#i'm weak for endgame fix-its

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Blue Eyes and Moth Wings

First posted: April 28, 2019

Focuses on: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers

Tier: Literally second to last on hits, kudos, and bookmarks (and only second because I just posted a new fic a couple weeks ago); third to last on comments and subscriptions

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I know, right? Since like 98% of my work is BatFam, I'm not sure how many people know that I dabbled in MCU for a hot second. Specifically, Endgame made me feel many things, many of them not good, and I got the fix-it itch for a minute.

This one addresses that horrible ending to the Steve Rogers storyline. I personally don't ship Steve and Bucky romantically, but I do hold to the objective fact that Bucky is the defining person of Steve's entire life. Every single Captain America movie is about Steve in relation to Bucky. And we finally get to a point where they can rest and be friends without war or disintegration or mind control and Steve bounces????? Into a past where he somehow does NOT make it so Bucky never became a POW??????? Bull.

Also Bucky was so unsurprised and accepting in that final scene, which makes zero sense without an explanation like this one.

He feels like he’s falling. He doesn’t remember, and what he does remember he tries to forget—what he does remember they burn out of him, but they can’t burn out the falling. His is a remorseless plunge, a relentless swoop that turns his stomach and leaves him clawing for leverage. The vertigo leaves him sick and shaking every time, though by now he’s learned to hide it, to shove the emotions and the weakness deep down where only he can feel it.

I had a very clear frozen moment in my head that I wanted to work toward, and the beginning of this fic was just recapping Bucky's headspace in CA:TWS to get to where I needed to be.

He compensates by leaving his mark, by pounding his feet into the earth with each landing, by leaving holes and wreckage and carnage in his wake. He never stops falling, but each impact drives a little feeling into his frozen bones. Each piece of havoc is a memory for someone else, a way for his path to be traced by others, like footprints in mud, after he’s passed through and forgotten again. 

I read a meta post at some point, comparing how the two supersoldiers—Steve and Bucky—move so differently. Steve is remarkably light for such a big guy, landing lightly, moving agilely, while Bucky is all weight and force. He doesn't try to avoid damage to himself or his surroundings, so I played with that a little here.

The search spreads outward like oil on water, seeking the trail of the ghost through airport terminals and train stations, bus stops and traffic cams. Those are the eyes of the ones who call him the ghost, призрак, and their eyes are weak, fractured by the virus that has been multiplying under their skin. The eyes of those who call him soldier, солдат, they are sharper. They think they know him. They think they know his patterns. But they have trained him too well, and he turns that knowledge against them like a stiletto.

Language and the terms we use for ourselves and each other and what that says about relationships and perception are such interesting things, aren't they?

There is no additional surveillance that he can tell, no unfriendly eyes looking back at him. Why would there be? They think he is gone, on a boat to Bogata or a plane to Pakistan.

I chose those two places for geographical distance and alliteration. I don't actually know if they make sense in-story as logical places to run. I don't have experience with evading multiple governmental entities.

The man’s face is everywhere, blue-eyed and tight-jawed. Like he’s ready to punch or be punched. The look’s the same, whether on a small, thin face, or a broad, muscled one.

I have many emotions about Steve Rogers, you guys.

None of the faces look like the one he saw, its eye swelled shut, cheek split and broken, lip swollen, lashes wet. The face that doubled over itself, ghosting image on image. He wants to see that face again, to understand why it sent him tumbling into the dark, why the words it rasped sent him falling.

This is my own private headcanon, that aggressive chihuahua Steve has thrown himself into so many fights over his entire lifetime that it's seeing him like that that finally triggers recognition for Bucky in CA:TWS. There's no recognition at Fury's apartment, only slight recognition on the bridge, but this is how things finally click.

He examines the rest of the exhibit, enhanced memory cataloging every detail. He finds a video of James Buchanan Barnes standing next to Steven Grant Rogers. They are laughing, the familiar eyes creasing at the corners in unfamiliar ways. He forces himself not to rub his own mouth. He has no muscle memory for that expression.

I had to watch that end scene so many times to be able to write it in a halfway interesting way, and I'm not mad about it.

“You look like you’ve had a hell of a day,” the man is saying. 

It was a choice, making Steve swear, but it felt like the right one.

“I got some pastrami on rye in my bag here.” The man’s eyes flick to the brown paper bag sitting on the bench next to him. “Was supposed to be my dinner, but I’m not in the mood. If I leave it, you maybe think about eatin’ it for me? I hate the thought of wastin’ it.”

This was important to me, Steve knowing where to find Bucky, waiting until he comes back to himself to make first contact, and preparing a sandwich in advance, knowing his friend is hungry and alone. Also of course lived-through-the-actual-Depression Steve Rogers doesn't waste food.

He buys his way into a dumpy little motel, the building too ashamed to light up its own sign. 

I'm proud of that little line, ngl.

The operative lies crumpled on the ground. Over her body stands the old man from the bench, wrinkled hands still holding a dented trash can lid aloft. The man is panting heavily, eyes on the operative, but then he lifts his gaze.

NARRATIVE RESONANCE elmofire.gif

“If, uh, you need a place to hunker down, I got one you can use.” The man has straightened again, so he does as well, stepping away and out of reach. “It’s a quiet little place. Spare bedroom, good security, not a lot of visitors since my wife… It’s a good spot for R&R.”

Lonely Steve, his wife in a nursing home 🥺 You KNOW he visits every single day.

The blue eyes crinkle again, though he thinks there is something sad lurking in the corners now. “For now, just call me Carter.”

I had ideas floating around about additional chapters, outlining what else these two might have gotten up to between CA:TWS, Civil War, and Endgame. Never got around to it, though.

[todayimgonnaplay]

Today I'm gonna play: Tales of Arise

I'm not too familiar with the Tales series. I've heard of Tales of Symphonia and I've played the demo of Tales of Vesperia, but I had a friend suggest this title to me, so I'm giving this a go.

I've reached near the end of the game so far, and I have to say what a blast it's been! From story to gameplay, Arise as a lot to offer.

A lot of the JRPGs I've seen tend to be very tropey, and this one shows it too, but I'm pleasantly surprised by how they subverted it. A young boy that's high spirited would usually be just that, but in this he has to deal with loss of a struggling relationship; a tsundere would typically constantly put their love interest on edge by assaulting them with violence and love, but here we have a woman from a ''superior'' race being the way she is because of a side effect and her people. The entire game revolves around the whole theme of discrimination between races and within races, and I think they've definitely pulled it off well. Everytime I thought "They didn't bring x topic up, is that a plothole? " they actually do, and I really appreciate an rpg that goes in depth to explain everything with their world and characters through gameplay. The last time I experienced this sort of depth was with Final Fantasy X, which is another game that also deals with racism as a subplot. And even with its depth, I felt it was done rather tastefully and not because there simply should be a conflict in the story. I really wonder who wrote the game because I could find no such info online.. Maybe I'll try again once I'm done with the game. However, I do find the villains so far to be somewhat weak, there are 3 that I can think of in the first half of the game that were interesting and gave a feeling of genuine intimidation, but the rest haven't hit as well as them.

Next up is the gameplay. I'm more of a fan of quick, responsive and flashy combat these days when it comes to action. My gold standard is the Kingdom Hearts series because of this. Initial impressions for Arise were just okay, but as the game progressed and you unlock more features, it definitely checks all boxes. I also appreciate that the game respects my time, (as RPGs do require a good level of commitment) where I never had to grind in excess and always stayed in par with my leveling pace. It also helps that there are items you can cook to increase your exp rate. Exploration is fun and rewarding as you find tons of items, and it's not too linear either! However I must say that the second half of the game has been falling off in regards to that. Including fighting the same bosses and backtracking all the way to the beginning for lore purposes, but this also thins out exploration of the few levels that are new near endgame, making them barren and plain. I can understand for budgetary reasons they probably couldn't add more, but a change to the plot could fix this while still maintaining what's been shown, as the game's lore focuses on the relationship between two races and two worlds. One cool addition for the narrative are the skits and overworld/combat dialogue that plays amongst characters. Seeing their chemistry and filling in bits of the plot is a huge plus. It feels like there's actual chemistry within the cast rather than just people that happen to band together because the share similar goals.

Character designs are a hit or miss. The main stars Alphen and Shionne do get lucky and have various wardrobe changes as the game progresses that represent their journey, but the same cannot be said with every character. Dohalim, a party member is one example of a character that gets the short stick. He is the only dark skinned character of the main cast, and is dressed up in what looks to be Egyptian inspired clothing. This looks fine and dandy until I have realized I've seen 0 connection between his attire and his origins and setting, so this leaves me confused. The same goes for Law, another party member who has clothing that resembles what video game characters wear for martial arts. But I've not seen anything that explains why it should look that way, other than because he fights with his fists. For a game that's been subverting tropes in terms of characterization, it hasn't done too well in terms of design. But on the plus side, I do appreciate Kisara's design (another party member) for dressing like an actual knight and not having to skimp out on armor for the sake of fanservice. The game does have outfit and accessory options however, which helps improve their appearances, but depending on the character you can either get great outfits, or very average ones. However I do appreciate the choices of colours and the use of contrast depicting themes and relationships for the characters. Alphen and Shionne contrast each other in way that complements them as the hero and heroine, for instance. And regardless of how they look, I still love them as characters (especially Dohalim and Alphen!) Music goes pretty grand, with orchestral feats all around, so it always sounds epic. You also get vocals for special moments such as openings and credits in Japanese, which are nice enough to hang around in your head. I couldn't hear much variety with it though, with the different landscapes the game offers, making it sound a bit too similar. Sound effect choices are good enough to let the player know if they're low on CP (Cure Points) or they can do a special attack. One big thing I like about the game is the overall navigation. Inputs are quick, shortcuts are (mostly) easy to access with some neat features like switching party members or leaders, and the menu tends to change based on where you are in the game which is a nice touch. Cutscenes can also be progressed through with a button which is probably for those who want to rush the game for any reason, or just want combat.

For a game that has a lot stuffed in but still have some minor gripes with, I think I can safely say that this is a great JRPG, and possibly my favourite fantasy-based anime JRPG. (specific I know, I tend to group my favourites like that). I'm looking forward to finishing it off!

Terms exclusive to the game: Skits - Optional voice cutscenes that the tales games have that revolve around the characters and/or their world Cure Points (CP) - The mana system in this game used for healing and buffs.

[fanfoolishness]

threads (TLOU 2)

Spoilers for The Last of Us Part 1 and Part 2. On the journey to Seattle, Ellie thinks on what she's lost, and what she's found. [Please no spoilers for TLOU 2 endgame if you comment - I'm only halfway through it.] ~781 words.

-

There are threads that bind, back and back and back.

Sometimes Ellie thinks of names for them.  Chains, their links strong and unbreakable.  DNA strands, the source of life itself.  

And… Mycelium, yeah, that comes to mind.  She remembers stumbling, fascinated, on a biology book in the Boston QZ: chapters all about the fungal life-cycle.  It’d been written in a dispassionate clinical voice, the words of a scientist who’d never dreamed that cordyceps would find another home.  They talked of the nervous system of the forest, the links between trees and plants and animals, mighty fungus bridging it all.

She doesn’t like that analogy much.  Remembers the flare and burn of infection in her arm, the terror, the confusion, when it didn’t… end… the way it should’ve.  Remembers the promise in her scar, what might’ve been for her… for everyone.

What might’ve been never happened.

She gets it.  Old maybes and could-have-beens.  It makes some fucking sense, the way it links.  Connections forming through mistakes, through fucking tragedy, through all the shit that’s happened.  She feels it stirring within her, threads, chains, whatever you want to call it.  She scribbles in her journal and wishes it came out meaning anything.

-

Some nights by the firelight, after Dina’s gone to sleep, she pulls out Joel’s watch from her pack.  She weighs it in her hands and watches the way it catches the firelight, red-orange flames glinting in the cracks of its face.

Sarah fixed the watch for him.  It broke on Joel’s wrist when she died.  Now it’s Ellie’s, its weight heavy in her hand.

It hasn’t kept time in twenty-odd years.  

That’s… it’s fair, Ellie thinks.  It doesn’t have to worry about the time anymore.  Who does?  There’s infected on Jackson’s borders, patrols set by the sunrise and sunset.  Who gives a shit about 2:15 PM on a Tuesday?  She doesn’t need it to keep the time.  It keeps something else.

She grips it hard in her hand, the metal and glass pressing hard into the calluses of her palm and fingertips.  Bow and blade and gun have shaped her hands, and the watch fits there too, in a landscape violence-carved.  It’s the way it has to be.  The watch nestles in the ridges and the gaps, safe amongst the scars.

It keeps something sharp and bright and beautiful.  It’s a prism refracting light; it’s the pride in Joel’s voice when he said Sarah would have liked her.

It’s the way he held her, safe and sound.

The ways they saved each other, more than once.

It’s the cracks in their foundation… the ways they’d fucked things up, but still kept trying.

She cries over it sometimes, but not as much as she maybe thinks she should.  Only when Dina can’t see.  She flicks her switchblade in the dark, and moves the watch from her pack to her pocket when she feels low, low, low.

They rest in the forests of Oregon, Seattle still an ominous goal on the horizon.  Interpretative signs along some of the paths sing of Sitka spruce, Douglas fir, Western redcedar.  The forest swells around them.  They can hardly get a fire here, it’s so moist, and Shimmer roots in the old-growth loam for something to eat.

They lean against a Sitka spruce in the growing night, gnats and midges rousing around them.  Ellie’s quiet in the face of the small fire they’ve managed.  There’s work to be done, vengeance to be had: an echo of the man he was, the thrum of the person he taught her to be.  Owls call in the thick night around them, deep and questioning, and Ellie wonders.

Should I be here?

How could I fucking not?

She shivers in the damp spring night.

But then there’s Dina, warm and soft beside her.  She curls up against Ellie, and the knots inside her unfurl.  Just a little.

Dina smiles at her in the weak firelight.  She gently places one hand over Ellie’s, fingertips resting against the splintered watch face.  “We could fix it, you know.”

Ellie rests her head against Dina’s shoulder.  She presses a kiss to her cheek, marvels at her soft skin beneath her lips.  She feels so good.  Fuck.  

“I know we could fix it,” says Ellie haltingly.  “But… it’s okay, this way.  Makes me think of him, you know?” 

“I know.”

The fire sputters.  It’s soft and small against the living dark.  Ellie slips the watch back into her pocket, and it rests against her hip, as familiar as her blade and pistol.  She clasps her hand in Dina’s, and that’s familiar too.  

The threads twine between them, and they bind, on and on and on.

[frosty-the-killer-doll]

I would love to hear about your “didn't anyone ever tell god you're not supposed to go with your first draft?“

fuck no you don't but i'm going to be insane about it anyway

In November 2020, Jack Kline became God. That’s the story the Winchesters were told, at least. What happened next-- Dean’s death, Sam passing this vicious cycle of hunting onto his children-- was what was written in Dean’s book. The same script that horrified Billie, for God was not dead; he was merely hidden, in the body of a boy the Winchesters would never see again. This was the great ending Chuck planned, after all these years, what everything was leading up to.  Chuck was never that great of a writer, though. In his self-assuredness, he forgot a couple of loose ends.

----------------------------------------------------

The first was Ruby.  Cas had made a deal, and The Shadow was forced to comply if it ever wanted peace. Cas couldn't sleep unless his holy word was kept, so there Ruby went, her demonic spirit cleansed. And she was not fucking happy to find out what year it was. The chain went like this: the Old Death knew The Shadow and Lilith well. He had to. After all, Lilith held the contracts of the demon deals, and Death was often forced to escort the souls of hellhound-mangled corpses to her dimension. The Shadow was the same story; sure, The Empty was a void that doubled as the cosmic graveyard (and The Shadow its boss), but death was death, no matter to what creature. The point being that Death knew too much, and in turn, so did his oldest friends.  There was someone else Lilith knew well. Somebody Lilith might have whispered sweet nothings to, sweet nothings that turned out not to be so nothing.  A secret, or three.

----------------------------------------------------

The second was the Antichrist. Not Jack, mind you, but a real adult that had been on the run since 2010. Together, Mara and Jack screamed inside their possessed form. But the brothers were none the wiser. And when it came to Dean’s death, something seemed to snap inside Jack. The sound of his cry was only heard by one individual: a certain college-aged Cambion in Australia. Jesse Turner had to find where the fuck those old hunters he knew hung out nowadays.

----------------------------------------------------

The third was Jacob Pond, the son of the Kitsune Dean murdered. A throwback, yet the kid still craved vengeance. Whatever happened to Jacob, anyway? Oh, he only became the loyal agent of a fucking deity, is all. What's a Kitsune without their Kami? Weak. But a Kitsune basically raised by their Kami?  Well. Let's just say Jacob had quite a few luxury powers. 

SO BASICALLY. god is possessing jack; jack tries his best with limited ability to get word to the remaining winchester brother via jesse; jacob raises a temporary, slightly weakened army of our dead friends to help in the fight against god and returns the not-undead's former powers such as sammy's visions, under the promise that his mother will be returned to him permanently once jack is actually in control; they fight god again; and ruby knows something that might just save the day. AND THAT'S ALL YOU FUCKING GET FOR NOW !!! i truly hope to get this fully written one day, it would be a long, neato fix-it fic with polyamorous endgame ships, as is my specialty.

[the-apocrypha]

Write it...you said you want to write the Black Widow not dying on Vormir and Steve saving her...if you needed any encouragement, this is me saying I encourage you.

I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS OKAY. Steve, who just lived through five long years in the post-snap world without Bucky and Sam. Who won the war but lost Tony (he’d never gotten him back, not really; that spaceship had brought back a colleague but not a friend, but the ghost of the olive branch still haunts him). Who is just supposed to return the stone and move along, but that’s the body of his best friend down there on those jagged rocks, and something tugs in his gut like a hook--the deepest regret he has, the body he never searched for at the bottom of another ravine eighty years ago. He has to try. 

And Natasha, who fell to her death thinking this is what it feels like to mean something. Who looked at a world sent spinning off its axis five years ago, and pushed herself out of the shadows to lead it when every fiber of her being wanted to go to ground and spin a dark, safe little cocoon of lies. Who wakes up slung over the shoulder of Steve fucking Rogers, staring down at the pit that was supposed to have been her grave, and she doesn’t understand what she’s done to deserve a friend like this. 

Steve and Natasha standing on the noxious, barren wasteland of Vormir, staring down at two infinity stones and three vials of Pym particles, like if they look hard enough somehow the numbers will spell out something other than a single, impossible choice. 

[thetimelordbatgirl]

hi again

what's your thought on percabeth?

Hmm....I'd have to say its very mixed? Like, I'm very meh on the constant main female x main male dynamic that appears in a lot of stuff- as its just predictable for me, but with Percabeth, I feel like Rick really should have written them better.

Like, them fighting a lot at 12 is kinda expected of 12 year olds, but as they get older, its just tiring, especially when Annabeth calls him Seaweed Brain, a nickname that mocks his intelligence in a series full of demigods who have dyslexia and Percy often feared being made to do tests he couldn't do in Lightning Thief, and her whole deal with Rachel was honestly toxic. Like she and Percy won't even dating, but Percy was somehow meant to be not friends with another girl outside of camp??? And Annabeth only chills when Rachel is off limits and she has Percy- like, the love triangle in itself was really bad- and not Rick's first bad love triangle- but with Annabeth and Percy, it really feels annoying that Annabeth only chills due to those two things.

But again, they only get together at the end of the series and like, sure its romantic Percy cares enough to see her as his one weakness and such and like, the kiss was cute, but there's not much to go off them during PJO. Which leads to HOO, when we should see their relationship grow....but next to being home to Rick's constant romances that either come off as forced or random or iffy, it was also home to....judo flip scene. Like up until Mark of Athena, Annabeth is said to be going crazy in her search to find Percy and is pissed when finding out Hera took him, but in Mark of Athena....we told that ANY actions from the greeks to the romans can result in war and we built up to this reunion, and what do we get? A judo flip- and her blaming him for his own kidnapping- like he somehow told Hera to kidnap him from his own life.

Like.....HOW- did Rick not re-read the first two before that reunion??? All it did was sour Percabeth further, as Annabeth isn't called out at all, no near war happens cause...Reyna is fine with him being flipped??? Like, can we not romantize violence in relationships cause its a girl doing it?? This is literally apart of Rick's problem with writing female characters in HOO in general, but like, Annabeth really suffered the most, as did Percabeth the most, as we meant to ship them but they literally make Percy's entire life about her and even have Annabeth casually wonder if Percys dating Hazel in brief jealously...cause its normal to assume your 17 year old boyfriend is dating this 13 year old.

And like, I haven't really read House of Hades yet- I'm still suffering Mark of Athena lmao- or Blood of Olympus, but from spoilers I do have, Rick's endgame for them is....joining this wtf camp and being away from Percy's home and mom who Rick forgot when replacing his whole life being about Annabeth and its just....wha.....

Like, if they had been better written, I would be chill with them, but in their current state, no, but unlikely Rick will fix his romance writing unless he somehow got better in time for Daughter of The Deep if there's romance in that one..... I mean it can count as motivation to write a better main romance....aka me with my PJ OCs fics...but its also probably why I'm meh with working on my PJ next gen alot lol

[flightfoot]

In Heart Hunter Kagami tells Ladybug that she’s only worried about pursuing Adrien for Marinettes sake. This is never brought up again. There’s no scene in Lies or Truth about Kagami just being like “Hey Marinette, Adriens my boyfriend now are you ok with that?” Or a scene with Marinette mentioning Adrigami to Luka. In fact it seems like their friendship just stops, or is no longer plot related since Adrigami sank into the depths of the Senne. Like now that Kagami and Adrien aren’t friends anymore (though apparently this was fixed offscreen in time for Risk) Marinette is Kagamis only friend but they don’t spend time together. All we get of Mr Pigeon 72 is Marinette being a pretty bad friend and not listening to Kagami, and then Kagami just tells Marinette to go for her lying ex who used Marinette as one of his excuses. Or is it because like Alyanette, Marigami is a far superior pairing to the endgame?

I mean, we also get Glaciator 2, with Kagami trying to get Marinette to confess to Adrien because she thinks that would cheer him up.

Scene: Collège Françoise Dupont, in the locker room. Adrien walks out of the boys' comfort room; where Kagami is sitting in front of him.

Kagami: Me defeating you all the time is normal. But just anyone defeating you worries me. If you have a problem, let me help you. Adrien: (grabs his bag and walks to the door) No one can help me, Kagami.

Scene: The Tsurugi car, outside the Place des Vosges.

Kagami: I'm worried about Adrien. His sword has lost its edge. Marinette: His what? (Kagami silences her, raising her hand) Kagami: Since you're both so weak, I mean sensitive, you understand him best and could make him be happy again. Marinette: I'm not weak— (Kagami silences her again) Kagami: You must hurry and declare your love for him, so that the flow of your kind words waters the sharpening stone that's his heart again. And that way, Adrien will get his edge back.

So Kagami and Marinette ARE still friends, and Kagami and Adrien became friends again at some point before this (I suspect during "Gabriel Agreste"). Still really wish that we'd gotten their reconciliation scene, we have one for Lukanette after all, and Adrigami had a far worse falling-out.

I am glad that Kagami brought up Adrien here at least. They may not be dating anymore, but she still cares for him and wants him to be happy, wants BOTH her friends to be happy, in fact.

[matth1w]

I saw that requests are open here, I hope that they still are. Can I request Tony Stark x Villain reader (around endgame) when she is literally a glitch (teleporting, being unstable, and having the ability to "hack reality", ya know normal glitch stuff) and can change the timeline die to who she is but it will cause her to get deleted. I know it's confusing and I'm sorry if it's too much to understand.

Glitch

Pairing: Tony Stark / Iron Man x Villain!Reader

Summary: You join forces with the enemy to fix the mess Thanos created.

Warnings: Angst

Rating: All

Word Count: 1,797 words

Note: I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting!

Tag: @emilaa2001

You stood defiantly in front of the group. Maybe teleporting into the remaining Avengers’ new headquarters wasn’t the smartest idea but you doubted they’d open up willingly if you rang the doorbell.

“Just… hear me out.”

At Steve’s ‘look of disapproval’ you sighed.

“Look. We all know if I wanted to kill any of you, I could have done it already.” Eyebrows raised around the room.

“And without all this ruckus.” You added, waving your hand around at the armed heroes before you.

Nat spoke up next, “And why should we even give you the chance? Aren’t you one of the bad guys, Y/N?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that knowing she was using your words against you. It felt especially ironic coming from her.

“If that’s the narrative they spin, then I’ll take it. At least they’re listening.”

Movement behind the group caught your eye. You watched as the others turned to Tony,

‘Stupid’, you thought. ‘They really need to learn to not turn their backs on their enemies.’

Satisfied to see Tony but admittedly distraught at his sullen appearance you stood firmly in your place. You didn’t want your body acting on its own.

His voice was as weak as his body,

“Why are you here, Y/N?”

You smiled at Tony, genuinely happy to see he was alive. Even in the state he was in.

“Would you believe me if I said I was here for you?”, you said, on the edge of flirting.

Thor looked at you with annoyance and Rhodey barked out a bitter laugh.

He spoke up before Tony could reply.

“No really. Why are you here?”

You held your hands up, conceding. It wasn’t a lie, per say. But it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

“I want to help fix this.”

At the stares of the group, you elaborated, waving your arms around as you spoke.

“This. This whole mess Thanos created.”

Now you were on a rant and couldn’t stop. Or rather, didn’t want to. Maybe they’d see your way.

“Destroying half of sentient beings? Okay. Makes sense. We’ve done a pretty shit job. But getting rid of half of all life? Plants and animals too? It’s ridiculous. If he was so hellbent on making a better balance why didn’t he increase the resources or hell, make them unlimited?”

Everyone exchanged looks. You were right and they knew it. They were ready to agree with you when you ruined that.

“Plus, worst takeover of the universe ever. He just snaps and bam disappears. I mean if I had the stones I would…”

At Tony’s pointed look, you cleared your throat.

“The point is,” you let out. “I want to make things right. Or at least to how they were.”

— — —

The team stayed in the living room to discuss after you agreed to leave. And not come back unless they asked you to.

No one spoke. They were all trying to decide if they wanted your help. And why you offered in the first place.

“So she’s like your Loki?” Nat asked dryly, breaking the silence.

Tony turned to look at her with a puzzled face,

“What?”

She leaned forward and uncrossed her arms. “I mean, she’s the person who always betrays you but you keeping giving her chances in the hope she’ll change.”

Thor looked down at that, he knew it was true. But he also knew Loki had proven himself in the end.

Tony looked offended at the notion but Rhodey nodded after thinking for a moment.

“You’re right”

Tony turned to his friend and gave him a look of disbelief.

“Ton, you keep hoping Y/N will be the person you knew. But she’s not going to be. Who knows if she’s even telling the truth now? Her speech wasn’t exactly reassuring.”

Tony couldn’t disagree with that. You were never great with words though. Even before…

— — —

You knew Tony from a long time ago. It felt like a different lifetime. You were a model Stark scientist. One of the best. But when Tony had his “epiphany” you couldn’t continue with the company. Or him.

It seemed so stupid to stop when you had been at the cusp of a breakthrough. You were leading a team designing the next generation of missile-loaded drones. It would change the way wars were fought, decrease causality loss, and allow your name to go down in history.

But Tony has other ideas. Said he didn’t want to continue making weapons of war. Yet he made his suits, countless bots, and Ultron.

— — —

During the five years after the failed attempt to get the stones back from Thanos, you and Tony had grown somewhat close. Not like before, but at least better than it had been. Plus, he had tried to help you with your… problem.

“I feel like it’s my fault”, he admitted one night you two had been staying late at the Thai restaurant you two frequented.

“What is?”, you asked, picking up a spring roll.

Tony looked at you pointedly. Seeing the twinge of sadness behind the annoyance, you put the roll down.

‘Ugh. Feelings’, you thought

You wiped your fingers on a napkin and leaned forward. You were only going to say this once and you didn’t want anyone else to hear. Even though there was no one else in the place except the older chef and his son working the tables.

“Look,” you started. “It wasn’t your fault. Sure you made the stupid decision to stop production. And research. But… it’s my fault I ended up like this.”

At Tony’s surprise that he was trying, but failing to hide, you grimaced but it ended more like a smile.

“I got sloppy. Procedures and precautions didn’t matter. All that mattered was success. So I could change your mind.”

He read between the lines. Knowing you meant more than just getting Stark Industries up and running like it had been.

He held your eyes for a moment before nodding and looking away.

���Sorry it didn’t.” He muttered.

— — —

The swarms of creatures surrounded you. You were teleporting more than you had ever done and suddenly — it hit you.

Killing Thanos had failed. Time travel had failed. And none of you had been able to get the gauntlet from the past Thanos.

Recalling what Tony told you Strange had said about the one outcome. You realized it was you. You were the one chance they had at it.

The stones wouldn’t work. Bruce trying proved that. Nat has already died. You were fighting a losing battle with less than half the team.

Having accepted your fate, you spoke into the coms.

“Tony?”, you croaked. Your tears were already bubbling up.

Tony immediately flew down to you and his helmet faded away.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

He looked down to see your glitching hands and grabbed them with his.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You looked up at him, tears now falling. You nodded.

“Yeah. I know how to beat him. I know…”

“The stones? Yeah I know. We’re trying.”

You shook your head. Squeezing his hands.

“No, it’s me. I have to go deep. Erase him from this timeline. And all timelines.”

Still not understanding but guessing what you were doing, Tony met your eyes, and softly pleaded.

“No, Y/N. It’s too risky. You could be gone too. You can’t… I can’t.”

You took your hands from his and grasped his cheeks, pulling him towards you. Pressing your lips together with every ounce of emotion, you let yourself truly feel what you had always felt. Love.

As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes one last time. Happy you were able to see his love at least once.

You closed your eyes for a moment and pressed your forehead against his. Taking one last breath, you stepped back and smiled at him.

His tearful smile was the last thing you saw before you closed your eyes once more.

You teleported in front of Thanos and thrust your hand inside his chest. Grabbing his heart with your bare hand, you bared your teeth and smiled wickedly at him. All your hatred, all your anger, all the fear and loss and pain that you felt. You dug it all up and brought it forward as you twisted your wrist and enjoyed the suffering of the gasping man before you.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

His wide eyes met yours before you pulled him out of existence alongside you.

— — —

*Bonus mid credit scene*

Tony sat back in his chair and recounted the story once more to the man sitting across from him.

“She pulled him towards her and then they disappeared. Next thing we knew his minions were glitching left and right and then the portals were opening up behind us.”

“And she was gone?,” Ross confirmed.

Tony nodded, “Yeah.”

“And you can’t find her?”

Tony understood why Ross was pressing. You hadn’t been exactly best friends with the CIA. But now, having to confirm he couldn’t find you, it felt like a knife twisting his heart in two.

“No.” He muttered. “I couldn’t find her.”

Ross nodded, trying to be sympathetic.

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

— — —

*Bonus end credit scene*

Tony smiled with mixed emotions as he read the morning paper.

Y/N recognized as hero for defeating Thanos

Although many knew Y/N as Glitch - a villain who famously teleported into the White House, Pentagon, and UK House of Parliament all in one day - the UN, alongside American government agencies recognized Y/N as a hero for her ultimate sacrifice to defeat the titan Thanos.

In a media conference led by Agent Everett Ross of the CIA, Wakandan King T’Challa, and Tony Stark (aka Iron Man), the trio unveiled a dedicated research building named after Y/N.

Everett Ross of the CIA spoke to Y/N’s during the Final Battle against Thanos and said her efforts saved the world and brought back the billions who had been taken during the Snap.

King T’Challa praised Y/N saying, “Without her, our world would have likely been destroyed again. I would not be standing here today if not for the sacrifice of Y/N.”

Stark spoke proudly of Y/N’s work with Stark Industries and showed remorse for her firing which many say led to her failed experiment that caused her to have the ability to teleport and hack reality and eventually become Glitch. 

Stark detailed Y/N’s efforts alongside the Avengers, including the late Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) in undoing the snap Thanos caused in 2018. He revealed the two had a romantic relationship stating, “I will always love Y/N. She was the smartest woman I knew and I will never forget her sacrifice.”

[bettsfic]

do you like echo/becho? i ask because i feel like you're someone who's very good at seeing a wide variety of ships and characters in pretty nuanced ways. i personally really don't like either the character or the ship, especially after s5, but a lot of people seem to suggest that this is only because i'm blinded by love of bellarke (tbf i'm not much of a multishipper) or because i'm susceptible to internalized misogyny. personally i thought i just didn't find the whole thing well written but 1/

2/2 i do try to examine my personal biases when consuming fiction and my responses to it. like idk for me personally there was just no arc or substance for me to respond to but i thought i’d ask someone whose writing opinions i really trust so i can work out whether my dislike genuinely does just stem from me being immature or if the writing behind genuinely feels weak to anyone else?? thanks

this is a really good question and i’m going to start off by apologizing to becho shippers because my answer is very critical of canon becho (but obvs pro fanon becho, bc i’m pro fanon everything p much).

i have to tackle this from two sides: as both a critical/meta fan and a transformative one. which is to say, the critical side of me has a lot of problems with echo, but the transformative side of me addresses those problems with, “but how would i fix it?”

first i’ll tackle my issues with echo as a character. she’s been around since s2; she has a background character’s amount of depth with the screentime of a side character, which is to say i agree with you, she’s poorly written. 

take miller, for example. he’s a side character fleshed out well. every season, we know what he wants and where his allegiance lies. we know who he loves and what he wants to protect. gaia is another good example of a side character whose drives and motivations are simple enough to understand so that their screentime is in proportion to the amount of depth they possess. gaia is the flamekeeper. she holds a small but integral portion of the conflict because her loyalty in s5 is split in 3 ways: to blodreina, to indra, and to the flame. she is absolutely integral, in a small but efficient way, in resolving the story of s5.

which leads me to ask: what’s echo’s piece of conflict? she works with raven to get back to the ship, etc. she wears a shock collar and looks mean. she backs up bellamy in terms of brawn. she has a little sex scene. the season could have stood on its own without her. she could have died at the end of s4 and s5 would have been exactly the same. 

which leads me to becho.

if echo was meant to exist as anything other than a wedge between bellamy and clarke, we would have seen echo’s redemption arc. this is a woman who killed bellamy’s ex gf. who has betrayed his trust over and over again. and now for some reason we’re supposed to just take jroth’s word for it that she did ~~something to get back into bellamy’s good graces. in four seasons we have not seen a single positive interaction between the two of them, nor even playful/fond antagonistic actions a la bellarke s1. other than the mt weather rescue of s2, it has since been “you are thine enemy” the entire damn time, right up until echo has a knife to her gut and suddenly bellamy is like “lol stop you need to stick around for useless cockblockage six years from now”

the becho reunion scene i think is pivotal, because bellamy and echo are kissing in the foreground, out of focus, while clarke is in the background, in focus, watching. i think becho’s existence is solely for that scene. because i don’t think there’s anyway to interpret that other than, at worst, jealousy, and at best, “oh fuck he moved on.” 

in other words, echo is a plot device. so you’re not internally misogynistic for disliking her, she’s being objectified by the story itself. 

i would not at all be frustrated by her or dislike her if we just saw literally any lead up to their relationship. but all we get is a black hole of “TRUST US IT HAPPENED OK.” also, if bellamy expresses actual romantic interest in echo or literally any other character i guarantee me and my multishipper/poly brethren would be all over it. but we don’t get to see bellamy’s romantic interest come to fruition, because it always happens between seasons. i think this matches up with my theory that jroth has pulled a joss whedon on bellamy and his character exists only to torture The Ideal Man. but that’s maybe a rant for another time.

now, as a transformative fan, i do see plenty of seeds of potential. i’m very drawn to untrustworthy characters who slowly develop loyalty toward one person at the expense of everyone else. bodyguard characters. that alone i think is becho’s single commonality and why they’re together: if bellamy is knight to clarke’s queen, echo was lieutenant to roan’s general, and they were trapped together for years, grieving over the loss of the people they admired most. i can see – though it is not what we call “on the page yet” – the logic behind their courtship.

i’m interested in echo’s grieving over roan and how it might differ from bellamy’s over clarke, and the exploration of her actual feelings for him (which, if i were to write it would be something akin to erotic worship, a topic i’m deeply invested in exploring). i would like to see that toxic kind of love transplanted onto bellamy, and bellamy greedily accepting it because he’s lonely and desperate and grieving over his own loss. i like the potential hideousness of their relationship, the entrapment they experienced together, both in mt weather and on the ark, and how that might transfer onto the page in the hands of someone willing to take it seriously. 

i would never write them as an endgame ship because i wouldn’t be able to resolve that toxicity and therefore would only ever be able to offer them a HFN ending. if i perceive their love correctly, it’s not a sustainable kind of love at all. it’s comforting yet destructive, a vice like an addiction, i imagine. 

in short, becho has so much potential, but it’s poorly wrought and managed, and both of their characters are experiencing a massive disservice – echo as an actual character at all, bellamy as a viable romantic hero. 

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

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

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

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

Word Count: 9,063

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, you're….”

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

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

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

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

“My compliments to her wit then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything good on tap?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? What’s with the nickname?”

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

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

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

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

“Not happening, barkeep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So this happens a lot?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said-”

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About time you showed up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anyone you know?”

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

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

“Oh - that's….not what I heard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

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

Emma, he thought as his heart pounded violently.

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

“Hi.”

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

“Hi….didn’t expect to see you here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's….fine-”

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

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

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

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

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

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

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

“Conclusions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wondered quietly if she felt that way too.

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

“I suppose I should have recognized that.”

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

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

“For the balcony or for bumping into me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye-”

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

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

[him-e]

your points about how sometimes people put the blinders on when they're in a toxic relationship are fine. but i'm not exactly sure that D&D thinking that deeply. the show cares most about the shock value of endgames and big moments more than anything else. and i can't help but think that they're dragging out the j/c relationship so its more shocking when jaime kills her in season 8. the reddit spoiler guy also said that cersei can't follow through with her threat of killing jaime when he breaks

up with her. because she still has some feelings for him. and then right after that she has a miscarriage. to me this is D&D setting up the valonqar for season 8. when cersei realizes that jaime is her valonqar will surely be a heartbreaking moment in the books. the show cut out valonqar and cersei’s paranoia so this is their way of doing it i think. that cersei will be heartbroken when jaime kills her because she couldn’t bring herself to kill him and also because she’s just miscarried his babynot that long ago. so my frustration isn’t with jaime being “weak” and not leaving cersei already. its about how D&D continously dumb down his character and keep adding cheap sex scenes to make the endgame more dramatic. also i don’t blame NCW trying to rationalize D&D’s writing in interviews, but i don’t think that’s what D&D are actually going for lol. as far as for the veracity of these leaks, its supposedly from awayfromthelads 2nd account. lots of people dont believe him but i do.

whether or not the D’s are thinking that deeply, it’s how the thing comes across to me, so I’ll run with it because it offers a more interesting discussion than “no it’s just bad writing”, which is something I can’t do much about. It’s a bit like shipping; canon gives you lemons so you make lemonade. In this case, lemonade is backed up by the actor’s interpretation, which is not irrelevant. Nikolaj has already filmed these scenes, so whether he’s just /rationalizing/ or he shares his view with the authors, I must believe that whatever happens in s7 supports, not contradicts, this reading.

re: “shock value”, see this post by @justthetippihedren, especially the part where it quotes Cogman. GoT discourse views shock value in a very negative way, and I don’t necessarily disagree, but the truth is in a serialized visual medium you have to worry about pacing things in a way that doesn’t put too much space between a certain seed and its payoff: “you have to pick and choose…where information’s going to be most effective”. So maybe yes, they want to maximize the impact of whatever Jaime ends up doing with or /to/ Cersei, but it’s not… wrong? To do so? Like you said, maybe this is their way of replacing the valonqar part of the prophecy—they’re doing a different build up, not /no build up at all/. Or maybe it paves the way for something else, but it’s still nothing positive for JC. 

I mean, it’s not like the JC relationship is going WELL. I dislike the sex scenes because they completely erase Jaime’s trying to stick to his KG vows, but sex in itself isn’t an indicator of a healthy relationship (come on, it’s just there because they need someone to fulfill the sex quota until the planets are aligned for Jon/Dany’s celestial hook up, as unfortunately this is still HBO). The miscarriage seems pretty symbolic, and Cersei’s threat to kill Jaime is… probably a point of no return.

And Jaime, on his part, already started to have doubts. They had him tell Brienne something to the extent of “you can’t seriously expect me to switch sides and turn my back on my family” which means that, on a subconscious level, he IS considering it (also, that’s foreshadowing). They had him give THAT look to Cersei while she sat on the iron throne, only a few episodes after we were shown a flashback of Aerys’ murder. They had him be visibly tempted by Brienne and watch her longingly as she sailed away from Riverrun, as if he wanted to follow her. It is excruciatingly slow and admittedly boring to watch and certainly not as good as his development in the books, but they planted SOME seeds.

My advice is to keep your expectations low ANYWAY (I haven’t been particularly impressed with Jaime since season 3, and I definitely agree they dumbed down his character and fucked up his /honor vs legacy/ internal conflict to a point where little can be done to fix it), but at the same time don’t assume that it will be another season of treading waters for Jaime. These “spoilers” tend to sound much worse than they are, because people either can’t explain properly what they saw/know or they always miss some fundamental nuance.