#he sort of meshed the stranger and the spiral together and do you know what he calls this hybrid fear? he calls them ‘the michaels’

[fricklefracklefloof]

NOTHING reawakens my hyperfixation for something more than introducing it to someone else and rewitnessing the whole thing right beside them

[captain-ozone]

okay okay, guys, so I know we’ve seen HP/Batman and ATLA/Batman mashups and crossovers, with numerous discussions about which Houses the Batfam would be Sorted into as well as which elements they would bend. 

I raise you: the Batfam in the world of The Magnus Archives. Which Fear Entities might they serve? Which would they abhor? Which might they have been victims to? 

Let’s discuss. 

(If you’re unfamiliar with The Magnus Archives, it’s a horror/tragedy podcast. Highly recommend. For context, though, here’s some info on the Entities I’m talking about)

Bruce: He’d likely develop an association with The Web, The Eye, or possibly The Dark with an absolute loathing of The Corruption, The Extinction, The Desolation, and, of course, The End. He fights to keep these last four entities out of Gotham while utilizing his association with remarkably contradictory Entities (i.e. The Eye and The Dark) as both a detective and a cowled vigilante. If anyone could pull it off, he could. And does. I mean, Bruce goes out of his way to investigate and reveal corruption, crime, and other plots against the good people of Gotham, which The Eye loves, AND he skulks in the shadows and makes common criminals piss themselves when he comes to get them, all of which The Dark would thrive on. In any case, I imagine he’d resent any favor given to him by ANY of the Entities. The Hunt enjoys Bruce, too, as it would all the members of the superhero community, actually, in some capacity. Another point for The Web? For all the plans and contingencies he makes, he never plans to make a family. Kids just fall in his lap, somehow in the right place and the right time. The Web undoubtedly has a blast with Bruce. It gives him all sorts of plots to unravel while ultimately playing him like a fiddle.

Dick: THE VAST OMG. He’d both be a victim and servant, and I will not take criticism on this point. The Vast is fickle, I think, and Dick would be a perfect plaything for it. As we all know, this poor boy lost his parents due to a fall from the trapeze, and he might have fallen himself, had things been different (*cough cough* I see you, Mother of Puppets). I love fics that put Dick’s love of heights at odds with his trauma (again providing some evidence for a love-hate relationship with this particular Entity), but of course, Dick overcomes the trauma associated with his parents’ fall and rarely leaves his feet on the ground. Heights and open spaces are his heroin. They’re in his blood. He shares this love with the Robins who follow in his footsteps as well as other colleagues in the superhero community. The Vast feeds off their initial fear of heights/grappling/free-falling, or perhaps each heart-stopping reaction they have when they watch Dick do all these wild acrobatic things from high heights. But The Vast isn’t just about heights, is it? It also has to do with a fear of falling into obscurity or feeling insignificant in the grand scheme of things. And we also know Dick has this fear in ABUNDANCE (see as, his oftentimes rocky relationship with his mentor, as well as his desire to be That Shoulder To Lean On in literally every team he’s been a part of). So. Yes. The Vast. 

Babs: THE EYE. Her code name is Oracle. She oversees the entire Batfam operation. And is also an information hub for THE BIRDS OF PREY AND THE JUSTICE LEAGUE. Like???? This needs no explanation or further discussion.

Jason: Oh god. This boy. Okay. So. He is fascinating, and he’d be fascinating to pretty much every Entity out there, for both good and bad reasons, too. They’d have a field day with him. Let’s look at his death first. He technically escaped The End as well as The Corruption and The Buried when he was resurrected, bodily restored, and forced to dig his way out of his grave. I cannot decide if these three Entities would target him specifically afterwards for having escaped their clutches or if they would be sated knowing how afraid he was at the time of his resurrection. Either way. The Web, also, would have had a hand in pretty much every convoluted part of DC’s many Crises, one of which triggered Jason’s resurrection in the first place. BUT WAIT THAT IS NOT ALL. Jason’s been touched by The Spiral (because who else would the Joker serve???? Actually... lies. I might argue the Joker shakes hands with The Stranger sometimes too, but idk how well those Entities would work together). Outside of his death at the hands of an avatar of The Spiral/The Stranger (which Jason would experience intense fear/loathing toward), the Lazarus Pit is probably a co-instrument of The End (because the fear of death does drive men to seek immortality, does it not?) and The Slaughter (for obvious reasons). During his crime-lord phase, he may have some association with The Hunt and The Desolation in addition to The Slaughter. The Flesh would have loved his duffle bag of heads. Prior to forming a team of Outlaws, he’s likely also been touched by The Lonely. And ALL THIS after being mentored by someone who has an association with The Eye/The Web/The Dark. And having a brother so closely tied to The Vast. In the end, after the Pit Madness has worn off, Jason might have unintentionally found himself an avatar of The End, but I imagine all of the Entities would love or hate him (and possibly even consider him with the same fondness they would a pet that gets passed around between distant family members). He...has a unique relationship with each of them, in any case. 

Tim: WEB TIM WEB TIM WEB TIM WEB TIM. This boy was born to serve The Web. Though he very nearly fell prey to The Lonely, on account of his parents’ neglect. Prior to becoming Robin, he had to fight every day to keep himself from being consumed by it. Continuously lying and tricking his caretakers (as well as his parents) into believing he was alright by himself specifically to sneak out and get pictures of Batman was what initially drew The Web to him. After becoming Robin? Whoooo boy. He had free reign and excelled as a master strategist and manipulator. He violently rejects The Lonely, no matter how often it tries to draw him back.

Cass: Like Tim, she’s been touched by The Lonely. Unlike Tim, I like to think she’s made her peace with it and has learned to live in harmony with the mark it left behind. I mean, her father isolated her for most of her childhood and denied her the opportunity to learn how to speak and read. She had no connection to anyone beyond that. The Lonely adored her. Once choosing to join Bruce, she casts off her larger association with The Lonely, obviously, and learns to become a part of a family. Unlike the others in the family, though, she does not serve any other Entity and makes a point not to get too close to any of them, though she does have an uncanny understanding of each of them (and can identify their avatars, victims, and associated artifacts on sight), which puts her closer to The Eye than she likes to acknowledge. Her hatred of The End surpasses Bruce’s.

Stephanie: she’s the hardest for me to decide upon. Tbh, she’s probably a lot like Georgie Barker in TMA. Perhaps her shameless lack of fear/ability to focus beyond her fears makes her uninteresting to the Entities, maybe??? Will come back to her later. And will definitely accept any further thoughts on her.

Damian: The League of Assassins is all about new world order, right? Ra’s al Ghul’s main motivation is to save the world...while also destroying a good portion of it to do so. So we know Damian has grown up around ideals of The Extinction, The End, and The Desolation. After meeting Bruce and moving in to Wayne Manor, it’s hard to shake any loyalty to these Entities. His death and resurrection, like Jason’s, ties him further to The End, but after meeting Jon Kent, Colin Wilkes, Maya Ducard (etc etc) and actually allowing himself the opportunity to be a kid, he doesn’t really serve any Entity, does he? I mean, he probably defers to Bruce’s loyalties in the beginning and continues to do so while learning from his other family members, but he’s probably made no such commitments to any of the Entities himself. Dick’s tie to The Vast may have some impact on him, especially considering how close Dick and Damian are, but I doubt The Vast would have an interest in Damian solely because of it. The kid’s personality and The Vast don’t mesh. I bet Damian may, later, genuinely follow in his father’s footsteps and be a dichotomy by allying himself with The Eye and The Dark. For now, though, he’s a kid and deserves freedom from any Fear Gods.

Duke: you see the state the Joker’s toxin left this kid’s parents in?? Victim of The Spiral/The Stranger, without a doubt. I’m not as up-to-date on his current arc, unfortunately, so I’m not sure which Entity he would end up leaning toward outside of The Eye (by association to the others and due to his own detective skills) but his powers with light put him at distinct odds with The Dark. 

[gothwarlocks]

❤ Love headcanons for Lev?

❤ love headcanons ❤

When they discover they’ve got a crush: If it's someone he's known a while, Lev's kind of bad at realizing his feelings are deeper than, "this is my friend and I love them as a friend." This is especially because he's already playful and physically affectionate with platonic friends. If it's a stranger he'd only recently met and there's chemistry of some kind, he's quick to pick up on his own feelings since the attraction is most likely physical at first. Hard (hahaha) to miss that kind of feeling, y'know?

How they confess/hint: Definitely depends on the person he's pursuing. There'd be more levity and less barriers. Lev likes to jokingly sit in others' laps, so someone he's interested in will often find him nestled in their's, arms wrapped behind their neck (what a clown). He'll pick up their tab or offer a ride home, hoping to build up to a more intimate conversation where he could possibly confess. He does like being straightforward, though, so once he knows he's in the clear, Lev will find the right time to confess and sort out where he and the other person stand.

Big gestures of love: Being wherever he's needed at the drop of a hat, willing to stop anything he's doing to see his partner. Willing to lend money or his skills/labor and expect nothing in return, regardless of the repercussions. It's a given, but hurting or killing people that upset his partner. He will go to war for someone he really loves.

Little gestures of love: Picking up the tab, lingering hugs and cheek kisses, buying/cooking them a meal, offering to walk with or drive them around, generally being there for them whenever they need small favors or just someone to be around if they're feeling scared or sad.

How to win their heart: Showing the same passion for radical change and direct action as he does. Taking care of Lev when he is down on his luck. Defending him, physically or otherwise.

How to break their heart: Not being open to new food or overall being picky. Being judgmental of his habits or interests. Leading him on or cheating on him (he takes that sort of thing very hard). Being embarrassed by his behavior.

Tiny little turn-ons: Blushing from/laughing at his jokes. Thinking he's funny. Clowning on him in retaliation. Overall "GET A ROOM!" behavior lol.

Big turn-ons: Being stronger than him, emotionally or physically (but especially physically). Being as obviously into him as he is to them. Being told he is loved and cared about. Long-term promises. Resting a hand on the nape of his neck or pulling him closer by his waist. Lev wears spiked or o-ring collars when he feels like it, so if someone were to teasingly tug on those...

Things that make their heart flutter: Public displays, like dedicating a toast to him or announcing to win a competitive thing in his honor. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the face of danger.

Their type: "Dominant" men would be a generalized answer. Lev doesn't really have a type so much as he just is attracted to men that mesh well with his own life and personality. He respects a lot of diverse qualities in people so really, just shoot your shot and see what happens. But being physically stronger than him is always an advantage, since Lev's usually one of the tougher people in his circles. Sometimes it's nice to be in the arms of a man that can bench press your weight lol.

Ideal date: Something urban and at night. Going to a concert, hitting up local cantinas, getting a late dinner at some 24-hour spot. Something impromptu, like getting matching tattoos at a shop a friend recommended the night before. Ideally, it might end with watching a holo-film back at someone's place, and whatever else is up to the other person's wishes. Lev actually likes a bit of normalcy in his dates, but he's not opposed to arson, vandalism, and a dose of chaos on a date!

Past relationships: A couple of women back on Coruscant from his teen years, when he was still unsure of himself. They're swell people and though they drifted apart, Lev is still on good terms with the both of them. Several men across the galaxy (Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa, Rishi, Mek-sha...), most of which dumped him. No one particularly memorable, though.

How they might affect current relationships: Lev'rani's still fairly sensitive to rejection. The couple of times he really liked his partners, they ended up leaving him for his faults (or their own, but he still blames himself). He could become anxious about fucking up a good thing he has going with a partner, so talking him down from those types of spirals is to be expected.

‘Goals’ in a relationship (marriage, kids, a house, etc): Lev'rani doesn't project as many hopes onto relationships as most people do, I think. He wants companionship above all else. He's very much of the mindset that if you have each other, very little else matters. Plus, he likes being mobile and not settling into traditional roles. His partner better like living in starships and apartments, because he generally just bounces from one place to another to evade authorities. Lev would also be thrilled if his partner would like to raise an anooba together!

Any other love headcanons: No thoughts head gay.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (1/15)

Summary: Sarah, after a mental break, gets a fresh start in a small Northwestern town with a lot of secrets. (AVA/SARAH)

Warnings: Implied past rape, semi-graphic self harm, implied depression

The first box is the easiest.

Sarah sets it down in the middle of the floor and subsequently spends a few long minutes just staring out the slider as waves crash against the shore not too far away. Far enough that the high tide won’t attack her, but close enough for nothing to obstruct her view of the rolling blue under a sky of marine layer thick like the fog over her head. Bringing the box in was easy, putting it down is easy, but she’s suddenly confronted with the fact that she is not on a vacation, as eager as her mother had been to paint it that way. She gets it, in a way. Everyone would like to believe this is just a vacation, herself included. That’s what her old therapist had said, anyways. They’re still going to call every couple weeks, but she’s supposed to be seeing someone new in town twice a week.

All the boxes in the middle are a little harder, but the hardest is the last box because it forces her to confront the fact that everything she owns fits into only six cardboard moving boxes. One of pillows and blankets. One of towels. Two of clothes. One of plates, bowls, cups and silverware. And one of books and trinkets. Six boxes contain her whole life, or at least what she’s managed to salvage of herself. Sarah just looks at the last box, not bringing it in, while the movers supply her with freshly bought furniture courtesy of her mother. A couch, a dining room table, a few chairs, a bedframe and mattress, and a dresser are put in their places. Then the movers bid her a stiff goodbye and drive off, leaving her to numbly look at the box on the front porch in front of her.

In theory, it’s easy. Pick up the box. Carry it inside. Put it next to the others. It’s a little heavy, but nothing she can’t handle, in all honesty. She’d managed to build some muscle a few months ago, and while it’s begun to wither away, she’s still more than capable of carrying in the box. All she has to do is pick it up. Pick it up. Pick it up. Her hands are in her hair, pulling but not hard, yet. Eyes shut. The weight of her body is too heavy on her feet. Sinking into the concrete porch. Pick up the box. She just has to pick up the box. But instead, she thinks she might be crying. Wasn’t this supposed to be over?

The next thing she knows, she’s sitting on top of the box, pulling absentmindedly at the bandages on her forearm. However, absentmindedly has an implication of something peaceful. Habitual and familiar, absentmindedness is pleasant the way so many talk about it. A forgetful college professor rushing into class, a mother spreading peanut butter on her phone, a kid scuffing his shoe on the pavement. This is a different absentminded, the way her fingers dig into the edge of the white gauze and pull at it with fervor. But it’s still absent, still unintentional and without the awareness with which she has taken to approaching a great amount of her life lately.

She finds herself watching the sun fall into the horizon over the waves, and scours her mind for when she got here. It was morning, she thinks. The sun was low in the sky, the fog still drooling onto the land from the restless waves. Now the day has escaped her, and she’s torn open the first layer of bandages on her arm. For this very reason, there are three or four layers of spirals before her skin.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been sitting there all day.”

Several things happen in the span of one second; Sarah’s heart skips a beat, her hand tenses on the bandages and rips another layer, her feet skid on the pavement in her effort to get up, and she bursts into frustrated tears. It’s too fast, or perhaps simply feels that way to her because the world has gone too fast lately. Breathing is a chore, the only one she seems capable of handling today, and for a few labored breaths, she stares at the stranger in front of her, a kind woman with rich brown skin, downturned eyes, and a low ponytail. She’s the sort of woman Sarah would like to trust.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman says. She extends a hand tentatively, the way one holds a hand to a dog to sniff before they try to pet it. “I’m Maggie, I live next door.”

“Sarah.”

With a deep breath, Sarah forces herself to shake Maggie’s hand. Her voice is as sweet as the caring expression on her face, one of a woman who has spent a lifetime looking after others. A nurse, or a daycare worker, or someone like that. Someone good. It would be so nice to know someone good instead of cutthroat, but the fear is there. She’s sizing Maggie up, she realizes. Trying to decide if she’d be able to overpower Sarah if she really wanted to. It’s a bad habit she’s supposed to be getting out of.

“Let me carry that in for you, and if you want, I’ve got leftovers in my fridge. We can eat together, or you can just take them. You could use them.”

Maggie picks up Sarah’s box, carries it inside, and sets it with the others. Heat sears into Sarah’s cheeks because she knows how it looks. Six measly boxes. Each labeled in neat handwriting, revealing how little of herself remains. She had been more, she thinks, at some point. But a lot of her died in an office packed with books and journals and photos of a daughter who had made it into the world. She is empty now. Her thumb digs into the center of her bandages. It doesn’t hurt, but she’d like it to.

“About dinner-”

“Thank you, but I really-  I can’t. Maybe another time?”

“Another time,” Maggie agrees. Her eyes trace Sarah’s face too closely. She wants to die on the spot just so Maggie will stop looking. “If you ever need anything, I’m just to the left, so don’t hesitate to come over. And if I’m not home, my wife probably is.”

“Okay.” 

With that, Maggie lets herself out and shuts the door gently, once again leaving Sarah alone surrounded by her miniscule life and furniture she didn’t pick out. She looks around the space and finds herself drawn to the slider again. Darkness edges in above the horizon, and she scrambles forward to close the cheap plastic blinds. They’re not perfect, but they block the window so no one can see in. She gets the kitchen window too and finds the switch for the light in the dining room, one of the only ones the house came with. It allows her the light she needs to tear open the towel box and grab one, a soft bath towel in a forgiving dark red. As of yet, she hasn’t gotten any soap or shampoo, a tooth brush, anything. But she goes to the bathroom anyways and spends a good five minutes figuring out how to turn on the shower and get the hot water she craves going. The crumpled towel earns a home on the toilet seat as she all but tears off her clothing. No laundry hamper yet, either. That’s fine. 

The hardest part of this is taking off her bandages to prevent them from being soaked and contracting an infestation of mildew or worse. She doesn’t want to look as she unwinds the cause and peels up the cotton pads, which join her clothes on the floor in a mess Sarah just doesn’t have the energy to deal with right now. 

Somehow, she’s staring at it. Most of her arm is healed, a splatter of dark pink skin that has scarred, but there’s plenty only beginning to scab from her most recent attack, if that’s what one were to call it. She doesn’t mean to, but when she’s anxious, caught in her head, upset, existing- she finds her right fingernails digging into the tender skin of her left inner forearm. Cutting her fingernails short, wrapping herself in bandages to protect her arm and its scabs, they’re supposed to help. 

She looks at the scabs for a long time before dragging herself into the water and letting it wash over her like it’s washing away her pain. The coating of school and stale white walls melt off of her, spiral down the drain, mesh together to remind her exactly what forced her into this otherwise quaint little cottage. It would be a nice home, had she picked it herself and come voluntarily. Perhaps she’d put art or photos on the walls, which would be painted a warmer color than the current murky dark green-grey-blue. 

When the water soaks through her curls to drizzle over her scalp, she comes back to herself.  As much as she can nowadays, anyways. There’s a thin layer of plastic sheeting between her mind and body, and no matter how hard she tries to break it, it stands impenetrable. Sarah wonders if it’s for the best. It protects her, at any rate. She’s better off on this side of the barrier, she tells herself, and turns off the water. Going out, she isn’t any cleaner; she didn’t wash her body or her hair- which isn’t even totally wet yet. 

Sarah wraps the towel around her, more as a blanket than anything to actually dry herself off. It’s soft, comforting around her. She checks, as she drags her exhausted body into the main area, that all the windows are covered so that anyone walking by can’t see her. So he can’t see her. Sometimes, invisibility feels like the safest thing in the world and she needs more of it than she could ever have.

She lays down on the floor, surrounded by her boxes, although she knows come morning she’ll regret it. It’s only fitting. Regret is the main emotion she deals with nowadays, when she manages to feel anything at all. Her eyes lock onto a little crack where the wall meets the trimming, thin and probably in danger of mold when she’s this close to the ocean. Her mother had said something about keeping the house aired out, but Sarah hasn’t listened to her in quite some time.

By the time she falls asleep, orange has begun to disrupt the sky outside.

-

Taglist: @bookreader525 @sextonsharpwinhalstead @sarahreeese @bipeteypie

[psychosistr]

Sparks Fly- Part 1 (CaeJose Dancer! AU)

Part 4 of my CaesarxTrans!Joseph Dacer!AU (I honestly never thought I’d go this far with this little idea, but I can’t bring myself to stop now XD)

Summary: Joseph receives a gift from a secret admirer that may come in handy for her upcoming date with Caesar.

Joseph was relaxing on her couch, reading through the latest issue of one of her favorite detective comics when a familiar, sharp knock sounded at her door. She looked up from her comic with a mildly annoyed frown. “Always right at the good part…” She grumbled but rose to her feet, setting the comic aside on the coffee table for the time being. Joseph really wanted to keep reading, but had learned all too well what hell would await her if she took too long and heard a second knock. “I’m coming!” She called while walking to the door. Opening it without bothering to look through the peep hole, she saw the exact person she expected. “Hey, mom. What’s up?”

Her mother, as usual, invited herself into Joseph’s apartment. Joseph noticed that she was carrying a few envelopes as well as a rather large box. “I picked up your mail while I was downstairs. This one is yours.” Lisa Lisa said while setting the large box down on Joseph’s coffee table.

Joseph cringed slightly when the corner of the box crumpled the page of her comic book a little. “Thanks, mom…” She walked over after closing the door and rescued her poor comic from under the box before poking at it. “Well, at least it’s not ticking.” She commented before going to grab a knife from the kitchen.

“It didn’t feel heavy.” Lisa Lisa idly replied while sitting on Joseph’s couch and going through a few envelopes with her own name on them.

“Didn’t see a return address, so whoever sent it probably didn’t care about it getting lost in the mail. Maybe it’s some of uncle Speedwagon’s cartel friends trying to frame me for something.” Joseph joked as she returned with a small knife and made short work of the box’s tape before opening it. Pulling the flaps open, Joseph peered inside curiously. “…?” Her face lit up with bright, excited eyes and a huge smile. “OH MY GOD!!” She yelled loudly in her excitement, startling her mother slightly.

“What is it?” Lisa Lisa asked after grabbing the envelope she dropped during Joseph’s outburst.

Joseph reached inside and pulled out the contents with an excited grin stuck to her face. “It’s a dress!” She held it out for her mother to see, holding it against herself to get a better idea of how it looked.

The dress was truly stunning. It was a gorgeous mermaid-cut dress in a shade of rivulet green that complimented her eyes perfectly. It was made of satin with long lacy sleeves- the lace weaving together to form patterns of stars in varying sizes all the way from the wrists to the shoulders of the gown. At the shoulders, the lace then straightened into a fine mesh that turned into the illusion-cut neckline above the bust of the dress. The cut of the dress in general looked like it would be very snug, at least until it got to the legs where, for comfort and a bit of sex-appeal, there was a slit just off-center. The way the fabric wrapped and folded around the area would allow for a bit more movement, but also added to the overall look of the green gown by making the remaining fabric just below the knees billow outward in the classic mermaid-dress style. To top the whole thing off, there was a gorgeous design all along the front of the gown- a series of golden beads that spiraled together like a galaxy with its center being on the left hip of the dress and spreading outward along the front of the fabric in a dazzling display.

“My, my..” Lisa Lisa said while looking over the dress slowly from behind her usual sunglasses. “It’s lovely.”

“I know!” Joseph practically squealed while hugging the beautiful article of clothing to herself. “I’m gonna go try it on!” She announced while running back to her room to change. She didn’t even wait for a reply from her mom, she was just too excited! She quickly changed out of her shorts and tee-shirt and slipped into the gorgeous gown. Once she had it on and smoothed her hands down the sides to make sure it was wrinkle-free, she looked at herself from all angles using the full-body mirror in her walk-in closet. “Hey, mom, come check this out!”

She was practically bouncing with excitement! This was incredible! She wasn’t a “girly-girl”, by any means, but she loved to dress up every now and then and feel pretty- and this dress made her feel downright beautiful!

She heard the clicking of her mom’s heels and turned to face her when she entered. Lisa Lisa looked her over from head to toe with a small, caring smile. “It suits you, Jojo.”

Joseph grinned, practically beaming with pride as she turned back to look at herself in the mirror once more.

It really did suit her: The color, as she already suspected, complimented her eyes perfectly, almost matching them in shade. The gold of the beads combined with the green of the fabric made her think of her favorite green and yellow scarf. The dress was already perfectly fitted to her every curve and angle, showing her figure off in a very flattering way and even cupping her chest just right to be appealing without too coquettish. To top everything off, the dress was actually COMFORTABLE. Yeah, it was definitely satin for the main material, but it had to be mixed with something else because it stretched and moved so seamlessly and comfortably whenever she moved that there had to be some sort of elastic or nylon or something- especially along the arms and shoulders.

“Yeah,” She said with a smile while doing a quick twirl to see the fabric swish and flutter around her long legs. “It does!” She held one arm out and traced her fingers along the lace designs. “I wonder who sent it..”

“This may shed some light on the matter.” Lisa Lisa said while holding up a small white rectangle between two fingers.

Joseph turned to her again and took it with a curious expression. “A card?” She looked over the fancy script on the little card and read the words aloud. “A beautiful lady deserves an equally beautiful dress. May this help you shine ever brighter, Miss Joestar. –Forever Yours, CAZ”

Lisa Lisa’s lip quirked up slightly as she raised an eyebrow. “Your secret admirer again?”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Joseph said while turning the card around to make sure there was nothing written on the back. As usual, there was nothing else but the simple message.

Joseph was all too familiar with the style of writing and the pen name by now. For the past two years, ever since she was about sixteen, she would receive gifts like this: There would be bouquets of flowers sent to her dressing room after shows, many of them beautiful and quite expensive- she would often take her favorite flower from each bouquet, preserve it, and turn it into one of her hair clips. For her birthday and Christmas she would receive jewelry that was sized to fit her perfectly- the stones alternating between diamonds, emeralds, and her birthstone, sapphires. Each gift would be accompanied by a card with a sweet message but no return address- all signed CAZ.

At first she had been confused by the gifts. Receiving such lavish, expensive gifts from an anonymous stranger? Why would someone go to that much trouble and not even put their name? Was it technically creepy that someone sent her that stuff constantly? Her studio and home address were both public record, so it’s not like it was stalking or something (at least as far as she knew) and the gifts were nice.

Also, the cards he sent to her..well..they made her feel better.

Around the time she’d received her first bouquet from CAZ, she had publicly come out about herself. It was met with…mixed reviews, to put it extremely nicely. Her family already knew and each and every one of them accepted her. She told herself that was all that she needed, but dealing with the constant mocking, harsh insults, and disgusted stares whenever she went out in something that was more comfortable for her or when she performed her first few shows in the correct tights and leotards…it…it started to wear on her. Then, like a beacon of light in a dark tunnel, a bouquet of pink roses and lilies arrived at her dressing room one evening with a note that said “You are the beautiful star the stage deserves- let no one ever tell you otherwise, Miss Joestar. –Forever Yours, CAZ”

It was the first time someone outside of her family had referred to her correctly and it made her so happy that she broke down in tears. It was such a small thing, a card with some pretty flowers, but it meant the world to her at the time because it was just what she needed to hear. The knowledge that there were other people out there besides her family that would support her, even if it was only one other person at the time, gave Joseph the courage and strength she needed to get through that difficult time in her life.

In the end, she decided to just accept the gifts and wait to see if the guy sending them ever revealed himself. He hadn’t yet, so she was left to imagine what he was like. He had to be someone kind and thoughtful for constantly sending such expensive gifts, right? Whoever this CAZ was, she’d love to meet him in person one day and thank him for both his presents and his kind words.

Joseph felt her mother pinch at the fabric on her shoulder to inspect the dress herself. “Well, he certainly spent quite a bit of money on you this time- this looks like a custom order.” She looked up at Joseph over her sunglasses. “You know..this is actually quite sophisticated. If you wanted to wear this for special events, it would be perfect.”

The way she said that made Joseph flinch a little. Guess she was still a little sore about what happened to her suit before. It was expensive, after all…

“Ahaha, oh yeah? Wow, what a lucky break.” She gave a nervous laugh, shriveling slightly under her mother’s piercing gaze. Then, with a gasp, a thought occurred to her. “Oh my god!” She looked herself over in the mirror, her excited smile back again. “I can wear this on my date with Caesar!”

Her mind was already racing with thoughts of what jewelry to wear with it. Oh! Maybe those golden stud earrings with the emeralds! Yeah, those would be a good start. She could pair it with that nice cocktail ring that looked like an emerald flower with a diamond in the center. The sleeves were long enough that she wouldn’t really need any bracelets, but maybe she could wear one of her necklaces? Nothing that would hang too low, of course, what with the collar of the dress- oh! She had that black choker with the small rows of diamonds, that would look good if she paired it with some black stockings or shoes and-

“So, you have a date with Caesar? When were you going to tell me about this?” Her mother’s voice was like being stabbed in the back with an icicle, making her shudder a bit.

“Ummm…probably after it was over?” She answered with a nervous smile while looking at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “It just kind of came up while he was here. Not like I meant to keep it a secret or anything, I just kind of…forgot to mention it?” She felt a little bad about that, but, like she said, she didn’t MEAN to forget..

“Hmh..” Lisa Lisa’s lack of a direct answer for an extended period of time made Joseph squirm uncomfortably with the weight of guilt that was being placed on her. After a minute, though, her mother sighed and patted her back with a calm smile. “It’s fine. You’re a grown up now, and are allowed to make your own decisions.” She smirked ever so slightly, her tone teasing. “Just remember not to put out on the first date- make him work for it.”

Joseph’s face turned red and she hid it in her hands with a groan. “Mooooooom! That’s just- augh, I can’t even-!” She groaned again and hid her face deeper into her palms. She could hear her mom chuckling smugly over the ringing in her own ears and, after a moment of breathing to calm herself, she looked back up at her a little bit, peeking between her fingers. “Hey..mom..?”

“Yes, Jojo?” She replied, still looking rather amused with herself.

“On Saturday..could you..y’know..help me with my hair and makeup? I wanna make a good impression and, well, you’ve seen what it looks like when I do it myself…” Joseph liked how she did her own makeup for shows, but she was aware that it was a bit over the top for every-day application.

Lisa Lisa gave Joseph’s back another comforting pat. “Of course, Jojo.”

Joseph managed to smile a little bit. “Thanks, mom.”

She still felt nervous about the date, but she was determined to make a good impression, no matter what- and this thoughtful gift from CAZ would certainly help!

<-Previous Story Next Part->

-From the Beginning-

[potter-imagines]

Alone p.1 - Peter Parker

Prompt: Based off the song Alone by Halsey. Y/n Stark x Peter Parker. This first part is mainly just background on the lonely life of Y/n Stark but don’t worry, a certain crime fighting boy will change that eventually. 

Words: 3,726

Warning: Some swearing, mention of murder.

Being a Stark wasn’t all what people made it out to be. Sure it had the glitz and the glamour but that was replaced with lies and deceit. Fake friends flooded her texts, all asking for a favor rather than starting the conversation with a simple ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you’. Parties were never her cup of tea although they did keep her from feeling lonely. As nameless faces piled in her home invading the life that was once hers, she hid away. Hearing the chatter of the guests in the room below her’s was enough to make her feel as if she did have friends.

Her new Malibu home fit the lifestyle of all her well known neighbors and the parties she threw sure did too, but her? She was nowhere near the criteria for a Cali teenager. Her mother had pointed this out to her on numerous occasions when she first brought up getting a place of her own. Her seventeen year old self felt suffocated in her father’s home in California and decided to buy her own. Not that her dad was ever around much. Tony spent close to all of his time in New York. Pepper, her mom, was against the idea from the start knowing much too well her daughter was far more lonelier than she cared to admit. It drove her mad, Y/n that is, how in a room full of people she still felt alone. She figured moving to a city filled with people dying to be her friend would maybe help her regain that connection she had lost years ago.

Although Y/n Stark quickly learned that making real friends with the last name she had was nearly impossible. Thousands of people crammed their way into her life, or so they thought. She never had let any of them in. Sure they took up the space in her living room, crashed in her spare bedrooms, and sometimes destroyed her home while having ‘fun’ but none of them actually knew her.

Y/n Stark was the name of their ‘friend’ that they all used to get free meals and invites to other parties in the city of angels. California’s finest lined up at her door trying wow her into a date, well in their eyes, a chance to be on the front page of every magazine by morning. Some she had come millimeters away from letting into her life but she always found a way to catch a flaw before it ruined her. Y/n was happy to say she never gave in. She knew the game and she was good at it.

The celebrations held at her house were rarely for her and rarely even included her, seeing as she found herself gone every night. Rather so she turned to filling her home with strangers to keep on the light and make the life seem alive. Her dad, Tony, called almost every night but since she was never home, she never answered. She never had time to answer and while her father insisted she simply refused to listen to him, Y/n replied with the bluntness of her lack to put forth any effort. Her life was a terrible mess of a disaster and far too depressing for any seventeen year old to experience. She had no friends, no one to listen, no one to sob to and no one to make her feel alive.

People were dying to meet her but Y/n was sure if any of them did, they’d be thoroughly disappointed in the truth of who she was and would wish they never had.

The people she ran into at clubs and markets claimed they knew her, boasted about the get togethers at her home that she had ‘invited’ them to oh so many times but as Y/n stared at their face blankly, she couldn’t find a place for them. They’d always ask if she recognized them with a hopeful tone to which she’d shrug and comment that she might. Faces became a blur and voices soon meshed together.

Just as she was spiraling into an abyss of seclusion, Y/n found herself in the city of love. Paris was a place where hardly anyone, besides teenage girls, knew her name. The promising lights made her feel whole, a fake kind of whole, but still not entirely empty. She ended up in a jail cell around three in the morning due to a massive amount of trouble caused by a strong series of drinks invading her veins. Her actions were caused in hopes of having fun for once but once again, nothing was found. She was bailed out within hours by the one and only Tony Stark but he had conditions. If Y/n wanted to sleep in her five star hotel bed rather than the concrete cement slab of a bed in the dirty old cell, she’d have to move to New York and live with her dad until she graduated. Y/n laughed at the thought assuming he was joking. Why would he want her back under his roof? Didn’t he enjoy the lack of supervision and parental chores he had to take on?

Tony Stark was glad his daughter was still half intoxicated when they spoke or he feared she’d read the guilt and pity on his face and turn him away. She was never one to accept a hand or lean on others. Y/n would rather wallow in her loneliness than confess the hole in her body and let everyone know. Nonetheless Y/n Stark agreed to his terms and the next thing she knew she was one a private jet flying to the sleepless state of New York. Just from staring out the window of their escort, Y/n could tell Manhattan, her new residence, held a heavier weight than Malibu. The city goers walked as if it was a legal rule to have their noses pointed to the sky and almost everyone had on formal attire.

Tony led Y/n into the Stark-scratch that- Avengers Tower with great pride. She had yet to visit the highly praised building. Y/n had never stepped foot in an elevator with so many floors. “This way if you’re living here you’ll have to answer my calls.” Tony said smugly. He was looking forward to Y/n no longer avoiding him and finally building a strong relationship. She had been staying with him already for two weeks yet this was the first day he had had to show her around. She spent most of her time locked in her room or in the second floor cafe pretending she was out in the open.

“I can always put my phone on silence or turn it off.” The sarcasm was noted. Y/n eyed the mile long length of windows wondering if the people below could visible see her. It made her feels a sense of vulnerability, which was new and distasteful. Tony glanced at the stone cold girl with a chuckle. “Wow, I really did raise a genius tech geek of a daughter. I’m so proud of you, it’s not hard to believe you’re my daughter.” Y/n rolled her eyes and continued walking along the path. Stark followed picking up his pace to be in front of her. He pulled at the girl’s attention as he pointed to the ceiling.

“But nice try, sweetheart. There are sound systems all around your room. Of course you could disable them but I would still be able to contact you through almost anything in this place. I am the one who designed the set up.” His gestures were bold before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. Y/n held back from making a comment about his ‘stick-up-the-ass’ attire, instead too drawn into the winding way.

The pair walked down the terminal like hallway of the floor in a blanket of silence. Tony was rummaging around for the right words to speak to Y/n while Y/n was thinking about all the shows she needed to record when she got back to her room. Thursdays were for Grey’s Anatomy- almost every day of the week held some sort of Real Housewives or Bravo show to tune into- How to Get Away With Murder, she still needed to finish F.R.I.E.N.D.S, Stranger Things 2 and catch up on her Bob’s Burgers. There was so much for her to do and she couldn’t wait to be in the comfort of her quaint room that overlooked the bumbling city.

Ready to make her great escape, Y/n turned to head to down dark corridor and shut herself out for the rest of the night until her father seemed to have a change in plans for her. Tony stopped in his tracks- he came to the conclusion no right words would actual be right when it came to a teen- and dove in as softly as he could without hurting his semi-antisocial daughter.

“Why don’t you have some friends over? Act like a normal teenager for once and raise a little hell.”

Refraining from letting out a scoff, Y/n opted to giving a look of disgust. “Last time I ‘raised a little hell’ as you call it, I ended up in a foreign prison and was punished by being forced into moving here. I’m pretty sure you don’t want a repeat of that, now do you?” Her sass was impeccably quick. Tony had a wave of remembrance of that special day his minor daughter called him in a mask of calmness asking if he would bail her out of a prison and come pick her up. The way she asked for him to come get her was the way a child would ask their mother to pick the up from a sleepover. Her voice was oddly steady and held no quiver which scared Tony more than her actually being locked away. She needed a whiff of the real teenage life- homework, friends her age, curfew, allowance, and the reality of being grounded if she disobeyed.

Tony rested his hand on her shoulder giving it a squeeze,

“Kiddo you can always have a good time without ending up in jail. Now some of the best times will put you behind bars but- nevermind, you’re young. Go do legal things! You don’t need alcohol to have a good time, it helps, but you don’t need it. What do girls do these days anyways?” Alcohol was not what she needed nor did she want any. The scorching taste of cheap liquor had burned her throat once before and she didn’t mind waiting a few years before trying again. Y/n scrunched her nose and shook her head at the memory. Tony chuckled, clearly unaware of what she was remembering but finding humor in her actions nonetheless.

“Shopping?” He suggested. His hand was already reaching into his back pocket ready to grant her access to every girl's dream; his credit card. Though Y/n gave a sour look and shook her head shoving the piece of plastic to his chest. So maybe it wasn’t every girls dream.

“No.” She stated.

“Okay, what else.” Tony pondered over his teenage years- most of which were filled with ‘raising hell’ although not the sort of hell he was looking for his daughter to engage in. What did girls like to do nowadays? Natasha was not the prime example nor was Pepper. Both had too much work on their plates to be a stereotypical female. Not that Tony wanted his daughter to fall under stereotypes but they were all he had to go off of for activities.

“Have girls over for a sleepover and do each other's nails and makeup?” He tried. “Absolutely not.” She spat.

“Just go see a movie.” Tony Stark pinched the bridge of his nose trying to relieve the growing annoyance he was experiencing towards his teenage daughter. He loved her, of course, but she was far too similar to him than Tony cared to admit. She knew how to push his buttons though he refused to give in. Perking up, Y/n nodded her head and rerouted herself once again towards the direction of her room.

“Okay-” A movie alone didn’t sound too bad and Y/n had seen a few new films reach the theater that she had been dying to see. Tony would probably not let her sit in a theater like a normal kid but either way, she would get to be by herself. Right as she went to turn the corner to her bedroom, Tony added onto his suggestion.

“With a friend.”

Well, there goes seeing a movie, Y/n thought to herself. She didn’t know anyone her age in New York that she would have actually enjoyed sitting through an entire movie with without things being awkward and uncomfortable. 

“Dad we’ve been over this. I don’t have any friends. I don’t like people, they’re pointless.” She simply stated. Y/n saw no issue living her life on her own, why use were people anyways? Rather than to be disappointed by getting her hopes up, Y/n relied on herself. 

“Ouch.” Tony read the blank stare of his daughter and felt a sense of pity take on. In a large way, Tony felt responsible for the shortage of friends that his daughter had. He figured being famous and all, maybe his popularity would gain her some. That did seem to be the case, but she didn’t want the popularity. She would rather sit alone than be surrounded by twenty people who don't genuinely care for her. Tony concluded in that moment that his daughter was more alike to him than he had ever realized. 

“Is that how you really feel?” Tony Stark could feel his brows press together. Y/n peeked at him from over her shoulder, seeming unfazed. 

“People don’t like me either, the real me, so it’s not exactly one sided.” People loved her, sure, the Stark side of her. They loved the tone of voice they used when telling their envious friends that they couldn’t hang out because they were at a party with the Y/n Stark. Everywhere she went a million different people tried to kick it with her but she was always still alone in her mind.

Tony could no longer handle the weighing sorrow building on his chest and decided to fix the mess he had created.

“Fine then. If you don’t have any friends you’ll make one right now.” Y/n lacked a normal childhood because of him, the least he could do was give her a companion to join her. Besides, the boy he had in mind was a good kid and Tony knew he would be more than willing to make a friend as he guessed the young teen was much like his daughter with the minimum numbers. However the tension that quickly built in Y/n’s posture led on to tell that she was not very enthusiastic to make a friend. 

“Excuse me?” She challenged. There was no way in hell her dad was going to force her into a friendship. Accepting the declare, Tony slid his phone into his hands and quickly tapped on the device then placed it up against his ear. Y/n watched hastily, ready to strike. Right as she went to snap on him Tony held up a finger, taking a step back, and began talking. 

“Parker, hey… no there is no mission… no… no you cannot do that… I know you want to save the world but it’s only a cat in a tree kid… I take what I said back… no not the cat part, the mission part… yes I have an extremely important mission for you… okay be here at the tower in ten, oh and wear something casual… for the love of god, no not the suit.” The suit, Y/n asked herself. Tony pressed the red button at the bottom of the screen and smiled at the girl. In that moment, Y/n Stark would not have put it past herself to have murdered her dad. “Who was that?” She seethed harshly. 

“Peter Parker, haven’t I told you about him?” The whole thing got more and more amusing for Tony as he carried it on. He checked his watch taking note of the time then requested for F.R.I.D.A.Y to order movie tickets for the two at a theater in Manhattan. At least if they were seeing a film still in the high end area, maybe there wouldn’t be as many people to recognize her. Anyways, he’d have to make sure she was at least wearing something to cover her face. 

“You’re forcing me to have a friend? Dad I’m pretty sure when he meets me, he’ll wish that he never did. That’s usually how it works.” Y/n started in on her fit, hoping Tony would draw back his call and let her stay home.

“Well it just so happens Parker has a very small number of friends as well. Maybe you two can bond over that. Now go get changed, I’ll have Happy drive you two over to the theater.”

Y/n wanted to scream and throw things but she knew acting like a child would get her nowhere. She might as well try to enjoy the movie. Besides, people shouldn’t even have to talk during films. All she has to do is suffer through a ten minute car ride, stay silent for an hour and thirty minutes, then endure another painful ten minutes in the car and she would be home free.

Swinging her bedroom door open Y/n searched for an outfit and put on the first thing she found. There was no need to impress a temporary companion so what effort was required? No more than twenty minutes later a new presence entered the tower and Y/n’s play date that her father set up had begun. The girl was lounged out on the couch scrolling through instagram when the boy her age entered the room. His eyes immediately found hers and they exchanged looks of confusion. Y/n watched his cheeks heat up as he averted his gaze and dug his fists deep into his pocket addressing her father.

“Hi Mr. Stark- I got here as fast as I could.” His voice was smoother than Y/n had imagined, less rough. Nonetheless she raised her head from the cushion and glared at her dad. Tony stood from his spot on the fine leather couch and walked over to the teen. Y/n mouth went agape and she pointed, in a rather threatening form at the boy.

“You’re forcing me to go to a movie with him?” She hadn’t meant for her words to come out sounding so… rude. In her defense, Y/n wasn’t even informed on his fully name let alone if she could trust him. What if he chewed his popcorn too loudly or slurped his slushee when it was clearly gone?

The boy, who Y/n had to admit was not terrible to look at, lifted his hand and gave a small wave. He was oozing nerves causing Y/n Stark to smile to herself. This was not the typical guy she was used to hanging around with.

The boy in front of her hand big brown eyes, they reminded her of a Disney character, innocent. His hair was styled slightly to the side and his clothes were slightly wrinkled as if he had thrown them on in a rush. He was handsome but still a stranger.

From behind his daughter, Tony Stark spoke to Peter using his eyes urging the boy to talk. Peter, who finally came back to earth, opened his mouth and started his ramble.

“Oh, uh, hi… hey, um I’m Peter… P-Parker Peter- wait no, Peter Parker.” After a trial and error, Peter succeeded in his introduction which if he had any say in, did not go as bad as he expected. Well, the was until the cute girl in front of him replied,

“So your initials are P.P?” A taunting smirk kissed her lips and Peter was mesmerized. He nodded his head similar to the bobble head on his nightstand that he had gotten from a baseball game. Clinging to every word she said Peter smiled widely, much like a sugar high toddler. 

“Yeah!” He answered enthusiastically. Peter had yet to register the slight jab and when he did, Tony Stark was already sending Y/n a shake of the head. Nodding softly Peter recalled all the ‘Penis Parker’ hits he had brutalized through from Flash.

“Guess I’ve never really-”

“Play nice, Y/n.” Tony scolded the sharp young girl. Peter would be lying if he said she didn’t intimidate him. She had burning eyes that made him feel as if she could read his mind. Her features were that of a Stark and she breathed success. Peter on the other hand was sure he looked scared of his own shadow. Her hair was a beauty of its own and posture was confident without hassle.

Y/n gave Peter one last inspection then shrugged,

“I always do…”

Tony plucked a piece of plastic from his pocket and handed the spendy Visa card to Peter. Peter caught word of the man muttering about candy and popcorn or something along those lines. The movies tickets had already been purchased online and while Y/n was decked out in a hoodie to cover herself, Peter had no need to mask his identity, something was had grown unaccustomed to.

“Have fun, kids. But not too much, Parker.” Tony Stark waved the pair goodbye while the walked to the elevator quietly. Holding a thumbs up, Peter showed that he had heard Mr. Stark then walked down the hall with Y/n. Peter was scrambling for words to say, to sound cool, and Y/n was wishing the night would come to a sudden end. Dreading an awkward ride in Happy’s car, Y/n had a plan of her own. She motioned towards the opening doors of the metal box and nudged Peter.

“I’ve got an idea, follow me.”

- Daizy xx

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royalty AU [Chapter 8]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general’s daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the ‘other’ prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 9,063

This totally spiraled out of control and that’s my only excuse for taking forever to finish it haha. Thank you to @optomisticgirl for being a lovely beta and for listening to me whine and second guess everything constantly :] you’re a gem, my friend. There’s more to come (including some stuff with Liam, Brennan, and others) in the next one! Enjoy! XOXO

The street was busy as Emma stomped along the sidewalk, her black rain boots slightly damp and her mind in a fixed state of stubbornness. The weather had been shifting back and forth all day, the sky calm one moment but the sharp wind blowing the next. It wasn’t a huge surprise that a light rain had finally started to sprinkle and it was easy to be thankful for the warmth of the light, mesh-lined gray jacket she had zipped tight around her frame. As she took a moment to glance back down the winding road she’d just traveled by foot, Emma realized the durable material keeping the storm off her skin was currently the only thing she could muster any gratitude for.

It was likely she was acting a bit dramatic and definitely a little selfish, but she also firmly believed she had grounds to be both. The not so casual conversation she’d been blindsided with just before dinner hadn’t been a true betrayal or a major deceit, but it had certainly been unexpected and frustrating in a way she wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone. The news her father had announced a few hours earlier was an annoying reminder of just why surprises were not high on her list of favorite things.

No, Emma liked plans. Well, except the new one her family now had - the one that included staying in London for the next two weeks.

The splashing of car tires through the puddles was a rhythmic distraction and her feet continued to carry her down the shop lined road as she pulled her hood up over her head. She wasn’t really sure how long she’d been walking - it wasn’t like she had left the palace with much of a goal in mind. Glancing up at the dreary sky, she merely hoped that maybe the walk would help her ignore the echo of her father’s words in her head.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of metropolitan London, Em, but I have to be here - at least for now. The countryside has been kind to our family and I’ll miss it too, but it was never meant to be permanent. This job is a big change for all of us, but I have to give it a chance and I need you and your mom with me on this.”

She knew he was right - now that he’d approached what might qualify as total recovery, there wasn’t much left for any of them in the quiet confines of the Yorkshire property. Sure, the move there had required a lot from her, but it wasn’t as if she had a whole lot - or anything, really - to go back to now. She let out an exasperated sigh as the drops of precipitation grew larger, her steps slowing as she reached a street corner. He’d looked so honest when he made the hopeful request for her support and as irritated as she’d been, denying him the opportunity to save his career wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Can you just….try, Emma? Just for a few weeks while we sort out a schedule?”

Watching her breath hang briefly in the cool air, Emma recalled the nod and weak hug she’d given him. Sacrifice was the name of this recently recurring game and for now, she had to keep playing it.

Looking quickly to the left, she caught the appearance of a small establishment crafted in gray bricks trimmed with deep red paint. The door was solid mahogany, hanging on black hinges that had definitely been well tested. The rounded windows alight with a warm glow seemed to call to her and while the overhead posted name of The Round Table didn’t immediately tell her what the building’s purpose was, the handful of tipsy patrons stumbling out onto the sidewalk certainly did. A place like the one she’d paused in front of was probably well known for its gin or assortments of well crafted lager, but her addled mind immediately went the one indisputable option.

Alcohol - and she honestly didn’t care what kind.

Reaching forward to prop open the heavy door, Emma ducked inside the apparent pub without a second thought. As she looked around the instantly easy space and noted the surroundings - a weathered bar counter, occupied pool table, a soccer match blaring on a distant flat screen, and amusingly accented population - she knew this was the perfect place to toss back a beverage or two. Few people seemed to give her much notice and nobody appeared to realize just how out of place she definitely was.

Thank god, she thought as she approached the row of stools just below the wood bar top.

“Evening, m'lady,” a dark haired bartender greeted, his smile framed by a thick beard. “Braving the storm, eh?”

“Oh, umm - yeah I guess,” she said in return, hoping she didn’t look too nervous about venturing into unknown territory. “It’s not too bad out there yet, actually.”

“Well, tumultuous enough that you’re seeking-” he returned, reaching for a glass and narrowing his eyes pensively. “-a little whiskey, I’m guessing.”

“Wow,” Emma laughed. “Am I really that obvious?”

“I’ve been at this a long time is all,” he grinned. “On the rocks or neat?”

“Not picky,” she shrugged. “I don’t need anything fancy.”

“Nonsense, lass,” he disputed with a wave of his hand. “After all, you’re only in London….well, not often, right?”

“Ah, very transparent I guess,” Emma sighed, accepting the glass tumbler he set down in front of her. “I should probably work on my local dialect.”

“Nah, I say you own it. It’s not often we get Americans in here.”

Emma smirked at his little reassurance, taking a sip from her drink and feeling the whiskey burn in the best way as it slid down her throat. She decided not to refute his assumption that she’d come from the states since she sort of did courtesy of her college experience. She hadn’t expected to find any sort of company when she’d left the palace - after all, the intended endgame had been to avoid pretty much everyone. It was relaxing to be in this environment though and the lumberjack type of guy making conversation seemed easy enough to talk to.

“I have to admit I haven’t been to an actual bar in a while. This seems like a place for regulars.”

“Well, some of them far too regular, but I guess anyone who’s been pouring drinks for nearly ten years at the same pub would say that,” he explained. “Kind of a hazard of ownership I suppose.”

“Wait, you're….”

“Arthur Pendragon - proprietor and long standing pun,” he smiled. “Hence the, uh….the name.”

It took Emma a moment to piece together what he meant, but once it clicked, her face lit up with realization he’d likely witnessed many times. The subtle shake of his head and barely embarrassed eye roll told her he’d ceased to see the endearing charm in Camelot cliches long ago.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever been served whiskey by the once and future king,” she replied cleverly. “I take it the name wasn’t your doing?”

“Definitely not,” he confirmed, tossing a coaster on the bar as a resting place for the glass she’d yet to put down. “My wife’s actually.”

“My compliments to her wit then.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that next time I talk to her,” he said with a hint of melancholy. “She's….not been around for a bit.”

“Oh, I'm….sorry,” Emma returned, her cheeks rosy with regret for bringing it up. “I just assumed-”

“Not your fault, lass,” he told her kindly. “It’s okay. I suppose most relationships are tested in one way or another at some point. Sometimes it just takes a bit to sort itself out.”

“Yeah, I-” Emma said with familiar understanding. “-I know what you mean.”

“But, enough about my sob story. I’m the one who should be offering an ear - part of the job description after all,” he deflected, a bit of his happier demeanor returning. “What brings you to Victoria Street this evening, Miss America?”

“It’s Emma actually,” she said in amusement, tapping the sides of her glass. “I guess I just….needed to take a beat.”

Truly, she didn’t have a real purpose for why she’d all but stormed out of the palace earlier that night - well, not a fair one, anyway. The quarters at Her Majesty’s abode were beautiful and vast enough that she’s managed to find plenty of personal space while also avoiding running into a certain prince. Emma knew he didn’t actually reside at the building currently accommodating her and her family, a detail that had been learned from a late night internet search instead of a recently bought book she'd already misplaced. Still, she couldn’t stop wondering when she might stumble into another awkward encounter with him - or who’d be doing the literal stumbling this time.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to chance finding out and that had been a decent reason to slip away for a bit - or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“Well, when the world’s got you down, a drink never hurts,” Arthur continued. “Sometimes a chat with a stranger is helpful too. That is, of course, if you’d like to talk?”

Emma exhaled, biting her lip as she tried to decide just how honest she should be. She didn’t know this guy - or anyone else in the area, for that matter - and perhaps it was best to keep it that way. Getting used to being in London seemed wrong, especially since she was still hoping her stay wasn’t permanent. The whole idea of her being at the bar was suddenly a bit surreal. Though she’d wandered into this hole-in-the-wall tavern on a whim, she had felt more relaxed in the past twenty minutes than she had in days. It was likely a beginning side effect of the alcohol, but it was also the fact that this place was different - simpler and secluded to a degree she was truly appreciating.

Still, she needed to stay beneath the radar for now and being too candid with the hospitable bar owner currently pouring her another glass of Irish whiskey wasn’t going to help her quest for anonymity.

“I guess I just needed to avoid responsibility for a few hours,” Emma offered, her voice vague as he tilted his head in amusement. “Is that awful?”

“There are worse reasons to imbibe-” he countered with a nod toward one of the rowdier corner tables. “-and I hardly doubt your venture here will be as unacceptable as the display that group of sodding fools tends to put on.”

Peeking over her shoulder in the direction he’d just gestured, Emma caught a glimpse of the pack of rather obnoxious men he had just mentioned. They’d clearly been indulging in a high bar tab long before she arrived and their frustration over the display of athleticism on the screen in the corner was plenty loud and quite profane.

“They certainly don’t like whatever team is winning,” Emma commented. “Are they always like this?”

“More or less - but usually more,” he grumbled, tossing a bar rag off to the side. “I’m rather sure they don’t realize that this was actually televised almost a week ago or that it’s a preseason game, but it’s likely they won’t be pleased to find out. That said, I ought to make the rounds. You’ll be okay for a moment?”

“Oh - yeah, I’m fine,” she assured him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

“On the house, lass,” he said in return with a good humored salute. “Stay as long as you like.”

Emma felt her shoulders relax at the welcoming reception she had managed to find. She knew as she held the glass firmly and glanced around the dim space that she could get used to the solitude of a place like this - at least while she had to remain in the confines and close vicinity of royal world. She realized this bar could be her sanctuary of sorts - and so it was only fitting she tried it out again the following night as well.

Arthur had been glad to see her return the following evening, her escape from the palace aided by a very helpful Marco just after she said goodnight to her parents. Neal had returned to school earlier that day, a fact that made sneaking out a bit easier. She’d been somewhat sad to see him head back into one of the many buildings at Eton, but he’d given her a huge hug and a small stack of rather suspicious documents before doing so. She stuffed them into her jacket when he’d offered her that one line of explanation followed by a wink.

“Just in case you’ve yet to truly make up your mind about the next step, Em.”

She hadn’t dared decipher what he meant by that until she arrived back in the secluded bedroom she’d been set up in at Buckingham, but as she dug the stapled papers out of her zippered pocket, it was clear what he was trying to do. There were a variety of the unexpected documents, their professionally bold headers and traditional logos making it immediately clear that they were brochures for higher education. She smirked to herself while flipping through them, noting that Neal had done his best to cover all the bases when he’d likely swiped them from one of the offices at Eton. There was information on a few universities - Oxford and Cambridge, both of which she was positive she'd never be admitted to - and also a couple of others that gave details about institutes like King’s College and Imperial. She’d skimmed the text in acknowledgement of her little brother’s thoughtfulness, but eventually stowed them away in the concealed pouch of her lightweight parka. The pamphlets remained there, hidden alongside her accepted reality that completing her degree wasn’t in the cards any longer while she downed a quick glass of top shelf bourbon at that same pub.

She told herself she could deal with the brochures, Neal, and everything else later - a decision that perhaps sparked her current and third trip to the cozy bar a few blocks away.

“Anything good on tap?”

“Well, there’s a frustrated face if I’ve ever seen one.”

Though the voice was equally happy to welcome her, it didn’t belong to Arthur. This one was full of the clever kindness she’d learned was all Ruby - the girl who was a few years her junior and one of the regular weeknight bartenders. They’d met on the first night Emma had ventured into the building when Arthur had stepped out to take a phone call from the estranged wife who still seemed to have a hold on him, a fact that Ruby had explained while pouring them each a shot of something she definitely hadn’t requested.

That had become somewhat of a theme in Emma’s life recently - accepting things she hadn’t asked for. If she was going to have to keep doing so, she decided that it was probably okay to use a little alcohol to help it all go down easier.

Taking a sip of the offered liquor hadn’t been too difficult - a brand of vodka bottled in France, she eventually learned - as she kept perched on the stool just across the bar top from the long haired brunette with the fiery personality. They’d chatted sporadically for a couple of hours, sharing small details of their lives and laughing over battle stories they’d encountered through years of travel and relocation.

Ruby was from the Great Lakes part of the states and had grown up in a small town surrounded by the tall trees of some very remote woods. She’d been in the care of a single mother until she hit junior high, but had then moved to live across the Atlantic with a very traditional grandmother in the European countryside. Ruby claimed the loving elderly woman had saved her from herself after some rather promiscuous years and had entertained her endlessly with tall tales about sorcery and werewolves. She’d left the old cabin a few years earlier when her grandmother passed, bouncing between a few nearby countries before landing in England. Ruby had quite the colorful past and while Emma thought the girl’s adventures were far more interesting than her own, she couldn’t help but be glad they’d met and bonded - even if it all might be only temporary.

“So,” Ruby started, grabbing a glass from beneath the counter and raising her eyebrows. “What’s got you down, Goldilocks?”

“Really? What’s with the nickname?”

“Hey, I call it like I see it and right now-” Ruby responded as she searched the top shelf for a bottle. “-I see a disgruntled blonde who has come to this Camelot inspired oasis to soothe what troubles her.”

“Very poetic,” Emma acknowledged, setting her jacket aside. “But perhaps we better stick with ‘the pissed off traveler who just learned her plans have gone to hell’.”

“Ah, I like mine better,” Ruby laughed, tapping her chin. “But you know, I think there’s a specific drink for the type of person you’re describing.”

Emma made herself comfortable, something she regretted the moment her new friend plopped a bottle of cinnamon whiskey down between them. Ruby’s red lipstick outlined mouth curved up into a deviant smile that immediately had Emma shaking her head.

“Not happening, barkeep.”

“Oh, come on,” Ruby coaxed. “We don’t get a new shipment in until tomorrow so most of the decent brands are running low anyway. That is, unless you’d rather forego the hard stuff and I can crack open a bottle of that shitty home brewed beer Arthur has been trying to get everyone to buy.”

“I think I’ll pass on the Crimson Crown Ale, thanks,” Emma replied. “But I’m pretty sure shots of that firewater aren’t the best alternative-”

“No, no - no shots, but an exclusive cocktail mixed by yours truly,” the girl told her as she grabbed a few other labels of booze. “You’ve gotta live a little, Emma.”

“Or die of alcohol poisoning,” she countered, her eyes warily regarding Ruby. “What’s in this drink anyway?”

“That’s yet to be totally decided,” Ruby grinned as she grabbed a jar of cherries from below the counter. “I do have a few name options workshopped already though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m thinking maybe like 'Big Bad Something’ or 'Sweet Little Sleeping Curse’,” she carried on, illustrating the ideas with finger quotes and snatching a nearby shot glass. “I vaguely remember learning how to make this drink called a 'Red Riding Hood’, but it’s got a certain vodka base and Arthur prefers to hoard that stuff in the back. I’m pretty sure it’s fuel for drowning his sorrows after last call.”

“Cute, but I have no idea why you’d go with such a whimsical theme,” Emma replied. “I don’t remember the hangover from that stuff being anything remotely like a fairytale.”

“Yeah, I gotta say I don’t either,” Ruby said, a small laugh escaping her as she shoved the random ingredients aside and looked toward the fast opening main entrance. “But, if this was one of those classic storybook tales, we’d now have the role of evil villains filled.”

Her nod toward the door was brief as she grumbled some below the breath remark. It was a shift in the girl’s demeanor that made Emma wonder and she couldn’t help but peer over her shoulder in curiosity. It didn’t take long to pinpoint just who had suddenly put her new friend in an irritated mood - the raucous and rather ignorant group of men she’d been warned about the first time she’d sat upon her current stool. She tried not to stare despite their loud attempt to gain the room’s attention, a disruption that made Ruby sigh loudly as she downed a bit of the spicy alcohol they’d been debating.

“Why don’t you guys kick ever them out?”

“Well, despite their generally asshole behavior, they’re good for business,” Ruby explained. “Sure, they can be annoying, but their bar tab climbs much higher than any other band of idiots who wander in regularly.”

“So this happens a lot?”

“Just a few times a week so it’s manageable for the most part,” she continued while counting napkins. “I’m going to grab that last case of cheap beer from the back really fast - lord knows they’ll probably be over to order some any minute now. Hang out for a bit?”

“Yeah, of course,” Emma smiled. “Planning on it.”

Ruby returned her grin, tying her hair back as she headed for the hall that must have led to the back storage room. Glancing around, Emma soon found her attention falling back on the rowdy men now chatting over a pool table between their rants regarding the game still playing on the television. She was so busy trying to decipher just what made guys like them tick that she failed to notice one of them slink up to the bar at her side.

“You-” he started, his almost predatory stare zeroing in on her as he tapped his fingers on the bar. “-aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Ah….good call,” she replied casually, silently praying that he’d leave her be. “Just stopping in for a quick drink before I hit the road.”

“Hmmm,” he smirked. “Where might a fine woman like you be going on a night like this?”

Emma felt herself shift away ever so slightly from the smell of fading alcohol hanging on his flirtatious breath. She was really in no mood to spell it out for him, but as he held her involuntary gaze, it became apparent that he wasn’t about to take a hint.

“Back to where my family’s staying - I’m on a trip with them,” she tried, biting her lip as she made an obvious glance toward the clock. “In fact, I really should get going-”

“Oh, come on, beautiful - it’s still early,” he replied as he inched closer. “Have a drink with me.”

“Ummm, thanks….for the offer, I mean, but I-”

“No excuses,” he cut in, his words wrapped in an unsettling whisper. “Have a drink with me.”

Emma felt her shoulders straighten as she fixed her eyes on him, cataloguing his appearance like she’d need to describe it accurately to the police later on. She wasn’t sure if it would be because he’d crossed a line with her or because she’d beat him senseless as a result, but she was extremely certain that everything from his suspicious eyes to his thick black coat made her very uncomfortable. Cowering when confronted was never a road Emma liked to travel though and despite the way he was making her skin crawl, she couldn’t back down from his proposition without a hell of a retort.

“I’m not sure if that’s a request or a demand,” she returned firmly. “But I can promise you that I'm not interested.”

“You really can’t say that yet though,” he chuckled. “You still haven’t heard my offer.”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t given you any indication that I’d like to.”

“Just one drink, beautiful….or two, and then I assure you that I-” he drawled as he reached for her glass. “-can make you forget all about your family.”

“Okay, pal, I know we just met and all, but I’m going to need you to back the hell off.”

“Hmmm,” he persisted as he traced her arm. “You’ve got a little fire in you, don’t ya? I have to admit I kinda like that.”

“I said-”

“I believe the lady said no,” another strangely familiar voice cut in. “Step down, mate.”

Emma realized quickly that it wasn’t Arthur and her head swirled with confusion - why did she recognize this voice? Her boundary crossing opponent turned briefly, letting out a hearty chuckle before slamming his half empty beer bottle down on the bar. Emma chanced a look at the other man and though she was somewhat irritated at the 'white knight’ status he apparently wanted to earn, her guard dropped rapidly the moment she learned just who was attempting her rescue.

No way, she thought as her mouth parted. What the hell was he doing there?

She zoned out for a minute, her eyes hooked on just who had an interest in defending her honor. The few words exchanged between him and the persistent jerk at her side were ones she didn’t fully catch as she tried instead to sort out why of all the pubs - or perhaps even gin joints - in the world, he had to walk into this one. It was a thought similar to one once vocalized by a handsome actor in some black and white film her mother loved and she was attempting to recall which one when two fateful words from the protective man a few feet away cut through the haze.

“Try me.”

The chaos that followed was rapid and it took Emma a few moments to realize that a fight was breaking out, but as she watched the guy who’d been hitting on her take a hard punch to the jaw, it became quite clear that she was about to witness exactly what drunk and disorderly truly looked like. She froze for an instant, her view moving back and forth between the fists being thrown as she gasped at the scene. She hated merely standing by in disbelief, but getting dragged into diffusing a situation she didn’t totally understand wasn’t wise.

It was obvious that getting out of there would probably be the safest choice, but as Ruby’s pleading eyes found hers, Emma stepped forward to do….well, something. She just didn’t know what.

“Get the hell out of here, Gideon,” Arthur growled as he managed to shove the instigating man back out the way he’d come in. “Take your crew with you.”

The onlookers were almost too quiet as they watched and Arthur took a deep breath before turning on his heel, announcing there’d be a free round courtesy of himself. The distraction gave Ruby enough time to pull the unsuspecting opponent of the bar brawl into a secluded hallway, but not before waving toward Emma in a last ditch request for assistance. Her feet moved automatically, navigating her through the throes of people elbowing their way up to the bar. The dark haired girl Emma had come to know as an ally was huffing for air by the time they met in the back door corridor.

“Hey, can you….take him to the back? Arthur is about to pour out a handful of apology shots and he’s gonna need help,” Ruby asked, trying to keep him upright. “I just need like fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah - of course,” Emma agreed as she moved closer. “Whatever you need.”

Ruby nodded gratefully and bolted, leaving Emma to observe the aftermath quickly over her shoulder before glancing back toward the disheveled haired prince - a choice that soon caused her flabbergasted reaction. His eyes were a wild blue and wrought with anguish as he steadied himself against the wall. The cut just below his brow was already swelling and had started to bleed in a way that mirrored his injured left hand. His fingers were deep red with knuckles that would likely bruise and he heaved for air with jagged, deep breaths. The way he briefly looked at her was riddled with embarrassment as he appeared to realize who she was as well.

“Hi.”

Her voice was timid upon offering the out of place greeting, but she had no clue what else to say to this man - the one she’d been avoiding who was now cloaked in muffled anger and a spirit that was much less than that of most royalty.

“Hi,” he breathed, his mouth trying on a weak smile before he ripped his sight away again. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He lifted weak fingers to his face, touching his cheek and realizing there was blood making a path down his cheek. He sighed with frustration before glancing back toward her and Emma fought to find some….any reply.

“The surprise is mutual,” she managed. “Are you okay, Your High…uh…”

“Killian,” he responded, defeat heavy in his reminder. “Just Killian, lass.”

Dammit, Emma thought as her mind clouded. This was sure as hell not how she’d hoped her night would go.

Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite this exhausted by his birthright. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the total truth. He’d felt similarly tired the morning Liam had confronted him about his behavior at the bar, but somehow, even that head splitting scolding hadn’t stopped him from returning now to that very same place a few hours after sundown. It had been days since the bar scuffle the greedy tabloids had still managed to pick up on and as soon as he had managed to escape the presence of his observant brother, Killian had felt the familiar urge he’d been prodded with several times over his adult years - the need to feel normal. He’d wondered silently as he snuck down the several shortcut alleyways toward The Round Table if the solitude of a quiet establishment and a stiff drink might offer just that, but he hoped even more so that he might still be welcome at such a place.

His Converse sneakers plodded the pavement as he recognized the fact that he’d likely never be totally banned from the tavern he was headed for. After all, if anybody could knock him off his royal pedestal with a glass of rum and a few honest words, it was definitely Arthur - the man who was his reluctantly understanding confidante and older cousin by about three years.

They were related through the belated princess with Arthur’s father being his own mother’s oldest sibling. The restrictions placed on the royal family had been tested many times by Katherine’s insistence that her young sons maintain a solid bond with her side, especially the several cousins they had through her bloodline. Killian had always been grateful for that. Arthur seemed to comprehend the struggle both he and Liam faced when it came to the crown, even though he’d never know an obligation like that himself. It was a relationship unmatched by many others and despite the fact that Killian hadn’t always made their pact of family all that easy, Arthur had never shut him out - though he had every right to on several occasions.

It wouldn’t have been the first relative to lose faith in the spare to the heir, but fortunately, things had never turned out that way with the bartending man he somewhat resembled and truly loved. Killian knew that as difficult as it might be, he once again needed to make things right while he could.

Liam had been busy when he decided to slip away from Buckingham Palace, his regal and slightly inconvenient home away from home. He understood why his older brother felt it necessary to keep temporary quarters at the grand building while the admiral’s family was visiting, but Killian’s own reasons for staying in one of the lavish guest rooms was something not even he could totally explain. Perhaps it was for some unknown desire to not be the only prince lingering on the Kensington grounds or maybe it was a need to stay in the know about whatever military changes might be underway, but deep down, he knew his hope that he might run into a certain blonde was definitely part of it.

For the record, he hadn’t seen her - and it was driving him crazy.

Sure, the royal property his grandmother lived upon was huge, but not so much that he shouldn’t have caught a glimpse of the green eyed girl over the few days since the afternoon at Eton. He’d speculated that she might be avoiding him and while he wasn’t totally sure why, he had to admit that he’d been a little nervous to locate her - and that had everything to do with the book he had concealed beneath a pillow on the four post bed he’d been using for some constant tossing and turning.

He blinked rapidly as he paused outside of the door, tugging a beat up flask from his pocket and taking a quick swig. He’d never been great at dropping his pride to offer an apology, but he knew this was important - and he could only pray that his quick dose of rum would allow him to remember that once he entered the building

“About time you showed up.”

Killian had barely stepped inside the dimly lit space and entered the back room office when he was greeted with chiding words from the owner himself. He deserved the taunt he supposed, but it didn’t keep him from tossing Arthur an automatic eye roll. The man was busy penciling something on an order form, but the task didn’t prevent him from holding the upper hand in their bantering exchange.

“I suppose I ought to be a bit more welcoming as the owner of a small business and all, but-” his cousin offered distractedly, finally peering toward him with a raised brow. “-I’ve only recently had that glass out front repaired.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed with a slump against the doorway after he set an envelope next to the paper. “I’m hoping this might cover that - and if not, that you’ll let me know.”

Arthur almost instantly slid the folded paper pouch back across his trademark desk in the direction it had come from. Killian lifted an eyebrow before returning a steadfast stare, but it was soon apparent that his relative wasn’t about to accept the gesture of a few higher end bills. It truly was a pathetic way to attempt making amends and one that definitely shouldn’t be necessary. The healing battle wounds that were finally fading from his own guilty face were proof that he owed Arthur at least that much - even if he’d known from the start that the proud bar owner wouldn’t take it.

“You know that royal salary of yours has never been worth much around here,” his older relative told him. “I’m merely stating the hope that we won’t have to have this endearing conversation again for a while. I mean, the chairs around the tables opposite that new window do need replacing, but I’d rather-”

“Got it, mate,” Killian nodded, pressing his lips together. “For the record, I’m sorry-”

“I know you are-” Arthur smiled. “-and that’s the only thing that makes it okay.”

He still wasn’t totally sure why this man tolerated him, but as Arthur flipped his pencil toward the doorway in salute, Killian reminded himself to stop taking that for granted.

“Now,” the man sighed as he found his feet. “How about some rum and ranting? Sounds like we both need it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “You have no idea, mate.”

“Well, I’m excited to learn then,” he returned, slapping the envelope of cash against Killian’s chest before heading for the hallway. “You’re buying - oh, and grab that bin of clean glasses on your way up.”

Killian smirked to himself as he lifted the box, his feet trailing after the owner. He’d entertained the idea of a life like this many times before - how it would be to swap out kegs and care for a humble business like the one his cousin had built from nearly nothing. He had always appreciated the way Arthur could assimilate him with a simple comment or a thoughtless instruction. Sure, most royals wouldn’t stand for a world centered around menial tasks, but Killian thrived on the idea of being ordinary.

It was an odd envy he held for people like Arthur, but it was also a desire that was very disrespectful to the crown - which is exactly why he chose not to mention it to anyone.

“So, how’s your brother? Still constantly worrying about you?”

“Among other things,” Killian shrugged as his cousin took the rattling crate of fragile glass. “You know Liam - saving the free world one weary soul at a time.”

“Aye,” Arthur laughed as he turned toward the shelf housing a few bottles. “I suppose it’s a hazard of such an authoritarian job. What else is new with you?”

Killian halted with a sigh, his eyes scanning the bar instead of conjuring up an answer that wouldn’t raise suspicion with the man who’d just asked him a casual question. Arthur knew all about the upcoming royal events courtesy of his bond with Liam and he wasn’t one to often seek out small talk. He knew his cousin was attempting to learn what had taken him so long to wander back by the corner pub and while he wasn’t sure that lying was the best route, he knew one thing for sure - he couldn’t tell Arthur about Emma and the way her presence as well as absence seemed to be consuming him.

There wasn’t much to tell anyway, he thought quietly. She was just visiting and she’d be gone eventually so divulging what little information he had seemed futile. Bottling it all up for now was the best plan - and lord knows he’d gotten good at that over the years.

“Just trying to fill a few roles for Gran,” he offered vaguely. “Mostly little stuff - taking over her rugby patronage and attending a charity thing later this week.”

“Good for you,” Arthur nodded, pouring them both a glass of the bar’s best rum. “Liam mentioned you have some palace visitors currently?”

The color drained slightly from Killian’s face as he cleared his throat before taking a swallow from the fresh drink. He wasn’t sure how much his annoyingly honest older brother had said, but he instantly wished Liam had for once kept his mouth shut. His sight drifted toward the opposite end of the room, finding Ruby soon enough and wondering if he might use needing to catch up with her as an excuse to avoid this conversation. It took only seconds of watching to realize the dark haired girl was busy tending to another patron, one he almost recognized. Long blonde hair, nervous posture, a laugh he could barely hear….

“Anyone you know?”

Killian had been so briefly entranced by who he imagined the girl sitting at a fair distance could be that he almost thought that’s who Arthur was referring to. Of course he wasn’t though - he was inquiring about Admiral Nolan’s family. Killian straightened his shoulders as he tried to focus on the discussion at hand.

“No, it’s, ummm, just a….family from up north,” Killian answered, tearing his eyes away from what was obviously a half-assed hallucination. “They’re leaving soon I believe.”

“Oh - that's….not what I heard.”

He was about to ask Arthur what the hell that meant when he caught the sound of a voice he was truly in no frame of mind to deal with. He was relieved that the tone wasn’t directed at him, but slightly unsettled that its usual venom laced accent had been replaced by a pathetically sultry one. Such seduction was often aimed toward Ruby - who was perfectly capable of putting the man who caused frequent commotion right back in his place - but this time, the heavy flirtation was aimed toward the girl Ruby had been chatting with. His eyes narrowed as he watched for a moment and his blood seemed to simmer without explanation. Sure, it was beyond annoying to see Gideon strutting around like he owned the place - though Arthur had told him many times that wasn’t the case - but for some reason, this particular display was even more infuriating.

“Shit,” Arthur said as he pieced together what was happening. “I didn’t think he’d be in tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Killian assured him, biting his lip as he tried to convince himself of that as well. “Who’s Ruby talking to over there?”

“Ah, you mean the blonde? Lass from across the pond somewhere,” his cousin answered. “She’s been in a few nights this week.”

“Has she just recently become the object of Gideon’s affection?”

“Hey,” Arthur said quickly, shaking his head. “Not worth it, Killian.”

“What?”

“You know what,” he stared, lifting his brow. “We established long ago that Gideon is an idiot and though his intentions likely aren’t the best, I’m quite positive that girl can take care of herself.”

Killian glanced the girl’s way once more, trying to find the belief that the man behind the bar was correct. He wasn’t about to jump in and fight a battle that might not be necessary, especially given how his last scuffle went, but he knew standing idly by while Gideon acted like an arrogant casanova wasn’t something he could manage. There were really only two plans of action and since the first one hadn’t panned out so well in the past, he opted to take the second as he finished his rum.

“I should head out,” he told Arthur, dropping the envelope on the counter and rising to his feet with a smirk. “For your trouble - or perhaps the kind I caused you.”

“Smart ass,” Arthur grumbled with a shake of his head. “Be safe, mate.”

Killian nodded once before turning toward the door in brief contemplation. He could easily leave through the back, sneaking out the hidden exit as stealthily as he’d entered. It would probably even be for the best since any attention he and Gideon might pay each other probably wouldn’t be the positive sort. He tried to remind himself of all of this as his feet carried him toward the main door, a path he regretted the second he noticed just how close the other man had moved to the girl he felt he needed to guard.

Maybe it was the way she appeared to be so uncomfortable in the close confines his nemesis had trapped her in or maybe it was the blatant refusal he heard her offer as he passed by. Maybe it was even simply Gideon’s failure to yield as she continued to push him away. Whatever the cause was, Killian felt his grip pause from reaching for the door handle and his body abruptly turn back around.

“I believe the lady said no,” Killian stated in a low tone, his glare full of warning as his rival looked up. “Step down, mate.”

Surprise filled Gideon’s face as a cunning grin took over his mouth, a sure sign that this wouldn’t be civil in the least. Bloody hell, Killian thought as his skin prickled. He didn’t need this tonight.

“Well, look what the palace spit out,” Gideon sneered. “Back for more, are ya?”

Killian felt his breath hitch as he clenched his fists, trying to quell the anger that was tempting him to end their exchange of words with a swift right hook. The feeling was a well known one - he’d never gotten along with the man who was trying his hardest to pick a fight. Gideon Gold was an abolitionist with a penchant for drinking, gambling, and taking cheap shots in rugby matches. Their dislike for one another had been ongoing for years, but the feud they’d once endured had only just come back into play with the recent fight. Killian had tried to hold back that night, but when Gideon had decided to drag the royal family’s name through the mud, he’d snapped.

He couldn’t let that happen this time though. He had to walk away - pride be damned.

“No,” Killian replied, clipped and firm as he refused to break the man’s stare. “I’m not here to fight you, Gideon, but you best not give me a reason to think twice about that.”

“Well luckily, you won’t need to, your highness. When we’re through here, you won’t be doing much thinking about anything.”

The challenge was there, thrown between them with the threatening curve of the man’s smirk. Killian felt his temper spike as his defenses rose, his lips pressed together as he tried to brace for whatever came next. He hadn’t come here to start a war, but he also hadn’t expected to see the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about stuck in the line of fire. He couldn’t let Gideon win this one - and it was that conclusion that pulled two very bold words from his mouth.

“Try me.”

It all happened shockingly fast - the sound of glasses breaking and a gruff yell of Ruby’s name that sounded urgent. The dark haired girl dropped the box of beer bottles instantly and bolted to where Arthur had suddenly appeared, his cousin’s arms fighting to shove him back toward the hallway. He’d barely gotten in a solid hit when he realized he’d taken one as well, his feet carrying him backward weakly as his thoughts blurred. Killian realized then that he’d lost sight of the girl during the commotion, a detail that wasn’t helpful even though the vague observation of Arthur pushing his rival out the door was. He managed to hobble back toward the office courtesy of Ruby and his back hit the exposed brick wall with a thud while he tried to right himself. He was attempting to do that much when he was joined by Ruby and another girl - well, the girl.

Emma, he thought as his heart pounded violently.

He didn’t hear much as the dark haired lass usually manning the bar spoke to the blonde he truly didn’t want seeing him like this, but when Ruby sped back down the hallway and left the pair of them alone, Killian realized he didn’t have much of a choice. She peered up at him with questioning eyes, taking a few steps forward with caution.

“Hi.”

Her gentle greeting was shy, her teeth pressing against her bottom lip as she waited to gauge his response. He felt truly miserable, but it wasn’t fair to act like an ass when she had opted to stick around for this.

“Hi….didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The surprise is mutual,” she answered after a moment. “Are you okay, Your High…uh…”

“Killian,” he assisted, not feeling the least bit worthy of a royal title - not that he’d ever want her to address him as such anyway. “Just Killian, lass.”

“Right,” she started in a nervous tone, clearing her throat. “So….the back?”

“Over-” he barely nodded, his head gesturing toward a dark room. “-there.”

She took his arm gently, her touch a light brush of fingers that created a loose grip around his bicep. Trying not to lean into her, Killian took the several stumbles that would land them in a storage area he’d only seen a couple of times before. The overhead lights flickered on, forcing him to squint as he took in the new environment. It was mostly boxes stacked high alongside a wine cabinet his cousin kept well stocked. The letters on the labels came into focus after a moment and he tried to read a few, his efforts eventually halting when she ushered him toward a lone chair by a sink in the corner.

“Sit down,” she told him with a tilt of her head. “Your hand is cut-”

“It's….fine-”

“No, it’s not,” she argued, her voice direct but caring. “Now, sit. Let me….just let me help you.”

He gave up rather fast, closing his eyes to avoid the glare of the fluorescent bulbs burning far too brightly before the sound of running water forced his exhausted stare back to her. She’d pulled a light blue towel from some box behind him and had started to wet the material, obviously intending to assist him in cleaning the blood and shame off his face. She’d probably be good at the former, her insistence in doing so making him think she might be even more stubborn than he typically was. It was the second part that she likely wouldn’t be able to help him with.

“Here,” she offered, lifting the cloth toward his eye. “Chin up.”

He did as requested, inhaling sharply at the feel of a damp towel on his fresh wound. She seemed to find his reaction a bit entertaining and it poked at his crumbling pride just enough for him to respond.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He realized almost instantly how misstated his words were. The quiet scoff she offered told him so too as she rinsed the rag quickly before returning her attention to the large cut. He truly had no right to set boundaries on whatever she chose to do within or outside palace walls and he was reminded of that as she swiped the cloth along his red stained cheek a little harder than was needed.

“Well, if my conclusions are the tiniest bit correct then-” she retorted, pausing when he hissed a low sound of discomfort. “-neither are you.”

“Conclusions?”

“I’m observant enough to know that wasn’t your first fight with whoever that was,” she clarified, her sights now studying his hand. “In fact, I think I remember seeing a recent photo of you that proves that.”

“Ah, I must say I didn’t think you’d be a tabloid reader,” he replied. “You know that’s the same old publication that would have you believe the Queen is a frivolous drunk.”

“Yeah, while using the gossip column as a news outlet can be very interesting,” she laughed, scouting out a cotton bandage roll from the first aid kit below the sink and setting it aside. “I’m also just….good at reading people.”

She wasn’t lying - he could tell that much as he watched her eyes decipher the current situation. It scared him on some level to think that she might understand him more than she was letting on, but the soothing movement of her touch as she tended to his hand made his insecurity a little easier to ignore - at least for now.

“There,” she said softly as she looked up for a sign of validation. “Better?”

“Thank you,” he nodded as he regained some sense, his eyes falling carefully on the way her fingers and the bandage curled gently around his hand. “But you know you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “After all, this is kind of indirectly my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” he disagreed. “I just didn't….well, you shouldn’t have to deal with Gideon Gold - and I guess the idea of being a gentleman lead me to being a bit rash.”

“Oh, so now you’re a gentleman,” she smiled, looking down at his wrapped knuckles. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned in return. “But I guess I haven’t proved that much in the past.”

Killian bit his lip as her smile shifted to a smirk, the feel of his teeth on the minor wound reminding him that his choice was a bad one. The past, he thought briefly - did they even have one of those? Their interactions up to this point hadn’t been totally honest or all that coordinated, but it was still something.

He wondered quietly if she felt that way too.

“It’s okay,” she said after a moment. “But for future reference, I can take care of myself you know.”

“I suppose I should have recognized that.”

“Well, in your defense, we don’t exactly know each other,” she replied, shaking her head immediately. “I mean, we don’t really-”

“Aye,” he cut in with a smirk. “I should apologize for that too.”

“For the balcony or for bumping into me?”

“Both,” he shrugged. “Not my finest moments.”

“Or….mine, I guess,” she told him. “But maybe, we should just….start over?”

“Hmmm,” he sighed, lowering his hand. “How’s that?”

He was having a hell of a time not staring at her. Her hair hung loosely in waves that shifted on her shoulders each time she moved and the constantly changing expression on her face kept him guessing despite the throbbing in his rattled skull. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how beautiful she was, but the close proximity they’d now found themselves in seemed to magnify this attraction he had to her. Starting over was probably the best offer he could hope for given their rather odd beginning and he waited to hear just how she planned on initiating that, his gaze analyzing the curve of her lips in the meantime.

“Emma Nolan,” she said with a rather adorable half smile. “Nice to meet you, Your Highness.”

He grinned slowly, the slight stretch of his lower lip testing the scar that was likely forming there from the last battle with Gideon. There was something so casually innocent and sweet about her actually offering a real introduction that he couldn’t help but play right into it.

“Aye, a pleasure, lass-” he countered, slightly raising his eyebrow. “-and Killian will do.”

“Okay then-” she finally conceded. “-Killian.”

Her eyes were even more green than he’d originally concluded, the deep emerald hue of them paired with a hint of forgiveness he truly hadn’t earned. The pain brought on by his recent conflict in the bar seemed to fade ever so slightly as he held her gaze with a fascination he didn’t understand. There was something about her - something so guarded and beautifully hidden in her eyes - and he let a goal of unmasking it form in his weary mind. The fact that she’d be gone soon prodded him and he felt his shoulders shrink with the cruelty of that knowledge.

Why had he wasted so much time? Why had he been avoiding this? Why in the bloody hell did she captivate him in such a vexing way?

“God, there you are,” Arthur gasped, his sudden presence causing their staring contest to lapse. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah….yes - fine,” Killian answered, trying to pick the right words. “Look, I didn’t know he would….I’m sor-”

“It’s alright, Killian - that wasn’t you,” Arthur assured him, looking toward Emma curiously before resuming his breathless speech. “Glad you’re fixed up. Can you stand?”

“Aye-”

“Okay, good….and I hate to add insult to literal injury, but while that wasn’t pretty, things are about to get a lot worse,” Arthur warned, his eyes anxious and filled with concern. “Your brother is on his way. We need to get you out of here.”

Tagging some friends: @xpumpkindumplingx, @jennifer-morrison, @spartanguard, @laschatzi, @kat2609, @eala-captian, @allietumbles, @andiirivera, @kmomof4, @galadriel26, @timeless-love-story, @msres, @harryandthecambridges, @thesschesthair, @its-like-a-story-of-love, @lovelycssefan, @hooksheroicheart, @cat-sophia, @gonzothegreat90, @rebelcxptain, @prairiepirate, @yesplskillianjones, @jennjenn615, @heomomka, @fckyesroyals, @lenfazreads, @cherrywolf713, @lucasxdorothy, @lifeinahole27, @hollyethecurious, @fairytalesandtimetravel, @pirateherokillian, @shipsxahoy, @onceuponarelm, @winterbaby89, @captain-k-jones, @weall-l00k-the-same-inthe-dark, @shady-swan-jones, @captainswanparrilla, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @princesseslikepirates, @sherifffjones, @deathbycaptainswan