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miraculouspenta · 4 years

Text

Different Limits

Original Idea by @jinx-jade

Thanks to @moonlitceleste for beta reading :D

'What have I done,' Damian thought. Dick was lying on the floor with an arm that was clearly broken. He had surprised Damian with a hug from behind, triggering his instinct to attack. Damian had reacted by twisting his arm, resulting with Dick being on the floor. Jason entered the door when he heard Dick’s shriek of pain. "WHAT THE F*CK, DAMIAN!" he shouted when he saw Dick. His whole family had scolded him, Bruce had benched him for a whole two months, and Alfred had given him a disappointed stare.

Damian couldn't stand it. Not anymore.

He snapped.

He had tried, he really had.

But it was never enough.

As the heir to the Demon's Head, attacking at unknown touch has been burned into him. Touch had always meant danger. It was second nature to him now. Unfortunately, his family did not know nor do they understand. Two years of constant reminders that he had done terrible things. Two years of constant reminders that he was merely a killing machine. Two years of greater expectations, both in standard and amount. He had enough.

Damian said goodbye to his pets and ran.

After a good hour of running, he dropped into an alley and cried.

In his vulnerable state, he didn't see a man creep up. A man holding a gun. The unknown adult was planning to kidnap the boy, but as soon as his hands reached Damian, he reacted. He flipped the man over his shoulder like what he did to Dick earlier. But in his state, it didn't affect much. The man pulled out a knife and stabbed him in his side. It ended the fight.

The kidnapper ended up running away, leaving a heavily injured Damian to slowly watch the world as his vision turned black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette, who had just finished some business with Superman, decided to take a walk in Gotham before going home. Along the way, she spotted a boy covered in blood as she crossed an alleyway. He was already unconscious, and Marinette knew she couldn't just leave him there. So she opened a portal and went through it and carried the boy in her hands. She laid him down in her spare room and left to get her medical supplies.

Approximately six hours later, the boy woke up. His eyes scanned the room as he tried to up and leave. Limping, he tried to head to the window. "Hi sweetie, you need to calm down," Marinette’s soft voice said as she walked slowly to the boy., "You should be resting; moving might agitate your injuries." The boy just stared at her. Marinette stood up slowly and walked over. "May I?" she asked, reaching for his hand. When he nodded, she carefully took his hand and led him to the bed. Once there, she helped Damian into a comfortable position. "Do you have anyone you can call?" she questioned. When he didn't answer, she simply nodded her head and asked him what he would like to eat.

Damian ended up staying for three weeks because Marinette refused to let him leave until he was fully healed. The twelve year old grew closer to the woman. Once healed, he confessed that he has nowhere to stay. Marinette took the information in stride and told him he was more than welcome to stay with her. And stay he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Living with Marinette was incredible. Unlike his grandfather and his father, she didn't place any expectations on him. At one point, he slipped and called her mom. Damian had froze after he said that, scared of how she would react. It ended up with Marinette asking him whether or not he would mind her adopting him. Damian happily agreed and they soon got the paperwork done. (Chloe is conveniently Marinette’s lawyer). Damian wore the Dupain-Cheng name with pride. As Grand Guardian, Marinette took it upon herself to teach Damian magic. Starting with glamour, they covered the basics of magic.

Two weeks after the adoption, while reading the daily news, Damian came across an article on the front page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Daily Planet

BREAKING NEWS!!

Not more than six weeks ago, twelve year old Damian Wayne was reported missing. The only biological child of Bruce Wayne was suspected to have ran away for an unknown reason. He was last seen running to his room before he left. “Maybe I was a little too harsh,” Bruce Wayne admitted, “But this isn’t the first time I had to ground him because he wasn’t able to control his strength.” The young boy had somehow managed to flip Richard John Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s eldest, when he had surprised him with a hug. “Damian and I may not get along, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Tim Drake, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises said.

Damian Wayne is a tan boy with dark hair and striking green eyes. He weighs around 90 lbs at 4’9 ft tall. Currently, he is twelve years old. Multiple search parties have been launched. I myself know Damian personally from all the times he has visited my son. If you find the boy, please contact xx-xxx-xxx-xxx and we will get to you as soon as possible.

- Clark Kent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After reading, Damian had a breakdown. Marinette rushed in when she heard the sobs of her child. She didn’t say anything and instead she approached slowly wrapping him in her arms. She let him cry as she rubbed his back and once he calmed down, he told her his story and why he left.

“All these new expectations were just overwhelming,” he said, “‘No killing’, ‘justice not vengeance’—it’s like they were expecting me to turn back. I never wanted to hurt them, but it’s something that is a reflex now. It’s not easy to let go of a habit.” Marinette was silent throughout his whole rant. She knew how terrible Ra’s and Talia were but that didn’t make it better. She knew the Batman could be cold, but the fact that he didn’t listen and try to understand infuriated her.

“Ra’s and Talia should know not to mess with me, but if I ever see your father I can and will punch him,” she growled. Damian smiled as he nuzzled into his mother’s chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years passed. Damian and Marinette’s bond grew stronger while the search parties grew hopeless. The Justice League was also involved; so were the Titans and the Young Justice. They concluded that Damian was either dead or hiding really well. The former option was discarded when Zatara and Zatanna had almost managed to track him, but unfortunately the spell suddenly shattered when it was nearing.

Desperate, the batfamily decided to reach out to the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous. Imagine their surprise when they saw Damian on their way to her house. When they ran to him, Damian, now fifteen, went into an alley and disappeared. They rushed to Marinette’s house and knocked. They heard hard breathing and a gentle voice trying to calm the other party down. Leaning towards the door, Dick found that it was unlocked and tumbled in.

What they saw was Damian kneeling on the floor crying in the middle of a breakdown and Marinette trying to soothe him. “Out,” Marinette glared. The boys obeyed and waited anxiously. The person that they had been searching for was under the protection of the Guardian all this time. It made sense why even both Zatara and Zatanna couldn’t track him down.

An hour later, Marinette opened the door telling them to come in and wait. She took some water and placed them on her coffee table saying that Damian was taking a shower. As soon as she sat down the boys began to fire questions. They stopped after a good fifteen minutes and noticing that Marinette wasn’t saying anything. “I know why Damian ran away, yes, but it is not my place to say. I can ask him later, and I will not say anything without his permission. But I will say this,” Marinette said, voice colder than ice, “You f*cked up.” Marinette stood up to check on Damian. “By the way,” she stopped for a moment, “I adopted him three years ago.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian ended up being the one to tell them everything. Everything from why he ran away to why he decided to stay. The Waynes felt bad; they hadn’t even bothered thinking about his perspective. Looking back, Jason and Bruce realized what Damian had said about the League was true. “I’m- We’re sorry Damian,” Dick apologized. “Are you willing to come back?”

“No,” he said. The Waynes were visibly saddened.

“But I am willing to start over.”

1445 words

I had tons of fun writing this fic, hope you guys like it

~Leen

@animegirlweeb @battybatbat @crystalangelluna @dorkus-minimus @galaxylightmoon @iglowinggemma28 @insane-fangirl-of-everything @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @karukofox21 @lunathealphafemale @megaafangirl @miraculouslydumb @myazael @nickristus-dreamer @our-preciousss @samiamack @sh31bin0 @user00000003 @waffleyunsure

#maribat #mominette

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blarrghe · 4 years

Note

“Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast” Dorian x Anders, because I imagine Dorian has NEVER had a lover make him breakfast before (and Anders probably as a cat-shaped waffle iron)

Ok, as much as I love “his boyfriend makes him breakfast and it breaks Dorian” I also like, JUST did that over in my pavellan fic. It was very sweet and all, but consider: neither of these men are functional adults so who the hell is making breakfast? Still, got Anders his waffles. Anyway this directly sequels the last one again, because I’m using prompts to generate this story now I guess, and I’m really invested in this slow burn friends-to-lovers angsty mess now, so this got super long. I’m gonna start posting this as a series on AO3 I think -- also taking title suggestions XD. Thanks for dragging me into this hell :’) Here’s Breakfast:

He told himself that he was just coming along to keep an eye on him. A designated driver of sorts, just one without a car, or driver’s license, for that matter. He showed Dorian to the bar across the street and ordered himself a glass of water while Dorian asked for “the worst swill you have", with a rather large tip slapped on the bartop. He was handed something astringent smelling in a foggy glass, downed it in one quick backwards toss of his head — arching his neck, snapping back again with a shudder — and then he asked to have the bottle.

Dorian took two more shots before he spoke. “Did you know that there was an author, horror novelist, whose mother disapproved so wholly of her marriage that after she died, she and her husband took their revenge by having sex right on her grave?”

So. This was going to be an interesting evening. “I did know that, actually.” Anders said.

“I’m rather a fan of hers, of her work, I mean.” he took another shot, “and of her misbehaviours. Only, do you think it would be too gouache, seeing as it’s already been done?”

Anders coughed. “Because if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t be?”

Dorian shrugged, and took a fourth shot. Maker, he’d finish the bottle within half an hour, at this rate.

“I’m a fan of hers too,” Anders attempted to steer the conversation into something somewhat more...appropriate, “of her work.” He was also a fan of the story, but maybe not at this particular moment.

“Oh?”

Anders took a sip of his water, and signalled to the bartender to put a water glass in front of Dorian, too. “I tend to enjoy stories about misunderstood monsters,” he shrugged.

“Me too.” Dorian ignored the water glass in favour of shot number five. “Of course, she was married to a like-minded soul, I’d have to find myself a willing participant.”

“Strange thing to put into your dating app profile,” Anders agreed. Dark humour came easy — though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.

“Mm. Man seeking man to fuck on father’s grave, must be willing to break cemetary locks and city bylaws. Risk of haunting, serious inquiries only.”

Anders tried to stifle his laugh. Man seeking man, though. No. Nope. Very terrible idea.

“I don’t suppose you’d be game?”

Anders coughed again, his cheeks flaring up, and shook his head. “I — uh — I think that must be against...one of my oaths.” he stuttered, still flushing.

Dorian took yet another shot, which made six. What in the world was he made of? "Yes I suppose it must be. Or should be, at any rate." His cheeks were a bit flushed too, even in the dim light, but just from the alcohol; evidently the man had no concept of shame, because next he said, "well, it was worth a shot."

Speaking of shots. "Water," Anders instructed, moving the water glass closer to Dorian, "you should drink some water."

"Yes doctor." Dorian obliged, taking the glass to his mouth but raking his eyes up and down Anders as he drank down the entire thing. Anders just kept on blushing.

"I take it you and your father didn't get along?" It probably wasn't the right question to ask the recently bereaved, but he'd nearly failed that psych 101 course he'd taken in first year, and it was a step away from morbid propositions. Void, where was Merrill when he needed her?

"You met him, didn't you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, and with quickly failing coordination, poured himself one more shot, while spilling enough to fill another over the bartop. Anders grabbed a napkin, while Dorian threw his shot back without seeming to notice. "My father hated me." He said, once he'd swallowed.

Tear soaked apologies and an alcohol soaked "celebration" of his death. Anders felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet that was quite removed from the growing pangs of hunger his measly lunch — a granola bar five hours ago — had left him with.

"I'm sure he didn't —" Dorian stopped him with an ice cold look, intimidating even as he swayed in his seat. Anders frowned, there had been something in that psych course about not sharing your own traumatic experiences with a patient, even if they were relatable. Muddies the waters of who's caretaking who, or gives them ideas, or makes you look crazy too, so they lose confidence, but — "mine did, too." He gave Dorian's arm a tentative pat, and waved the bartender down for a refill of water. Dorian drank it without prompting this time, but his eyes watched Anders again, waiting for more. "Or he must've, got rid of me quick enough."

"Ah," Dorian leaned back, a little too far, Anders tensed to catch him in case he started to fall, "then I'm an ass. Sorry."

"No, you're —" Dorian swayed back forward with a bit of a jolt, like he'd forgotten how to stop and needed to grip the bartop to keep level. He reached for the bottle again, and Anders shot a hand out to grab it first. Their hands met, Dorian's falling on top of his over the bottle, and then in an instant Dorian's flew away again. "You're drunk." Anders said.

"Yes," Dorian agreed, "marvelous." He went back to the water, then cast Anders' hand, still on the bottle, a hopeful look. "Though not to the point where I won't remember any of this miserable day, yet."

Anders raised an eyebrow, and kept his hand on the bottle.

"Not that I'm saying I wish to forget you," Dorian's eyes were pleading with him, glossy as they were, "you've been rather kind, really, it's just…" when Anders still didn't release the bottle, he groaned. Then he straightened out his face again, a mask of sensibility that was barely holding: "I'm afraid you aren't seeing me at my best, doctor Anders."

"Just Anders." Maker, but the sadness behind it all was killing him. You're heart's too soft, Anders, he scolded himself.

"Anders, then. Quite the name."

"More a point of origin." Anders explained with a shrug.

"Yes, the hair rather gives you away. And the complexion." He reached out and slipped two of his long fingers through a strand of Anders' strawberry hair, which was falling in a straggled mess about his temples. Anders flinched, pulling his head back, and Dorian frowned apologetically. "Pretty. You're very pretty." He said. Anders shook his head and rolled his eyes — the man was drunk — but blushed again.

"It's what the circle gave me," Anders explained the name with another shrug. He wasnt entirely sure why he was volunteering so much personal information to this perfect stranger. Perhaps he felt it was owed, after witnessing the death of the man's father, and all he'd overheard. Or maybe it was those eyes...

"Oh." Another apologetic frown, "and you ran away to Tevinter? Well, you wouldn't be the first." Anders nodded. "Where from?"

Anders chuckled dryly, "Kirkwall, most recently."

"Oof." Dorian grunted a drunken sound of disgust, and Anders chuckled again, "how in the world do you manage not to drink?"

Anders’ laugh grew stronger, he shook his head and took another sip of his water, while Dorian redirected his attention once more to the bottle still protected by his hand, as though just now remembering his plight. "One more, I promise I'll be good." He begged.

"Speaking as a doctor, I think you've had enough."

"I thought you were off duty."

"You're going to make yourself sick."

"Then it's lucky I'm with a doctor."

Anders sighed, and poured him one more slightly scant shot. Dorian frowned at the way the alcohol didn't reach the rim of the glass, but threw it back with a grateful sigh.

“Can I call you a cab, Dorian?” Anders offered, watching worriedly as Dorian gave his head a dramatic shake and swayed a little more back and forth. The bar was emptying out, and last call was coming upon them. He cast a glance at the old watch ticking away on his wrist, mentally calculating how long it would be until he could be at home, in his bed. Not that he minded keeping the miserable man company, quite the opposite, despite everything. He had a pull to him Anders couldn’t quite explain; the eyes again, probably. But the bus came once an hour at this time of night, and didn’t stop at the closer stop, just the well-lit main hub that lay several blocks from his apartment — another fifteen minutes of walking after he got off, so a good hour or more to get home, altogether, if he left now.

“Is it that time already?” Dorian sounded disappointed, spinning the empty shot glass around on the bar, then with a sudden spark of concern in his eyes he turned his face to Anders, “I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I? How dreadfully selfish of me, I —” he was sputtering a rather pitiful apology, and Anders’ stomach fell again at the sight of it.

“It’s alright,” he said gently, muscle memory finding the soft smile he used for giving bad news to patients, “your father died today, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yes, father died…” Dorian got a far-off look in those cold eyes of his, and then directed them back at his empty glass, “and you — you had to, I mean, here I am wasting your time when you must be — selfish —” all at once, his face crumpled, and the guilty muttering gave way to tears. Shit.

Anders patted his back once, carefully, and Dorian seemed to utterly collapse under his touch, sobbing into the sticky countertop. Anders took a deep breath, and dragged him up again. He tossed a tip of his own onto the bar as the bartender shot them an aggravated look, and hauled Dorian away, draping his arms over his shoulders. Dorian slumped into him, heavy, hunched over, still crying, as Anders pushed through the door of the bar and into the balmy night air, awash with the putrid stench of dumpsters in the alley and the sick coughed up by the bar’s less restrained patrons. It all made him a little homesick. Dorian, hanging halfway off of him, lurched forward like he was about to add his own mess to the stink in the alley, but then he righted himself again, and propped himself up using Anders’ shoulder. Anders took the opportunity to pull out his phone.

“Where am I sending you?” he asked helpfully. Dorian made another face that seemed to threaten that he was about to be sick.

“I’m not going back there,” he muttered, less to Anders than to the ground. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Just help me find my car?”

“You can’t drive.”

“I’ll sleep in it — I left it in the lot.”

“No.”

Dorian pushed himself off of Anders, propelling himself away from his shoulder, and staggered forward a step. Then he seemed to change his mind, or realise he was in no state to walk on his own, and reached an arm out to fall back against the wall of the alley.

“No?” He asked, incredulous as Anders took his arm and draped it back over himself, walking them out of the alley and the stink.

“I’m not letting you sleep in your car,” Anders shook his head as he dragged the man forward. He was heavier than he looked. Strong, too, if the grip on his shoulder was any indication. “Besides, I can’t risk leaving you in a vehicle, if you did something stupid that would be on me.”

Dorian snorted, “do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Anders answered honestly, which seemed to amuse Dorian.

“I’m not stupid.” he said, “very, very smart, actually.” he insisted. Anders nodded appreciatively.

“Alright then, so you see why I can’t just leave you in the hospital parking lot, in your condition.”

“Mm. Kind of you, but I can think of worse places.” So could Anders, but he shuddered to think what could happen to Dorian if he left him alone like this, drunk and stumbling and wearing the most expensive looking suit he’d ever seen; he’d already flashed his overstuffed wallet far too openly when ordering his drinks inside. “Is there a hotel? I could buy a hotel.” Dorian slurred.

Anders was fairly certain he’d forgotten a word in his suggestion, but given the suit and the wallet, maybe not. Before Anders could answer, he lurched forward and away from him again, back towards the alley, and into a spasming sort of crouch, retching.

Anders took an instinctive step back as Dorian gagged and sputtered out a vomit of mostly liquid and bile onto the broken stone of the alleyway, then remembered his physician’s training, and rushed forward to steady him. Between coughs, Dorian swore, and when he finished (miraculously, his suit and shoes were still unharmed), he began to cry again. Anders sighed, and once more feeling a little bit homesick, he breathed out an all too familiar refrain: “well, shit.” he said.

“Not —” Dorian was stuttering apologetically at him now, “not my best.” He wiped at his tears, swore again, then got up from his crouch and began to stumble forward once more, heading the wrong way down the alley. Anders took him by the shoulders and led him out again.

“Hotel?” The word smushed out of him with so much drunken misery that Anders felt almost like crying for him, and he sighed again, pulling out his phone.

“I’m taking you home,” he dialed the number and gave the taxi company their location, then propped Dorian up against the wall of the bar that faced the street, rather than the alley, keeping an eye on his paling face and shaky breathing.

“What, your home?"

Anders nodded, “if you choke on your vomit and die in your hotel room, I’ll feel responsible,” he explained as Dorian looked up at him with a perplexed, and dare he say it, even eager look.

“Very kind of you, doctor Anders.” he said, but before Anders could correct him on the honorific again, he stooped and threw up, so doctor Anders it was.

——

Dorian all but fell asleep in the taxi, head drooping down into his chest, swaying this way and that as the car rounded the corners, but thankfully he kept from throwing up any more. The luck didn’t hold once they were inside Anders’ apartment though, and soon Anders had him steadied in a kneel over his toilet bowl, getting out the rest of it. Dorian flung most of his clothes off before throwing up this time, wrestling himself out of the suit jacket and tight shirt beneath it, while Anders tried not to be impressed. He had a really remarkable physique, but he was also lurching and coughing miserably into Anders’ toilet, so it was definitely not something to admire. Then he got him onto the couch, set a large bowl on the floor by his head, and coaxed him into one more glass of water before letting him lie down. Dorian offered him another tearful apology, and then tearful thanks, and then he passed out. Anders sat back in a chair across from him for a while, watching as his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall, ensuring that his head was turned to the side, mouth facing the bowl, in case he was to vomit any more in his sleep, and then he finally, finally, stumbled his own way to bed.

He woke to the sound of his cupboards banging shut and the kettle screeching to a whistle.

Anders stumbled out into his kitchen to find Dorian standing there with a distraught look on his face, pouring water into two large mugs. He was dressed again, and looking remarkably perfect, actually. Hair all in place and posture all upright once more. The bowl was gone from the floor, too, and nothing smelled off — just a little like tea.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, suddenly aware of his own shabby pajamas.

Dorian turned, still looking distraught. "You don't have any food." He complained, "I fed your cat —" Anders looked down to the corner of the kitchen where Ser Pounce's food bowl was, and found Ser Pounce there happily nibbling from a bowl filled to slightly too full, "I hope that's alright. I woke up with him on my chest and he wouldn't stop pawing at that cabinet so I figured…"

Anders smiled softly, and not in a practiced way, he'd entirely forgotten to check the food bowl when they came in the night before, occupied as he'd been.

"And then I saw you had a coffee pot, so I was going to make coffee, as a thank you — well, actually, I was going to have some delivered, but I don't rightly know where I am —" Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and he was talking quite speedily, cheeks going just slightly pink "but you don't have coffee. Or anything."

Now Anders blushed, embarrassed for the nakedness of his cupboards.

"Anyway, thank you. Tea?"

Anders nodded, and took the few remaining steps to the counter to grab one of the mugs of still steeping tea; he liked to keep the bag in. He moved from the counter to the couch, cupping the mug with both hands, and sat down.

"117 Orseck Ave.," he said, "that's where you are. How are you feeling… how much of last night do you remember?"

"I remember making a fool of myself, if that's what you're asking. And you being uncommonly kind." He paused, "it is Anders, right?" Anders nodded, "is there anything else I should remember, Anders?"

Anders shook his head, "that about sums it up."

Dorian chuckled. When he wasn't drunk or crying, it was a nice sound. He leaned against Anders' counter — stunning, how was he stunning after a night like the one he'd just had? "Well, you've certainly wasted enough of your time looking after me, and I can get out of your hair now, but —"

"— I wouldn't call it a waste of time," Anders interrupted, because something in him always seemed to speak up whenever Dorian went about making statements like that. It kind of had been a waste of his time, Anders tried to protest against that something, he'd lost a great deal of sleep to it, anyway. But somehow the look that his interruption gained him from Dorian was impossible to remain grumpy with.

"Have you been to Marc's?" Dorian asked suddenly, brightening with a hopeful smile, "since I know where we are now, and its nearby, and you have no food," he went on, "and personally, I'm starving —"

"I imagine you would be," Anders said, though at the mention of hunger his own stomach took the opportunity to awaken too, noisily. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the sound.

"Might I buy you breakfast? I feel I owe you that much."

Anders hadn't been to Marc's. He'd been by it many times, a busy little brunch place, always smelling of bacon and pancakes and with a line out the door. It was a bad idea to say yes to this, he thought, a bad idea to say yes to anything involving absurdly handsome men who just lost their fathers, who were obviously walking disasters waiting to happen (you always had a thing for disasters waiting to happen) — shush. His stomach grumbled again.

"I haven't been," Anders answered, "there's always a line — and I am on call, I might not have time to —"

"Oh, we can skip all that." Dorian brushed the protest aside, "so? Don't try to tell me you aren't hungry."

Anders kicked at a bit of cat hair fluff adorning the edge of his couch, "alright, sure."

Dorian was certainly good at getting him to say yes to things he should know better than to say yes to. If he kept going on like this, the next thing he knew he'd be having sex on his father's grave.

----

They arrived at the restaurant, just a short walk from Anders' building, and yet in a considerably nicer part of town — the new money was creeping in towards his end of things, but where he lived at least was still very much no money — and Dorian walked straight up to the front of the line. Anders hung back, watching skeptically as Dorian performed a series of intricate maneuvers: some charm, a smile, a handshake Anders recognized from Varric — the kind with a bill snuck inside — and then he turned, waving Anders over.

"We can wait ten minutes for a table, or have our food prepared now and take it outside. Your choice." He smiled. Maker, such a good smile; straight teeth and a brilliantly white gleam. "But you're on call, right? And to be honest with you, the fresh air is making me feel considerably less queasy. Park across the street?" Anders nodded and shrugged at the same time, a gesture that seemed to satisfy Dorian into continuing to take charge of the situation. "Alright then, to go. And fast, if you can. We're both very busy and important." He winked at the young hostess as he was handed two paper menus, and Anders could have sworn she blushed brighter than the checkerboard red on the apron she wore. "What do you fancy?" Dorian asked him, handing over one of the papers.

It was diner food, but not really. Poached eggs with house-smoked bacon over an heirloom tomato coulis, waffles with Orlesian creme sauce and glazed berries, rare wheat pancakes with apple cinnamon compote and vanilla syrup — just a few options, all of them coming with a detailed list of decadent flavours. In addition to those few confounding main courses was a fresh juice list filled with exotic fruits Anders had never even heard of, and approximately twenty different kinds of coffee.

"Uh, waffles?" He said, squinting at the menu, "waffles and coffee?"

Dorian beamed some more, and took back his menu to point out the waffle dish, as well as several other things, confidently ordering far more food than could possibly be necessary as well as coffee and one of the strange fruit juices while insisting that Anders simply had to try it. The patient employee nodded and hurried away, and not ten minutes later came back with two plastic bags stuffed near splitting with cardboard containers, and a tray of drinks. Dorian thanked her with another winning smile and secretly-funded handshake, and then they were off.

The park across the street had benches, so they sat on one — finding one in the shade of a great, leafy tree, as even the morning sun was warm. Then, Dorian began a conversation, and the whole thing was far less awkward than Anders had expected. Dorian asked about his work, so Anders described some of it, though he avoided anything too close to topics of death and dying, and Dorian held his gaze while he talked and asked compelling questions. He seemed to be, as claimed, very smart, and the food was practically otherworldly. Then Anders asked Dorian about his work in turn, and Dorian sighed.

"Well, you're new here, aren't you? How much do you know about Tevinter politics? The intricacies of it all can take a lifetime to wrap one's head around. That's by design; keeps things all tied up with the upper classes who have it in their blood to be intollerable bureaucrats." His air was flippant, but altogether disapproving, which Anders appreciated.

"I've been here a while now, actually. A couple of years, anyway, I understand it a bit. Political science was always my…'' downfall? "Second passion." He washed down a heaping forkful of creme covered waffles made of pure fairy dust and clouds with whatever exciting fruit drink Dorian had handed him — it tasted like bright green, with a hint of citrus. "I feel people should be informed — active. Healthcare is as political as it is practical." And mage freedom, that was political too, but they didn't have to get into that. Mages were already free in Tevinter. Other kinds of people, however — something bitter bit at the back of his mind. But it was too sunny, and the food too good, for that sort of conversation.

Dorian nodded approvingly, his eyes lighting up. "Alright then, I'm an Altus. I argue things in circles in the house a lot, these days I've been losing all sorts of friends arguing this Sopperati electorate reformation bill," Anders' eyes widened, impressed. He'd been following the progress of it, a huge step for increased class equality, if it passed. So maybe it was just sunny enough for such a conversation. "but of course it can only go so far without approval from the Magisterium," Dorian went on, a slight growl of frustration colouring his tone, which was appealing in a different way, "and for that we need to convince those with seats in the — in the —'' he stopped, and some of the light fell from his eyes. "I just remembered that my father is dead." He said. Shit. Not a sunny conversation, after all. "His seat passes to me, you see, because nepotism still runs stronger than good sense and he's written my name into all these continuations of his legacy and…" he sighed, and stabbed hard at a piece of brilliantly poached egg, which honestly didn't deserve it, "sorry. It's going to be a very hectic and difficult few weeks, with all the ceremony and paperwork and the whole ordeal of burying him…" he scooped up some of his bleeding egg yolk with a wedge of toast, and went silent in favour of eating, while Anders took an uncomfortable sip of juice that seemed to have lost some of its vividness. "You've been here for years, you said?" Dorian changed the subject, refocusing on Anders. Anders nodded, still awkwardly sucking up juice through the straw of his cup. "I would have sworn you were an escapee fresh from the harbour."

"Why?" Anders bristled a little.

"Your apartment. You have no food or furniture," Anders bristled a little more, "and you've never been to Marc's", Anders frowned, furrowing his brow at the impossibly good, impossibly expensive waffles, "and you're too nice." Dorian finished. Anders looked up in surprise, catching Dorian's eye. They were still a bit lost for light, but soft on him.

"I'm just very busy," Anders shrugged. And very poor, but, well, Dorian probably thought anyone with fewer than a thousand acres of family land was poor, given his status. He didn't need to know the extent of it.

"Hm," Dorian's eyes were still on him, soft and thoughtful, "what else haven't you done?" Anders shrugged, and Dorian began listing things. Tourist attractions and famed galleries, but also other, lesser-known offerings of the city that Anders had never even heard of.

"Ferry through the archipelegos?"

"No."

"The volcanic sand beaches?"

"No."

"Dinner at the top of Tidarion Tower?"

"No."

And on like that, until he finally said yes to something — taking in a show at the infamous burlesque playhouse in the city's red light district, which elicited an eyebrow raise.

"Priorities, I see." Dorian chuckled, "at least you have good taste." He reached an arm up over Anders' side of the bench, as he finished with his food and slid the box away, very smooth. "I'd have offered to take you. Maybe one of the others sometime, then, if you've a mind." He suggested. Anders could feel his cheeks beginning to run hot again. Still a bad idea, he reminded himself. Apparently sensing his unease, Dorian removed his arm from its perch near Anders' shoulders. "May I say something painfully honest?" he asked.

Anders swallowed, but he managed a smirk as he replied. "I think we're well past that," he said.

Dorian shook his head with a dry chuckle, "yes, well. I'm all out of sorts, as you may have noticed."

Anders chuckled too, but with him, not at.

"And normally, if I'm to get drunk and go home with a stranger, it all goes a certain way," then he actually winked, which on him was somehow charming and not over the top at all. Anders swallowed again, "and, not that I'm opposed, but, well, as I said: you've been uncommonly kind. I could — I've been losing friends left and right lately, it seems, with this bill, and…"

"I'm a fan of the bill," Anders said, "in fact I'm not sure it goes far enough."

The interruption seemed to lend Dorian some more confidence, as though he needed it, "so, pretty as you may be, I could use a, uh —"

Anders blushed again, but finished for him, "a friend?" He could use one too, if he was being honest. Near everything seemed to be making him homesick, lately.

Dorian nodded. "If that's not too forward." He said.

"You fed my cat," Anders replied, "as far as I'm concerned, we're already friends."

At that, Dorian smiled. He asked Anders his cat's name, and chuckled at the answer, and then they exchanged phone numbers and Anders stuck a little cat next to his own name as he entered it into Dorian's contact screen, which had him laughing even more. Anders offered to put the puking emoji next to Dorian's in return, but he insisted on a snake, because he “had a reputation to uphold”. Then Anders’ pager went off, and he groaned inwardly, wishing he could spend the day in the sun for once.

“Duty calls?”

Anders grimaced, and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, meaning it. Dorian stood too.

“You should take the rest — actually, this may be awkard, but I think we’re going the same way.” His car. Of course.

“You’re going to have a small fortune to pay in parking tickets,” Anders realised, frowning.

“Oh that’s fine. I have one of those — big, actually.” he winked again, “very big.” Sweet Maker, he just never stopped.

Dorian insisted on a cab, and then he insisted on paying for it, and then he insisted on Anders taking the rest of their uneaten brunch items to store in the breakroom for his lunch, and then finally he was ready to let him go, with a promise to be in touch. He extended his hand for Anders to shake. Anders took it, holding fast with a sure grip, and then, drawn in yet again by those cool, sad eyes, he pulled Dorian’s arm towards him, and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

Dorian stumbled back afterwards, cheeks flush, eyes glinting with surprise. “What was that for?”

“Just seemed like you needed it,” Anders said.

Dorian was still blushing, and his smile warmed Anders’ own cheeks. “Suppose I did,” he agreed.

“Take care, Dorian.”

“As you say, doctor.”

#dorianders #dorian x anders #my fic #my writing #dorian #anders #modern au #alcohol cw #vomit cw #breakfast #this is too fun help #disaster boys

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sxveme-2 · 4 years

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Fifteen: The One Where There Might be a Future

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3247

Lily didn't like the effect Bucky had on her sometimes. She wasn't sure if it was the way he was so good with Hunter, or how he was always so gentle with her. Or maybe it's whenever the two were alone he looked at her like she was the only girl in the world. Or perhaps it was the way his hands always lingered places for a second too long to go unnoticed. She couldn't place it. But if anyone asked how she felt about the boy, she brushed it off. They were simply friends. Nothing more. The kiss they shared in the kitchen didn't get spoken about, and the two never felt a shred of awkwardness over the following few weeks.

But it didn't help that his lingering looks and her soft touches didn't go unnoticed by those around them for very long. Lily had found herself living every teenage girl’s dream. She became friends with the freaking Avengers. It didn't help that her sister had begun to get all friendly with Mr. Sam Wilson, either. She wasn't sure if it was because of her lack of love from her ex, or the need for a rebound. But Lily would be there to support her along the way, no matter what form her heartbreak and hormones took.

And although things were great in Lily's social department, the legality of her divorce had become messy. It had been a month since the incident where Cedar supposedly attempted to break into her ex-husband’s house, leaving Lily with the entire month of October being filled with legal battles and a complete rewrite of the separation agreement. All while the police continued to question her younger brother. She wanted to keep that part of the issue secret from Hunter, for the little boy looked up to his uncle as though he were one of the superheroes on the boy’s wall. And Lily did truly believe her brother was not behind this, that something must have happened to him. She knew Cedar, he wouldn't have done this.

However, to distract herself, Lily decided to hand-make her and Hunter's costume for the holiday quickly approaching. As well as busying herself with shopping for Hunter's birthday, which was just a week after Halloween. however, in proper Rose and Gen fashion, they had other plans for the candy-filled day.

"I am not going to a Halloween party with the Avengers!" Lily exclaimed as she spun around from her sewing machine, arms crossed, "And I am not matching with Bucky."

"Come on Lily!" Rose whined, grabbing her sister’s hand, "You've been stressed to the high heavens all month! With finally being granted full custody, as well as this Cedar thing? You deserve to go out and have some fun."

"And Bucky tells us he's had to make you dinner every night when he comes over. And don't act surprised that we know- you send Rose out every Thursday and Saturday. We're not stupid." Gen countered, raising her finger to Lily.

"He talks too much," Lily mumbled, "But I wouldn't be able to anyway! Hunter and I have traditions to keep up. We match costumes, then go out trick or treating, then come home, watch Halloweentown and then go to bed." she stated, stealing her hand back from her sister, "plus Rose, you're pregnant!"

Lily furrowed her eyebrows as she watched her sister and best friend share a look. One that the mother knew all too well. They had planned something. And what that was? Well, Lily didn't know. All she knew is that she wouldn't like it. She never enjoyed their plans. The last time she went through with one, she ended up racing home and having to take her husband to court because of the neglect of their child. Plus, she'd much prefer to stay home and spend time with her son. After the month she had, she just wanted a night in with the two of them.

"We figured you'd say no..." Rose began, flicking her hazel eyes to Gen.

"...So we came up with a backup plan. That was actually, Hunter's idea." Gen smiled softly, offering her hand to her best friend, "Come with us and he'll explain."

Lily cocked her eyebrow at the two of them. Standing, the blonde laced her hand into Gen's and was soon led out into her own living room where Hunter sat on the floor with Joey watching national geographic. Lily smiled softly at the boy before she was essentially forced into sitting on their sofa, with both Rose and Gen coaxing Hunter to explain whatever they had decided to try and convince Lily on.

"Mum, what if Mr. Barnes joined us for Halloween this year?" the boy commented, turning off the television and turning towards his mother.

Lily was taken aback by her son’s bold offer. Glancing back and forth at the two women on either side of her, only to be greeted with raised hands of innocence. Moving onto the floor, Lily took her son’s hands into her own, searching his face for any sort of blackmail being used by the two girls behind her. But he seemed genuine. She knew this because there was a rosy hue to his cheeks, meaning he was even embarrassed to ask her something like that.

"Are you sure, Hunt? It's always just been us on Halloween." Lily hummed, running a thumb across the boy’s cheek.

"Mum if I didn't want to I wouldn't have asked. I like Mr. Barnes. He's fun." Hunter stated simply, tilting his head into his mother’s touch.

"If that's what you want buddy, then sure. We can have Bucky here for Halloween." Lily agreed, ruffling the boy’s hair before standing up and turning towards her sister and best friend, "I'm guessing you already asked him?"

When the two gave energetic nods, the young mother shook her head with a laugh, making her way back out towards her office to finish the costumes.

-----

Lily still lived in the real world. And held a full-time job. As did Rose and Gen. Which meant, there was no one to watch Hunter on the actual day of Halloween while Lily worked. well, that's what she thought at first. But of course, who were Rose and Gen to let anything peaceful happen in the life of their best friend and sister. Though Lily was far from bold enough to make such a request, she didn't have much of a choice. Plus, he was already spending the evening with them. Lily still hadn't enough trust in babysitters, despite having a plethora of neighbours whom she did trust...she just trusted him a bit more.

"Thank you for coming on short notice." the blonde sighed softly as she opened up the door to her house, "Gen has a meeting today and Rose is in upper manhattan, so neither were available."

"It's no issue, Lily," Bucky's gruff morning tone cooed as he took a step into the house, "I like the kid, no stress. Sam and Steve may swing by around noon, mind if I bring Hunt with us out for some lunch?"

"That would be amazing, Buck." she hummed, not even giving the nickname a second thought, though her cheeks did subconsciously heat up, "Here." the blonde smiled, digging her hands into her purse, only to have his flesh hand rest on the arm of her thin white cardigan.

"No need. It's my treat." the man smiled, his hand lingering across her wrist before he pulled it away.

The way that he looked at her made Lily's heart skip a beat. His steel-blue eyes pouring into the mossy green of her own. All of the air in the foyer seemed to be sucked out, as though the world paused around her. Neither moved, and the world melted away. It was Hunter who had managed to snap the two out of it. The sound of a glass breaking against hardwood made Lily jump, her hand resting above the pale purple scrubs she wore, gripping her name tag.

Glancing at her watch, Lily sighed, dropping her bag, "I'll go clean that up then head to wo- "

"Let me." Bucky hummed, picking the woman's bag back up, "You head into work. I'll take care of the kid and the mess, I promise."

With one more glance towards the kitchen, Lily nodded slowly before bidding her goodbyes. When she got into the car in her driveway, the blonde let out a deep sigh. Her eyes glanced up to the door of the place she called home for a few years now. She spotted Bucky and Hunter standing in the doorframe, Hunter still in his pyjamas with a new cup of orange juice in his hand. Bucky's hand placed securely on the boy’s shoulder. The picture warmed Lily's heart, and she found her mind wandering ever so slightly.

The same scene, but with Lily standing there. A baby in her arms as Bucky placed a kiss on her temple. Hunter, aged up a few years with Joey by his side. But this image found itself framed, upon the wall of a different home.

Chiding herself, Lily shook her head, reversing from out front of the home. Away from the moment that made her heart swell.

-----

Another day, Another pay. Don't be mistaken, Lily loved her job. She adored being able to spend the day with children and make them feel better. But today was a rough one. Lily had a patient come in with severe symptoms. It broke Lily's heart. He looked around the same age as her son, and that was what she always found most difficult. Seeing the children that were experiencing the same sort of year as her son. Just turning twelve or not even quite there yet. It broke her heart, really.

Pushing the door open to her quaint home, Lily perked an eyebrow up at the smell of something sweet. That of a certain morning breakfast that seemed to be a reoccurring theme in the most recent months of Lily's life. A small smile spread across her lips as she placed her work bag down onto the front bench, kicking off her shoes before passing the stairs and through the hall back to the kitchen where she ducked around the corner, leaning on the wall.

"Well now what do we have here?" she chuckled, catching the two boy's attention.

Sliding her phone from her pocket, the blonde snapped a photo of the mess of a kitchen the two had made. Both had flour on their face, and the mother of the younger boy giggled. The number of blueberries that were on the floor, or should she say, making their way into Joey's stomach, was more than she saw in the bit of batter the two had made.

"We wanted to surprise you." Hunter grinned brightly, lifting his hands in a stance of innocence, "It was Bucky's idea!"

"Hey-! Way to through me under the bus buddy." the taller man laughed, hands dropping to tickle at the blonde boy's sides.

Lily shook her head with a hearty chuckle escaping her lips. Running a hand through her golden strands, the young mom sauntered forward and pressed a kiss to Hunter's head, before giving Bucky a soft glance. Shrugging off her cardigan, the doctor sent a teasing eyebrow raise to the two boys. Tossing the piece of fabric across one of the chairs at the table, the blonde shooed both away from the counter.

"Before you blow up my kitchen," she quipped, "Allow me to take over."

One brand new batch of batter and a new pack of blueberries later, Lily placed a large stack of fluffy pancakes atop the refurnished birch table that Bucky and Hunter sat at. Placing her hands on her waist, Lily merely smirked and shrugged the entire event off as though it were nothing. The main thing that made her happy on the inside, however, was watching the two dig into the golden brown delicacies she had made moments ago.

"Sit and eat, Lil. They're amazing," said Bucky, a mouthful of blueberry pancake muffling most of his words.

"Alright alright. Then we have to get ready to go out. don't want it to be too dark." Lily chuckled, pulling out a chair next to Bucky.

With dishes and the kitchen cleaned, the trio found themselves all dressed and ready to go for the Halloween festivities taking place outside of the home. Kids were already knocking on doors and stuffing their faces with candy. While Hunter was still trying to get the bandana we wore to properly stay on his head, or actually tie it. Hunter and Lily had already planned on taking on Halloween dressed as pirates, and Bucky just happened to have the proper rugged look for it.

Lily herself, well she wore quite the getup. The ripped fabric of white, burgundy, and plaid making up a skirt that hugged her waist. A white peasant blouse that hugged off of her shoulders sat underneath a black leather corset vest that dipped just below her chest. A pirate hat with gold trim and a peacock feather sat atop gentle blonde curls. Suede boots hit just below her knee with fishnet tights underneath. Bucky wore a fairly standard get-up, simple black pants with a loose cream-coloured top underneath a suede vest and taller boots.

"Mum I can't get my bandana tied!" Hunter sighed, dropping his hands against his own dark pants, "Can you do it?"

Lily grinned and made her way over to the boy, doing up the piece of fabric before handing him a pillowcase for the candy he'd be collecting. Turning to glance over her shoulder, the blonde caught the eyes of Bucky. His eyes were already glued to her, and the way they moved up and down her made a bright red flush fill the girl’s pale cheeks. She pursed her lips and let her hands fall to Hunter's shoulders, her eyes unwavering from those cool blue ones of Buckys.

"If you two are done staring into each other’s eyes," Hunter quipped, "I have candy to collect."

"Hunter!" Lily exclaimed, looking down at her boy.

"Yeah doll," Bucky winked, "Keep focused. The kid's gotta get his candy."

Lily watched in shock as the two walked out the door, leaving the blonde dumbfounded as she hooked Joey's leash onto his collar. Rolling her eyes, the blonde followed behind, shaking her head until she caught up to the two.

-----

"I didn't mean to make the kid freak out!" Bucky laughed as the three re-entered the house, "It's not like I'm in a mask! Plus the arm doesn't help give away who I am."

"Oh, please you totally knew he recognized you!" Lily retorted, unhooking Joey, "You kept rolling your sleeve up whenever we saw him!"

"I'm with mom on this one." Hunter commented, dumping the large stash of candy he had collected into the middle of the living room floor, "I think you liked seeing Kellin dressed as you, Bucky." he chuckled, sorting through the pile.

"Well obviously!" the man chuckled, sliding his vest off, "I think what shocked me most was the number of people dressed up like Sam. We can keep the information here. It'll only make his head inflate even more."

The trio continued the night, laughing, eating candy, and watching the iconic Halloweentown. At around ten-thirty, Lily put the young boy to bed, leaving her alone with the ex-assassin that was sitting in her living room. Which she didn't mind, she'd begun to see yet another new side to Bucky. One that made her realize just how much the man yearned for the security and domesticity of a family. And how Lily wished to give that to him. To lay that troubled mind of his to rest at last, and allow him the peace and tranquillity of a modern day family. And for a while, she believed the two had that. That night. He now changed into a t-shirt and sweats he had left at the house last time, Lily in a pair of baby blue plaid pyjama pants and an oversized white sweater. Both sipping lightly on coffee while they sat across from one another, legs touching.

"You've got something good going here, doll." the man hummed, eyes averting towards the fire at the other side of the room, "Back in the ‘40s this is something I believed I'd have one day."

Lily watched the man with a soft expression. The way his eyes seemed to cloud with troubles when he began talking. It broke her heart, knowing that this sweet and gentle man had been through more than Lily could ever fathom. He had murders attached to his name, yet he petted Joey like he would break the dog, and acted as though Hunter was the most precious thing in the world. And when he would touch Lily, her hand, her wrist, it was though she were made of glass. He was sensitive, and Lily's heart grew ten sizes whenever she saw him allow his guard down, even for a split second. Allowing her to peak into that complex mind of his.

"Why can't you have it now?" Lily questioned, "Find a nice girl. Settle down somewhere quiet. Have a family. Why is it so different now?"

The man turned his attention back to that of the woman sat beside him, "That wouldn't be fair to them. The kids...if I had them. The past I have would follow them everywhere, they'd learn about what I did in class. I was a monster, Lily."

Setting her mug to the side, Lily moved a bit closer to the taller man. She took his coffee from his hands and placed it to the side. She wasn't sure what came over her. Her mind believed it to be that of her having such a lovely night with him. Watching him with Hunter. Seeing the way he would look at her. She wasn't sure. She just knew he felt something back towards her. Maybe the kiss they shared was what drove her, but she just knew this was her window.

So she took his face in her hands, "Buck you had no choice. And now? You're one of the most loved heroes. You beat the darkness. I give stickers out of you at work now!" she chuckled, running a careful thumb across his jawline, "I know if I was the girl you settled with, there would be no fear of having a family."

Bucky looked at the girl with a tender look in his steel eyes. His hand reached up and tucked a stray hair of blonde hair behind her ear, moving forward. The air in the room grew thick and a sense of anxiety washed over Lily. She watched intently as he continued his advance forward. Before she could comprehend it, the two shared their second kiss. This one was different though. There was something new behind it. Lily couldn't put her finger on it. But they didn't break apart, no, they moulded together and paused for air every so often. Lily tangled her fingers in the man’s long brown hair, tugging gently.

But a knock at the door interrupted them.

"We'll talk about what you said tomorrow, okay doll?" Bucky cooed, running a thumb across the girl’s cheekbone, "You stay here. I'll grab the door."

Well, that was how Bucky Barnes met Lily Osborne's parents.

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goldenkookietae · 4 years

Text

Cosy Creams | JJK

BTS one shot

Pairing: Colleague!Jungkook x reader

Word count: 4,173 words

Warnings: Fluff, cute

Summary: It’s your first time on a date with your office colleague / crush and you are beyond nervous. When a dashing Jungkook turns up at your door, you could never have imagined an exhilarating ride and a delicious treat for the sweet tooth you’ve got.

A/N: I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I really really liked this one while writing it. And I am defo going to write more parts. This Jungkook is just too boyfriend material.

Disclaimer: This story is an AU fanfiction that I have created using the names of the members of BTS. I do not claim any ownership over the members of BTS. The plot and the personalities of the characters are entirely my own.

Do not plagiarize my work and do not repost.

Moodboard

*I do not claim ownership over any of the pictures. They are credited to their original owners.

She leaned closer to the mirror, as she struggled to get her eyeliner perfectly. It wasn’t every day that Y/N decided to glam up for a night out. But this wasn’t just one of those regular weekend parties that she was reluctantly dragged to by her best friend. This one she had agreed to on her own, perhaps even suggested it. As if the effort coming from her side hadn’t already been enough, for the first time in so many years, she had actually wanted to dress up.

It wasn’t as though the date was fancy. He had asked her to dress up casually and she was more than thankful that he’d suggested that. But that didn’t necessarily mean that she was going to go make up free. Just casual make up would do. That included BB, mascara, eyeliner and some light lip gloss. Nothing too special.

“Crap! There goes my seventh attempt at symmetrical eyeliner. Just why do we have to put this shit on?” she cursed.

“Sweetheart, you know you have the choice of totally skipping it, don’t you?” her best friend leaned against her door frame, a box of strawberries in his hand while he bit into one.

“Thanks a lot Hoseok, that’s making me feel so much better.” She huffed before setting down the stick and slumping onto the bed with her typical eye roll.

“Now, there there, kid. You don’t have to get so down about it. I can help you put it on.” Hoseok smiled as he pat her head, loving the way her eyes lit up.

“But I don’t see the point in it because you’ll look like Winnie the pooh either way.” He laughed, also loving the frown she gave him.

“I hate you.” She muttered laying back on the soft sheets and staring up at the ceiling.

“Nothing ever works out with any crush of mine. Not even eyeliner. What has my life become?” Y/N sighed as she extended her hand upward and then dropped it down onto her stomach.

Hoseok chuckled at his little drama queen for a best friend. “Come on now, you didn’t really expect anything out of your crush over Scarlett Johansson, did you?”

“It still broke my heart.” Y/N replied in the same gloomy tone.

Hoseok simply grinned before he caught her arms tight and pulled her into a sitting position.

“Now let’s get you ready for this date that’s making you this dramatic. What was his name again? Jungmin?”

“Jungkook.” Y/N snapped her eyes to Hoseok instantly, giving him a small glare. “And why’re you acting like you don’t know him, you guys are practically glued to each other all the time.”

“Awww is that making you jealous?” Hoseok cooed, pinching her cheek only for his hand to get slapped away.

“Alright I’ll stop. I’m serious now. It’s quarter to eight already.”

“Already? He’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes and I’m still a mess! Argh!” Y/N shrieked, clutching her hair with a hand.

“Sweetheart, you got nothing to worry about when your hope is right here.” Hoseok nods as he points to himself and then fixes her with an intense stare.

“Time for Mission: Jungoo Jaw Drop, now in progress.”

“It’s Jungkook.” Y/N groaned, receiving a ‘tsk’ in response as Hoseok picked up the eyeliner from where she had left it.

What could be the reason for all this drama, one might ask. She scoffed and rolled her eyes at how cliché she was being. Her mind going back to the times she would crush over the popular guys in high school. This time was no different. The only things that had changed were that, she was no longer a student, but an intern and the guy she was crushing on was a colleague from her workplace.

While she pondered over her three-month-old crush, she was snapped back to reality when Hoseok shook her shoulders.

“Y/N? The doorbell just went off, I think it’s-”

“Jungkook.” She whispered, before looking into the mirror frantically.

“Why do you sound like aliens are out to get you? Relax, it’s just a date. He’ll be drooling all over you trust me.” Hoseok held her shoulders and in that moment Y/N felt as though he was transferring energy to her.

It wasn’t her first time going out with him, they’d hung out together multiple times before and even been alone together. However, it was the first time, they had labelled this as a date. That was what made her nervous.

“You’re right, let’s go.” Y/N huffed, marching towards the door and pausing right before as she calmed herself and slowed down. As soon as she opened the door, she could hardly keep herself from blushing and looking away under his intense gaze.

“Y/N, you look beautiful.” Jungkook muttered, biting his lower lip making her swoon. Regaining her composure, she scanned him from head to toe shamelessly, taking in his attire. Black shirt, ripped jeans hugging his figure and a red leather jacket that gave him a ragged look.

Deep in her mind, she tried to match his outfit to hers. A dark blue ruffle blouse paired with blue jeans and black coat. Not that she could find anything similar.

Surprisingly, some of her confidence came back. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She smiled, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook grinned, “Well, I’m glad. Exactly what I was aiming for.”

They stared at each other for a while, their cheeks hurting with how much they were smiling and how much they were trying to not let that show.

“Ahem.” Both heads towards Hoseok leaning against a wall sipping what Y/N assumed was coffee.

“Hi Hyung.” Jungkook waved and Hoseok waved back. When nothing more happened, Hoseok sighed and made a shooing movement with his hand. “You both should get your asses out now.”

“Yes, right. Shall we?” Jungkook smiled, taking her hand and leading her out into the cold night. She mentally pat herself on the back for adding on a coat, learning from past experiences.

And when their ride came into view, she could feel the excitement burst through her veins. She was taken aback the first time she had seen it, having never travelled on a motorcycle before. But once she got a taste of it, she realised nothing else could bring her the same thrill. To add to that, nothing topped off riding on the motorcycle, sitting behind him, holding onto his waist and feeling the warmth pass from his torso to her body.

While she was busy reliving the feel of it, Jungkook had already mounted their sweet ride and was now grinning at her. “Hop on.” He knew she loved it.

She staggered towards him slowly, taking in how drool worthy he looked sitting there on a Harley Davidson. Her eyes slipped down to his thighs, the muscle straining against the taut material of his jeans. His sharp features made him stand out even when he wasn’t trying to. Before she could get on however, he caught her wrist and pulled her to face him.

“Here.” He pulled out the helmet resting on the handle, and fit it onto her head, clicking the buckles into place under her chin. The first time she’d refused saying it would ruin her hair. That was when Jungkook had taken it upon himself to put it on her every time she rode with him. “Safety first.” He’d said. She had never since complained.

“Now, get on.” He said, putting on his own helmet. And unlike her first time, she had now mastered the art of getting onto a motorcycle without falling down. She gripped his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex underneath and flung her leg onto the other side, lowering herself slowly onto the raised hump. Satisfied, she slipped her hands around his waist and held tight. Maybe this was one of the reasons she loved the ride so much.

Jungkook had noticed on their previous rides that Y/N never really talked much during their ride, he watched her from the mirror, her head tilted upwards a little and if he focused, he could also see her eyes closed. She just simply enjoyed the rides and it made him smile. Sometimes, late in the night, when the roads where empty, she’d take off her helmet and press her forehead to his back and he could feel her letting go of whatever stress she was going through for that moment. That made his heart soar and made him glad he’d bought the Harley.

He kept checking on her in the mirror, telling her usually to hold on tighter because there was a bump in the road or he just wanted to feel her against him and other times he stayed quiet, content with the fact that she was enjoying the ride. The fact that she only had him to take her on such rides made him want to show her more of such things. The normal parts of his life had suddenly become special because of her and he just hoped she wouldn’t ever tire of them, or him. When he spotted their destination getting closer, he sighed knowing he’d miss the feel of her holding on tight to him.

“Kavanah.” Y/N read out loud as she got off the bike, taking in the cosy vibes from the place. Jungkook was standing beside her now and she felt his hand touch her back subtly guiding her through the gates.

“This place has the best brownies you could ever find. Since you love them so much.” He stated, biting his lip at how her eyes sparkled. It wasn’t as though she had told him that, but it would be stupid to miss.

A month ago, Jungkook had joined his first job after an internship, along with seven others. Three from the bunch were interns, and he had never met them until they were all sent off to a different city for a new joiner induction training. Five days, they were together in the same hotel, walking to another hotel where the training was held and having dinner at whichever restaurant came on the way back to the hotel. Not to miss all the late nights they were out, simply walking through the quiet place or street shopping.

Every supper meal they’d had on the trip ended with ice cream and brownies at the request of Y/N. Wasn’t really hard to figure out that she loved them.

Jungkook took her hand and led her into the brightly lit place, glancing at the display of a variety of delicious cakes. Straight past the brightly lit place he led her to the end, pulling open the glass door for her and following her as she stepped out.

The place was beautiful, the entire space was open to the sky, covered in green, lit only by twinkling lights hanging on the trees and the lamps set on each table. The benches were made out of wood and every table was separated from the others by enough distance to not be overheard. A cool breeze ruffled their clothes making her shiver and Jungkook stepped in front of her holding the sides of her coat and pulling them together tighter.

The urge of taking care of her came to Jungkook so naturally he could say it was a reflex or an instinct. He often felt it was because he was older than her by about four years. At the same time, he also thought that sometimes it was an instinct to take care of and protect what was his.

Together they headed to the table and Y/N was ready to burst when he pulled out the chair for her, giving her a soft smile and heading over to sit down across her. Something about Jungkook being so gentle always amazed her. One would think he was one of those bad boys, showing her tricks on how to finish up work faster, wearing leather jackets, ripped jeans, biting lips, intense gazes and riding a bad ass motorcycle. But then, there was also him, putting a helmet on her for safety, pulling her coat tighter against the cold, holding her hand while walking on the streets, giving her soft smiles and hugs.

“You’re going to just stare at me or you’re going to order something?” Jungkook asked suddenly and that was when Y/N noticed a menu sitting on the table right under her nose. Jungkook was already looking through his and she bowed her head in embarrassment.

“Ye-, Yeah.” she stuttered opening up the menu and looking through all the colorful pictures. Y/N realised that with all the preparation she had done for this date, she had completely forgotten about feeding herself.

“Have you decided on something?” she asked him, looking up from her menu to see him flipping through the same pages over and over again.

“No. Have you?” Jungkook asked her and she nodded. She had in fact decided on a dish but there was a small complication.

“But. The problem is the serving they’re offering is too much and I won’t be able to finish it.” she blushed, her eyes slipping to the menu by instinct.

To further her embarrassment Jungkook laughed out loud and clear before shaking his head. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about that, I’ll share with you okay? Order whatever you want.” he smiled.

After a mumbled okay, Y/N placed her order and waited for Jungkook to place his, but he simply sent the waiter away.

While they waited, Jungkook asked her how she liked the new city, having only moved there three months ago. While she hadn’t really toured much owing to her work habits and the need for lazying every weekend, she could come to a conclusion that life in this new city was quite hectic. Every morning she’d have to travel an hour to reach office, while back in her quiet hometown, such time would get you to the outskirts of the city. Being new to the corporate world in a new city with new people was very nerve wracking and she was still getting used to it. Jungkook listened to her patiently and gave her hilarious reactions and she could never forget the shock on his face when she’d told him that back in her home town the maximum time one could be stuck in traffic was five minutes tops.

“No way! Are there even people in your hometown?!” He said, with his jaw hanging low and eyes the size of a bunny.

She laughed and continued with such stories and hadn’t even realised when the food was served. She was so fascinated with the way his eyes seemed to be fixed into hers, and the way he seemed so interested in just listening to her. It was when he’d raised his eyebrows and asked her, “How is it?” had she realised that he’d fed her a spoon from the dish she had ordered and was asking her how she’d liked it.

Her cheeks flushed a deep red, because of the fact that Jungkook had just fed her when she hadn’t even realised and also because she couldn’t remember what it tasted like because she was so mesmerized by the chocolate eyes she was looking at.

“It’s really good.” she muttered anyway and Jungkook gave her a knowing smile before picking up the spoon and taking a bite as well. It must’ve tasted really good as his eyes lit up and he quickly stuffed himself with another loaded spoon.

“Here.” he fed her more spoonfuls and Y/N didn’t feel awkward in the slightest. If she had thought he couldn’t be much more of a gentlemen before, she thought this was the most endearing thing that could ever happen to her. At one point she had picked up her own spoon and started feeding herself because Jungkook seemed keen on feeding her the entire thing and he looked as though he was full just by watching her.

The meal before them finished in no time and Jungkook ordered for another serving which Y/N thought might’ve have happened anyway. She knew Jungkook had a huge appetite and if she was being completely honest, she absolutely loved that fact. It was something she had gotten from her mother, cooking in huge quantities and feeling the ultimate satisfaction when people would still lick the dishes clean. In a moment of teenage fantasy, she imagined cooking for him while he watched her from across the kitchen counter.

The second serving arrived in lesser time and Y/N had to keep reminding Jungkook to eat because he was so excited in telling her about Tomorrow’s land that he wanted to visit one day.

“Yes, the party is so huge and the music is crazy! And the theme is different every year. How awesome is that? One day I’m going to save enough money to go there!” He exclaimed while Y/N nodded. She wasn’t really a huge fan of partying, but if Jungkook ever did go to this event, she wished she would too, just so she could see his eyes sparkling in excitement.

And like that they’d finished the entire meal and Y/N felt a fuzzy warmth building inside her. “Now, it’s time to satisfy the sweet tooth you’ve got.” Jungkook grinned, taking her hand and pulling her back into the brightly lit store of Kavanah. She immediately skid over to the huge display of pastries, ogling at each and failing to decide on one. A whole minute later, Jungkook nudged her shoulder and chuckled.

“Have you settled on one yet?” He asked, his eyes glancing to the display. Her eyes instantly found the mouth watering mud cake sat inside the air conditioned display and she practically drooled.

Pulling away, she tossed him a look. “Guess which one I’m thinking of getting.” she grinned. Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up in a challenge and he slowly skimmed through all the options in front of him, until his eyes found one.

“This one, the blueberry cheese cake.” He said, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. She shook her head softly.

“Oh, my bad.” Jungkook chuckled before pulling out a menu from the counter. “But I do know, what you would like to have more than these.” he handed her the menu and Y/N’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god, how can I get a pastry when they have sundaes here!” she squealed and Jungkook stared at her fondly. While her order was the quickest thing ever, Jungkook noticed how she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other and he just knew that she was tired at that point.

“Hey, I’ll get this. Why don’t you go wait at the table, you left your purse there so you should be looking out for it. And I don’t want anyone stealing our seats.” He suggested, knowing she’d never agree if he told her to sit down because he knew she was tired.

As expected her eyes grew wide when realisation dawned. A few minutes after their order was placed in front of him, he had already paid and was watching Y/N waiting at their table patiently.

“Tada!” he laughed, placing the sweet delicacy right under her nose and she immediately dug in. Another thing Jungkook had noticed was that Y/N never paid attention to anything else when a brownie was involved. He watched her savour the first few bites without giving a damn about his presence and it amused him that she could enjoy her food that passionately. Even if it was in small quantities.

“You’re so adorable, it’s making me fall for you.” He whispered and she stuffed another piece of brownie and chocolate into her mouth.

Chuckling, he reached out to the dessert before it was too late. “Hey, you’re supposed to be sharing with me! Let me take a bite.” Jungkook whined before he dug into it. Apparently, when he meant a bite, it meant a whole half. And even if Y/N wanted to have more of it, she was just too full and close to bursting.

Y/N knew she was sleepy when she clutched onto Jungkook as he led her back to his bike.

“Wait a second, my bike won’t start.” Jungkook looked up at her horrified as soon as she’d touched his shoulders to get on. She immediately jolted out of the slight stupor she was in and watched him try to kick start it twice, thrice.

“Not happening, Y/N could you climb down once. I’ll try starting it up again.” Jungkook asked and she slid off the bike and took a few steps back. When he tried it again, the Harley immediately roared to life and Y/N frowned at it.

“I think I figured it out. This only happens when you’re around my bike Y/N. Maybe we should take the taxi next time but what if the tires get punctured?” Y/N slapped Jungkook’s arm as hard as she could and Jungkook burst out laughing. She knew he was talking about the cab tire going flat as soon as she got on, during their trip. Ever since, he would pull this prank on her, faking how things would stop working as soon as she touched them.

“You’re so mean.” Y/N huffed, and crossed her arms pouting.

“And you’re adorable, come here.” He pulled her closer and gave her a giant warm hug melting away her pout into a huge, shy smile.

She didn’t even complain when he took off his jacket and made her wear it because the night was becoming colder and he didn’t want her catching a cold. The roads were empty and this time she rested her head on his back. His warmth felt wonderful against her cold cheeks and she snuggled into him closer and held his waist tighter. The musky fragrance from his jacket and his shirt put her in a haze, making her take deep breaths to get more of it. If Jungkook had noticed, he hadn’t said anything and at that point she was in no control of her actions.

When she felt him coming to a stop, she looked up to see her house she and Hoseok rented together. But it was the end of the ride and she didn’t want to let go, so she tightened her grip on Jungkook.

“Baby you’re sleepy, it’s cold and late, you need to go in.” Jungkook cooed, clutching her hands around his waist and pulling them apart. If it was up to her she would’ve stayed that way the whole night, but she knew she had to let go because of a reason that she couldn’t quite remember. But she knew it was right.

With a big whine she let go of him and slid off the bike, moving to take off his jacket, but he stopped her. He brought the ends of the zipper together and zipped it up high, patting her shoulders as if admiring the fit on her. He then pulled out a paper bag and Y/N could make out the logo of the restaurant they’d just left and she wondered what it was.

Pressing it into her hand, he walked her back to the door, silently watching as she pulled out the key and opened the lock. Hoseok was already asleep she assumed or was pretending to be, because as per his words, things might go onto a different level and he wouldn’t want to walk in on them doing it.

When she got in, she turned back to Jungkook who stood at the door smiling softly at her before he pulled her in for a long hug. He nodded to the paper bag in her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I know you didn’t eat much, but in case you wake up hungry in the night, just have that okay?” He asked cupping her cheeks and bending to her height to look into her eyes. When she nodded, he pressed another kiss to her forehead and stepped outside.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” he stroked her cheek once and ushered her inside. She watched him leave from the window, sighing and pressing her nose to his jacket.

When she woke up three hours later, clutching Jungkook’s jacket, she instinctively reached over to her phone to check the time. There were also two texts from Jungkook.

Thank you for today, baby. Whatever we call this night, I want more. I had a wonderful time and I hope you did too.

She hid her face in his jacket as though shying away from Jungkook himself. That moment was cut short when her stomach grumbled and she immediately retrieved the paper bag Jungkook had given her, surprised that she’d put it in the refrigerator. What greeted her from the neatly wrapped box surprised her even more.

A slice of the mud cake.

As she bit into it, her eyes scanned his second text.

P.S.: I know you too well, I never get it wrong.

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

89, 91 or 98 please if you're taking prompts!! i can't decide !!!🥵🕊🕊

Me neither haha! So ... here’s all three. 😅👶🏻💖

(89: “Mondays are your diaper days”, 91: “Oooh... someone’s got a tummy ache and 98: “I think we should have another.”)

i think our story needs more pages

There’s an unmissable smile of contentment on Jake Peralta’s face as he wipes down the last section of the kitchen bench, softly humming the theme song to Transformers while he rinses the washcloth under the tap. (The original, of course - the remakes all have their merits but when it comes to theme songs, nothing beats the classic version, and that is the hill he will die on.)

Not so long ago, a perfect day for him would have undoubtedly involved some sort of high-speed chase (or diffusing a hostage situation … or jumping from an exploding chopper with a knife between his teeth … he’s not fussy when it comes to the details, really) - but after spending the majority of today at their nephew Aaron’s third birthday party, he finds himself completely unable to hide the sheer joy that is thrumming through his veins.

He knows that he could attribute a certain portion of his great mood to the lasting effect of that second slice of ice-cream cake he’d had mere hours ago (or the light-up keyring he won during pass the parcel), but it all really came down all of the sweet moments in-between: standing in the shaded sun, surrounded by family, and watching as his son played with all of his cousins.

It’s the kind of life that once upon a time would have seemed totally implausible, but now was absolutely his reality, and just the mere thought of a thousand more days like it put Jake on an all-time natural high.

It has been fifteen months since the birth of their son, a child born of liquid fire that went by the name of Mac. Fifteen months of diaper changes, screaming fits and mashed food everywhere. And also; fifteen months of the softest of cuddles, impossibly tiny hands wrapping themselves around his fingers, and the deepest of brown eyes that took in everything imaginable. He misses sleep (oh, how he misses real, uninterrupted SLEEP), but if that was the tradeoff for having a miniature version of him and Amy taking wobbly steps around their apartment, Jake would do it all again in a nanosecond.

He had no idea how powerful the sound Dada would be, but the first time he heard it on his son’s lips, he straight-up cried. And … maybe again when Mama followed shortly after. Now, Mac’s vocabulary has expanded to five whole words (including Wowo, which both he and Amy are 90% certain stands for Aunty RoRo, and have agreed that it’s best for everyone if Charles just simply doesn’t know), and both parents couldn’t be prouder if they tried.

There’s been an idea in the back of his mind for a few months now, one that has grown all the more after today’s festivities, and after pouring both he and his wife a half glass of wine each Jake makes his way over to the living room, still unable to wipe the smile off of his face when he takes in the scene in front of him.

Mac lay stretched out on the couch, his tiny duck printed pyjama shirt riding high and exposing his belly button as he rests his head on Amy’s lap. Fast asleep, his eyes remain closed as Amy’s fingers run gently through his hair, his tiny chest rising and up down in even breaths. It’s a sight Jake’s seen a hundred times before, but one that he never truly gets enough of, and after quietly placing the wine glasses on a nearby table he reaches out to tug Mac’s shirt a little lower.

“I think someone’s got a tummy ache,” Amy whispers, mirroring Jake’s responding pout as he settles down on the couch, their sleeping son in between them. “He only had the smallest taste of the cake .. but I guess when combined with the excitement of the day and all the dancing he did, the poor little guy is just completely wiped.”

(Mac’s ‘dancing’ was really just an unsteady yet adorable bouncing in place, both feet planted to the floor as his arms flail about to whatever music just happens to be playing, and the similarities between that and some of Amy’s dance moves have not gone unnoticed.)

Jake furrows his brow in response, instinctively reaching out to run a soothing hand over his son’s stomach. “He’s all Mac’d out.” He’d watched from the rear view mirror on the drive home as the gentle bumps of the road lulled Mac to sleep, his tiny curls squished along the edges of the carseat he was buckled into. His (at times, endless) energy had been renewed by the time Amy had carried him up the stairs, the sneakers that Uncle Charles had given him making high-pitched squeaks as he’d run with tiny toddler steps around their apartment (the contents of which by now were entirely child-proof) for the rest of the afternoon.

It was exhausting chasing after a toddler, but also strangely exhilarating, and watching Amy settle onto Mac’s play mat and help him with his building blocks as Jake had began to prepare dinner had just felt so right, it was hard to imagine what their afternoons used to be like pre-child.

With his fingertip gently tracing the outline of one of the ducks on his son’s pyjama set, Jake watches as Amy uses her free hand to take a sip from her wine glass before speaking.

“I think we should have another.”

His eyes squeeze shut as soon as he’s blurted it out, twisting his mouth into a wince. There were a thousand different ways he could have phrased it (and lord knows he’s practised a few versions in the past few weeks), but nooo. Great work as always, Peralta.

Amy’s head is cocked slightly to the side when he opens his eyes again, and she gestures vaguely at the glass. “Another wine? I’ve only just started this one.”

“Oh. Ahh, no - sorry. Ugh. That was my terribly unsubtle way of saying that I’ve been thinking that maybe … we should try and have another baby.”

Raising her eyebrows, Amy’s hand stills amongst their son’s curly hair, and after a (thankfully brief) pause, she replies. “You do?”

Jake can feel a soft smile begin to grow on his face, and he nods. “Yeah, I do.” Lifting his hand so that he can run his fingers ever so lightly along the bridge of Mac’s nose, he gives Amy a half shrug. “I mean … I’ve watched you with your brothers over the years, and it’s just amazing the kind of bond all of you have.” Mac’s eyelids begin to flutter, and Jake pulls his hand away before he accidentally wakes him. “Even when you hate them with a passion, you still love them, and there’s just some things that you intrinsically know about each other without any prompting. It’s the kind of closeness that can’t ever be replicated, and I would just really love to give Mac that kind of childhood.”

Amy smiles at the thought, giving Jake a tiny nod of encouragement to continue.

“I know that I had Gina a lot of the time, but at some point she would go home to her family, and then it was just me and my mom … and don’t get me wrong, that was great, but there were definitely times when I had wished that I could have had somebody to hang out with. Especially when my mom started working two jobs and I saw her less and less. TV and cake did an okay job raising me, but I do sometimes wonder … what if.”

With her nods growing bigger, Amy glances down at Mac. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking the same thing.”

Jake’s heart skips a beat, and he leans forward slightly. As much as he might want to try and expand their family, it all really came to do Amy, and how she felt about it. He’s never pressured her into anything, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. “You have?”

“Yeah. Been thinking about it a lot, actually. My family was loud growing up, but it was also kind of great.”

They grin at each other over their son’s sleeping form. Maybe, this was actually going to happen.

Mac wriggles in his sleep, his sock-covered feet stretching out slightly and nudging against Jake’s thigh, and Jake lifts them up to rest on his lap as he shuffles a little closer to Amy. “This morning, when I picked him up out of his crib, he just had the biggest, gummiest smile on his face, and then he hugged me like there was no tomorrow and I just … it’s only the best feeling and … well, you know.”

“I do. That little Mama! that I heard this morning? I wish I had recorded it, it sounded so sweet. He’s just the cutest.”

“Exactly!” Jake reaches his left hand out, resting it on the portion of Amy’s leg that hasn’t been occupied by their sleeping son. “And honestly, I just keep getting this image in my head of a mini Amy walking around; with tiny little binders tucked under her arm and the same gorgeous eyes as her mother, learning so quickly whenever her big brother shows her how to do something. Can’t you see it, Ames?”

Laughing, Amy shakes her head. “She wouldn’t have binders, Jake” and he nods because obviously a toddler wouldn’t have a binder, but then she continues. “She’d have a notepad. Binders are serious business. You gotta work your way up to them.”

“Right, of course. My mistake, babe.”

Covering his hand with her own, Amy links slides her fingers in between Jake’s and rests them there. “It does scare me a little, though.”

Picking up on the sudden softness of his wife’s voice, Jake looks over carefully. “Having another baby?”

She nods, a tentative smile lifting the edges of her lips for a mere second before falling. “Yeah. I mean … it wasn’t exactly easy last time. What if next time, it’s even harder? Or it just … doesn’t work?”

Jake’s eyes fall back down to their son, this miniature version of both of them had wished so hard for. Amy was right - it hadn’t been easy last time, and there honestly weren’t any guarantees that it was going to be any better the second time around. It’s one of the main reasons why it had taken him so long to talk to her about it. But as he feels her fingers gently shift against his own, Jake realises the most simplest of truths, and looks back up at his wife.

“I know that this is probably going to go against all of your instincts, but when it comes to this I think we just kind of need to let fate play it’s hand. We can only try, you know? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.” Shifting his weight, he rests his shoulder against hers. “We’re a family, no matter what. Whether there’s three of us, or four, or five. We can get through anything, Ames. If there is anything the past ten years have taught us, it’s that.”

The side of Amy’s head rests against his, and he feels her nod. “I love you, Jake Peralta.”

Squeezing their fingers, Jake cranes his neck marginally to the left to leave a kiss against Amy’s hairline. “I love you too, Ames.”

From below them, Mac rolls onto his side; one hand curling into Amy’s sweater, and both of them seperate slightly to watch him sleep.

Taking another tiny sip from her glass, Amy sighs happily. “You know … if we do this, we’d really need to look into moving somewhere bigger.” Her eyes wander over the room, eventually landing on a framed photo of the three of them that had been taken five months ago. “Maybe even buying something, if we were really careful with our finances.”

Jake’s smile grows impossibly bigger, and briefly he wonders if he’s going to have sore cheeks tomorrow from all of it. “Honestly? That sounds kinda amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean …” Jake pauses, sliding his right hand along the back of his neck in a move that his wife has long since called ‘The Dropping of Peralta’s Guard’, feeling one side of his mouth slide up ever so slightly as he turns his attention back to Amy. “I love this apartment, and living in the city, but … the only thing I’ve ever really owned is your heart. And that beat up Mustang I had for a while there, but money-wise that was mainly on loan, so … yeah. Just you.” His hands raise quickly, showing his palms in surrender. “Not that I own you or anything, because that’s ridiculous, I just meant that you totally own mine and that’s - mmff” the rest of his sentence is muffled, the press of Amy’s lips against his stealing the last fragments of thought, and by instinct his arms wrap tightly around her waist, as best as he can with Mac still resting on their laps.

Amy’s smiling as she pulls away, her hand sliding down his cheek until she’s resting her thumb in the tiny dimple at the bottom that he’d always hated until the love of his life made it a favourite, and honestly, how she makes his heart flutter even after all this time is just pure magic.

“I know what you meant, babe, and I love you for saying it. You absolutely own my heart … well, you and Mister Mac do, anyway. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sliding his right hand further up his wife’s back, Jake pulls in her for another kiss. He would happily share the space with Mac, and any other children that they might end up having, for the rest of his life (and maybe a hundred or so more years after that). Toying with the ends of her hair as they part, Jake’s shoulders rise in a tiny shrug. “Honestly, falling in love with you is the best investment I’ve ever made. But the thought of actually buying a house with you, and turning it into a home that our kids will grow up in? A backyard filled with toys and swing sets and maybe even a cat or two? It sounds like the greatest idea ever.”

“And maybe a park nearby, where we can teach our kids to ride a bike?”

“Plus a basketball hoop over the garage door - because their Dad can dunk, and he’s totally going to show them how. Not to mention a study lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, all of them filled to the brim.”

Amy’s eyes begin to glisten slightly, and she leans in to rest both of her hands on Jake’s forearm. “Don’t forget the front porch for us to sit on when we’re older, rocking in our chairs and stealing all of the other kid’s frisbees when they land on our lawn.”

“Of course! We’re going to be the COOLEST house in the neighbourhood, with the dopest Halloween decorations. Acting purely as a distraction, naturally, while we carry out whatever version of the heist we’re up to by then.”

Raising her chin slightly, Amy’s eyes turn suddenly serious. “Your mind is going to be blown when you realise what I already have planned for then, Peralta.”

“Yet another reason to have a second baby! One on each team!”

One of Amy’s eyebrows raises coyly, and she whispers “That’s what you think” as she leans in for another kiss, shortened by the soft laughter that falls from Jake’s mouth.

“I really do love you, Ames. Pre-emptive plotting for my children to heist against me and all.”

She giggles, and Mac lets out a tiny grumble as he begins to wake. Scooting his butt to the edge of the couch, Jake slides his hand along his son’s back, holding him warm against his chest and tightening his grip as Mac nuzzles into his neck, still half asleep. “Okay, time to take this party animal to bed. Say goodnight, mommy!”

Raising herself up until she’s kneeling into the couch cushions, Amy leans in to press a kiss against Mac’s cheek, replicating the action on Jake’s as she pulls away. “Goodnight, my sweet prince. And babe, I think a diaper change might be in order.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jake nods. “Yeah, I agree.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Nah. Mondays are your diaper days, Sundays are mine. I’ve got this. You sit back and relax, and have a look at our schedules for when we can book a babysitter so that we can … practice.”

Resting her weight back down on her heels, Amy sinks her teeth into her lower lip. “You know I’m a big believer in practice makes perfect, Peralta.”

“Indeed I do, Santiago.” Lifting up one of Mac’s arms to mimic a tiny wave, Jake heads slowly towards Mac’s bedroom, intent on getting him changed and into bed with minimal disruption.

(There ends up only being one tiny meltdown, but it’s nothing that a combined goodnight hug from both Mommy and Daddy can’t fix.)

In fifteen years time, there will be a house in Brooklyn - just outside the city centre, so close enough for the daily commute - that has contained so much love within its four walls that it has long since seeped into its foundation.

There will be a doorframe near the kitchen, marked with a variety of ascending lines drawn in marker, catalogued by both name and year as they rise. A myriad of photos and commendations will line the walls (in no particular order, a fact that is made very clear), and the memories of each captured moment will last long after the images have faded.

It will be their home - the Peralta-Santiago fortress against the rest of the world - and although life will forever throw curve balls their way, if there’s anything their children know for sure it’s that as a family, they’re always going to be there for each other. No matter what.

(Also, that Wario cheats.)

#i hope you enjoy!#mac peralta #future baby talks #♥️❤️💗♥️❤️💗#this ended up being a little longer than anticipated #peraltiago fic #b99 fic #jake x amy fic #thank you Johanna for the title!!!

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poptod · 4 years

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induratize (Kenny Al-Bahir x Reader)

Description: Induratize (v.) - to amek one's own heart hardened or resistant to someone's please or advances, or to the idea of love

Notes: I dislike this immensely and I feel embarrassed posting it but I mean... we’re lacking in Kenny fics and every bit counts lmao. Implied male reader. Word Count: 1.5k

In your world, there are certain things you don't understand but have to accept. There are things like that in every person's life, but you're a little too caught up in your own, centered around the school you go to and the home you can't bear. Not that there's any specific reason you dislike your home or your parents – just general teenage angst. It's handy to blame your problems on hormones, but there are adults like you too; adults who refuse to love, who can't open their hearts, who grow sick at the thought of loving others. You know it's unhealthy. You know something has to change, because it isn't like you've never felt love before – only that you've decided no one is truly worth the time and heartbreak.

A closeted, homosexual high schooler in 2005 – what a wonderful thing to be, what a wonderful reason to hate yourself. What a wonderful reason to distance yourself from your classmates, what a wonderful excuse to ignore your teachers. But you know the difference between solitude and being anti-social, a line you cross very easily, though you manage to stay on top of your grades and such.

You've got your life figured out, or at least the life you will have to live for the next couple of years. Stay quiet, stay under the radar, don't make friends, don't spill secrets, listen intently, and most of all stay safe. There's only one problem with all of this:

There is an insanely attractive person trying to get your attention.

Not just any attention, either – romantic attention, and you can tell by his quickened heartbeat when you accidentally touch upon his pulse point, his dilated eyes, his mouth parted ever so slightly in awe of you. You're nothing special, you know that, but you're not willing to debate why this boy likes you. The only thing you're willing to do is try and get rid of him.

During lunch times you try to find the oddest, most secluded spot you can so no one can find you. Usually it works well, and every now and then you go off to find a new spot – this time it's inside one of the trees on campus, far off on the other side of the school's massive lawn for football and soccer practice. Sitting underneath it would've been too conspicuous, so you climbed high into it's branches, and began quietly eating.

Nearer to the school building itself, kids swarm around in all different heights and colors, like a massive swath of bees that don't quite belong to the beehive but can't survive anywhere else. It's a stupid analogy you think, but not entirely incorrect. However there's one distant form that grows steadily larger and clearer, and as a sinking feeling develops in your chest, you realize that maybe sitting in a tree isn't as inconspicuous as you originally thought. It's that boy who keeps trying to talk to you, and his hair looks recently cut. He looks a lot better than he did before.

"Hey," he says, a simple start to what you know is going to be a grueling conversation, at least for you. His voice wavers when you meet his eye, something you're sure is an anxious habit.

You don't respond.

"What are you, um, doing up there?"

"Eating," you reply in a muffled voice, talking around a purposefully large bite of sandwich.

"Can I join you?" He asks, much more straightforward than you thought him capable of. In the one class you have with him, he's rather squirrelly, but you admire the courage he's plucked up. So instead of saying no you say nothing, and wait for him to draw his own conclusions.

It takes him a little while, but he manages to get to where you sit, the thick tree branches easily supporting his weight next to you. As he gets comfortable you note his heavy breathing, and watch with careful eyes as he takes off his coat. He has muscles. How did you never notice that before?

He takes a deep sigh and closes his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky. It's then you notice the discoloration along his jawline, a clear bruise against his tawny oak skin, and a cut across his cheekbone. Curiosity overcomes you, and for the first time in a good long while you say the first sentence.

"What happened to you?"

Impersonal enough, you think – it isn't like you asked him if he's alright, though it is sort of implied... when he turns to you with surprise, you can feel regret bubbling in your stomach.

"I, um, got into a fight," he says quietly, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. You raise a single eyebrow. He's not the type to get into fights. "Alright, fine," he says. "I.. got beat up, just a little bit. You should see the other guy."

What a cheesy joke, you think, but he smiles gingerly and every thought in your head blips out of existence.

"Oh, my name's Kenny," he says suddenly, holding his hand out for you to shake. He's overly polite, but you know your manners as well, and you take his hand to greet.

"I thought so," you say in reply, recalling the few times his name was hinted at you. "I'm (Y/N)."

"You're in my science class, right?"

"AP Biology, second period, Mrs. Holsten," you say.

"Right. She assigns a lot of homework," he comments thoughtlessly, something you know is a desperate attempt to fill any silence that could appear.

"Sometimes," you agree.

"I just.. it takes me forever, 'cause I usually have to help Larry finish his as well. He's in that class too."

"Who's Larry?" You ask slowly, wanting nothing more than to crawl up into a ball and roll away. This is far too close to 'getting to know someone' than you're comfortable with.

"Oh, sorry, he – he's one of my friends," he says as though he has other friends.

You hum in response, directing your attention back at your lunch. Kenny, however, feels very differently, and makes several more attempts to keep conversation going. For the most part you don't pay attention, catching only snippets of the subjects he's talking about – even though you despise talking with people, you can't deny he has a very nice voice, and you (unfortunately) enjoy listening to him.

"– yeah, but no matter if the rumors are true or not, they're still bad to spread around, you know? Like, there's rumors about me, and –"

"What rumors?" You interrupt him, turning to face him.

"Oh, um... some people think I'm gay," he laughs, and it's a horrible fake laugh, "which of course isn't true."

You're so tempted, so, so tempted to say point blank that you're gay, to ask what's wrong with being gay, but you don't. Thank God.

"Interesting," is what you settle on, staring at him and nodding like you're spacing out which, to be fair, isn't entirely untrue.

Kenny seems kind enough – he's practically spilled his entire life story over the course of the fifteen minutes you've been together, and you have little reason to distrust him. That being said, your distrust of humanity is still rooted deep inside you, and you doubt a single man could demolish that. But looking at him, watching the way he bites subconsciously at his lips, the way his eyelids flutter open and closed and the long lashes that line his grey eyes – you want to toy with this boy. It's probably just your gay thoughts irritating you again, but God he looks like a good target, and he's just so damn pretty.

So you give in.

"Has anyone told you yet that you're pretty?" You ask, pretending it's a normal and casual thing to ask. As expected, Kenny flusters and stammers, falling over his words as he tries to string together a coherent sentence.

"I, uh – I'm not, I uh.. I don't think I – not.. um, there's not – I mean –"

You decide to spare him from further embarrassment, which he greatly appreciates (even if he doesn't say anything).

"I'm assuming that's a no, then," you say, to which he quickly agrees with a nod of his head. "That's a shame. I hope that changes."

Your saving grace – the bell rings from across the large field, and tucking away your containers into your too-large pockets, you hop easily down the tree, followed by a much more nervous Kenny. Reaching your hands up to him, you help him down the last branch, landing him safely on his feet.

"There you are," you mutter as he brushes himself off. "Any scratches?"

"I, um, don't think so," he says quietly, his breath halting when you brush a hand down his chest, ridding his shirt of a couple of bits of bark.

"Get some ice on that cut and bruise," you say, patting his shoulder and turning to leave.

After a moment you can hear his footsteps chasing after you, and it isn't long at all till the two of you are walking together, on your way to your separate classes.

"A lot of people think you're rude," he says out of nowhere. You shrug.

"That's on them," you chuckle, and he easily agrees.

"I think you're kinda nice."

"... thanks."

It's the first time anyone your age has complimented you. Maybe talking to people isn't as horrible as you thought.

#kenny al bahir x reader #kenny al bahir #rami malek #war at home #rami malek character #male reader

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linklethehistorian · 4 years

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Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Part 8/???)

Episode 26 — Dazai, Chuuya, Fifteen Years Old (2/6)

As I’ve said earlier, I fully understand that it is nearly impossible for anyone to perfectly recreate every single aspect of a novel in animated form without there being at least some minor deviation from the way that it was presented in the source material; that is simply to be expected. Naturally, in the process of transferring any story from one medium to another, there are always going to be things that are just going to be lost in translation; nonetheless, that does not mean that many of the actions in this particular case are excusable, for while that may be true, it also is the job of those responsible for creating an adaptation of any kind to try to ensure that what is lost is never something that’s truly important to the overall plot and its comprehensibility, and this particular scene is one of many throughout the tale’s three episodes in which it is clear they utterly failed to do so.

Allow me to explain.

Just as it is in the book, the anime version of Fifteen opens with a lone member of the Port Mafia hiding on a plane from an as-of-yet unknown opponent, who is soon revealed to be Chuuya; however, in this rendition, we are not given any definitive reason as to why any of this is happening, or even why exactly the teen has this seemingly deep-seated hatred of the organization in the first place. As a result, rather than making it clear that this mafioso is the last one standing from a group that encroached on and attacked the Sheep’s territory, and that Chuuya is therefore only acting as a “leader” defending his gang’s livelihood and reputation by seeking vengeance on a rival organization that threatened this, it leaves the audience to draw their own conclusions based only upon what little they were given — which, no doubt, would be that this scene is nothing but senseless violence on Chuuya’s part, and that both he and Sheep as a whole are ruthless people who go out of their way to fight against and destroy other criminal establishments completely unprovoked.

Moreover, in removing this important conversation between the redhead and the mafioso before the latter’s death, we also lose another crucial aspect of this scene — namely, the true first moment that Chuuya hears talk of Arahabaki’s supposed sudden appearance.

Indeed, despite what the anime would have you believe, Arahabaki was not just some random plot point the novel pulled out of thin air several chapters in, as if it was an afterthought Asagiri had upon realizing he needed a reason for the teen to agree to working with Dazai, but rather, it was actually a prominent and important subject from the very beginning — and one which even acted as what was likely the final catalyst in Chuuya’s decision to target and kill not just the faction of the Port Mafia that entered the Sheep’s turf, but everyone in the organization as a whole, at that.

You need to realize that in the original telling of the story, by the time Chuuya had made this declaration of war on the mafia, he had already been told by the now-deceased mafioso that they were claiming to have seen Arahabaki itself, and were even blaming it for their own misfortune and need to invade the Sheep’s turf.

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Feels Like This (Part 2)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Oh my god, guys, I am not going to lie, I am having so much fun writing this fic! I have missed having new stories to explore so much, and I am so eternally grateful for all of you who kept pushing me to do another Royal AU. I didn’t realize how much I was going to love doing this again until I started, and now I have so much I want to explore, and so much fluff and cuteness in my head I can’t wait to share with you all. I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Keep in mind, I know it’s been a slower burn so far, but I promise the pay off will be perfect. In the meantime, you’ll see where Killian is in this fic, and the people in his life who will become important characters to the rest of the story. Some are based on the show, some are added additions as you’ll see. For example, I always name Killian’s mom ‘Meera’ in my fics, I know it kind of sounds like Milah, but they’re not the same and I chose that name originally because of its meaning and because of a poem I read long ago – the sounds was coincidence. Anyway, that being said, I hope you will enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

“Well, mates, we’ve finally done it. Our twelve-month stint is complete and all our sorry asses are heading home. Never thought I’d see the day.”

The words from Will Scarlet hung between Killian and his friends where they sat in the cargo hold of a military aircraft flying over the last piece of the sea that separated them all from home. They had just finished their active deployment in a classified location, and it had been immersive and seemingly unending. With limited contact to the outside world, and a constant goal of getting their mission done, these officers and their subordinates had worked hard to serve their country and its citizens. It had been trying times, and the task at hand was hard, but this was what they trained for. The Montenarro elite naval force was as selective as it was distinguished, and every man and woman serving in it was considered a national hero. But Killian hated that term, and he hated it more than anything when it was used in conjunction with his other loathed title – prince.

“You nearly didn’t make it, Scar-boy. If you hadn’t had Hook watching your back, you’d be dead ten times over.”

Killian smirked at the bit of teasing from Robin. That nickname for Scarlet was classic and well earned, given how many near misses he’d had with a tragic, awful death. But the boy part was bestowed thanks to Scarlet’s enduring childishness. His old friend always brought a laugh, and he could sober up when things got serious, but he couldn’t apply that sense of military discipline or responsibility to the rest of his life. He was a man child: unruly and a bit manic, but now that they were coming home, Killian hoped Will might figure things out. Meanwhile, Killian’s nickname, Hook, had at one time been a huge resentment for him. He’d earned the moniker in a notorious fight off base years ago just upon entering the royal command. The man he laid out with a single punch was a right jack ass, who’d made a show of harassing women and spewing all kinds of ignorant crap the whole bloody night, but the headline of the moment was that the ‘rebel prince’ had struck again. His superiors were furious, and he was punished accordingly, but it was his brother, the King, who had dealt the harshest blow.

“You set one more foot out of line and I will bring you back home. If you’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, you’ll damn well do it somewhere our mother doesn’t have to worry about your safety.”

That was enough to set Killian to rights, because despite the seemingly charmed nature of his life, home was synonymous with hardship and discomfort. Being royalty was a constant burden of saving face and proper manners. He loved his brother, his mother, and his Gran, but they fit into that world with ease and a natural charm he didn’t possess. They loved shaking hands and kissing babies, took great pride in parades and national addresses, and knew how to ‘operate society.’ Killian, on the other hand, couldn’t stand it. He never blended well, never trusted easy. He’d met one too many snakes in Montenarro’s royal court and he didn’t need any more lessons on the hidden intentions people carried. It would sound mad to the average person, but there was a similar sense of dread he shared on deployment and at home, and on the good days, when he and his men were all safe with a job well done, he was vastly happier in his profession than in his personal life at home. At least he felt like he was serving something, and participating in a duty that was bigger than hollow gestures and picture perfect moments.

“The most important thing is no one’s dead,” Tink murmured from her spot on the other side of the hold. She was damn right about that. “We made it through another tour and I, for one, am out of here.”

“Olive will be glad to have you home, love,” Graham stated, patting their friend on the arm a few times in a signal to her extra sacrifice made these long months.

The mention of Tink’s daughter made her smile and in any other person tears no doubt would have shown in their eyes at the mention of such a reunion, but not Tink. This woman might be the smallest of their platoon but she was the fiercest and honestly the smartest. She was also brave as could be and composed at every moment. He’d asked her once how she could manage that, given everything that they saw and went through. Every one of them had moments of grave impact, where the stress or straight out fear crept in and took root, but not Tink. Her response was simply stated though it seemed impossible to comprehend:

‘When you have a reason to get home, a part of you that needs you, you don’t have the luxury of breaking down. Everything I have needs to go towards one thing – surviving. I have to get back for her and she matters more than everything else. No matter what I see here, she’s my beacon home.”

“The day I left, I promised her that this was my last tour,” Tink said, surprising everyone except for Killian with the revelation. She’d confided in him about her plan to leave their unit a few months back, and when the paperwork needed to get to higher ups to unenlist from front-line duty he helped her, knowing she was owed that after years of faithful service to the crown. “I didn’t want to mention it because I knew exactly what you’d all say.”

“You’re leaving us?” Will asked and the tone in his voice was like someone had kicked him in the gut. For someone so full of bluster, he caved in quick, and while Graham and Robin didn’t sound quite so stricken, they too were surprised.

“I took a land command. You’re looking at the royal navy’s newest pencil pusher,” she said with a huge grin. “Six years ago I’d have laughed in your face if you told me how happy that would make me.”

“But that was before,” Killian said, understanding her instinct to be with her daughter and the change she needed to make her family whole again.

“You always get it, Cap. But what about you – you think you’ve got another tour left in you?”

Ah shit. Here was the moment of truth. He couldn’t lie when faced with Tink’s question, but he had been denying the inevitable even to himself for so long. Every tour his brother told him this would be the last one, but every time he waivered when Killian returned and asked to leave once more. Killian had been serving for more than fifteen years now, a decorated Captain who had earned his own way and proven his merit. He knew he was well respected and highly capable, but that would stop meaning anything to Liam soon. No matter how good a Captain Killian was, his duty, as Liam saw it, was to be the prince and the second in line. He had obligations at home, and as loathed as that life was, Killian considered himself lucky. His family had given him the freedom of finding something more like normal all these years. Here, with his crew, he was normal. He wasn’t a monarch, but a man, part of a team even if he was a leader, and there was no bull shit muss or fuss. Now that would likely end, but despite wishing he could come back, Killian was grateful for what he’d been able to do and the friends he’d been able to meet.

“I serve at the pleasure of the King,” Killian hedged. “But I think it likely my assignments will be changing this go around.”

“What he means to say is he’ll be dodging the ladies at court and fending off those investment cats always vying for access to the royal purse,” Graham joked. Killian only shrugged, not able to contradict the man, as he was probably dead on.

“I’d take the desert twice over before I took that shit,” Will said, and for once, Killian had to agree with him, but it didn’t matter either way.

Soon enough the plane that was flying them back to base was prepared to land. Their descent was easy, but the feelings that Killian grappled with were not. There was relief of course when the doors opened and they were back on land. They’d been serving in dangerous places, running on borrowed time with too many close calls. Even the plain façade of their base near the capital couldn’t hide the beauty of Montenarro. Many people called this country too small to notice, but what it lacked for in size, it made up for in location. Nestled on the Mediterranean, with a range of coastlines and mountain range, this nation lived in a world that was warm and where the sun shone brightly and often. Today, the coast was clear and glorious, but the mountains weren’t far and the foot hills were lush this time of year. The greenery around them was a luxury compared to the barren wastelands they’d been encamped in, but beyond the walls of this military compound lay his real life. When he left this place, he stopped being Hook, or Cap, or even Killian. He had to be someone else, and the weight of that shifted the peace within him to something frenzied and on guard.

With a swift but genuine regard he bid all his brothers and sister in arms goodbye, and handed in his papers and his weapons with the higher-ups. By the time he made it outside, headed to his personal barracks where he needed to collect some personal items, a royal enclave was ready for him and their head of security, Jefferson, was already waiting.

“Your things have been gathered, Your Highness. We’re ready to ship out.”

“So help me Jefferson if you start that Highness crap already -,”

“Sorry, sir.”

Killian sighed at the lingering formality but it was a small improvement and it wasn’t actually Jefferson’s fault. If the man waivered from formal titles surely Liam would hear of it, and his elder brother was no fan of abandoning tradition. Why he’d even let Killian serve all these years was beyond him, but Killian expected Liam knew that without an outlet and a feeling of normalcy, Killian would have lost himself long ago.

The ride through the city’s center was long, but Killian barely took it in despite looking out his window. He’d seen this route a million times, and it might be lovely, but it was a signal of returning to a state he didn’t like. The only part of the drive he found favor in was seeing the people around them, and from all looks and appearance, the citizens of their small nation were happy and well. People were out and about, children were playing, families were gathered and enjoying the spring day. Everyone was partaking in this first sweet taste of summer and their worlds seemed calm and bright. As a ruler that was the only thing a King could wish for, and Killian felt that call too even as Prince. Their roles meant nothing if the people were not served – but under Liam’s watchful and ever attentive eye, it made sense that they would be happy. They were surely headed towards another prosperous year, and, as Killian had always known, the nation had never been in better, more capable hands.

By the time they reached the city’s far edge and the golden gates of his family’s castle rose before them, Killian was at war with himself. On the one hand he was edgy from what was yet to come, but he was also glad to be back, to see his mother and grandmother, and even his brother. At the end of the day he loved his family, he knew that they worried for him every day he’d been away, and he’d be glad that coming home could bring them comfort. He mindfully made the choice to choose their happiness over his own for the time being, and as he exited the limousine, he schooled his features in a smile which widened at the sight of who was waiting at the door.

“Oh, my little Killy. You’re home at last.”

To the rest of the world, his grandmother was the dowager Queen and a force to be reckoned with. She was a high society lady, the former ruler of this nation, and a fierce advocate for the throne, but to Killian she was just his Gran, a charming, insightful, sometimes crafty older woman with too much love in her heart to ever perish. She was pushing 90 years old but here she was, the first to greet him and moving about like she was thirty years younger. She came straight to Killian, ignoring his polite bow and instead pulling him in for a warm embrace. How a woman so tiny could still possess such strength, he’d never know, but he had a fleeting though that she and Tink would get along before his grandmother pulled back with a mist of tears in her eyes.

“Did you miss me that much, Gran?” he teased, fending off his own wayward emotion at being reunited with one of his favorite people. “I thought I was just a load of trouble wrapped up in a charming giftwrap.”

“Oh hush. I said that to you one time – one time! And you never let me forget it. I mean truly, my dear, what was I supposed to say? You got into your cousin Sienna’s wedding cake and ate damn near half on your own before the reception could even start. Chef nearly perished at the sight of it.”

“I was a kid, Gran.”

“You were old enough to know better. But you could see what a menace that foolish Count was, no doubt. Can’t say I blame you for your actions now, given everything.”

Everything in this case was a huge scandal strewn across the tabloids. Sienna, who was actually quite a distant cousin, but still of royal lineage, was a rather stand-offish woman who had married more for status than for love. Unfortunately that status was tarnished less than ten years later when her now ex-husband was revealed as a philanderer and not a cautious one. It was a mess of paparazzi fodder, but to Killian it wasn’t all that bad, not after what they’d gone through with his father.

“Honestly I just wanted cake,” Killian admitted, shaking off thoughts of the man who’d wronged them long ago and his Gran grinned, none the wiser.

“Well there will be plenty of it now that you’re home. Your mother has planned a whole host of events, and before you get all stodgy and upset, you remember what every day has been like since you were last home. Poor Meera’s been fussing with that rosary damn near twenty times a day.”

Killian felt a pang of guilt hearing that, but his grandmother ignored his stricken look, pulling him inside. Immediately in the entryway he found his mother and Liam and the rest of the household staff set to greet them. He saw the joy in his mother’s eyes, and a clear sense of relief in Liam’s and he knew, even without words or actions, that he was truly missed and very much loved. Still he glanced back at his Gran, quirking up a brow to silently ask her why she wasn’t part of the precession.

“When you get to be my age, my dear, the formalities start to seem rather pointless. I wasn’t waiting an extra second to see my grandson, and your brother has the good sense to let me be.”

“Anyone who lacked that sense risks a fate worse than death, I’m sure,” Liam said dryly, but he spared a smile for their Gran all the same and allowed the old woman to swat at his arm like he was a pesky fly instead of the reigning monarch. “It’s good to see you home, brother.”

“It’s good to be with you all again,” Killian said, choosing his words carefully. He was not interested in lying to his family. They had enough to grapple with from the world around them, the least they owed each other was transparency. His mother certainly seemed to agree, and the tears she’d no doubt held in for months streamed down her still lovely face as she pulled him in close and hugged him far tighter than a royal mother should. Here was his mother in truth, not the part she played in public spaces, and despite their appearance in front of the staff, she doted on him like any good Mum should.

“You’re okay, darling? No bad scrapes this time?” Her tone grew warbly and Killian again felt the tug of guilt for what he put his family through in doing what he loved. He couldn’t regret his choice to serve and stake his own path, but he knew what a toll it took on his mother, and that was regrettable. On one of his first deployments he’d been injured pretty badly and he bore the scars along his back and side to prove it, but nothing vital had been hit, thank god, and as soon as he was healed he’d been ready to go out again. It almost broke his mother, but she was a strong woman, stronger than any he had ever known.

“A few nicks, Mum. Nothing serious.”

“Oh thank God. And now you’re home for good at last.”

Killian looked to Liam for confirmation and his brother shook his head. “Let’s not go there yet.” Liam pulled him in for a hug of his own, one of a special design they’d shared since he was but a boy and again Killian felt the true affection of his brother. They may be men of very different stripes, but Liam was a part of him and who he was. He was his elder brother and the closest thing Killian had to a father figure. His love meant the world to him, and so too did his approval.

“So, Gran mentioned some festivities. Have I time before the circus, or will it descend immediately?”

“Circus?” His mother asked, clearly confused before looking at her mother-in-law with amusement. “I think your grandmother is up to her old tricks. We don’t have anything planned. It’s just us and your favorite dinner. Just how you like it.”

Thank God for that, Killian thought to himself before turning to his grandmother who looked like a spoiled tyke at Christmas. She was so pleased with her little fake-out, she actually clasped her hands together.

“The Americans call it ‘punking’ someone. Such a garish word, but it does have its merits.”

“Still no hobbies to be found, Gran?” Killian asked, knowing that his grandmother was a busy body, and she needed a lot of occupation or she risked being… well, like this.

“Who needs the bloody things?” Gran said, swearing so brashly it made Killian choke on his drink and his mother gasp. “I do what is needed. You needed a good joke upon arriving home so I did what I could to provide one.”

“Gran’s taken to jokes of late,” Liam explained and Killian suddenly wanted very much to know what the old bird had been up to. From his brother’s expression, she’d gotten him good, and Killian would pay to see that.

“I tried to get it on tape, but that blasted Jefferson took my phone spouting all sorts of nonsense about royal protocol,” his Gran said, reading his mind. “But regardless, your dear brother knows perfectly well that I have plenty of occupation with the foundation. So much work that needs doing there. It must be constantly tended to, just like your mother’s roses.”

“I don’t remember it being so much,” Killian remarked, not even really remembering that the family had a foundation at all. It was more an endowment, a way to give the vastness of their wealth to worthy causes. But writing checks surely couldn’t take such effort.

“Well I’ve had to change it, haven’t I? If I was going to build something worthy of your attention, it had to do real good. It’s much more hands on now, you see. I might be in my twilight years, but I can still get my hands dirty.”

And there it was. He was wondering what the plan would be. He assumed he’d be added to Liam’s counsels and propped up as a family focal piece, the returning hero back home at last. But even without fully understanding the intention, Killian could see an earnest excitement in his grandmother’s eyes. Whatever the foundation had become, she was trying to build something for him, and if he could have a purpose beyond the face of a royal family, he’d be eternally grateful.

“So I really am home for good then?” Killian asked, broaching the uncomfortable topic once more as Liam considered him from the other end of the table. After a beat of quiet, Liam replied.

“I’ve spoken with our heads of command. The conflicts we’re involved in are winding down and while the Americans continue their crusade in the Middle East, our time of service there is drawing to a close. We’re shifting back to more diplomatic measures, and what’s left to fight can be handled by your fellow soldiers I think.”

“The country is in good hands,” Killian agreed and though it hurt to think that he was truly finished with his service, he was prepared for such an outcome. Liam would not demand that Killian leave. He was never so authoritarian, but this suggestion spoke volumes and Killian, much as he might be tempted, would not go against his brothers wishes.

“If they’ve been trained by you then it certainly is,” his mother agreed fiercely and Killian laughed. Her statement was not at all based in first-hand knowledge. She had never seen him in the field, rarely even seen him in his military context at all, but she still staunchly believed in him. It was appreciated, but comical all the same.

“And the foundation? What exactly is it doing these days?”

“Well by god, what aren’t we doing? There’s so much to do you see. We’ve been funding all sorts of new energies so we can be ‘green and clean,’” His Gran chirped happily. “We’ve expanded our species protection efforts with the ministry of parks and wildlife. I went on a whale watch with the Duchess of Mandrey. It was just marvelous. We wore, oh what, do they call them…? Oh right, ponchos! We’re working with the ministry of health to create community gardens not just to teach the children but to feed the people. You should see what we’ve done in the cities, Killy. We’ve built these centers with the soil and the supplies. The little ones love it -,”

“Clearly there’s quite a few balls in the air as it were,” Killian’s mother said, gently interrupting his grandmother’s exuberant storytelling. “But we were thinking, I mean if it works for you, that whenever you’re settled back in you might look at one particular part of the organization. Get a more hands on feel for something and truly learn the workings of the charity.”

“Did you have an idea of which one?”

“The Montenarro Children’s Sanctuary,” his Gran replied with total assuredness, and to his amazement, she produced a pamphlet (would wonders ever cease?) from somewhere under the table to hand to him. “Got that from the front desk last week. It’s all in there, dear, and the children are just precious. You’ve always loved the little ones, so it’s a perfect fit.”

“Have I?” Killian asked, not sure if he’d ever shown that predisposition. He always liked interacting with the children in the extended family when they came for holidays and events, but that was hardly a background in working with kids.

“Of course you have. You have such a way with them, and these children, well my dear, they just need someone like you so much. It’s a wonderful opportunity to make a difference.”

Killian knew she must be right, and he felt, despite his hesitations and the urge to reject someone else planning out his life, that this may indeed be a good fit for him for now. He never would have chosen such a charity first, thinking himself a bit understudied in the ways of children, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to give it a try, and his family was right, he needed something to do, something that actually felt like it mattered. After living for years with a purpose he couldn’t waste his time doing things he felt were frivolous. If he did he might go mad.

“I’ll go on one condition,” Killian said and they all considered him, clearly surprised he would accept at all and that he was handling his military retirement so well. “No one at that organization is calling me Prince Killian, Your Highness or any of that. I’ll go by Killian. That’s it.”

“But dear that’s -,”

“Before you say it’s not possible, Mum, just think for a minute about the work they do there and the kids in that scenario. This is a home for orphans and children who can’t be cared for in traditional means. They don’t have present families, they don’t have anything to call their own. They might know I am prince, but I don’t want them to feel the difference between us. You want me to help somehow? I don’t know how to truly help people when we’re separate or unequal. I never mastered that. It’s not how I work.”

“It’s just a title, Killy,” his Gran said sadly but he was holding firm. He wanted this for the kids and for himself. He’d dedicate himself to helping in this way, but he wanted at least a feeling of something normal, something that was his and not the crown’s. He looked to Liam, awaiting his brother’s verdict, and after a brief consideration his brother nodded.

“It seems reasonable enough. But only at the foundation. To the rest of the world you are, and always will be, Prince.”

“Fair enough,” Killian agreed. “Now, any chance we’ve got some cake?”

At the joke, everyone laughed, but low and behold there was cake to be had. And though his life was shifting radically, and he might not be on the most solid of ground right now, Killian felt hopeful that things might just work out in the end. Soon enough he’d be a part of something again, and he hoped quite sincerely to make a difference and make a change for the people he served, and in truth, for himself as well.

…………………..

Hours after their meal, and long after her son had headed up to his wing of the palace, Queen Meera looked out her large antique window to the full moon out tonight. She thanked the heavens that her son was back home safe. After so many years of fighting, and being in the thick of too many international skirmishes, he was finally back and all in one piece. Every night she’d prayed for his safety and for his health. She prayed he would be protected and smart out there doing God knows what. But she also prayed that he would feel peace, when she knew peace was a luxury for her youngest boy he wasn’t usually graced with. Recently she’d added a few more prayers as well, ones that would keep him open to the changes coming in all of their lives. She was grateful at dinner that he was receptive to the prospect put before him of working for the family foundation. So far the plan was working, and she sent up another prayer that the rest would fall into place too.

Perhaps it would be strange to some that she was doing this, trying to craft a future for her beloved son when he was a fully-grown man, but she knew down in her soul that Killian needed the guidance. He was a good man, a strong man, a man bound by honor and compassion, but her son was always closed off, especially when it came to matters of the heart. There were many reasons for that, a few near-misses in love, and all the attention that their family brought forward, but the real reason underneath it all stemmed from the sins of his father, a man Meera once felt love for, who blessed her with two children and promptly threw the life they built together all away.

Prince Brennan had always been notorious. A party boy, a man of mischief. He never met trouble he didn’t like the look of, but his people and his family still believed him to be fundamentally good if a bit lacking in maturity. He was set to inherit the throne as the only child of the King and Queen, and through a twist of fate Meera and him had met and fallen in love. Meera was a common girl, with no connections, and no wealth to speak of, but it hadn’t mattered to Brennan. In fact, in hindsight, he probably wanted her even more because of it. They stole away as many moments as they could, and then one day he told her they were getting married. He never asked, he just informed her, and she went along with it, knowing she loved him even if she was scared of trying to be part of his world. She thought he’d bring her home to meet his family, thought he’d seek their approval, but Brennan had a mind of his own, and that night they eloped.

Only when they were legally man and wife did he bring her home and the fall out had been immense. His father, King Rupert, was furious, but the ire never was directed at her. It was Brennan who the King and Queen were mad at, and Meera couldn’t understand why. If King Rupert and Queen Eleanor truly liked her, why be so angry? Why chastise him as they did? Only a year later, after the birth of her eldest son, Liam, did she realize why; Brennan was flighty and irresponsible. He couldn’t commit to things, he never devoted himself to anything forever. He was bad at making decisions, at paying attention, and he had a total disregard for his impending role as ruler of Montenarro. If someone even hinted at his impending responsibility to the people of this country he went running as fast and as far as he could. Still Meera believed he loved her and that even if he couldn’t give all of himself to his duty, he could be there for her and their children. After trying for seven more years to give Liam some siblings, they were blessed to have Killian, and only after her second son’s birth did the truth fully come into focus. Marriage hadn’t actually meant to Brennan what it meant to her. In her eyes, they were meant to be partners, meant to love each other, and honor each other, but he couldn’t do it. He grew resentful and unruly, and ultimately, unfaithful.

It was an awful time, to be sure, and for Killian, it ended up being all he knew of his father. She kept everything she could from both of her sons, but somehow things always got out. The media had a field day at each and every instance, and then, when it got so bad and so brutal, Meera decided she must go. She and her sons could stay here no longer. Not with Brennan here. Shockingly, when she told Eleanor and Rupert of her plans they told her it was not her place to leave. It was Brennan who must make a choice – shape up and make amends to his wife and to his family, or leave, forsaking his thrown, his power, and all inheritance as he did. Brennan knew in an instant what he wanted, and so he left, but not before Killian and Liam heard him yelling and carrying on. At only six years of age Killian watched his father leave them all, with nothing like regret, and then, a few days later they found that Brennan had died in an accident, the product of reckless choices finally catching up with him.

Explaining to her sons how their father’s actions had no influence on who they were was so hard. Liam seemed to know this, but he channeled his pain into being the perfect heir. He put so much pressure on himself to be a wonderful king and a wonderful son. She worried about that and she was trying every day to help manage that as best she could. But Killian was far more sensitive. He was sweet and thoughtful and bold all at once. He had the biggest heart and he wanted so badly to wear it on his sleeve. But he didn’t. He closed himself off, and then he’d gone into the royal navy and Meera was devastated. She was always worried sick for her son, but what could she say? She saw in him a burst of that vitality and that light in his eyes when he was away. Even in the midst of chaos, Killian was at peace. Why? Because he could be himself. He’d found a place he felt safe, in some of the most unsafe places around the world. Now, though, he was coming back and this was not a place he felt that freedom. With them of course he had trust, but with everyone else she knew his walls would come right back up, steadfast as ever and impenetrable to most.

That was why she was doing this. She wanted a chance to open Killian up to more, to prompt her son towards something he deserved but had always run from: love. She knew he’d be hesitant, and only the perfect kind of woman could bring him to a place where he could be himself, so she’d been looking. It was practically her job to meet people all the time, to come into contact with royals and commoners alike, but she never had much hope. No one felt right, no one seemed perfect until a few weeks ago. Eleanor had returned from one of her outings with the foundation, from the children’s sanctuary, and slapped down a folder with a simple statement.

“I found the girl. Killian’s sweetheart. I know she’s the one.”

Meera was so excited, and she opened the folder without second thought. Sure enough the woman in the file was beautiful, and surprising. She was an American and pretty as could be, clearly smart as she was here on a fellowship grant from the local University. And she had a son. There were all sorts of details about how the school had made arrangements for them because she was such a promising fellow. She was gifted with children and had her own experience with being an orphan as well. Meera planned to go the next day with Eleanor to see for herself, but Eleanor said she wasn’t there. When Meera realized Eleanor never even seen the girl she was horrified. It was one thing to be looking for potential suitors for her son, but people they’d never even met? That seemed like a bridge too far.

“She’ll be here in two weeks. The Sanctuary director couldn’t stop talking about how excited they were for this year’s candidate and one thing lead to another… but that’s the way these things go sometimes.”

It was not the way things usually went, and Meera knew that, but she had never regretted following Eleanor’s instincts before. If her mother-in-law believed in this, then she felt that she should too. And besides, their goal here was a good one – all they wanted was two worthy people to fall in love, after all. What was really the harm in that? Meera just didn’t know, and that was the problem which had been keeping her up for more than a few nights now.

“You are worrying too much, Meera. It will all turn out exactly as it’s meant to,” Eleanor said, having walked into the room with such silence Meera never once detected her.

“You really think it’ll happen?” Meera asked, not even bothering to hide her anxiety.

“Think it’ll happen? My love, he’s as handsome as can be, a Captain of the navy, a hero of war, and has a heart of gold. Any woman worth her salt is going to take one look at him and fall straight in love. Meanwhile he’s going to take one look at this Swan girl and you know what he’s going to do? He’s going to see forever in an instant. His heart will beat for her, and love will stake a claim from the very first moment. Cupid will have quite a simple task of it, you mark my words.”

“You make it all sound so…”

“Romantic? Blissful?”

“I was going to say theatrical.”

“Love at first sight has long been slandered, but still it exists. People find it every day, and many times when they know, they just know.”

“I just want him to be happy,” Meera admitted looking down at her hands. That was all she ever wanted as a mother, for her sons to be well and whole and good.

“And he will be,” Eleanor said, grasping Meera’s hand in a sign of comfort. “He will be happy. He will find exactly what he’s missing. You just have to trust and believe, my dear. It’s all any of us can do.”

Meera nodded, deciding to believe that this would work, and to accept the older woman’s sage counsel, despite its fairytale influence. She wished that with this tiny little push in the right direction, her son would find his happiness with a woman of substance, and good will, and heart. From what they’d discovered, Meera truly believed such a love could be found with this one special woman, Emma Swan, and she only hoped that Killian and Emma were ready and willing to take a chance. But alas, nothing but time would tell, and now all they could do was wait and see…

Post-Note: So there we have it. It was a lot of background I know, about Killian and his family and his past. But I hope you’ll see a bit more of the world I’m building and that it will eventually add to the meeting CS will have coming in the next chapter. As for Killian’s meddling Mom and Gran… what can I say? I missed having some meddlers in my AUs. I have lots still left in store for this story, and as always I can’t wait to see what you guys think. Thanks again so much for reading, and I hope you all have a lovely rest of your day!

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

Hello everyone! I hope you’re all doing well, happy and safe. I have a new story to help out with our time spent in quarantine. Hope you all enjoy it. ❤️🦊

Sleeping Comfortably

Mulder shook his head as he left the manager's office intent on heading to Scully’s room. This place was by far the creepiest one they had stayed in, what with its Scooby-Doo back rooms and trick doors.

God only knows if that man was watching Scully earlier, and if so, for how long. He shook his head again as he stepped up to her door and knocked, waiting for her to answer. When she did not, he knocked again, louder this time, and pressed his ear to the door.

He heard her moving around and a second later, before he had a chance to move, the door was pulled open and he stumbled forward slightly, catching himself on the doorframe.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she muttered and shook her head, stepping back to let him inside. “You scared the shit out of me.” She closed the door with a sigh as he turned around and the words he was going to say died in his throat.

She was standing in front of him, her arms crossed and eyebrows up, wearing one of his old shirts.

And nothing else.

No pajama bottoms. No socks.

He slowly looked her up and down and she cleared her throat. His eyes traveled back to her face and he saw a smile twitching at her lips.

“Did you need something? Is there a reason you are knocking at my door at this late hour?”

“Yeeeah. Um… the manager… he was screaming about a monster-”

“A monster?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said with a heavy sigh, “Let me hear it. But wait, please. Let me get more comfortable.” She walked past him, mumbling about monsters not being real.

He watched her, his shirt covering her to mid-thigh, her legs appearing nearly golden in the light of the room. Watching her wearing his shirt, called up the nights when she wore other shirts of his to bed.

She would smile as she walked to bed and when he would run his hand up her smooth leg and push his shirt up her body, he would discover the reason for her smile- she would be wearing the shirt with nothing underneath.

Swallowing hard, he knew it would not be that way now, but the fact that she was wearing his shirt, on a case no less, made him wonder many things. She must have taken it when she left obviously, but bringing it with her when she usually wore silky pajama sets, made his mind race.

“Okay,” she said, sitting down and adjusting the shirt. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m ready, let’s hear it.”

“I was sleeping, having come back here at your request,” he began, and she gave him one of her best Scully stares. He grinned and cleared his throat. “When I was suddenly awoken by someone screaming about a monster…”

“Mulder…”

“He saw it. A monster… the creature. I mean the manager saw a monster.”

“Mulder…”

“Scully, just…” he said, putting up his hand and walking over to the table to pick up the case file. Looking at the papers held within, he nodded his head with a knowing smile. “I’ve hesitated to call it a “monster” as you may remember.”

“I believe you said it was a “man-sized horned lizard with human teeth,” she said, in a mocking tone as she used air quotes to emphasize her point.

He stared at her and shook his head as she tried not to smile. “And you thought that was silly.”

“You said it, Mulder, I didn’t. But… come on. It is a bit silly. A lizard man?”

“Yes! It sounds silly, I know. But…”

“But what?”

“It's a monster, Scully, plain and simple,” he said, tossing the case file down on the end of her bed.

“And not just your everyday, run-of-the-mill monster, but we're talking transformation here. Man into monster and back again. To which I know you're going to say,"But Mulder, that only happens in werewolf myths that were originally concocted to explain away the violent behavior of people who'd been bitten by rabid animals, before the medical discovery of rabies." But is it so outlandish to believe that some legends are based on actual occurrences and not just ignorance?”

He saw her attempting to say something, but knew what she would say, so he cut her off, continuing with his explanation.

“To which I know what you're going to say, Scully, you're going to say, "But Mulder, it defies every known law of science and nature." Exactly, Scully, every known law. What if this creature that we've stumbled upon is here to create a whole new paradigm for our understanding of life itself? Or maybe science was used to create this "unnatural" being. Maybe this is some GMO experiment run amok by some military-agro-big-pharma corporation. Maybe this guy is its chief geneticist, who recklessly experimented on himself and now transforms into a fiend who needs to feast on human flesh. To which I know you're going to say, "But Mulder, that sounds like the paranoid ravings of some lunatic madman." I don't know what this thing is, Scully, and I don't know exactly how it came to be, I just... All I'm saying is, it's a monster.”

He watched her nod slowly, smiling as she scrunched her chin. “Yeah, this is how I like my Mulder.”

“So you're agreeing with me?”

“No! You're bat-crap crazy!”

He looked at her in surprise, touching the file on the bed. “But what about the facts?”

“What facts?”

“This guy, who the manager just saw turn into a monster,” he said, stepping closer, and handing her his phone to show her the photo he took earlier, as he picked up the case file. “He was wearing the clothes of one of our victims, which we did not notice at the time, because we thought we were looking for an animal. Turns out we were only half right.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, we need to talk to this guy.”

“Well, I doubt he's coming back to his room,” he informed her, taking the bottle of pills out of his pocket and showing them to her. “I did retrieve some personal items from it, though, that might help us track him down.”

“Well, that sounds like a good investigative plan,” she said, in a somewhat pacifying tone, which he chose to ignore.

“The first thing we need to do, though,” he said, looking at the fox head hanging on the wall. “Check out of this motel.”

“What? And leave this room full of such beautifully stuffed dead animals? Why would we do that, Mulder?” she asked, closing the file, and turning off his phone, as she waved her hand above her head. She rolled her eyes and stared at him.

“As much as they are… truly terrifying, trust me, Scully, we need to go,” he said, putting the medication back in his pocket and coming to move the file and take back his phone. He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Seriously? Why?”

“Let’s just say, the manager has his eye on us,” he said, walking over to the fox head and taking it down, showing her the large hole on the wall.

“What the fuck?” she said, as she scrambled off the bed, and came to stand beside him.

“You think that’s bad? Watch this.” He handed her the fox head and grasped the cut out hole, giving it a sharp tug. The wall opened, as he knew it would, and she gasped.

He looked at her and nodded as she stepped forward into the padded hallway. Closing the wall, he told her to stand on the stool that was sitting there. With a loud sigh, she did and he saw her head appear where the fox had been hanging.

“Goddamn,” she said and shook her head.

“Yeah,” he answered and pulled the wall open again, to find her looking up and down the passageway.

“What kind of creepy ass Scooby-Doo shit it this, Mulder?” she asked, shaking her head.

He smiled and reached a hand out to take the fox head back from her. She stepped down and shook her head again as she looked around, before looking back at him.

“We need to call this in, this is not okay.”

“Yeah, I know. We will.”

“How did you know that was there?”

“Because, I saw a head similar to this in the room of… Guy Mann,” he said, looking at the prescription bottle again. “Well, that’s a ridiculous name… But anyway, I saw that and the large hole on the wall. Checking it out, I found the passageway of horrors and then…” He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows.

“And then what?”

“Well…” he said, gesturing toward the hole in the wall and the fox head in his hand.

“You were watching me?” she asked, trying not to smile.

“What? I wasn’t watching you, nor did I know what I would find when I stepped up on that stool and looked through the holes.”

She nodded but had a disbelieving look on her face. He shook his head at her as she stepped into the room and he closed the wall. He hung the fox head back up and turned to look at her.

“You know, Mulder… it’s kind of pervy to spy on people.”

“First of all,” he said, sliding the bottle of pills in his pocket. “I wasn’t spying on you, as I already stated, since I didn’t know what I would find when I looked through those foxes eyes.”

“Which foxes eyes? His?” she asked, nodding to the fox head. “Or yours?” She tried not to smile, but he saw her lips curling up and he shook his head with a laugh at her corny joke.

“Aww, Scully,” he laughed and she shrugged with a big smile. “Both, I suppose.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded and he smiled.

“Anyway, you were only sleeping. So, it wasn’t like I saw anything.” She stared at him and he raised his eyebrows, keeping his comment about having seen it all before to himself. “So… we… we should get out of here. Away from those creepy fox eyes.” He nodded and she nodded back as he walked over to the door.

“Again, I feel I should ask, which foxes eyes?” she asked, and he turned around to find her smirking at him. He tilted his head as she shrugged and rolled her eyes with a smile.

“You were just sleeping,” he told her again and she hummed. He laughed and reached for the doorknob, feeling brave and taking a chance. “And even if you weren’t, it’s not as though these fox eyes haven’t seen it all before.” He stared at her, worried he may have pushed too far, their reconnection still new and somewhat fragile.

“Touché,” she said quietly with a smile, and he grinned as he opened the door.

“Be back in fifteen minutes,” he said and she nodded.

When the agreed upon time was up, he knocked on her door and she was waiting for him, her jacket on over her shirt, or his shirt, to be more precise. He said nothing, but it made him smile.

He checked them out of their rooms, the manager still rattled and not paying him much attention. Mulder shook his head as he walked out, his eyes on the huge stuffed bear, ready to call the police about this perverted place once they were well away from it.

They drove to a new motel, one closer to town and decidedly not as sketchy. He glanced at Scully and she nodded with a shrug. They got out and booked two rooms, walking to them tiredly, their bags in hand.

Standing at their doors, he looked over at her and she sighed.

“Goodnight, Mulder. Or what’s left of it,” she said with a small smile.

“Hey, at least you won’t have any creepy eyes watching you anymore,” he shrugged and she nodded, her eyes traveling up and down his body. She opened her door and looked at him once more.

“Well, see you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Sleep tight.”

She put a hand to the collar of his shirt and rubbed it between her fingers, an almost secretive smile on her face.

“Oh, I will. Good night,” she said quietly, and stepped into her room, closing the door behind her.

He grinned as he opened his own door, stepped inside, and closed it. He turned on the light and set his bag down, as he took off his shoes and jacket. Pulling the covers back, he fell into the bed. He rolled over as he imagined Scully on the other side of the wall, doing the same thing.

He hoped she would be able to get some rest, for a little bit anyway, content and cozy in one of his old shirts, without dreams of lizard men or fox eyes watching her.

Unwanted fox eyes at least.

#msr fanfic #xf fanfic #creepy fluff #sleeping in his clothes #flirting #teasing #creepy motel rooms #monster of the week #lizard man #bat crap crazy

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and THE GRYPHON’S QUEST! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 17 of 19

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO

and

THE GRYPHON’S QUEST!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

and

Carmen Pondiego

Cover art by Aranel the Cyborg, now Wind the Mama Cat

29584 words

Writing begun 03/29/16

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony. Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Chapter 17. The Coward’s Weapon!

Daring Do was pleasantly surprised at just how good her half brother Blendin was at specimen preparation. There was another surprise for her too.

Friend spent much of her time crooning to her Eagle eggs. She did frequently leave her nest and lend her green magic to the task, usually greatly simplifying the work. It was the greatest assistance at particularly difficult or delicate times in the preparation of the failed nymphs that she had loved so dearly and watched over for so many centuries.

Almost any time that they took a break from the arduous task before them, Friend would leave the eggs and nest protected by a nearly invisible glow of green magic. She would take a place beside Daring Do and purr/croon softly. Daring Do found real rest and comfort in the love that Friend shared with her. She often rested her head against the changeling’s horn and shared thought and memory.

It was from that sharing that she learned something surprising about Friend. When her hive was attacked by war equipped and battle ready unicorns, Friend defended the hive’s precious eggs.

She slaughtered ten of the enemy, literally tearing them to pieces in the defense of those eggs. When her shared hive mind felt the Queen die, she went briefly berserk. Four of the ten attacking unicorns that she killed fell in those few moments.

It was duty and love for the eggs that she tended that brought her back to something resembling sanity. Taking all of the eggs that she could carry, she fled into the night.

The world outside of the hive was a strange and confusing place at first. By luck alone, she found a long disused road that led to the mountains. She did the best that she could but it was not enough. One by one, she felt the spark of returned love die out of each of the eggs. Her heart was torn asunder by the loss.

Daring Do knew the rest of the story. What she did not know was the sheer depth of feeling that Friend had developed for her. She meant it when she said that Daring Do was Matunen, Hive Queen, in the ancient tongue of Early Middle Equestrian.

Friend was totally contented for the first time in ages. That in no way interfered with any whit of her egg tending.

Blendin saw his half sister’s serene relaxation around Friend and was glad. The Apprentice Librarian of the Great Library in him was glad too. He was learning things about conservation of irreplaceable delicate artifacts and relics that would apply to his work in the Great Library.

Once everything was ready, he stared at the results of their work in wonder. He had not only helped to prepare the whole foundation for the creation of an entire intelligent species, he had it and all of his half sister’s notes cataloged for the Great Library!

Together, they sent a note of their progress to the Empress.

The door, upon opening, showed the Empress, Grata, and Hisst, the Right Wing of the Imperial Throne. The hallway was blocked by heavily armed Imperial Guards in full battle armor.

Daring Do was about to ask if such precautions were necessary when a loud, harsh voice from up the hallway demanded, “This is all Blasphemous! Even if it were the truth and showed our ancient roots, it would still be blasphemy! The Holy Legends declare that Faith alone is sufficient and seeking truth beyond its holy pages undermines Faith!

“Whatever is here must be destroyed!”

The Empress responded, “What is about to be destroyed is YOU, Krapper! You have fifteen seconds to be around the curve and out of OUR sight before I order my troops to open fire!”

“You would not dare!”

“Nine seconds left, Krapper.”

There was a clatter of claws on stone as the speaker retreated!

The Empress drew a deep breath, her crest showing disgust. “The entire lot of First Creation Idiots want to destroy the only real history that our kind has.”

Friend spoke up, “Your Majesty, they are wrong. This I/we know. Before I/we loved the eggs that became the nymphs of your kind, I/we saw changelings. I/we saw unicorns. I/we saw Eagles. I/we saw pegassi.

“I/we helped matunen Daring Do and brother Blendin to be sure that these failed nymphs truly show how I/we loved the eggs that became the nymphs that are your kind.”

The Empress, crest showing deep thought, began tracing the development of her kind. She was reading the placards set by each step of the way. Looking over to the true mother of her whole species, she asked, “Why did you go from pony to big cat for our hindquarters?”

Friend crowded over to point as she spoke. “Not all big cat. See how these bones go? That is from the pegassus. The head was carnivore, Eagle. The hindquarters had to eat meat too or fail. I/we did see a lion in mountains once, close enough to feel its insides by loving it. I/we used what I/we knew.”

Grata, crest rippling in laughter, exclaimed, “We are so lucky that she didn’t see a bear!”

After the fit of laughter passed around the room, the Empress asked, “How will this all be presented, Doctor Do?”

Daring Do sketched rapidly. “The case, to be portable must be of stout woodwork. The front viewing window should be made of glass that has been spell strengthened like a Magic Net mirror.”

The Empress nodded, crest showing some concern. “You mentioned not risking the real relics and that is a good idea.

“We have General Iron Hooves here with some of his munitions experts. The team that they are consulting with is known to you, though we know that you do not like them much.

“V.I.L.E. Is here. They have sent Carmen Pondiego, Baron Von Nighthoof, Marehem Skadefryd, and Kiros Asbhy. I understand that they have also got a number of Agents here too.”

Crest smiling, the Empress went on, “I was warned to be sure that I still have both mandibles of my beak after dealing with them. However, they will be absolutely honest with family.

“They have several missions. One is being worked on now with General Ironhooves and his aides. Another is to be the agency for creating your cases and making the copies for display. I will be ordering twenty sets.”

Daring Do, looking doubtful, did agree, “I have to admit that when it comes to museum quality duplication, Mom’s company is unexcelled.”

An all too familiar voice caroled from the doorway, “So sweet to hear you actually say something nice about my company! Of course we are honest! V.I.L.E. has never been caught or proved to be guilty of ANY crime at all!

“Suspicions? Poof! Suspicion and a cup of tea will get you anything from a nice Bergamont to bag of Lupton’s Worst!

Carmen Pondiego strutted into the room in her trademark porkpie hat and fire engine red dress. She called over her shoulder, “General, Dear, would you please come in and see for yourself what my daughter found that is causing all this mess?”

General Ironhooves entered the door. He was in his simple field uniform.

He tipped his Campaign Hat to the Empress and her Wings. He approached the study tables, examining the relics with care. He picked up Daring Do’s voluminous field notes and sketches, seeming to leaf through them, except that once in a while he stopped long enough to separate pages that stuck together.

He put down the books and turned to the Empress. “Ma'am, you have chosen your battlefield perfectly. Better, you have the enemy in the sights of your artillery.

“I hope that it does not come to armed conflict, but if it does, after consulting with Carmen here, I think that you will have a LOT of surprises for them!”

Daring Do managed to look skeptical. “Only them?”

Before Carmen could snark back, Marehem wandered in, right past the security detail. He grinned. “Helps to be a misfortune changel …”

His eyes bugged out. It was the first time that Daring Do could remember that her uncle Marehem was caught totally off guard!

“An Egg-tender, HERE? How did that happen? How can she live without a hive?”

Friend looked up from serenely turning the eggs in the nest. She smiled as she said, “Matunen Daring Do.”

Uncle M stopped like he’d hit a brick wall headfirst. “Adora, Matunen? A queen?”

The Empress nodded, crest rippling amusement. “It hit us like that too, when we realized that Friend is OVER two thousand years old. She was the sole survivor of a destroyed hive.

“Tending eggs kept her sane. She is the Mother who loved an unstable and fatal hybridization into becoming our strong race. I gather that for her, loving means something other than a simple feeling.”

Marehem got it together to say, “It sure does. The eggs a queen lays are sort of neutral. They will develop as random kinds of changelings. Give them to an Egg-tender and tell her how many of which sort, worker, other egg-tenders, drones, even a queen, and that is what you will get. Their love is a very complex magic that no other kind can do.”

Daring Do, eyes twinkling, suggested, “Make the order for V.I.L.E. twenty one copies. We will donate one to the Nightmare Wars Collection of the Royal Museum!”

General Ironhooves grinned hugely. “You really want to shaft those First Creationists, don’t you?”

Daring Do simply said, “Yes. They defile and deny the history that I have devoted my life to.”

Carmen pointed to the work tables and said, “Will you take a real compliment from your mother, Adora? This, notes, restorations, preparation and all is a fantastic piece of work.

V.I.L.E. will duplicate it with the greatest of care. With your permission, we will keep a copy for our own private museum.”

Mutely, Daring Do nodded.

She saw Uncle M talking to a Magic Net mirror and turning it to show everything.

Carmen pointed to an especially fragile relic and said, “Be especially careful of this one, Baron.”

One by one, the laboriously prepared relics, notes and all quietly vanished. General Ironhooves simply noted, “Handy trick, that!”

Daring Do, Friend, with her nest, and Blendin were brought to a large suite with an open airy feeling. One Gryphon port was open enough for the Eagles to get in and out but not Gryphons. The rooms were swarmed with Eagles.

Friend immediately shared that soft green magic of hers to include all of the waiting Eagles. The way that they crowded close about the nest, it was clear that they had been waiting for Friend’s loving magic. Several shuffled aside and one reached out a beak and snagged Daring Do’s tunic, making her join or get a torn tunic. She joined the Eagles in luxuriating in the literal glow of Friend’s shared love.

After a few days of resting up, Rahak came by. Crest at attention, he requested, “Doctor Do, master Blendin, would you come please? The display copies are ready for examination.”

They followed the Wing Commander back down to the workroom. There were twenty one large cases of fine solid woodwork, each faced by stout glass armored by a spell to the toughness of steel. The contents were beautifully displayed to make the whole progression from hippogriff to Gryphon utterly clear. Each item of the display had its explanatory placard.

Neatly done on each placard was an exact copy of a reference to the actual original Legend Document, with translation. After that part was a clear, simple note explaining the item.

Central to the whole display was Daring Do’s detailed sketch of the remains of the failed nymphs in place, as they were found.

The whole thing had such an impact that Daring Do’s breath drew in, in a way that she had heard so many times as a child riding her mother’s back in a knapsack, when her mother saw some beautiful thing that she was about to steal.

Turning to an equally awestruck Blendin, Daring Do said, “Tell Carmen that this is the best display preparation that I have ever seen.”

“Thank you, dear,” said a familiar voice. A khaki colored unicorn mare in a form fitting fire engine red dress stepped out of the shadows. Daring Do was shocked to see bags under her eyes.

Carmen Pondiego told her, “The General is sleeping now. I have been working along with every agent that I have available. I cannot tell you what we have been doing. Imperial Security is involved. I only hope that it has been enough to prevent the war.”

Rahak suggested, “Let us all prepare for this evening’s banquet. That is when you will make your presentation, Doctor Do.”

Daring Do was looking around the Imperial Banquet Hall, at the many war banners that fluttered in the light breeze. There were also the banners of the provinces of the Empire. The wood and stonework was outstanding for its solidity and rich carving.

Perched on every place that they could find claw room were hundreds of Eagles, looking expectantly at Friend. Her nest had been placed conveniently close to Daring Do’s place.

The dining tables were all set so that every diner could see the big glass fronted case with its display. There were two small books by each place.

One was a copy of the original document of the Legends, written some time shortly before 54 Post Nightmare Wars. It had an exact copy of the document itself, a line by line literal translation and a third line in modern Gryphon with notes to explain the meaning of idioms used when the original was written. No commentaries. No editing. Only a foreword explaining that this was a true copy of the Legends that they all revered and tried to follow. Commentaries were dispensed with in the hope that the reader could understand what the words said and form their own opinions based on solid fact.

It was signed and sealed by the Empress herself.

The other small book contained copies of Daring Do’s expedition notes and sketches that were relevant to the display showing the origin of their species.

The First Created believers started to scream, “Blasphemy!”

The Empress herself cut them off. “Silence, Krapper! These are the Legends that you CLAIM to revere!”

“You have left out the rich and ancient commentaries!”

Her crest rippling with laughter, the Empress exclaimed, “Ancient? Krapper, the FIRST commentary was inserted into a small book like this only thirty five years ago! It had a note that it WAS NOT HOLY WRIT, only opinion. That note was removed and further commentaries added. More than half of the mass of your book has been added in just the last five years!

“It must be wonderful to be able to write up whatever you please, insert it into the next edition of your book and have it called HOLY WRIT!”

“Our Book is the true Law! Holy Word is higher than mere secular law!”

“NO, Krapper! That is direct sedition! Guards! Stand behind Krapper! If he utters one more word of sedition, cut his wing tendons at once. He will be given the LONG DROP at sunrise for the crime.”

The Empress paused for effect and added, “Now, we have a banquet laid before us. Let not Krapper’s ill manners spoil your appetite. After we have eaten, we will hear from Doctor Daring Do, whose actual facts, well documented and proven may provide you with much food for thought.”

The server placed a plate in front of Daring Do, commenting, “I hope that we got it to your taste. It is a sauced alfalfa steak. We don’t eat such fare, so we are not much used to cooking it.”

Daring Do replied with a smile, “I am sure that it will be fine. You have been doing well the last few days.”

She cut a bite and began to chew. Numbness spread from her mouth. She gasped and could draw no air. Her vision was fading slowly.

She heard, “The Blasphemer has been struck down! Any means to strike at blasphemy is honorable, the Holy Writ is clear!”

The voice of the Empress cried, “Poison is the Coward’s Weapon! Seize them! Do not wait for the Long Drop! Kill them now!”

The voice of Friend cut across the fading din, “No! Matunen still has love. I/we need them! They will wish for your long drop! I/we promise …”

Then no sight. No sound. No touch. No taste. Nothing …

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

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#DARING DO AND THE GRYPHON'S QUEST!#Part 17 of 19 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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novantinuum · 5 years

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Fifteen

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1.6K~

Summary: Every year, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, Pearl runs away.

I managed to churn out a hurt/comfort one-shot focusing on Pearl and her relationship with Steven and his birthday for the occasion. Happy birthday, lil’ fella!

AO3 link to be posted in reblog.

Despite their shortcomings as an intelligent species otherwise, Pearl would be remiss to admit that humanity at least has a few positive attributes and customs.

The concept of leisure, for instance, is a good example. After all, back on Homeworld, actions that don’t directly benefit the Great Diamond Authority’s cause would be labeled as treason. Knighthood is another one she quite fancies. Despite her origins she’s always admired the thought of pledging one’s lifelong service to another by active choice, and all the honor and decorum that goes with that lifestyle. From there, the list is short, but cherished: humanity’s inclination to collect otherwise useless objects as mementos, their innate desire to seek out physical means of affection, (thanks to their attitudes towards cross-fusion, something else considered incredibly taboo throughout most of the empire), and the fact that their music isn’t something that’s restricted to only the elite.

Five attributes she admires. Many, many more she’s confused or even disgusted by. Amethyst’s obsession with human food, for instance, she’ll likely never understand. But out of every universal custom the denizens of Earth partake in, the one she’s never managed to wrap her mind around is the idea of celebrating one’s day of... emergence.

Gem emergence back on Homeworld is no impressive event. One moment you don’t exist, and the next— you do, imbued with just enough knowledge to properly carry out whatever purpose you’ve been assigned to fill in the ever-spinning clockwork of Gem society until shattering or the eventual heat death of the universe. That’s it. Clean cut.

In stark contrast, human birth is a complex, messy affair, marked by hours of nonstop wailing and suffering at both ends. So why, then, does humanity insist upon spending a significant portion of their already minuscule lifespans planning, attending, and observing celebrations of this day? She hasn’t a clue. Honestly, from her perspective it seems quite distasteful.

But She, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of Earth’s frivolous celebrations. She made it her purpose to understand as much about their primitive way of life as possible. She— despite all her desperate pleas for her to choose otherwise— decided to take her overly obsessive fascination one step further and submit her body to it.

Which is how fifteen years later, Pearl finds herself broken, alone, sitting atop the same floating mountain where she first pledged her willful, eternal loyalty to the former diamond she now mourns. Her shoulders shake as she sobs without restraint, lithe fingers gripping so hard into the grass that she pulls up roots. Tears drip off her chin and into the dirt. She’s a coward. One of the most important days for humankind, despite her lingering confusion as to why, and she can’t even manage to pull herself together for a second to be there for... for him.

Just thinking about it sends her whirling through every year of her regrets as if she’s living through it all afresh.

She isn’t there at the very beginning. None of them are. It‘s just Greg, and, and... and Her, and some local she can’t remember the name of who agreed to act as midwife. The next ten or so years are much the same, every single one of them except the boy’s father keeping their distance so they can grieve in their own private ways. Garnet grows more withdrawn than usual, holing herself away in the burning room to conduct inventory of the bubbled Gems. Amethyst always warps to her former Kindergarten to do shard knows what, likely resorting to violence as a means of burning through the confusing emotions. And as for herself, she runs here. Every time. To Strawberry Battlefield, where the others dare not follow.

Eleven years. Despite Greg’s warnings otherwise, the energetic young half-Gem personally invites the three of them to his party. Garnet and Amethyst politely decline this invitation, knowing they don’t have the emotional strength to deal with the other young human children on this already difficult occasion. They do, however, concede to join him and Greg for a small cake lighting ceremony later that evening.

Pearl attends neither.

Twelve years. This time, there is no big party full of noisy, ungrateful human children the boy’s age. Most of their families had since moved away. (If she has to guess, the town’s prevalence for dangerous Gem activity was the root cause of that.) Upon Greg’s request, the others agree to meet up on the porch of the house—almost complete— to sing him that dreadfully banal song.

When approached about it later, she claims she forgot. No one dares press further.

Thirteen. She must leave immediately to take care of an urgent solo mission. No, she doesn’t need help, but thank you for offering.

Fourteen.

For the first time, she actually attends the celebration. It’s small, cozy. She manages a smile for most of that day. Manages to keep her thoughts pointedly directed away from the raw, recent past she’s usually running towards in her own self destructive way. Foolishly, she dares to imagine that maybe, just maybe she’s beginning to move on, to change with the rest of them, just like that young half-Gem is with every passing moment. But then the new shirt Connie got him is pink, and the whole countryside is spinning around her, and she can barely hear Amethyst asking her if she’s alright, and before she knows it, her feet have propelled her away, away to the warp pad nestled in the nearby field, and straight into the strawberry scented arms of the grief she can’t quite separate herself from.

It’s not normal. At least, it shouldn’t be normal. Grief isn’t something Gems of a lower cut have reason to even express. Where one is shattered, a replacement is incubated in the crust of some other unlucky world. Even for a Gem as powerful and rare as a diamond, such deep sorrow is waved away as nothing more but a waste of time and resources. And yet in this case the gem in question isn’t actually shattered. Perhaps it’d be a different story if She were. Perhaps Pearl could find the strength to finally thrive on this anniversary if that gemstone’s achingly familiar song really was cut off for good, if she could bury all her unresolved feelings with the shards She left behind.

Instead the song lives on, unceasingly, within the very boy she's helped raise.

Fifteen.

She hopes he knows that she tried this year, she really did. After everything they’ve been through together... every truth she’s revealed, every secret he’s confided with her, every hard wrought battle they’ve won... she honestly tried.

But no matter what, she can’t quite dodge the guilt ridden fear that his happy day will never be happy for her.

Miserably, she hugs her legs to her chest, her hard light form long since purged of all strength from her weeping. The tracks of her tears have already dried on her cheeks, and they’re left feeling sticky as a result. Looking up, the fields below are stunning in the stark amber glow of sunset. They genuinely are. Beyond the floating mountains wild strawberries stretch as far as the eye can see, but today they stir nothing within her.

Today, even beauty is without meaning, and in the moment so is she.

The vines emerging from the base of her solitary plateau crack and rustle, knocking her from her thoughts. She startles with a gasp, almost whirling around to see what’s disturbed her, but then... that song, oscillating through the thick air in waves far too small to hear. Of course. Who else would have the courage to run after her?

“Pearl,” he says softly, edging towards her frail, quivering frame.

And truthfully, she’s not sure if she’ll ever get used to the sound of that boy’s voice, how low its dropped ever since his sudden growth spurt a few months back, so, so different in register and yet intimately familiar regardless. Arms wrap tight around her midsection. She sniffles in response, hot tears threatening to burst their dam at any moment. Yet, still every bit as stubborn as the day she emerged from under the iron rule of Homeworld, she refuses to look behind, refuses to visually acknowledge the truth that’s weighing down on her more than even the fate of entire rebellions: the undeniable truth that like it or not he’s changing, faster and faster as the days creep onward, growing and maturing into a young man she knows with every burning fiber of her being that She would be so proud of.

It’s almost not fair, how quickly humanity can change. Progress... move forward.... leave behind.

Forget.

Die.

She begins quivering once more, not able to hold back her tears for his sake. They’re messy, every bit as undignified as she deserves in this moment.

To his credit, the boy doesn’t say anything more, knowing her well enough by this point to merely comfort her in silence as she brokenly wails. Minutes pass. At some point, he leans his face against her back, hugging her the same way as the first time he followed her here. It’s grounding, a welcome reminder of all the other days she has to live for. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she closes her eyes for a period, reaching up to blot at the edges of her puffy eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Steven,” she whispers, wiping the last traces of tears away before clasping her hand solid in his, steeling herself in both mind and body to face the unknown future with him together... one fifteenth of August at a time.

#su #steven universe #pearl #su fanfic #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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abalonetea · 5 years

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@drowsy-quill wanted a bit of everything, and @drabbleitout wanted backstories and settings so!!! thank you guys for helping me decide what to ramble about!

here’s some brief back stories for the “most fleshed out” characters of Wings of War, and a quick rundown on how the setting works!

Tony and Rizzo are both from New York, and are a couple of goofy, hard luck kids that made it further than they should have. they met on the streets when they were younger, both homeless, and just fell absolutely in love with each other. at some point, Tony got the bright idea that holding up the local mafia was the bright thing to do, and the two of them went on a robbing spree, shooting up local social clubs and gaining a name for themselves as a new Bonnie and Clyde.

eventually, the two of them got off the streets and into a little half-apartment, with plans on running the mafia until they couldn’t running anymore, and then taking off for another state. unfortunately, the local don was able to figure out who they were the night that Tony proposed and sent out some men to take care of the problem. Tony and Rizzo were shot down in the street, and only saved through the GSC’s influence.

(I high key love them)

_-_-_

Jeremy grew up in Boston, with a mother who was always working to support her kids, an absentee father, and a load of brothers who were really awful, okay? the moment that he was able too, he took off, getting a stint running drugs for some of the local gangs, and getting involved in some back alley deals that have really left him fucked over. he still keeps in touch with his ma, but refuses to go and visit her, and won’t speak to any of his brother’s.

-_-_-_-

Scout’s from Newark, New Jersey, where he’s the oldest of a gaggle of children, and has a hard working hard luck mother that he adores. due to a series of misfortunate events, they hit a very long rough patch with money, and Scout ended up dropping out of school to pick up some jobs in an effort to help. when that proved less than profitable, Scout turned to less legitimate means to help bring in money, eventually being picked up by GSC, who offers a lot of money.

_-_-_

BJ and his still unnamed boyfriend (a “soldier” style class) were both homeless travelers for a while, who happened to run into each other. BJ is from Orlando, and had a very rough upbringing that resulted in him taking off at fifteen, and a serious issue with family and the state as a whle.

his bf comes from a similar upbringing, though rather than take off for the road, his bf took off for Poland. after being disallowed to enlist, his bf stowed away on a ship heading for Poland and fought in WW2 unofficially. upon getting back to the states, he found himself with nowhere to go.

the two were eventually found by another employee of GSC (at the time, the bf is suffering from a mysterious ailment) and the two agree to sign up for GSC in order to get the unnamed bf health treatment.

-_-_-

Lucas is from Sao Paulo, Brazil, and was studying at a college to be a technical engineer - a profession that infuses electronics with Intent. when he lost his leg in a horrific car accident, the GSC offered him the funding and studies available to craft a replacement leg run off of a strange manufactured Intent.

-_-_-

Feliciano - originally from Florence, he fled to Austria and then Switzerland during WW2. with goals of eventually making it to England, he made the mistake of getting into a bad business deal that, essentially, flung him head first into the situation that he’d been hoping to avoid.

(there are others, btu this is getting long! i’ll reblog it later with more information!)

_-_-_-_

and some information about the location! the basic idea is that the Guiding Star Corporation has about ten different locations they have purchased over the years. the four teams are cycled through the various locations, with no more than two teams being in the same spot at a time.

these locations are meant to reflect the fact that during MMORP games and most shooter games (like call of duty) the player can select from a variety of maps! Prime HQ is the main base, though Frost Bite Mountain and DOA Canyon are used the most often.

there is also a Secret Base that no one has access too but...hey...is that a....floating island up there?

that’s a floating island above Prime HQ. hmmmm I wonder what that has to be with all of this? I wonder...I wonder what’s trapped on that floating island?

#wip wow #wow characters #wow settings

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celestial-depths · 4 years

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Harry Potter has always been much less progressive than its fandom: a retrospective

In June 2020, Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling decided to use her platform to devalue trans people by ridiculing a headline with trans-inclusive language and going on to spout hateful nonsense like insisting that recognizing trans women as real women makes the experiences of cis women somehow less valid. I’m not going to repeat her baseless arguments here because I’m not really interested in picking them apart, as more qualified commentators than me have already done that, and doing so would be like throwing rocks at a house of cards anyway. Instead, I want to reflect on the fan reaction to her statements. The response has been overwhelmingly negative, with many fans expressing feelings of disappointment and surprise over her choice to further vilify a group of people who are already marginalized and vulnerable to violence and discrimination. I was disappointed, too, but, sadly, not surprised. Not because this isn’t the first time in recent history when Rowling has aligned herself with TERFs, but because I think her writing and interviews have always suggested that her politics are way more regressive and conservative than what most of her fans may have assumed. Me and Harry Potter go way back. I’m in my thirties now, and I remember reading the first two books at the age of eleven, just before the global Harry Potter hype had really taken off. In fact, I may have been among the last wave of readers who got to start the series without the faintest idea what the books were even about. At the time, I had a habit of reading books without checking out the blurbs first because I enjoyed the feeling of diving into a story and being taken completely by surprise, so I didn’t even know that wizards were involved when I started reading. I couldn’t have been at more perfect an age to discover the books. For pre-teen readers like me, they were the perfect mix of escapism and relatability. It was wild adventures and magic combined with the everyday reality of a school-aged child, which is probably why I felt more connected to it than I did with other fantasy books I also enjoyed, such as The Lord of the Rings. Harry would learn spells and fight dragons in one chapter and worry about homework and making friends in the next one, which was why it was always easier for a kid like me to daydream about going to Hogwarts than it was to imagine fighting orcs in Middle-Earth (sidenote: this is also why I was never a big fan of the HP movies; they kept the exciting highlights but they left out the slice-of-life parts, which instantly made them seem less relatable to me). My generation also got to grow up with the series. I read the first book at 11, and the final one was released when I was 19, so I was always roughly the same age as Harry during my first read of each book. But by the time I read that final chapter, I was no longer as enamored with the series as I used to be – not because I’d grown bored with the series, but because its politics had started to worry me over the years. I didn’t like the story it was telling between the lines, and I certainly didn’t like the note it ended on. I wasn’t really involved in the fandom during my first years of being a fan of the series, but I did step into it around the time Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was released. I was fifteen, I was extremely excited about the release of the first new HP book in three years, and I soon found myself spending hours in fan message boards speculating about future plot twists and discussing my favorite characters. The fandom had its flaws – you don’t know the meaning of the word “petty” unless you’ve witnessed the absolutely brutal fights adult human beings in the HP fandom had over their Hermione Granger shipping preferences – but overall the community was inclusive and open-minded. The fans were a diverse bunch of people who generally seemed to agree that the world of HP was as progressive as they were, since the main message most of them picked up from the books was that one should not discriminate anyone based on the qualities they were born with. I agreed with that reading of the books for a long time, but as I grew up I began to pay closer attention to what the books were actually depicting and what it was leaving out altogether, and I eventually started to wonder whether the series was progressive as it was made out to be. The story was seemingly preaching a message of inclusion, yet all the characters were straight (no, Dumbledore doesn’t count because his sexual orientation was never brought up in the books), cis, and able-bodied, and non-white characters were barely there. What is there to be inclusive about when there’s hardly any real diversity among the very, very vast cast of characters, especially not among the main heroes? Moreover, HP’s way of using non-human characters as metaphors for discrimination yielded very questionable results. The series used house-elves as a metaphor for slavery, yet it ends with the conclusion that the enslavement of house-elves was only wrong when they were treated cruelly, and that they actually preferred slavery to freedom, which was why Hermione was depicted as being silly for fighting for their emancipation. That’s a load of yikes. Werewolves, the series’ metaphor for the HIV positive, were violent, tragic, and uncontrollable, which is... also not great. And don’t even get me started on the books’ take on goblins, who bore extremely uncomfortable resemblance to antisemitic caricatures. The series built a hierarchy between species and used it to address real-life inequality between groups of people, but it never dismantled or even properly questioned that hierarchy, In fact, the biases towards and unequal treatment of other species was ultimately made to seem natural and right. So, there’s that. The books were also littered with awful fatphobia, which doesn’t comply with the anti-discrimination message by any means, and the apparent importance of personal choices and accomplishments got lost by the final two books. For instance, the penultimate book explores Voldemort’s origins and concludes that he was simply born evil, either because he lacked a mother’s love or because he was born from a loveless union (a rape, if we’re being specific, though the books doesn’t recognize it as such, and that’s a whole another can of problematic worms). I don’t even have the time to unpack all the twisted ideas about gender roles that plot point suggests, but my main point here is that it seems like Voldemort never chose to be evil, and apparently neither did his followers, as most of them seem to be villains because they were sorted into Slytherin, or that they were sorted into Slytherin because they were already villainous. At the age of 11. Even the two Slytherins who actively choose to do the right thing in the end (Draco and Snape) do so out of cowardice (Draco) or selfishness (Snape). Meanwhile, as the series progresses Harry’s goodness is less and less predicated by his actions and more based on the virtue of simply being the Chosen One, all the way up to the point where Harry ends up resorting to torture and mind-control – two of the three “unforgivable“ acts as determined by a previous installment in the series – and suffering absolutely no consequences, because he is the hero and nothing the hero does can be bad. The world of Harry Potter, which steers towards being morally ambiguous around the midpoint of the series, ends up being disappointingly black-and-white and deterministic by the end. Choice ends up having very little to do with anything. And then there’s the gender issue, which bothered me most of all. The series exhibits very old-fashioned and restrictive gender roles without ever really questioning them, throws around casual sexism, and it paints a really appalling picture of femininity through its overly sentimental, subservient, frivolous female characters, whose only motivation for doing anything is far too often devotion to a male character or their children, and who are always defeated by their pesky female emotions. Rowling is a self-declared feminist, and I distinctly remember this one writing of hers where she was congratulating herself for championing characters like Hermione Granger over characters like Pansy Parkinson, and that’s her view of feminism I guess? Putting down one female character in favor of another? Pitting women up against each other, urging them to be good girls instead of bad girls – doing all that instead of paying attention to the structural, cultural, ideological reasons why gender expectations and inequality are harmful? Honestly, I don’t think that HP is pro-women at all; the female characters lack agency and are constantly sidelined in favor of male characters, and the series valorizes a very narrow view of womanhood that’s obsessively centered around motherhood and sacrifice. Overall, the HP series seem to idealize this aesthetically and ideologically old-timey view of society where the world is unrealistically white and straight, and where static hierarchies prevail. The story does not end in a revolution, rebellion, or reform because the story isn’t really about progression; it’s about following traditions and preserving pre-existing power structures. The epilogue of the series really hammers down this point: in the final chapter, the main characters have grown up, married their (white) childhood sweethearts, assumed the roles and biases of their parents and named their kids after their dead relatives, joyfully returning to the origin point of a cycle that brought death and destruction into their world as if there was never anything wrong with that cycle to begin with. So, yeah. I’m not really shocked to see J.K. Rowling expressing awful opinions about trans people because the world of HP was already built upon a whole bunch of awful, traditionalist ideas. As a teen, I’d been read the series through the hopeful lens of my own set of values, but by the time that final book was released, I’d become disillusioned with Rowling and the series, and I no longer took HP for the forward-looking, inclusive story I had made it up to be. I didn’t stop liking certain aspects of the books, but I did stop thinking of Rowling as someone to look up to. For some time, I hoped that Rowling was simply misguided and that she would eventually listen, learn, and rethink. But she keeps proving herself as someone who absolutely refuses to see past her privileged, white, and straight point of view despite all of her resources, and who has inexplicably chosen to crusade against trans women, of all the people in the universe, as if the world wasn’t already hostile enough towards them. So, fuck her. But you know what? The HP fandom doesn’t have to take its cues from J.K. Rowling. The fans don’t have to condone her discriminatory views or agree to read her books in the light of her backward politics. They’ve never done that. From Wolfstar to Black Hermione and from Gay Draco to Trans Snape, the fandom has always been a nurturing environment for fan interpretations that aim to add diversity and complexity to the books, whether Rowling agrees or not. Long live the headcanon. (The fans have also learned to tune out Rowling’s unnecessary comments when they feel like it. Two words: wizard poop. That alone should suggest that the things she says aren’t always worthy of anyone’s attention.)

#harry potter #jk rowling

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22l94-norman · 5 years

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When The Curtain Falls

ao3

Summary: Ray takes the booklet from her, if only to get the damned thing out of his face, and starts reading through it himself. Her ideas aren’t bad, actually, she has them bullet pointed and neatly organised - it’s unlike her, meaning she’s serious about it. Each idea is somehow so uniquely Emma that it makes him smile. The only problem is that she doesn’t have any kind of a plot - it’s more like a series of short skits so far. Not really something useable for a play just yet, Ray almost dreads how much work he’ll have to put into helping her. “Some of these aren’t half bad,” he says approvingly, still scanning through the last few ideas, “You just need a plot. If you can come up with a plot,” he tells her, “I’ll help you write it into a story.”

Emma launches herself forwards, attacking him in a hug, “Thanks Ray, you’re the best!”

Ray wraps his arms around her in return, shaking his head knowingly, “You’re only saying that because you won and now I have to help you write a script.“

: : :

Emma, Norman and Ray have been part of the middleschool/highschool drama club for the past three years, upon becoming highschool first years, Emma decides she has big plans for this year’s play.

Chapter One

The music room is quiet and warm, with sunbeams streaming in through the large glass window and opened sky blue curtains, Ray sits himself comfortably on the stool in front of the darkwood piano and gently strokes the head of the cat that sits atop it, looking contentedly at the view of the garden outside as he does. The cat, Bernie, is black from head to tail and purring - and a recent addition to the household. It looks like him, Emma had said and Norman had agreed, so somehow he’d been convinced to take it back home when they found it in the street and Ray had made a deal with his mother that if he did all of the looking-after then it’d stay. Emma was right, at least, because the cat has the same good taste as Ray does, the music room is his favourite place too. Bernie yawns, stretching her paws out and laying her head down to sleep, he gives her one last little scratch and starts to play a lullaby. Ray closes his eyes, listening to the melody that rings out from every key that he presses as if he were living in it, it’s soft and sweet and ever so slightly sad, like the melancholy of pouring rain. The part of the song he loves most is the harmony, a slow progression of low chords played in parts underneath the pretty, twinkling high notes of the original song that he added in himself. Behind him, the door creaks ever so slightly. Ray’s song trails to a natural end. There goes the rest of his practice time.

“Don’t just stand outside the door, Emma,” Ray says, just slightly loud as he closes the lid of the piano, “Come inside.”

Emma walks inside looking slightly sheepish at the fact that she was caught listening, and watching. She was definitely watching, “Why’d you stop?” She asks, cocking her head to the side a little the way she always does when she’s curious, “It was pretty.”

“Yes, it was Papa’s song to Mama after all, and I stopped playing because you wanted to talk,” Ray reminds her, pointing at her as he speaks, “What are you here for?”

She holds up a thick wad of paper to eye level as way of explanation and settles cross-legged next to him on the piano stool. She’s sitting a little bit too close, if he’s honest, but it’s not like there’s anywhere else in the room to sit, so he supposes it’s okay even though she nearly pushes him off the edge with how much room she takes up on the small seat. Ray mirrors her, pulling his own legs up and leaning forwards slightly.

“Okay, so you know how all the upperclassmen from the club graduated last week?” Emma starts, waiting for Ray to nod before she continues, “That means we’re the oldest there now, as official high school first years, I figured we’d get a bit more influence with Yuugo, since we’re no longer middle schoolers.”

“That’s probably true,” Ray agrees, for a club that’s merged between a middle school and the highschool it feeds into, Yuugo always did only give privileges to the high schoolers. “What about it? Were you thinking you’d get to choose the play or something?”

Emma shakes her head and grins, “Almost,” she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement, “I was thinking I could write it.”

“Are you an idiot?” Ray blurts out, raising an eyebrow at her in surprise, “Do you know how much work that is, Emma?”

“Yep, a tonne,” Emma tells him with a mischievous sparkle to her eyes, “That’s why you’re going to help me write it, Ray!”

Ray gives her a withering look in response, chopping at her head with the side of his hand as his answer. Emma reaches up and rubs at her head, whining that he always does that and someday he might give her brain damage, he can’t help but laugh. “If anything, I’m fixing what’s wrong with your head,” he teases her.

Emma pouts at him, flipping open the poorly stapled wad of paper and shoving it so close to Ray’s face that he can’t even make out the words, “See, I even came up with ideas for it, Ray.”

He takes the booklet from her, if only to get the damned thing out of his face, and starts reading through it himself. Her ideas aren’t bad, actually, she has them bullet pointed and neatly organised - it’s unlike her, meaning she’s serious about it. There’s roughly a billion of them, each idea somehow so uniquely Emma that it makes him smile, though some are outright ridiculous. He’s not even sure what a rain cloud mech robot is, but he’s sure Emma knows. The only problem is that she doesn’t have any kind of a plot - it’s more like a series of short skits so far. Not really something useable for a play just yet, Ray almost dreads how much work he’ll have to put into helping her.

“Some of these aren’t half bad,” he says approvingly, still scanning through the last few ideas, “You just need a plot. If you can come up with a plot,” he tells her, “I’ll help you write it into a story.”

Emma launches herself forwards, attacking him in a hug, “Thanks Ray, you’re the best!”

Ray wraps his arms around her in return, shaking his head knowingly, “You’re only saying that because you won and now I have to help you write a script.”

Emma laughs, admitting that he’s right. “By the way, Aunty Isabella sent me from the nursery to come get you, she wants you to come help out there round about now,” Emma adds with a too-sweet smile, releasing him and springing up from the stool.

“Damn it, I knew there was another reason you’d come. Can’t I ever get some free time?” Ray grumbles peevishly, Emma is not someone to be trusted.

“Come on,” Emma coaxes, tugging him towards the door by the arm, “Norman’s already there, it’ll be fun.”

Ray protests - to little success since Emma is stronger than him - and is forced out of his own home to go help look after some kids that he refuses to admit to her that he likes spending time with.

“Be good Bernie,” Ray calls out to the cat mournfully, Bernie cracks an eye open to look at him, “You’re the only one in this world who’s truly my friend.”

: : :

They’re about halfway to the nursery when it starts raining, quickly turning into a downpour. Ray tugs his jacket up over his head in defense and looks about the street for shelter; Emma doesn’t seem to mind the rain nearly as much, reaching out a hand to catch the raindrops in. She half twirls, almost dancing as she looks towards the clouds, looming large and grey overhead but parted in places by the sun poking through. Ray tugs her underneath the canopy of the nearest shop that has one, hiding them from the rain.

“Up there,” Emma says softly, arm outstretched, pointing towards the sky, “Look Ray, a rainbow.”

Ray turns away from the window of the bakery they stand in front of, following her gaze, “Yeah,” he breathes out, “It’s pretty.” The colours streak across the sky, blurred by the still falling rain. He wonders if it’ll ever stop. He’s starting to consider giving in to the temptation that the smell of freshly baked goods wafting through the door of the bakery presents, especially if the rain doesn’t let up soon. “Do you want to buy some cookies whilst we wait?” He finally suggests, glancing longingly at the window - he’s too much of a sweet tooth for his own good.

“Sure,” Emma agrees, spinning on her heel and pulling open the door.

Ray steps inside behind her, rummaging in his pockets to check he has enough money to buy them whilst Emma browses the selection. She orders fifteen cookies in three different flavours before he’s even had a chance to figure out which one he wants. Emma looks at him expectantly as the cashier shoves the cookies into a light pink paper bag with the name of the bakery printed on it in swirling golden letters. The cashier hands the bag over to Emma which she then puts in her backpack and Ray pays for her - it sort of feels like he’s suddenly bankrupt with the amount they cost. They wish the cashier a good afternoon, heading back outside. Ray sighs, it’s still raining.

“We should just run for it,” Emma decides after another moment of waiting, she doesn’t give Ray time to protest before dragging him along by the hand and breaking into a sprint.

Ray quickly finds his feet and matches her speed, getting soaked all the while. Emma, however, revels in the feeling, laughing as Ray grumbles at her. He’s not sure how she can laugh when he can barely find his breath, Emma runs so fast it’s no wonder his lungs are burning. At least they’re getting closer to the nursery with every pounding foot step, the streets passing by him in a blur of vibrantly coloured shop fronts and soft glowing lights until they arrive. They’re thoroughly drenched by the time they get there, Ray’s bangs are plastered to his forehead and he’s sure his shirt is pretty much see-through. Emma lets go of his hand, pushing open the door and running straight for the play room.

“We’re here everyone,” Emma calls out, immediately being swarmed by the younger children. There are twelve of them today, she stoops down to pat each of their heads fondly, beaming from ear to ear.

“Emma, Ray, you’re both dripping wet!” Norman all but gasps, taking in their wet hair and soaked clothes with worry, “Do you guys want towels? You’ll catch colds,” he frets.

Emma shakes her head, “That’s okay Norman, I don’t need one.”

“Are you sure?” Norman pauses, “I don’t think there’s an inch of you that’s dry.”

“She’ll be fine,” Ray interjects with a smirk, “Idiots don’t catch colds. I’d kill for a towel though,” Ray adds, striding over to the closet and rifling through it to find a towel.

Emma pouts at the comment, eventually bursting out in laughter herself when Norman starts sniggering uncontrollably, he isn’t wrong, after all, Norman’s the one always catching colds, not Emma, and he’s the smartest of the three of them. Even though Emma is an idiot who doesn’t think she needs a towel, Ray gets one for her anyway, passing it to her and putting the other over his own head, rubbing to dry it. A slight pull at his sleeve distracts him, Ray glances down.

“Hi Jemima,” He says with a smile, “What’s up?”

“Let me dry your hair for you,” Jemima requests, doing her best to pull him down to the ground, Ray complies, sitting cross-legged on the floor and staying still as she rubs his hair with the towel; his hair tats horribly, too long and fluffy to stay neat when towel dried so roughly.

“Norman, where’s Mama? She’s usually here.” Ray asks, he’s used to being greeted by her whenever he comes.

“She went to a meeting with the school’s chairwoman. She’s trying to get new toys for the nursery and I think they’re discussing renovating the kitchen, since it’s getting a little old.” Norman tells him, drying Emma’s hair for her as she plays pattycake with one of the girls, Conny to be exact.

After a few minutes of Ray indulging her, Jemima stops and pulls the towel away, “There,” She says, patting his head, “As dry as can be!”

Ray twists around to face her, reaching over and ruffling her hair with affection, “Thank you Jemima, now I won’t catch a cold.”

Jemima beams at him, crawling into his arms for a hug, Ray rests his chin on her head and hugs her back. “We were playing fairies, do you want to join in?”

“Yes,” Ray agrees, “I’d love to play, but before that,” he says, pausing as he lets go of Jemima and reaches towards Emma’s backpack, “I have something for you.”

“Oh that’s right!” Emma pipes up, stopping in the middle of playing house with Conny, Sherry, Phil and Norman, they’d just started the game too, “We bought everyone cookies! Well, Ray was the one who paid, I’m broke.” Emma adds with a chuckle.

Ray peers in the bag curiously, he never got to see which ones Emma had chosen: triple chocolate, strawberry with white chocolate chips and smarties cookies. The corner of Ray’s mouth twitches up; she’d bought each of their favourites - well, smarties were Norman’s second favourite, but he hadn’t seen any butter cookies at the bakery. “Alright everyone, let’s get some juice and have snack time,” he calls out, almost immediately regretting it as all twelve children surround him in their enthusiasm, forgetting the juice.

Ray hands out the cookies, one each and trying to make sure at least one of each flavour is left for them as Emma and Norman rush to the kitchen to find the juice boxes before it can be stormed by thirsty toddlers and under sixes. Once all the kids have theirs, the three take their own cookies, his strawberry and white chocolate one disappears much too fast for Ray’s liking.

“Can we play now?” Jemima asks, still munching on her cookie, she looks up at Ray hopefully.

“What game are we playing?” Emma exclaims, bouncing up more excitedly than the kids themselves.

Ray exchanges a quiet smile with Norman, fondly shaking his head at her. Her enthusiasm always was why the kids liked her so much. She’s good at playing games and immediately starts acting out Jemima’s game with her, pretending to be humans who had strolled into the fairy forest with some of the other children pretending to be fairies. It’s a weird forest, but Ray and Norman arrange the chairs in the room to stand in for trees and Phil crawls between them, claiming to be a fairy waiting to catch the humans. He jumps out when Emma and Jemima crawl by, knocking them over and landing on top of them. Emma laughs heartily, hugging the two. There’s some convoluted plot to it, thought up by Conny and Sherry and Christy, Ray isn’t quite sure what’s going on except that he’s apparently the fairy queen and that Emma and Jemima are escaping from him. He follows them slowly around the room, dragging Norman behind him as his lackey and with Christy on his shoulders directing him in what happens next in the story. Norman plays the game like chess, cutting off all their escape routes through the makeshift forest by directing kids around.

“You know,” Norman remarks with a mischievous smile directed at Ray, “I think that our fairy queen ought to be prettier.”

Ray knows what that look means all too well. It means Norman is planning something and the thought fills the pit of Ray’s stomach with dread, because although it will be sweet and innocent like every other game Norman plays with the kids, it will also be something Ray absolutely hates. He wonders why they couldn’t have just read the kids a book and then set them down for a nap, then Ray could have read a book himself instead of having to deal with whatever betrayal he’s about to deal with.

Conny hugs her rabbit toy to her chest as she looks up at him, “Norman’s right. You’re not very pretty Ray.”

Ray’s mouth presses into a thin line, he disagrees with the statement and the muffled sniggers that come from his friends’ mouths, “I’m plenty pretty, Conny.” Ray says, deadpan and with thinly veiled displeasure.

Conny ignores his words, running over to the toy chest in the corner. She pulls out every dress up item she can find, beaming delightedly as she sets aside fairy wings, butterfly hairs clips, a tutu and even a tiara, when she finds no other suitably fairy themed dress up clothes she scoops them all up in her arms and rushes over to Ray.

“I’m not wearing those.” He tells her flatly, scowling.

“Well that’s mean, Ray.” Emma says with a laugh, “Look at her, she’s all disappointed now. You should put them on.”

Backing away and shaking his head in refusal, Ray glares at her. She’s encouraging them and he’s not going to forgive her.

“Well, we can always make him,” Norman grins at Emma conspiratorially.

Convincing Conny to give her the dress up items she’d found, Emma stalks towards him brandishing the tiara in what he can only assume is a threat - he wishes he’d stayed at home with Bernie, he was right, he definitely should not trust Emma, or Norman, because Norman is just as complicit.

“No, no I am never wearing that thing and you cannot make me,” Ray makes a move to run away from her, if he doesn’t get a headstart he isn’t going to win, he doesn’t even care if he has to run out into the rain to escape. There is no way he is going to dress up in a tutu probably meant to fit no one over the age of ten.

Norman doesn’t allow his escape, sneaking up on him from behind whilst he’s preoccupied with avoiding Emma, Norman grabs him by both arms and holds him in place, Ray stomps on his foot to little avail and struggles to break free. It’s not that Norman is stronger than him, Ray’s always been stronger regardless of the fact that he hasn’t been the tallest between the two of them for a couple years now, but his arms are pinned behind his back and for the life of him he can’t get them out of Norman’s grip to push him off. Even the little kids surround him, watching the three of them and laughing, they don’t even realise they’ve doomed him by blocking his way.

“Let go of me Norman, please, I’m begging you!”

Norman chuckles, “It’s only a tutu Ray. Come on Emma put it on him before he manages to push me off.”

Emma nods, coming closer. She reaches up to hold the tutu above his head, struggling on her tiptoes and Ray is, once again, thankful that she’s so much shorter than him. His gratefulness is short lived, Emma slips the tutu on him anyway, dragging it down his body. Once the tutu is on, Emma moves onto the fairy wings, Norman forces Ray’s arms into the straps and Emma adjusts them on his back until they’re properly settled. Ray gives up on protesting, there was already no saving his dignity so he might as well let them do what they want. Emma clips up his bangs so that they don’t cover his eyes anymore, using at least five different butterfly clips on him. They’re sparkly and covered in glitter, he’d almost say they’re cute except for the fact that he’s the one wearing them, they’d probably look much better on Emma, he thinks. Finally she adorns his head with the tiara, stepping back and looking proud of herself, she seems quite pleased with what she’s done, as does Conny.

“Aww, don’t be so grumpy, you look so pretty Ray,” Emma says, reaching forward and tapping Ray’s nose affectionately.

Ray scowls at her but doesn’t try to take any of it off, he’ll just get shoved into it again, “I hate both of you so much.”

Norman laughs at that, releasing him, “You love us really Ray, come on, you don’t mean that. You make a very cute fairy princess.”

Norman is right, of course, Ray doesn’t really hate them just for that, but it doesn’t make him any less annoyed. He sighs, accepting his fate and letting Christy climb up on his back again; Ray’s scowl softens, the children seem to like the costume and he at least gets lots of compliments from them before the game starts again.

“Princess Ray.” Christy says drawlingly into his ear.

“Don’t call me that,” Ray mutters, just loud enough for Christy to hear him.

“Catch them so we can protect the magic world from humans!” Christy commands, pointing towards Emma and Jemima now that the story of their game has resumed.

It continues for a while, Ray running about after children in the nursery’s large playroom whilst avoiding chairs and keeping Christy on his back, then, eventually - and to Ray’s great relief, since he’s getting tired himself - they start to yawn.

“Alright,” Emma whispers softly, “Let’s set them all down to nap whilst they’re tired.”

Norman keeps an eye on all of them whilst Ray gathers all of the pillows and blankets with Emma’s help, laying them out in three neat rows that are quickly filled with tired kids. They go around properly tucking them in and making sure everyone is settled comfortably. Ray spreads Jemima’s blanket over her, patting her head fondly. She tugs on his sleeve again.

“Will you read us a story?”

Ray nods, pushing himself up off the ground and choosing a storybook from the shelf across the room then settles himself next to her and Christy again. He opens the book, turning to the first page and reading the fairy tale written inside. Listening intently, as Ray reads to them both kids cuddle up to his sides, falling asleep. Ray shuts the book and sets it aside, yawning tiredly - he could use a nap himself. He’s still wearing the tutu, fairy wings and the clips when he lays down, he doesn’t particularly care anymore though he’s taken off the tiara, he slips his around both of them, hugging them tight and closing his eyes. He thinks he feels someone slip a pillow under his head, they also cover him with a blanket - Norman, probably - but he’s too tired and sleepy to tell who, dozing off as he mumbles a thank you.

: : :

Ray wakes up to giggling. The lights are dim and all of the children are gone, home probably. Even the blankets and pillows had been put away except for his own ones that he’d kicked half away in his sleep, he must have been asleep for quite a while.

“You’re finally up, sweetie,” Isabella giggles, standing in the doorway and eyeing his get up with laughter, “The slumbering princess wakes after a hundred years.”

Ray flushes with embarrassment, he’s sure she must have taken a picture or two, “Mama,” he whines petulantly, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh it’s alright Ray,” she tells him, “Just put those away so I can close up.”

“Yeah, hurry up so we can go home for dinner, Ray,” Emma pipes up from the little table in the corner where she sits next to Norman.

He hadn’t noticed they were still there but he’s unsurprised really, he hadn’t expected they’d just leave him at least. “You know it’s not your house right?” He drawls sarcastically, of course they’d be coming over for dinner, they do that at least four nights a week.

They’re writing something, slightly hunched in the too low chairs. Ray scoops up the pillow and blanket, tucking them under his arm and striding over to the closet near them. Putting away the blanket and pillow, he peers curiously over their shoulders, “What are you two writing?”

Norman and Emma both twist around, holding up their pieces of paper, “Whilst you were napping - which was very cute by the way, we got some lovely pictures,” Norman teases him, “Emma came up with an idea for her play, so we’ve been brainstorming a plot.”

Emma hands him her piece of paper and Ray quickly reads through it, it’s good, “Fairies?” He questions approvingly with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

“The kids’ game was good inspiration, we’re adding in lots of puzzles to make it more interesting. Norman’s been coming up with some for me to solve and I’ve come up with a few for him to solve too, that way we’ll have lots of choice for puzzles to use when you help me write the proper script.” Emma explains, she seems very happy.

Ray ruffles her hair, deliberately messing it up. He’d mess up Norman’s too if it weren’t for the fact that he’s never seen Norman’s hair look bad no matter how much he’s tried to mess it up in the past. “Yeah, come on, let’s go home.”

#flings this into the abyss and hides #the promised neverland #tpn Norman #tpn Ray #tpn Emma #yakusoku no neverland #tpn drama club au

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shireness-says · 6 years

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Playing the Part Epilogue: Superboy and the Invisible Girl (Reprise)

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17 Ch. 18

A/N: We made it, guys! Thanks for sticking with me through the slowest slow burn ever. I like to think it paid off.

Title taken from “Next to Normal”. Full disclosure, there is not a reprise of “Superboy and the Invisible Girl” in the musical. However, a reprise oftentimes takes the original song and builds upon it, adding extra verses to show development in plot. It seemed appropriate for this chapter, which has echoes of Chapter 13 (Also called Superboy and the Invisible Girl).

One last round of thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services, and an extra thank you to everyone who’s reblogged, liked, commented, or messaged me about this!

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @mystrangedarkson

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this sappy conclusion!

Four years later

“Welcome back to Sign Off, everybody!”

Emma knows that Killian will do his ear scratch when he finds her watching his segment, but she wouldn’t miss this for the world. It’s like reliving a little bit of their history. Plus, it’s not every day that your spouse is on national television; skipping this would earn her “Bad Wife” points, or something.

He’s still bashful as he walks out, still kind of ducks his head when he waves and acts like he’s embarrassed to be there. You’d think after several years of magazine interviews and newspaper profiles and talk show appearances he’d lose some of that shyness and uncertainty, or at least get used to it, but some things never change. It’s a damn good thing she finds it cute.

Archie is as charming as ever, shaking Killian’s hand with an enthusiasm usually reserved for inside jokes. That’s just who the host is, though. “So, it’s been a while since we saw you last. I hear a few things have happened.”

“Oh, just a few.”

Hopper starts pulling out photos. “Pride and Prejudice was a hit.”

“Yes, a great group effort. They just closed a few months ago, congrats to everyone involved.”

The host shows a picture from his Tony speech. “You won a Tony for playing Mr. Darcy.”

“So they tell me. My brother kidnapped the statue.”

(That’s only halfway true. Yes, Liam had taken the statue for a while, setting up a popular Instagram account to display all the places he took the golden figure. One of those places had been Henry’s 6th grade English class, turning her son into a middle school celebrity for a couple of months. Though bringing Liam and Killian along with the award probably had something to do with that, too.)

Emma can just spot the Tony now from where she sits, bookending a cluster of novels on the top shelf of the bookshelf in her and Killian’s apartment. It had been a little bittersweet, leaving her old apartment where she and Henry had both grown and flourished, but she and Killian had both agreed that they would need more space. It’s worth it, anyways, to wake up next to Killian every day in a place that’s theirs. Emma misses living next door to Elsa some days, but now that Henry’s fifteen her supervision isn’t quite so needed anymore anyways. It would have come to an end regardless when Elsa had moved in with Liam in his fancy apartment. Emma instead contents herself with the knowledge that Elsa’s job at the Met - her dream job, really - means she and Liam will be based in New York for the foreseeable future, even if the latter occasionally does have to leave for filming in other locations. Killian likes to joke about his brother and Elsa “living in sin”, like they hadn’t done the same thing, but it does mean they still get to see Liam and Elsa fairly often.

Her real Killian walks back into the living room at that point. “Oh Christ, not this drivel. Emma, I’m embarrassed enough as it is, let’s find something else to watch.” He may gripe and groan, but he still collapses onto the couch beside her, letting out an appreciative and exhausted sigh.

“Oh, I’m watching this, babe,” she replies, smiling over at Killian before burrowing her head into his side. She knows by this point that he’s all bark; he’s a pushover, really, especially where his family is concerned.

She must have missed the introduction of his latest movie project – an interesting project portraying Pan as the villain of Neverland with Killian playing Captain Hook as a misunderstood rogue – because there’s publicity stills up on the screen when she redirects her attention back that way.

“My stepson’s a little upset, really, because he had the idea first,” the Killian on the screen explains. “Which, trust me, was not the reaction I was hoping for.”

“Hey, that was almost funny,” Emma comments, nudging him in the side as the audience laughs.

“It’s embarrassing, is what it is,” Killian grouses. It must be that thing where actors don’t like seeing their own work - Emma’s read about that before. It’s not going to stop her from affectionately picking at him, though, and it’s not going to keep her from watching the whole thing.

“And on a personal note, does everyone remember this moment from last time?” Archie asks, cutting to the clip of Killian talking about a certain prickly and dedicated stage manager. When the camera cuts back, she knows what’s coming, and smiles when she feels Killian press a kiss to her head as the host pulls out a copy of their wedding photo. “Well good news to all those shipping that on the internet, because you two tied the knot!” The audience cheers, and as Emma watches televised Killian grin widely, she thinks that’s the most comfortable she’s ever seen him in an interview. “Now, how long have you two been married now?”

“Coming up on two years, three months from now.”

He’d proposed one evening when Emma had least expected it. They’d talked about marriage before - considering that they were living together and in a committed relationship, having that conversation seemed like the responsible thing to do - but it had been a lovely surprise all the same. Killian had been waiting with the ring when she got home from work on a Wednesday, on bended knee and everything in their little foyer with Henry filming just around the corner. Killian had explained later, after the yes and the ring and an awful lot of kissing, that it had seemed important to make his proposal a family affair and include Henry. He loves her son, just as much as he loves her (albeit in a different way); Emma knows that, but it still means a lot that he’d included her son in their major life moment in that way. Henry had been a part of their love story, after all.

(Emma suspects that there may have been a conversation between Killian and Henry before the proposal as well where Killian had asked her son for her hand, but neither of them has ever fessed up to it, and she’s okay with leaving that as a man-to-man moment if they prefer it.)

The wedding had been a low-key affair, much to Mary Margaret’s dismay - just a little courthouse ceremony. Emma had never been the big white wedding type, though, had never had those dreams as a child. Now that she’s faced with the opportunity for all that, she finds that she doesn’t really want or need it. At the end of the day, they just want to be married; they love each other, almost to distraction, and waiting any longer than absolutely necessary feels like too great a burden.

Still, they’d done it up as much as the quick circumstances allowed. Emma had bought a clearance wedding dress that swished around her calves, and Killian had taken Henry to get a nice suit - his first, the sleeves and legs given extra length to be let out as the growth spurt from hell inevitably continued so they could get more than one use out of the damn thing. They had even arranged for a bouquet and boutonnières, even if Emma doesn’t know anything about flowers. As soon as Liam had arrived back in the city from filming in Atlanta, they had gathered all their friends and family on a dark Monday and made it official.

Henry stood as Best Man. Mary Margaret cried. Ruby wolf-whistled. And Emma had never been happier as Killian dipped her into a dramatic kiss.

“Are you happy, my love?” he’d whispered into her ear later at Granny’s. The older woman had gladly donated her diner for the reception, closing for the occasion so they could all eat cake and dance to jukebox hits.

“What do you think?” she’d quipped right back, before laughing and drawing him down into a kiss. It feels like they’ve come full circle; it feels like home.

(She may still be Emma Swan professionally, but there’s a certain thrill to hearing Mrs. Jones.)

“And one more thing…” Archie continues on the TV, drawing Emma’s attention back to the screen. If possible, televised Killian grins even wider: if what she thinks is about to happen is actually about to happen, she doesn’t blame him in the least. “… You two had a little girl.” The photo on the screen is a sweet one of her little fingers curled around Killian’s thumb. Emma knows it well; it hangs in the nursery, right next to the rocker where Emma’s lately been spending what feels like half her nights.

“We did. She just turned five months old last week.”

“And her name? If you guys are ok to announce it.”

“Hazel Elizabeth Jones.” The audience aws, which the tiny baby propped in her Papa’s arms here in their living room seems to find objectionable as she starts squirming and snuffling. “Emma and I thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to the show where we met.”

They’d had it in mind from the start, ever since they’d found out they were having a girl. There’d been a good bit of debate and waffling back and forth about the first name, but they’d always agreed on Elizabeth for the middle. Hazel hadn’t actually been on the shortlist, just something that’d they’d discussed and put aside, but then she’d arrived - six pounds four ounces, dark hair, loud cry, perfect, and it had just… fit. If there’s one thing Emma’s learned since Killian, it’s not to question a good thing.

Parenting now, 15 years after her first child, is both easier and harder. There’s an exhaustion that comes with age that’s only compounded by caring for an infant. It helps though, more than she can ever describe, to have a partner in this, not to mention a secure housing and financial situation. Killian’s a great dad - to both her children, really - and it’s a particular joy to watch him with their baby.

“You’re okay, lass, you’re okay,” he murmurs now, bouncing their daughter against his chest to attempt to calm her down. It works, thank God; Henry’s been great about all the changes in their lives and is lucky enough to sleep through almost everything, but Emma still doesn’t like taking that chance on a school night.

“Little drama queen,” Emma murmurs affectionately, tweaking a little sock-clad foot. She’d forgotten just how tiny everything about babies is somewhere in the decade and a half between Henry and Hazel, but has loved rediscovering it.

“Maybe she’ll be an actor like Papa one day,” Killian suggests, quirking a teasing eyebrow in Emma’s direction.

She snorts. “Not if Mom has any say in it.”

“What, you don’t think we need more actors in this family?” His tone conveys mock-insult, but Emma can see that twinkle in his eye that means he’s joking.

“Nah, she’s gonna be a techie. I can feel it.”

Emma can faintly hear Archie offerings his congratulations and asking about Killian’s upcoming turn as Harold Hill in a televised performance of The Music Man, but she’s not really paying attention anymore, too preoccupied with this moment with her little family. Maybe that was Killian’s devious plan all along - distract her from his talk show appearance with their very cute baby. She can’t really complain about that.

“Ah, well, I suppose I can’t argue that,” he concedes. “Not when her mother’s so brilliant at it.”

Even after all this time, a compliment from Killian can still make her blush. He knows it, too, which only makes him do it more. She loves that about him, though. Suddenly, it seems very important that she express that very fact.

“I love you, Killian.” She’s said it hundreds, thousands of times before, but it still strikes her with wonder every time, just how much she loves the man sitting next to her.

“I love you too, my Swan,” he replies, placing a careful kiss on her lips while trying not to jostle the baby.

Though Emma knew accepting that stage managing job almost five years ago now would change her life, she never imagined in a million years that she’d end up here, with a husband and baby and her son sleeping just down the hall in a life better than she ever could have fathomed.

She wouldn’t change a thing.

#cs ff #captain swan #my writing #Playing the Part #Superboy and the Invisible Girl (Reprise)#Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian #and some major life developments #its bittersweet to see this one end #but i'm really proud of how its turned out

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