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hanatiny · 4 years

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More Than Friends

a/n: Whether you have someone to dote on today or not, happy Valentine’s day~ Not only is this a not-so-little something for the holiday of love, it’s also a thank you for letting me reach 300 followers <3

pairing: best friend!Yeosang x genderneutral!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2684

warnings: high school AU, friends to lovers, Wooyoung is no.1 wingman (or at least tries to be), Yeosang is absolutely whipped, reader is unfortunately very oblivious

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January, and with it your winter break, had come and gone - you probably wouldn’t have even realized it was February if it wasn’t for the excessive amount of heart-shaped, overly cutesy decorations that were littered across the hallways of your school.

You groaned internally, making your way past your classmates and towards your locker with a sigh. February itself wasn’t what bothered you so much, what made you positively abhor the month was how lovey-dovey everyone around you acted during that time.

You’ve never really had any interest in relationships and you made sure to make that clear, which is why you were surprised to find a neatly sealed light pink envelope in your locker.

You looked around subtly, wondering if the person who put it there was still around before quickly deducing that they probably weren’t. Curious, you turned over the envelope in your hands, just in case it was meant for someone else entirely. All you found however was your name with a heart and a tiny butterfly doodled next to it, which meant that this letter was indeed meant for you.

You chuckled endearingly, although mildly disappointed that your secret admirer’s handwriting was too ambiguous for you to correlate with a person. Before you were able to lament it more, a quick glance at your phone in your hand revealed to you that you were going to be late if you didn’t get moving.

Stuffing the letter into your pocket, you quickly gathered your books for your classes and booked it to your classroom after pushing your locker shut again.

You couldn’t focus at all however because you were unable to think about anything else other than who the person who had slipped the letter into your locker before you arrived that morning might be, and - more importantly - what exactly the letter was going to say.

Too occupied with your daydreaming, you failed to notice your usually calm and composed childhood best friend fidgeting under the desk behind yours.

Lunch couldn’t come soon enough for either of you, especially not for your mutual close friend Wooyoung who had been practically glued to both yours and Yeosang’s hips the moment you both left the classroom.

You heaved a sigh as you slumped down into a chair at a free table in the cafeteria, Wooyoung seating himself opposite you with Yeosang right next to him.

“What’s gotten into you today, Y/n? You seem so unusually out of it!” Yeosang elbowed his friend, at which the younger whined exaggeratedly but didn’t comment.

You pulled the pink letter out of your pocket and flicked it at Wooyoung to let him inspect the item before handing it back to you, his head tilted in confusion as he cocked a brow at you.

“You’re this worked up about a letter of all things? Don’t you normally just throw love letters and stuff away every year without even looking at them? What’s so different about this one?”

You shrugged nonchalantly while Yeosang poked at his food, listening more intently to the conversation than he allowed himself to let on, “No idea, Woo. Maybe I should just open it and find out for myself what’s so special...?”

You muttered the last part more to yourself than either of the males sitting at the table but they both still heard you clearly, prompting Wooyoung to nod enthusiastically and offer some what he hoped to be encouraging words, “Yeah, you totally should! Worst case scenario, you can just politely reject whoever wrote that.”

“Good point, I might as well... Here goes nothing.” You murmured under your breath, carefully opening the envelope before pulling out not only a piece of paper but also a small tube of strawberry chapstick which would’ve likely dropped to the floor if you hadn’t caught it in time.

You discreetly slipped it into your school bag after inspecting it briefly before your hands quickly unfolded the letter and dropped the envelope onto the table carelessly before beginning to read.

~~~~~~~~~~

My dearest Y/n,

I hope you don’t mind me confessing like this. I’m simply too nervous to voice my feelings out loud...

To yourself, you may not appear as someone special. To me however, you’re like a celebrity. You’re the most important person to me, and I wish we were closer than we already are as of now.

You’re a fresh breath of air to me, you’re not like anyone else. Everytime I talk to you I learn something new, and I think that’s beautiful.

Just like everything else about you. Your eyes remind me of stars the entire galaxy with how bright they shine, and I feel like I could get lost in them if I looked for long enough.

Your smile can light up an entire room, and frequently lifts my mood so effortlessly that it leaves me wondering how you continue doing it. Your voice is like music to me, and your laugh is my favorite song. And I want to be the reason that song keeps playing.

So, if you’d be willing to give me a chance to do so... meet me at the cat café later today after class. You know the one.

I hope I’ll see you there ♡

~~~~~~~~~~

You were so engrossed in the words on the paper that you didn’t look up in time to notice your friends’ reactions as you read before they recomposed themselves; a faint hint of a blush still tinted Yeosang’s cheeks while Wooyoung’s form relaxed after briefly tensing up slightly.

You folded the letter again and slipped it back into its envelope before, once more, dropping it on the table. You smacked Wooyoung’s hand away when he tried to reach for the letter, causing him to whine at you again as his lips formed a pout when you finally looked up at him.

If his eyes didn’t betray his curiosity, you would’ve said he was simply sulking because you hit him, but you knew better than to be that naive.

“No Wooyoungie, you won’t get to read it. At least not now.” You narrowed your eyes at your longtime friend as he huffed in disappointment, “But why~?”

“Because I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. The entire school would know about this by the end of the day.” You bit back, smiling triumphantly at the stunned silence Wooyoung offered in return.

“Touché.” Yeosang murmured, pushing his tray away to rest his arms on the table instead while he eyed you, wondering if you had any suspicions about the letter’s author.

As if reading his mind, your mouth opened to speak and Yeosang couldn’t help but focus on your lips, although he kept it as discreet as he possibly could.

“I want to meet up with the person behind these words. Something feels different about them... I initially suspected it to be Hongjoong, but his handwriting is nowhere near this neat."

Wooyoung snickered at that, but allowed you to continue and voice your conclusion.

"So for now, my secret admirer is a complete mystery to me."

"To you, and to everyone else." Yeosang added under his breath. He had a tendency to be quiet, so you weren't put off by this whatsoever.

"Indeed, Sangie...~" Yeosang felt his heart skip a beat at both the nickname and the somewhat affectionate lilt in your tone.

He was promptly yanked back out of his reverie however when you collected your belongings and stood to leave after checking the time on your phone, his eyes not straying from your form in the slightest, “In any case, we should probably get back to class.”

You turned on your heel and walked out of the cafeteria with Wooyoung in tow, the latter noticing his friend staying behind for a little longer than necessary but not commenting on it as Yeosang beamed, visibly lovestruck. It was a miracle to him and Wooyoung both how you didn’t take any of the countless hints he had given over the past few months, whether they were intentional or not being up for debate.

Completely zoned out, Yeosang jumped in his seat when the bell rang, prompting him to hastily grab his backpack and make a beeline for the classroom he shared with you, with quick steps.

He saved himself from tripping over his own two feet more than just once before he finally slid into the seat behind yours, breathless. You turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Are you alright, Yeosang?”

It was a simple question, and yet the clear concern laced in had the blonde’s heart lurching in his chest once more as he nodded with a reassuring smile. He hated how cliché his crush presented itself, as if he was just hopelessly infatuated with you.

This was absolutely the case, as the way his heart rapidly pounding in his chest proved, but that was beside the point.

You thought it was suspicious that he didn’t seem to trust his voice because it was in no way like him to be this flustered - or perhaps you should rather say insecure. You shrugged it off though and turned back around to focus on your lecture, thinking he may just be feeling a bit under the weather.

Both of you found yourselves unable to keep your minds from going off-track, however. Yeosang was still excited about the prospect of possibly having a very real chance to be with you the way he wished to, while you kept wondering about who your secret admirer may or may not be.

The end of your torturous classes didn’t come soon enough for either of you, Wooyoung mysteriously nowhere to be found when you and Yeosang finally left the school building. You were relieved to find the crisp morning air had warmed up considerably over the course of the day, somewhat surprising considering the time of the year, and exhaled deeply, pulling a soft endearing chuckle from Yeosang’s lips.

You grinned at your friend, having always quite enjoyed the melodious sound of his voice before your expression shifted to a miniscule frown when you were eventually forced to part ways with him. Because no matter how close the two of you were, you still lived in different neighborhoods.

You turned to face him with a small smile, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag before wrapping your arms around Yeosang in a tight but warm hug before meeting his eyes again, “I’ll call you tonight and tell you how my date went, yeah? See you tomorrow, Yeosangie~”

You waited for him to nod and boldly leaned up to peck his cheek before walking off in the direction of your house, not aware of the way you had flustered the poor boy. If it had been possible he would’ve melted into a puddle right then and there on the sidewalk, his face flushed a bright red from calling your meetup a date as he walked on in the direction of the cat café he wanted to meet you at.

He could only hope that you’d stick to your word, and actually show up.

Meanwhile you squealed in excitement when you rounded the corner, making a run for it down the street to your home. You slammed the door shut behind yourself, thankful that noone else was home presently so you could get ready and calm down your nerves in peace.

When you had finally made yourself look somewhat more presentable than you did while wearing your school uniforn, satisfied with your appearance before halting your steps when your open school bag caught your eye. After a moment of hesitant consideration, you spread the strawberry chapstick you were gifted across your lips.

Fully content now as you took one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your phone and keys to stuff into your pockets as you left your house to make your way to the café a few blocks away.

When you arrived there, greeted casually due to being a regular at the establishment along with your friends, you were led into the outside area where the cats were allowed to roam freely.

You would often jokingly call it the ‘fluffy garden’ when you were younger due to the amount of felines you’d be able to interact with. Now however, you paused mid-step upon realizing what you were seeing.

Yeosang, your childhood best friend and secret crush, lying on a blanket on the grass. He had ditched the school uniform’s jacket for his own, personal favorite jacket, you mused as you took in his posture. He had one arm hooked underneath his head while the other rested on his side, his hand petting the small cat that had positioned itself on his chest and purred from his attention.

As if sensing your presence, the animal licked Yeosang’s fingers gently before scrambling to hop off of him and run to play with its furry friends instead. You regarded the scene with a fond look in your eyes before heat rushed to your cheeks when Yeosang finally turned to face you, flashing you the breathtaking shy smile you adored so much before beckoning you over and gesturing to the space on the blanket next to him.

You watched him turn to meet your eyes when you positioned yourself next to him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“So... I take it you were the one who ‘sent’ the letter, Sangie~?” The male in question nodded sheepishly, secretly finding it cute how you never stayed consistent with the nicknames you gave to people. “Yeah, it was me. Wooyoung helped though... the chapstick was his idea, among other things.”

You hummed at the nervous laugh that slipped past his lips as he waited for your reaction, “I expected as much. A mystery how he managed to not snitch, truly...” You trailed off, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of Yeosang’s handsome face. “What’s also a mystery is how neither of us seem to have picked up on the signals we tried to send each other.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, subconsciously leaning into your touch as he eyed you with somewhat furrowed brows, “But I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, Y/n?”

“I did say that, but I’m making an exception for you. I guess what I’m saying is... I like you back, Yeosangie. As in... like like you.”

You bit your lip in anticipation of his next move, practically seeing the cogs turning in his head before his face lit up with relief.

“I’m so glad to hear that, I was actually even worried you had changed your mind and wouldn’t come in the first place.” Yeosang took a deep breath as he took in your shy but genuine expression, “Can I... would you let me kiss you?”

You nodded, gently tugging him close by means of his jacket before he even had time to react. Your kiss was clumsy, as expected from two people your age, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was perfect, just like you were to each other.

He grinned at you when he pulled back, “Did you put on the strawberry chapstick~?” You giggled in response, “Mhm, I sure did. What’s interesting though is that you taste like vanilla... and I happen to like vanilla~”

You spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking and playing with the cats until it was time for the café to close, and you left to make your way back home. Together this time, hands interlocked.

Yeosang kissed you again lovingly when you reached your doorstep and promised to pick you up before school the following day before walking off into the night, a bright smile on his face.

You had barely set foot into your house and heard the door click closed behind you, when your phone vibrated in your hand. You didn’t need to check to know who was calling you at this hour, amusement filling you as you heard your now-boyfriend’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Well Y/n, how was your date~?”

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@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @illicit-roses @inkigayeo @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @moonlit-lixie @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @truebluejoong @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

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#8makes1teamnet #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez yeosang fluff #yeosang fluff #kang yeosang fluff #t*mblr pls do ur thing and tag everyone pls thank you <3 #also please don't let this flop lmao I put so much work into it-#hanatiny writes

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

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Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

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She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd.

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines.

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves.

It smells.

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole.

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back.

Hook lifts his eyebrows.

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop.

Quickly. Immediately, even.

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date.

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her.

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it.

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight.

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that.

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before.

That might not be the right word.

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here.

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

Her stomach noticeably sinks.

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook.

That’s more unimportant syntax.

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard.

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth.

He used her name.

Eventually that will feel very important.

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect.

God, he was good at kissing.

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling.

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now.

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once.

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again.

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore.

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her.

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room.

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing.

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement.

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on.

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then.

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet.

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand.

And one very specific finger.

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake.

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably.

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to.

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch.

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair.

Anywhere he can reach, it seems.

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least.

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good.

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing.

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous.

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing.

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream.

Ah, goddamn.

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch.

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked.

And who Hope is.

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain.

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all.

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds.

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth.

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent.

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips.

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland.

This has to be a dream.

So, it seems they live in a mansion.

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her.

That was never her strongest subject in school.

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion.

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint.

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter.

Emma presses her lips together.

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point.

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures.

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook.

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual.

It makes her mouth go dry again.

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers.

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really.

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them.

So as to stare at her incredulously.

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements.

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook.

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses.

Emma seriously considers dying right there.

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced.

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser.

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian.

That’s probably for the best.

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—”

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair.

He really likes to do that.

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him.

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly.

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality.

If her other assumptions are right.

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before.

His arm doesn’t move.

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here.

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway.

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly.

Not hers.

Not as is.

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face.

He tries to blow it away, several times.

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream.

She doesn’t want to know.

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly.

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too.

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like.

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue.

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks.

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here.

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses.

Noticeably.

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright.

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her.

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home.

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well.

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it.

As silently as possible.

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma.

In their bed.

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally.

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking.

Aimlessly, really.

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything.

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol.

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be.

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens.

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise.

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek.

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it.

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About?

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it.

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #i really will fill those other prompts now i promise #sorry i'm such a constant and consistent flake internet #also! this is apparently the 40th captain swan work of mine on ao3 #which is slightly skewed since there are so many collections but still #that's a heck of a lotta words #thanks for reading em

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bluenet13 · 3 years

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It's All In Your Head (Chapter 1/2)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Characters: Matthew Casey, Sylvie Brett, Kelly Severide, Stella Kidd, Wallace Boden, Firehouse 51.

Prompt: Hair Matted with Blood

Summary: Post-ep to S09E09 "Double Red." Casey's life continues to spiral as his friends worry around him; or what happens when no one notices Casey is struggling and our captain is too stubborn to ask for help. AKA, I enjoyed the ep but needed more angst, h/c, and Brettsey, so I'm fixing it.

Links: ff.net / AO3

Playing basketball with Severide probably wasn't his greatest idea, because by the end of just one round with Stella's new arcade machine, Casey's head is throbbing and the whole room is spinning.

Barely suppressing a grunt, he stumbles backwards until his back hits the column in the middle of their loft. Taking advantage of Stella and Severide being focused on their new furniture, he takes a second to rest his head on the pillar. Eyes sliding closed as he massages his temples, another barely suppressed grunt escaping his lips when he touches the swollen and tender spot on the side of his head. Moving his finger around the area, Casey makes a mental note to take a shower before work the next day as he can still feel the cut from when his head hit the ground and dried blood sticking to his hair around it.

As soon as the machine plays the sound that signals game over, Casey quickly opens his eyes and rights himself. His mask continuing to slip away as his pain continues to increase.

Turning towards the kitchen, Casey does his best to avoid his roommates' stares as their eyes search the place where he had just been standing. He moves quickly to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, before he gingerly makes his way to his room.

"Going already?" Severide shouts from the living room.

"Yeah, man. Just tired. So I'll grab a quick nap before beating you again. God knows you need some alone practice," Casey says, trying to get the attention off him, while doing his best to sound convincing and not slur his words.

"Are you okay, captain?" Stella asks carefully, knowing how the boys get when you fuss over them. She is standing a few feet away from her boyfriend and is looking at Casey with clear worry in her eyes. They're all usually tired after a shift but their last one wasn't particularly bad and Casey always likes to take advantage of his days off to do some construction or work around the apartment. And it wasn't even 6pm. Definitely early for Casey to turn in.

"Yeah, yeah. All good. As I said, just tired. I'll see you both later. You guys enjoy yourselves," Casey says, throwing what he hopes is a reassuring wink their way, and making a point to hide the side of his head where blood might be visible.

Stella nods, but she can't shake the feeling that something is off. The previous day's events play on her head and she wonders if the accident did more damage to Casey than everyone thought.

Turning to her boyfriend as soon as Casey's door clicks shut, Stella grabs his shirt and draws Severide to her. "Did Casey seem off to you?" She wonders, not able to stop herself.

"Hmm, honestly? Since that night last fall, he always seems a little off," Severide answers sincerely. Both automatically knowing which night he's referring to.

Thinking back to the last few months, Stella can't help but agree. Remembering how the captain tends to spend his free time on shift closed down in his quarters, and how often he loses his cool and snaps at people now. Not to mention, how little they see of him at home, with Casey spending most of his days off working his construction job or locked inside his room. His occasional trips to Molly's usually ending soon after Brett makes an appearance with Grainger.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Stella concedes eventually. She then grabs the basketball and proceeds to put the ball in the net from where she's standing. "Come here and let me school you. And maybe next time you can actually beat Casey," she teases, picking up the basketball and scoring another point.

Severide mumbles something under his breath but he's smiling to himself as he stares at his girlfriend proudly. He waits until she's done, beating both his and Casey's scores in the process, before he takes her hand and pulls her alongside him towards their bedroom.

-x-x-x-

As soon as the lock clicks shut behind him, Casey slides down the door. The short walk to his room left him winded, and made his headache evolve to include nausea and a ringing in his ears that makes him feel as if his PASS device is active. But unlike in that scenario, there is nothing to turn off now because this sound comes from within, as his skull seemingly threatens to break in two.

Taking a tentative sip of water, Casey stops as his stomach tries to revolt. Closing his eyes, he takes slow, deep breaths willing the nausea to pass so he can drink enough water to down the two pills he managed to grab without Severide or Stella noticing. Now wishing he also had the presence of mind to grab some nausea medication from the kitchen.

After minutes tick by and his symptoms don't ease at all, Casey decides to forgo the water and just down the two pills dry. They scratch his throat but, at this moment, he couldn't care less.

With a groan, he then drags himself through the floor and awkwardly climbs into his bed. Not even bothering to take his clothes off and just collapsing into the mattress. Hopefully a good night's sleep in his own bed is all he needs and he will wake up feeling refreshed and like the last two days had just been a bad dream.

-x-x-x-

He doesn't.

Sleep is elusive all night long. And he spends the whole night tossing and turning because of the pain in his head, and then having to take deep breaths to calm his worsening nausea because of all the tossing and turning.

His awake moments also mix with dreams of cars and sad smiles. Leaving him feeling even more miserable and exhausted than the night before. So much that the last two days do in fact feel like a bad dream, while this night feels like a full-blown nightmare.

-x-x-x-

The following morning, knocking on the door wakes up Casey, and he groans as soon as his eyes land on the clock sitting on his nightstand. He's late for work.

"Case? You alright? We need to leave soon or we're going to be late." Severide's voice comes from outside his room and Casey briefly wonders if it's too late to call in sick. He feels like hell but all things considered he should probably feel thankful he's still alive and that his head is still in one piece. Even if it feels like someone is trying to crack it open from the inside.

"Sorry, man. Just getting ready. Give me a minute," Casey shouts, wincing as his own voice hurts his head. With no time to shower, he just spends a couple minutes getting ready in the bathroom, mostly trying to fix his hair that's sticking up in every direction.

"Let's go," Casey says, stumbling out of his room, and going directly to the front door so his roommates have no time to take in his appearance.

Or so he hoped. "Are you really okay? You look like hell, and you're wearing the same clothes you had yesterday." Severide asks. "And is that blood on the side of your head?"

Looking down at himself, Casey frowns, taking in his wrinkled look, before moving his hand to the spot where he knows the cut is and sighing as he can feel new crusted blood around his hair. He must have reopened the wound with all his tossing and turning the night before. "Didn't have time to do laundry. Will get on that after shift. And why would I have blood? It's probably red paint from my construction job yesterday." Casey settles on the first excuse that comes to mind, hoping they're already so late that Severide won't have time to question him further. "I was working on a barn," he adds as an afterthought, shaking his head and promptly regretting the movement as it intensifies the pounding on his skull.

Severide and Stella look at each other. Both knowing Casey is not the type to neglect his housekeeping duties, and also remembering the captain had actually done laundry last weekend. But, they're both more worried about what looks nothing like red paint and definitely like blood on the side of Casey's head.

Does he really think he can fool a squad lieutenant and firefighter/paramedic/future lieutenant? Stella seems to ask as she shares a look with Severide.

Severide nods, then shrugs and walks to the kitchen, grabbing a styrofoam mug and a plate with toast and eggs. "Here, we left some breakfast for you. You can eat in the car."

Casey's stomach does a backflip at the sight of the food and he has to use a lot of his remaining energy just to push his nausea down. "Thanks, man. But not really hungry. I will just take the coffee," he says casually, trying to sound normal.

Severide and Stella share another knowing look, but both decide to let it go for now, instead Severide sets the plate on the fridge and passes the cup to Casey. Then everyone grabs their keys and bags and they're out the door.

For a moment, Severide worries that maybe he's imagining things and Casey is totally fine. But looking at Stella out of the corner of his eye, noticing his own worry reflected in her brown eyes, he decides to trust his intuition and ask her about it later. He has been Casey's best friend for a long time and he knows they need to tread carefully when it comes to the man sharing his feelings and opening up about what's ailing him. Because something clearly is.

For his part, Casey is barely able to follow Severide and Stella down the stairs and towards the parking lot, and in his struggle, has the sudden, very obvious realization that he shouldn't work like this. All his energy is going into just taking one step after the other and he's in no condition to be anyone's captain today. But he made it this far so he can at least make it home. Once he's there, he can just tell Chief Boden he's not feeling well and spend the day out of the field and doing paperwork. It would be good for Stella too. She can be truck lieutenant and get some more preparation for her upcoming exams.

With that decision made, Casey then spends the next half hour sitting quietly in the backseat of Severide's car. The cup of coffee getting cold in his hand after his first tentative sip was received with his body threatening to throw up. What exactly, he wouldn't know, given he had skipped both lunch and dinner the day before.

When Severide parks his car in the street in front of Firehouse 51, Casey takes a second to close his eyes and compose himself, then slowly gets out of the car and makes his way inside. Not sparing his roommates a single glance.

Ignoring everyone who is already in the common room, Casey walks directly to the bathroom and closes himself inside a stall. After taking a minute to make sure there's no one inside, he finally lets go and proceeds to try to throw up the emptiness in his stomach. With nothing to come out, Casey just coughs and dry heaves. By the time he's done, he is sweating and shaking. And not for the first time realizes he's in no condition to go out into the job. Matt Casey has never been particularly good at self-preservation but he is the best at protecting the lives of the firefighters and paramedics under his command, and he would never willingly put their lives in danger.

Moving to the sink, Casey washes his face and mouth, before reaching inside the stall for his discarded bag and taking off his now sweat soaked t-shirt and changing into his white captain's shirt. He spends the next five minutes carefully scrubbing the blood that's matting his hair, before he arranges it in such a way that it covers the cut on his left side. Then taking deep, calming breaths, he schools his features and exits the bathroom.

As soon as he turns the corner towards Chief Boden's office, Casey collides with Severide and he can't help the grunt that escapes his lips. "Here you are. I've been looking for you. Case, are you sure you're okay?" Severide asks, concern evident in every single one of his words.

"Yes, man. Stop worrying. You're acting worse than Stella last time you got hurt," Casey says, as the previous day, trying to take the attention off him and direct it back to his roommate.

Severide says nothing, but looks at his best friend intently. Easily noticing how tired he looks and how the dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced than anytime in the last few months. His skin also looks flushed, cheeks reddish, and he keeps squinting at him. Casey hasn't particularly looked good since his failed night with Brett, but he looks like shit now. But before Severide can steel his resolve and call him out, Casey seems to dismiss him with a shake of his hand and continues on his way.

"Going to speak with Chief Boden, I will see you later," Casey offers, then he is gone.

-x-x-x-

"Casey, good morning. What can I do for you?" Chief Boden asks from his desk, signaling for Casey to close the door and sit down.

"Hi Chief, I wanted to request the day off," Casey begins, but stops at the shocked look on his chief's face and the sudden way his eyebrows go up. Casey knew it was uncommon for him to voluntarily request time off but he wasn't expecting his chief to look so surprised. "Must have eaten something bad yesterday because my stomach is not agreeing with me today," he lies, inwardly wincing.

Matt Casey never lies, but sometimes he likes to color the truth. After all, his stomach is really not agreeing with him. And, as if trying to add more truth to his statement, Casey's stomach does another flip.

"Alright, Casey. I will tell Stella to take command of truck for the day and you go home and rest. Let me know if I can do anything to help," Boden agrees easily. A small seed of worry settling deep inside him because his captain rarely takes himself off the lineup voluntarily. But if he says it's just a bad case of spoiled food, there's nothing he can do and they just need to let time do its magic.

"Thank you, sir. But, if you're okay with it, I'd prefer to stay here. I can just lie down in my quarters for a bit, then take advantage of the time to get ahead on some paperwork," Casey proposes, knowing his situation is a lot more complicated than food poisoning. He doesn't want to go to the hospital as he fears this might be the time the doctor mentioned where another head injury could really put a damper on his career as a firefighter. And even if he hopes that this will all resolve on its own with time, he would still like to be close to an ambulance and paramedics in case it all turns worse before it gets better.

As it turns out, he does have some sense of self-preservation after all.

"Whatever you think is best, Casey. But if you're feeling worse, don't hesitate to go home. Or ask Brett or Mackey to check you out. They can give you something to make you feel better," Boden instructs. Like always being the type of leader that likes to point out what he believes to be the right path, but ultimately, wanting to give the men and women under his command the chance to decide for themselves.

Casey nods, even knowing that Brett is the last person he would ask for help right now. He almost did yesterday, then spent the whole night dreaming with her sad eyes when he had broken her heart. Being honest with himself, he knows he wants nothing more than to talk to her and let her comfort him. But he has done enough damage already; now she wants space, and the least he can do is give that to her.

"Thank you, chief." Casey bids his boss farewell before he walks straight to his quarters. Closing the door and lowering the blinds, then promptly falling face first onto his bed.

Five minutes later the alarms go off, calling all five units to a vehicular accident. The alarms and sirens only intensify the throbbing in Casey's head and a sob escapes his lips as he tries to shield himself from the noise by covering his head with his pillow. When the room is back to silence, he sighs in content, glad he doesn't have to get up and worry about being Captain Casey right now. At this moment, he has more than enough just worrying about how he feels like he is dying.

Barely shaking his head, Casey wills those thoughts away from his mind and closes his eyes. With the whole firehouse out on a call, he can finally get some rest and hopefully this time actually wake up feeling better than before.

-x-x-x-

After Casey more than dismisses him and walks to the Chief's office, closing the door behind them, Severide has the familiar need to follow him and find out what's going on. But he doesn't want to get on his friend's bad side, so instead, he follows the path where Casey came from, and decides to find some clues on his own.

Seeing the locker room empty and intact, Severide walks into the bathroom and quickly notices the discarded cup of coffee on the trash. The entirety of the black liquid spilled on the bag. Sighing, Severide decides to go wait for Casey outside of Boden's office so he can talk to him about it. Something is clearly wrong with him, and Severide needs to do something about it before Casey's stupidity lands him in trouble. Severide knows he's not great at taking care of himself, but some days he thinks Casey is even worse.

Getting to Boden's office, Severide finds the door open and the chief alone working on some paperwork. Briefly considering talking to Boden about it, Severide eventually decides he doesn't want to go over Casey's head, so he turns around and walks to the officer's quarters.

From a distance, Severide can already see that Casey's door is closed and the blinds are down, so he's probably inside, but before he has time to knock on the door the alarms go off as they're all called to an accident downtown. Staying in place for a few seconds, Severide waits to see if Casey will come out so he can make sure he's really okay before they go into a scene. But there's no movement inside, and Casey never comes out.

Hearing the engines of the trucks, Severide shakes his head and runs towards the apparatus bay, coming face to face with Boden as soon as he exits the door.

Seeing all of truck, but Casey, sitting at their usual spots, and the seat next to Stella empty, Severide turns to his chief. "Sir, is Casey alright?" Casey can get pissed off if he wants, Severide thinks. After all, he wouldn't need to be asking their boss if the idiot had just opened up to his best friend and roommate, instead of avoiding all his questions.

"He said he has food poisoning, and requested the day off. Stella, you're in charge of truck today," Boden all but shouts, both answering Severide's question and informing the rest of the house that they will be going to work without their captain today.

Food poisoning? Severide wonders, scrunching his face when he remembers he hadn't seen Casey eat anything since the day before yesterday. Something is clearly up and he will find out as soon as they're back from this call.

Nodding, Severide jumps into the squad truck and turns on the sirens as Cruz hits the gas. For a brief moment, as he passes the apparatus floor, he catches Stella's eyes, and again, sees his own worry reflected in them. They briefly spoke when they got to the firehouse, and even though Stella also felt something was off, they both agreed this might all be in their heads and was just another side-effect of Casey's current distance from Brett. Still, they can't help but worry. And if that wasn't enough, Severide then turns to Brett, who's sitting on the driver's side of ambo 61, and sees an unasked question on her gaze, her face also showing concern.

-x-x-x-

Sylvie Brett prides herself on always being ready to do her job and help whoever is in need. Or rather, almost always. Because a certain fire captain has the uncanny ability to draw her thoughts away from the job and towards his beautiful blue eyes and deep gaze. Even when the man is not even in the same space, her mind is an expert in conjuring his face whether she wants to or not.

So now, even as she exits the ambulance and goes to the back to find her med bag, Brett tries to catch Severide or Stella's eyes. At any other time, they would be the ones seeking answers from her, but nowadays, she knows Casey is much more likely to share personal details with his roommates than with her. It's not the first time she has that thought, and as every time before, a sad smile escapes her lips with the realization.

Brett can't deny that she is in love with Casey and wants to be more than friends with him, but mostly, she just misses her best friend. And wishes things would go back to normal, when they would communicate like no other, and share with each other what neither dared share with the rest of the world. That's how she knew that whatever was happening now, wouldn't be happening at all if she hadn't sought Casey that night. Then she wouldn't have asked that question, and he wouldn't have broken her heart with the power of his honesty alone.

Shaking her head, Brett gives up trying to attract Severide or Stella's attention and instead focuses on the current call. Grabbing every instrument and item she might need, she follows Mackey to the accident, and together they stand to the side, while squad works on getting the victims out of the three cars involved in the crash, and truck, minus Casey (as her mind helpfully points out), works on extinguishing the few flames that had already sparked and making sure no others join.

When that's done, Brett and Mackey do quick work of taking care of the victims and getting them stable while they wait for additional ambulances to come and help them transport the victims to Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. Only for that brief moment she forgets about Casey, taking some time to stare at the young paramedic, her partner for two more shifts, as she ponders why another partner is leaving her. Maybe she's a good paramedic, and just not a good leader? Because there has to be some reason why no partner is able to stick with her for more than 2 years, while the previous Ambo's 61 PIC was able to spend years with just Shay and then Brett. Apparently Casey is not the only one who prefers Dawson.

Sirens getting closer draw Brett away from her own pity party and she joins Mackey in letting the new paramedics know the state of the victims they just treated and helping them get everyone inside an ambulance. As she proudly stares at Mackey, hearing her confidently recite all the patients' stats and known injuries, Brett makes it a point to remember to congratulate the young woman again and wish her good luck in her new house.

That thought also makes Brett realize that even in a very small way, she's still a part of Mackey's success and the fact she so quickly got the recognition she deserved by being considered for a future PIC job, an achievement which took Brett more than a few years. She should feel proud of that, for both of them. Plus, she's always been good, some would even say great, at her job. So there's no reason for Brett to be feeling down on herself.

But then she remembers Casey, and her conviction crumbles. Whatever is happening to him now wouldn't be happening if she hadn't let their personal lives mix with their jobs. And even if it is just food poisoning, which she doubts, it would still be her fault, because any firefighter should feel like they can reach out and ask her for help, however minor the injury or illness might be. And Casey clearly hadn't thought he could. But then again, he had tried to ask her a question during the last shift. It hadn't been her fault that, as usual, they got interrupted, but it was her fault not to ask him about it later.

Same as it was her fault that she didn't check Casey after the incident last call. And deep down in her gut, she is certain that is the real problem of whatever is happening to him now.

Sighing, Brett forces her mind to return to the present and closes the door of Ambo 61 after Mackey climbs inside next to the stretcher. For now, she will focus on doing her job to the best of her ability, but she knows something is up, and she will find out what, as soon as they're back at 51.

-x-x-x-

Again, Casey doesn't wake up feeling better than before. In fact, the pain in his head now reaches a new level of misery and the room is spinning so much that just getting out of bed is a struggle.

Closing his eyes, Casey pictures what he remembers of his small quarters and tentatively makes his way to the door. Resting his head on the wood as he wills the world to stop moving.

Opening his eyes again, he unlocks the door and slowly makes his way to the common room in search of Brett, Mackey or anyone that can help him. But the room is empty and with a sinking feeling he realizes the call lasted longer than expected or maybe he just didn't sleep all that much.

But then Casey hears the telltale sound of the firehouse's units and his friends' voices and with the last of his energy follows the noise to the apparatus bay. Every step is a new challenge and by the time Casey crosses the threshold and stands on the garage, the ache in his head has worsened. He moves a hand to message his temple, hoping to alleviate the ache in his head and frowns when his fingers come back sticky with blood.

When the trucks and SUV are close enough for Casey to see them, or rather, their blurry outlines, he raises his hand, hoping to get Brett or Severide's attention, and in his disorientation, frowns again when he sees blood staining his hand. Wanting to get closer to his family and the only people that can help him now, Casey takes one final step but it's too late and his whole world collapses on him. His dizziness and nausea take over, the room around him disappearing as the blurriness gives way to full-blown darkness and the familiar sounds of the firehouse are reduced to interminable silence.

And before Casey can process anything of what's happening, the world seems to tilt off its axis and he feels himself falling...

#Chicago Fire #matt casey #sylvie brett #brettsey #kelly severide #brett x casey #bad things happen bingo #chicago fire fanfic

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bonesliketambourines · 4 years

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top five of ‘20

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

thank you @xanthippe74 for the tag!

well! it’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?

i hadn’t written fanfic at all since like 2012 prior to this year, and that was in a completely different fandom; when drarry grabs you, it grabs hard, eh? i wrote 51 fics this year and there’s still time for more 😬

picking my top five is hard! i already went a little too into my feelings about what are probably my automatic first choices here and here, so i’m going to exclude those from this list!

i always make the ‘i love all my children equally’ joke from arrested development about my fic, but for the most part i’m really telling the truth—i know not all my fics are incredible or excellent, but i put time and effort into all of them, and even the not as good ones are part of my journey as a writer, because i really feel i’ve improved by leaps and bounds this year. i’ve certainly gotten better at producing a quality fic at the eleventh hour, haha.

honestly though, there absolutely are some fics that are a little closer to my heart (besides the two mentioned in the links above), so i’m going to attempt to narrow that down into five!

in no particular order:

the best kind of bad: this was an expansion of a discord drabble, and is my first attempt at writing first-person, ever! it also was a bit of a tone shift from my previous efforts up to this point—a little darker, a little ambiguous, less focus on humor and snappy banter and more on making the atmosphere match the vibes i was going for. this was my first more ‘open ending’ fic that doesn’t answer all the questions it put forth, and i definitely have taken that and run with it in the intervening months!

push and pull you down: so i think by now everyone in the drarry fandom knows about this gifset, right? of course when a fest all about inspiration from gifs and images came out i had to use this one! i’ve always loved the idea of a totally unredeemed draco who isn’t trying to be nice and conform to post-war life, a draco who still uses his money and his name to get his way no matter what. and what better exemplifies that than drug-peddling and sex on potions? i also have a lot of thoughts about harry as an auror—i love writing him as confident and competent, of course, but equally do i enjoy writing him questioning himself and wondering if maybe this path isn’t for him after all. also, smoking is sexy and that’s that on that.

in knots: so, full disclosure; i didn’t like this one at all when i first wrote and posted it. it was kinktober and here i was writing a sad, strange little fic about PTSD and living up to our legacies and how our images of ourselves are based so much on our parents, and the adults in our lives, and the things we were told as children. what the fuck is that doing in the middle of all the relatively hot smut i wrote? but, up it went, and when i re-read it the next day, i completely changed my tune. it’s rough, sure—all of my kinktober things are as they’re not edited at all, but this one has probably more feelings per capita than almost anything else i’ve written, and it got right to the heart of a lot of the character motivations that i have in my head when i write these two, but don’t always articulate.

in His name: ahhhhh man. okay. so this one really, really got away from me as you can tell by the word count. i didn’t edit or revise any of my kinktober fics before posting them, but this one i spent a lot of time researching first, and i’m thrilled with how it came out. as someone who grew up watching buffy and had a long-time love affair with supernatural, writing something with sexy demonic possession has always been on my wish list, but it’s not exactly a common thing to work into the harry potter universe! i got to sprinkle this fic with all of my favorite tropes and i think i managed to maintain the intensity of the fic throughout the whole thing, even though it’s so dang long haha.

in charge: so anybody who’s read my writing knows that i have a pretty particular style of draco and harry that i write. even if i adjust their personalities, there are some core tenets that remain. i went a totally different route for them with this one, and i love how it turned out. forcing myself to step back and throw away everything i’m used to for characterization was so, so fun, and this dynamic and vibe is just so tasty that i may have to come back to it!

and yes, three of the five of these are from kinktober. i found that having to come up with new ideas every single day really stretched my writer muscles and forced me to go outside my comfort zone in so many ways; it was a challenge to not just write the same exact scenario with a cut-and-paste kink for the smut, but at the risk of sounding self-aggrandizing, i really think i achieved that, and i’m quite proud of everything i wrote that month. it made me a better writer and i highly recommend that everyone participate in something like this if they’re able!

and hey would you look at that—you’ll get the chance! i’m going to take this opportunity to link to @hpkinkuary, which will be a list of 28 kink prompts i’ll be posting in mid-january and hosting throughout the month of february! there will be an ao3 collection and some very pretty graphics that i’ve yet to make, and there are no rules or participation requirements, so if you feel like you might want to give it a shot go ahead and give that account a follow!

i’m tagging @tackytigerfic, @dracoladon, @shealwaysreads, @maesterchill, @p1013, @quicksilvermaid, @pineau-noir, @peachpety, and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it; make sure you tag me in it so i can see your replies!!

#tag game #my fic #drarry #drarry discord #drarry squad

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five-rivers · 4 years

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Exile

Prompt by @halfaqueen. My goodness, this took forever to write. I have no idea how it got so long.

Danny hadn't realized that exile was still a thing, but when he and Jazz had gotten expelled, and their parents had been banned or barred from basically all public places, and all of them had gotten restraining orders of one sort or another, and dozens of lawsuits had been filed against Fentonworks... Well... Officially, it wasn't exile, but that was what Amity Park was clearly aiming for with this harassment campaign.

He watched his city, his haunt, disappear over the horizon from the back window of the GAV. It was all he could do not to cry out aloud. Leaving like this felt like tearing part of himself away.

"Don't worry, Danno!" said Jack, leaning over the back seat. He wasn't driving, as he had lost his license early on in the city's war against them. "Just give it a few weeks! They'll be begging for us to come back, what with all the ghost that'll attack!"

This did not make Danny feel better.

"Jack," said Maddie, drawing out her husband's name. As clear as day, her tone said, Don't get their hopes up.

"You betcha! Because nobody can catch a ghost better than the Fentons, that's for sure!"

Jack Fenton hadn't ever been good at reading things as abstract as tones.

"They think they can stop the ghosts by closing the portal? Please! If it was as easy as that, we'd have closed it ages ago!"

Danny cringed, and sunk lower in his seat. No. None of that made Danny feel better.

Amity Park had hired other ghost hunters, blatantly replacing the Fentons, but Danny didn't know how good they were. He didn't know how good he should hope they were, either. On one hand, he wanted them to be bad, so that Amity Park would drop the restraining orders and he could go home. On the other, he wanted them to be good, so that Amity Park would be safe, so that everyone would be safe and no one would be hurt. But, then, if they were good, and everything was fine, that meant that Amity Park didn't need him any more, that he wasn't helpful, and, even though it was selfish, part of him wanted to be needed.

But, worse, what if they were good enough to defeat the more common ghosts, but then someone powerful come through, someone big, and they couldn't handle it? What if the new hunters worked for the GIW and would send the ghosts they caught off to be experimented on?

Danny had warned away as many ghosts as he could about what was happening before they left, but it didn't seem to be enough. And what if that warning got to someone who would see it as an invitation? As an opportunity to strike, now that he, Phantom, was gone.

He'd been so worried, stressed, and paranoid that he'd made himself sick. He was probably going to make himself sick again before the day was out.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he mumbled.

"Didn't we tell you?" asked Maddie. Danny shrugged. "We're visiting some relatives of Jack's. They have an interest in the supernatural, and they offered to let us stay with them while we look for a more permanent solution."

"Yep!" said Jack. "My favorite cousin, Cory! She's not quite a ghost hunter, but she has that Fenton blood for sure!"

"Cordelia Nightingale," said Maddie. "I don't think that her branch of the family has been Fentons since the sixteen-hundreds."

Danny swallowed. He was not a fan of the name 'Nightingale,' all things considered. It reminded him too much of pain and Sam pushed up against a wooden stake.

He decided this, on top of everything else, was a bad omen. He bet that 'cousin Cordelia' was going to turn out to be a ghost or, somehow, something worse. Like a witch. Or she had something like Freakshows staff. Or she grew blood blossoms for fun. Or she was part of a cult.

Ugh, why did that sound like something that might happen? What was his life?

Half gone, that's what.

Jazz patted him on the knee. "Maybe it'll be nice?" she said, hopefully.

"Maybe," said Danny.

He didn't have high hopes.

Sam probably would have liked the house. Danny didn't. The Gothic architecture only accentuated his fears. He frowned up at the spikes on the railing and the darkly painted boards. No. He didn't like this house at all.

He wanted to go home.

But, at his mother's prodding, he bent and picked up his suitcase. Most of his things were still at home and, if this lasted longer than a week, would then be put into a storage locker along with the rest of the family's belongings, to await a time when they once again had a house of their own to live in.

Jack bounced up the steps and pressed the doorbell with his thumb. Almost at once, a thin woman with graying brown hair opened the door. She wore a black turtleneck and a dark, straight skirt that ended at her ankles. Somehow, she made the outfit look practically Victorian.

"Cory!" exclaimed Jack, giving her a trademark Jack Fenton hug.

Both Jazz and Danny cringed slightly. That felt a bit too familiar for someone who he hadn't seen for literally their entire lives. Danny just hoped this wouldn't be Vlad all over again.

But, to his surprise, Cordelia gave Jack a thin smile and hugged him back. She extracted herself and stepped away from the door, into the house.

"Please," she said, "come in. You must all be tired. Amity Park is hours away."

One by one, the Fentons passed through the door, Danny bringing up the suspicious and paranoid rear.

"You must be Jasmine and Daniel," said Cordelia, closing the door. It wasn't quite dark inside the house, but it did feel rather dim. It smelled sweet, but dusty. Like flowers. Old, dry flowers.

"Jazz and Danny, please, Ms. Nightingale," said Jazz.

"Call me Cordelia. We're family, after all."

Was that ominous, or was Danny just paranoid? Well, it wasn't paranoia if people really were out to get you, right?

His breath went cold in his mouth, and something moved out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, trying to trace it.

He couldn't see anything. His ghost sense hadn't gone off.

"Danny?" said Maddie. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably my cat," said Cordelia, calmly. "She's a shy little thing, but curious. Don't be surprised if you don't see her again."

"Right," said Danny, doubtful, but not wanting to press the point.

"Now, I've cleaned out rooms for you upstairs," she gestured, and began to lead the way.

Danny started to follow, but another shadow moved at the edge of his sight, this one distinctly humanoid. He turned again, trying to find what cast it. There was nothing. He hurried to catch up with the others.

"Do you live here all alone?" he asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Oh, no," said Cordelia. "This place is much too large for one person. I let out rooms to some nice young ladies who work in town. None of them are here right now, of course, but I'll introduce all of you at dinner."

Well, there went that theory. He glanced back down the stairs. There was definitely a chill in this house.

"You didn't have to give us this much space," said Maddie, snapping Danny's attention back to the conversation. "We should pay you."

"Nonsense. You're family, and those rooms weren't being used anyway. Here, this one has a king mattress, so you two will want this one, even if it is a bit tight, and Daniel, Jasmine, you two take the ones on either side."

Danny and Jazz shared a look. It was a lot easier for Jazz to cover for Danny, or for Danny to sneak into her room for help, when they were next to each other. But there was nothing to be done. They shrugged.

It didn't matter who took which room. Jazz went left. Danny went right.

The room was a lot like the rest of the house. Old-fashioned and dark. It was also meticulously clean and decorated like something out of an old movie. It looked like a set piece. It really did.

Then again, Cordelia did say she had just cleaned the rooms. It wasn't anything to get nervous about, even if it did make Danny feel like he was the main character in a horror film.

He put down his suitcase.

"The bathroom is just down at the end of the hall. The schedule is posted next to it, make sure you write down when you want to shower, so you don't disrupt anyone," said Cordelia, still talking to Jack and Maddie in the hall. "The kitchen is downstairs and in the back. If you take the last of something from the refrigerator, write it down on the shopping list. Otherwise, go ahead and make yourselves at home. Freshen up, take a nap. Dinner is at six."

"Do you want any help with that?" asked Maddie. "You're cooking for an awful lot of people."

"No, no, I'm more than used to it."

"Alright. Did you catch all that, kids?"

"Yes," said Jazz.

"Yeah," said Danny. He wanted to look for whatever was giving him this chill. He didn't like the idea of something supernatural sneaking up on him or his family while he slept.

He couldn't find it, and it was driving him crazy.

There was something in this house, even if Danny couldn't see it as anything but a shadow in his peripheral vision. Jazz couldn't see it at all, but she believed him after that whole thing with Youngblood.

Even if they couldn't find the thing, however, they found lots of other... things. Creepy things. Dead-eyed porcelain dolls. Dusty portraits. Bundles of dried herbs. Weird sculpture things. Light fixtures that should have been updated before Danny was born. A stuffed cat. A closet full of brooms.

"You know what I haven't seen?" asked Danny, as it turned five o'clock.

"No," said Jazz. "What? Ghosts?"

"A litter box," said Danny.

"That doesn't really mean anything," said Jazz. "It could be in one of the bedrooms, or there's a cat door and the cat goes outside."

"Maybe," said Danny. "Let's check out the yard."

This far from the nearest town, the yard was big and cut into a forest that loomed darkly over them even in the bright sunlight. The yard itself was full of flowering plants, but...

"I think these are all poisonous," he said. "At least, a lot of them are."

"Isn't that normal for decorative plants?" asked Jazz. "They weren't bred to eat."

"Yeah, I guess," said Danny, frowning. "But would you necessarily want a cat out here with all this?"

"Cats are carnivores. They wouldn't eat the plants. Can you see the neighbors?"

"No. Too many trees."

"How far away are we, I wonder?"

"It can't be that far," said Danny. "Not if her boarders commute to town."

"That's true. We're not in the wilderness." Jazz scanned up and down the height of the trees. "Not really."

"Maybe a little bit," said Danny. He could imagine some of those trees being hundreds of years old. The ground might not have been untrod by human feet, but... "Does everything here just sort of feel... off? Or is that just me?"

"I don't know," said Jazz.

Gravel crunched in the driveway, audible even from the other side of the house. Jazz and Danny walked to the corner of the house so that they could see around the corner and watch what was happening.

A small white car was pulling into the driveway. It stopped next to the GAV. As they watched, three young women stepped out. One of them had long, dark hair and wore a red sweater and skirt, reminiscent of Cordelia's. The second had pale blond, almost white, hair and wore a deep brown shirt and skirt. The third had red hair, and wore white. All of them had wicked looking boots and matching leather purses.

"Okay," whispered Jazz, pulling Danny back around the corner. "I... Maybe they just like to match?"

"I hate this so much," said Danny. "I want to go home."

"Maybe whatever is going on here is friendly?"

"We are literally never that lucky," said Danny. "I hope it's just a ghost. I can deal with ghosts. It's probably a ghost."

"Really?"

"No. Let's go in. We're going to have to meet them eventually."

"This is Sofia," said Cordelia, indicating the dark haired woman. "This is Alison." She put her hand on the blonde's shoulder. "And this is Morgan." She nodded at the redhead. "Girls, these are my cousins, Jack, Maddie, Jazz, and Danny."

Three sets of eyes moved sequentially from Jack, to Maddie, to Jazz, to Danny. They stayed on Danny.

"It's nice to meet you," said Sofia, still looking at Danny.

He tried to hide his discomfort. Could they tell he was half-ghost? He hoped not. That was his trump card if everything turned out as badly as he feared and he had to get his family out in a hurry.

What he wouldn't give for a piece of concrete evidence right now. Without it, his parents would never listen to him. They hadn't with Vlad.

They were still looking at him. Jazz slipped in front of him.

"So!" she said, brightly. "Dinner?"

Danny pushed back in front of Jazz. "Yeah! It's six, right?"

"Well, it sounds like the kids have inherited that good old Fenton appetite! Huh, Cory?" added Jack

"Yes, yes, come along. Girls, why don't you go ahead and get the table started. No, Maddie, the girls know how I like it, I'll show you later. You just sit down and relax." Cordelia disappeared into the kitchen.

The three younger women moved smoothly around the room, pulling plates and silverware- real silver silverware- from a china cabinet. They set the long table in the middle of the room with rigorous formality. There were more kinds of forks at each place setting than Danny had seen even when having dinner at Sam's. They topped it off with two candelabras.

Cordelia emerged with a casserole dish. Whatever was in it was thick, roughly cylindrical, and covered with a thick red sauce.

"Wow! Is that a roast?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I always make this when new guests arrive. The girls have all had it."

The 'girls' nodded as one, and retreated to the opposite side of the table. They almost moved in sync with one another.

Cordelia put the roast on the table, and went back to get side dishes. This gave the three women more time to stare at Danny.

On occasion, Danny did want attention, acknowledgement, what have you, but this scrutiny would have been a bit much even when he was at the height of his 'look at me' phase. He kept a tight hold on his core to keep himself from flickering invisible.

Cordelia came back with two serving dishes full of green... things. Possibly vegetables, but Danny didn't recognize them. She then started to, with excruciating slowness, carve the roast.

The slow exposure of the meat under all that sauce was enough to make Danny vaguely ill. It was too... wet. Too vibrant and too gray all at once. He swallowed against the smell.

"Wow!" said Jack, as Cordelia dropped a slab of meat on his plate. "This looks great, Cory! What kind of meat is it?" He was already sawing away at the flesh. It was all Danny could do to keep himself from slapping it away from him.

"Beef," said Cordelia, smiling at him as she carved. "Locally grown and harvested. It's an old family recipe, from before our branches split and we were all Nightingales."

"You mean Fentons!" said Jack around a mouthful of meat.

Cordelia's smile turned brittle. "However you would like to put it, Jack." She went around the table, serving herself last.

Danny made no move to pick up his utensils. The women on the other side of the table ate while watching him, barely looking at their food. Jazz was the only one who seemed to notice, and when Danny caught her eye and shook his head, she put down the bite of meat she had picked up, turning her focus to the vegetables.

"So," Jazz said, "what do you three do?"

Sofia's eyes flicked briefly to Jazz. "Graphic design," she said.

"That must be interesting."

"It's a job."

Danny didn't eat that night.

"I have some granola bars," said Jazz, grabbing his arm before he entered his guest room. Not that he intended to sleep there. Or anywhere.

"You keep them," he said. "I'm fine. You didn't eat much, either."

"You didn't eat anything," said Jazz.

"I'll be okay." Danny flared his eyes. "I've got an extra reserve, remember?"

"If you say so," said Jazz. She was frowning. "Danny... Let's share a room tonight."

"What?"

"I don't like how those three were looking at you," she said. "I can't believe Mom and Dad didn't notice..."

"They don't notice anything," said Danny. He pulled Jazz into the dubious safety of his room. He didn't want to have this conversation out in the hallway. "Wait," he said, eyes flicking over the room. "Where's my suitcase?"

Jazz shrugged. "Kind of reminds me," she said, not quite whispering. "I was thinking about barricading the door."

Danny hissed through his teeth. "I put my thermos up here when we went to eat. It's gone, too."

"If this were a horror movie, this would be when we yelled at the screen for the characters to leave."

"Think we can convince Mom and Dad?"

"Maybe together?"

Danny shrugged. "Let's give it a try."

They left the bedroom, and knocked on their parents' door. There was no answer.

Jazz frowned. "Maybe they have their earplugs in already," she said. "Can you, you know." She made a gesture where her arms crossed each other.

"Let's see," he said, going back to the bedroom. He waited until Jazz shut the door to turn invisible and phase through the wall.

Passing through the wall felt... odd. Like walking through layers of cobwebs. He shook his head as if to clear it and surveyed the room. Jack and Maddie were already in bed. He made a face and stepped back into the other room, becoming visible and tangible for Jazz.

"They're asleep," he said, shaking his head.

"First thing tomorrow morning, then," Jazz said, wringing her hands. "Maybe- Do you think we should sleep in the GAV? Put up the ghost shield?"

"I'm not even sure that this is a ghost," said Danny. He walked around the bed, part of him still looking for his missing suitcase. "But you have a point, I just..." He glanced at the wall his room shared with his parents'. If he and Jazz slept in the GAV, Jazz would be very safe, but their parents would be vulnerable. If he stayed here, and Jazz slept in the GAV, she'd be safer than sleeping alone in the house, and his parents would be safer, but if something happened to her, he wouldn't be able to react to it, he wouldn't be able to protect her. "I don't know."

"Let's at least go down and look. Maybe you left your suitcase in there, after all?"

"I don't think so," said Danny.

"We can get the weapons locker."

Danny blinked. "I almost forgot about that. Yeah. Let's go."

They were halfway down the stairs when Jazz grabbed his shoulder. "What?" whispered Danny.

"I can't hear anything."

"Huh?"

"This house is old. These stairs creaked when we were walking on it before. Why isn't it now?"

Danny bit his lip. "Let's keep going." He put his hand on Jazz's and made them both invisible.

"I can't see my feet," said Jazz.

"Just be careful," said Danny, continuing down the stairs. "I'm going to phase us through the front door, okay?"

"Fine."

It was still twilight when they stepped outside, the first stars just beginning to show. It wasn't hard for them to navigate, slipping around the white car, but when they did, and finally got a good look at the GAV, they froze.

Jazz said something very un-Jazz-like. Danny let his invisibility fade.

"What happened?" asked Jazz, in shock.

"It looks like someone beat it with a crowbar," said Danny, almost reverently, touching the crumpled metal. "A really big, really fast crowbar."

"Danny, this glass is supposed to be bulletproof."

"And ghost-proof," agreed Danny. "Let's go barricade your room. Think it can get through a dresser?"

The thing about being under high levels of stress for long periods of time was that it was tiring. Exhausting, even. So, even though Danny didn't intend to sleep, he did.

He woke up unable to move, something heavy weighing down his chest. His eyes fluttered open. Something huge and dark, the shadow he'd only glimpsed before, loomed over him, pressed down on him. He could see Jazz's bright hair hanging off of the bed above him. He tried to call out, to warn her, to get her to run, but he couldn't speak.

He couldn't breathe-

When his eyes opened again, light was weakly streaming through the thick glass of the windows, making the dust in the room sparkle gold. He sat straight up, breathing hard. He was still in Jazz's room, the dresser pulled across the doorway. Why do that and then leave him here? It didn't make sense.

"What's wrong?" asked Jazz, voice deep and crackled with sleep. She yawned.

Danny told her.

"That sounds like sleep paralysis."

"Like what now?"

"Sleep paralysis," said Jazz. She yawned again. "Some people get it. They wake up, but they're still asleep and they can't move. And also they hallucinate."

"That sounds fake."

"You sound fake."

"You know what? That's fair. That's actually fair. This whole situation sounds fake, so why not add sleep paralysis to the whole thing? It's better than an actual literal demon." He took a deep breath. "What do we do now?"

Jazz licked her lips and ran a hand through her hair.

"We tell them that the GAV has been trashed, that those women were staring at you like they wanted to eat you all dinner, and that your clothes were stolen. And then I'll spell it out for them, if I have to."

"What, that this place is probably haunted or possessed and Dad's cousin is a witch?"

"No," said Jazz, making a face. "That'll probably only make them want to stay even more. That those three are probably pedophiles who stole your clothing and wrecked the GAV so we couldn't leave, and that neither of us felt safe sleeping alone. Sorry. Then we'll make them call a cab."

"No, no, that's fine. That's a better explanation than I could come up with. Let's do that. I would honestly rather stay at Vlad's than here."

"Yeah," Jazz dragged her hand through her hair again, and grimaced. "Let me get dressed, first. Do you see my brush over there?"

"No," said Danny.

Jazz looked around the room. "Actually... Where is my suitcase?"

"It was-" Danny stopped. "It was in that corner when we came in, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Jazz. "Okay, forget getting dressed. We're talking to Mom and Dad now." She swung out of bed and made her way to the door.

Danny phased through her, so he would reach the dresser first and easily pushed it out of the way. He stuck his head out the door, looking both ways for Cordelia and the borders.

The door to the room next to Jazz's, their parent's room, was open.

"Shoot," said Danny. He walked over. "They're not here."

"Downstairs? Maybe they went to get breakfast." Jazz emerged from the room crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe," said Danny. He had a bad feeling about this.

Cautiously, they made their way down the stairs and peered into the kitchen. No one was there.

"Hello, children," said Cordelia, directly behind them.

They jumped, both trying to get away and spin at the same time. Jazz clipped her elbow on the doorway and almost fell. Danny caught her and pulled her back up.

"If you are looking for your parents, you just missed them."

"What do you mean?" asked Jazz, a little more sharply than she usually would.

"I mean, they just left," said Cordelia mildly. "They took that vehicle of yours to town to go shopping. Something about not eating me out of my house. It was very kind of them."

"But the GAV was wrecked..." said Jazz, even as Danny gave a tug on her arm.

"Was it?" asked Cordelia, smiling. "It seemed fine when they left. You should get dressed, though, Jasmine, and, Daniel, are those the clothes you were wearing yesterday?"

"Our clothes are gone," said Jazz.

"You left them in your car? Well, no wonder you're looking for your parents. I think I might have some old clothes that will fit you. Come along, now." She turned.

Possibilities tumbled through Danny's head. A large part of him wanted to just grab Jazz and fly away to find their parents in town, but he estimated that there was a pretty good chance that they weren't in town, but trapped here somewhere. Jazz had apparently made that same calculation, because she was giving him the 'don't you dare use your powers' head shake.

Fine. Okay. Play along it was, then.

Cordelia lead them into a dusty ground floor room full of chests. She opened one, knocking free a number of cobwebs. "These are a little old fashioned, I'm afraid, Daniel, but it has been a while since a boy your age lived here." She handed him a small, neat stack of clothing. "And these are for you, Jasmine. I wore them when I was about your age. I grew a few inches, after that."

"Right," said Jazz, already backing away. "We'll just go... change... then. Right Danny?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

Jazz didn't speak to him until they were back upstairs. "What now?"

"Now," said Danny, "I go ghost and see if Mom and Dad are trapped in a dungeon under the house or something. If not, I take you and get the heck out of here. If they are, I rescue them, we get the heck out of here. We'll steal Cordelia's car or something."

"Not much of a plan."

"Don't kid yourself. We never have a plan. Do you want to get dressed, first, or...?"

"Pass."

"I'll have to bring you with me. I don't want to leave you alone up here while I'm searching," warned Danny.

"I know. I don't want to be alone here, either."

Danny took a breath and-

Did not go ghost. He doubled over, gasping for breath, transformation rings flickering to nothing around him as the shadows pressed inward, suffocating him. The huge fingers around his chest- The almost-human silhouette-

"Danny?" asked Jazz, alarmed, shaking his shoulder. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Not," wheezed Danny, "sleep paralysis."

The shadows crept up over his eyes and everything went dark.

When he woke up, he was wearing different clothes. Very different clothes. They were all white and loose. He wasn't sure if he should call them robes, but they had that kind of feeling. His shoes were gone. He was in his guest room, on the bed. Jazz was nowhere to be seen.

Danny should have taken his family and run as soon as he saw that not-ghost shadow. He swallowed, shaking, and clenched his fists. It was still here, watching him. He could feel it, even if he couldn't see it.

Okay. First step, get out of here.

He swung his feet off the bed. As soon as they touched the floor, something twined around his ankle and rapidly climbed up his leg. He gasped and yanked himself back, trying to free his knee from the shadow twisted around it. It held fast, firmly squeezing his thigh.

Danny growled. This wasn't the first shadow he had fought. He gathered ectoplasm in his hand and poured energy into it until it burned brighter than magnesium. The shadow retreated, and Danny scrambled to stand on the middle of the bed, ectoblast still in his fist.

"Now, now, no need for any of that."

Cordelia stood in the doorway, not the least bit surprised to see Danny wielding supernatural powers.

"Where's my family?" demanded Danny.

"Safe," said Cordelia, neutrally, "and they will continue to remain so."

Danny shifted, and the bed springs squealed. "What do you want?" he asked.

"My heritage. Come along. I will explain as we go." She turned in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. "Our shadow will not trouble you, should you follow now."

Danny clenched his jaw at the threat but gingerly climbed down from the bed and followed Cordelia across the frigid floor.

"Our last common ancestor was Elizabeth Nightingale," said Cordelia. "She was married to James Fenton. They had two children, John Fenton-Nightingale and Mary Fenton-Nightingale." She paused. "Elizabeth was knowledgeable in what would have been called witchcraft, and she was very, very good at it."

They climbed down the stairs to the first floor. All of the lights were off.

"But, as these things happen, she died. A mistake with a summoning." Cordelia turned into a long hallway Danny had missed in his earlier explorations of the house. "John and Mary were divided on how to handle her legacy. John," the name was said with anger, "decided that Elizabeth's craft, her knowledge, was evil, and decided to destroy it. He burned generations of Nightingale knowledge in a single night. When Mary tried to stop him, to salvage her mother's legacy, he tried to burn her, too. He denounced her as a witch."

"I'm sorry about that," said Danny. "I really am." After all, he knew exactly what that felt like. "But I don't see what that has to do with us. That was hundreds of years ago. A bit late for revenge, don't you think?" A sufficiently disturbed ghost wouldn't, but Cordelia was, as far as Danny could tell, human.

"This isn't about revenge," said Cordelia. "Besides, it has everything to do with you. Of the two of us, you are the one who met the man, Phantom."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's no need for you to play coy with me, young man," said Cordelia. "Why else do you think I put so much time and effort into getting you here? The magics to turn your town against your parents weren't child's play, after all." She bent and seized the corner of a rug, pulling it up and back to reveal a trap door. "Neither was calling the shadow to keep you bound." She lifted the ring handle on the trap door, pulling it open. "After you."

Danny stared down the dark hole below. There was a metal ladder, but he couldn't tell where it ended. A very faint light from somewhere to the right reflected off of some of the rungs.

"Is this where you reveal you're a cannibal?" asked Danny, unimpressed. "Is that what horror movie this is?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Although you and Jasmine refusing to eat with us last night made everything harder than it had to be."

That definitely wasn't Danny's stomach growling at the reminder that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. "Drugged, was it?"

They stared at each other over the trap door.

"If you refuse to cooperate, we can always use Jack. Or Jasmine."

Danny's lips twitched as he held back a snarl. "Fine," he snapped, angrily climbing down, into the hole.

It turned out that the ladder wasn't terribly long after all. It descended into a basement of normal height.

That was, however, the only normal thing about the space. Far from simply being unfinished, the floor of the basement seemed to be stone. So were what little he could see of the walls. It was like the basement had been carved from one huge piece of bedrock, but that couldn't be possible. Danny didn't know, well, anything about geology, but he was pretty sure houses usually weren't built on stuff like this.

To the right, there was a small table with a single burning candle on it and two chairs, one on each side. Beyond that, Danny could make out a circle on the ground marked with chalk.

The cold feeling that had been plaguing Danny since yesterday was a hundred times stronger in this room. His core was alert, but the relief that his ghost sense usually brought just never came.

The strain was beginning to ache.

"Sit down," said Cordelia, indicating the chair closest to the chalk circle.

Danny complied, tense, and Cordelia moved the candle to one side, taking out a book and setting it on the table. The book was old and singed, the edges of the leather cover and several of the pages burnt and curled. Cordelia stroked it, reverently.

"This is all that Mary managed to salvage from the flames," she said. "Just this one book, out of so many. All that knowledge lost. Elizabeth was the last one to have it."

Danny heard movement in the dark corners of the room and turned his head to Sofia, Alison, and Morgan emerging, all of them in robes similar to his own, but in their own colors. They came close, and grabbed the back and arms of his chair.

"You asked me what I wanted. I want Elizabeth Nightingale."

A surprised laugh, almost a scoff, forced its way between Danny's lips. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't exactly have her in my back pocket. Do these pants even have pockets?"

"You might not have her," said Cordelia, annoyance creeping into her otherwise level tone, "but you can get her. Bring her back from beyond."

"Uh, not sure what's in your book, but, contrary to popular belief, not all dead people know each other. She might not even be a ghost. She might have moved on."

"She hasn't," said Cordelia, almost smiling. "Not with the summoning she was doing. We are going to send you to her, and you are going to bring her back." She tilted her head to one side. "We could do this with any blood relative. The original plan was to use Jack, but your condition makes you so much more open to this kind of thing. Your chances of success are much higher."

Danny crossed his arms. "And if I don't succeed, you'll make Dad and Jazz try."

"That's right."

"Why don't you do it?" asked Danny. "You're a blood relative, aren't you?"

"Sadly, the ritual requires four people."

"Yeah, that's the only reason, huh?" said Danny, because he liked to antagonize people he couldn't strike back against in other ways, and also because he was an idiot.

"As I said, we can always use one of the others if you do not cooperate."

"And you'll let us all go if I do?"

"If you bring back Elizabeth, yes."

"Fine," said Danny. "What do I need to do?"

"Very little," said Cordelia. "Give me your hand. Your right hand."

Reluctantly, Danny held out his hand. Cordelia took it and wrapped a thin, white cord around it.

"That will lead you to her."

"I thought you were sending me to her," said Danny.

"You won't be in exactly the same spot," said Cordelia.

Then she whipped a knife out from under the table and sliced deeply into Danny's hand. He pushed back, away, holding his bleeding hand close to his chest. The only reason the chair didn't tip back was because the other three witches were holding on to it.

"Go stand in the circle," ordered Cordelia.

In a fit of pique, Danny phased backwards through the three women holding the chair, not bothering to wait for them to move away to let him go. The shadow pushed uncomfortably against his shoulders, but did not otherwise protest.

The circle was simple, no runes or symbols, just a single line of white chalk on the dark stone. Danny stared at it for a long moment, before stepping over it and standing at the center, his elbow dripping blood as it ran down his arm from his hand.

"Alright, girls, you know what we need to do," said Cordelia.

Danny stood in a field of washed-out red grass. Overhead, the sky billowed with rolling, boiling gray clouds. They seemed too close. The air smelled of smoke. The horizon was blurred and warped, as if Danny were looking at it through thick, wavy glass, or as if in a dream.

This wasn't the Ghost Zone.

He took a deep breath, the smoke washing through him. Okay. He was here. Now he needed to find Elizabeth Nightingale.

He looked down at his hand. The white cord had been turned red with his blood, and it had grown longer, reaching back over his shoulder.

"Eat your hear out, Ariadne," muttered Danny. He looked over his shoulder.

A forest was on fire.

The tall, straight, slender trees burned from their tops, like candles. Their trunks were bare, entirely free of leaves, needles, or branches. Danny should have felt the heat, even at this distance. He didn't.

The bloody cord led between the trees.

"Right," muttered Danny, "because nothing can be easy."

Resigned, he started walking towards the trees and discovered that the 'grass' on the ground actually consisted of thin-walled ceramic-like tubes. Fragile ceramic tubes. The ones he stepped on shattered and cut into his bare feet. He hissed, resisting the urge to hop around and get even more shards stuck into him. The bottoms of his feet felt wet and hot. He tried to phase the shards out and couldn't.

"Is this hell?" asked Danny, aloud. "This has to be hell. Ancients."

He couldn't feel the shadow near him anymore, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Despite the 'grass,' he hesitated to try and go ghost to fly over it. He didn't want to pass out onto the tubes and break them even more. He didn't want those shards in his face or hands.

The squelching of his blood as he shifted his weight decided it for him. He couldn't walk over all of this.

He sent one last look around him for the shadow and summoned his rings. He was relieved when they flowed smoothly over him, transforming him into a ghost, into Phantom.

His normal hazmat suit did not appear, however. Instead, the white robes he had been dressed in turned black. Danny frowned at this. He was not a fan. He wanted his hazmat back.

Whatever. There were more important things to focus on. For example, both his blood and the cord had turned a lurid, ectoplasmic green. Much easier to see against the red-hued backdrop of this world.

He lifted up off the ground and flew on, occasionally pausing to pull shards out of his feet. His accelerated healing made the wounds scab over quickly. The cut on his hand, however, continued to bleed freely. This was beginning to concern him. He didn't have an infinite supply of blood. Or ectoplasm. Whatever.

As he approached the burning forest, he expected to start feeling heat, but even when he was right at the treeline, hovering midway up the impossibly tall, thin tree trunks, he couldn't feel anything. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. The smoke didn't smell any stronger.

Even so, he knew fire didn't have to be hot to burn. Fire was a chemical reaction, and Danny had no intention of being one of the reactants.

That was, if this place obeyed anything like normal physical laws. Since the trees hadn't actually burned down at all, the fire staying at the same height, he had to conclude that they didn't.

Still. He was going to stay away from the fire. Briefly, he considered flying over the forest, but the cord angled ever so slightly down, and he didn't know how the cord would fare trailing through the fire. Nothing the witches had said made him think it was indestructible.

He flew under the fires. It was bright underneath the trees, in a sort of inverse of a real forest. Bright, dry, and somehow brittle. Danny flew cautiously. This might nor be the Ghost Zone, but he didn't trust it not to have carnivorous landscape features, and even Earthly forests had their dangers. Lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

The angle on the cord began to point down more sharply. Danny was getting closer. The forest was also becoming stranger. The tree trunks bled, and glowing eight-legged flies licked at the ichor. Flowers of sickly fire bloomed from the ground in intricate geometric patterns.

Then, amid the burning brightness, Danny saw a house. A big house. A castle, even, its sides built into the burning trees, its pennants alight with flame, smaller fires moving, no, patrolling the battlements.

Danny quickly went invisible. He had a horrible suspicion that Elizabeth would be in the dungeons of that castle. The cord was going to make him hilariously easy to see, not to mention that he was still dripping blood. This was going to suck so much.

But as Danny approached, the fire creatures did not appear to have noticed the cord at all. Some of them even passed through it without slowing down.

Okay. So, as shocking as it was, Danny had actually caught a break.

Slowly, relying on the fire creatures to open the doors, Danny made his way through the castle and down. Down. Down.

The walls down here glowed, as if with heat, but it was a dull, old, tired glow. A rosy cherry color that burned Danny's eyes and made his head pound. Doors in the walls were made of wood that burned from the inside, veins of embers streaking their surface. The bars set in them glowed white-orange.

The green cord snaked across the floor and wove in between the bars of one of these doors.

Danny stopped. He was quite sure Elizabeth was behind that door. But...

Was freeing her the right thing to do? He had gotten the impression that she was dangerous. At least as dangerous as those witches. Even to save his family, should he set someone like that loose on the world?

But Danny had made this decision and all decisions like it the moment he died in the portal. That was the essence of an Obsession.

Besides. Elizabeth was family, too.

He held out his hands, letting frost form on his fingers and palms and pressed them against the door. Once again, he wondered why he couldn't feel any heat. He should. His ice should at least be registering the pressure, the power drain, of something trying to melt it. It didn't.

Ice spread over the door, extinguishing the light and making the metal creak. Feathery tendrils wound up the bars and encased the hinges. The wood began to fall into ash, as if the fire had been the only thing holding it together, and the bars clattered to the ground.

The inside of the cell was incandescent white. The only dark spot was a huddled, burnt black figure in the corner. The cord let straight to it.

Danny, very emphatically, did not want to go into that room. He hovered at the threshold.

"Elizabeth Nightingale?" he called, softly. If the falling bars hadn't alerted the fire creatures to his presence, he wasn't going to ruin that luck by speaking too loud. "Elizabeth?"

The figure abruptly lurched sideways and fell. Danny flinched. Bit by bit, the figure clawed their way towards the door, dragging itself onward.

Danny could hardly bring himself to watch. Part of him wanted to help. Part of him wanted to run far, far away and never come back.

But, at last, the ruined and horrible body made it to the threshold. It reached up with a claw-like hand and grasped Danny's ankle. He cringed at the feeling of the flaking burnt flesh, but didn't try to shake off the hand. He bent slightly, unsure if he should try to help the figure up.

"You," rasped the figure, ash falling from its jaw, "not from here."

"Um," said Danny. "No. I'm not."

The figure began to pull itself up. As it did so, it sort of began to piece itself back together. Danny had seen similar things before, with ghosts returning to their base form, healing, after an unusually devastating attack. Usually, though, it was slower and usually-

Danny abruptly pulled away. Usually ghosts who were doing that were draining his energy to do it. He glared.

"One of mine?" asked the figure, that was now decidedly feminine. It finally drew itself to its knees. Her knees. "One of my," she coughed, "grandchildren?"

"I'm a descendant of yours, I guess," said Danny, cautiously. He wasn't quite pressed up against the far wall, but he was close.

"You came for me," she said. Her voice was still too rough and dry for Danny to detect any emotion in it.

"I was sent," said Danny, flatly. "If I pick you up, are you going to start draining me again?"

She didn't respond for a long time. "No," she said, finally.

"Great," said Danny. "Let's go."

Elizabeth wasn't hard to carry. She wasn't much larger than Jazz, and he flew her around all the time. The problem was, he couldn't seem to extend his invisibility to her. Any power he sent to cover her was simply absorbed.

"Okay," he said, finally. "We'll just have to be fast, then." Mentally, he began to map out the path he would have to take, and how many doors he would have to blow down. It made for a discouraging picture.

"They can't harm you," croaked Elizabeth.

"What?"

"Pure soul. They can't harm you." She reached up to trace his chin and cheek with her still-charred fingers. "You don't feel the heat. You can't. You can't be harmed."

"Uh. Yeah. I don't think that's how it works. I stepped on some sharp stuff when I first got here, and, let me tell you, it hurt."

"The fires can't burn you. Sending you was clever." Elizabeth seemed to have exhausted herself at that; her hand fell back into her lap.

Right. Well. Whatever. The fires hadn't burnt him yet, but he had stayed well away from them. He was going to continue to do so.

He took a deep breath and flew out of the dungeons as quickly as he could. As expected, the fire creatures spotted him quickly, and they began to shout and shriek in a language Danny couldn't even begin to understand.

They also threw fireballs. And fire spears. And fire chains. Just, a lot of things made out of fire.

It was a good thing Danny had ice powers. Otherwise he would have had a hard time combating all this. A few fireballs passed far too close to his head for comfort. His ice also seemed to be unusually effective on doors.

Finally, Danny was able to get above ground, and, no longer constrained to follow the cord around his wrist, he escaped through a window. He spiraled up, almost high enough to hit the underside of the flames licking at the trees, and then dove away.

"So," he said, "what now?"

"You don't know?" Elizabeth looked a lot better now. Almost human.

"I wasn't given a whole lot of information when they coerced me into doing this. They just said to follow the cord to you, and I did that." Speaking of which, what had happened to the cord? It had just vanished, without Danny even noticing. "I was half-expecting to just get zapped back the moment I found you."

"Coerced?"

"They said they'd make my dad or my sister do this, if I didn't, and they can't fly."

"They're alive."

"Yeah."

There was something like a frown on Elizabeth's face. "They shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah. You don't have to tell me that." More shrieks were approaching from the direction of the castle. "They did this with one of your books. Please tell me you know how to get out of here."

Elizabeth licked her lips. Her tongue was pink. "We go out where you came in," she said.

Danny looked at the trees around him. He only knew where the castle was because of the noises coming from that direction. Otherwise, everything looked the same in every direction. He was pretty sure that even if he went back to the castle, he wouldn't be able to tell which direction he had approached it from, and after that...

They were screwed.

"Follow the blood," said Elizabeth.

It was better than nothing, Danny supposed. His green blood did stand out against the red, but he's been high in the air when he shed it. Following that trail was going to suck, and it still required going back to the castle and avoiding all the fire creatures.

Some of this must have shown on his face, because Elizabeth said, "Not like that, boy, look." She pointed to the small puddle of ectoplasm that had dripped from his hand while they had been talking.

Flowers and vines were growing from it. Ghostly green and blue flowers and vines. As he watched, the vines grew longer, the flowers opened wider.

"Oh," Danny said. "I guess that makes things easier."

Easier was, of course, a relative term. Was following the trail left by ghostly plants growing out of Danny's blood easier than stumbling blindly around the burning forest? Yes. Was it easy? No. No it was not. Especially not with the fire creatures hunting them through the trees and how far apart the blood spatters could be.

Still. Danny was able to follow the trail for an hour before the fire creatures caught up to him.

When they did, they seemed almost, confused. They didn't attack. It was like they were waiting for something.

Danny would have run, but he was worried that he'd lose the trail if he tried to do that, and he didn't think he'd be able to find it again. He and the fire creatures stared each other down. Every few seconds, one of them would make a noise and another would answer.

Rapidly, Danny was becoming surrounded. He would have to make his move soon. He really didn't want to lose the trail, but he didn't think he could win this fight.

Too many enemies. Too much fire. Maybe if he flew straight up, he-

The fire creatures attacked. Danny ducked, wove, and conjured shields of ice and ectoenergy, but there was a limit to what he could do against this many attackers, especially while carrying Elizabeth.

He saw a ball of fire coming that he couldn't dodge and instinctively twisted to spare Elizabeth.

It splashed against him harmlessly.

Everything stopped. The fire creatures froze, even their flames going still, as though they were videos that had been paused. One began to wail, and then they all fled, disappearing into the brightness of the forest.

"A pure soul," said Elizabeth again. She patted his shoulder. Her skin was a burnt red, now. Her eyes were as blue as his were when he was human. Her frown was deeper, more obvious. "It was clever to send you... but they shouldn't have."

"Sure," said Danny, a little surprised. He scanned the trees, trying to see if any of the fire creatures were waiting in ambush. Seeing none, he continued.

They reached the field of tubes, and Danny followed his blood trail back to where he had lacerated his feet.

"Now what," he said.

"Land," said Elizabeth.

Danny grimaced, remembering what had happened to his feet the last time he had tried to walk here. He landed carefully on what looked like the thickest part of the vine growing from his blood-

-and was abruptly back in the chalk circle in Cordelia's basement.

The shadow pounced on him. Unprepared, Danny dropped Elizabeth and fell. Pain sparkled along his limbs as the shadow pulled at his ghost form. It was too much. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the stress, the energy he had spent finding Elizabeth and bringing her back, the blood loss and pain from the wound in his hand, his inability to protect his family, and now this attack. He curled up, trying to protect his head and hand, and abandoned his ghost form.

"Stop this at once!"

"Grandmother, I-"

"Call off this shadow."

A beat. "Very well." The shadow stopped its assault, and Danny stumbled up and out of the circle, scuffing the lines beyond all recognition. Cordelia and Elizabeth were the only women standing. The boarders were all kneeling, faces hidden.

"Grandmother, many times great grandmother, I greet you. I am Cordelia, the last descendant of your daughter, Mary, and I have labored long to bring you back to this world, so that your works will not be lost."

Elizabeth, Danny noted, was standing very straight, her skin sunburn-pink in all but a few places, her arms crossed over the burnt rags of what might have once been a shirt. She did not look pleased.

"So my works won't be lost," repeated Elizabeth.

"Your son betrayed you," said Cordelia. "He burned all your books, all your magics. This is all that survived." Cordelia held up the singed book.

Elizabeth pressed her eyelids together briefly. "And so, you forced your cousin, a child, into that place after me, rather than coming on your own?"

"There was no choice-"

"There is always a choice," said Elizabeth, cutting her off with a sharp gesture. "Better that book should have burned as well, and I was imprisoned forever. You were lucky in my captors. Others would have delighted in taking a pure soul as an ornament for their court, even if they couldn't have harmed him."

"You can't mean that-"

"I do. Is it true you have imprisoned the other members of this boy's family?"

"He would never have agreed, otherwise. Please, this is all we have left of our heritage. We need you. This was all necessary. I beg of you, teach us."

Danny began to back away, to the ladder. Maybe if he got out fast enough, he could trap them in the basement and look for Jazz and his parents.

"Do you know how I wound up there? In that place?" asked Elizabeth. "I went too far, and I ignored the rules. What's your name?"

"Cordelia."

"Cordelia. Cordelia Nightingale-Fenton?"

"Just Nightingale."

"I begin to see," said Elizabeth.

Danny was almost to the ladder. Maybe he could tap into his ghost powers a little bit and float up, quietly.

"If you had come to get me yourself, if you had even asked him-" Elizabeth gestured to where Danny had been. Both women did a double-take, and then their eyes traced up to where Danny currently was.

"What are you doing?" hissed Cordelia. This was the first time Danny had seen her visibly angry.

"Stop," said Elizabeth, grabbing Cordelia's shoulder. "What is your name, boy?"

"It's Daniel Fenton," said Cordelia, when Danny didn't answer.

Elizabeth considered Danny for a moment. "Go to your family, Daniel. Whatever curses or enchantments Cordelia cast on them should be lifted. Including that hate curse." She ran her fingers down Cordelia's arm. "Why on earth did you cast that?" Her eyes flicked back up. "Expect to receive my correspondence, Daniel Fenton."

Danny found Jazz and his parents in the attic. Their luggage was there, too, and Danny and Jazz's missing clothing. Maddie's cell phone was going off. Danny ignored it. He started shaking them. Slowly, they came awake.

"Danny?" said Jazz. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Ugh, what's that sound?"

"Mom's phone is going off."

"What?" said Maddie, groggily. "My phone?" She fumbled at her pocket. "Yes, what is it? Yes, this is Doctor Fenton. What? Well," this last word was a bit snide. "It's about time. We'll be there before the end of the day." She snapped the phone closed. "Jack, sweetheart, wake up, we're going back home. All the charges against us have been dropped, and they want us to look into a ghost attack. Apparently, Phantom didn't show up. As we knew he wouldn't."

"Huh? Ghost? Where?"

"In Amity Park, Jack."

"In Amity Park! Alright!" said Jack, jumping to his feet, and grabbing most of the luggage. "I knew they wouldn't last two days without us! Let's go, kids!"

He ran down the stairs. Maddie took a moment to look around, pursing her lips. "How did we get up here?" she asked. She shook her head, dismissing the question. "Do either of you kids know where Cordelia is?"

"She went out," said Danny. "To town. She won't be back 'til later."

"We'll have to leave a note, then. You two should get dressed before we go, or you'll have to try and do it in the GAV bathroom."

"So what really happened?" asked Jazz, after Maddie went down the stairs.

"Long story," said Danny, throwing on a pair of jeans, "and we really do need to leave. Fast." He took his luggage and rushed down the stairs.

Danny watched Cordelia's house shrink in the rear-view mirror of the GAV, right up until it shimmered out of existence like a mirage. He clenched his teeth. He had seen worse.

He turned in his seat and put his hands in his pockets, intending to brood over what had happened, but his hand encountered a stiff piece of paper that had definitely, absolutely, not been there before. Well. Elizabeth had said to expect her correspondence.

He pulled a crisp white envelope out of his pocket. On the front, in spidery cursive, was his name. He turned it over. On the back flap was written the name Elizabeth NF.

She was family. Distantly. He put his thumb under the back flap, and began to open the letter.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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musicfren · 4 years

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This single day

This morning, @nottesilhouette decided to unload on me the most exquisite, perfect, breathtakingly heartbreakingly beautiful plot idea I have ever seen for this prompt, and then I had to work out how to write something myself in the aftermath :P I think she’s inspired me cause I like this one a lot and I like her a lot so they match <3. Happy @felinettenovember y’all. Go find yourselves one day to be happy. You deserve this <3

It had been Chat’s idea, because of course Ladybug would never suggest something so downright irresponsible. She had agreed to it, though. In truth, she was exhausted, battered, and being the responsible one was starting to wear on her. Maybe some shenanigans would do them good. After all, they had already saved Paris nearly a dozen times that week. Maybe just this once, Paris could wait. This bug was going on a vacation.

Being with Chat Noir made it so easy to believe this was right. He had a casual self-assurance about him that calmed her, convinced her that maybe it was okay to put down the heavy mantle for a few seconds. The heavy weight of duty never seemed to hamper his spry shoulders.

“Come oooon,” he’d said one evening, as they leaped across the city, their city, like they were the highest points in the whole world, just two specs of dust drifting across an endless sky. “You’ve given them so much. I can see how much it’s dragging you down. You deserve this.”

She envied Chat, the way he could just relax under his mask, like if they messed up everything would be okay the next morning. When she was with him everything felt possible. But when she was alone, standing atop the Eiffel Tower as the wind tore through the thin fabric of her costume, staring down at the city, her city, her self-confidence started to crack. What would they do without her? Who would protect them? Sometimes, standing there at the very top of Paris, she was afraid to close her eyes for fear of what might happen to it when she wasn’t looking.

Even though she’d agreed to Chat’s idea, it had taken her almost a month of preparation before she felt like she was ready for the single day off. She had worked with the police and the city council, making sure that they would be ready for every eventuality. She’d trained and drilled them for so many hours she felt like one of her teachers. Chat had helped, of course. In fact, Ladybug didn’t think she’d ever seen Chat Noir work this hard at anything in her life. There were nights when, long after she had de-transformed from exhaustion, he remained up, running late night Akuma Drills and preparing lessons for the next day. This was going to be his vacation too, but Ladybug suspected that it wasn’t for his sake he worked himself to baggy-eyed, sleep-deprived exhaustion. The thought made the small speck of confidence in her stomach curl into a warm happy ball.

They set the date for their little vacation one day before the anniversary of the first Akuma attack. It was Felix’s idea, to mark the last day either of them had had a break with their first in nearly two years. Everything was set up. New defenses had been established, new safety protocols put in place. Paris was as safe a city as it had ever been. They had both poured thousands of hours, dozens of sleepless nights into creating space for this single day. Surely, this was enough.

They got a solid half-day together before the attack happened. They went to the library together like they’d always joked about, curling up with a book together in the warm sun through the window. They’d gotten breakfast at a café. They’d visited the Eiffel Tower, from the ground this time, as citizens. It had been a good day. They’d just barely made it to the beach.

The Akuma was strong, stronger than any they had ever seen before. It was on the other side of the city, but sound travels far and they had both become well-tuned to the sound of crashes and screams. It wasn’t until the evac alarms (newly installed just last week) sounded that they realized how bad it was.

Marinette, as herself for the first time in close to two years, turned to him. Her voice was trembling “We… we have to help them.”

Felix looked at her, and the sadness in his eyes nearly swayed her. “Mari, it’s not your responsibility today. We did all this work so it wouldn’t have to be. Let’s just be happy.”

Something in Marinette snapped. “No, Felix! It is my responsibility! It always is! You get to be the carefree one, but I don’t!”

The silence hung thick between them, interrupted only by the distant wail of sirens and the Akuma’s bellowing roar.

“I… I have to go Felix,” she said, pushing to her feet and refusing to look him in the eye. “My city needs me.”

She started to turn away but Felix reached out to stop her. Lit by the red glare of the evac alarm, his face was oddly calm. “Okay, but… maybe I can go instead.”

His calm was infectious. “I… no, Felix. You can’t do this for me.”

He was smiling now, that same wicked confidence he always got when a fight was coming. She shouldn’t let him do this. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. But she was so tired. The sand was warm and the blanket comfortable beneath her, and a small and growing part of her wanted nothing more than to sit there forever.

“Mari, do you trust me?”

She looked into his eyes and found herself reflected there: and, with a resigned sigh, realized that she did.

As the cat rushed off to save the city once more, Marinette settled back into the comfortable sand and closed her eyes. Maybe, just this once, things would be okay when she opened them again.

#felinette #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous: tales of ladybug and chat noir #life is mean #give these kids a break #time for a vacation #felix is still can't say no #I haven't forgotten #don't you worry #you deserve this #shinanigans #MusicFrenDoesWords

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sserpente · 5 years

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24 little kinks | Doors 3, 4, 5 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

NSFW warnings: use of handcuffs and blindfolds

The God of Mischief blinked at you, both unbelieving and indignant.

“You will not dare stop now, will you?”

“Loki…” You knew how quickly you could make him cum to give him some quick relief from all your teasing but that would not satisfy him. Loki wanted to ravish you, he wanted to fuck you until you were unable to walk… but your sense of responsibility rang in your ears strongly.

“We are not done.” He did not need to nod down to his aching erection but his point was clear. His gaze was piercing, threatening, his nostrils flaring. Loki would be angry if you interrupted your lovemaking now but what other choice did you have? People’s lives might be in danger… and there you thought December would be a time of peace.

When he realised you were indeed not coming back to bed, he growled. Irritated, he stood himself, flicking his wrists to get dressed. His full amour wrapped around his handsome body, covering him wholly… and yet failed to hide the giant bulge in his black leather trousers.

He offered you his hand which you took, earning you a sigh and teleported you both to the compound.

Only the fraction of a second later and a funny tingling on your skin as Loki’s magic faded away, you found yourself standing in knee-deep snow, the falling flakes almost as beautiful as Loki when he slept next to you. Oh, cheesy… but it was the horror unfolding in front of you that made you gasp.

A large hole had been torn into one of the thick walls, foreign creatures snarling as they poured inside like crabs being washed away from shore—how many? One dozen, two dozen maybe? You could swear you had seen them before. From afar, they looked a little like…

Loki pushed you behind you protectively the moment he realised. Those were Chitauri. His still aching erection forgotten and arousal now quickly fading, his instincts took over. Two sharp daggers materialised in his hands, his jaw clenching.

“Are those… h-how? Where do they come from?”

“We will find out.”

He tossed you one dagger which you caught skilfully. Loki had taught you how to use just a small dagger to your advantage. You fought your way through to the Avengers rapidly, taking only a few bruises and a cut on your calf. Nothing Loki would be unable to heal for you later.

“What took you so long?!” Tony bellowed, his voice mechanic due to his Iron Man suit. Steve flung Thor’s hammer at one of the Chitauri, killing it instantly before he darted forward to give him cover.

“Where the hell are those things coming from, Reindeer Games?” Loki’s dislike for the nickname he had chosen for him showed when he slid a passing Chitauri’s throat. But what irritated him even more was that he did not know. Most of them had died along with their abomination of a planet back when Stark destroyed it and Thanos was dead.

There were only a handful of them left, with the heroes all flying and jumping around to end them quickly and Loki destroying most of them. The dreadful silence spreading in the compound when the last disgusting body dropped dead to the ground rang in your ears like the screeching of a bat.

“What on Earth happened here?” You said breathlessly, leaning against Loki for support. Natasha pursed her lips when she saw.

They had attacked out of nowhere, remembering whom they had dealt with back in New York, so you learned when you sat at the huge glass table in the conference room, clutching a hot cup of coffee. It would explain the explosions you had heard on the phone.

“Do you have any idea where they came from?” You asked Loki quietly. You were pretty much the only one speaking to him like you would to any other civilised person. The God of Mischief lifted his chin, leaning back as his blue eyes briefly locked with Thor’s.

“They might not be the only ones who survived. More of them could be hiding here on Midgard.”

“Where?” Tony probed.

“They prefer dark places, preferably underground.”

“The sewers.” Natasha concluded.

“That could be an opportunity.”

“I’ll contact the local sanitary district. They can give us instant access to copies of the ground plans of the sewers. FRIDAY will have them within the next hour.”

“(Y/N), you are coming to our Christmas dinner, right?” Tony asked. While FRIDAY was doing all the work and searching for any alien abnormalities in the country over the last couple of weeks, the Avengers took the time to finally take a breath again.

Fighting creatures from outer space had long become a routine—and none of them were willing to let the jolly Christmas spirit escape through that giant hole in the wall.

“Of course… if I can bring Loki.”

“If he behaves,” he retorted grumpily. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes in response in an annoyed manner, resulting in Thor patting his back fiercely.

“Well, that’ll be fun, brother. We’ll stuff ourselves with turkey, open those Christmas crackers (Y/N) brings every year, play some games and drink mulled wine and chocolate fruit… you will love this Midgardian holiday.”

Loki said nothing. He had been quiet ever since the attack, only speaking a few words if necessary. His bad mood infected you. A particularly hard blow from one of the Chitauri had caused you a growing headache, a slight concussion maybe.

“Let’s go home.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his body. “Call me if there’s any news. We’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

“Dr Cho should treat your wounds.” You shook your head quickly.

“Loki can do that.”

“Alright then... Anyhow, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can enjoy some mulled wine and fucking celebrate Christmas like we should.”

“Language…” Steve muttered. You nodded. Mulled wine sounded like a great idea, a Christmas market even better. You’d have to come up with something to comfort Loki after your prompt departure this morning after all.

His magic made it worse, the pain rippling through your head when he teleported you back into your bedroom nearly forcing you to your knees. Loki scooped you up like a bride when he noticed your growing weakness, making you lie down on your bed. His piercing blue eyes scanned your body so fast you shifted uncomfortably, hoping he would not find any major injuries.

“I took a hit on the head, should be fine in a few hours…” His gaze was strict, palm coming up to touch your forehead and ease your headache before he tended to your calf.

“Loki… are you okay? You’re being unusually quiet.”

“I am bursting.” You glanced down. He was still hard.

“How were you able to hide that from the Avengers?”

“You should be familiar with my illusions by now.” His voice changed. It became hoarse, demanding and darker, luring you right into doing his bidding—especially if that included you naked.

Both of you could tell you were in no condition to bring him release now. Besides, despite his erection, the moment was gone. There was a problem at hand—with aliens Loki would have preferred never having to see again.

A sigh escaped his lips as he joined you on the bed, pressing you against his strong body.

“Sorry…” Your eyes fell shut. “That’s not how I imagined our December to go.”

“Shh… never apologise, my sweet.” A small smile tugged on your lips when you fell back asleep to let your body recover.

The following days were no better. You woke to countless messages from Tony, busied yourself with meetings and first searches down in the sewers. You only hoped that their suspicions were right and the Chitauri were indeed hiding underground—not to mention the tube in New York. As long as you were unsure every last one of them had been maimed, people’s lives were in danger—and that was hardly ideal at this time of the year.

Steve had roped Loki and you in so much you even forgot about opening your advent calendar. Well—Loki did not forget about it. Every morning, after your coffee had woken you up properly from the lack of sleep and time for yourselves, you noticed one box missing. You did not know where they had gone but surely, Loki was up to something. If he knew what he unpacked every morning, that was.

The fifth of December was a Thursday. None of you had had luck thus far in tracking down any remaining Chitauri—if there were any—but slowly, the government started to panic, wanting this issue to be resolved when all you wanted was a break from the humid air underground, all the dirt, vomit-up, rat shit and other emetic smells, not to mention the darkness.

This was not how you had imagined your pre-Christmas time to be. Furthermore… well, not every couple had sex every night and morning. But the advent calendar you had bought was inspiring and it tore your nerves apart that even in sleep, you were unable to rest properly.

Loki’s unease infected you. The Chitauri reminded him of his time with Thanos and whenever he suffered, then so did you. That was what tired you both.

You flinched when your phone rang, forcefully ripping you from slumber. Loki growled. With a flick of his hand, he switched it off and rolled over, preventing you from stirring.

That night he had healed your concussion and that bleeding cut on your calf, he had relieved himself under the shower after you had fallen asleep. He needed you today—and he knew how much you needed him too. Both of you had to relieve some stress and that advent calendar you had suggested to buy would help you do just that.

Yesterday’s door contained a blindfold. The day before it was lust-enhancing lube which could also be used as massage oil. This morning… Loki had removed the box last night already and hid it under your bed. Handcuffs… this morning he would make sure you both relaxed.

You were still half asleep by the time Loki gently took your wrists and held them down above your head. In this state, you were too tired to question him—right until you suddenly felt something soft around them, locking you to the bedpost.

“Loki?” Your eyes flew open. You glanced up to spot a pair of plush handcuffs immobilising your hands all the while Loki already busied himself with your sleepwear, slowly pulling it off your body.

“Lights out, sweet one…” He mused hoarsely. You gasped when he slipped the blindfold on you, leaving you completely at his mercy.

“S-so that’s where the boxes went.”

Loki chuckled. “You are not surprised, are you?”

“Never, Trickster.” You shivered when he removed the covers, exposing your now naked skin to his greedy eyes. You could tell he was licking his lips without even seeing him.

He had to admit, the surprises the advent calendar had revealed in the last three days had played right into his cards. Robbing you of some of your senses was the perfect way to take your minds off things and make you relax for him—and if anything, Loki wanted you to feel as good as you made him feel.

The massage oil smelled like fresh coconuts, like that shampoo you had used at the beginning of the year. It warmed quickly in his hands when he poured it into his palms, then spread it all over your abdomen.

Your breathing was shaky already. He grinned.

Loki shushed you when you squirmed and bucked your hips up to meet his touch. “Patience, my sweet…”

“W-what is that?”

“Massage oil,” he explained briefly. “Now close your eyes and let me pamper that beautiful body of yours.” Let me prepare your wanton quim for my aching length… he added silently.

In any other universe, Loki could have been a massage therapist. Magical big and soft hands explored your curves and found your knots, focusing on the muscles which needed his attention the most. Not a single body part was left out. He massaged your thighs and calves, your feet and your arms, your hips, your hands… his own breathing growing heavier the closer he inched between your legs.

You were dripping by the time he paid proper attention to your clit, circling it lazily and applying just enough pressure to make you bucked your hips again, a scream escaping your lips when he slipped two fingers inside your warmth to test your wetness. You were so close… the knot tightening in your stomach warming your whole body from head to toe, making you ready for waves of pleasure cursing through your limbs…

You moaned his name when you fell from the cliff, your tight walls clenching around his fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm, kneading your clit firmly. He chuckled once more. With him, lust-enhancing lube was redundant.

“Loki, please…”

Your voice sounded like music in his ears. Freeing his pulsing erection from his trousers, he positioned himself between your legs, his tip, leaking pre-cum already, pressing against your wet and awaiting entrance. Power surged through him as he watched your blindfolded form awaiting his next move.

He sheathed himself inside you with but one firm thrust, his hands grabbing your hips for support. You moaned again, your cunt welcoming him as he retreated and rutted back into you, quickly finding a pace that made you both lose your minds.

The fact you could neither see nor touch him aroused you both even more. Never before had you felt such intense pleasure. Your wrists were getting sore from pulling at the handcuffs so much but you couldn’t care less. Knowing Loki was in charge and could do to you whatever he pleased felt so exciting by the time he was about to cum your body had already recovered for another orgasm.

You reached your high together, Loki groaning as he spilled himself inside you and his cock twitching against your walls as he filled you with your seed. You contracted around him, milking him for all he was worth until he collapsed on top of you completely spent, quickly waving his hand to free you from those handcuffs—even if he wished he could keep you like this for a while longer. Well… there would be a lot more time until Christmas.

“Thank you.” You murmured when he removed the blindfold for you and had you snuggle up against him. You didn’t thank him for the sex. You didn’t thank him for the orgasms… Loki and you were like two magnets, unable to resist one another. The closeness and body contact meant so much more than sex… and so did taking your minds off things before you returned to the exhausting life as an Avenger.

You had ended up as one of them by coincidence. You had no superpowers, no magical hammer that only you could lift and you did not turn into a green monster. You were merely a young woman with martial arts experience, pride and a sense for doing the right thing without being as self-righteous as Steve or as selfish as Tony had once been—you were somewhere in between, neither hero nor villain—which was one of the many reasons, so Loki had admitted to you once, why he had fallen in love with you.

A/N: Door 6 will be opened tomorrow, on December 6th!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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ambientstars · 4 years

Note

Request from the prompt list - 1. Could you please write it with 13th Doctor? 💫

Yes of course, lovely! 1. “Shut up!” “Make me!”

A cliche storyline, but it’s cliche for a reason!

- - -

“Stop following me!”

“You stop following me!”

You and the Doctor ran down the never ending corridors of the TARDIS, looking for somewhere to hide.

During a well needed day off from life threatening adventures and saving planets, Yaz had suggested a game of hide and seek to pass the time. Everyone agreed and decided that because it was her idea, she should count first.

“I’m in front of you, how can I be following you if I’m leading the way?” The Doctor laughed, taking a sharp left.

You instinctively followed. All the times you’d stayed close to her on trips out for your own safety and so as not to lose her when she wandered off had almost become something you couldn’t shake, even when you were in the TARDIS and you didn’t need to anymore.

“Ready or not, here I come.”

“Quick, just hide in here with me and stay quiet.” The Doctor opened a random door and pushed you in, quickly following and closing the door behind her.

You had found yourself in a tiny room which housed a mop and bucket, a box of nuts and bolts, and a vast array of other miscellaneous things that you supposed also lived in a storage cupboard.

The room was pitch black, even too dark to see the outline of the Doctor, her front pressed right up against yours. You blinked hard a few times to try and make your eyes adjusted to the new light, or lack thereof, but to no avail.

“Um Doctor… the light?”

“Shh!”

You huffed. “Doctor, I can't see! Can you please just turn the light on?”

The Doctor reached up to pull the string, but nothing happened after the click. “Ahh, I forgot. I’ve been meaning to fix that, but other things just got in the way.”

You groaned, shuffling around to see if there was more space for you to move in. There was not. “So we’re stuck in the dark? That’s just perfect.”

“Found you!” Yaz called from another room, laughing at Ryan as he sulked about being found so quickly.

“Doctor, maybe we should find somewhere else to hide?”

“Shh!” Apparently this timelord took the game of hide and seek very seriously, her body tense and her ear up against the door, listening out for footsteps.

“Doc-“

“Shut up!”

“Make me!”

Her hand slammed over your mouth, her forehead pressed against yours. You breathed loudly through your nose, as calmly as you could with your heart beating as fast as it was.

“Just stay quiet, okay?”

You nodded and she removed her hand, her head still leaning on yours. Her hands found themselves a comfy spot on your shoulders to rest, her rising and falling chest touching yours.

With the Doctor this close to you, you could smell the hints of vanilla custard creams and motor oil from all the days of working the mechanics of the TARDIS. It was an acquired scent, not one that most would say is a good mix, but to you it was the most comforting smell in the universe.

Despite your lack of sight, you didn’t dare close your eyes, in fear that you might miss something in the strangely intimate moment.

“I can see you, Graham!” Yaz shouted, closer this time. Their laughter was heard passing by the door and carried down the corridor in the opposite direction.

“I think we’re safe, for now.” The Doctor whispered. The breath on your face was a complete giveaway as to how close her face was to yours. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

“Me too.” You whispered back, your hands falling to her waist on their own accord.

“Listen, I know I’ve been a little distracted lately and I haven’t checked up on you and the others as much as I should’ve, and I’m sorry for that.” The Doctor continued to speak in hushed tones even though the immediate danger of being found was no longer present, almost like she didn’t want to pop the bubble you had both created for yourselves in that tiny cupboard.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, even though she couldn’t see it.

“No it’s not,” she protested, her hands squeezing your shoulders. “It’s my job to make sure you’re okay, to look after you.”

You absentmindedly stroked her sides with your thumbs. “You do look after me.”

“I worry about you, you know? I know you’re just as strong and capable as the others, but… I just…”

One of her hands slowly moved to your face, holding your head gently. You allowed yourself to move into the touch, the warmth of it bringing a calm to your soul.

“I worry about you too.”

You felt the tip of her nose bump softly on yours, her careful breathing fanning onto your lips, only centimetres away.

“Can I…?”

You couldn’t help but smile, butterflies swarming and fluttering in your stomach. You had only been waiting for this moment for years now, never finding an opportunity to show the Doctor how you feel, but all of that didn’t matter now because finally you could show her, tell her.

Your head was tilted up slightly for a better angle and you allowed your eyes to close now, ready for what was next. “Yes.”

Your lips tingled, feeling the ghost of her kiss. Almost there. One my second and your friendship as you knew it was over. One more move and you could show her. One more-

“FOUND YOU BOTH!”

The door to the storage room swung open, the bright light flooding in, burning your eyes. The Doctor quickly pulled away and dropped her hands to her sides, squinting her eyes at Yaz, Ryan and Graham, all of them grinning in triumph.

The Doctor moved to leave the space, popping your little bubble as she walked out the door, Graham throwing an arm around her and saying something along the lines of him wanting to count next.

You sighed. And after a moment, followed behind them.

#13th doctor #doctor who #jodie whittaker #doctor who imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteeth doctor #dw imagine #writing prompts #doctor x reader

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shadowthrone-ammanas · 5 years

Note

prompt: Hat Kid, Bow Kid, and Mu, postgame, get along surprisingly well. Unfortuantely NONE of them have a fully working sense of danger and self-preservation. Sometimes them hanging out is just normal hangouts. Someones they get into Shenanigans. Usually someone appoints themself Voice of Reason and keeps the chaos relatively safe but sometimes that system fails. Which is why random adults, up to and including the Snatcher, have found themselves abruptly in charge of three reckless kids.

Thank you for the request!

Climbing

When Hat Kid had suggested they climb the big tree in Subcon Forest, Mu hadn’t quite known how big said tree was. She hadn’t known trees could even get that big. Even when she craned her neck up to look at it, she couldn’t see the top due to how close they stood.

“Now that I look at it again… are we sure this is a good idea?” Bow said, voicing Mu’s own doubts but…

“It’ll be fine,” she said. While this wasn’t Mu’s first time in Subcon Forest, she didn’t get to come here often. She wanted to see more of it, the top of the tree was the best place to do that – and as long as Cooking Cat never found out about this specific adventure, she wouldn’t even need to sit through a safety lecture later like she had with a few other adventures of theirs. “We climb trees and stuff all the time and barely ever fall.”

“Yeah,” Hat Kid agreed. “Now let’s go. Race you guys to the top.” She took off, leaving Bow and Mu little choice but to follow.

Hat Kid started climbing first followed shortly by Bow, landing Mu in last place. For now, anyway. She was taller than them now, her arms and legs longer, she should be able to overtake them easily.

Climbing it was actually quite easy. Its bark was thick and lumpy, providing plenty of hand and footholds. Reaching the beginning of the tree’s many branches made their progress quicker. It was almost like it was made for climbing.

Mu remained behind though, not much but enough to be mildly frustrating. She decided to change that about halfway up. She started moving faster, going for riskier branches to pull herself up with. It paid off as she passed Bow. She was closing in Hat Kid now, just little more and…

The branch she’d grabbed to pull herself up snapped with a loud crack. Suddenly she was falling. Air whistled past her ears as, branches painfully whipping her as she fell through them. She closed her eyes with a whimper. She couldn’t die like this, she…

She jerked to a stop just as suddenly. Something had caught her cape. A branch probably. She needed to grab onto something before it broke under her weight!

She opened her eyes and froze, putting her hands over her mouth to stifle a yelp of surprise. It wasn’t a tree branch that had caught her but the infamous Snatcher and he did not look pleased.

“What made you idiots think this was a good idea?” he asked, turning his frown away from Mu, keeping hold of her by her cape.

“It’s fun,” Hat Kid replied. “But uh… Mu, are you okay?”

Mu managed to twist herself to look up at Hat Kid and Bow still halfway up the tree. She gave a thumbs up because she was okay, just shaken a bit.

Snatcher sighed. “Of course you think it’s fun, you’re insane. I suggest coming back down now though because I’m not going to catch the next one of you that falls.”

“Catch me too,” Bow called before jumping.

Despite what he’d just said, Snatcher jerked into motion to catch her with his other hand. “You idiot children!” Oh, he was mad now.

Bow giggled, almost just as insane as Hat Kid. “Thank you.”

Snatcher growled, sounding a lot like a rabid animal and sending a chill down Mu’s spine. But despite that he was almost kind of gentle as he lowered Mu the rest of the way to the forest floor. He put Bow done too before looking back up at Hat Kid. Free from his grasp Mu was half tempted to run but… she needed to know how this played out. According to Hat Kid, Snatcher wasn’t as evil as his reputation made him out to be. The fact that he’d saved Mu’s life and then caught Bow hinted that that might actually be the case. So it was probably safe to stay and watch whatever happened next.

“Kid,” he said. “I’m serious, I will drag your dumbass back down here if you don’t start climbing down this instant.”

Hat Kid’s face wasn’t visible from down here but it was easily to imagine. It was probably the same look of annoyance she had any time an adult came along and ruined one of their adventures, regardless of whether or not they were justified in interfering. “Ugh, fine Dad.”

“I’m not your dad so don’t call me…”

Hat Kid jumped. She was insane, both her and Bow Kid. Snatcher caught her of course mere seconds after her leap of faith towards him.

“Wee,” she said with a giggle, looking up at his shocked expression that quickly morphed into a scowl.

“Why would you do that?” he said.

“It’s the fastest way down,” Hat Kid replied with a giggle.

“I should’ve let you fall and break your useless neck.”

“You’d never do that. You care way too much about me to let me get hurt. That’s why you were watching us, right? To make sure we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I was not watching you. I just happened to be passing by when your friend fell and decided to catch her because the last thing I need right now is to deal with you pests dying and becoming damn ghosts in my forest. Because then you would never leave.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Hat Kid’s bravery was forever to be admired.

Bow had moved over to stand by Mu. “This is what we meant when we told you he’s a big ‘soon-deh-ray’,” she whispered. “He cares, he just doesn’t want to admit it for some reason.”

That certainly seemed to be the case as he lowered Hat Kid to ground to stand next to them. “You three,” he gestured to them, frowning, “no more climbing trees. If you must play in the forest, it’s going to be a safer activity than that. In fact, I know just the thing.”

The world around the four of them shifted to purple. When it faded, they were in a what looked like a village. Subcon Village if Mu had to guess, she’d never been to it before but Hat Kid and Bow had mentioned it a few times.

“You guys are going to play ball with the Subconites,” Snatcher said. “One of them has a soccer ball somewhere. Find it and entertain yourselves for while instead of being a nuisance.” With that he vanished.

“I don’t think he’s actually gone,” Hat Kid said as she turned back to face Mu and Bow. “He’s still watching us to make sure we don’t run off and get in ‘trouble’ again.”

Mu glanced all around but saw no trace of him. Which made sense, this was his domain, he should be able to hide in it near flawlessly. “Why is he like that though? If he cares why wouldn’t he say so? What if somebody he cares about gets the wrong idea and gets upset when he pretends he hates them or whatever?”

“Well uh… I think that’s what he wants.” Hat Kid shrugged. “He wants to push people away because of bad stuff that happened to him when he was alive.”

Mu had trouble picturing Snatcher as a living being, though he had to have been at some point, right? “What kind of stuff?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not? I want to know.” How could Hat Kid just dangle that bit of juicy gossip in front of Mu and not deliver on it?

“It’s not her place to tell,” Bow said. “She didn’t even tell me. Just like I can’t tell you guys stuff I know about Moonjumper. And if you knew any of Cooking Cat’s dirty secrets, you wouldn’t feel right telling us, right?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess so.”

“Good!” Hat Kid said. “Now let’s go find that soccer ball and play whatever soccer is. I’m sure the Subconites will teach us, they’re pretty good about that kind of thing.”

Well, it wouldn’t be as fun as climbing a big tree but honestly, Mu maybe wasn’t in the mood to do that anymore anyway. It wasn’t everyday one got a chance to play around in Snatcher’s forest and have it be okay. And it was still something new.

For this drabble event.

#My Writing #ahit #a hat in time #mustache girl #hat kid #bow kid #Snatcher #Dadcher #Background Mama Cooking Cat #Background Dad Moonjumper #All the kiddos have a different adoptive parent even if one them doesn't want to admit he even cares

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every1studio · 5 years

Text

“the golden year of the golden mask: part 2″ [ateez: ???]

genre: FLUFF + hints of angst + fairy tale + reverse harem + female reader

ficstyle: bulletpoints + mini series? + [LONG INTRO] [PART 2]

prompt: Cinderella with a twist - Everyone was invited to your royal masquerade for the New Year; it was just an excuse for your father the king to find you a suitor. He wanted you to find someone who you are compatible with, hence the masquerade. Little did you know, you’d find love…. and little did you know that, love was closer than you thought…

note: I’ve had this idea for the longest time and I finally got to write it + hope you all enjoyed it

the masked boy drew a deep breath before making his way over to you

but he immediately turned away when he saw you take the arm of your father

how was he suppose to take you away from the most powerful man in the country?

you saw the masked boy pacing back and forth; quickly looking away as soon as he made eye contact with you

you could tell he wasn’t a royalty based on his suit

but something about him was still fairly charming

maybe it was his perfect smile that he hasn’t shown yet

or it was his deep eyes that glimmered every time the light hit his iris

you excused yourself from your father and pushed past through all the obvious fancy suits

“good evening..” you peeped your head around to catch the eyes of your admirer

“g-good evening, princess...” his voice trembles; his voice sounded familiar

he tries not to notice that all attention is on him since you went out of your way to talk to HIM, out of everyone else in the room

“th-this is a good song..” he points to the band of musicians

you giggle at his statement, “is that your “subtle” way of asking me for a dance?”

the boy furrowed his brows behind his mask; asking himself why he’s making a fool of himself

but he had to follow through

he placed his gloved hand out for you to take, “princess.. would you care to dance with someone like me?”

you took his hand; even through the gloves, his hands were warm

“I’d love to dance with someone like you..” you whispered soft enough, only for him to hear

you were blown away by him strong physique which was a contrast from nervous speech earlier

the longer you danced with him, the more you saw his smile

and it was probably the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen

and you were so sure that you knew this masked boy

the boy was hoping that you wouldn’t be able to feel his pulse through his gloves

he was hoping that you didn’t know how madly in love he was with you, ever since he met you

but that was no way he could ever be with you

he wasn’t royalty or rich

if given the chance, he’d do anything and everything to make you happy, wasn’t that enough?

the moment the song ended, you were swept away by another man

the masked boy bowed his head and slipped passed the crowd

his backside was disappearing as he got farther and farther away

you tried to excuse yourself but you had a line of suitors trying to ask for your hand for a dance or for your hand in marriage

it took you ages to get away from them

you had to find that boy you had your first dance with

but all you could remember was his deep eyes, his beautiful smile and his black velvet mask embellished with a tear-shaped jewel under his left eye

you saw you saw a figure with the same backside as your admirer

your heels were clacking through the moonlit path until you got the entrance of your greenhouse

there he was looking around the greenhouse; it was brightly lit with fairy lights

the whole time he was looking around the greenhouse asking himself if this was what heaven looked like; and then he saw you

“princess-”

“beautiful, isn’t it?” you smiled as you looked around the greenhouse yourselves

“this place was given by the late queen.. you must miss her a lot...” he murmurs as he walks closer to you

“I do.. this is my favorite place in the whole entire kingdom, makes me feel like I’m still with her..”

this was going like any normal conversation he had with you

he almost forgot that there was a mask between his real identity and you

was he going to reveal his true self to you?

he walks around with you with the sound of muffled band playing inside the castle

until he finds the flower that he’s looking for

you watch him carefully clip a single aster flower

“do you know what an aster symbolizes?” you asked as he hands it over to you

“patience and elegance..” you smiled at his knowledge of flowers

“aster comes from the Greek word for star... princess, you are the brightest star that ever existed, no one in this world is as elegant as you are.. and I know that there’s a man out there just waiting to make you the happiest woman in the world.. I could only wish that I was that man..”

you could feel butterflies throughout every part of your body

he was truly one of a kind

you could say that it was love at first sight, even though you couldn’t see all of his face

that was when you noticed the space between you two getting smaller

his hand was placed on one side of your cheek

you turned your face towards the fireworks exploding into the air as the bell rung; it was New Year

he gently turns your face to face him, “princess.. do I have the permission to kiss you?”

you answered by locking your lips onto his plush lips

you ran your fingers up to take off his mask

one of your maids came to get you, “milady, the king has an announcement to wrap up the ball..”

“alright, we’ll-”

you turned to see the masked boy gone

“you were in here with someone, milady?”

you smiled as you looked down at the mask that was left your hands, “tell my father I won’t be going back to the ball...”

“you met someone, milady?”

“I did..”

“judging by your smile, he really has you starstruck, milady~”

“you think?” you cupped your face to feel yourself blushing

“would it be rude of me to ask how he caught your attention, milady?”

you held the mask tightly to your chest as you replayed the whole night word for word

you had the mask in your hand the whole night

wondering who your mystery prince was; you took those thoughts right into your satin pillows as you lulled to sleep

you were awaken by your father who was throwing a baby tantrum about last night, “I was going to tell everyone that I found the perfect suitor for you! he’s a prince from-”

“I found someone last night, father,” you interrupted him

the king’s tantrum subsided and you peaked his curiosity, “who might this, gentleman, be?”

you reached over to the black velvet mask, “I have no idea.. but I will find him..”

your maid bent down to the king’s ear to explain what you meant by what you said

giving you time to recall all the features of your midnight mystery man

before your father could say anything, you shot out of bed

you burst open your heavy doors; a thud followed

“it’s you!”

you bent down to caresses the King’s jester’s forehead

“are you alright, Hongjoong?” your eyes were filled with worry

Hongjoong didn’t have the courage to look up at you; his status wouldn’t allow him to

last night was the only night where he could be who he truly was instead of who he pretended to be

“this mask is yours.. isn’t it?” you placed the mask in his hands, “why did you run away last night?”

“I’m not royalty and I can’t contribute to this country with riches.. I’m not talented or skilled or strong... I can’t ask for your hand in marriage-”

“but did you mean by what you said last night? that you could be that man who could make me happy?”

Hongjoong took your hands into his, he was prepared for anything that was going to happen after what he was going to say, “I would make you happiest girl in the world, even if I’m not the one putting a ring on your finger..”

the King was listening to everything on the other side of the door; ugly sobbing as quietly as he could as the maid offered him tissue after tissue

it reminded him of how he married his late-wife

days after New Years were filled with getting to know Hongjoong

he truly knew how to make you happy

everyone who were interested in you backed off, because they knew that they probably couldn’t make you as happy as Hongjoong did

Hongjoong soon became known as the pierrot who became king

but titles meant nothing to him, when he had you

because he was human before his status and you taught him that

“cheers to our new life,” you clinked your glass against Hongjoong’s glass

“cheers to our happiness,” he smiles

End.

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mymoodwriting · 4 years

Text

Perfect Love

Bang Chan/Jisung, Bang Chan/Felix, Felix/Jisung

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Collar, Electrocution, Medication, Pills, Needles, Sedatives

Words: 2.2K

Chapters:

Prompt: When Jisung started dating Chan it was a lot of fun, but that’s all it was and he wanted more. It was a mutual break up, or at least he thought it was. He had no idea what Chan was capable of, that is until he finally went to his house, carried into it actually. A second chance at love is entirely out of his control, and he might not have been the first of Chan’s lovers to be in this position.

Jisung sat at the kitchen table, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was still shaking a bit from what had happened but he was focused enough to understand his surroundings. His hand reached up and he tugged at the collar around his neck, biting his lip when his actions caused the collar to shock him. He heard laughter, someone vaguely amused by his attempt to free himself.

After he had calmed down from his nightmare Chan had placed that collar on him. It had been decided that the only way he’d be allowed upstairs for the time being was with that collar. It would only shock him if he tried to remove it or if he stepped outside the house perimeter, which included the backyard but not the front. The collar would give him a small warning shock, but if he pushed it the voltage would increase gradually until he passed out.

He looked up at the person setting the table, Felix, who seemed much better. He felt bad for having scared him earlier, although the fact that he had been frightened was unsettling. Jisung then looked over at Chan who was finishing up preparations for their rather late breakfast. He felt pathetic crying in his arms earlier. His whole situation was really starting to stress him out and crying to him probably boosted his ego.

Despite his questions he didn’t say what had scared him, he didn’t wanna divulge that kinda information, he didn’t need his captor knowing what made him vulnerable. Once breakfast was set, Felix took his seat but Chan went over to a cabinet, rummaging around and walking over to them with a pill bottle in hand.

“Time to take your medicine.”

Chan first approached Felix playing with his hair then gently tilting his head back, the boy eagerly opening his mouth and took the pill. His good behavior was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. His eyes then locked with Jisung.

“Are we going to be a good boy like Felix here or are we gonna have a problem?”

Jisung didn’t answer, instead doing his best to keep his mouth shut. Chan was clearly disappointed, coming over to him and forcing his lips to part. The boy tried to struggle but he was easily overpowered. He was given the medicine, forced to swallow before he was let go. Despite his misbehavior he was also given a kiss.

“Good boy.”

Whatever he had taken didn’t kick in for a while, but it wasn’t noticed. He pretended that everything was fine. Felix was very happy, so he acted that way too, figuring that’s what the medicine was for. He really hated that Chan was a pretty good cook, that is until he realized there was a chance the food was laced with something. He quickly lost his appetite after that, saying he was full, he was believed.

“Felix, can you water the plants, and take Jisung with you.”

“Oh yay! I can show you the garden.”

Felix eagerly took his hand and took him out to the backyard. He had been nervous about going out because of the collar, but when nothing happened he remembered he was safe in the backyard, it was the front yard he wasn’t allowed in. Felix kept a hold of his hand as he pointed out all the different plants around the garden.

Chan had stayed inside, opting to clean up the kitchen. He had his plants that he used for work, and he also grew some vegetables and flowers. Felix grabbed the hose, watering the plants and splashing Jisung with some water after a while to cool him down. By then the medicine had kicked in, Jisung a giggling mess like before. He laid down in the grass, eyes closed, enjoying the sunlight. He used to be so busy during the day he could never really enjoy the sun.

“So pretty.”

Jisung opened his eyes to see Chan standing above him, taking pictures. The boy removed his collar to take a few more pictures. He didn’t even register the fact that Chan was holding his phone. The other laid down next to him, pulling him close for a picture, then telling Felix to join in so they could have a group photo he could frame for later.

“Maybe we should post your picture Sungie, let your friends see how pretty you look.”

“What about the other pictures?”

“Those are just for us.”

“Okay. Oh, what about Felix?”

“I don’t have any social media.” Felix said, snuggling against Chan’s other side. “Got rid of it a long time ago, don’t need it. I just use Chan’s phone and accounts if I ever wanna browse.”

“Oh… should I still keep mine?”

“For now, yes.” Chan said. “What should the caption be?”

“Um… how does ‘soaking up the morning sun’ sound?”

“Lovely.” He added hashtags and posted it. “Now, got some news for you boys.”

“What is it?” Felix asked.

“I’m gonna be out tonight.”

“Another party.”

“Yup, which means early bedtimes for both of you.”

“Awe, can Jisung sleep with me?”

“I don’t think so, he’s still in trouble for earlier.”

“Right… next time.”

“Yeah, maybe next time. I gotta get ready for tonight, so keep yourselves busy for a while okay.”

“Jisung and I can watch a movie.”

“Alright but nothing scary, I don’t want either of you having nightmares cause of it.”

“We won’t, come on Jisung.”

He waited until Chan put the collar back on, then took the others hand and took him upstairs. Felix always preferred to watch movies in the bedroom, he let Jisung pick, running back down to get some popcorn and drinks. He loved watching movies in the bedroom, so much more space to cuddle.

♥♥♥♥♥

Chan stayed in the basement for most of the day, preparing his product. Felix came down to check on him and brought him something to eat, he was still watching movies with Jisung upstairs. He was glad the two were having fun. When it was around time for him to head out he went up to get them ready for bed.

Since he had left them alone practically all day, he wasn’t surprised to walk in and see that neither of them was actually watching the movie that was playing. Instead Felix had Jisung pinned under him, the two kissing, hair and clothes a mess.

“And what might this be?”

Felix jumped up and rolled off Jisung very quickly. The two boys looked away from Chan, blushing. He laughed.

“I’m not mad, you two are quite cute together. Did you do anything else?”

“No…” Jisung shyly admitted. “We just… started.”

“You wanna join?”

“Oh, I’d love to but I have to cut this short, it’s time for bed.”

“Awe, bedtime already?” Felix whined.

“Yes, yes it is. We can all play some other time. Go shower, I’ll take Jisung.”

“Okay, good night Jisung.”

Felix kissed Jisung’s cheek, the boy blushing a new shade of red, and went to shower. Chan took Jisung down to his room, having him take a shower too and drying him off. He dressed the boy for bed, grabbing the syringe he had on the table, Jisung holding his arm out.

“Oh no, you’re bedtime medicine goes elsewhere.”

“Oh…”

Jisung tilted his head to the side. He still wasn’t comfortable with needles, especially when he was mellowed out and he was very open with his emotions. He grabbed Chan’s arm for comfort, getting a kiss for his good behavior.

“Sweet dreams.”

He tucked the boy in and headed out, making sure the door was locked. After he put his things away and grabbed what he needed from the lab he lingered outside of Jisung’s room. He texted Changbin, saying he would be over in a bit, just needed to get his boys to sleep. A while after he heard Jisung screaming. He checked the time then went upstairs, locking the basement door too. Felix was already sitting in bed when he got to the room.

“How’s Jisung?”

“Good. I want you sleeping with your headphones tonight okay.”

“Okay.”

Felix presented his neck, giggling when he felt the needle, then grabbing his headphones from the nightstand drawer. Chan laid him down and tucked him in, giving him a goodnight kiss. He heard Jisung scream again, detouring to the kitchen and putting out some medicine for a sore throat before heading out.

♥♥♥♥♥

“And there’s the man of the hour, what’s new?”

“I told you it’s not ready yet.”

“Couldn’t even bring a sample.”

“Maybe if you had asked nicely.”

Chan was greeted with a beer by Changbin, the host of tonight’s festivities. The place was already pretty lively with the music blasting through the speakers.

“You’re late you know.”

“I had to get the boys in bed first.”

“Boys? When did you get another?”

“Jisung and I got back together.”

“For real, that’s awesome. How’s Felix dealing with it.”

“Caught the two making out before I left.”

“Very happy then.”

“Yup.” Chan took a sip of his beer. “You should come over, Felix’s been wanting to see you.”

“Why don’t you throw a party then? Make it fun for everyone.”

“Not yet, if I did I’d have to keep Jisung in his room.”

“Oh, you’re doing that with him too then, is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“Then I’ll stop by sometime this week, I’ll tell the others too, we need to talk about business.”

“Good point, I do need to ask Jeongin for a favor. Didn’t he recently move in with a friend?”

“Yeah, some guy named Seungmin.”

“That guy better not get Jeongin in any trouble.”

“Don’t you mean Jeongin should keep him out of trouble?”

“I said what I said, the little rascal is trouble.”

“And he’s our responsibility.”

The rest of the night went on without any issue. He was cleaned out pretty quick, money staying with Changbin for the time being. He enjoyed himself, missing the fun he used to have with Jisung at parties, but he was quick to remember he had the boy at home, safe and sound and happy, which brought a smile to his face. When morning hit he started paying more attention to the time.

“I gotta get going, Chang.”

“Already? Come on, stick around for a bit more.”

“I need to get going man, text Jeongin for me. My house this week.”

“Got it, tell Felix and your other boy toy hello for me.”

“His name is Jisung!”

“I know, now get out of here.”

When Chan got home the house was pretty quiet. He went upstairs to check on Felix first, the boy still fast asleep, then went down to see Jisung. He walked into the room to see Jisung curled in bed, shaking. He kneeld down and caressed the boys cheek for a bit, he had worked up a sweat, then gently shook him to wake him.

“Sungie…”

Jisung’s eyes shot open, taking a deep breathe. His eyes were hazy, still shaking. Chan helped him sit up but the boy leaned against him, hugging him like before, his shaking getting a little worse. He smiled and cradled the little one’s head, rocking him again and patting his back softly.

“It’s okay, I’m here for you, I got you.”

♥♥♥♥♥

“Cute.”

Minho commented on Jisung’s latest post as he stepped out of the elevator. He had some takeout in hand, walking over to his friend’s apartment, knocking on the door.

“Jisung, open up!” He knocked again. “Come on, I didn’t see you at work, guessing it’s your day off.”

There was no response even after the fifth attempt. If he got any louder he’d disturb the neighbors.

“You’re really gonna make me do this.”

He put down the takeout and reached for his keys. Jisung had given him a spare key to the apartment in case he ever lost his or Minho needed a place to crash and didn’t wanna go home. Minho threw the door open once it was unlocked.

“Jisung, I got your favorite.” Minho stopped when he noticed how empty the place was. “Jisung?”

He put the food down on the table and started looking around the apartment. The bedroom was empty, not even a bed frame. There was little furniture around, the fridge was empty, all personal decorations gone. He grabbed his phone, calling Jisung, but the call didn’t go through, the number apparently unavailable.

♥♥♥♥♥

“So… you think something is wrong?”

Minho was at a cafe with his friend Hyunjin, staring at Jisung’s most recent photo. The sound of the other slurping down his drink frustrating him.

“This is serious!”

“Dude calm down, so he moved out of his apartment and forgot to tell you, no big deal. Just call him.”

“You think I haven’t already tried? His phone is disconnected or something. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Unless he got a new phone and forgot to tell you too. You guys aren’t attached at the hip you know.”

“He would have messaged me.”

“Moving takes time, maybe he was gonna tell you when he was settled in and not dead tired.”

“Maybe…”

“He’s fine, don’t worry too much or you’ll start getting ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore, or he’s been kidnapped.” Hyunjin laughed. “Just don’t do anything stupid that’s gonna end up embarrassing him.”

“Yeah…” Minho stared down at the picture again. “Yeah he’s probably fine.”

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