#i mean sure their mom seems distant but still fairly loving too

[corpocyborg]

renegade spacer shepard: no mom i'm not on drugs. my eyes are red because i'm evil.

[supervillain-smut]

TES Domestic Headcannons

Ancano Ancano's demeanor doesn't really change in a domestic setting, he's still very uptight, serious and work driven, however he shows much more affection in a private setting. He'll wordlessly pull you into his lap while he's reading a report, or crawl into bed with you with it, lots of kisses to your forehead, shoulders, neck that sort of thing. His temper is also greatly improved, but not enough to leave a child in his care for too long.

Athis Athis is a very messy pup, and you will almost always be cleaning up after him. He shows lots of gratitude over it, though, and is very affectionate and attentive. He'll always do the heavy lifting, despite the fact you could bench-press him and always goes out with you if your business is in the city. He is absolutely going to cause trouble with a pup, should you decide to have one. There's so much flower, and it's everywhere! How?!

Brand-Shei Brand-Shei enjoys being the bread maker, but should you favor your adventuring you'll hear no complaints, so long as you're home within 3 days at least. He is the absolute best at balancing what he wants and what you want; if you want to go explore a cave near Riften, he'll go too but hang back in case you find anything that he can sell. If you're not adventuring than you can always help out at the stall, or take over when he's sick or needs a break. He's so nervous when children are brought up, but should you take the leap, he is the sweetest father, though he does spoil his child.

Cicero Cicero, as I'm sure you're aware, is a rare breed of man. He's always flip-flopping between whether he's capable and wanting to act like a complete child. This doesn't mean he won't spoil you rotten or won't do his end of the chores. Because he will, at the end of the day, you'll just hear him complain the whole time, but it's all playful. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT let him near children. Why? "What do you have there?" "A KNIFE!"

Clavicus Vile Clavicus has no domesticity, he's always in his plane of Oblivion, he's always yelling at Barbas, and he's always... Him. There's small, fleeting moments of affection, but not any more than that. A Daedra is a bad idea for a life partner.

Enthir Enthir is a college student, through and through. His room gets cleaned once a month, by him, since he doesn't want you to touch anything (more like find anything), he wakes up at 12:00pm, and he is always kind of groggy and slightly grumpy. He does find time for you, however, should you wish to be a study buddy, or spend the weekends with him. That's when he shows how much he appreciates you and your tolerating him. Not ready for kids! He's at that point where should a child attach themselves to his leg he will attempt to kick them off.

Erandur Erandur is the softest domestic partner you could ever ask for. Need firewood? He's on it. Groceries? Don't worry about it, he's got it. Want to go adventuring? He'll tag along, just to make sure you're safe. And when it's just the two of you at home, he's smothering you in affection. Says he's too old for children... He is. He acts more like a grandfather, always falling asleep with bab.

Faendal Faendal is a slightly possessive lover, though he'll always listen to you. He loves doing things with you. Hunting, firewood, grocerie shopping, adventuring, you name it, Faendal wants to do it with you. He's very immaculate about the interior of the house, and will almost always get to the chores before you. A very enthusiastic father, constantly tries to teach his child way too young how to use a weapon. "Faendal!" "What? They're 3, they can learn to use a bow, surely!" as said tot falls over  behind him because it's almost double their size.

Farkas Farkas is... He's a slob. He doesn't mean to be, he's just always over at Jorvaskr and doesn't really come home that often, and practically always needs a house maid of sorts; Vilkas is banned from his room because every time he sees how messy it is he practically fumes from the ears. Farkas is, however, probably the most doting lover, especially out of Jorvaskr. He just won't tolerate you venturing too far, at least without him. And should the Silver-Hands threaten again he won't hesitate to go full wolf on their ass. He is the most playful dad ever, though it looks rough, he's being very careful, lots of play fighting and wrestling, picking them up upside down on purpose.

Lucien Lachance Lucien is very distant, always busy with work. You'd have to really be willing to be put second to work, because you're not going to win against it. He's always busy, but he showers you with gifts and affection whenever he gets the chance, always telling you how much he apreciates your patience and devotion, completely spoiling you to help you last until the next time he does it again. Lucien is a very stern dad, but only because he cares. They WILL know how to protect themselves as soon as they're able, until then they go nowhere without mom or dad. Mostly dad, because even though mom is there, now he's worried about the both of you.

Malborn Malborn, depending on whether you were with him before or after the Thalmor Embassy, is either very angry or very frightened and paranoid. He just needs someone he can rely on and gauge whether things or ok or not. He frequently looks to you to ground him to reality, and is very needy in terms of affection and building up. Anything to do with outside is on you, and he strictly prohibits adventuring; what would he ever do without you? Oh gods he's far too nervous for children.

Marcurio Marcurio is a very patient lover, should you go adventuring and be longer than three days without him, he will worry, but he will stay put. When you come home, you're immediately smothered by hugs and kisses all over your face, he will tell you how much he missed you and how happy he is that you're home. He's a very independent man, so you won't have to worry about firewood or grocerie shopping, things like that, and he's a very capable cook. He's a very good dad, would actually prefer to adopt, he worries about the children on the street, and will probably come home with one himself.

Neloth Neloth... Is just the worst. I'm sorry, but it's true. He has zero capacity to think about anyone but himself, and most times if you pursue him for affection or compliments, you get a very grumpy Telvanni. However, does that stop him from coming to bed very late at night to pull you as physically close to him as possible? No, no it does not. He's very quiet and subtle with his affections, and the fact that he calls you his should speak volumes. Good lord no kids, do not. They will be ejected from the tower at the first accident.

Ondolemar Ondolemar surprises everyone with how affectionate and loving he can be, and he has everything under control when it comes to managing the firewood, groceries, hell he's even good with kids should you decide to adopt or have them (though he'd highly prefer if you gave him an heir, he would treat an adopted child no differently). Ondolemar has many things about him hidden away that only you get to see; and no one would believe you if you told them he fell asleep with your toddler in his arms on the couch while reading to them.

Ralis Sedarys Work, work, work. That's all he looks for, so should he actually take up a lover... They're going to be spoiled as hell, they are suddenly everything to him, and he will gladly put down his pickaxe to recieve affection, and will happily put it down again to give you affection, should you be in an ill mood or just seem like you could use it. Loves doing all the heavy lifting just to show off and have you proud of him, and he's even prouder should you challenge him or even show him up. In the end, you end up splitting all the chores in half between the two of you, even adventuring. Far too busy for kids, but he is very good with them! Maybe when he's ready to retire. Or even begins thinking about it.

Revyn Sadri Revyn is a very loving, we can take on the world so long as we have each other kind of lover, and he's very affectionate. He is fairly good with kids, and has zero problem with adopting. He can die a happy mer so long as he has you, a child, and the store. It's everything he's ever wanted in life.

Teldryn Sero Oh boy. He's usually out doing his work more than you, and is ecstatic to go adventuring with you. He enjoys taking care of you and treating you like royalty, so he'll insist on doing everything around the house, and he is fantastic with kids, especially bed time stories, although sometimes you may have to censor him when he gets too detailed. Other than that, he's 100 percent prepared to love, cherish and protect his family, even if it's just the two of you.

Vicente Valtieri Vicente is the last person you'd expect to be any variation of domestic, but you will very frequently catch him in a chair by the hearth reading a book or sorting contracts, and should you two actually have children, he will very quietly sneak into the nursery while babe and you are asleep, and he will cry. Not out of sadness, out of pure joy. You made this, he actually has a family! And Sithis have mercy on anyone who dares threaten it, because he won't.

[blueprint-han]

ex.

↪ so many what if’s. who would give you those answers?

— where in you stumble into your ex at a friend’s wedding, and the subsequent conversation leads to new hope blooming in your relationship.

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ex au; angst with a fluffy ending.

⇥ warnings: themes/mentions of break up/make up, mentions of alcohol, please let me know if I miss a warning. please note that i, by no means condone any toxic relationships. this fic here with bang chan and Y/N is NOT an example of a toxic relationship or an implication of bang chan’s actions in real life. please take it as fiction.

word count: 3.3 K

type: one shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

↯ note: I decided to merge your request with the prompt because it’s angst and guess who’s the queen of angst? You !! 😌 This was picked up from ex, as you can see and again your url ~vibes~ so uwu hope you enjoy it, this is my first time writing angst tho so please go easy on me. <3 Love you mom <333  ⇥ dawn.☀️

The dance hall’s fairly crowded when you take another shot of your martini, drowning in its essence as you make a desperate attempt to disconnect yourself from your vicinity. You wanna believe you’re drunk, though it’s not true in the slightest — you can still feel, hear, see everything around you clearly — the alcohol’s clearly not having its effect today. You wish, oh so dearly wish it did, because the man standing about two tables away from you really doesn’t deserve the attention you’re giving him right now.

The last thing you’d expected when you entered the hall to attend your friend’s wedding was to stumble right into the one man you’d been trying to avoid for the past two months. At that very moment, you cursed all the odds for making you face the man of your nightmares, the one who broke your heart.

Bang Chan.

Sure enough, just like when he’d dropped the news on you, all the butterflies in your stomach drop dead one by one, gloom and desolation taking over. The mere sight of him is enough to send you into a frenzy of confusion — you feel the flutter in your heart to know that he’s doing okay, but you can also feel that pit of sadness, anger and heartbreak mixed to wash over as one of the most conflicting feelings ever.

“O-oh, hi there, Y/N.” Chan had waved a hand and bowed down, but you shakily nodded your head, not bothering to give him any words of acknowledgement as you stumbled into the hall. How is it that you didn’t notice him until half the wedding was over? How could you forget that he was supposed to attend, because he was the bride’s friend alike? 

Was it wrong that part of you still wished that you could be standing next to him, watching him as he introduced you to his friends, calling you “his girlfriend”?

You wondered what the look on Chan’s face would’ve been when you left his greeting hanging in the cold air like that. Was he broken on the inside too? Or did he simply not care? He’d been the one to end it, after all. He looks smart right now — adorning a luxurious black suit, his brownish hair slicked neatly to the side and parted. The delicate silver chain you’d given him on his birthday is oddly still on his neck — you promise yourself to not think about it much, because you know it’ll give you hope — and hope’s a dangerous feeling, at least for you.

When the music starts blaring through the speakers and the couple start dancing together, you sigh, straightening your posture from where you’re leaning against the shot table. Your friend has the prettiest smile plastered onto her face — it comes naturally to her, you figure, seeming as to how she’s married to the love of her life right now. They both seem lost — almost peaceful — as they stare into each other’s eyes. Soon, more and more couples join, until the whole hall is filled with everyone dancing on their heels, twirling and smiling and dancing gracefully. Everyone except you, of course.

You sigh, fixing the hem of your swan-white dress. Way to go for your mood to be ruined — all because you happened to stumble upon your ex boyfriend, and thoughts consumed you as a whole. Was it so wrong of you to wish that you could go back in time and change his decision? You’d moved on from this — you’d told yourself you’d moved on a month ago. You wiped him out of your memory — all the things that reminded you of him — but what if you’d only patched up the wound, not healed it in the slightest? What if the person who held the key to repair your broken heart was held by a person who you’d let go, and by all means, couldn’t reach out now?

So many what if’s. Who would give you those answers? He surely hadn’t, when all he did was just break it out to you over a meeting at the park that he’d fallen out of love with you. 

You never understood what happened. It just started with the less frequent messages and meet ups, the excuse of always being busy, and that slowly morphed into him ignoring you for days, until one day he broke the news and ended it, on good terms. Or at least you thought so.

You sigh again, asking the bartender to lend you one bottle of the drink — which he does without question — before you walk over to the staircase that seems to lead to the terrace. Away from the risk of your eyes landing on him and your thoughts going all over the place again. If only you could walk away from the pit of emotions in your heart the same way. If only.

When you kick the almost rusted door open, the fresh blast of cold air that hits you makes you sigh in relief. You tuck several strands of hair neatly behind your ear, walking to the edge as you glance at the view. Leaning against the concrete, you let the lights coming from the night cityscape blur your vision, along with the faint, distant echoing of horns coming from the roads fill your ears. It’s a distraction, after all.

You pop open the cork of the bottle, letting the fizz bubble down before pressing your lips against the rim. One gulp, two, you then gaze up at the night sky. Rinse and repeat, until the whole bottle is almost finished. You ignore the void in your heart, filling it with the essence of alcohol and ignoring the feelings bubbling in it right now. 

Chan was like a drug — so addicting and so hard to get rid of once you got into the habit of consuming it regularly. You wanted to reach out and hold onto those memories you shared with him — he was the first person where you let your heart do the talking, and all it took was a look at another person to change lanes, leave you alone in the dust of your crushed heart — only to come to the disappointing note that you’d lost those memories forever. They existed merely in a place you couldn’t reach, couldn’t see, but could only recall. It was pure torture to you, but you’d ignored it all for so long, certainly you could ignore it again.

“Need a refill?”

Your head snaps back in the direction of the voice. A familiar, one soothing voice that now brings pain to your heart, now threatens to bring back the wave of emotions you’d kept at bay. 

Your eyes meet the hazel brown orbs, and not diverting from their strong, fierce gaze; you scoff, turning back around to stare off into the distance. 

Chan frowns, tilting his chin as he tries to soothe the burn from your two reactions. He doesn’t back away though, because now he maybe understands what you felt like when it all fell apart, when he wrote your ending with a shaky hand.

He walks front to where you’re leaning against the concrete, silently drinking out of the glass he holds in his hand.

Should I say something? He thinks. He should, right? When you ended it, you did end on peaceful terms, even though your reaction felt like you were more affected by it. Even after three months, he still feels the warmth that flowed through him whenever he looks at you — you who clearly don’t want to speak to him. He feels crazy now, for wanting to let you go. 

You hadn’t even bothered to curse at him that day — just looked at him with eyes that honestly pierced through his soul, and hurt him more than any of your words could’ve. But maybe that was what he deserved, right?

“Why did you come here?” You ask, swirling the almost empty bottle in your hand. Oddly enough, you don’t feel like walking away, feet frozen in position. You’d ended it on good terms, didn’t you? You’d promised to each other you’d be good friends.

“I noticed you were alone.” The man feels himself say.

“Didn’t you bring your girlfriend along? Isn’t she alone right now?” You counter, taking another sip of your drink. Again, the alcohol is having no effect on you. Why did your tolerance have to be so high when you needed it to be low?

“I-” He takes a deep breath, tilting his head to either side to relieve the tension in his neck. “Broke up with her. About three weeks ago.”

You only chuckle. Somehow, your feelings are strong when he’s away, but when the cause is right in front of you, somehow they fail to make an appearance.

“Did you come here so you could win me back?” You ask, straightening up as you avoid Chan’s firm gaze on you, and his face goes gloomier and gloomier with every statement you spew at him. But then again, who could blame you for being angry? You had every right to.

“No.” He shook his head, fixing his position so his shoulders are about an inch away from yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m alright.” You say, softening at the edges at his concerned tone. You don’t know why you’re listening to him and not going back into the hall, but your legs are still frozen in place, something in you, your heart, doesn’t let you move.

Why do you feel like it’s your first time meeting him all over again?

He’s your ex, a part of your life you’re supposed to forget. Instead, you’re here, reminiscing it with the very person who left you in the first place. The situation you’re bound in is so weird — you almost don’t know what to do — but nonetheless, you just stand there, ignoring the slight flutter in your heart — just like the first time again.

“How are you doing?” You give yourself the liberty to ask him that question — just to know how he’s doing. Just another way for you to answer your countless what if’s, another method to try and fill the void in your heart.

Chan sighs, straightening up himself before looking at you. “I missed you.”

At the simple admission, you soften around the edges some more. It was wrong, so wrong that you were giving him to permission to get into your heart again — but what if you never wanted him to leave in the first place? 

Hope — the dangerous feeling — starts resonating through your chest. It’s the tiniest emotion, one you can’t quite sense, but still feel. You can feel yourself grow warm, feel his gaze burn into the side of your face as he awaits a reaction.

“I-I don’t know what to say to that.” You reply, tucking some of your hair behind your ear again, before curling it with your index finger. You don’t look into his eyes yet — you’re not so brave to do so — focusing your bored, almost sad gaze as you count all the lights flashing at you on a skyscraper. Anything to distract you from this feeling.

Chan notices your stare, and sighs again. He’s battling himself too, right now. Should I say it? He thinks.

“I-I’ll be honest and confess to you, okay?” Chan turns to face you properly, while you bite your lip, waiting for his next words. Oddly enough, you feel more nervous now than you felt that day when Chan ended it with you. It’s so weird to feel it all over again.

“I’ve missed you and… I truly regret what I did that day.” He runs his hands through his chocolate brown hair, which seems to look particularly soft today. It reminds you of when you’d casually back hug him when he was working, pecking the back of his neck as you’d comb your fingers through his hair. 

“Chan, no.” You feel your voice crack, the sadness overflowing out of its cup, spreading to all your senses as you close your eyes, letting out a single tear. 

“Y/N…” Chan places his hand on your shoulder. You don’t flinch.

“Y-You l-left me.” You feel your brain cloud over, having no control over yourself as the words start spilling out of your mouth, piercing Chan’s heart bit by bit. “Y-You l-left me when I thought you’d stay… And you left me alone.” You feel his thumb rub against the bare skin of your shoulder, and this time, you stare up, looking straight into his eyes.

“I loved you,” You stammer, inhaling deeply as you take note of Chan’s expression. Surprisingly, he’s crying too. The rims of his eyes are filled with tears, his whole face goes red as he tries not to violently sob. “I love you.” You correct yourself.

“But you left me. You left me when I thought all I had was you and - and, what? Three months later, you tell me you miss me? Is this because your girlfriend broke up with you? You wanna win me back?” You spew, slamming your hand against his chest as you shake in his arms. 

He wordlessly pulls you into his embrace, and you don’t complain — you don’t know if it’s because of your brain being cloudy and your eyes being all itchy from crying, or if it was because you missed his hugs, but you feel yourself clutch onto the material of your shirt as you cry, cry and cry until you feel like your tears don’t remain.

“I’m so sorry…” Is all he can say, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he tries to comfort you.

“I hate you, Chan. I hate you so much.”

Something in him shatters when he hears your words. He wordlessly mouths “Alright.” and doesn’t bother controlling his tears anymore, letting them flow down his cheeks and settle into your hair, not bothering to hold back the sounds of brokenness he makes either.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He pulls away, holding your chin to force your gaze into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, it was so wrong of me. I regret it now, so much.” He curls his lips inwards, and watching him cry is soul-crushing. You should be hating him for leaving you, screaming, crying, but you hate yourself for reaching up to rake through his hair, sliding your hand down to his soft cheek before gently swiping your thumb against it. Wiping off his tears.

“We’ve already forgiven each other, right? It’s okay.” You take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Leaving him behind seems hard enough, but seeing him cry in front of you seems impossible. Are you still in love with him?

“I’m still sorry.” He mutters softly, gazing into your eyes as he takes hold of the hand that rests on his cheek. “I was so horrible to not know that I had you beside me all along, and instead I turned my back at you and left you. It was so wrong of me.” he breaks into tears again, and this time, before you can pull him into a hug, he grabs both your hands in his own. Holding them in between each other. 

Yep, you’re still in love with him.

You look at him, absorbing all his features, and suddenly you’re thrown back to the first time he ever asked you out. It seems all too familiar — all too real. You find yourself holding your breath once again, waiting for what he has to say. He rests his forehead against your grasped hands, sighing brokenly as he speaks up.

“I won’t ask you to accept me again, Y/N.” He says as a matter of fact. He understands that the things that happened may not allow you to let him into your heart again. “I won’t ask you to date me either, because I know what I did isn’t that simple to forgive.”

Chan feels so stupid now. You were there for him all the time, yet he left you for someone else. You were beside him to help him when he felt desolated, but somehow he became a cause for your desolation. It shocks, confuses him and makes him seethe in turmoil.

“But,” he begins, holding his breath. “I still want to try. I wanna try being the person I couldn’t be when I was with you. I-I wanna change and win you back, b-but…”

“But?” You ask mindlessly, totally overwhelmed and dazed out by his honest words, the newfound emotion thrums to your chest. It’s love, for sure. But it isn’t that special kind of love, at least not yet.

“But I wanna do that only if you let me. It’s your choice, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen as you try to grasp his words, noticing how his warm hands holding onto yours still, only grow warmer and tighter. 

“I r-really love you Y/N, a lot. And… well, I know you may not be able to make this decision soon. But please, just give it a thought?”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you look up into his eyes again. They’re red and puffy by now, but they’re still gorgeous, they still remind you of the time you’d gently kiss over his eyelids whenever he cried like that.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head in deep thought, before tucking your bottom lip under your teeth and nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay…?” He asks, hopeful. You can almost feel his nervousness in the way his palms sweat, but you simply smile.

“We won’t date yet.” You said. “But I’ll allow you into my heart one last time. Don’t break it.”

And at your acceptance, Chan beams, feeling more tears roll down his eyes as he pulls you into a hug. This time, you don’t spare any restraint, wrapping your arms around your waist as you press your cheek against his chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Chan keeps mumbling and repeating, to which you only shush him gently, telling him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to thank him.

He still does. You only smile to yourself, and for the first time in three months, you feel somewhat at peace. There’s a long way to go — you have to adapt to this relationship, let your heart join back bit by bit and build each other’s confidence again. But you’re certain you can do it together. This story deserved a happy ending, and you were going to give it one, no matter how hard you’d have to try.

“Hey guys!” You hear someone walk through the door, immediately parting away and clearing your throats. 

“Yes?” The both of you say at the same time, tensing up and then laughing at each other. If Chan’s tears were crushing, Chan’s giggles were truly healing. The way his eyes would scrunch up into the cutest crescents and his dimples would make an appearance always made you want to peck his cheeks. Now wasn’t the time though.

“Dinner’s being served, so Y/F/N told you to come downstairs.” The person at the door says, immediately running downstairs, as if to not interrupt your moment any further.

“Alright.” You laugh, taking Chan’s hands in yours as you intertwine your nimble fingers with his long, slender ones. “Let’s go shall we?” You don’t bother picking up the alcohol bottles, because you’ll be coming back here with your friends later anyways — they can be tended to later.

“Of course,” Chan pulls you along with him, running to the door — both the ones that lead to the diner and the ones that signified your new start.

Curse at me all you want, as long as you let it all out, and we can go back to how we were.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here !

[livsoulsecrets]

This pain wouldn't be for evermore - Luke/Julie fic

Summary: Luke struggles with doubts about where he would go to if he crossed over and Julie navigates those feelings with him after Caleb's curse is defeated.

“— Do you think I would have gone to Heaven if we had crossed over?”

Warnings: Discussion of Death

-

It is a quiet Monday afternoon and all Julie wants is to get her mind off her endless school tests by spending her free time hidden away at the Studio working on some new songs. Luke’s plans seem to be fairly different, considering the amount of attention he is putting on staring at the ceiling with a stern look on his face.

— Julie, can I ask you something? — Luke questions as soon as he realizes she is in the studio. He was sat down on the couch, which wasn’t that uncommon, but his posture was full of tension. She frowned her bow and walked to sit next to him.

— Hum... Good afternoon to you too, but, sure, you can. — Julie answers, mildly concerned by how distressed the boy looks.

— Do you think I would have gone to Heaven if we had crossed over? — Luke’s voice is an octave higher than usual and Julie opens and shuts her mouth while absorbing what she just heard.

She remembered how Luke joked about them maybe ending up in hell during the band meeting before what they thought would be their last show together. Still, Julie had taken that as Luke deflecting from the terrible situation with humor, as he usually did, but it was clear now there was some truth behind his comment. She never thought Luke would be the one to worry about that, after all, this type of concern would fit Alex’s anxious mind or Reggie’s curious thoughts a lot better, but not confident, radiant Luke.

Despite the unlikeness of the situation, Julie could tell his question was sincere, the serious look on his face the same of the day Julie went to see his parents. Her heart breaks with the vision, wishing she could somehow take his pain away, like she did with Caleb’s mark. She can’t do that now, so, instead, she reached for his hand, holding it between hers, hoping to offer some comfort.

— Of course, I think you would be in Heaven if you had crossed over. — She said softly, not understanding how Luke could possibly think otherwise.

— Are you sure? Because I’m not. — He insists, pulling away. Julie blinks, not expecting him to break the contact. He gets up and starts walking around the studio, restless.  

— What makes you think that, Luke? — She asks, hoping his answer will make her understand his behavior.

— I mean- Like I told you, I’m not the easiest person to be around. I’m stubborn and reckless. I don’t think before I do things, which sometimes makes me push people too hard. I ran out on my parents- I broke their hearts. It is not even just that, the way I bailed on you that night, even though it meant a lot to you? How I let myself be distracted by Caleb and didn’t protect the boys against him? I keep messing up... Even when it comes to the people I love.  

Julie is struck by how Luke mentioned herself and the word “love” in the same sentence, but he seems to be too absorbed in his own spiral of concern to notice her shock. She pushes that realization out of her mind to try and help Luke instead.

— Luke, none of those things would be enough to make you not go to Heaven. I didn’t even know you believed in those type of things, to be honest. — He sits back by her side, but his eyes are glassy and distant.

— I don’t. I mean, I don’t think I do, never really gave much thought to this sort of thing, but I guess dying makes you reconsider, well, everything. — Luke admits and she curses herself for not realizing how much this doubt was affecting him before.

— I understand that. Still, I’m sure you would go to Heaven, like, right away! You wouldn’t even need to go through the purgatory stage! — Luke straightened his posture and turned to her, in shock.

— I didn’t know there was a purgatory stage! — He groaned, crossing his arms.  

— I mean, I don’t know it either, it is just what tía says! — Julie added, afraid she was doing more harm than good. — Anyway, it doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t go there. All those things you told me about, they don’t make you a bad person. So what if you are not an “easy” person? Nobody is easy to live with, once you know them enough. You already made up to me a thousand times ever since that night and you know very well that Caleb manipulated all of you into staying there with him. It was not your fault at all.  

Luke still had his arms crossed, as if he was a little kid being told off, but Julie could tell he was paying a lot of attention to her words. Julie contained a small smile as she watched his eyes dart over to her as she spoke.

— I know there is nothing I could say that would make you feel better about your parents, but I can assure you they love you a lot, you saw that already. If there is a Heaven out there, it would understand you were just a teenager trying to follow your dreams. You made some wrong choices and acted on impulse, but your parents made mistakes too. We all do, because we are only human. If messing things up is enough to turn someone into a bad person, then, I guess we are all set to go a long way down.  

Once she finishes talking, Luke is staring at her with wide eyes, turning his jacket’s zipper on his hands, a nervousness to the action that felt unfamiliar coming from the usually laid-back boy.

— Not you, though. — He murmured, quietly. She tilts her head, confused about what he is talking about. Luke seems to notice it because he quickly adds: — I mean... There is no way you would end up anywhere other than Heaven. You are Julie. There is nothing bad about you. — Luke’s voice trembles a bit and he drags his eyes away from her face to stare at the floor.  

Julie doesn’t fight the smile on her face this time.  

— Well, I think there is something bad inside everyone. Still... Thank you for saying that. — Luke nods sharply, still intently not looking at her. — Luke, hey. — She calls, laying a hand on his shoulder, a familiar shiver making its way through the tip of her fingers to the base of her spine, the feeling of touching him still so new... Yet so right. — I meant everything I said. I’m sure Alex and Reggie would agree with me and, if your parents could talk to you, they would say the same.  

Those are the words that finally make him look up at her, allowing Julie to see the tears sprinkling on his eyes, the sharp line of his mouth. She hesitates for a mere moment before opening her arms, offering Luke the spot between them.

His mouth opens slightly and there is a shadow of doubt in his face before he is falling into her. Luke buries his head on her shoulder and her hair is caught under his nose, which she is sure is not the most comfortable position, but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding on strongly to her. She lets him cry on her arms as she squeezes him tightly and pretends not to hear his choked sobs.

Julie knew ghosts didn’t have a scent; still, she liked to think that the soft smell of her mom’s flowers still thriving in the Studio and the sweet touch of wood that her piano emanated were Luke’s signature fragrance. After all, there was no way of parting his smile, broad hand gestures and contagious love for music from the place they met. The place where they cried and laughed together, where they created music and magic and... Something more.  

So, Julie closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine a world where they were just a boy and a girl holding each other, a world where Luke would get to go home to his family and know how loved he was, where Julie’s mom would be waiting for her in the kitchen to hear all about her day and the boy with a sweet smile. They would never get to live in that world, but, for now, it was enough to just pretend.

Once the fantasy was gone, though, they would still have each other and, somehow, that would be enough to get them through their worst days.

[ilikekidsshows]

So, is it just me or is this episode’s lesson totally “easy solutions never last”? Because, Marinette and Adrien got together because Adrien accidentally discovered Marinette’s secret identity, giving him the incentive for him to approach her in their civilian personas, which is the persona Marinette was more receptive in. They got together because of an accident and, with this show’s emphasis on the importance of self-actualization through decision making, of course it wasn’t going to last. In practise, this meant that our main couple got together without first giving any thought to the actual logistics of their relationship, which have to do with how much risk their hero personas bring to their private lives. While I get that Adrien had no reason to think his father would have a motive for tearing his relationship apart, or that Hawk Moth would make his relationship his business, Hawk Moth was still a very real threat. This has to do with the fact that their secret identities protect more than just their loved ones; they’re the actual masks.

The reason our heroes don’t even try to figure out Hawk Moth’s identity is that they have absolutely no leads. The only lead they’ve had was the Miraculous Book, which Gabriel managed to throw them off of. None of the Akuma victims remember anything, or are willing to share, and Hawk Moth almost never leaves his lair. The heroes know almost nothing about him, there’s no angle to approach figuring him out. But the same can be said of the reverse. Hawk Moth sees his enemies through the eyes of his Akuma, but they rarely let anything personal slip when an Akuma can see or hear. Them having a seemingly distant relationship with each other means that Hawk Moth can’t ever try to track down a black-haired girl and blond boy who always hang out. But if they were dating, Hawk Moth would target every brunette+blonde couple in Paris. Of course, ironically, this risks the part time heroes more, since anyone looking too closely might notice Ladybug hunting down specific people right before a certain hero shows up, since she has to give them their Miraculous.

The theme of easy solutions is also in Bunnix’s limitations. She won’t give Ladybug all the answers, because otherwise everything in the timeline would be solved with time travel, which means less growth happens and our heroes might never grow into the competent heroes of the future. Never mind the fact that the timeline seems to actively start to unravel if something threatens a certain sequence of events. However, the downside to being denied access to time travel as an aid is that Ladybug is stuck solving everything herself, which means that, while the solutions aren’t easy, they rely overly much on a single person, which explains why the Paris’ heroes timeline can go off the rails over even a simple thing.

I’ve heard some people say that Gabriel comes across as out of character in this episode, but I have to say: I don’t see it. Back in season two, when he first suspected Adrien, he was still fairly confident that he’d eventually win without doing anything special. However, now we’ve seen him grow more and more desperate to discover the Perfect Akuma to solve everything. And now he knows a Miraculous user makes for the strongest Akuma, and he gets handed a Miraculous user in his own “perfect” son. How is he supposed to resist? Surely Adrien would be glad in the end for the chance to help his father restore his mother? Everything will be fine after Gabriel fixes everything. It’s not like Gabriel is a stranger to apologising for his abuse towards Adrien with some gesture of affection only after he’s seen how hurt Adrien was. He’s never hesitated before doing anything to Adrien before, why would that change just because Adrien is confirmed, for a fact, 100% to be one of his enemies? I mentioned way back with Gorizilla, that we can’t know how far Gabriel would go without seeing him in an extreme situation. This episode showed an extreme situation, where, right after losing an Akuma he’d been preparing for, he gets handed the golden opportunity for an Akumatized Miraculous holder. An Akumatized Cat Noir is much more valuable than an Akumatized Marinette Dupain-Cheng in his eyes.

We could argue that Adrien breaking apart might have appeared too easy in this episode, considering all the shit he gets put through in the main timeline without shedding a single tear over it, but we have to take culminating stress into account. It was obvious that his father had once again ordered for him to be kept locked up inside the mansion, when his beloved Lady comes to break up with him, something clearly wrong and he’s being kept from helping her, and right after that gets solved, he has the bomb of his father keeping his mom in their basement, and being his worst enemy, dropped on him. He isn’t even given time to process all of this new information before the Akuma is in his head, telling him to “obey”. And obeying his father has always been the best, if not only, option before when his father is clearly not about to be reasoned with, so he obeyed.

[sluttbuttsstuff]

LA SQUADRA BACKSTORY HEADCANONS PART 2

Here’s everyone else’s backstory,  part one with Melone and Ghiacchio is here

 https://sluttbuttsstuff.tumblr.com/post/652486890343268352/la-squadra-backstory-headcanons-part-1-ghiacchio

WARNINGS: dark themes, SFW

None of this is Canon of course, just speculation

PROSCUITTO AND PESCI:

I’m combining theirs because they’re so intertwined.

Prosciutto is a few years older than pesci, and they grew up in the same neighborhood.

By the time Prosciutto was in high school, Pesci was in 2-3rd grade, basically

Prosciutto was the younger of two children from an old school mafia family. 

Pesci was the only child of a teen mom, and mostly raised by his grandmother.

To be honest, Prosciutto was kind of annoyed by Pesci when he first met him.  He was a weird looking kid who was annoyingly clingy and kind of a crybaby

Pesci wasn't well liked by the other kids his age, and when they did hang or they usually either teased to poor kid or used him

Prosciutto was liked well enough by his peers, but he spent most of his time with people older than him- his father’s “associates” and new mafioso initiates.

There was one that Prosciutto became particularly close to- his uncle.

He was younger than most of the other mafiosos, and a lot less uptight than Prosciutto’s father.  

He made Prosciutto feel like he was already apart of the gang, trusting him with family secrets, teaching him how to shoot and care for a gun, even bought Prosciutto his first pack of cigarettes

Prosciutto’s uncle made him feel like he was the capable adult and badass gangster he so desperately wanted to be.

Prosciutto’s father, of course, loved his Brother and wanted him to have a good relationship with Prosciutto, but he didn’t approve of his son’s involvement in the family business, at least not so young.

In truth, turns out Prosciutto’s uncle was a scumbag with a lot of gambling debts, and ended up getting himself into a lot of trouble

He was always bad at money, and thought he could get some from his brother, but he refused

Angry, Prosciutto’s uncle killed his brother, Prosciutto’s father, hoping to get some inheritance or at least steal some off of him

Prosciutto happened to hear and see everything, and in a rage, killed his uncle and mentor

Angry and betrayed, Prosciutto decided not to join his family’s gang, but to make a name and life for himself, and ended up settling with passione.

He had a difficult time, struggling to survive and make a name for himself, especially when he first got his stand.

Initially, he thought it was a useless stand; he didn’t see any potential in a stand that just makes someone get older

But then he realized he could disguise himself, age others into dust, and was promoted to hitman

Prosciutto learned a lot from his experience, and realized something very important

He and Pesci, the small boy who lived in his neighborhood, were one and the same

Used by their peers, potential ignored, betrayed by their family- the next time he saw Pesci playing by himself on the street Prosciutto treated him VERY differently

Pesci was surprised but nonetheless happy; his grandmother was nice to him, and his mother worked hard to support him, but he didn’t really have anyone to teach him how to be a man.

Prosciutto didn’t encourage Pesci to become a mafioso, but he never discouraged him either.  He let Pesci decide for himself

Prosciutto tried to be a mentor that was the perfect mix of his father and uncle-strict with high expectations, but also caring and gentle when necessary

Pesci was able to stand up to his bullies thanks to Prosciutto, and Pesci idolized him for helping him so much

So naturally he wanted to be just like his mentor Prosciutto, hence joining Passione

In truth, Pesci is naturally gentle and kind, but at the same time, he knows there are lots of people being bullied and hurt like he was as a child

Its Pesci’s dream to not only live up to Prosciutto’s expectations, but to make sure he’s never weak and taken advantage of again like he was as a child

And also? He's never told anyone, but he secretly dreams of being able to protect and mentor others like Prosciutto did for him

It’s true that he can be cowardly and has issues with self-esteem, but he wants to make prosciutto proud, and I think he could have become a very capable, firm but fair mafioso like he wanted to

ILLUSIO:

Illusio is the oldest of two children from an average middle class Italian family.  

From a young age, Illusio was very aware that both of his parents preferred his younger brother.  

He was smarter, prettier, stronger, more charming etc and His parents didn’t bother hiding their preference

Illusio would work hard to earn their approval, helping around the house with chores and trying his best to do things that would make them happy, but his brother did it better

It aggravated Illusio to no end

To make things worse, his brother noticed the preference as well, and instead of sympathizing with illusio, or even just ignoring his effect, he was very cruel to Illusio

He would complain to his parents that Illusio’s room was bigger, and he would get illusio’s old room.  

Illusio had a girlfriend?  His brother would steal her away, just to spite Illusio.

Obviously, this gave Illusio a GIANT inferiority complex, and he grew to hate his brother more and more everyday

Finally, one day Illusio snapped, it was something insignificant, to this day Illusio can’t remember what it was that set him off

But he ended up strangling his brother to death.  

It wasn’t planned, but he didn’t regret it.  He quickly packed up what few things he had and ran away from home

Illusio hasn’t made any contact with his family, and they haven’t made any with him to this day.  It’s probably better this way

He joined Passione soon after for protection against the law, and manifested Man in the Mirror

Man in the Mirror was obviously influenced with his fears of inadequacy, as well as manifesting a safe space from him from others

He would isolate himself when he was having issues with his family as a child, and that manifested into the mirror world when he received his stand

He’s become obsessed with himself and his self-appearance to overcompensate for his lack of support and care as a child, which is why it’s mirrors

Because he was so often gaslit as a child, he is able to physically control who comes or goes into his “World” as  a means of protection and self preservation

FORMAGGIO:

 Formaggio’s mom was a single parent, trying her best to raise him

She kept trying to find a husband, but she had a bad habit of picking awful dudes

Best case, Formaggio got ignored, worst case, he got hit a few times by his mom’s partner

Eventually, Formaggio’s mom landed a man who was willing to marry her and adopt Formaggio

He was nice enough to his mother, but he really wasn't interested in raising Formaggio at all

It didn’t help Formaggio was a hyperactive annoying child- he couldn’t help it, he was left to raise himself

Formaggio’s stepfather was fairly wealthy, and did regularly spoil him and his mom with presents and money

But he still mistreated  Formaggio- purposefully ignoring him, beating him if he acted up

He and Formaggio fought a lot, and unfortunately Fomaggio’s mom sided with her new husband

She still worked most of the day, and had lost several boyfriends due to Formaggio’s behavior, so she thought that was the case here

Even if she wanted to, she literally couldn’t afford divorce- she needed his money

So Formaggio’s relationship with his stepfather got worse and worse

It wasn’t until Formaggio was a teenager, however, that Formaggio found a solution

He hung around a lot of bad kids,and got involved with Passione.

He found out that his stepfather had pissed off some higher ups in Passione 

He ended up killing his stepfather to gain the favor of the gang, and that was how he got into la squadra

Also, He ended up leaving home, and never actually finished high school

Little Feet is a way for Formaggio to feel the control that he never had as a child, and to put his enemies into the same position he was in for years with his mother and stepfather

Like his mother and father, he still has to deal with monetary issues- he has problems saving money and wants to live it up while he has it.

Just another reason he was so eager to kill the boss and take over Passione

RISOTTO: 

Risotto was the only child of his two parents, who died tragically in a car crash.  Despite just being a baby, he was able to survive with minor injury, but his stand was awakened as a result

He was adopted by His Mother’s sister, and lived with his Aunt uncle and their own child.  

Their family was HEAVILY religious, Roman Catholic of course, and very strict with Risotto and his cousin

His cousin, a few years older than Risotto, was the only one openly warm with him

His Aunt and Uncle were cold and distant, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that Risotto seemed to be “Cursed”

Accidents, though relatively small, followed Risotto like the plague 

Kids who teased Risotto’s bizarre eyes would end up stepping on a nail at the playground

People who yelled at Risotto and his cousin on the street would get unexplained nosebleeds

Risotto’s aunt was starting to believe he was possessed by a demon, or being punished for some unknown sin

They started disciplining him whenever anything bizarre happened, and taking him to church 

They even tried having an exorcist perform on him, but it continued

Risotto’s cousin didn’t believe it though, he knew Risotto wasn’t evil and wouldn’t hurt anyone

Without him, Risotto didn’t have a friend in the world

His eyes were odd, he prematurely greyed, and he grew very tall and large from a young age.  

So he got a lot of weird looks, followed by random accidents and bloody injuries which got worse and worse

It started to become too much for Risotto, and his cousin realized this

He knew he and Risotto had to get away from his parents, so he got a driver’s license, saved up money, and made a plan with Risotto to escape 

On the day they planned to leave, their Parents caught them, and got into a big fight

There was lots of yelling, even some violence, but Risotto and his cousin managed to escape

As they were leaving, Risotto’s aunt called out that they were disowned, and that Risotto was an evil monster

In the car, Risotto’s cousin tried to comfort him, who was visibly upset, but he just couldn’t stay calm.

As if possessed, His cousins arms moved the steering wheel, screaming in pain

Nails and Razor blades were poking out of his skin, and he lost control of the car

They ended up crashing the car, and Risotto’s cousin was dying

Risotto’s cousin looked at Risotto like he never had before: Afraid.

He called him a monster, that he must have really hurt all those other people, and now he had killed him

His cousin died in Risotto’s arms, and Risotto lost everything

He destroyed the car he and his cousin had been in, and everyone assumed he had died in the wreckage

Eventually, his talents were noticed by Passione, and he worked his way up to head Capo of La Squadra Execuzione

Risotto never fully recovered from losing his cousin, and became obsessed with controlling his powers and emotions

As a result, he became a cold and ruthless leader his men respected

However, he can’t help caring for his squad, they’re all he has left at this point

His job, his teammates, they’re all his life consists of at this point.

Why is his stand like that?  Who knows, he was just a child when he manifested it

It wasn’t his choice to have this power, but he’ll make the best of it, for his team’s sake

SORBET AND GELATO: 

Sorbet grew up in a poor family, and spent most of his time on the streets trying to earn a living.  He dropped out of school early to join the workforce as soon as possible, and joined the military to leave his family.

He doesn’t hate his family or anything, they tried their best, but there’s just too many painful memories of starving and helplessness.

He met Gelato in the Military, he came from a long family line of soldiers

Gelato learned from an early age how to fight and defend himself, and had to deal with a lot of toxic masculinity and violent older siblings

Sorbet and Gelato ended up bonding, just friends at first but after a time they figured out their feelings

Tired of Military BS, they decided to desert, and ended up joining Passione

They don’t do a job without the other, and either share a room or their own apartment

They’ve dealt with a lot of discrimination because of their sexuality, but Passione doesn’t judge them for it, even if they don’t pay as much as they should

Besides, killing is their specialty, what else would they do?

[pyroclastic727]

Luz and Amity have the same motives

Anyone who has seen The Owl House knows Luz and Amity’s dynamic. Not so much the fighting one, but the one that Eda refers to as “adorable banter which is literally making [her] sick.” They work together perfectly: two rivals who make peace. How do they do that, though? By finding similarity, mainly in motives.

Both Luz and Amity want to be witches.

However, they pursue this in different ways. Amity goes the traditional route. She enrolls in Hexside at a young age, dedicating her life to witchcraft. This is the only path she knows, and she sees it as a way towards success and (probably) pleasing her parents. Being a witch means proving that she is competent and skilled enough, something she doesn’t believe, as shown by how she points out other people’s incompetence and boasts about her own (this is a thing that insecure people do. I know from experience ^_^).

Luz travels a strange route, which you probably know. I mean, she finds the scrappiest, artificially-aged owl-witch antihero, who hates school and teaches her in a ragtag, reluctant fashion. Most of Luz’s learning is on her own. It’s very much the difference between an art student and someone who draws as a hobby; without pressure, Luz can be thirsty for information. However, information tends to be much harder to access, since a lack of pressure also means a lack of resources. (Thanks a lot, modern school system).

Both Luz and Amity want the other person to stop bullying them.

From Luz’s point of view, Amity starts as a bully, so much so that this YouTube video keeps popping up in my recommended, explaining why Amity is an excellent bully. It seems convincing from this point of view; I mean, their first meeting is comprised of Amity obsessively shaking Luz’s lifeless form. Sure, Luz is making a lot of mistakes and altogether shitting on the rules, but that’s what you do when you come from another world and aren’t even enrolled in the school. And as Luz sees, Amity repeatedly does things to insult Luz, someone she hardly knows. She specifically mentions Luz in her Instagram post, calling out humans as being not invited to her conjuring. It seems like she’s specifically targeting Luz, this person who just stumbled into the world and has had about three interactions with Amity. The other girl has really assumed the worst in Luz, which makes no sense at all, since Luz is, well...Luz. 

Meanwhile, Amity sees Luz as a bully. Remember Amity’s main motive: to become a witch and join the Emperor’s Coven so she can convince herself that she’s competent (which isn’t going to work, but that’s how us top-student types think). Luz has been destroying Amity’s plans. The first thing Luz did was help a student cheat on an assignment that Amity worked hard on, and then take Amity’s gold star, aka her symbol of competence, as a spoil of war. Then she challenges Luz to a duel and cheats on that. Amity has been working all her life to be perfect, and meanwhile Luz goes and cheats and lies and isn’t perfect, and gets what she wants. For Amity to accept that Luz’s actions aren’t bullying would mean to admit that perfection isn’t what Amity wants.

Both Luz and Amity want to enjoy fan content shamelessly.

For Luz, she is openly a fangirl at home. I mean, one of our first lines from her is an admission to making anime edits (what a weeb) and getting sucked into Feminist Harry Potter. She makes art and writes, and I would be surprised if she hasn’t written fanfiction. Yet her mom wants to send her to a camp to stifle her creativity. All the other people at school shun her for having weird interests (you’d think that would be unrealistic at this point). Her original motive for staying on the Boiling Isles was so she could be a creative fangirl in relative peace. Even on the Isles, she continues to be a fangirl, going so far as to cosplay Azura in front of Amity. (Luz is what would happen if Tumblr were a person, I swear).

For Amity, she wants to be a fangirl, too. She stans Azula, going so far as to own the first four books. The difference is, she’s closeted. I’m guessing that her parents put a lot of pressure on her to be perfect (or at least, that they used to). If not that, then there’s the embarrassment her siblings cause her, and her subsequent attempts to make her family name seem respectable. At least there’s a sense of sibling competition, since they’ll always be better than her, as long as they have more experience. All that has culminated in an internalized belief that Amity holds, that she has to be perfect and the top student. Would a top student read stupid books and sink into a fandom? No. A top student spends all her time studying and doing things to make the teachers favor her (wow look it’s my mantra from last year). Beneath Amity’s self-consciousness and low self-worth is the desire to simply enjoy things and be herself. Luz helps her get there, by cosplaying and lending her book. But she still has a long way to go, which probably includes standing up to her parents, and most importantly being vulnerable with herself.

Both Luz and Amity want to be valued.

This is at the base of each girl’s personality. I mean, Luz at home doesn’t seem very valued. Her mom is okay, but she is also willing to send her to a summer camp, and after A Lying Witch and a Warden, they don’t text at all. Her classmates don’t value her. When she comes to the Boiling Isles, part of the reason she’s so happy is because so many people value her: Eda, King, Willow, and Gus. She has a family and friends and is fairly content. Now all she needs is to become a real witch so people will value the part of her that loves magic. 

Amity has it way worse. For the most part, she isn’t really valued. Remember the scene where she’s sitting on her windowsill, staring out the window and brooding as her friends take selfies without her? She doesn’t feel any attachment to her friends, alone in any crowd she’s in. Her siblings, while they love her, are an annoyance to her. They don’t seem to see the real value in her, and if they do, they don’t express it. She would probably cry if one of her siblings said he or she was proud of her. Meanwhile, we don’t see much of her parents (I’m writing this after S1E12, for future viewers). Keeping in mind that Dana Terrace and Alex Hirsch also wrote on Gravity Falls, she probably has the parents that Pacifica Northwest has: a distant, cold nuclear family with high expectations and low tolerance for her. Without any love at home, she seeks some at school. We know that she once valued Willow, but lost her. (My guess is that she pushed Willow away). Her professors give her validation, but judging by how quickly they take it away, it seems more like a toxic dependency than a real relationship. By this point, Amity has spent so much of her life without being valued that when Luz extends kindness to her, she doesn’t even know how to respond.

This sets both girls up to learn from each other. 

Luz is excitable and reckless, and she can pick up some discipline and ambition from Amity. Amity is high-strung and repressed, so she can learn some self-indulgence and emotional freedom from Luz. Usually the best way to learn a lot from a peer and have them learn from you, in fiction, is to form a close bond with them and spend a lot of time together. Fortunately for Lumity, similarity breeds attraction.

[cupcakemolotov]

Road to Ruin

I... have no idea where this came from. But hey, I’ll take almost 2K of story after a drought of words. SFW, character death, probably some angst. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                            -

Caroline had missed the Memorial Service.

Finals at NYU had been brutal, her schedule packed and tangled tightly together after a truly unfair back to back testing schedule. She’d wanted nothing more than to climb into her lumpy dorm bed and sleep for a week, but she’d promised Bonnie she’d try to make it.

She hadn’t.

But that was the fault of May storms and erratic flight schedules, not her personal choice. By the time her mom picked her up in Richmond, five hours late and dragging with exhaustion no number of espresso shots could perk up, it was dark and raining. She’d fallen asleep in the car, dragged herself into the house, and had just enough energy to change before diving into her bed for the sleep she’d been missing for what felt like weeks.

Elena was dead.

The news had come five days before finals, and after sobbing her eyes out on her RA’s shoulder, she’d pulled herself together and buried herself in all night study sessions and endless equations. But the knowledge had lingered, that this friend of hers who had grown so distant the last year, more distant than any amount of school schedules and new friends could allow for when Caroline was a devout texter, was gone. She’d cried in the shower, for the girl who she’d once known and would never know again.

Shifting her weight on the damp grass, Caroline studied the freshly dug grave. The last few years before graduation hadn’t been good for their friendship, High School having been a roller coaster of drama and boys that was expected, she supposed. But if only that had been the only drama, she was certain they wouldn't have grown so far away from each other. There had been that weird mass grave that someone had found that had kept her mom busy for months dealing with the locals and the FBI, the weird way the old boarding house had been repaired seemingly to open up only to remain empty. Those strangers who her mom had not liked who had asked questions about a couple of weird gravestones in the museum. That series of petty thefts that had kept her mom even busier than the mass grave and its collection of weird historians and FBI investigations, that had finally culminated in some family heirlooms being stolen from the Lockwoods.

Tyler had bitched for months about it. Weirdly, it had been those complaints that had been the deciding factor that had her breaking up with him. Yeah, the sex had been good, but a girl did not need pillow talk about family heirlooms and how upset his mom had been. Any boyfriend worth their salt (and teenage hormones) should have been far too distracted by her being naked right there, not their moms.

She shuddered a little, thinking about it.

The second half of their junior year had been a mess, and been made worse when Aunt Jenna had died. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the bouquet she was holding, thinking of all the deaths that had accumulated that year. Aunt Jenna. Her Dad. Carol Lockwood. How terrified she had been that her mom would end up next, logical or not.

Then there had been the way Elena had gone all weirdly obsessed with finding her biological parents, the way it had driven her as if it was something outside of herself she couldn't control. Caroline studied the tops of the flowers she held in her hand, wondering if not for the first time if she could have done something different. Been a better friend, helped Elena in some way. Those long weeks that first Christmas when Elena had decided to spend it alone, how she had refused to answer a single text message until she’d shown back up at school, dark circles under eyes like an underfed anemic.

She’d been… different, after that. Less boy crazy and more… mature. And that summer, she’d gone to meet a family claiming to be hers. And when she’d come home, she’d been so happy. Bouncing, sparkling happy. Cousins, she’d said. Brother’s and a sister who said that her mother had been theirs and they’d been looking for her.

Family.

That was what Caroline wanted to remember her. The girl who sat with her for hours after Bill died, both of them quiet, legs tangled on Caroline’s bed. The girl who liked board games and pink lipstick and who had terrible taste in shoes. Her friend. Not the girl from their Senior year who had slowly become something else entirely. Pale and wane, short tempered and then so, so quiet. The girl whose new family moved into Mansion at the edge of town that had been empty for decades, who paid for an expensive car and clothes and who never came to a single game to watch her cheer.

Letting out a slow breath, she set the flowers she’d brought down on the grave and chewed on her lower lip. People usually said things at graves, didn’t they? But she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Not at her Dad’s grave, and not here, standing over the bones of her friend. She’d brought daisy’s because Elena liked them, and she briefly closed her eyes, hoping that Elena knew she was here, that she missed her, and that even if she reached the old age of one hundred, she’d remember the night she and Elena and Bonnie had laughed until they cried over the most ridiculous of conversations, until they’d had to scramble to pretend they’d been sleeping when her mom came home at dawn after her shift.

That would be the Elena she’d take with her.

Swallowing hard, she turned on one heel and jerked to a stop, heart slamming into her throat as she found a man she didn’t recognize lingering far too close to her. He was only a few inches taller than her, but something about the utter stillness of his posture, the way she hadn’t heard him walk up behind her, her usual excellent sense of people taught by her mother and perfected in the subway system having failed to ping at her, left her breathless with surprise. For a moment, Caroline struggled to get her pulse under control before narrowing her eyes. “Excuse you, creepy much? Most people have the decency not to loom in graveyards.”

A sudden hint of a smile played across a distractingly full mouth, and he reached up and pushed his sunglasses up into his rumpled curls, something about the way he was looking at her sending the faintest hint of alarm down her spine. “Spend a lot of time in graveyards?”

“That is none of your business,” Caroline said, letting her voice frost over in disapproval.

“Apologies, love.” He said, body shifting from that hair raising awareness to a soft charm she might have liked if she hadn’t seen him looking at her like she was a particularly interesting bug. “I didn't recall seeing you at the funeral, and I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

Something about him, the way his eyes never left hers, put her back up. She hadn’t spent the last two years in New York City to let some weirdo stranger intimidate her now. “I don’t recognize you at all,” she said primly. “So that means you were fairly new to Elena’s life. Do you make a habit of memorizing faces at funerals? That seems like the sort of thing that would alarm a psychologist.”

The curve of his mouth deepened, and to her despair, he had dimples. “You must be Caroline Forbes. Ms. Bennett was disappointed that you missed the service.”

Caroline shrugged, stubbornly holding his gaze though it was starting to bother her that he didn’t blink. “May storms are a bitch. And neither Bonnie nor Elena mentioned anyone who would match your description.”

He looked intrigued. “Do you usually ask for physical descriptions of their acquaintances?”

“And pictures of their drivers licenses,” she retorted. “So that if they go missing, I know where to direct my mother to find them, but you're definitely not either of their types, and since you think you have some claim on Elena, that must mean you belong to the Mikaelson family. Which one are you?”

She didn't do much to hide what she thought of his family, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Smart,” he murmured. “I’m Klaus.” And then he offered her his hand, something like a challenge lingering at the back of his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caroline.”

It was a dare. And she was terrible at turning those down, even as her instincts warned her that there was something about this man she wasn’t seeing. But she was also standing twenty feet away from a number of her own dead relatives, and Grandma Forbes would haunt her forever if she was rude to this man in front of her. Baring her teeth in something like a smile, she took his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Laughter had lit his eyes a half moment before their skin touched, and something she couldn’t describe rolled down her spine. More sensation than feeling, she felt it down to her feet, and it left her pulse pounding. She pulled her hand back, too quick to be polite, but she didn’t care as she stared at the man who had gone still and so quietly dangerous, she was debating reaching for the pepper stray attached to her keys.

She could probably get it out and in his face before he lunged.

Maybe.

Klaus’ fingers had curled into his palm, as if he too had felt whatever that had been, and the blue of his eyes were doing something strange, and Caroline became intensely aware of everything around them. The buzz of summer insects, the shape of his stupidly plush mouth, the smell of fresh turned dirt. It was the near silent buzz of an incoming text that broke the staring contest between them. Senses hyper-alert, she pulled her phone out of her purse and saw that she had two missed calls from Bonnie. Glancing up from her lashes to find that Klaus hadn’t looked away, so she pasted on her best false smile and shrugged.

“Well, Klaus, I’m sure this is where I should say something polite about seeing you around, but that seems super unlikely,” Caroline said with a false shrug of disappointment. “So, I’ll just say bye instead.”

A lowering of his lashes, something behind his eyes that burned her skin. “Hmm, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? The family has decided to stick around a bit longer, give ourselves time to mourn. You may be surprised how much you’ll see us.”

Caroline snorted and stepped around him. “History of your family’s willingness to grace the town with your presence says otherwise.” But because her grandma had raised her right, and was probably seriously judging her only granddaughter from the plot just a few feet away, she smiled and waved, just like her pageant days had taught her. And only when she was almost to her car, did she relax enough to look at her text.

And felt her heart drop to her toes.

I don’t think Elena is dead.

Brows tucking tightly together, she went through the motions of unlocking the car door, glancing back towards the man lingering in the graveyard. Klaus hadn't moved, except to slid his hands into his pockets and to turn to watch her. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers, the heat and calluses of him, the shock of him down her spine. For a moment, she tried to remember what Elena had told her about her biological family, the people who went through all the right motions but never showed her friend the care she deserved. The brother’s who had been so considerate, and offered her anything money could buy but not a single ounce of affection. Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Let him think what he wanted. She was fairly certain she’d never see him again. Klaus, who stood in graveyards in pressed slacks and rosaries around his throat. Something was going on there, and the last thing she needed was for him to turn out to be some kind of serial killer.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and set her teeth, only then allowing herself to really absorb what Bonnie had sent her. Not dead? What was Bonnie thinking? And if she was right, why would the Mikaelson’s lie?

Why bury Elena, fake or otherwise, with the ghosts if she wasn’t really dead?

[a-writes3]

In this together Part Two

Leah Rilke x Reader

“I can’t believe you actually convinced my parents to let me go.” I tell Leah. We are currently laying in her bed talking about the trip we were about to go on.

“All I had to do was explain that it would help you stop “acting out” and the fact that I would be there was a plus.”

Before we could say anything else Leah’s mom comes in telling us that we’re about to leave for the airport.

To be quite honest I was nervous for the flight. But Leah being there helped a lot. I’m fairly sure that she’s the love of my life I’ve never loved anyone as much as her.

We had gotten onto the plane and sat in our seats which were right next to each other. All we did for the first few minutes was lay against each other and make small conversation. That was until a southern blonde separated us to force us to socialize with the others on the bus. I ended up being paired with Fatin, the stuck up rich girl from my school. 

“So what are you doing here?” I asked her.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She answered with snark

“Hm. And here I thought we were friends.”

“I tolerate you which is a big deal. Doesn’t happen to many people.”

“Well I’m honored.”

“So you and Leah? How’s that going?”

“Pretty good. We’re happy.”

Suddenly the plane starts shaking violently, I quickly get up and starting running to Leah but before I can I pass out and have no memory until I wake up on a beach. When I then hear Leah’s voice coming from the ocean.

“Y/N/!?! ANYONE???!!”

Everyone on the beach starts running towards the water. Leah had a girl with her who seemed to be unconscious. Everyone ran to the girl except me who ran to Leah who was laying on the ground clearly exhausted.

“Leah are you okay?”

“I mean as okay as I can be.”

“Who here knows cpr?” One girl yells. Everyone on the island raises their hand. Quite a coincidence.

A few hours pass and everyone is trying to process the events that had happened. Me and Leah are sitting in a comfortable silence until I speak up.

“How are you doing?”

“Well, we’re stuck on an island so not great.”

“Right, Well at least we’re together.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the only good part.”

“In this together, Right?”

She smiles, “Right.”

A few days had passed and Leah had become increasingly paranoid and very obviously distant from me and it was showing. Which was pretty hurtful. One day we all got roped into a shelter building competition. Coincidentally me and Leah were on the same team. At some point Leah and Fatin had began arguing due to Fatin’s lack of participation. I wasn’t really paying attention to the argument until Fatin said my name.

“Oh and Y/N? Did you know that she still reads her 30 year old exes book every night after you go to sleep?”

Leah looks warily my way to see my reaction. “Fatin...” She says as if it’s a warning.

“What? You don’t want her to know the truth? That you’re still hung up on him and you’re just trying to distract yourself. Because that’s not fair don’t you think?”

Before I knew it Fatin was on the ground with a bloody leg and Leah was walking towards the ocean. Going against my heart I went to Fatin with some bandages we had to help patch her up. I helped her out in silence until she started to apologize. 

“I’m sorry for putting your dirty laundry out there. I shouldn’t have roped you in.”

“It’s all good. I mean I knew something was going on. She’s been distant lately. Even before coming here. It’s not surprising just kind of hurtful.”

“You really love her, huh?”

“Yeah, more than anything but that’s obviously not enough.” I say as I finish cleaning up Fatin’s leg and she gives me a sad smile. When I get to be by myself Leah walks up to me.

“Can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about? it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.”

“It’s not what you think I promise.”

“You still love him. Jeff. I know that. Even before what Fatin said.”

“I love you.”

“You love the memory of him more than the now of us.”

“No- that’s-”

“It’s hurts because it’s true. I love you more than anything in the entire world and it’s obvious that you don’t feel the same.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it though? Leah I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore.”

“Y/N.. What are you saying?” She whispers close to tears.

“I’m saying that whatever is going on her between us is over. At least until you can figure out your feelings.”

“No, please just give me another chance. I can do better. I promise.”

“Leah I’m not gonna put myself through the hurt.” I start to walk away close to tears. 

“So much for being in this together huh?” Leah says loudly but I ignore her and just walk into the woods. As soon as I get into the woods I sit against a tree and break down in tears almost regretting letting go of the love of my life. Maybe she’ll come to terms with her feelings before the heartbreak gets too much.

[3pirouette]

Fic: Virtual Insanity: Career Opportunities (1/1)

Title: Virtual Insanity: Career Opportunities By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: It’s career day on Mr. Roger’s Zoom class, and Peggy needs to come up with something, quick. Sequel to Virtual Insanity.

Chapter A/N: I needed to write something fluffy and I’ve been DYING to find a way to get back to this little universe. This satisfies the “Sharon Carter” square for my Steggy Bingo. (We’re not talking about FATWS/CAATWS right now. I can’t. I just can’t.)

~*~

Don’t be mad at me.

The text itself was fairly innocuous, but her brain started to race, anyway. Peggy’s fingers flew over the keyboard, texting back: Is there a reason I should be?

She stared at the phone screen, waiting while the three little dots that meant he was typing appeared and disappeared twice over. Now she was worried.

“Aunt Peggy?” Sharon’s voice carried through her small apartment.

Peggy hummed a question in her closed mouth as the girl took off her headphones and bounded towards her, but the phone vibrated in her hands and pulled her attention back.

The Principal decided to observe me today instead of Thursday. Said he wanted to see a more interactive lesson plan, so I had to switch things up on short notice. I swear I was going to give you a heads up.

Before she could ask him anything else, Sharon sat herself next to Peggy at the tiny kitchen table, her notebook and pencil in hand. “Mr. Rogers gave us an assignment and I have thirty minutes to do it before I have to go back to my class and talk to them about it.”

Peggy smiled tight, the girl missing the tension in her sigh. “Oh? And what is the assignment?”

Sharon smiled. “I need to ask you questions about what you do for work.”

Peggy nodded, her mind racing as she tried to come up with what she was going to tell her niece. Not sure how you’ll do with the principal, she texted Steve, but that promotion to boyfriend you were looking for might be in serious jeopardy.

She waited a second then sent him a winking emoji, just to lighten up the mood. Having gotten to know Steve as well as she had over the last few weeks, she knew he might think her serious.

“Alright,” Peggy turned and faced Sharon, “how can I help?”

Sharon smiled and wiggled herself around in the chair, picking up her pencil before turning seriously to Peggy. “What do you do for a job?”

The honest answer would have been that she was making an obscene amount of money online by bouncing around her house doing chores in lingerie. That was not, however, the answer she could give to Sharon. “Well,” she bit the corner of her thumbnail and turned her phone over, not wanting to read the text that had just popped up from Steve, “I used to work for a company that helped other companies…” Peggy sighed, she wasn’t sure how to explain corporate espionage to Sharon, either.

Sharon looked up. “What did you do there? How did you help other companies?”

Peggy tapped her nails on the counter nervously, trying to come up with a good example. “Well, the company I worked for helped businesses keep secrets. For instance, you know how that chicken you like always says there are eleven secret herbs and spices?”

Sharon nodded. “Kentucky Fried Chicken!”

Peggy laughed a little. “Yes, well, those eleven are a secret for a reason. It’s what makes the chicken taste good to you.” Peggy leaned in dramatically and Sharon’s eyes widened. “But if everyone knew the secret, anyone who wanted to could make their chicken taste like that, and then that man with the silly bowtie—”

“Colonel Sanders,” Sharon interjected as she made some notes.

“Yes, he would have a hard time making money from the recipe he developed because it wasn’t a secret anymore. I helped other companies keep their secrets.” Peggy smiled to herself as the girl wrote furiously, satisfied. She wasn’t sure if she’d managed to make her job understandable to an 8-year-old, but it was close enough for now.

Sharon stared at her seriously. “And did you get to know the secrets or do you just have to stop other people from finding out?”

“Sometimes I got to know them, but most of the time I just had to help hide them, or help the company have enough security.”

Peggy’s stress melted away as Sharon asked her question after question and she was able to answer honestly, if not a little vaguely, for the next fifteen minutes. When she ran out of questions, Peggy cut her up an apple and put that and a spoonful of peanut butter on a plate for her at the table, where she waited for her class to start again with her snack.

Finally, she picked up her phone again.

I am so, so sorry. Really, I am. It was planned for Friday. I was going to tell you on Facetime tomorrow. I’ll have her go last. Billy Ryan can TALK. I’ll just let that kid go and maybe we’ll run out of time. Principal Clark won’t know the difference.

Peggy smiled, letting her fingers fly over the keyboard. Did you not see the ;)? It’s fine, and I’m not upset. Good luck on your evaluation and call me when it’s over. She paused for a second, watching Sharon put on her headphones and knowing her texts wouldn’t get an answer until their next break.

Peggy pulled out her own laptop and reviewed her e-mails. She was, in point of fact, looking for a new job. While the Only Fans was a surprising source of a lot of income, she was missing the excitement of her old field. There still weren’t many jobs to go around, but she found new ones each day and applied. Talking to Sharon, however coded, made her miss the day to day of corporate espionage: finding new ways to secure and protect trade secrets, while simultaneously trying to extract others. It had been challenging and thrilling work, and she missed it. While there was something to be said for the ease of her newest endeavors, it wasn’t the challenge she wanted or needed.

She smiled over the edge of her laptop as Sharon asked a question about dogs. Seemed a parent was a trainer or a vet of some sort. She could just barely see the screen from where she was, the Brady Bunch like squares filled with smiling little faces as they talked and asked questions. Steve was sitting in his own square in the upper right corner, smiling away as he listened intently and there was a fairly neutral man in the bottom left she assumed was Mr. Clark. She’d heard a bit about the administrator, but not enough to have an opinion on the man.

She posted her resume on a job-hunting site and crossed her fingers yet again. Six months of getting dressed up for a camera was enough for her. She wanted more.

More from a job, and more from Steve.  

They’d been talking nearly every night, facetiming, too, and had met just once, socially distanced, in the park in the fall for lunch. His mother, who lived in the apartment next to him and that he took care of, was considered high risk. He’d been apologetic, but careful about how and when he went out, and it was something she appreciated about him. She’d asked him, quite seriously, to be her steady significant other, but he’d flat out refused until he could take her out on a proper date. It was a conversation that had both made her fall a little more in love with him and completely frustrated her at the same time.

He was getting his second dose of the vaccine next week, and she was scheduled for a week after that. She already knew exactly which dress she was going to wear when that fourteen-day waiting period was up.

It was red and tight and screamed anything but staying socially distant.

She was daydreaming, one she had often, about pushing him back on that desk of his and straddling him, her dress riding up her thighs as his hands followed, kissing him and laying him down and taking him right there, when Sharon’s voice rang out loudly in the room.

“Ok. So, my Mom and Dad are at work, but I do school with my Aunt Peggy so I asked her the questions.” Peggy looked down at her watch. They had only ten minutes left in the morning session before lunch, but apparently that was enough for one more kid. Stupid Billy Ryan. Peggy closed her email and moved her laptop, listening. “So, my Aunt Peggy lost her job, which is why she can watch me, but before that she had a job she was really good at and she really liked. She worked for a company that I’m not allowed to tell you the name of, but for her job…”

Sharon took a deep breath and leaned into the screen. “For her job, she protects the recipe for KFC chicken.”

Peggy’s head fell in her hands as she heard the gasps of excitement from the kids. She couldn’t believe, after twenty minutes of questions, that was what the girl had understood.

“Sometimes, she protects the chickens. And sometimes, she tries to get the recipes from other places. She didn’t tell me exactly, but I think I guessed it and she just couldn’t say.”

~*~

Peggy laid back against the pillows, wine in hand, waiting for Steve to pick up his facetime. She’d just finished a short online session. Her heart hadn’t been in it, but she’d needed something to do while Steve was finishing his review with the principal after Sharon had been picked up.

His face popped on the screen and he wasted no time, slyly smiling. “So, you protect the KFC recipe?” She just shook her head, but he laughed. “I mean, I gave you a solid five minutes, you couldn’t come up with anything better?”

Peggy laughed loudly at that, leaning back into the pillows. “I swear, I did not tell that child I protected the KFC recipe.”

Steve lifted his phone and moved around his apartment, pulling a beer out of the fridge and sitting heavily on his couch before he set his phone on the table. “So, what did you tell her, exactly?”

“The truth!” Peggy sat up, pulling her robe tight around her. “I mean, how do you describe corporate espionage to an eight-year-old?”

“Corporate espionage?” Steve almost choked on his mouthful of beer. He sat up, eyes still wide with surprise. “You went from corporate espionage to an Only Fans?”

Peggy shrugged. “I wasn’t in IT. When everyone started working from home the demand was in IT because they had to lock down computer systems and access codes.” She sat up and took a long drink of her wine. “Quite frankly it was a move that was coming, anyway. More and more information is just digital.”

“So, uh,” Steve’s fingers played with the label on his bottle, “So you did what, exactly?”

Peggy bit her bottom lip and bent towards the camera. “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” she purred out.

Steve feigned getting hit, grabbing his chest and falling back. “Ouch, Aunt Peggy.”

She hummed at him, humoring his silliness while she played with her glass. She sighed. “I think my favorite part was where she literally told the children I protect the chickens. As if I were a farmer out there with a pitch fork keeping coyotes away!”

Steve started laughing far harder than was necessary. “Oh, I am getting the best mental image.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and laid back in the bed. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I’m thinking…” He smiled, took a deep breath and leaned back, his eyes sparkling. Little Daisy Duke short shorts, maybe a tied up plaid shirt, some dirty cowboy boots…” Steve drifted off closing his eyes, his smile growing wider.

Peggy laughed. “Oh really? Should I put my hair in pigtails, too?”

His head popped up, a guilty look crossing his features. “Well, I mean…”

She bit her lip at his stammering. “Your image of me protecting chickens and my image of me protecting chickens are vastly different images.”

Steve could only shrug.

~*~

The link that she texted him wasn’t familiar, but he trusted her by now. He clicked it, ready for anything.

When the video connected his jaw dropped.  

Peggy, in her shortest jean shorts and a tied up red gingham shirt he was sure was so small it must have been a handkerchief in a previous life, was standing in front of a green screened video of chickens in a chicken coop.

She smiled widely at him, putting on her best American accent. “Howdy, Partner!”

He laughed so hard he dropped his phone.

[greenandribbonred]

evermore | s. stilinski

chapter ii: in threes

summary: crows, a tattoo & a new threat

word count: 3,7k

warnings: dead animals (ya know, the crow scene) / burns

a/n: big thank you to everyone that has read and taken the time to like and reblog the last chapter! honestly, it means the world, even if it’s such a small gesture. also, I wanted to point out that since Sadie is still figuring things out, she’s a little bit in spectator mode for the moment and that’s why a lot of the chapter is just her thoughts and reactions. promise you’ll get more character interactions soon. thank you for reading and let me know what you think x

series masterlist

“I can’t believe you’re making me go to school,” Sadie complained for the eleventh time that day as she walked into the unfamiliar building, flanked by both Scott and Stiles.

She had protested about it when the boys had dragged her out of bed that same morning, made a fuss about it as she drank her orange juice a little after, and whined the whole car ride from Scott’s house - now also her temporary residency- all the way to school while Stiles tried to talk her into it and reassured her everything would be fine.

“Especially after telling me I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles shushed her with his eyes wide like saucers, a hand over her mouth and an overly dramatic expression of sheer terror plastered on his face. “Sadie, what have we talked about?”

“Sorry,” she threw her arms up in defense. “I’m still processing.”

It had been over a week since Scott had sat her down at the kitchen table and carefully explained to her what had actually happened when she had been attacked and what that bite was going to entail. She had been confused, to say the least, at what was going on and it had taken her a few hours of contemplation on her own before she was brave enough to go back downstairs and face the reality.

Turns out, - and this was just Deaton’s best guess - the full moon had affected her very strongly and very quickly after she was bitten, and she had wandered through the woods like a lost soul for two whole days, even in broad daylight, until she was able to break out of the haze, ending up in Beacon Hills to be found by Scott and Stiles.

Finding out Scott was also a werewolf was possibly the best news she had ever received - though she guessed it was easy to find anything to be a silver lining after discovering her new condition.

He had assured her that she wasn’t going to go through this new chapter of her life on her own and that they would be there for her every step of the way - that she was part of their small and abnormal pack now and they were going to take care of each other. She cried for an hour straight, not really sure if out of relief because of his words or terror for what had happened to her.

Scott had been nothing but supporting since the moment they had found her in the middle of the road, and she thanked the stars every night since then that it had been him who had stumbled upon her that night and not some other person.

For the very first time in a long time Sadie felt like her luck might have been changing - which could perfectly be the understatement of the century since she had just turned into a furry beast with claws and fangs and glowing eyes.

Everyone had been so helpful and welcoming to her and she didn’t know how to feel about it. She was extremely grateful, of course, but she wasn’t used to it, and she was unsure about what the appropriate reaction to it should be.

Scott had talked to his mother, who had kindly agreed to let her stay at their house for as long as she needed; Stiles had given her his old phone, so she could get in contact with them at any moment in case anything happened, and had managed to sign her up at school extremely last minute, which she appreciated, as much as she had complained about it.

Deaton, who she had found out was Scott’s boss, had helped her make sense of her new condition and had offered his help for anything she needed, whenever she needed; Lydia, who Stiles had introduced to her as another supernatural creature which they were still trying to figure out, had been so excited to take her out to buy some clothes, which she had also paid for.

Everyone had been so nice to her, and Sadie wasn’t used to people caring so much - not since her father’s death, at least.

“Besides, how did you even get me signed for this? Isn’t there like a ton of paperwork you have to fill out-”

“You don’t wanna know.” Stiles shook his head, pursing his lips and staring at her absentmindedly like he was recalling something. “Don’t worry your little head about it. Now,” He clapped loudly, slamming his locker door and making both Scott and Sadie jump. “Let’s just focus on going to class, do normal teenager things, don’t think about any of the stuff that starts with a ‘W’ or an ‘A’” He said, peering at Scott, who only stood there awkwardly.

“Anyway,” Stiles went on, dragging them both to their first lecture of the day - english.

The three of them entered the classroom, the boys sitting down next to each other. Sadie looked around as more students settled in their seats, panic slowly coursing through her as some eyes started falling on her.

They’re not looking at you, Sadie, you’re fine.

But they were - they obviously were. She began to feel nervous as the reality settled in. She was actually in school.

Sadie had never liked school - or the teachers, or the classmates, or anything that had to do with it, really. It had always felt more like a prison to her, instead of the safe haven that all the social workers had tried to convince her it was. School was supposed to be very important for foster kids, something that could give them stability and so very needed friendships and social connections, but it had never felt right to her.

Socializing or making friends wasn’t her forte, and neither was studying, so she always felt out of place and on edge. Leaving foster care had meant she didn’t have to go to school anymore, - that being one of the reasons she had left early - but there she was, once again.

“Sadie,” Stiles called out, grabbing her hand from where he was sitting. With a comforting squeeze and a reassuring smile, he guided her to the empty seat to his left.

Sadie smiled back at him, nodding her head and sitting down as she mouthed a ‘thank you’ that she had meant to actually say out loud, but had instead got stuck in her throat.

She settled down and opened her books, watching the painfully awkward exchange Scott was having with his ex-girlfriend, Allison, and she couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle from the second hand embarrassment, already feeling so much better now that she knew she wasn’t the only one going through it at the moment.

Scott glanced her way from his seat with a dumbfounded expression. Stiles gave him a sarcastic thumbs up accompanied with a silly grin, and she chuckled again, this time a little louder.

Scott had told her about Allison and their short lived love story, and it genuinely saddened her that so many things had come between them to the point where it was best if they weren’t together anymore. They were just teenagers. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be basically forced to stay away from your first love when there’s clearly something still between them.

Suddenly, all phones in the classroom started buzzing and ringing, including Sadie’s. She reached into her back pocket for it, surprised since the only people that would message her were all sitting down right next to her. She unlocked the device to find it was a message by an unknown number.

“The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway, leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.” A young woman that appeared to be in her late twenties walked into the class, all eyes fixed on her with bewildered expressions as she quoted the message that had been sent to all of them.

“This is the last line to the first book we are going to read.” She spoke. “It is also the last text you will receive in this class.” She continued with a smug expression. “Phones off, everyone.”

That was one way of making a first impression to your new students.

Sadie wasn’t sure if she liked her for her unusual and original introduction to the class, or if it felt a little too pretentious and stalkerish given she had managed to get a hold of everyone’s phone numbers. It was kind of strange, in her opinion.

• • •

Thankfully, Sadie was good at English. She liked that a lot of it was subjective and left to the reader’s interpretation, opposed to the strict logic of mathematics or the confusing physics. She enjoyed English, and it made sense to her.

Ms. Blake had assigned them some exercises to complete in class, and Sadie had managed to stay focused on them until a voice disturbed her peace.

“Mr. McCall,” Ms. Blake called out.

Scott looked up at her with a confused expression as she gestured for him to get up with an overly kind smile. He picked up his things and followed her out of the classroom.

“Where’s he going?” Sadie whispered, leaning into Stiles’ side.

“I don’t know, can you hear anything?” He said, leaning in too and pointing at his ear so she would understand what type of hearing he was referring to.

Sadie didn’t quite yet know how to put her newfound supernatural abilities to use, but she had gotten the hang of the enhanced hearing fairly quickly.

Trying to focus under the expectant stare of Stiles, she managed to catch what they were saying, though it still sounded a little muffled and distant, not being able to completely isolate their voices from everyone else’s in the school. She still had to practice.

“His mom called, she needs him for something. Do you think it’s something-” she paused, implying she was referring to the supernatural.

“Could be,” he answered. “Let’s not worry yet, okay?” he said when he saw her concerned expression.

Sadie had only known Scott and Stiles for a few days, but she already felt very protective over them. They had been the ones to save her that night and she felt like she was in debt to them in some way, even if they had insisted multiple times - every single time she had thanked them, actually, and it had been many times already - that she didn’t owe them anything and she was a part of their bizarre little family now.

Getting close to people had always been very difficult for her. When she left foster care she wasn’t emotionally prepared to be thrown into a situation like this - creating new bonds and friendships she wasn’t used to and having to trust unconditionally. It had never been her intention to get close to anybody new, afraid of what could happen if she did, and yet there she was. Caring about people.

It’s not that she was cold or a hard egg to crack that simply didn’t care for meaningful relationships with other people. She was the complete opposite, actually: way too sensitive sometimes, extremely caring and warm; compassionate, kind and overall a sweetheart with a heart of gold that had been broken way too many times for her young age. It was just hard for her to show all of these things sometimes. She couldn’t afford losing anyone else, so she mostly kept to herself.

Stiles had told her to not worry - at least not yet - so she tried to distract herself and focus solely on the exercises Ms. Blake had assigned them. She found it extremely hard though with Stiles’ loud whispering to Lydia, who was sitting right in front of her.

“Has it ever bitten you before?”

Lydia shook her head to his question, visibly annoyed at him. Sadie could already see the wheels turning in Stiles’ head, putting two and two together like she had seen him do multiple times already in the few days they had known each other. He was a clever guy that saw things clearly where others didn’t. She really admired him for that.

“Okay, what if it’s, like, the same thing as the deer? You know, like, how animals start acting weird right before an earthquake or something?”

She was about to ask what he meant with the deer, but refrained from doing so when she saw the look Ms. Blake was giving them for speaking. She didn’t want to be told off on her first day of school.

“Meaning what? There’s gonna be an earthquake?” Lydia was clearly done with him and all she wanted was to get back to her exercises.

“Or something, I just-” he insisted. “Maybe it means something’s coming. Something bad.”

Sadie didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“It was a deer and a dog. What’s that thing you say about threes? Once, twice,” Something slamming hard against the glass window behind Lydia interrupted her, leaving a gruesome patch of blood and black feathers behind.

“Oh, god,” Sadie jumped back from the window in shock, pushing herself back on her chair towards Stiles.

Everyone in the classroom stood still in confusion at what had happened, staring at the window the poor bird had crashed against. All of a sudden, the sound of birds shrieking could be heard clearly. All eyes fixed on the windows, they saw what almost seemed like a hundred crows approaching the school, as if flying away from something.

“Stiles,” she stuttered, their eyes quickly meeting in panic before darting back towards the birds.

“Get down!”

One after the other, the crows flew right into the windows of the classroom, and the glass gave in, shattering as more and more of the birds crashed against it. Pure instinct coming over her, Sadie reached forward towards Lydia, crouching down and covering her with her own body. She felt someone doing the same to her, their chest pressed tightly against her back and their arms wrapping around both her and Lydia.

After what felt like minutes of terrified screams and sheer panic, it was over. Sadie locked eyes with Stiles when he unwrapped his arms from around her.

“You okay?” He asked as he helped her and Lydia up, looking around the devastated classroom. The tables had been pushed around and there were black feathers and dead birds laying down everywhere.

Sadie chuckled at his question, trying to ease the tension and the adrenaline still rushing through her veins. She had to laugh at something or she would start crying.

“School is great.”

• • •

“Yeah, I see it. It’s two bands, right?” said Derek, flashing his glowing red eyes towards Scott’s arm.

Scott hummed in agreement.

Derek, who Sadie was finally meeting for the first time after hearing countless tales of him, came off to her as a much nicer guy than Stiles had described him to be. A bit dry and brooding, yes, but nothing she couldn’t get behind.

“What does it mean?”

Sadie and Stiles had left school right after the accident with the birds, too shaken up to go on with the rest of their lectures. Stiles had told her about the terrified deer that had run into Lydia’s car the day before and why he believed they had a reason to be worried about it after what had happened at english class. She trusted his instincts and if he was sure something was going on, then she believed him.

Scott had told them to meet him at Derek’s old house in the woods, without further explanation. Turns out, he had had a bit of an encounter at the hospital, where he had gone to after his mother had told him Isaac, another werewolf, had been badly injured by an alpha.

“I don’t know,” Scott replied. “It’s just something I trace with my fingers,” he drew a small circle surrounded by a bigger one on the dust that had accumulated on top of a table.

“Why is this so important to you?” Derek asked, referring to the tattoo on Scott’s arm that wasn’t visible to the human eye.

“Do you know what the word ‘tattoo’ means?”

“To mark something,” Stiles jumped in, playfully winking his eye at Derek, who only looked at him with an indifferent expression.

Sadie bit down on her lip, holding back a chuckle at their interaction.

“Well, that’s in Tahitian,” Scott continued talking. “In Samoan, it means ‘open wound’. I knew I wanted to get a tattoo when I turned 18, I always wanted one. I just decided to get it now, to make it kind of a reward.”

“For what?”

“For not calling or texting Allison all summer. Even when I really wanted to, even when it was hard sometimes. I was trying to give her the space she wants. Going four months later, it still hurts. It still feels like,”

“Like an open wound,” Sadie finished for him in a shaky voice. She knew a thing or two about open wounds.

He loves her so much, she thought. He understood she needed her space and time after her mother’s death, and he had refrained from contacting her all summer, even if it pained him. She admired him for that. She couldn’t fathom what having to stay away from someone you love felt like. She wouldn’t be able to.

The three men gazed at her, her eyes glinting and throat burning. She swallowed hard and tried to compose herself, blinking the tears away and twiddling her mother’s ring between her fingers. Stiles looked at her with a soft smile.

She hadn’t told him - or anyone, really - about her parents, all he knew is that she had been at foster care before they met her. Still, he could tell by the little things she had let slip here and there in between conversations, and he understood.

“The pain’s gonna be worse than anything you've ever felt,” Derek carried on, picking up a blowtorch and a lighter.

“Ah, that’s great.” Stiles pouted, nodding in nervousness at what was about to happen.

“I don’t know if I can look at it,” Sadie turned around, facing Stiles who looked as uneasy as her.

She didn’t feel like watching Scott in excruciating pain as Derek burned his arm with a freaking blowtorch. Stiles didn’t like the situation either.

“Do it.” Scott said convinced.

Derek proceeded lighting up the blowtorch and Sadie almost passed out.

“Oh, wow.” both Stiles and Sadie cried out at the same time.

“That’s a lot for me, so, I’m gonna take that as my cue. I’m just gonna go wait outside.” said Stiles, hands in his pockets and already exiting the room under Derek’s deathly stare.

“No, you stay,” Sadie pulled him back towards her. “Moral support.”

“You can help hold him down.”

Stiles walked behind Scott reluctantly and held onto his shoulders. “Oh my god,” he exclaimed as Derek got closer to Scott with the blowtorch.

Sadie crinkled her nose up as the fire made contact with his skin, his eyes glowing yellow and his fangs extending. She had to turn away and face the wall when his pain filled cries got louder. All she could hear were the earsplitting screams Scott was letting out as his skin boiled under the fire.

• • •

“Well, it looks pretty damn permanent now.” Surely enough, the two black lines had appeared on Scott’s bicep right after he had passed out from the pain.

“It looks great,” Sadie said sincerely, giving Scott a genuine smile.

“Thanks, I kinda needed something permanent.” Scott agreed. “Everything that’s happened to us, everything just changes so fast. Everything’s so...ephemeral.”

Both Sadie and Stiles stared at him with impressed faces at his usage of the advanced word. The three began walking out of the house and back to the jeep.

“Studying for the PSATs?” asked Stiles.

“Yup.”

“Nice.”

With a gleeful and proud smile, Scott opened the door, already stepping outside before he stopped dead on his tracks.

“You painted the door,” he pointed out to Derek, staring at the red door with narrowed eyes. “Why’d you paint the door?”

Now, that was weird. Why would Derek paint the door of his abandoned house? The place definitely needed a much bigger makeover than a layer of paint on a door.

“Go home, Scott.” Derek said with a defying tone.

“And why only one side?” Scott wondered again ignoring him, his brows furrowed. He flicked out his claws and scraped out the paint with one of his fingers.

“Scott,” Derek called out, walking towards him as he started scratching at the door furiously to remove the paint.

And surely enough, whatever inkling Scott had had about the newly painted door was, in fact, correct. A symbol was drawn under the paint. A symbol, or some kind of warning.

“The birds at school and the deer last night...just like the night I got trampled by the deer when I got bit by the alpha,” Scott was starting to put two and two together.

Derek didn’t look happy.

“How many are there?”

“A pack of them,” Derek sighed, finally giving in to Scott’s questions. “An alpha pack.”

Sadies eyes went wide.

How was that even possible? And what did the symbol on the door mean? How worried should they be?

“All of them? How does that even work?” Stiles asked, as if reading her mind.

“I hear there's some kind of a leader. He's called Deucalion,” Even the name sounded scary. “We know they have Boyd and Erica. Peter, Isaac, and I have been looking for him for the last four months.”

Sadie was still catching up with everything that Scott and Stiles had told her, but she recognized the names of Boyd and Erica as Derek’s betas.

They were just teenagers. They had been held by this alpha pack for four whole months? She was terrified now.

“Let's say you find them.” Scott stepped forward. “How do you deal with an Alpha pack?”

“With all the help I can get.

Sadie was ready to help. She couldn’t even imagine what the poor betas had been going through for months. They had to help them.

“Where is she?” Another voice suddenly jumped in. It was Isaac, another one of Derek’s betas who had been passed out on a table the whole time they had been there. He had just woken up from the anesthesia. “Where's the girl?” he inquired, a panicked look on his face.

Everyone else in the room looked at each other with the same confused expressions.

“What girl?”

[heliosthegriffin]

Arc-Acres: One 1/?

If there was one place in the world that Arthur Arc could say he felt safe after a long trip hunting, and comfortable in raising his many children, it would definitely be his home, though his father’s old farm was a very close second, may the old codger rest in peace.

It wasn’t too far away from Ansel, around thirty or so miles away, sitting a mile or so outside of the settlement of Pelican Town, a odd name for the town if not for the incredible number of birds.

He had grown up there during youth, after his father decided to move out of city when the Faunas started getting....

And way, he didn’t regret his youth spent out there, he still had some, well not friends there anymore he had spent far too much time away there for him to still be friends, but well acquaintances that he wouldn’t mind catch up with.

Which brought himself to his sunny boy’s room, he hardly got to spend time with his youngest for one reason or another, but he was presented with an unprecedented chance to connect with his son over the next three weeks.

Summer break had started and schools would be closed for the next couple months, his beloved wife and daughters had decided to visit Saphron and Terra along with some other distant relatives in Argus on a girls only trip, and leaving Arthur and Jaune alone for the rest of the month.

Arthur would not let the chance escape him, He liked to think of himself as fairly progressive, but Arthur didn’t like how much his son was taking after his wife and daughters, the dance lessons, gossip circles, and, ugh, dresses they put on him when he wasn’t around couldn’t be helping his boy out in the masculity department, and he had it on very good authority as the boys father that he wanted to be a manly man like himself.

So, Arthur had devised a devious plan the Dark Brother himself would be proud of! The next three weeks... Arthur would take his Sunny Boy camping, fishing, and roughin it in the wilderness around his dad’s old farm! It was fool proof!

His son would learn how to be a manly man, learn how to rough it in the woods, fend for himself, and hopefully, hopefully, learn to say no to be put in dresses!

Hehehehe, Arthur you, evil, evil genius!

He knocked on his son’s door with heavy, calloused hands. The sound echoing loud and clearly across his house’s hallways, there was no doubt that his son heard him.

“Jaune? You in there?”

Arthur honed ears stumbling from the inside of the room, along with something heavy falling on the floor. Likely his son, the boy could dance a mean dance, but he had two left feet more often than not.

“Coming!” His boy answered, his voice that awkward in between a boy and man, coming out shrill and high, but also noticeably deeper than it had been when Arthur last left for his trip.

Arthur tried his best to respect his son’s privacy, he got it invaded enough by his daughter, so he always made sure to let his Sunny Boy open the door.

The door opened into the room, his sun opening it with a smile.

“Welcome to Casa de Jaune!”

Arthur stifled a laugh and entered his son’s room. It was a little messy, but no more so than any of his daughters, a few clothes scattered around and some book and comics left out, but he didn’t expect it to shine either.

Arthur took a load off and sat down on the foot of his son’s bed, Jaune looked nevous as he did so, but he too took a seat on a chair he had in his room.

“Soo, Dad what brings you around?” His son said clearly nervous about something.

“Oh, you know just a father wanting to hang out with his son for a moment, maybe ask him a couple questions.”

His son seemed to go pale at that.

Arthur could practically see his son’s mouth go dry.

“Uh, uh, about what?” His son’s voice cracked.

Suddenly Arthur very much felt like an interrogator.

Did walk in during a private moment? He was around that age wasn’t he? 13 or 14, wait he was 13 and would be turning 14 in august. So, he was around the age where he might be surfing on websites that his mother would be mad about.

A sly grin on Arthur's face appeared.

He leaned his head to the side and tried to peer at his son’s computer. Tsk, no luck, no suspicious browsers open, besides a couple scroll tube video’s about...  Hunter training? Why, he would find any good result on there beside how to get in shape, most, well actually all hunter kept their training a mystery besides the basis of basic in order to avoid their weakness or deficits from be known. All hunter tried to have as unique a style as possible in order to avoid predictability.

Was that a video on swordplay?

Arthur’s hand glided behind himself, his senses noticing a suspicious weight on his son’s bed under the blankets.

His son tensed up as Arthur pulled out a wooden training sword, a cheap one two made of plywood.

Arthur choose to say nothing, it was an open secret what his sunny boy what to do for a living, a profession neither his mother, or sister approved of, one that if he supported would earn himself a noose around his balls and tossed off a tree, his wife's words not his.

He put the sword on his lap, and looked at his son who seemed both ashamed and embarrassed, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled.

���Ok, this is not what I wanted to talk about. Sooo, let’s move on, if you want to talk about it later that’s fine. We good?” He had never seen his son nod so fast. “So, here’s what I want to talk about.”

“I want us guys, to go have a men’s week or two out,” That was a lie, it would be most of a month, he just hadn’t thought of a better way to phrase it.  “I’m been thinking you and me don’t spend enough time together, so we need to have some father-son bonding. What do you think?” Also he already decided it, he wasn’t giving his son a choice.

Jaune’s face let up at the prospect.

“I think it sounds great! What are we going to do?”

Arthur explained to Jaune what he planned, with his son seemingly more excited at the survival element of it, but looked kinda bored at fishing and more mundane elements he talked about. Though the excitement never entirely left his son’s eyes.

“When are we leaving?” Jaune said jumping in his seat.

“Well, tomorrow if you’re up for it. If not, well leave the day after tomorrow on Friday.”

“I’m ready to leave tonight!”

“Heh, a little too soon Jaune. You got to pack, and so I, then we need to pack it into the truck.” “Oh, yeah. By, the way what do mom and the sisters think about it?”

Arthur went silent.

“You’re going tell them right?” “So, you’ll probably want to take this too.” Arthur said handing his son the practice sword, a hungry glint in his son’s eyes now. His son holding the wooden blade possessively.

“Yeah, I will. And you’re mother will definitely love to hear that we’re fixing up the old cabin, but couldn’t due to weather, right?”  “Yeah, it really sucks, right? Can’t believe the way back got blocked so we spent all our time visiting your friend in Patch.” “Yep, then we came home and started cleaning up the house, right?”

“Uh-huh, yep, mom is really going to appreciate some lemon-squares.”

“Making a barbecue should help her after all the air trips, too.”

“So, I better get packing.” “Me too.”

Arthur turned around one last time before leaving the room.

“Make sure to pack clothes that breathe, shorts, and couple work clothes. I think it wouldn’t hurt to actually fix up the cabin a little, if a storm actually does blow in.

“Can do!”

Arthur chuckled and left his son to pack.

-------

AN: End of Part One. I’ve been wanting to write this story for a while. Buckle in children, we’re going for a ride.

Also the first couple parts, and chapter or two will be mostly from Arthur’s perpective, mostly so we can speed through the prologueish area and get to Jaune doing stuff. This first chapter or two will be Jaune learning the basic skills he need for the fix, so when he does something it doesn’t come out of nowhere, and it’s an excuse to portray Jaune’s dad as something other than unsupportive.

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (1/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

-----

Rating: Teen, but with eventually kissing and magic-type magic Word Count: 9.3K this chapter.  AN: Approximately two years ago, seriously, I got a message asking if I would ever be interested in writing a Pushing Daises AU. I was! So I wrote a little blurb and some more very nice people were like this is good, you should write more. I did. And then did...nothing with it. Until now. I’ve been hoarding this for long enough and I’m actually pretty proud of it and it’s got a whole bunch of some of my favorite things. There will be a lot of banter and more kissing than you probably expect if you’ve seen the show, and a lot of magic and magical explanations. If I have any talent writing banter it comes directly from watching Pushing Daisies, so hopefully I’ve done them well here. Also shoutout to @distant-rose​ for the Fathership.

Updates every Wednesday going forward, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know: @shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-----

Emma Swan is nine years, six months, twelve days and, approximately, fifteen hours old when she realizes she is hopelessly, painfully, deliriously in love. 

It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling. 

Mostly because it happens suddenly, without much prompting and the object of her affection is currently spraying her in the face with the hose in his front yard. 

She yelps, water catching on her eyelashes and strands of her hair, but he just grins at her, taking a step forward to make sure her clothes are drenched through. Ingrid is going to kill both of them. Emma can almost hear Liam laughing somewhere. 

This, of course, is why she’s so frustrated by her sudden realization. 

Emma has been standing on the Jones’ front lawn for as long as she can remember – directly opposite of her own front lawn and close enough that Ingrid can still yell for her to come home when dinner is ready. Or when there’s pie. There’s almost always pie. 

Emma’s friendship with Killian Jones is not much more than happenstance and convenience. He lives across the street, with his brother in a great, big house with stained glass windows that paint the inside of the living room different colors when the sun sets. They met by mistake, Emma drawing with chalk at the end of the driveway and he was watering the lawn and dared to disturb her masterpiece. 

She threw chalk at him. 

It went from there. They talked and yelled and Emma may have stomped her foot more than once regarding the destroyed drawings, but Killian picks up the broken pieces of chalk and offers her one and they come up with a rather stunning visual of a futuristic outer space world with some kind of monorail system. The engineering is very impressive. 

And they don’t ever really stop. They dart back and forth across the street for years, afternoons spent constructing spaceships out of cardboard boxes Liam brought home from work and evenings in the kitchen with Ingrid while she lets them test a new flavor of pie she’s experimenting with. They watch movies and celebrate birthdays and there’s a secret handshake because of course there’s a secret handshake, and Emma tells Killian she sometimes wonders what happened to her real parents and Killian tells Emma he’s scared Liam is going to disappear like his dad did. 

She shouldn’t love him. 

And yet, at nine years, six months, twelve days and, approximately, fifteen hours old, Killian Jones is quite possibly the most important person in Emma’s life. 

Except Ingrid. Because she makes all that pie. 

Killian is quiet – at least at first, soft-spoken words, but with a certainty that rings of clarity and confidence and it hadn’t taken long for him to grow a little bolder with Emma around. He laughs easier as the years go on, smile wide and, usually, only for her. His hair is almost always too long, dark strands that drift dangerously close to his eyebrows and a gaze that Emma also seems to covet. 

She doesn’t realize that yet, because she’s nine and she doesn’t know what covet means, but, eventually, it will all make sense. 

And eventually, she will regret not telling Killian Jones that he’s her best friend and she’s absolutely, positively in love with him. 

But Emma is nine and she believes she’s got the rest of her life and the rest of Killian’s life and she hasn’t allowed a little thing like death to even begin to enter the back corners of her mind. 

That will change soon. 

“Killian Jones, I am going to murder you,” she shouts, lunging forward. He laughs even louder when her feet skid on the slick grass, a flash of blue eyes and that smile that, even then, Emma considers hers and hers alone. 

“That’s not very nice, Swan. You’re the one who got in the way of all my work.” “Your work?” He nods seriously, as if he’s not directing the hose directly at her feet now and she’s going to have to throw these jeans away. They’ll never dry. “Did you not see that list of chores Liam left? Making sure the lawn wasn’t dry was one of them.” “It’s a lawn, how dry can it be?” “I didn’t ask.” “Didn’t you want to know?”

“Maybe,” Killian admits, flicking his wrist up to move the water so it hits Emma’s stomach and she gasps when some of the air gets knocked out of her. “But you came over here.” “And?” “And what? You’re here aren’t you?”

It’s impossible for Emma to realize what exactly that question means in the moment, but she’s also just realized she’s in love with Killian, so her heart does a fairly good job of attempting to beat its way out of her chest. 

He drops the hose. 

“You could have told me you had stuff to do.”

“But you were here,” he says again, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. It kind of is. She can’t remember a single time he told her to leave. 

Even when she was the new kid in school –  after she and Ingrid first moved to Storybrooke and Emma heard the whispers because she didn’t have real parents and no mom to make her lunch, but Killian just bumped his shoulder against hers and flashed her half a smile. He held her hand when they walked into school. 

Killian never cared about cooties. 

Or anything except Emma. 

“Yeah,” Emma mumbles. She digs her toes into the mud under her, the soft squelch of it almost matching up with the erratic rhythm of her pulse. “Well…”

He practically beams. 

And Emma isn’t sure what’s going to happen next because she’s never encountered a moment quite like this, but she can hear Liam’s footsteps and grumblings about the state of the lawn and— “Killian, if you’re just going to stand around all day...” he starts, but his eyes dart towards Emma as soon as she moves her foot again and the look on his face is unreadable. Particularly to a nine-year-old coming to terms with the idea of first love. “Oh,” Liam says. “Hey, Emma, I didn’t know you were here.” She shrugs. “I was going to ride my bike, but then Killian thought he was funny.” Liam’s expression changes again, more emotions Emma is not nearly old enough to understand or deal with, but it will, eventually, be that kind of day. At the moment, however, it’s sunny and there are a few clouds in the sky. The perfect day to race down the hill on the other side of town.

“How many times in a row have you beat Killian?” Liam asks knowingly, and Emma laughs before she can continue to consider whatever he’s doing with his face. 

“Forty seven.” “Oh, that’s not true, at all,” Killian shouts, ducking down to grab the hose again. Liam’s quicker than him, though grabbing him around the waist and pinning him against his chest. “God, Liam, let go of me!”

“Nah, little brother—” “—Younger brother!” “Semantics.” “Stop trying to show off!”

Emma is still laughing, her sides feeling as if they’ll split from the force of it. Killian scowls at her when she doesn’t come to his immediate aid, but her eyes dart back towards Liam. He nods. And it only takes a few moments for Killian to realize what’s going to happen, more flailing limbs and shouted protests. 

“Swan, Swan, Swan,” he chants, a nickname that isn’t really a nickname, but might be his in the way the smile is hers and Emma shakes her head when she grabs the water hose. “Don’t do that, that’s not even fair!” “I know it’s not,” she says. “But you were being a great, big giant jerk before and Ingrid’s going to be mad my jeans are all muddy.” “You should have dodged better then!” “Ah, c’mon now, little brother,” Liam chastises, still holding him around the waist and he’s probably bruised from Killian’s elbows. “That’s not hospitable at all. Emma’s a guest in our front lawn and you went and ruined her whole outfit.” Killian groans, but the sound turns into a yelp as soon as the water hits his feet and he realizes how cold it is. Emma widens her eyes. “Swan is not a guest,” he argues. 

Emma briefly wonders if her eyes can actually fall out of her face. It feels as if they’re about to, that particular proclamation ricocheting around her brain and her subconscious until she’s certain it’s the only words she’ll ever hear again. 

Killian blinks when Emma doesn’t say anything – or move the hose away from his feet. “You haven’t beaten me down the hill forty-seven times,” he mutters. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. 

And sprays him directly in the chest. 

There’s no way to really avoid Liam in this, but he doesn’t seem to mind, more laughter and tangled limbs, Killian’s hair sticking to his forehead and the shell of his left ear when Emma moves the water again. And for a few seconds Emma thinks she’s winning whatever unspoken battle they’ve staged here, but Killian’s always been a little shifty and and he turns quickly enough that he’s able to sneak out of Liam’s grasp. 

He moves towards her quicker than she’s ready for, tugging the hose out of her hands with an almost triumphant noise. 

“You’ve got to be faster than that, Swan,” Killian grins, waving the hose through the air until it feels as if Emma’s standing in a rainstorm. 

“You are the worst!” “Tell the truth about the hill!” “I am,” Emma yells, sniffling when the water threatens to find its way up her nose. “Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” Killian shakes his head, dodging what Emma thought was a particularly well-placed kick at his ankles. “No, you’re not. You like me way too much to kill me.” “That’s not true.” The words feel heavy on her tongue, despite the laughter still clinging to Killian’s voice and Liam’s rather pitiful attempts to get back on his feet after falling in the mud. Emma swallows, desperate to understand what is happening in the pit of her stomach, but Killian doesn’t look away from her. 

He keeps staring and the water keeps running, slowing slightly because they’re probably emptying the Storybrooke reservoir at this point. 

“I don’t know about that, Swan,” Killian says, leaning towards her. Emma gets the distinct impression he doesn’t mean to do that. 

“Liar, liar.” “I’m not the one lying. Forty seven? That’s impossible.” “If you think you’re winning, you should have been keeping better track.”

That catches him by surprise, a quick bark of laughter and water splashing on Emma’s shin when he jerks his hand to the side. “Sorry, sorry,” Killian mumbles when he notices the look on her face. “That one really wasn’t on purpose.” “Yuh huh.” “Swan.” Emma rolls her eyes, the sarcasm obvious in his voice and the half a smile on his face. Liam has finally stood up. “How many times do you think we’ve raced down the hill?” she presses, moving forward to push her finger into his water-soaked shirt. 

That gets him to blink. 

She takes that as another victory. 

“Way more than forty seven,” Killian answers. “And I win most of the time.” Emma stamps her foot – which gives Killian just enough time to wrap his own fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away from him and pinning it against her side and the water is absolutely getting colder when he holds the hose directly above her head. 

“Say it’s not forty seven,” he laughs. Emma shakes her head, pressing her lips together tightly as if she’s refusing to give federal testimony. 

Liam appears to have given up on even trying to salvage the situation. 

“It’s not forty seven, Swan,” Killian continues. “I’ll give you...maybe thirty two, tops.” “Nope.” “Thirty five?” “I have beaten you down that hill forty seven times Killian Jones and that’s only in the last year since I started keeping track.” “You’ve only been keeping track for the last year?” “You never kept track to begin with!” “She’s got a point, little brother,” Liam muses. He’s sitting on the far side of the lawn now, doing something that may actually be pulling weeds and no one could have taken better care of that house than Liam did. 

“Oh, shut up,” Killian grumbles. He snaps his head back towards Emma, mouth twisted and eyes slightly narrowed. “Alright, so you started counting this year. I’ll give you that you’ve won most of the races, but I demand a recount for the rest of the summer.” Emma scoffs. “No way. You’re only mad because you didn’t know you were losing and—” “—And you were playing a game I didn’t know we were playing, Swan. So, either you agree to the terms or we keep up this...whatever we’re doing.” “You being a jerk,” she mumbles, and that time her kick lands on his ankle. Killian lets out a gasp of pain, expression shifting slightly and they’re both drenched, water falling from their clothes and their hair and everything feels slightly heavier than it had a few moments before.

It’s not a feeling that belongs in summer vacation. 

Killian hums, the tips of his ears going red and Emma learned that particular tell when she was seven and he tried to tell Liam he hadn’t gotten in trouble for fighting with that kid on the playground. The kid on the playground had been making fun of Emma’s distinct lack of parents. 

“Forty seven though?” he asks. “Really?” “Really, really,” Emma promises. “But I’m...we could start a new count. If you want.”

“Yeah?” “We’ve got all summer, right?” “And forever,” Killian says with a shrug, another string of words that seems to take up residence in every corner of Emma’s brain and she feels her lips part slightly. It’s her body’s natural reaction to try and keep breathing. 

She’s stopped breathing at some point. 

And someone else is calling her name. 

“Emma Swan,” Ingrid yells, leaning out the front door of the house across the street and the smell of lemon meringue is already obvious. “If you are done destroying all your clothes, then I think it’s time for you to come back over here and eat some lunch!”

Emma’s shoulders sag with the weight of her disappointment – an overreaction in the moment, but eventually it will seem like the most reasonable thing she’s ever done. “Do I have to?” “In twenty-four seconds or less.” “Fine,” Emma sighs. She glances back at Killian before she turns towards home, the smile still on his face and a piece of hair seemingly stuck to his forehead. He waves a dismissive hand through the air at the interruption, as if they do have all the time in the world. 

“I’ve got to help Liam anyway. But, uh...after? We could…” “There’s pie,” Emma finishes sharply. “I mean...it smells like pie? You could come over and then we could go.” “Ok.”

Liam makes a ridiculous noise a few feet away – disbelieving and adult and Emma ignores it because she’s nine and cutting into her twenty-four seconds of travel time across the street. “Emma,” Ingrid calls again. “Now!”

“Right, right, right, I’m coming. But…” She glances at Killian and she’s not sure why she feels like she has to make sure, but it feels important and—

“I’ll see you later, Swan,” he says. “I’m sorry about your jeans.”

“That’s ok.” Ingrid is shaking the screen door now. “Emma!”

“Ok, ok! I’ll see you later.”

Ingrid takes one look at the state of her as soon as she gets across the street, lets out a knowing laugh and mumbles something that sounds a lot like we should just buy new clothes every week under her breath. “Go upstairs and try and get some of the mud out of your toes before you drag it across the entire house, ok?” Emma nods, a blur of water-logged fabric and muddy footprints. She’s in the bathroom when she hears it, only a few moments later and nothing has really changed, but it suddenly feels as if everything has been flipped upside down, and Emma cannot possibly be expected to keep up with all of these emotions. Or sounds. 

It’s a crash — loud and jarring and then absolute, overwhelming silence. 

She freezes, heart sputtering in her chest and it’s impossible to know how she knows, but Emma knows and something is wrong. 

She hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about her jeans, sprinting back down the stairs and skidding into the kitchen and Ingrid is lying on the tiled ground, the pie splayed out around her when she dropped it. 

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers, knowing it’s pointless. She doesn’t know how she knows that either, but that appears to be the theme of the day and the step she takes forward is alarmingly shaky. “Ingrid,” she repeats. “Are you…”

She can’t bring herself to finish that sentence. 

It’s obvious anyway. 

Ingrid is dead. 

Emma exhales, tears in her eyes and disbelief churning in the pit of her stomach where, just a few moments ago, there were butterflies and the certainty that everything was going to be alright forever and ever. 

She tilts her head, as if that will change the scene in front of her and the combined scent of lemon and drying mud is particularly disgusting. 

“Ingrid?” Emma repeats, moving towards her as if there are magnets and supernatural forces involved. There are. It’ll just take a moment for her to realize that. 

Dropping to her knees, she ignores the pain that shoots up both her legs when she lands on the floor and Emma doesn’t ever actually cry. The tears are there, but they don’t spill over onto her cheeks. They stay in her eyes and, possibly, her soul and eventually that will feel like a very large sign. 

With neon lights and sound effects. 

In the moment though, it’s just another thing in an increasingly thing-filled situation and part of her wants to call for Killian. Most of her wants to call for Killian. 

But Emma’s mouth doesn’t appear to be working anymore, breathing a very particular challenge and Ingrid isn’t her mom. Ingrid isn’t even her officially adopted mom yet, that’s a work in progress and Emma’s fairly certain Liam did something that may help and there were suits involved and Killian stayed at their house that day while Ingrid baked something. 

Emma inhales sharply through her nose, Ingrid’s eyes already a little glazed over and staring at absolutely nothing and, if asked, she would have no idea why she does what she does next. Reaching out a finger, she pokes Ingrid in the shoulder, fingertip just barely skimming her skin.

Ingrid blinks, exactly, three times and sits up as normal as ever. 

She’s very clearly breathing. 

Emma might not be. And she’s worried about the state of her eyes again. 

“Did you get mud in here?” Ingrid asks, like that’s an entirely reasonable question and Emma is still frozen. Her mind can’t keep up with the moment or the feelings coursing through her veins, a mix of terror and surprise and happiness, plus whatever she may still be feeling for Killian and she still wishes Killian were in the kitchen with her. “Must have slipped,” Ingrid continues. She shakes her head, clearly unaware of what just happened and Emma is still doing her best to keep breathing. The pain in her side makes it clear it’s not working very well. 

“Emma,” Ingrid says lightly, leaning close enough that Emma jerks away out of instinct. That will eventually prove important. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong, sweetheart?” “Nothing,” Emma mumbles. The word comes out far too quickly though, less a word than just a jumble of syllables and—”I just...heard you fall.” “Because of the mud. Did you not even change your clothes yet?” Emma shakes her head. Her throat feels far too small and far too big, all at the same time. “No, I…” “Well, go back upstairs and make sure you wash behind your ears and—” Ingrid glances around, grabbing a handful of plastic bags and pushing them into Emma’s chest. Her fingers never touch Emma. “Just throw them in here. I think we’ve moved past salvageable on that front. I swear, the messes you and that Jones boy get into should be documented for—”

It annoys Emma that no one will finish their sentences. 

But the timer on the oven dings, wholly unnecessary given the pie that’s still on the kitchen floor and Emma’s annoyance ebbs as soon as she hears the first shout. That’s not the right word. It’s less of a shout and more like absolute and complete anguish. 

Her head snaps towards the open window, the same one that looks directly onto the Jones’ front lawn and she can barely make out the top of Killian’s hair. He’s kneeling on the ground, clearly not worried about the state of his jeans or the mud that’s likely working its way into the fibers, gripping something. 

It takes Emma exactly two seconds, one gasp and three blinks to realize what he’s holding — Liam, dead. 

The tears that land on her cheek feel like brands, hot and emotional and she’s moving before she realizes, dashing around Ingrid and across the street. A car honks at her when she runs in front of it, but Emma doesn’t slow down and Killian’s still yelling and Liam is very obviously dead.

He looks just like Ingrid. 

Or just like Ingrid did before Emma touched her. 

Because Emma touched Ingrid back to life. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Killian stammers, eyes already rimmed red and the shake in his voice seems to rattle down Emma’s spine. “He was there and it was fine and then I...he wasn’t and he just...he fell over and it was…”

He lets out another choked sob, falling towards Emma’s shoulders like those pesky magnets are involved again and the only thought in her head is to hold onto him, like she’s trying to keep him there. Permanently. 

She’s got no idea how long they stay there, and it’s impossible to tell Killian’s tears from the rest of the water in Emma’s shirt. She can hear Ingrid on the phone, quiet and slightly frantic and the ambulance arrives twenty minutes later. 

There’s no explanation. 

It makes no sense. Because Liam Jones was young and healthy and fully capable of keeping his brother pinned to his side so Emma could point the hose directly at his feet. A dead Liam Jones makes no sense.

And Emma doesn’t say much for the rest of the day, just keeps staring ahead and trying to breath, her fingers laced with Killian’s for however many hours it takes for his uncles to show up.

“Killian,” a man yells. He jogs up the front steps of the porch, an oversized coat hanging off his shoulders and something that may be several earrings glittering under the street lights. 

Emma dimly remembers Ingrid tearing through Liam’s paperwork that afternoon, trying to find someone to come watch Killian — and the result is two uncles, one named Nemo and the other Shakespeare, who’d spent most of their lives as part of a traveling acting troupe. They’re eccentric in a way that's fascinating at any time, let alone one that includes a dead Liam Jones, but Killian rushes towards the man who called his name. 

His whole body shakes with the force of his tears. 

And, for the first time since she moved to Storybrooke, Emma feels out of place sitting on that side of the street, not sure she understands the weight of wrong that seems intent on dragging her into the Earth. 

“It’s alright, my boy, it’s alright,” the man continues. He barely pays any attention to Emma when she moves, but the other one, wearing his own ridiculous coat that looks like it came directly from the Navy, casts her a speculative glance. 

She tries to smile. 

She does. But it’s been a seemingly endless day and they never rode their bikes down the hill. 

Emma can’t believe she’s worried about riding her bike down the hill. 

“I think it’s about time you got some rest, huh?” Ingrid asks. She’s standing in the doorframe, apron still tied around her waist from that afternoon, but it doesn’t smell like pie in the house. 

It smells like mud and ending and Emma is tired. That must be it. 

She nods, and for a few minutes it’s normal and almost good and the lingering taste of toothpaste in her mouth as she climbs into bed is almost comforting. But then it’s Ingrid stepping into her room and tugging the blankets up under her chin and the kiss she places on Emma’s forehead will linger for years. 

It’s the last thing she ever does.

Ingrid kisses Emma and her whole body goes taut, eyes getting that same glazed look as she falls directly onto her back. 

Emma doesn’t gasp. 

She blinks, opening her mouth and leaning over the side of the bed like this is one, long practical joke. Ingrid doesn’t move. And Emma has had enough experience with dead bodies in the last twelve hours to realize she’s facing her third. 

Or, well, second. Technically. 

“Ingrid,” Emma whispers, not expecting an answer, but frustrated all the same. She reaches her hand out, pushing and prodding and touching and none of it works. She uses two fingers and three, tries punching Ingrid’s shoulder, but nothing happens. 

Ingrid is dead. 

And Emma runs – directly across the street. 

The Navy man opens the door, a little starling with dark eyes and shaved head, but Emma can feel the tears on her cheeks again, shoulders shaking with the effort of running and figuring out what’s going on and he doesn’t object when she falls towards him. He wraps his arms around her middle and lets her cry. 

The rest is a whirlwind of phone calls and suitcases and arrangements that Emma is not capable of making. The state, however, is more than happy to do just that – a car set to pick her up after the funeral that will bring her to a group home in a different state and promises that everything will be fine, but Emma doesn’t trust much of anything anymore, particularly after Ingrid was alive. Again. 

And then dead. Again. 

None of it makes sense. 

But that’s for a different moment and a different day to understand and in this moment Emma can’t help but keep glancing across the cemetery towards Killian, fidgeting in a suit with splotchy cheeks and shoes she knows don’t fit. 

He nods towards the patch of grass in between the two services, hand stuffed in his pocket. His tie is slightly off center. 

The state had to buy Emma a black dress. 

“You’re leaving,” Killian whispers, not a question, but a statement of fact and Emma’s neck aches when she nods in response. 

“I’ll be back.” “I don’t want you to leave.” “I don’t want to either. I’m...I’m sorry.” Killian tilts his head, confusion settling into the space between his eyebrows. “Why?”

Emma doesn’t have an answer to that. She has suspicions. And she’ll figure them out later, but right then, nine years, six months, fifteen days and, approximately, ten hours old, Emma Swan only has the certainty that she loves Killian Jones more than anything in the world and she doesn’t want to walk away from him. 

So she takes a step forward. 

As first kisses go, it’s probably not the greatest. There are two funerals happening and those suspicions lingering in the back of Emma’s mind make the air around her feel heavy, but she’s only a little certain she won’t ever be back and the rest of the reasons don’t matter. 

She tilts her head up, a quick brush of her lips over Killian’s. He doesn’t pull back, but it’s nothing more than that, until his thumb brushes over the curve of Emma’s cheek, catching a tear on the pad and the smile he gives her when she pulls back echoes in her memories for the next twenty years. 

“Ms. Swan,” a state official says brusquely and it must be time. 

She nods another, still shaky and uncomfortable, but that may just be the state of her lungs and the ability of either one of her legs to hold up her weight. Killian hasn’t moved his thumb. He doesn’t appear to want to. 

“I’m going to see you again,” he says, a promise Emma tries desperately to believe. It doesn’t work, the guilt and the weight in the very center of her is too big and too much and nothing has made sense, so it only makes sense that she doesn’t respond. 

She will, eventually, regret that. 

Because Emma Swan doesn’t ever see Killian Jones again. 

At least not while they’re both alive. 

Emma wakes with a start, glancing around her room like she’ll see several different ghosts spying on her. It feels that way, has for the last three days when she first started having these dreams and really the whole thing can fuck right off. 

It hasn’t happened in years – nightmares about that day and that night and how cold Ingrid looked when the EMTs carried her out of the house, the same ones who’d showed up for Liam. 

The irony of that was not lost on a grown-up Emma. 

Because a grown-up Emma was also a vaguely jaded Emma and she stopped having nightmares about Killian Jones and death years ago. 

Her subconscious does not seem to care. 

Her subconscious seems intent on driving her insane. 

Emma never went back to Storybrooke. She left with that state worker, lips still tingling from a first kiss that in retrospect would have been adorable if there wasn’t so much goddamn death involved, but Emma barely had time to linger on that thought before she was shipped to the first of nearly a dozen group homes and foster homes and less-than-pleasant foster families. 

It went on that way for years nothing permanent and everything disappointing and Emma has kept a fairly wide berth between herself and lingering human contact. Because, well, here’s the thing; Emma Swan is not exactly normal. 

In that she’s decidedly unnormal. 

As unnormal as it is possible to be. 

Because Emma Swan can wake the dead. 

And kill them again. 

It takes Emma three houses and one birthday without anyone acknowledging it is her birthday to grow disillusioned enough that it somehow makes sense to start conducting a few macabre science experiments. She’d always had her suspicions after that night and things that timed up too well to be coincidence and Emma starts with a dead bird she finds on the side of the road. 

It’s gross. 

The whole thing is gross, but she can’t shake this feeling that something is wrong with her, some fundamental issue that makes her unlovable and unfixable and she’s got to do something or she’s positive she’s going to shake herself out of her own skin. 

So she starts with the bird and it flies away and something else falls out of a tree and it might be a raccoon, but Emma’s never seen a raccoon. So, she doesn’t spend too long thinking about it before she runs away. 

And the houses keep coming and the experiments keep being...gross and Emma realizes, when she’s twelve years, ten months, sixteen days and nine hours old, that there are some rules to all of this. 

They’re relatively simple, but they’re unbreakable. 

Touch a dead thing once, it comes back to life. Touch it again, dead, forever. Keep a dead thing alive for more than one minute and something else has to die in its place. 

It’s then that twelve-year-old Emma realizes magic never comes for free. There’s always some kind of price. And she never looks for Killian Jones. 

She never goes back home. 

She moves – house to house and family to family, in name at least, until she ages out of the system and scrapes together enough money waitressing to pay the rent on the shoebox of an apartment she can live in. She moves out of that apartment eventually too. 

The concept of roots kind of freaks Emma out. 

Everything kind of freaks Emma out. 

She assumes it’s because she’s wrong. 

At, like, the most basic level. 

She does a good job of hiding it. Most of the time. She’s grown up and the years have passed, as the years have a tendency to do, and she’d saved up enough from those first few waitressing jobs that it only makes sense to open up her own restaurant and Emma may hate roots, but she’s still kind of a sentimental loser and her restaurant is on the other side of the county from Storybrooke and only serves pie. 

Damn good pie, but only pie. 

It’s kitschy. It kind of balances out all the death in her life. 

Emma shakes her head, still sitting upright in bed and she’d left the TV in the corner of the room the night before. The news is on now, some perfectly coiffed broadcaster talking about a murder victim and reward for any information and Emma mutters a curse under her breath because she knows it’s only a matter of time until—

Her ringtone is loud enough that she’s momentarily concerned about the effect it will have on her wallpaper. 

Ruby is already talking by the time Emma swipes her thumb over the phone screen. 

“Em, Em, Em, Em, where are you? Are you home? Are you at work? Are you on your way to your very short commute from your home to your work?” “Are you breathing?” “No, this is more important than breathing.”

Emma slumps into the small mound of pillows behind her. There is only one thing Ruby would consider more important than breathing – money. 

The story of how Emma Swan meets Ruby Lucas is fraught with miscues and miscreants, but the important thing is that a perp Ruby was chasing over the goddamn top of buildings missed a step and suddenly fell directly into the alley behind Emma’s restaurant. 

Where she was taking the garbage out. 

He died rather instantly. And then...was less dead once he slammed his hand on Emma’s forearm. All of which Ruby saw. 

Emma managed to swat at his head before he took off back down the block, but the damage was done as they say. Not Ruby. Obviously. She claims it was fate and meant to be and, well, it’s much easier for a private investigator to figure out who killed murder victims when she’s got a partner who can wake them up and ask them. 

“What’s the gig?” Emma asks, mostly because sometimes she likes to use the wrong lingo on purpose if only to get Ruby to make that put-upon sigh. It works. 

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.” “Listen, Rubes, I’ve got, just like, a ton of mail order...orders waiting for me, so if this is going to take several thousand years then…” “Did you just call them mail order orders?” “That makes sense.” “Ehhhhh.” “Give me a break, I literally woke up five minutes before you called.” Ruby doesn’t sigh at that. She doesn’t say anything. That’s more concerning. “You just woke up?” she asks, a note of concern in her voice that probably shouldn’t feel as if it affects several of Emma’s internal organs. “Was...more weird dreams?” Emma makes a noncommittal noise – mostly to save face and partly because she’s been incredibly vague with Ruby about the dreams, only mentioning them when her partner pointed out how dead tired she looked during a trip to the morgue earlier this week. Ruby thought she was far funnier than she was. 

“Emma,” Ruby chides, drawing out her name until it feels like a reprimand and punishment. “C’mon, seriously. What are you even dreaming about?” “Nothing.” “Is your eye twitching?” “Excuse me?” “Your eye twitches when you lie,” Ruby says. “Like every single time. It may be your most giving tell, honestly.” “How many tells do you think I have?” “I know you have, at least, five. The eye twitch is the most obvious, but sometimes you play with your hair and you scrunch your nose. Plus that foot bobbing thing and, uh...that’s four, right?” Emma makes another noise, eyes flitting back towards the TV and she can’t shake the feeling she should know something about whatever the story is. “Damn,” Ruby huffs. “I can’t think of the last one. You know what, it doesn’t matter. You’re trying to distract me and it’s not working.” “Did it not?” Emma laughs. 

“No. Kind of. But no. Listen to me, do you want to get paid or not?” “I thought we already talked about all the mail order orders I have. There are just...a questionable number of rotten strawberries in my walk-in.” “It’s weird that you use rotten fruit.” Emma shrugs. And tugs her hair over her shoulder. “Cheaper that way,” she explains, not for the first time. “Plus, it’s not like I’m eating my own pie.” “Can’t have your pie and eat it too?”

“I don’t think that’s the colloquialism you were looking for. And you’re still getting sidetracked. Does this have something to do with the body they’re talking about on the news?”

“If the body on the news is offering a five-figure reward for any information regarding his untimely demise.” Emma doesn’t usually react to Ruby’s blunt viewpoint of the world and its numerous dead bodies, but she can’t suppress the shiver that moves her body when she hears his and something is wrong. 

“His? And did you say five figures?”

Ruby hums, sounding as if she’s already decided what to do with her share. “His. I promise that is the least interesting part. The interesting part is that he was found out by the old quarry on the other side of the county, you know right near the bottom of the—”

“Hill,” Emma finishes. “The bottom of the hill. That’s…” Her vision swims, memories and moments attacking from every angle until she has to glance at her arms to make sure she’s not sporting inexplicable bruises from the past. She’s not. 

Magic only goes so far, it seems. 

“Yeah,” Ruby says, confusion obvious in all four letters. “That’s exactly right. They say it looked pretty bad. Some kind of something gone wrong, but the town isn’t happy about it and they don’t like the limelight and the allusions that they’re a hotbed for murder so I guess the mayor’s offered up a bunch of money and—” “—What was the guy’s name?” “What?” “The guy,” Emma repeats, and her voice scratches on the words. “You said it was a guy right? At the bottom of the hill? In Storybrooke?” Silence. 

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. 

And Emma’s head snaps back towards the TV when they finish their report because services for the deceased are being held tomorrow and— “His name’s, well, it was, I guess, his name was Killian Jones,” Ruby says, and Emma doesn’t really hear the rest of it. 

She barely realizes she’s agreed to any of this until the local news ends, switches over to even crappier daytime programming and Emma has no idea how she gets through the day. She bakes. That’s kind of her thing. 

She bakes and comes up with ridiculous recipes and flavor combinations and the customers are happy and Ruby announces I’ll see you tomorrow when she slams the door closed behind her nearly ten hours after it feels as if the world has ended. 

Killian Jones is dead. 

And Emma can’t seem to catch her breath. 

Ruby’s standing outside her car the next morning, two cups of coffee in her hand and an expectant smile on her face. “Your eye is twitching,” she says conversationally, handing Emma what better be a latte. It’s not. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure I don’t. I’m just paid to observe and critique—” “—No one is paying you to critique.” “Whatever,” Ruby shrugs, swinging open the passenger side door of Emma’s car. “Why the face about this place?” “I will tell you it’s less threatening when you rhyme.” Ruby scowls. “That was not intentional and mostly the fault of the limits of the English language. You lived there at one point, didn’t you?”

“Were you looking me up last night?” Emma balks, and her hand is shaking so hard it’s difficult to move the gear shift. 

“Please, don’t insult me like that. I looked you up as soon as I met you.” Emma jerks her head around, only to find Ruby grinning at her like several metaphorical cats. “Then why the third degree?” “There are no degrees here. There’s friendly curiosity, particularly when it comes to the state of your body and your ability to do what we’re going here to do.” “I’m fine.” The lie is honestly almost offensive. Emma made sixteen pies the day before. One had five different kinds of berries in it. She tested a new crust recipe she’s been thinking about for years. 

Literally. Years. 

She’s so stressed out she’s not sure she even shut her eyes the night before. 

And that’s not the right word at all. 

She’s goodman terrified. 

She can’t believe Killian is dead. 

Ruby throws her whole head back when she laughs, the sound filling the entire car and lingering on air molecules. “God, that was horrible,” she mutters. “Ok, let’s try it again. You know this guy?” “Small town.” “Not an answer.” “I knew him.” “In a personal sense?”

“Oh my God, Ruby,” Emma groans, and she can’t slump down in the seat while she’s driving. It’s definitely the most unfortunate thing that’s happened to her all day. She can’t imagine that will stay the same going forward. “I left Storybrooke when I was nine!”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh, yuh huh. Ok. So...what is it, childhood sweetheart?” “You know me better than that.” “I thought I did until I saw the explosion in your kitchen yesterday and now I’m starting to think you and our body were a little—” “—Can we not call him a body,” Emma snaps, knuckles going white when she grips the steering wheel too tight. 

Ruby blinks. “Still sweet on him?”

“I was nine.” “That’s not an answer.” “No,” Emma says, and she doesn’t expect that to hurt nearly as much as it does. That’s insane. This whole thing is insane. She wrote down conversational ideas for her sixty seconds with Killian somewhere around four in the morning. 

Every one was worse than the last. 

“No?” Ruby echoes. “You should tell that to your right arm.” Emma groans, not taking her eyes off the road because she can feel her arm shaking against her side. Her elbow keeps digging into her rib. “This is going to be fine,” Emma mumbles. Ruby does not look convinced. 

That’s probably for the best since Emma can’t control her limbs – or her mind. 

And she might not be nine years old anymore, but she’s fairly certain part of her never really stopped loving Killian Jones and the rest of her never forgot Killian Jones and they don’t hit any traffic on their way to Storybrooke. 

She figures that’s some kind of sign. 

They come up with some excuse for the funeral director – a portly man Emma doesn’t recognize who doesn’t recognize Emma because she hasn’t been in Storybrooke in nearly twenty years – and he directs them towards the viewing parlor. 

The whole thing is sterile and unfeeling and Emma keeps exhaling dramatically. 

“They think he was into some shady stuff you know,” the man says, voice dropping low like he’s sharing secrets with them. Ruby arches an eyebrow. 

“That so?” “Oh yeah, yeah, very messy crime scene. Guess he came out on the short end.” Emma's stomach turns, mouth dropping open. “And no one else was found there? Just Kill—Mr. Jones? He was the only victim?” “You think the police are hiding more dead bodies?” “That’s not what I said.” “What she means,” Ruby says, stepping in between the two of them before Emma can throw the first punch, “is that it seems strange that there would be a sign of struggle and nothing else. No other evidence of other people around?” The funeral director does not look impressed. “That’s not my area,” he shrugs. “All I know is there’s a reward and the mayor’s going crazy trying to keep the cameras out of here and the kid’s uncles are besides themselves.” Emma has to count to ten in her head to make sure her exhale doesn’t fly out of her. Ruby’s gaze flashes her direction. “Right,” she says. “Well, if you don’t mind…”

There are a few more words exchanged – and possibly a few well-placed bills, but Emma ignores all of that, taking in the scene and there’s an actual sign at the far end of the room. 

In Loving Memory of Killian Jones. 

Emma drags her hand over her face, blinking back whatever has suddenly appeared in her eyes and she resolutely refuses to believe they’re tears. 

She can’t believe he’s dead. 

“Em,” Ruby calls. “We’re uh...we’ve only got a couple minutes here.”

Emma nods brusquely, avoiding the slightly accusatory stare of the funeral director and—”What if I did this on my own?” 

“What?” “My own. Just...there’s, you know, years and a familiarity there and he’s...well, it may be weird to wake him up and stun him like that.” Ruby’s eyebrows set several different records for height and movement. “You think we’re going to stun him? And did you say wake him up? He’s not asleep, Em.” “I know, I know, but...just...I think this is for the best.” “Yuh huh.” “You keep saying that.” “That’s because I can’t figure out another string of words to use in this situation. You know you can’t stay in there long.” “I know.” “You’ve got sixty seconds to figure out who killed this guy.”

Emma shivers. And Ruby notices. Always. Perpetually. Infuriatingly. “I know,” Emma says again. “Trust me, it’s...I’ll be in and out and we’ll be collecting money in no time.” “Announce that a little louder.” Emma sighs, Ruby staring at her like she’s taking stock or emotional inventory. It seems to last forever and Emma does her best to keep her breathing even when Ruby leans around her to open the viewing room door. 

“Sixty seconds,” she repeats. “That’s it.” “Aye aye.”

The door sounds impossibly loud when it closes behind Emma, another sound that makes her jump and sigh and she’s an absolute disaster. Or at least she thought she was until she turned and saw the coffin and then it feels a little like melting and a bit like freezing and it’s a strange combination, particularly when she’s also fairly certain her lungs have disappeared entirely. 

She squeezes her eyes closed, desperate for some trace of confidence or courage. It’s disappointing when she can’t find any. 

“C’mon, Swan,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to the person on the other side of the room because that’s exactly what the person on the other side of the room would say to her.

Emma takes a step forward, wobbly at best and petrified at worst, lifting the coffin lid, and her lungs reappear in a miracle of modern science as soon as her eyes land on him. 

“Oh,” Emma breathes, and that’s about all there is to it. 

He’s wearing a suit, hair even longer than it was when he was ten years old. It curls slightly, just behind his ears, and there’s a dusting of scruff on his face. His hand is folded over his chest, only one hand, making his jacket twist slightly and Emma feels as if her throat is closing. 

He’s got an earring in one ear. 

It makes her laugh. 

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles. “You look like a pirate.”

She closes her eyes again when he doesn’t answer – she refuses to acknowledge why he doesn’t answer, but she’s got a job and justice needs to be served or something. Ruby probably has several dozen new pairs of shoes she’s already preordered. 

Bobbing on her feet as soon as she’s within arms-length of the coffin, Emma shimmies her shoulders, like that will help shake free the nerves clinging to the base of her spine. Her lips feel far too dry, breathing far too erratic, but she’s on limited time and she’s got to touch him. 

She’s got no idea where to touch him. 

She scans his face, trying to find a spot that isn’t too forward or too weird and her eyes land on the scar on his cheek – a souvenir of a race down the hill and faulty brakes and Liam had been white as a sheet when they came home with Emma’s blood-stained sweatshirt pressed against Killian’s cheek. 

“Ok,” she nods, and talking to herself is definitely a sign of impending insanity, but she kind of hopes she’s already gone insane and—

He moves far quicker than she expected. 

Emma’s no more than brushed her fingertips over the curve of his cheek than he’s throwing his arm out in the minimal space between them, his wrist colliding painfully with her stomach. She stumbles backwards, barely keeping her balance and mumbling a string of curses under her breath and when she looks up he’s brandishing a chair at her. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Killian shouts, and Emma does her best to quiet him without taking a rogue chair to the side of her legs. 

“Listen, listen, listen. Do you remember when you were a kid there was a girl who lived across the street from you?” He doesn’t immediately put the chair down. He licks his lips instead. And the tips of his ears go red. “Swan?”

Emma nods, ignoring the lump of everything in the back of her throat at her sound of her own name. “Hi.” “Hi? Did you just say hi? What are you doing here?” “I’m uh...how much do you remember of, like, the last seventy-two hours?” Killian makes a face, an expression that does something particular to Emma’s heart and soul and whatever, tilting his head and his eyes widen when he notices the coffin he just leapt out of. “Oh, shit. Is that…” “Yeah,” Emma says. “So, uh. I don’t have a lot of time here.” “How much time is not a lot of time? God, are you some kind of angel? Is that what’s happening? Because if that’s what’s happening, then that’s a really twisted trick to show me you when I’m dead and—” “—No, no, I’m really here.” She ignores most of that sentence too. She’ll have the rest of her life to linger on what those words, maybe, mean. “But, um, we’re wasting time.” “To?” “Have you tell me who killed you.” Killian blinks – far too quickly to be anything except entirely distracting, and Emma wishes he wouldn’t because she’d really like to see his eyes and she’s almost pleased to realize her memories of his eyes have remained perfect for the last two decades. “Are you a cop?” 

“No, but, Killian, you’re really cutting into your time here. It’s like...twenty seconds now.” “What?” “Killian!” His answering smile is blinding. That’s the only word Emma can come up with. It makes her breath catch and her shoulders sag, as if all the worries and fears and anxieties of the world have disappeared. At least for a moment. 

“It’s really good to see you, Swan,” he says, taking a step towards her and Emma backs up on instinct. That gives him, visible, pause. “I don’t know who killed me.” “What?” “I have no idea who killed me. It was an arrangement and—that’s not important, but I don’t know how it happened. I think I had a dream about some kind of blade but—” He cuts himself off when he twists the wrong way, gritting his teeth when his gaze falls on the blunt end of his left arm. “Holy shit,” Killian mumbles. “That’s...shit did I bleed out somewhere?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admits. “That’s why I’m here.” “To find out why I died?” She nods. “And you’re not an angel?” She shakes her head. “Huh, well I’m sorry to disappoint, Swan, but I’ve got no idea. Does that send me directly to hell or something?” “I’m really not an angel.” Killian hums, rocking towards her and ignoring whatever Emma’s eyes do at that. “So, uh...what happens now? I was dead, wasn’t I?” “Yeah. Um...well, I have to touch you and you’ll be dead again.” “You have to touch me?” “Them’s the rules.” He chuckles, the smile on his face her smile and Emma’s a greedy jerk. She wrings her hands together. That’s probably the fifth tell. “You know,” she mutters. “When I was a kid...I was...you were my first kiss.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “You were my first kiss too,” Killian says. “And you’ve got to touch me so I die again?” “Please don’t say it like that.” There’s more laughter and they’re definitely in the final seconds and Emma tilts her head up as soon as Killian’s incredibly shiny dress shoes threaten to brush against her flats. “No better way to go out then to go out kissing, huh?” “Oh my God.” “Admit it, Swan, that was funny.” “It was not.” “You’re arguing with a dead man.” She rolls her eyes, but her stomach doesn’t get the memo about jokes and humor and Killian mumbles hey under his breath. “Missed the mark, didn’t I? You don’t…” His ears are still tinged red, a hand reaching behind his back to tug at the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s not a requirement, Swan. The kissing, I mean. Just felt...symmetrical.” “You were always way better at math than me.” Killian grins. “So?”

And for half a breath, Emma is going to do it. She’s going to kiss him and it’ll be something, in some kind of way that may result in a complete and total mental breakdown, because Killian’s already leaning towards her and she really can’t cope with the cut of that suit, but that seems a little morbid too and Emma pulls her lips back behind her teeth. 

“Ah,” Killian says, a note of disappointment in his voice that does not make sense for a man who’s standing a few feet away from his own coffin. “That’s fine, Swan.”

He’s called her Swan more in the last forty-five seconds than he did in the last forty-five days they saw each other. 

Emma’s not totally convinced he isn’t doing it on purpose. 

“What if...you didn’t have to be dead?” Killian scoffs. “That’d be ideal, honestly. Is that an option?”

The objection sits heavy on Emma’s tongue, the certainty that the rules are the rules and there’s no way to break them, but he’s standing there and smiling at her and she takes a step back before she can consider anything except how much she wants Killian Jones to be alive. 

With her. 

Emma hears the timer on her phone go off. Her sixty seconds are up. And Killian Jones is still alive, smiling at her.

[jjoutermaybanks]

With You In My Head || Rafe Cameron x Reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight

summary: it’s going to be a long summer. living in the Outer Banks with your trailer park mom and fancy mansion dad, you know it’s going to be a tough three months. things only get harder when your best friend’s brother, the notorious Rafe Cameron, begins to complicate your life even more. but will the island’s biggest wildcard successfully steal your heart, or leave you more broken than before?

word count: 3k

warnings: violence

*not my gif, credit to owner*

PART TWO

You had no idea where you were going.  You only vaguely knew the area, and even if you did have a sense of location you still would have struggled to think straight over the sound of your slamming heartbeat.  Your feet carried you to the one place you knew you needed to go: far away.  Soon you were jogging, trying to put as much distance between you and the horror scene you’d left behind.  Ward’s cold little chuckle echoed in your ears as you ran, streaking through the warm air.  Eventually you landed at the beach, and already the sound of crashing waves began to calm you.

Inhaling deeply, you took a minute to catch your breath.  You were pissed at yourself for even thinking for a second that your visit with your father could be normal.  Just being in the same room as him made your skin crawl, not to mention his creepy house guest Ward.  It was a doomed situation from the start, but you’d foolishly believed that maybe it would be different this time.

The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, and the world was blanketed in a pale orange glow.  No one else was around, a fact you were grateful for.  You needed time to recover from whatever the hell that was.

Unfortunately, you weren’t alone for long.  As you kicked off your shoes and walked along the sand, a figure appeared over the small hill beyond the dunes.  You paused, watching as whoever it was approached.  Groaning inwardly, you braced yourself and slapped on a smile, determined to be polite no matter how exhausting it would be.

But then you could actually make out who it was, and your phony small fell immediately.  You recognized those board shorts and that pastel pink shirt.  It was Rafe Cameron, in all of his country club glory.

His smirk was wide when he finally reached you, hands casually in his pocket as his eyes scanned you up and down.  Brows raised, he asked, “Have you seen a ghost, or something?”

“No,” you rebutted.  “Just my father.”  Biting your lip, you winced.  Why would you tell him? you screamed at yourself, wanting nothing more than to dive into the water and disappear.  You did not need to be sharing your personal life problems with Rafe Cameron.

He looked a little surprised at your admittance himself.  “Really?  What was that like?”

Frowning, you looked away from his piercing blue eyes.  His gaze made your skin crawl.  “What do you care?”  Normally you wouldn’t be so hostile for no reason, but a mix of Sarah’s influence and your current nerves had your patience worn thin.  Besides, you were sure Rafe could use a little rudeness to teach him some humility.

Rafe chuckled, shrugging in response.  “I don’t know, you just look a little upset.”  He didn’t sound particularly mocking, which was mildly surprising.

Sighing, you turned to walk towards the shore.  “He tends to have that effect,” you grumbled, not expecting Rafe to be able to hear.  But he’d actually followed you as you walked, shocking you yet again.  You paused a few meters from where the tide hit, and settled down into the sand.  It was warm from the sun’s heat, and felt like a soft blanket underneath your skin.  Out of the corner of your eye, Rafe sat down beside you, linking his hands around his knees and gazing out at the calm waters.

It was incredibly strange to be so close to someone you thought you disliked.  Sarah had told you so many stories about her brother that you thought you knew him pretty well, but whoever this was didn’t exactly fit into that version.

The silence wasn’t helping your anxiety, so you asked, “What are you doing out here anyway?”  You knew the Cameron’s lived fairly close to your father, but you’d figured Rafe would be with his friends or at some party instead of wandering the beach alone.

“Thought I’d get a stroll in before I headed over to Kelce’s,” he told you.  “I need to clear my head sometimes too.”  Normally you would’ve rolled your eyes at the thought of Rafe having actual problems, but then you remembered who his father was.  Ward wasn’t much better than your own father, and you had a feeling Sarah didn’t let on to how hard it was living with him.  

You nodded, squinting at the sun rays bouncing off the water.  “I can’t seem to clear my head at all these days,” you confessed, deciding to just let go of your inhibitions and speak freely.  It was just Rafe; what’s the worst that could happen from talking to him?

“So you and your dad aren’t good?” he guessed, giving you a sympathetic smile.  You felt your guard fly up instinctively at this question, wary of divulging secrets to a guy you barely knew.  

Rafe caught on to your hesitation, and rolled his eyes.  “Come on, Y/N.  It’s not a big deal, I was just asking.”

A frown still pulled at your lips, and you replied, “Why would I talk about this with you?  We don’t know each other.”  You also didn’t know he’d go blabbing to, surely spreading your secrets across the whole island.

“That’s exactly why you should tell me,” he countered with a smirk.  “It’s so much easier talking to someone you don’t know, because then there’s no bias or baggage.  Consider me your therapist.”  He shifted position to face you better.

Brows knitting in disbelief, you couldn’t help but laugh.  “A therapist?  You’re Sarah’s brother, Rafe, not a complete stranger.  I’m sure there’s a little bias here.”  Even so, it was a tempting offer.  Opening up to an idealist like Sarah was hard, and Rafe was sort of a stranger.

“I swear, absolutely no bias here.”  He put his hands up for effect.  “I’m also extremely bored, and focusing on someone else’s problems for a while might clear my head.”  His smile was hard to say no to, especially in such a serene atmosphere as the beach at sunset.  It was too perfect a moment to pass up, so you sighed and gave in.

“Fine, what do you want to know?”

Rafe rubbed his hands together, pretending to contemplate this.  “Well, I think we were talking about your dad.”  It stunned you a little how forward he was, wasting no time before diving into the tough subjects.

You picked at a small pebble in the sand, an image of your father’s face flashing in your mind.  “He isn’t even really my dad at this point.  To me, he’s just the guy that ruined my mom’s life and left us in the dust.”  This was the first time you said the words aloud, and hearing them actually felt sort of freeing.

His smile fading, Rafe looked out at the distant shore.  “Sarah mentioned your parents are divorced.”  You raised your eyebrows at him, puzzled.  When did he talk to Sarah about you?  Rafe sensed your confusion and added, “You’re her best friend; you’re bound to come up in conversation at least once.”

You wondered what Sarah had said exactly, and how much she’d revealed.  Truthfully, even Sarah didn’t know the full story since you liked to keep it to yourself.  “Sometimes I feel like I’m living two lives, like I’m two separate people.  There’s the me that lives with my mom, hangs out with Sarah, enjoys the summer.  Then there’s the me that my dad expects to see, a perfect loving daughter to fill up his giant mansion and boost his ego.”  Your voice got steadily more bitter as you spoke, and you dug your hands into the sand.

“I feel like that with Ward sometimes,” Rafe admitted.  “As long as I don’t screw up his country club membership he tolerates me.”  His confession was unexpected, since you thought you were the only one who’d let your guard down.

Biting your lip, you said softly, “You call your dad ‘Ward?’”  It was so detached and impersonal, not at all a loving father-son dynamic.  Rafe just chuckled darkly at your comment, confirming your suspicions that their relationship was more than a little rocky.

“Either that or ‘sir’.  The Cameron’s aren’t a warm and fuzzy bunch, I’ll tell you that.”  He tried to say it jokingly, but there was an underlying sadness to his words.  You knew Sarah loved her father, despite his many oddities.  But you also sensed she was a little brainwashed by him, and John B. had spent most of their relationship trying to help her gain some independence.  Clearly Rafe was not under Ward’s spell, as he spoke about his father in a cold, unfeeling tone.

He glanced over at you, eyes thoughtful.  “How does your mom feel about all of it?”

The mention of your mother twisted your heart painfully.  You realized how disappointed she’d be when you told her how horribly tonight had gone.  “She’s...really good at faking it,” you finally stated, thinking of her forced smiles and half-hearted enthusiasm.  “But you should see the dump she lives in.  I mean, I don’t know how she isn’t furious at my father for what he did.”  Referring to your home as a “dump” was a little much, but it wasn’t exactly false.  Your mother deserved a house, not a trailer.  

Rafe considered this.  “And you live with her?  Over in The Cut?”  You nodded shyly; this meant admitting you lived in a dump, too, and Rafe didn’t usually interact with anyone other than stuffy Kooks.  But he didn’t appear to be judging you, instead just soaked in the information you gave him with a slight frown. 

During this brief pause you took the opportunity to study Rafe.  His posture was relaxed, his usually gelled hair slightly messy and blowing in the gentle breeze.  His blue eyes reflected the paling evening light, and you noticed the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked.

Your scrutiny didn’t go unnoticed, and when he turned to look back you quickly diverted your gaze.  Rafe’s smile was lopsided, and for a second it actually felt like you were just talking to a friend.

A friend.  Could Rafe ever be your friend?  He was much better than you’d previously thought, but there was still a lot you didn’t know about him.  And despite his easy-going demeanor, you didn’t trust him fully.  Talking to him helped lift some weight off your shoulders, but you hadn’t let him in all the way yet.  Maybe if you talked like this more you’d steadily begin to trust him.

While you were busy in your head, you hadn’t realized Rafe was also studying your face.  Blushing, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear and cleared your throat.  “Shouldn’t you be going to Kelce’s soon?  Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Rafe waved you off.  “Nah, he can wait, especially if you have more to talk about.  I don’t know about you but I’m having loads of fun discussing our issues.”  You laughed, actually a little guilty that you’d suggested he leave.  Even so, you knew this had to end soon, so you got your feet and brushed the sand off your legs.

“I’m all out of issues for the night, but if any more come up I’ll let you know,” you informed him, and his eyes glinted with amusement.

“Yeah, I’d love to do this again.”  His voice was earnest now, despite being humorous just a second ago.  You smiled at him, unsure how to respond.  Rafe was becoming more confusing than ever, and you knew you’d need a while to mull this all over.  

You both walked back up to the main path, and before leaving you said, “I’ll see you later.”

Rafe nodded, hands in his pockets as he walked backwards in order to continue facing you.  “I hope you do.”  With that, he finally turned and you were cut off from his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Needless to say, the walk home was spent scrutinizing your conversation with Rafe.  It had been incredibly freeing as well as confusing, a mixture of pleasant surprise and nervous apprehension.  It almost felt like a dream, especially with the soft orange tint all of your memories had.  When you thought of Rafe, you could only see him as he just was, bathed in sunset light and surrounded by the peaceful ocean.  You liked imagining him this way, and the image didn’t leave your head for most of the walk home.

Only when you passed by JJ’s did the picture in your mind dissolve.  By now it was nearly dark, but you could still make out the blonde frantically rushing out of his house.  He looked determined to get wherever he was going as fast as possible, and when he neared you caught the intensity on his face.

“JJ?” you said tentatively.  He looked shocked to see you, brows pulling low over his eyes.

“Y/N?  What are you doing here?”

“Walking home--”

“Have you heard from Sarah?” he interrupted, making you frown.  You hadn’t heard from Sarah since earlier in the day.  Shaking your head, JJ sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “It’s John B.  Apparently Topper felt the need to assert his dominance, and he brought his cronies over to the Chateau to harass him and Sarah.”

At the mention of Topper’s “cronies”, you quickly said, “Can I come?”  Topper was one of Rafe’s best friends, so you guessed it was Kelce and Rafe who were helping him fight John B.  This frustrated you, and reminded you of the Rafe that Sarah talked about.  Topper was pathetic, and anyone who helped him was delusional.  Rafe didn’t seem that delusional on the beach, you reasoned, but angrily pushed the thought away.  You had no reason to defend Rafe, not after one measly conversation.

JJ looked surprised at your request.  “I mean, yeah.  Might get ugly, though.”  He grinned at this, and you shuddered.  JJ liked himself a good brawl, and you knew a simple argument could escalate into physical blows within seconds.

Getting to the Chateau took only a few minutes, but by the time you arrived you could already hear shouting.  A few voices were arguing, and one you recognized as Kiara.

“Seriously guys, this is so juvenile,” she complained as you and JJ burst into the yard.  Kiara was standing with her arms folded beside a furious Sarah.  Pope was shoulder to shoulder with John B., squaring up in front of Topper.  Rafe and Kelce flanked him from behind, so far outnumbering the Pogues three to two.  But then JJ joined the guys and the fight was even.

When you entered the yard, Rafe tore his eyes away from the Pogues and stared at you incredulously.  He looked startled to see you here, and his jaw clenched tightly before turning his glare back onto John B.

“Go home, Topper,” Sarah cried out, sounding exasperated.  You joined her and Kiara, staying far enough out of the boys’ way to avoid any punches that might be thrown.

“This isn’t about you, Sarah,” Topper snapped.  “Not everything is about you.”  Sarah scoffed at this, and you saw a flicker of amusement cross Rafe’s face.  You scowled at this; shouldn’t Rafe defend his sister over her ex-boyfriend?  Why wasn’t he on her side?

Sarah snorted, placing her hands on her hips.  “You are such a child.  Get over it already.”  John B. glanced back at his girlfriend, trying to hide his smile.  You could sense the love between them just from a glance.

Topper pouted, and actually did sort of look like a little kid.  He was fuming like a toddler throwing a tantrum.  “Sarah, will you shut the fuck up for a second?”

John B. immediately reacted to this, going chest to chest with Topper.  “Hey, don’t talk to her like that.”  Topper glared down at him, shoving him back roughly.  John B. stumbled slightly, and JJ took a threatening step forward.

“Oh hell no, you do not get to shove us, prissy boy,” he hissed, sizing up Rafe as John B. approached Topper.  Even Pope and Kelce were on the verge of fighting now, and the tension in the late night air was palpable.

Topper’s smirk was oily as he said, “You know John B., you gotta learn how to keep that mouth of her’s shut.  And I know the perfect way to shut up a slut like Sarah.”

That was it.  In an explosion of grunts and swear words, the two groups descended on one another in a flurry of fists.  John B. and Topper pummeled into one another, ripping at shirts and tearing at faces.  Pope swung at Kelce, landing on his jaw but suffering a hit to his chest.  Topper attempted to headlock John B., but the latter twisted out of his grip and hooked his right fist into Topper’s cheek.  Bones cracked and split through the quiet night air, making you jump back.

Kiara looked like she was holding herself back from joining, desperately watching Pope and Kelce duke it out.  Sarah held her breath, but John B. appeared to be winning against Topper.  Pope landed hit after hit on Kelce, using his speed to his advantage and leaving the other boy confused and angry.

But JJ wasn’t as successful.  Rafe was almost animalistic in the way he attacked the blonde boy, landing punches with such force you almost felt them yourself.  JJ was no weakling, and you’d seen him beat guys twice his size in fights before.  But now he was struggling, blood bubbling up in his mouth as Rafe pummeled his stomach.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, barely believing your eyes.  Blood was flying out, staining Rafe’s shirt and dripping down JJ’s chin.  One of his eyes had turned black, and he looked unsteady on his feet. 

Rafe’s fists were relentless, and for a minute you thought he was going to kill JJ.  The Pogue was a rag-doll in Rafe’s hands, suffering blow after blow.  You remembered how kind he had been on the beach, how understanding he was.  You pictured his easy smile, his bright blue eyes.  Those blue eyes you’d admired earlier were now black with a deadly intensity, and fear like you’d never experienced struck your heart.

And then Topper was on the ground, scrambling to get away from John B.  Kelce had shied away from Pope, helping Topper up and breathing hard.  Realizing his friends had lost, Rafe stopped his fist in midair, looking behind him with wild eyes.

John B. spit on the ground in front of him, lifting his chin in victory.  “Get out of here, before I actually get mad.”  His eyes were steely as Topper stumbled back, using Rafe and Kelce to support him.  Rafe was the only one of the three not out of breath or visibly injured, his face oddly blank for what had just happened.

And then his eyes connected with yours, only for an instant.  He must have seen the pure terror on your face, because his expression slackened and something like guilt flashed in his eyes.  Lips parting, you almost wanted to beg him to explain himself, to tell you what the hell had happened between your talk at the beach and the fight just now.  It frightened you that someone could change on a dime like that, especially someone you were trying to trust.

Whatever guilt he felt wasn’t strong enough to make him stop.  Instead, Rafe just looked away from you and focused on Topper, and soon enough the three boys had disappeared from view.

But even though he was no longer in front of you, you knew you’d never forget the way he looked tonight: terrifying.

~ ~ ~

taglist

@prejudic3​ @afterglowsb-tch13​ @beeeee06

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 3: Chapter 2

New York & Saturday Night Live: April 2017    

Word count: 4.8k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter but I'm finally back at work after 75 days in lockdown. Updates will probably be a bit more spaced out than they were in Parts 1 & 2 but please know that I am still working away at it and I already have so many future chapters planned out that I'm really excited for.

This chapter is a bit of a long one and I thought about splitting it in half but figured you deserved the treat after waiting patiently.

Don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the series and let me know what you think.

>Instagram posts

By the time Aurora woke up Monday morning, Harry’s side of the bed was cold, and he had long since left for the day. Since he would be appearing in multiple sketches on the upcoming episode of Saturday Night Live, he was needed for rehearsals all week. Aurora was thankful that she and the rest of the band weren’t needed until Friday and instead she was able to sleep in. Their flight had arrived in New York well after midnight and by the time they made their way to the tower they had both decided to head straight to bed. Aurora was fairly certain her father would have still been awake, working in his lab but she was far too tired for a reunion after hours on a plane.

Once she managed to roll herself out of bed and get dressed for the day ahead, Aurora made her way down the hall to the open plan kitchen/living area of the penthouse with its wide, floor to ceiling wall of windows looking out over the sprawling expanse of Central Park. Both Tony and Steve were sitting on the stools at the kitchen’s island bench, waiting for their daughter to wake up. Steve had seen Harry earlier that morning as he was leaving, and Steve had been coming back from his early morning run. Both he and Tony were eager to have their daughter home for an entire week and while Steve was happy to sip on his tea and read the morning while they waited, Tony was practically vibrating in his seat with barely contained excitement. Steve’d had to stop him twice from having JARVIS ‘accidentally’ wake Aurora up, so Tony was unsurprisingly the first out of his seat when she finally appeared.

Aurora was grinning widely and broke into a fit of giggles as her father rushed over and lifted her off the ground in a crushing hug. Despite having seen each other only two weeks ago, the craziness of the wedding hadn’t really allowed them much time to just hang out together and prior to the wedding they had spent a solid 5 months apart given the last minute changes to their Christmas plans in the wake of Johannah’s death.

“Missed you Dad,” she said, returning the tight hug.

“Missed you too Kiddo,” Tony replied, finally setting her back on her feet and allowing her to cross the room and fall into Steve’s arms.

The small family spent the entire day together, watching a movie and then moving down to Tony’s workshop in the afternoon so that he could work on a prototype for Stark Industries while Steve and Rori sketched on the sofa. It was reminiscent of how they had spent many evenings shortly after Rori first came to live with her fathers, the memories of those long nights brought a soft smile to her face as she sketched Dumm-e and Butterfingers, where they were attempting to help Tony, but instead were causing more problems than they were able to solve. Harry found them all there when he arrived back to the tower later that evening, grinning excitedly as he launched into his recounting of his first day with the SNL cast.

xXx

Since first meeting her father’s childhood best friend, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, three years ago, Aurora had slowly come to see him as a member of the family. For the first year that they had both lived in the tower together, they had coexisted amicably but had been far from friends, nothing close to the way Aurora was with the rest of the team. Even as her relationship with Sam had flourished quickly as he acclimatized to life as an Avenger she had struggled to be around Bucky. He hadn’t held her distant behaviour against her, knowing that while most of the team had been able to separate the actions of the Winter Soldier from Bucky himself, Aurora had struggled to accept into her home the man who had tried, on several occasions, to assassinate one of her fathers. Following the Columbia Shooting, she had surprised him by seeking him out during her recovery and their friendship had bloomed after her amputation surgery. Now, many years later Bucky easily filled the role of another uncle in Aurora’s life, a shift that had made Steve overwhelmingly happy.

It was late Tuesday afternoon and Steve went in search of his daughter, having not seen her since they’d shared lunch together. He expected to see her in the workshop with Tony, however his husband said he hadn’t seen her since breakfast. With the help of JARVIS he finally found her on one of the lower floors, the one shared by Sam, Bucky and Rhodey when he was in town. She was in the living room sitting across the table from Bucky, a game of Battleship between the pair. Steve suppressed a chuckle as he joined the pair, well aware by now of how much his best friend and his daughter enjoyed playing a variety of tabletop games together. Many arguments had been started over a game of backgammon or canasta.

“Who’s winning?” he asked, pulling up a chair beside Aurora and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m kicking his ass,” she smiled.

“She’s getting cocky,” Buck replied, “and it’s going to backfire on her in a minute.”

“Of course it is,” Aurora said, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

The game continued for a while, Aurora cheering and taunting when she sunk another of Bucky’s ships, mocking him mercilessly when he continued to miss her own turn after turn.

“I don’t understand why you always beat me,” he moaned when she won. “I mean surely your luck has to run out eventually.”

“It’s not luck, Bucky,” Rori laughed. “It’s about strategy and reading your opponent and I hate to tell you, but you are entirely predictable.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent battle strategist,” Bucky retorted.

“Apparently you’re not,” Aurora bit back, a wide smile gracing her face. Steve let out a loud peel of laughter at their bickering.

“Excuse me,” JARVIS interrupted. “Miss Stark, you requested that I alert you when young Mr Styles returned to the tower.”

“Thanks J,” Rori replied, kissing her fathers’ cheek and jumping to her feet, ready to head towards the elevator.

“Miss Stark?” Steve asked.

“He said that Dad programmed him to call me that and no marriage certificate is gonna change it,” Rori explained with a roll of her eyes. “Dad could probably get him to stop but honestly I like it. I didn’t get to be a Stark for very long so it’s nice to be one when I come home.”

“You’ll always be a Stark, bug,” Steve promised, returning the kiss on her cheek and watching as she left the room in search of Harry on the upper floors of the Tower.

“Enjoying having her home?” Bucky asked.

“Absolutely,” Steve answered. “I miss her when she’s not here. Tony does too, even if he won’t admit it. She grew up too fast on us.”

“Can’t have been easy not meeting her until she was practically all grown up,” Bucky pointed out.

“No, you’re right,” Steve agreed. “Sometimes I wish we’d got to raise her, but I’d also never want to have taken away any of the time she got with her mom.”

“You and Tony ever think of having another kid?”

“We’ve talked about,” Steve said. “It’s not very easy process. The worlds come a long way since the 40’s Buck, but it’s still hard for two men to adopt. It certainly doesn’t help that we’ve got such dangerous jobs.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Bucky replied. “Never known you to back down from something just because it’s hard or because someone tells you no, though.”

“You might have a point there. Seems we’ve managed to accidently adopt Peter over the years so maybe we’re just meant to keep collecting teenagers.”

xXx

Something Aurora loved about the city was the way that New Yorkers didn’t care about anyone around them. Everyone was busy getting from one place to another and had very little time or care to look at those surrounding them on the crowded sidewalks. Aurora could easily wander the streets without being hassled as she went about her day. Occasionally a tourist would recognize her, but more often than not, a large pair of sunglasses and a hat pulled low would hide her enough to avoid all but the most astute fan. She wore a loose oversized cardigan which hung over the tips of her fingers completely concealing her prosthetic hand as she headed through the streets of midtown Manhattan, her hands full of shopping bags as she walked back towards Avengers Tower. She could have halved the time to get home by taking the subway, but the weather was nice, so she enjoyed the walk, reaching the towers lobby a little after 2 in the afternoon.

By the time she stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse, she noted Steve, Clint and Bucky sprawled out on the sofas in front of the tv. She dropped her shopping bags onto the floor and launched herself onto the sofa cushion next to Steve, curling herself into his side as his arm fell around her shoulders, hugging her tightly against him.

“Where’ve you been all day?” he asked.

“Went shopping,” Rori explained.

“Do I want to know?” he asked with a soft chuckle.

“I bought wigs.”

“Why on earth are you buying wigs?” Clint butted in.

“Because with the tour coming up,” Rori said, “I want to try out some different hair colours, but I’ve never bleached my hair before and I’m honestly terrified of ruining my hair. So, wigs.”

“Do we get a fashion show?” Steve asked.

“Maybe later,” she mumbled, yawning widely before resting her head back against Steve’s shoulder and staring, glazed eyes at the tv.

xXx

The following day, Sam found Rori sitting alone against one of the large windows, hugging her knees tightly against her chest as she stared out over the city.

“Hey, you,” he said as he took a seat next to her on the floor. “You ok?”

“Yeah I’m good,” she replied, her voice soft and a little distant, her gaze remaining on the view spread out beneath them.

“Remember when you promised me you wouldn’t lie about how you were feeling,” Sam reminded her.

She sighed, her shoulders sagging and her head leaning forward to rest against the cold glass. “I had a panic attack last week,” she mumbled.

“When you got home to London?” he asked.

She shook her head. “On the last day of our honeymoon. This thunderstorm came rolling in out of nowhere the day before we flew home, and I just freaked out and ruined everything. I thought I was getting better.”

“You are getting better,” Sam argued. “This is the first panic attack you’ve had in months. That’s a huge improvement.”

“But I thought they were gone,” Rori sobbed. “I was just starting to feel normal again but I’m never going to be like I was.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but PTSD isn’t something you just get over. It’s going to be with you for the rest of your life, but that doesn’t have to mean there’s anything wrong with you and I’m sure Harry didn’t think you ruined the trip.”

“Of course he didn’t, he’s Harry,” she said. “He’s always so supportive and just wants to help me through it. It’s not even really about last week,” she admitted. “It’s more about what it says about the rest of the year. The rest of my life. When Harry asked me to join his band, I was terrified that somehow, I would do something to ruin it all, like that somehow my prosthetic would malfunction, and I’d ruin a show. Now I’m wondering what will happen if I have a panic attack at a show? There are so many things that can go wrong, and he’s worked so hard for all of this. I’ll never forgive myself if I do anything to damage that.”

“What happens if Mitch slips over in the rain and breaks his hand and can’t play the guitar? What if Sarah gets the flu and has to sit out a few shows? What if something happens with Adams kids and he has to leave the tour?” Sam asked. “There are so many what ifs and things that can go wrong but did you notice how none of those things had anything to do with anyone’s disabilities? There are things in your life that are going to be more challenging for you than they would have been if you hadn’t been shot. You can’t let that stop you from living. I’m sure Harry and Jeff have all kinds of plans in place for what happens if one of you gets sick and can’t perform, so maybe you should talk to them about your concerns and you can have some plans in place and that will help with the anxiety of it all.”

“You know I really hate when you’re right Sam,” Aurora mumbled, the corners of her lips twitching.

“I know,” he smirked. “But one of these days you’ll learn to accept that I’m never wrong.”

Aurora stuck her tongue out at him before letting out a tired sigh. “I’m just so exhausted. Like, my brain just never stops stressing over these tiny little things and it’s so exhausting to constantly be worrying about everything. I mean Christ, I chipped my nail polish at lunch and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for the last few hours which is ridiculous because who cares if my nail polish is chipped, but I’m going to be on live tv in two days and what if they want a shot of my hands while I’m playing and it’s not like I have time to go get them redone now.”

“Why not just tell the camera operators not to set up that shot?” Sam asked, always the rational voice.

“Yeah,” Rori nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Having said his piece, Sam stood up after giving her shoulder a quick squeeze and then walked away, leaving her to think about what he’d said. She was still sitting on the floor beside the window deciding how to bring her anxieties to Harry without adding to his already full plate when Nat appeared beside her. “Heard you could do with a manicure,” she said.

She extended her hand, helping Aurora up off the floor and then led her to the elevator and down to her personal floor. Nat didn’t press Aurora to talk as they settled down in her living room and set about removing the chipped polish from the nails of her right hand. Rori was grateful for the silence, not sure that she had the energy to carry a conversation but also glad that she wasn’t alone. Where others in the tower felt that they needed to distract her from her anxiety, it was always Nat that provided what she needed without her ever having to ask. Her thoughts whirled in her head as Nat applied the new pale yellow polish to her nails in slow, methodical strokes, Sam’s advice echoing in Aurora’s ears.  

“You seem stressed,” Nat finally said as she finished the topcoat on the last nail.

“Just nervous about the show on Saturday,” Rori replied softly. “Live TV doesn’t leave any room for error.”

“I’m sure you’ll all do great,” Nat promised with a warm smile. “Now lay back and I’ll do a face mask and help you relax. You’re way too tense for a 22 year old.”

Aurora did as she was told without argument, laying back and closing her eyes as Nat spread the cool clay over her face and then she started massaging her long fingers into Rori’s scalp. Once the mask was finished and Nat had cleaned it away with a warm cloth, she set about rubbing moisturizer onto Rori’s face, soothing the pinched muscles between the younger woman’s brow until she fell asleep under Nat’s hands.  

When Harry arrived back at the tower a little over an hour later he found most of the team in the penthouse, however his wife was conspicuously absent from the group. He asked JARVIS if she was downstairs in either of the studios, his brow furrowing when the AI informed him that she was in Agent Romanoff’s private quarters and he headed for the elevator.

Nat was sitting on the other sofa across from where Rori was sleeping peacefully, a book in hand when JARVIS’ voice filled the room and she was thankful that she had asked the AI to lower its volume when Aurora had fallen asleep.

“Mr. Styles is requesting access to your floor Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS announced in a hushed whisper.

“Tell him to come in,” Nat replied in an equally soft tone.

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened at the end of the hall and Harry strolled into the room, his eyes immediately falling to his sleeping wife. “Hey,” he whispered to Nat. “Everything ok here?”

“She was getting a bit anxious about Saturday, so we had a bit of a spa day to help her calm down,” Nat explained.

Harry nodded and then headed over to the sofa, sitting on its edge next to Aurora’s hip and reached out to trace his hand along her cheekbone. “Rors?” he soothed. “Time to wake up love.” As she began to stir, Nat left the room allowing the couple to have some privacy.

“You’re home,” Rori mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Missed you today.”

“Heard you had a bad day,” Harry said, pulling her up and into a tight hug. “Sorry I wasn’t here.”

“S’ok,” she replied as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “Just got in my head a bit and spiralled.”

“Feeling better now?”

“Much,” she promised. “Always feel better when you’re here.”

“Mitch text me about 20 minutes ago that their flight landed so they’ll be here soon. Wanna come upstairs with me? Think Steve’s cooking a massive dinner.”

Aurora nodded her head and laced her fingers through Harry’s as the headed for the elevator doors.

xXx

Aurora tried to hold back her anxiety as she walked through the door with Harry, Jeff and the rest of the band Friday morning. She knew she was doing a poor job of it when Harry squeezed her hand tightly in an attempt to comfort her. She was angry at herself for her nervousness, knowing that she had performed on bigger stages in front of live audiences in the past, but she couldn’t seem to overcome the fear that she would make a mistake that would make Harry look bad. She could always deal with embarrassing herself, but the idea of screwing up everything that Harry had worked for was what truly made her terrified.

The set was a blur of activity and Harry led them down the halls towards the set where their equipment had been set up. Sarah headed straight to her drum kit and the boys picked up their guitars while Rori and Harry walked over to where the keyboards where a grand piano was waiting for her.  

“You look like you’re going to be sick babe,” Harry said. He kept his voice low, whispering in his wife’s ear as she sat down on her bench seat, not wanting draw anyone’s attention to their conversation. “I know you’re going to nail this. Just gotta trust me.”

“I know,” she replied. “God anxiety is such a bitch.” Harry chuckled at her little outburst and then he kissed the top of her head before walking over towards the microphone stand.

They spent the rest of the day running through the two songs they would perform the following evening. They discussed the lighting and camera set ups, making sure that everyone in the band and the crew knew exactly where they would stand and which way the equipment would move during the live broadcast. Occasionally they would take breaks for Harry to go work on the sketches he would be appearing in or they would stop so that Aurora could remove her prosthetic for a while. In the year since she had started wearing the prosthetic hand, Tony and Peter had redesigned the original many times, constantly upgrading and improving it’s coding to make it easier for her to wear for longer periods of time. Despite these upgrades, she still found it hard to wear for too long and after about 4 hours of prolonged use she would start to get horrible tension headaches from the transmitting device she wore behind her left ear. It was for this reason that the majority of their soundchecks were happening on Friday so that Aurora wouldn’t be required to play before the show was ready to go to air. She was always uncomfortable whenever plans had to change in order to accommodate her disability, but Harry had  assured her repeatedly over the course of the week that it was not a big deal and that they wouldn’t have been needed much on Saturday afternoon anyway, so it wasn’t even that much of a change to the schedule.

By the end of the day, Aurora was exhausted. They had taken plenty of breaks throughout the day, but she knew that she had definitely pushed herself, never wanting to be the one to call for a break and know she was paying for it. She had her prosthetic off and stuffed into her bag before they even reached the car that would take them all the few short blocks back to the tower.  She sat in the back seat beside Harry and let her head fall against his shoulder, closing her eyes for the quick 10 minute drive.

“You alright love?” Harry asked quietly as they pulled up in the underground carpark of the tower.

She hummed in response, letting him lead her out of the car and into the waiting elevator. “Just tired,” she promised. “It was a long day.”

“It was,” Harry agreed, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “Went great though. Think tomorrow’s going to be amazing.”

Aurora wasn’t the only one who was tired and after such a long day of rehearsals, everyone in the band was happy to return to the tower, the inviting smells of dinner greeting them as they stepped out of the elevator to see the entire team crowded around the dining table, waiting for them. Aurora’s eyes lit up as she saw Peter at the table and immediately rushed over to him, pulling him out of his seat and into a hug, her exhaustion evaporated in the wake of seeing him again for the first time since they’d arrived back in town.

“God, where have you been all week?” she asked.

“Sorry been busy with school and patrols,” Peter replied. “I usually only have time to come over Friday nights and on the weekends.”

“Lucky we’re not leaving till Monday then,” Rori smiled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get to spend any time with you at all. Now talk to me, how’s it feel to almost be finished with High School?”

Harry watched them with an amused smile as they sat next to each other, talking excitedly about Peter’s upcoming graduation and which colleges he had been accepted to. They barely stopped talking throughout the entire meal, completely oblivious to anyone else at the table. Harry hadn’t spent a great deal of time around Peter, given how much time he had spent on the road with One Direction or off filming Dunkirk while Aurora had still been living in the tower full time, but it didn’t really take a lot of time to understand why Tony, Steve and Rori had all rushed to absorb Peter into their little family. He was such a nice kid, always energetic and excited about anything going on everyone’s lives and he was joy to be around. He had so seamlessly fit into the family dynamic that everyone considered him a Stark in all bar name. Harry had once asked Rori about his place in the team, and she had smiled brightly, explaining how happy she was that while she and Steve had always had their art to bond over, she was relieved that Tony now had someone that could keep up with him in the lab and that he could teach Peter and watch him improve. She’d always wanted a little brother and now she had one in Peter. Tony and Steve had already experienced the emotional minefield of establishing parental roles without stepping on the memory of Rori’s mother, to it had been so easy for them to find a way to fill those same roles with Peter over the last few years without diminishing May’s place in his life or erasing the importance of Peter’s parents. The Avenger’s had always been a messy, happy, found family, and with the addition of Peter and May, and then with Mitch, Adam and Sarah, the family just seemed to keep expanding and Harry could see how much Aurora loved having each and everyone of them crowded into the penthouses dining room.

xXx

Saturday was a blur of activity and rushing around, and before Aurora realised someone was yelling that they were going live in 10 minutes. She was sitting out of the way with Sarah on one side of her and Adam on the other, waiting for their time to perform. Harry was off getting ready for the first sketch and they had a small tv hanging on the wall nearby so that they could watch the show while they waited. The first half of the show went off without a hitch and all four of them simply tried to keep out of everyone’s way until a technician came over to heard them towards the set. They were all situated behind their instruments by the time Harry joined them and he quickly ducked over to Rori for a good luck kiss before taking his place at the mic stand and waiting for the signal to start. One of Aurora’s knees was bouncing beneath the piano and there was a slight tremor in her right hand as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breathes on the darkened set. She tuned out the camera’s and the studio audience, her attention narrowing down to her instrument and Harry a few steps in front of her as she began the opening chords of the song. For a few brief seconds her piano was the only sound as the lights began to lift, and Harry’s voice rang out through the studio. As they hit the pre-chorus Rori and Sarah added their voices to the mix and then all of the other instruments joined as they entered the chorus. All of Aurora’s nerves disappeared as Harry belted out the lyrics of the chorus, and in the brief moment right before the second verse he turned, catching her eye and winking before returning to the microphone. In the final lines of the song, right in the middle of the most difficult notes, Aurora heard Harry’s voice falter and he missed a line. She tried to hide a grimace, knowing that he would be kicking himself for slipping at the end of the song. The moment the camera’s cut away she was at his side, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he pecked her lips quickly. She attempted to comfort him before he was quickly whisked away to change into the costume for the next sketch.

By the time they returned to their little set for their second song Harry appeared to have shaken off the slip up and everyone, including Aurora, was buzzing with adrenaline and ready to go with their second performance. This time the grand piano was gone, and Aurora’s keyboard was positioned behind Harry’s spot at the centre of the stage. With all the sketches out of the way, Aurora watched happily as Harry allowed himself to enjoy the performance. As they finished the song and the audience cheered, Harry quickly pulled his guitar strap over his head and walked over to where Rori was seated behind the keys. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her softly. “That one was for you my love,” he whispered as their lips separated.

“So proud of you,” she whispered in reply. “You absolutely killed it tonight.”

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[silvanable]

hey hey hey, vy from iksennw here and was hoping for ikesen headcanons for a female mc who came from the world of magic (think of fairytail?) or special powers for all WLs? if it's too much then could i request yuki, sasuke, mitsuhide, nobu, and hide?

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

i am so honored that you made a request!

i decided to go with the specific warlords you requested & what their special powers might be, as that seems like a fun idea to play with. 

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

↪  GUIDELINES

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー MITSUHIDE AKECHI

i know you all are thinking mind-reading, but might i propose... doppleganger?

hear me outー

doppleganger’s are creatures that are capable of taking the appearances of others.

and what better superpower for our favorite kitsune to have than the ability to change his own face?

it fits rather well into his personality & even more so with the duties he has.

as nobunaga’s left hand, mitsuhide is a tricky and two faced as can be, he is the snake in the grass.

with the doppleganger ability, he would only further himself into the position of spy & information gatherer.

he could infiltrate any enemies ranks and never be caught because he never has to show his true face.

expect him using his doppleganger ability to tease people constantly.

half the fun for him will be seeing the heart-attack induced expression on his victims face as he, an apparent strange, asks about one of their secrets.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー YUKIMURA SANADA

i had a lot of debate for yuki’s power, mostly because things were suitable but didn’t quite fit.

i chose animal communications, however, because of his personality.

yuki has a very aloof & distant personality, he comes off as very rude and standoffish towards people.

i would argue that he has far better relationships & enjoys the company of animals more to humans.

he LOVES muramasa with all his heart can’t tell me otherwise.

i know all the warlords have their personal pets, but yukimura would have a deeper connection with animals.

he would be able to communicate & understand them.

also i just love the idea of yuki having a hoard of animals following him around the yard & all of them patiently waiting outside the audience chambers for him to come out.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー HIDEYOSHI TOYOTOMI

hideyoshi in my mind is an empath.

sure there were lots of other options i could have picked, but empath sticks out to me more because of how selfless & altruistic he is.

having the ability to read & feel others emotions at will compliment his personality & his nature.

we’d have mom-yoshi x10 on our hands because of it as he feels the moods in the castle and aims to help everyone.

though being an empath also means the ability to manipulate other’s emotions.

hideyoshi would never use that power against someone maliciously but that doesn’t mean he won’t be tempted to use it.

there’s an argument?

he can tone it down and mellow people out with just a couple words & his power’s influence.

though hideyoshi is too kind to actually use it on someone against their will unless the situation is dire.

he wants to help & understand why he’s feeling these emotions from people, not force them to joke it down and force a smile.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー NOBUNAGA ODA

nobunaga strikes me as the type to have pyrokinetic powers.

he is called the devil king after all.

a great twist to this would be he is not immune to being burned, so he has to be careful where he lights everything up.

while this can be a very destructive power, i see nobunaga being fairly wise with it and scarcely using it.

the most common place for his to summon flames or bend them to his will would be on the battlefields.

while he’s not anywhere near as battle hungry or bloodthirsty as kenshin, i can definitely see nobunaga creating rings of flames to trap his enemies.

or more unsavory things, he burns his opponents alive.

other times this is just a very handy ability to have.

no weapons?

fire blades.

no light?

instant torch.

you’ve seen hawaiian fire dancers & meet nobunaga, fire fan dancer.

nobunaga dances and with the additional prop of the fan, i can see a very beautiful display of fire wrapping around him or wisps from him as he moves.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー SASUKE SARUTOBI

i see sasuke as someone who has psychic/energy related abilities, specifically a psychic shield (or force field if you will).

he is a very intelligent person, which i believe would play a big role in psychic abilities, especially if the power relies in the mind.

his abilities would manifest in a form of protection, as while he is a ninja & has grown in the arts of battle, i still see sasuke as someone who tries to avoid real conflict unless absolutely necessary.

these psychic shields would be like a manifestation of energy & strength would be based on mental state at the time.

sasuke would use these more in self defense than anything because shields.

i cannot get the idea out of my head though, that sasuke would form a bubble around himself when kenshin gets into his stabby mood.

he’s out of harms way and building up that mental fortitude at the same time, it’s a win-win.

it depends, but the shields could also have a capacity and distance.

as in the shields are stronger the closer they are to his person and the farther they are, the more it takes to keep the shields there.

again, a very mentally tied ability that would rely heavily on someone’s strength of mind & will to have continuous use, especially for distant or large defenses.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

this was super fun to do! i would also love to hear everyone else’s opinions on this topic as it has so many possibilities!