just not in the way he’d been expecting.

Turns out, you don’t need to spit bitter truths to make him feel like a random guy in bar. Not an Avenger, not a recovering soldier, not a ruthless assassin. You only need to be you, talking to him as if he’s a nice NYU senior, really into art and acting, if one squint. Funny.

“Drinkin’ to oblivion sounds like a smart choice.” Bucky tips his glass between his gloved vibranium fingers but lets out a short laugh in the way. Your eyes follow the movement of his lips and he can’t help but grin, chest flaring in mild smugness with your reaction. “Can’t exactly do that with the super soldier thing and all.”

Just as Bucky takes the last sip of his drink, you raise a hand for the bartender and his cup gets filled up to the brim again. Words muffled by the rock song blasting through the room, the order is placed on your tab, just like you request it. And then, your fingers are expertly lifting up the little tequila cups together, a grin on your face as you turn to the side and rest your hip against the counter.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

“Bucky Barnes.” You start, a smile on your face as you lean closer to him and lock your eyes with his. When Bucky nods in a silent urge, you swipe your tongue over your lips, feeling nothing but gleeful as he follows the movement. “Find me. And then I can maybe pose for one of those sketches of yours.”

And he does find you.

(Or FRIDAY does for him, that is).

He remembers the time where things like these were usual to him–the suits, dancing, parties and all that.

Bucky used to be that guy who liked going out, seeing and knowing people. He liked to dance, to get his best suit out of the wardrobe for a night out. He liked to have a good time with someone by his side, to feel comfortable and confident in his own skin. He liked to be a free spirit, not caring about people’s judgement over his actions and his life choices. But fast foward to this day and age, from the second the invitation is sent to his name to the actual gala party day, Bucky completely dreads the entire situation altogether.

The one thing he’s completely sure of is that he hates Tony Stark and his pompous events.

Bucky Barnes is now a former assassin with a troubled past and issues that can go down to his bones. Not exactly a perfect poster boy or a favorite between the Avengers. His day-to-day consists of occasional anxiety attacks, isolation and guilt trips. Sleepless nights, bad dreams and whatever else a man like him is supposed to have.

And still, the so dreaded night is nothing but pleasant.  

He drinks and laughs and dances and it’s a nice change from the times where he used to stick to the corners of the ballroom with people tiptoeing around him.

It’s a nice change to have someone who treats him as a whole, like he’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second. Bucky might hate the parties and dislike the attention but he won’t snap because of it. Strange enough, the damn night grants him a pleasing sense of nostalgia as it makes him think of the Sergeant in a less bitter way than he’s accustomed to.

Twirling you around on the dancefloor, drinking just for the fun of it, enjoying the company of his teammates. Doing so suddenly doesn’t feel so foreign as he thought it would be.

Despite it all, Bucky can’t deny he likes this much better–both of you sitting in the corner of an old diner, waiting on your orders as the stereo plays catchy 80s songs and you pretend to sing along. Every person who passes by your booth gives a double take because you look anything but ordinary in that moment.

Between his jet black suit and your flowy mint green gown (a Dior, courtesy of Tony Stark himself, as a thank you for convincing Bucky to attend the gala), it’s clear that neither of you really belong to that place, at least not while sporting the very much expensive looking attires that will be returned in a few hours.

The burgers and fries and milkshares combo arrive in no time and after a suspicious glance from the waitress and a change of genre on the stereo (now playing a Ariana Grande song (that he’s surprised to know), you’re falling into mindless conversation between one salty fry or two.

“I need to know something really important about you.” You start, pointing one of your fries towards him in a rather threatening way, though he can clearly see you’re playing just by the mischief in your eyes. “Do you believe in astrology? Horoscopes and all that? Think wisely about this.”

With the milkshake straw between his lips, Bucky mulls over your question.

Back in the day, his life was simpler but way too busy for him to be thinking about something as seemingly silly as astrology. His sisters had magazines about it though and sometimes read bits and pieces to him, only to be always shrugged by the older brother. The traits they veemently claimed he had as a Pisces man, now don’t make much sense so maybe Bucky isn’t that sure about his astros anymore.

“I know I’m a Pisces but that’s all about it.” He finally answers, huffing out a laugh and offering a playful apologetic shrug when you glance at him in pretend hurt. “Just never put much thought into it. Can’t blame me, I was born in 1917. Why?”

In a ploy that is clearly meant to rile him up, because there’s definitely a hint of curiosity laced to his voice despite the nonchalant answer, you mirror his shrug and take your time on sipping your vanilla milkshake.

And Bucky knows he’s supposed to feel something but not this–at least, not yet.

Under the pink-ish lights of the diner, his mind is all over the place with just how pretty and just unapologetic you look in the moment. The straps of your dress are very thin, but just enough to expose your collarbones and skin, a simple necklace that hangs a little star closing around your the base of your neck. Despite the long night, your make-up is pretty much intact though a few strands of your hair are out of place. It’s right then, Bucky realizes he never wants to miss this sight–or rather you, again.

(Getting out of his comfort zone scares him a whole lot, yes, but feeling this infatuated with someone this damn quickly feels even scarier, if he’s being honest).

“Pisces are very compassionate people, you know.” You break his momentary misery, smiling cheekily despite the straw still hanging between your lips. “Very intuitive, loyal and kind. They can be a little unpredictable with their feelings, though. I can definitely see the pisces in you.”

An unfamiliar warmth spreads through Bucky’s neck and despite the unexpected blush, a rather grim laugh escapes from his lips, anyway.

He doesn’t mean to be this bitter but supposes it’s probably in his nature now, especially after the shitshow that has been his life since HYDRA. The one thing that Bucky can’t deny is the fact that even with his deep layers of grief, your sweet words are easily breaking all the way through his heavy heart.

So much that he feels soft, light as ever. He’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second–he’s just Bucky.

“I think you see way too much in me, baby doll.” Bucky huffs, looking adorably sheepish as you offer him an unimpressed glance. “Just sayin’, I’ve been called a lot of things but compassionate and kind aren’t one of them.”

Stopping midway through a bite of a french fry, your face quickly shifts from tenderness to indignation.

By being who he is, Bucky doesn’t need somebody to pick up his fights. He’s stubborn as all hell, and Steve is one to testify to that. It’s hard to accept help from someone when you’ve got an historic as dirty and shady as his, he doesn’t think anybody in their right mind should be meddling in his business. It’s not a smart thing to do–being somehow associated with a former rogue assassin.  

And it’s true, Bucky Barnes definitely is a protective fucker, so he goes out of his way to protect his people from his own actions. Still, he can’t help but feel his chest flare over your own protective reaction towards him.

“That’s because people are stupid, Bucky Barnes.” You huff, voice sounding nothing but firm though there’s still a hint of empathy laced to it, one that makes Bucky smile softly. “They see what they want to see. Most of us close our eyes to the truth because it’s convenient, easier to judge.”

Silence falls between you as Bucky mulls over your words.

Over the years, there’s been a fair share of excuses for all the crimes he committed as HYDRA’s puppet–he was just a small piece of a bigger game, not in control of his mind, a victim just like other prisoners and experiments. When it comes down to it, Bucky knows it’s different, too personal when it comes to him. So he doesn’t fail to remember that it was his hand that pulled the trigger every time, his face that people last saw before their death.

He lives with the memories, sleeps upon them, and he doesn’t blame people for hating him.

That doesn’t mean the fact sits well in his heart, that he doesn’t seek redemption through his actions, that he doesn’t care about what his family thinks about him. About what you think about him. And despite knowing who you are and what you stand for, Bucky would be liar by denying the hint of fear creeping up the corners of his mind.

“Did you?” He mumbles, watching you frown in mild confusion for a second before a sigh escapes from his lips. “Did you ever judge me for what I did? Before you knew me?”

With your expression changing once again, this time from confusion to pure and unashamed affection, Bucky doesn’t expect your next move.

It takes a second for you to get up from your seat, the skirt of your dress swaying as you squeeze the way into his side of the booth. Bucky almost thinks that’s the end of it until you’ve got the lapels of his Valentino suit in a fist, pulling him to you so quickly that he barely processes your lips crashing into his.

When Bucky feels you smile against his lips, arms sliding up to close around his neck, he breaks out of his stupor to pull your body closer to him–hands on your hips, just slightly lifting you so it’s enough to bring you to his lap between the tight fit of the corner table. And while both of you know it’s highly inappropriate to be doing this in the middle of a diner so late into the night, discretion is thrown into the wind as soon you melt into the kiss.

A change of song makes you break apart from his lips with a laugh and Bucky bets it’s from a girlband he can’t quite remember the name.

Tightening your arms around his neck, he can’t help but smile by feeling your face buried against his skin, soon enough with your lips lightly pressing little kisses over the collar of his button-up. It’s right there that Bucky realizes–even though you haven’t said a word, he’s got the answer in the best way possible.

Your eyes were always open for his truth.

Sitting half asleep in the kitchen island of your little apartment in Queens, a lukewarm mug of tea between his fingers, Bucky can’t help but replay the twisted images of his nightmare over and over again.

It’s been over a year since the last time he’s even had one but the familiar heavy feeling settles back inside his chest like it never really left.

Irony seems like a right take on his situation–years and years spent with HYDRA having his body and mind harmed to no end, added to the many more he’s spend on the run until he was put back under and deprogrammed, to then become dust in Wakanda. He’s gone through hell and back but yet, he’s surprised to be visited by the ghosts of his past.

Over a year ago, he couldn’t care less about his nightmares.

They were his own–a sick, twisted way of coping and redeeming himself for his time with HYDRA. Sometimes if felt like a reassurance, a reminder that it was never him, never his own volition, only HYDRA. But even then, they were never like this one. It was always his victims, glimpses of bloodied places, hints of pain, blurried memories and faces that belong solely to the puppet he once was. It was never about Steve, his family, the Avengers, never about someone too close to his heart.

(Funny to see how his mind has betrayed him. Life is right there making him swallow his words once again).

Bucky can’t shake the image of your body strapped to the chair.

At first, there’s no comfort to seeing you safe and sound once he finally wakes up. It only makes him anxious, the possibility that his nightmare could eventually become a reality crushing his chest. It makes him angry, because out of all people in his life and all bullshit he’s been through, his subconscious chooses you to haunt him. It makes him painfully aware that anything can go south in his life, no matter how comfortable he feels.

But right now, Bucky’s heart can’t help but feel lighter as he watches you step into the kitchen in your baby blue pajamas and fuzzy socks, looking cozy and sleepy and just very you.

Knowing him inside and out, you silently walk over, arms reaching out around his waist and just lightly squeezing closer to  your chest. Your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades and his own hands covering your own over his stomach, Bucky easily feels like he’s safe again.

“Whatever’s going through your head right now, you know it’s not true. Right?” You mumble, voice muffled with the fabric of his t-shirt, though he can still feel the warmth of your breath and your hair tickling the nape of his neck. “Unless you’re thinking about us adopting a pet. I’m all up for that, just so you know.”

Though it’s small, an unexpected smile makes its way to Bucky’s lips. To match, his cheeks burn to a rosy tone over the mere thought of an earlier discussion–a dog or a cat, Bucky, so we can finally be a family. And now, he doesn’t voice his sudden agreement, but he’s most definitely taking you to the shelter soon in the morning.

Gently prying your hands from him, a little noise of distaste coming from you that makes him really laugh, Bucky turns around on his seat and then there’s you standing between his legs.

“So no breakfast in bed tomorrow morning then? Goddamn, doll.” He huffs, eyebrows drawn together in pretend annoyance until you’re playfully slapping his thigh. “Breakfast in bed. Got it.”

The sound of your laugh echoing through the apartment and the sweet sight you make after such a hellish hour is enough to send him reeling back to a simpler time.

Where he could enjoy a night with his best-friend, win a fight or two as a welterweight boxer, provide what he could for his family, meet a nice dame that he’d eventually give out his mother’s ring, passing on the Barnes legacy with a kid or two, or whatever else a man from his time is supposed to do. And though Bucky hadn’t let himself think of that for a long time, he can’t help but to do so with you.

His life is anything but simple but his life with you can be just that and more.

“I’m not opposed to breakfast in bed, I’ll say. Nutella pancakes.” You wink, a tender smile curling your lips as your hand reaches out to cup his jaw. Beard harsh against your palm, you brush a thumb over his lower lip. “Are you okay enough for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning?”

Lips pressing a tiny kiss to your finger, arms reaching out to your hips and forehead meeting yours as he leans closer, Bucky nods.

“Just if you’ll have me for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.” He chuckles quietly, sighing as your hand falls to his neck, fingertips into his hair. “I’m good, baby girl. Promise.”

Life and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words. All it takes is a tug down from your hands until your lips are meeting his and Bucky is just melting away. It’s sweet, soft, and it makes all of his worries fade just as quickly as they fogged up his mind. You feel warm, welcoming and familiar–just like home is supposed to feel like, whether if it’s now or seventy years back in the past.

“Okay then, Mr. James Barnes.” You mumble, lips still brushing over his after the broken kiss. Eyes still closed, his lips curl up in a small smile when you squeeze his neck. “Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast in bed with nutella pancakes. And then, we’ll make it a day out to visit a few thrift stores I’ve been meaning to go. Got it?”

Thrift stores like his baby sister would drag him to and that he’d usually hate with all his might.

Though the idea doesn’t sound so bad now–it’s a hint from his past with a twist of his future that makes Bucky realize that despite of all the ghosts glooming over him, he’s still standing tall, still hopeful for the life twenty-one year old Bucky Barnes planned out.

And so, with another kiss pressed to your lips, he promises to fullfil his own wish.

“I got it.”

[shawnpetermuffins]

Dancing On My Own

Summary: We have a little best friends turned lovers thing going on here because why not.

Request: this lovely angst was requested by @it-isnt-in-myy-blood and I hope it's what you wanted.

Warnings: angst, with a fluff ending because again, why the hell not?

A/n: this ending sucks, I'm so sorry.

***

"Please come. It's my birthday party you have to," Brian begged over the phone.

"Bri, no. I can't."

"You mean you won't," he sighed. "If I told you Shawn was going would you come?"

Damn him for using my one and only weakness. "I hate you."

"I'll see you tonight." He hung up before I could change my mind.

Here's the thing. I hate parties. I hate bars. But I love Brian. And I love Shawn. We've been friends since I could remember. All of us, Brian, Shawn, Matt, Ian, and me. It's us. But I've always been the closest to Shawn, which is great, except I've also been in love with him since we were sixteen. And I didn't realize it until he had a girlfriend and it was too late to do anything about it. Now we're twenty he's been touring the world and I still love him, and he still doesn't know.

So you can imagine the immense, aching pain I felt in my chest when I saw him behind the bar talking to a girl in this dress that left very little to the imagination. (Definitely not something I could ever rock.) She was beautiful, I will give him that. Her hand is permanently on his bicep and she's laughing at everything. And she leans forward every time giving him an optimal view of her chest. As if being six foot two doesn't already give him that chance.

And yeah, I know it's stupid, but I gotta see it for myself.

"You look like you need a drink," Matt wrapped his arm around my shoulders and handed me his glass.

"What is it?" I brought the brim of the cup to my lips.

"Seven and seven."

I nodded and downed the rest of the drink, which was only about a quarter of the glass. I coughed in my elbow, hating the burn in my throat. "I need another drink. You want anything?"

He furrowed his brows and looked over at the bar where Shawn and that girl were somehow even closer than earlier. "I'll get it. What do you want?"

"Strongest thing you can get me."

He gave me a sad smile but nodded anyway and made his way across the floor.

Instinctively, my eyes wondered to Shawn who was now dancing - grinding, actually - with her. I glanced down at my feet, clad in heels and bright pink nail polish.

"Hey, you doing okay?" Brian showed up at my side a few minutes later.

"Yep."

"You're not. What's wrong?"

I sighed, "Brian, I know you wanted me here for your party, and I love you. But do you see what I see?" I gestured over to the newly found couple. "I can't watch that."

"Are you ever going to tell him?"

"Tell who what?" Matt found his way back to us and gave me a shot and a lime. "Tequila," he said when I looked at him confused. "Anything tequila is your drink tonight. "

I nodded, "sounds good." I swallowed the harsh liquor and quickly bit into the lime. I placed the lime in the glass and set it on the table next to us.

"Now are we gonna tell who what?"

"Is y/n ever going to tell Shawn that she's in love with him?"

As if on cue, we all looked over at them and I wish I hadn't because the sight was awful. Shawn's tongue was down her throat and his hands were on either side of her waist, and I thought I might throw up.

I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her. Oh oh oh. I'm right over here. Why can't you see me? Oh oh oh.

I'm not drunk enough for this, I though. And the guys must have thought the same thing because Matt handed me his still full glass and I drank it all in one gulp, wincing at whatever it was. I didn't care. I just needed to drink. Without another thought, I took Brian's beer and brought it to my lips. Now let's be clear. I don't drink often, I've never seen the point. Sure I'll have a glass of wine with dinner here and there, and sometimes a rum and coke if I'm out with the guys. But only ever one. However, in the last ten minutes I have had four different types of alcohol and I didn't plan on stopping there.

And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home... I keep dancing on my own.

I was just about to take my fourth shot when Shawn and his new accessory made their way over to us. He had lipstick smeared all over his neck and jaw. I was disgusted.

"My god, I hate tequila," I mumbled, but grabbed another glass. Shawn stopped me.

"How many have you had?" He asked over the music. Brian and Matt eyed me while I stood in front of my best friend, decently smashed, but somehow still not drunk enough.

"Well I can still see straight, so not enough." I gulped yet another glass and Shawn just watched me curiously.

"The cake's coming out," Brian placed a hand on the small of my back, probably to distract me from the girl clinging to Shawn's side.

I plastered on a fake smile and we all started singing "happy birthday" when we saw the lit up cake.

I just want to dance all night, and I'm all messed up. I'm so out of line, yeah.

"Happy birthday, to you!"

She claps with her arms still wrapped around his bicep and I roll my eyes. She's clearly never heard of personal space.

Some upbeat R&B song from the early 2000s blared through the speaker and she gasps. "Shawn, come dance with me!" She drags him back to the dance floor and I slump back into my seat, taking the last shot on the table.

Stilletos and broken bottles, I'm spinning around in circles. And I'm in the corner watching you kiss her, oh.

I can only watch for a minute before that familiar promise of tears stings my eyes and I have to rush out of the bar before I fully break down. The guys all call after me, trying to get me to stay, but if I was in there one more second I would surely break.

So far away, but still so near. The lights come up, the music dies, but you don't see me standing here. I just came to say goodbye.

I'm leaning against the wall of the building, tears blurring my vision, sobs wracking my entire body.

"Y/n?"

Shawn. I straighten up quickly and wipe at my eyes. "Oh, hi."

"Honey, what's wrong? Why'd you run out like that? Did something happen?"

I scoffed. "Surprised you noticed."

"Of course I noticed. I've been watching you all night. You don't seem like yourself."

I shook my head, "so you can watch even with your tongue down another girls throat?"

"What does Quin have to do with anything?" He threw his hands up.

"Just forget it. Forget I said anything. Go back inside. Go be with Quin."

"No. My best friend is crying and I'd like to know why. You think I haven't noticed that you've been checked out all night. Or the past few weeks, actually."

"I don't know what you want me to say." I shrugged.

"I want you to talk to me," he begged. "Why don't you talk to me anymore?"

"Because I'm in love with you!" I blurted out. "There. Are you happy? I'm in love with you and that's why I can't talk to you because you have a new girl on your arm every time we go out and it fucking hurts to see that, Shawn!"

He stopped and stared at me for a while. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Why wouldn't I tell you? Because we've been friends since we were kids. I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."

"How long have you felt this way?" He stepped closer to me.

"That doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"Fine," I crossed my arms over my chest. "Sixteen"

"So, you've kept this from me for four years. And you never thought, 'hey, you know, my best friend might want to know that I'm in love with him.'"

"You had a girlfriend! Then you were touring the world. And now you're sleeping with every girl you can get your hands on, but not me. Never me. Am I not good enough for you, Shawn?"

"Y/n, you are the only girl I have ever been able to keep in my life. You're too good for me, let's be completely fucking honest. I can't give you the attention you need and deserve. I'm never home."

"You think I don't know that? I know you're never home, which is why, even though I hate bars and parties, I still go out so that I can see you. I love you, Shawn. And I hate seeing you with other girls. But I know that we can't be more than friends and after this, we probably can't even be that, eh?"

He ran his hands through his hair, "let's do it."

"What?"

He reached for my hands, "look, I can't promise to be the greatest boyfriend in the world. But I can promise that I'll do everything in my power to make you happy. Because I do love you, so much. And if you're willing, then I want to do this. I want to be your boyfriend. You're my best friend, y/n."

"I don't want to lose you if we break up."

"Then we're best friends first. Boyfriend and girlfriend second. Nothing has to change other than the label."

"You sure you want this? I'm kind of a handful."

He chuckled, "I know, hon."

I hit his arm playfully, "Ass."

"I like yours."

My cheeks flushed pink and I wrapped my arms around his torso, burying my head in his chest. But he picked my face up by my chin.

"Hi," he said simply, a smile transforming his face.

"Hi."

I didn't have time to blink before I felt his lips on mine. And this - even just the slightest peck - was definitely worth the four year wait.

"I think I'm dreaming," I mumbled against his lips.

"Not dreaming, darling."

"Then I'm just really drunk."

"That you are. Let's get you home, eh?"

I nodded, "I should go tell the guys that we're leaving. Don't want them worrying about me."

Shawn looked behind me and rolled his eyes, "I think they already know."

I turned around to see Matt and Brian standing in the doorway. Matt quickly ducked back inside when I caught him. Brian was pulled in screaming, "FUCKING FINALLY!"

***

A/n: I hate the ending, actually.