#like okay it is meandering and long but it has... a story...?

[blazeball]

sorry i'm just not reading up on like, the reception the tommyknockers got/its general perception today and i am fucking. Flabbergasted. flummoxed. how do so many people hate this. i genuinely don't get it

[psalmsofpsychosis]

I dont think at this point i can even start on classic literature if i tried, like, i have absolutely zero patience for stories that take their goddamn time "building up" to things. "give exposition talk and show your characters doing everyday things" girl only if the everyday things contribute to the theme of the story! I dont have an ounce of interest in traditional idle starting points, "this story takes awhile to warm up and nothing happens for 45 pages" lmao bye

[cleo-fox]

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable. 

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

*

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest. 

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands  make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

[junichan]

Recently I've been seeing a lot of Sun Wukong and reader / OC with baby monkeys stuff, and I am just living for it. ( @journey-to-the-au's #Fruit Troup and @semisolidmind's #Royal Children especially) Something about baby monkeys rattled around in my little brain long enough that I had to bang out this drabble. Its my first ever x reader story, and its just slightly nsfw so beware!

Cuddle Break

Synopsis: Your reaction to snuggling a baby monkey has quite an effect on Sun Wukong

Warning / Triggers: Slight NSFW - mention of an erection and implied adult situations

For several days now the group had been traveling through a dense jungle. You had stopped for a break on the side of the road to eat some lunch and rest your weary feet. Although it was a little humid, it felt pleasantly cool beneath the shade of the jungle canopy. You would have liked to take a quick nap, but Tang was anxious as ever to get moving again.

“YN, would you mind finding Wukong?” the monk asked. He smiled apologetically, as if he knew he was sending you into the lion’s den.

Almost since the day you’d joined the group, the demon monkey had begun teasing and flirting with you. You did your best to laugh off his advances, thinking he was probably just messing with you, but lately Wukong was getting so provocative that Tang was forced to use the headache spell a few times just to get him to give you some space. You were starting to consider that maybe Wukong really was into you, which wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t find him so damn attractive too!

As usual Wukong had gone off on his own to scout out the surroundings as soon as the group had settled down. Normally Pigsy would have been asked to go find the monkey, but he had eaten so much lunch that he’d zonked out hard enough that even Sandy was struggling to wake him up. There was nothing to be done about it, so you set off in the direction you had seen Wukong go earlier, hoping he hadn’t gone too far.

It wasn’t much trouble to find a little footpath that meandered through the jungle underbrush. You tracked it for a while, occasionally calling out the demon monkey’s name. Eventually you came to a wide, slow running creek, and trusting the intuition that had served you so well on the journey so far decided to follow it upstream. It wasn’t too long before you caught a familiar chirping, chattering sound. You had heard Wukong occasionally making those noises, but this time they sounded surprisingly soft.

“Wukong!” you called as you got closer, “Tang wants to get going…!”

It wasn’t long before you spotted him and understood why the noises were so unusually gentle.

Sun Wukong was perched on a thick branch hanging low over the creek, surrounded by a troop of infant monkeys. It was the little ones that were chirping and giggling as they climbed on him like a living jungle gym. He seemed to be enjoying it, indulging the little ones with the softest smile you had ever seen on his face. And the babies were so cute! Little fluffy beans with their little tails and itty-bitty noses!

“❤️Oooh my gooooosh!!❤️❤️” You gushed before you could stop yourself.

The Monkey King and his tiny subjects looked at you in surprise, only just noticing your presence. The babies looked a little nervous, but Wukong’s grin only got bigger as you approached. You were glad to see that the little ones trusted Wukong enough that they didn’t run away, even when you pulled yourself up on the branch to sit beside him.

“They’re so adorable, Wukong! Do… Do you think I could hold one?”  

Wukong had never seen you so enamored before, it was adorable! “Sure,” he chuckled, “Just be careful. They got a strong grip.” He lifted one of the little ones off his knee, making reassuring noises as he handed him over to your waiting arms.

The baby was clearly a bit frightened of you, staring at your face with wide, darting eyes. “It’s okay sweetie,” you cooed to reassure him, stroking his head and back. “Don’t be scared.” To your delight the infant started to purr, and snuggled against you as you cradled him against your chest. You were so besotted with affection for the little guy that you didn’t even notice the intense way Wukong was staring at you.

It wasn’t until he’d handed the child over that Wukong realized the little one had fur that was remarkably like the color of your hair. Watching you snuggle and coo at the infant made him think of you doing the same with his offspring. Just imagining you getting you pregnant with his heirs drove him wild. If it weren’t for the children still clinging to him, he would have pounced on you right there.

What was worse, he was a little jealous of the little one! What he wouldn’t give to have you hold him and stroke his fur like that! That look of sweet and tender adoration in your eyes should have been for him!

Oblivious to the immortal demon’s internal struggle (and the bulge in his pants) you continued to soothe the baby monkey in your arms. The little guy was practically melting as you pet his soft fur. Then two more of the little ones abandoned Wukong to crawl into your lap, eager for their turn at cuddles. You scooped them up happily, pressing kisses to their foreheads. “Aww! Mama’s sweet babies! ❤️”

Wukong grit his teeth to stifle a groan. The jolt of arousal that went through him was so violent his hand shot up and snapped the branch above him like a twig. The baby monkeys that were still sitting on him were startled enough to scatter further up the tree.

You gave him a puzzled look, holding the little ones in your lap a bit protectively. “Something wrong, Wukong?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, jumping down from the branch. He sounded a bit more terse than usual. Obviously he wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t going to tell you about it. “You said Master wanted to get going. We should head back now.”

You sighed, glancing down at the baby monkeys curled in your lap. They had been startled by Wukong crushing the branch but had hunkered down rather than run away. “Aw, can’t we stay just a little longer?”

"C'mon, YN, let's go." Wukong shook his head, shooing the little ones with a few soft hoots. They reluctantly crawled out of your lap, and you pouted as you let them go. Then he reached up, grabbing your waist to lift you down off the branch. You accepted the surprisingly chivalrous gesture, even putting your hands on his strong shoulders to steady yourself. But once your feet were on the ground, he didn’t let go.

You felt your face heat up with a blush as Wukong stepped into your space, his grip on your waist keeping you from escaping when his chest pressed flush against yours. You could feel his warm breath on your ear as he leaned in and growled suggestively, “You know, I could give you a few of your own if you wanted…”

“Wukong!!” The insufferable demon laughed as you pounded your fist on his chest in protest. But at least he let you step back, and you took a deep breath to try calming your racing heart. And racing hormones!

Against your better judgement, you let him carry you back to the others on his cloud. You tried to ignore his tail curled around your middle, somehow convincing yourself that it was only to keep you steady.

Wukong could tell under all that flustered embarrassment you were turned on. He could smell it on you, and it made him grin victoriously. It wouldn’t be long now before he’d finally have you. He might have even been able to convince you to let him have his way right there in the jungle, but he knew there wasn’t enough time to really enjoy himself. If the monk had sent you to look for him, it wouldn’t be long before he sent Pigsy or Sandy to look for you. He could wait a little longer. You were worth it flexing a little patience, and no matter what, in the end you’d be his.

And in the meantime, seeing you snuggle the baby monkeys gave him a sneaky idea for how to get some of that attention for himself…

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 11: Anthropophobia

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Splinter is the first to meet April as she walks in. She's carrying several bags that hang from her wrists and arms. Apparently she went grocery shopping before she got here.

Splinter walks over to her and nods his head in greeting.

"Ah, April. Good to see you again..." he sniffs the air, his demeanour immediately changing from composed host to excited foodie. "Ooooh, is that tiramisu I smell?"

April laughs as she reaches into one of the bags.

"All for you, Splints," she says, handing the box of cake over to Splinter, who grabs it with a huge grin.

"Aha! Come to big papa! Thank you, April, this is very kind of you."

"Anything for you and the guys," she says with a smile. "Speaking of which, how's Mikey doing?"

Splinter pauses.

"...How much have they told you?"

"You know Donnie, he likes to be vague and build up suspense for dramatic effect. But he texted me last night to say how the mission went."

"Did he?"

"Sometime at like, midnight or one AM," she grumbles. "Just to say that the mission was a success and they got Mikey back. I asked how he was, and all he said was that he was alive and conscious. But I haven't known Donnie all these years to not know when he's hiding something. So, how is Mikey, really? Is he okay?"

"It's difficult to say," Splinter mumbles, walking back into the lair with April. "He's... he's awake and can communicate, to some extent. He can walk and even run. But... I'll let you decide when you see him."

April is unsure what he means by that, but lets it slide. She's sure she'll find out in a bit.

The three other Hamato sons come into the room to greet them. Leo is first, rushing in with haste. Raph comes in after him, his pace quick but not as swift as Leon's. Donnie meanders in last, his stride slow and somewhat sluggish. He looks exhausted.

"Hey, family!" she says, leaning in for a hug from Leo, who takes half of the bags from her as Raph takes the rest. "How're you holding up?"

"Well enough," Leo mutters. "All things considered. At least, I haven't had a emotional breakdown yet!"

Raph looks embarrassed. Apparently he can't match that boast.

"Where is the man of the hour?" April asks. "I got some new paint pens for him."

Leo looks uncomfortable.

"Uhh... we left him in Donnie's lab. I think he's still asleep... let's get these groceries into the kitchen for now; we'll tell you about everything."

April nods sadly as she follows the guys.

.

.

.

"Hold him still!"

"Stop struggling!"

"Get me 20 Cc's of the mandrill, the boa, and the -- crap, he's gotten loose again!"

Mikey shrieks as he jumps down from the operating chair and dashes to the exit. A guard blocks his path, a cattle prod in his grip. He flicks the switch on it and a loud grinding sound ignites as blue sparks fly from the end. Mikey makes a quick turn and dodges him, running to a corner of the room and cowering. The doctors surround him angrily.

"Where's that frost gun?"

"Over there by the table!"

"Antagonizing little cretin! You'd think he'd have learned his lesson from the last time!!"

One of the men in white comes back, brandishing a long thin airgun with a blue stripe down the middle. A special weapon made specifically for him, for when he acts out. The doctor points it at Mikey and pulls the trigger. A gust of icy air shoots out directly at Mikey. He screeches in pain as the shock of temperature causes his body to go rigid. He falls to the ground convulsing and shivering, painful stabbing sensations prickle across his entire body. He almost feels like he's dying. He can't move.

The guards grab him roughly. He can't move to fight back. Mikey sobs and screams.

He hurts so much, there are so many hurting places on his body.

Needles that have broken the skin to inject what Mikey can only assume is poison because of how much it hurts.

Bruises from where he has been forced into places with other animals to see how they interact. They are never friendly. Mikey is the only one to ever walk out of the room again. Instinct is efficient and ruthless.

There is no love in this room. Only hate. Only pain.

Mikey is taken back to the chair and strapped down. He howls.

"I'd advise you not to do that again," a doctor says with anger burning in his eyes. "Or else there will be consequences."

Consequences worse than what is happening now? He doubts it.

Syringes prick his arms. Oozes and slimes and ghastly liquids are shoved into his veins and bloodstreams. He can feel it doing painful things to him, he feels his bones shift and crack and grow and shrink. His teeth snap into new formations and his fingers start to elongate, the nails splintering and curving into talons.

Mikey sobs. Why is he here? Why do they hate him? Where are the other ones?? Where is Red, and Blue, and Purple? Where did they go, why have they left him behind? Did they escape this place? This place is all he can remember, apart from them. He only recalls needles and linoleums and cages and cold and pain and tears and hatred and fury and longing and loneliness.

Why did they leave him... didn't they love him, once?

Didn't anybody love him once?

No. No one could ever have loved anything from this place.

No one could have loved whatever it is that Mikey is.

.

.

.

Mikey's eyes snap open, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He doesn't recognize this room. It's another cage? It's a small white tunnel, he's stuck inside, he needs to get out!

Mikey clambers around, whining and crying like a puppy stuck in a kennel. He somehow manages to make a backwards shimmy out of the tunnel.

He is in Purple's lab. He wants to leave, now. Right now.

Purple and Blue and Red aren't in here. Where did they go?

The door is open. Mikey rushes out, calling for them.

He howls, long whining hoots that anyone within the lair could hear. Why don't they respond? Where are they?

They left him again...? They left him. They left.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Mikey starts to whimper.

Should have known they would leave...

No, they wouldn't leave!

Then where are they?

Somewhere... Brothers are somewhere... He'll find them eventually.

No trust. Something bad. Smell something bad.

Mikey smells it, too. Where is the bad smell coming from?

It's not a disgusting scent. In fact, it is, in some ways, very nostalgic. There are traces of coconut oil in it. Sweet scents. But it is a bad smell.

Something dangerous is in the home.

It's coming from the kitchen...

Mikey goes into hunting mode. He digs his talons into the cracks between the bricks in the wall. As he climbs, the pads on his palms shift, tickling sensations that give pins and needles on his hands. Miniscule hairs create Van der Waals forces, causing a suction effect as Mikey starts to scale the wall and crawl to the ceiling.

He sneaks along the top of the hallway, following the bad smell.

Mikey cranes his neck down to peer into the kitchen. Everyone is inside, unloading bags and boxes and containers of food and supplies.

Rat is in the corner of the room, wiping his eyes. He was crying. The human who made breakfast is also in here, quietly rummaging through the pantries and cabinets as he places things away. He looks like he might cry, too. Blue, Red and Purple are holding someone in their arms. She is making a lot of noise, weeping and wailing and sobbing in their embrace. Apparently everyone was crying.

They must love her.

But she smells bad. She has the bad smell. Why trust bad smell?

The bad smell is human.

We don't like humans.

No... we don't... but the male human made the food for us! We trust male human?

NO. No trusting humans! Bad humans! They do terrible things to us. Mikey must not trust humans. Only Instinct. Instinct kept us alive.

Instinct kept Mikey alive...

The male human seems to sense something is watching them, and looks up. He yelps in surprise.

Red, Blue, and Purple turn to look at him, then at what he's pointing at. The girl looks up at Mikey and screams in fright.

He hisses back at her, growling loudly as his tail whips underneath him. The scales and scutes start to lift, the ridges on his shoulders and thighs raising high. His tail becomes a spiky bludgeon.

Let Instinct take over. Instinct will keep us safe.

Mikey can do it. Instinct Might hurt brothers.

Instinct is better. Stronger. Instinct is --

MIKEY CAN DO IT, he snaps back in his mind. His tail cracks like a whip again as he snarls angrily.

The human girl yipes and hides behind Red.

Mikey starts to creep along the ceiling, watching them. Making sure that the evil humans don't do anything to hurt Rat or brothers.

Red follows him around the room, raising his hands and guarding the girl.

"Mikey? Hey Mikey, come on down, bud..."

"How... how is he doing that?" the girl asks.

"Lizards can climb on walls," Blue mutters. "Remember we said he has lizard DNA now?"

"I can't believe... that's really Mikey?" the girl whimpers quietly, grabbing Blue's arm.

"It's him," Blue says. He sounds sad.

"Mikey, come down?" Red begs.

Mikey sneers at the girl.

"What? April? You remember April, right?"

Mikey snaps at her, baring his teeth. The canines are growing longer and longer.

"Mikey, she's your sister," Red enunciates.

Mikey's expression softens. Sister? Like brothers?

"Yeah, mi hermano, she's cool! It's big sis April!" Blue joins in, patting her on the head. "See? She's one of us!"

Mikey croaks at her, cocking his head in confusion.

Don't trust her. Don't trust them. Humans are evil. Humans did this to us. They hurt us, and kept us from brothers, and made us sad and scared. She will hurt you!

Red walks directly underneath Mikey and holds his arms out as far as he can. Mikey lowers himself into his embrace, dangling upside down from the ceiling for a moment before readjusting and wrapping his torso around Red's forearm, his spine twisting with flexibility that surprises his brother.

"Boa constrictor?" he asks, looking at Purple.

"I guess," Purple answers with a tired shrug.

Mikey keeps his eyes on the human girl. She cautiously starts stepping closer, holding a hand out to him.

"Mikey? It's me, April. Please say you remember me...?"

Her voice wavers. She sounds so sad.

Humans can be sad?

Humans only cause sad. How can this human be sad?

Her eyes become glassy and blur over. She sniffles. Her nose is red and her cheeks are rosy. She was crying. She was very sad. Why is she sad now?

Did Mikey make her sad??

Mikey mews at her. He feels bad now. Her fingers touch his beak. He takes in the scent on her hands... lotions, perfume, coco butter from her curls. Mikey doesn't remember her face, or her voice. But he remembers these scents. And they do smell safe. He loves these smells, though he can't remember why. His eyes water, the scents activating some distant and foggy recollection of a warm embrace and a soft hand against his head and the feeling you get when laughing too hard.

She might be human... but he loved her once. He can love her again.

Mikey purrs, closing his eyes and leaning his face into the touch. He hears her stifle a sob, stroking her hand across his forehead and down his cheek. Tears pool in his eyes and seep through. Soon enough, she's wiping the tears away.

The humans were never gentle like this in the other place. They never loved him. But she loves him.

He was loved once. He is loved again.

Prev || Next

[shepherds-of-haven]

Okay I saw this asked on another blog and it was hilarious so I have to ask here : what do you think inner circle’s Beige Flags are? ( weird/quirky or questionable things they do that give you pause but overall have no real effect on the relationship)

Also hope you are feeling better!! 🩵🩵

Ooh, this is a fun one haha! (And I'm feeling a bit better, thank you! I still haven't fully recovered, but getting there slowly but surely! 🥲) Anyway, let me think...

Blade: rather than accompany you into shops (especially small ones), he assumes you want to be left alone to do your shopping in peace (and also typically finds shopping boring) and will instead just stand outside the door, looming like a really intimidating security guard or bouncer. (He is assessing street security, guarding the only door, and positioning himself within shouting distance in case there's some kind of threat.) This often inadvertently drives away business, so sometimes he'll just wait at the end of the street instead, staring out at the crowd like a member of your own personal secret service

Trouble: sometimes he eats too fast, or more accurately talks too fast while eating, leading to frequent inhalation down the wrong pipe and people having to thump him on the back while he coughs. Sometimes he will power through the coughing by sheer force of will and will just... forcefully swallow through it. He refuses to slow down. Life's too short to try to avoid death by choking

Tallys: doesn't make a ton of affirming noises to let you know that she's listening. A lot of people go "uh-huh" or "wow" or "right" or whatever when you're in the midst of telling a long-winded story. She just stares at you patiently in silence until she's sure you're fully done. This is polite in Elven culture, and she is completely listening, but it can unnerve people who feel pressured by silence lol

Shery: she still has to look at her hands to tell left from right. Like sometimes she has to make her left hand form the L to remember 😅 She also finds it difficult to do math in her head and either has to sketch it out in the air or write it down!

Riel: always leaves a bite or two of food left on his plate; rarely completely cleans his plate. Same with drinks! So many teacups that always have a few sips left at the bottom. Why didn't you just drain it, man? It's like he does it on purpose!

Chase: always takes the most meandering, inefficient way to get to a place. like if the walk from A to B is a straight line down one avenue, he always seems to take the most roundabout, random path. Here, I'll draw you a map:

Red: he is very bad at matching the pace of his walking with others; with those long legs, he walks at a naturally and totally subconscious fast pace! He's mindful about it when on a date or actively courting someone, but when he's focused on something else, excited, traveling, or out and about with friends, he has to frequently be asked to shorten the length of his strides so others can keep up lol

Ayla: I've mentioned this one for her before, but she's very bad about sharing her food. She hates when you snatch a fry off her plate without asking, and even if you do ask, she can be fairly begrudging about it if she perceives food is plentiful (like "why can't you get your own, the line is right there?") In work circumstances, like sharing group rations, she's totally fine, but in restaurants or in the refectory, she's annoyed by it, like "I loaded this plate for myself and planned on eating all of it... myself 😒 If you wanted to share something, you should have said so earlier!"

Briony: she's constantly whipping people in the face with her ponytail. She tends to turn her head really fast or spin around in conversation and whoever's standing near her ends up with a mouthful of hair. She hasn't learned to not smack people in the eye with her hair yet despite several remonstrations

Lavinet: frankly shocked, upset, and scandalized whenever there isn't a little something sweet at the end of a meal. it doesn't have to be a full-on dessert--even a single chocolate served on a plate would do, and is often preferred! but when there's nothing?? nary a profiterole or cream puff or a little sweet treat for the lady in sight?? something is off!! her palette isn't satisfied!!

Halek: he always wakes up in the morning so loudly. unfold from the bed -> crack his back, neck, shoulders with the most ungodly series of pops -> loud groan. It sounds like an old accordion getting stretched out

[vodika-vibes]

CONGRATS ON 500!!

Long time lurker, I am here every morning around work, and have reread most of your fics at least 3 times. Your writing is amazing!

Okay I'll stop gushing 🙈

For the follower event, I was thinking Kix, Emerald, and late night.

Thank you, and congrats again!! 😊

I'll Wait Forever

Summary: When an emergency makes Kix late to pick you up for your date he’s incredibly apologetic. What he doesn’t know, and what you need him to understand, is that you’d wait forever for him.

Pairing: Post-Stasis Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 830

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you for your nice comment! I'm so glad that you like my stories enough to come back to them! I hope this is close to what you wanted, you didn't specify, so I chose to go with Post-Stasis Kix rather than TCW era Kix. Both are swoon-worthy. My goal is to keep all of these under 1000 words. I wonder how I'll do, lol.

The fall of the Empire, and the rise of the New Republic, has made you a very wealthy person. Wealthy enough that you, and a group of your friends, were able to repurpose a Lucrehulk Class droid control ship into something a little more useful. 

As of now, and with the permission of the New Republic, the ship is home to over two million displaced individuals (many of Alderaanian descent), it’s also home to a massive shopping center, and is the home point for this sector's Bounty Hunters Guild.

It is a point of some pride, yes.

And, at this point, it basically runs itself. Which means that you only have to do a little bit of work to make sure it stays running smoothly. Which, for you, means that you have to play nice with the politicians in the New Republic.

But that only happens every so often.

Which means you’re able to focus on more important things.

Like writing your novel…and spending time with your boyfriend.

Both are very important to you, though you’re not ashamed to admit that Kix, your boyfriend, is far more important to you than anything else that you own. Including the ship that you currently call home.

He travels a lot, and you don’t mind, because in the end he always comes back to you. 

Speaking of said boyfriend, he said that he was going to take you on a date tonight.

You tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of the chrono on the wall, and you release a sigh, though there’s a smile on your face. It is well past closing time for all but the seediest of restaurants, which means no going out tonight.

Ah well. Such is life.

You flick your gaze back to the first draft of your novel, and you make sure to save your work before you set it to the side.

Time to make dinner, and if you’re lucky, Kix will join you for dinner. 

You meander into your kitchen and you put some water on the stove for the pasta, before you dig around your pantry. Might as well make a proper meal.

You’re about to put the pasta in the boiling water when the door to your suite slides open. Absently you pour the whole box into the water, before leaning back to look into the main part of your suite, and a bright smile crosses your face.

Kix is gorgeous. 

Tall and broad, with thick curly hair and an equally thick beard. The tattoo under his hair just barely peeks out at his temple.

You’d quite happily follow him into hell, if he asked.

Not that he ever would.

“Welcome home,” You chirp from the kitchen, “I started pasta for dinner, do you want cheesy bread or garlic. I have both because I have no self control when it comes to bread. It’s a problem.” You check the water and then leave your posting in the kitchen to walk over to him. 

He sets his helmet on the table next to the door, and then casts his gaze to you, something akin to guilt crosses his face when he takes you in, “I’m late.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You got all dressed up for me.” Kix says, his lips turning down.

“I got dressed up for myself. The fact that you also appreciate it is just a bonus.” You grin at him, and slide into his arms, your arms twining around his neck, “Now. Garlic bread or cheesy bread. This is a super important decision, Kix.”

His arms tightens around your hips, “I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s just bread, Kix. It’s not really that important. I can make both.”

He laughs softly, but there’s something almost broken in his voice, “I’m sorry for missing our date. Again.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s really, really not. You deserve better than…this.” He vaguely gestures to himself.

“I don’t want better. I want you.”

“Even though I neglect you?”

You slide your hands to his face, and you lightly brush your fingers under his eyes, “Hold on there, mister. You don’t neglect me. I have never once felt neglected.”

He tilts your head back, “How can you say that?”

“Kix,” You grin at him, “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

You stand on your toes to brush your lips against his, “I’d wait forever for you. You’re worth it. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.”

He exhales sharply, his breath washing across your face, “I love you.”

You beam at him, “I know, I’m very lovable.”

Kix arches a single brow, and he moves his fingers to your sides, lightly tickling you, pulling a startled giggle from your lips, “Is that all you have to say?” He asks, a smile playing on his lips now.

You hop into his arms, his arms sliding securely around your waist to support you, as you kiss him deeply, “I love you too. Always. Forever.”

[cecilysass]

Shine On (11/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 11: The Snow

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 7:45 am

Jackson can’t seem to sit still. He’s pacing all around the kitchen in meandering circles. Scully has managed to piece together from his brief, cryptic answers to her questions that he now knows his thoughts aren’t completely private. The news apparently hasn’t been well received.

Scully sits at the table, her chin in her hand, watching him seriously. There’s something else going on here, too—something more—and she hasn’t pinned it down yet. For one, Mulder disappeared upstairs in a cloud of anxiety, something big clearly on his mind.

“Was Mulder … worried about something?” she attempts.

Jackson just lifts his shoulders in a jerky shrug. “Probably.” He doesn’t add more details.

“Are you all right?” Scully says after another pause.

He’s moving again, walking back and forth. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay. Just really freaked out.”

“Now—”

“Don’t say it,” Jackson cuts her off, pointing at her suddenly. “I know, I know. Now I know what it feels like to have my thoughts spied on. I’m a hypocrite for being upset about it, right?”

Scully says nothing right away, but fixes him with what she hopes is an open and honest gaze. “Is that what I am thinking, Jackson?”

“No,” he says, finally still. “You’re not.”

She nods slowly. “Right. Now. Did Mulder happen to make coffee?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, turning slowly to regard the coffee maker. “And … I made scrambled eggs.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Jackson walks to the stove and lifts the lid off the pan. “They’re still warm. You want some?”

“Yes, I do.” Scully stands up to get out plates. “Let’s eat. Should we make toast?”

Just as they are loading bread in the ancient toaster oven, Mulder’s footsteps on the stairs cause them both to look up. Jackson takes a wary step back.

“You’re going for a run, Mulder?” Scully can’t hide her skepticism as she walks across the floor to speak to him. He’s dressed for exercise—sweatpants, a long-sleeve tee, his running shoes—but his grim expression tells another story.

“Yeah,” he says. He eyes Jackson for a moment, looking as if he wants to say something, then turns and walks to the house’s front window, the one that faces the porch. He peers out cautiously. “Sort of.”

“What’s going on?” she asks sharply, lowering her voice.

“He’s been keeping something from us,” Mulder says quietly, his eyes darting behind her to Jackson in the kitchen. They both know that keeping his voice down is pointless, but he does it anyway. “Something … important. I need to check around outside again.”

“I should come with you.”

“No,” he says quickly. “Stay here, Scully. I think I upset him, and I think you should … just stay here with him.”

Scully nods slowly, feeling a thrum of anxiety. For the umpteenth time since yesterday, she attempts to mute her feelings.

“Try not to worry,” Mulder says, flashing her a small smile. “Hopefully this isn't a big deal. Go have breakfast.”

“Be careful,” Scully whispers urgently. “Take the stiletto.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

For a moment he looks like he might kiss her cheek—he seems to bend down just a little—but he doesn’t, biting his lower lip instead.

“I’ll save you some coffee,” she says uncomfortably, a nod to a routine they had for years in what feels like another lifetime.

“Sure you will,” he says. “I won’t hold my breath. I know your caffeine habits.”

The words he’s speaking are playful, but he sounds distracted. He glances out the window again, and it scares her, the look of intense worry etched across his features. Her mind explodes into fearful questions—what is Jackson is keeping from them? why does it involve Mulder checking outside?—but she quiets these quickly.

“Hopefully no big deal, right?” she whispers.

“Right,” he says quickly. Another reassuring smile.

***

There are swirling eddies of snow flurries visible through the kitchen windows as Scully and Jackson eat their eggs and toast.

“Snow,” she remarks, her voice sounding small. “I wonder if it’s supposed to accumulate.”

Jackson’s eyes track the direction of her stare. “Yeah, it looks like it might.” He looks back at her, seeming to remember something. He takes a big forkful of eggs. “Happy birthday. Today’s your actual birthday, right?”

“Yes,” she says. She takes a bite, too, trying not to watch him too closely.

“You’re… 51?”

She nods, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

“So you were 37 when you had me?”

Again she nods, studying his reaction.

“Did you want to have kids?”

She hesitates only a second. “Very, very much.”

When he looks up at her, she knows he is using his shine on her, testing out the veracity of her claim. She can practically feel it.

“I was thinking about it,” Jackson says, shoving another bite in his mouth. “I think I might understand why my shine is so much stronger with you than with anyone else. Or at least I have a guess.”

Scully scowls and sips her coffee. “Oh? What’s your guess?”

“You’re a doctor, right?” Jackson says. “So you know that in mammals, there’s an evolutionary advantage to maternal-infant bonding.”

Her eyes widen at his language choice. Her chin goes up and down wordlessly.

“And that baby mammals learn to recognize their mom’s smell and sound, and learn how to, like, be in tune with her behavior so that they have a better chance of survival.”

She sets her cup down, slightly stunned.

“So if you think about my shine being one of my senses, like smelling or hearing, it’s logical that when I was an infant, still living with you, it developed to be… in sync with you. So I could know what you were thinking and feeling. And maybe once it developed in my brain or whatever, it stayed wired that way, even after all these years. It’s biology, right?”

“I had wondered… something along those lines myself,” Scully says, keeping her voice steady. “You’re very knowledgeable about biology.”

“I read a lot of articles,” Jackson says modestly.

Articles about what, Scully wonders? About maternal-neonate bonding? Is he worried about what he has missed out on by being adopted?

“Maybe a little,” Jackson says, looking down, and it takes her a moment to realize he is answering the question she was thinking. He then meets her eyes, and there is something unguarded there that reminds her of Mulder when she met him, Mulder the youngest she ever knew him, Mulder in Bellefleur, telling her his story. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she says. “Anything.”

“Why’d you do it? Why did you decide to give me up?” He looks so earnest, so sincerely curious and vaguely hurt that it makes Scully want to weep. “I can feel how much you didn’t want to. How sad it made you. And when you did it, I wasn’t brand-new either, was I? I lived with you a while. You knew me. You have all these memories of me. And you were still with Mulder, weren’t you? It just seems like… I don’t know. I guess I don’t understand.”

“You really can’t see any reason why? Or… feel why?” she whispers.

“Not really,” he says. “It’s confusing to make sense of everything that goes on inside of you when you think about this.”

“Yes. I imagine.” She rises from her seat to pick up the coffee carafe, refilling her cup carefully. She uses the opportunity to take a deep breath, too. “I thought they would take you,” she continues, her voice eerily calm. “I was on my own. Mulder was gone.” She sits down again, clutching her cup tightly with both hands. “And I was just … absolutely terrified that I couldn’t protect you. Someone had already tried to take you once. I was so scared.” Her eyes fall to her coffee. “The adoption agency told me they’d find someone normal, loving, and far away. That you would be able to live a happy life.”

“A closed adoption,” Jackson says, and his jaw muscle twitches, just like Mulder’s does—which tells her that this is the most painful part. That this concealing of her identity is something that has upset him, stung him.

“It had to be,” she says. “Or I would still be a danger to you. To your new family.” Her voice breaks. “But apparently Mulder and I were a danger to you and your family anyway. I’m so sorry about that, Jackson. So sorry. I tried to keep you safe. I tried … so hard. By far the hardest thing I have ever…” She’s crying, and she can’t do anything to stop it.

Jackson watches her tears, looking perplexed. “I know,” he says. He tips his head, as if trying to see her better. “It isn’t your fault. I don’t really think they came after my parents because of you and Mulder. Probably it didn’t matter … whose kid I was in the end. It was me. It was just the fact that I existed at all.”

Scully sniffs, nodding, trying to take charge of her feelings again.

“I never wanted my children to be in danger just by the fact that they existed,” she manages. “I wanted you safe. I wanted your life to be normal.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say my life was exactly normal,” he says, lifting his eyebrows. “It was never going to be normal.”

“As close as possible to normal then.”

“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “I guess that’s what it was.”

There is a pause. Jackson taps the rim of his plate lightly with his finger.

“So there’s another one?” he asks.

“Another what?”

“You said you didn’t want your children to be in danger for the fact they existed,” Jackson says. “Not your child. You said children, like, more than one. Like plural.”

“Oh,” she says. She hadn’t realized this slip. “Yes. There was another child.” She pushes the remains of eggs around on her plate with her fork. “Once. She died long ago, before you were born.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. He seems to be seriously thinking that over.

“I’ll tell you about her some time,” Scully says. “It’s not an entirely happy story, but I’ll tell you if you want.” She sets her fork down and steels herself to look at him. “The thing is, Jackson, is that I have lots I probably should tell you. And lots I could tell you, if you want to know. I’d like to do that. I’d like to … be part of your life, if you want. However that might look.”

Jackson’s eyes drift over to the window, which is busy white static. “Yeah,” he says softly, inscrutably.

“I think that’s something Mulder wants, too.”

“Yeah,” he repeats in the same tone. “He… actually wants me to live here with him and run track for the local high school. He’s thought about it. Going on runs with me and stuff.”

“Is that right?” The idea makes Scully smile. It’s just so Mulder. Not the Mulder of eighteen months ago, who was trapped in inertia, lying on a couch in frightening, stagnant darkness. But apparently the Mulder of now, who was ready to daydream about going on runs with his teen son.

“Well, he did daydream about that,” Jackson says, apparently shining her. His tone changes. “He might not be into that idea any more. We had a disagreement. He might feel different.”

Scully shakes her head in disbelief. She has no idea how to explain to Jackson how badly he has misunderstood Mulder. What are the words that could communicate this to a 13-year old, she wonders?

But then, she realizes, she doesn’t have to use words. Not with Jackson.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on a memory—a sequence of memories, really—from years ago.

Summer, just a few weeks after they first went on the run. A decrepit motel in rural Alabama. Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the shower running, the faintest undertone of Mulder’s sobs. Steam hitting her face as she drew back the curtain and stretched her arms out for him. My fault, Scully. You know I never really can protect anyone I love. You should get far away from me.

Jackson’s face twitches as he takes her memory in. “He was upset about me?”

“He was grieving.” She remembers how the water soaked her pajamas as she held his sobbing body, as she joined him in tears. “He hardly got a chance to be your father, and he didn’t get to say goodbye.” She clears her throat. “I don’t think he would ever stop being happy to get to spend time with you now, Jackson.”

Jackson looks down at his plate, quiet for a moment. “Why do you think Mulder can use his shine on me?”

“I don’t know,” Scully says. “My best guess is… he probably had a latent ability already, from what happened to him years ago. Maybe you somehow wake it up because of your own abilities. Maybe he’s been using it, subconsciously, to try to reach you.” She’s suddenly sad, thinking about it. “Maybe … he’s been doing it all along. For years. Without knowing.”

“And this is the first time he’s been close enough to me for it to work,” Jackson adds softly.

He stands up from the table, walking over to the window to look out at the falling snow. Scully’s eyes land on the back of his head, studying the familiar shape of his crown of brown hair. She imagines how much he will look like Mulder when he is fully grown.

“Your other child,” Jackson says in a voice of curiosity and wonder, pressing his palm on the window. “What was her name?”

***

It starts to snow almost immediately after Mulder steps outside. He puts up a pretense of going for a jog up and down Wallace Road, all the time actively scanning the horizon. No cars. No signs of anyone else out and about. Just gray sky and fluttering snowflakes.

He gives up on his fake run after about fifteen minutes and decides to come back and search the property again. It’s cold, and he’s underdressed, but he is also feeling a deep, primal pull: a compulsion to protect that he hasn’t felt in years.

The trouble is that he doesn’t quite know what this feeling means. Maybe it’s some phantom father instinct long buried in his psyche, juiced up by a painful history of losing sisters and sons.

Or maybe it’s … something else. This shine he apparently still has. Telling him to do something important for real reasons.

Regardless, something is telling him to stay out here in the snow—to keep looking.

The wind picks up, sending snowflakes spinning manically around him, an icy cyclone. Mulder spins himself around, too, looking everywhere he can see for any sign of something out of the ordinary.

His eyes land on a little cluster of trees about a hundred feet from the house. He has a sudden compulsion to go peek inside.

It’s so quiet out. Almost unnaturally so.

Snowflakes continue to whirl, winding and fluttering in a steady helix around his path. The morning light is pale and eerie. Mulder has the strange feeling he’s in a fairy tale. Like all the many snow creatures of myths and legends he has ever read about could be perched right behind any tree.

He thinks fleetingly of the Ijiraq, an Inuit shapeshifter who, according to the stories, lives in the snow and steals children. A person never actually lays eyes directly on an Ijiraq. He’s only supposed to appear in the very corner of one’s line of sight.

A nightmare, there in an instant, who takes a beloved child away forever.

On impulse Mulder turns around to look back at the house. Snow is already beginning to accumulate on the roof in stark, white veins.

Shivering a little, he turns back and walks up to the tight clutch of trees. Snowflakes have begun to melt in his hair. He’s going to be uncomfortably damp and cold.

He steps into the dark and dim cover of the overhanging branches. To his surprise, he sees a small hooded female figure standing alone there, facing away from him.

When she turns, his heart stops.

“Scully?” he whispers.

Because she is Scully.

Not Scully now, not the fiftysomething Scully inside the house he knows and loves, the Scully who has been at his side for years.

She’s Scully as he first met her: fresh faced and freckled and unblemished, the Scully who extended her hand in the basement of the Hoover building, the earnest and serious new partner who wanted to prove herself.

She is, impossibly, Scully in her twenties, standing before him in a dark wood, surrounded by a few errant snowflakes falling unhurriedly over her from the tree cover above.

Maybe this is a fairy tale. Maybe I have been bewitched.

“No. That’s not who I am.” Her voice sounds exactly like Scully of the past, too. High and precise, clear and authoritative. I’ve been assigned to work with you.

But as she steps forward, the light hitting her features more directly, he can see that what she says is correct. She’s not Scully. Just someone who looks incredibly, unbelievably like her, dressed in a sleek black coat.

“Who are you?” he demands.

Even as he speaks, he begins to realize, to remember. And as he does, he sees that this is no fairy tale at all.

“My name is Rose.”

“Rose.” He steps towards her, his legs beginning to shake.

“Yes.”

“Rose ... isn’t your real name,” he says. He’s having trouble getting words out, but his mind is racing. “I saw the song lyrics Jackson had—”

“Yes,” she says. “You’re right. But that name you’re remembering—that’s not my name anymore.”

There was no body in the coffin.

He should have thought more about it at the time. He always should have considered the possibility. Why didn’t he, even once, all these years? He had only seen the body’s disappearance as a final insult to Scully’s grief, a cruel denial of any answers or closure, but he had never asked or thought further about implications.

“How…” Mulder feels light-headed. He hasn’t had breakfast, which probably was a mistake. He doesn’t know what to start asking questions about first. He looks up, as if searching for the words around him in the trees arching above him.

“You know what it is that I am?” Rose takes a careful step away from him, looking up at the top of the maple tree. “That I’m not… entirely human?”

“Yeah.” His mouth is dry. “I think I do.”

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” She throws a look back at him, alert and curious. “Even when we met before, when she attempted the adoption—you knew what I was.”

“I had an idea,” he says, “but …we never entirely knew what was going on back then.”

“You would have let her adopt me anyway?”

Mulder can’t help a melancholy smile. “Nothing could have stopped her,” he says. “But yes. Of course. It wasn’t your fault.”

She nods, absorbing this. Then she turns to him with her incisive, Scully-like stare. “From your work, you must know I wasn’t the only one. That I wasn’t the only product of the hybrid experiments,” she says.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. He watches a single snowflake flutter downwards and lets it land on his palm, watching it melt into a speck of water. “We knew that. About other hybrids. But we also thought the hybrid program was eliminated. After the Syndicate was eliminated, in 2000 or so.”

“No. There were still some of us left,” she says. “Hybrids of different ages and purposes. Not as many as there used to be—we were reduced in number. But when I was still a kid, a group decided to band together. To form a collective for safety. There were about fifty of us left then. Mostly those you called the Kurt Crawfords, although they don’t go by that name any more either.” She picks up an icy-veined dead leaf and studies it. “There were other kids, like me. Some products of experiments like I was. Some agricultural clones.”

Mulder feels like he needs to lean against something, like the world is spinning too fast.

“They called our group the Walled Garden. At first the purpose was to take care of one another, protect ourselves. Protect those of us who were younger. We had a group of safe houses. But we’re very smart, you know. We have… gifts, some of us more than others. We were able to make investments. Buy a large amount of land in Maryland. Build laboratories. Work on projects of interest to society.”

“What kind of … projects?”

“Stopping an invasion, for one,” Rose says evenly. “We did that rather successfully. And without any violence or undue attention. Even attention from you, Agent Mulder, and you were waiting for it.”

Mulder’s mouth opens and closes in shock. “You stopped the invasion in 2012? How?”

“I’m loyal … to the Walled Garden,” Rose says, looking away. “I’m not going to share all our secrets.”

“Okay. Okay. Why are you sharing this information at all?”

“There is always disagreement about how much more we should do,” Rose replies carefully. “There are some of us who would prefer we remain scientists and engineers. There are others who would like to see us… in more powerful positions in society. They say we deserve it, because of our natural gifts and strengths.” Her mouth twists. “Some in the latter group felt like we should be protecting ourselves better, taking care of loose ends left over from the Syndicate. Jackson’s name came up as one loose end. Because, see, he’s not one of us, but he … has some of our gifts. That’s perceived as a threat.”

“So you were sent to Wyoming to stop him?” Mulder’s voice is sharp. “To kill his parents?”

Rose’s face falls, and she looks so much younger. “No.” Her big eyes are limpid and haunted, exactly like Scully’s. “No. You’re misunderstanding me. Someone was sent for that job, but not me. I went on my own—to protect him. To bring him to you. Because I knew you and Dana would take care of him.”

Suddenly Mulder remembers so clearly what she was like when he last saw her, how small and vulnerable she was, how utterly alone.

And he remembers viscerally how much Scully wanted her. How he and Scully would have taken care of her. He is flooded with a sickening sorrow, thinking about what the little girl’s life must have been like after that. After they were fooled into giving up on her.

Emily, can’t you see? There’s nothing you can do. There’s loving everywhere, but none for you.

“Most of the other hybrids,” Rose says, her voice cracking slightly, “don’t have living family. They never really did, or their mothers died. They don’t understand. But I’ve always known that I had Dana. I have always watched out for her. And for Jackson, once he was born.”

“You must have still been really young when he was born,” Mulder observes.

“I knew when he was born,” she says. “I just did. And even when I was little, I knew I could keep him safe. And when I got older, and you and Dana didn’t know where he was? I knew. I always knew.”

Mulder feels tears pool in his eyes. “Please,” he says. “Please, I beg you, Rose. Please stay here and let me go get Scully. Please let her talk to you.”

Rose digs her hands in her coat pockets, turning abruptly away.

“We thought you were dead,” he says simply. “You don’t know how the loss was for her, back then. She was … never exactly the same after that. Please let me get her. Let her see you.”

“You know, Agent Mulder,” she says, “if I were really unselfish, if I really cared about Dana or Jackson, I wouldn’t ever be in contact with any of you. Every time I do it’s a danger to everyone.”

“Why?” Mulder pushes. “Are you being watched?” He takes a cautious step towards her. “I could get her right now, and we could talk right here under the trees out of sight. It would take only a few minutes.”

“No,” Rose says, turning back to meet his eyes. There is something in her tone that stops him from arguing further. “No.”

He glances over his shoulder towards the house, his heart sinking, thinking of Scully so close inside. He thinks of her drained, gray face on the flight back from California all those years ago. The way she sat in the airplane seat with her palms subtly facing upwards, like something had just been taken from her hands.

“Maybe we can talk again,” Rose adds. Her softened, moved expression makes him wonder if she is using a shine on him, too. “There may be a way for us to meet safely. All of us. Just let me… think about it, Agent Mulder. All right?”

“Of course. You promise?”

“I do.”

“You keep calling me Agent Mulder,” Mulder says. “You do know that that isn’t my name any more either.”

“But it will be again,” Rose says. “I hear that you and Dana will be back with the F.B.I. very soon.”

He scrunches up his forehead. “How did you hear that?”

She doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she smiles a closed lip smile that looks incredibly, unsettlingly like Scully.

“You probably would have been a really good father, you know,” she says. Her voice sounds quiet and high, like a whisper. Her cheeks are pink in the cold. “You seem like it.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that,” Mulder says ruefully. “I’ll try to do right by him now, but I really don’t know how good I would have been at raising him. I make a lot of mistakes in every important relationship in my life.”

“I didn’t … I actually wasn’t thinking about Jackson in this case.”

“Oh.” Again he is overwhelmed by a wash of sadness. “Well.” He shivers involuntarily. “I would have done my best, Rose. We both would have.” It sounds so futile, all these empty words about time now gone, he thinks. “I wish we could have tried.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” she says matter-of-factly, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

And that makes Mulder think what he has always thought when faced with that notion. When a sister or partner has disappeared. When he has lost his life’s work. When a woman he loves has been infected with a virus and spirited away to Antarctica.

There is always something you can do. There is always something else to be done.

Which is what makes Mulder begin to believe he might finally, actually be starting to get better.

***

[ambrosiagourmet]

I notice no one has asked yet so for the character thing: laios! Or if you want to go for a less common one: the winged lion

Laios!!!!!!

First impression

Honestly its hard to even limit this within the confines of starting the actual manga. I genuinely think I'd have to say my real first impression of Laios was the "autism be damned, my boy can work a grill" joke that gets passed around a lot 😭

Impression now

Older brother.

Loves his friends and family so much. Let him infodump!!!!! A guy that can character arc so hard he becomes a king because its the only way to deal with the things he can no longer let himself look away from. A guy who wants to eat a good meal. A guy who wants everyone to eat a good meal.

A guy who can be all that and still kind of pettily complain that he doesn't get to hang out with monsters anymore & can mope about it soooo annoyingly. A guy who decided to eat the concept of all-consuming hunger because it was the only way to deal with the problem so he might as well try. A guy who can completely change his life by deciding to share his special interest. A guy who can imitate a dog really well.

Favorite moment

Don't make me choooose... okay I'm gonna do three:

1. Assembling Falin's bones with Marcille

The humor. The patience. The slow realization that, despite how absurd of a task it is, it is actually all possible. The moments of admiration for the way skeletons work, the love of the details, the care of assembling all three skeletons just to make sure they get Falin right. Iconic scene.

2. Killing Falin

"Unable to make myself accept. Unable to make myself resist" lives in my soul now idk what else to say. Life is so vibrant and horrifying and raw and beautiful and to let yourself fully be a part of it you must take up space. You must consume. You must fight. You must take and be taken from. Ourgh

3. Talking Marcille down

I love that he looks so goofy on his way up to her. I love the context of how much he refuses to give up on her leading up to this, and how he refuses to give up on her now. I love how everyone is part of this scene, but he's the first one to cross the threshold. I love how she almost blows him up but can't do it (fun fact: this exact situation/post was how she killed Mithrun a couple of chapters ago. It was close).

I love the way he appeals to her mostly just with messy honesty, and I love the silly three rules callback. It's such a sweet chapter.

Also honorary mention for the final page of the story, which gets me every time.

Idea for a story

I'm actually currently fiddling with a longer story concept dealing with the question of Laios needing an heir. Dungeon Meshi is grounded enough in politics that it genuinely feels like a question that the characters will have to grapple with at some point. At the same time, there's no way that like arranged marriage and even having kids in general are not messy topics for Laios and I don't think anyone involved would want to force him to be miserable.

(I also don't personally like the idea of Falin as his heir ftr, bc I think forcing Falin into that role sucks and I don't think anyone would go for it)

So how DO they deal with the issue? Idk! I might write a long meandering story about it! Maybe! I want to, at least.

Unpopular opinion

Ughhhh I don't realllly want to poke this with a stick but yeah I definitely think my most generic (apparently????) Unpopular Opinion with Laios is just that his relationship with Marcille is meaningful and loving. I personally don't view it as romantic and they mean a lot to me as a platonic-life-partners kind of thing, but I also think that dividing relationships in general into Ships TM and Definitely Not Ships isn't really appealing to me personally. I just care them.

(at the same time I really do worry about trying to write about them and it being taken as romantic despite me very intentionally not framing it as such. idk, navigating this stuff is complicated.)

Favorite relationship

UGHHHH LIKE. It is probably him and Marcille. But it's so hard to rank that against him and Falin. Both relationships mean a lot to me and I love them and I love to think about them.

Because him and Marcille have more on the page interactions to dig into and because I don't see them discussed as much, I do tend to gravitate to Marcille & Laios stuff above all else. But like.... don't make me actually commit to picking.

Favorite headcanon

I can't think of a strong answer for this so I'm going to make one up on the spot: I think he giggled to himself soooo much when he included the winged lion in his king outfit but made it so that it looks like the wolf head is eating it. I think he continues to giggle about it years later. I think he gets dressed in the morning and puts on his cloak and goes "get ate, idiot" as he fastens it around his shoulders.

Oh actually for a more genuine headcanon related to the story thing I mentioned above: I think Laios is really good with kids but would be scared of having any of his own. I think he'd have trouble with the classic "I don't want to mess them up the way my dad messed me up" abused kid struggle.

[syddsatyrn]

Chapter 1⛤Chapter 2 ⛤ Chapter 3 ⛤Chapter 4 ⛤ Chapter 5 Masterlist

⛤Pairing: - Eddie Munson x FemReader

⛤Warnings: Swearing, drinking / smoking, drugs, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, a little angst if you squint.

⛤Words: 2.7k

⛤Song: "Photograph" By Def Leppard

⛤Summary: Moving away from Hawkins was the biggest mistake of your life. You left your best friends and forgot to stay in touch. Years later, you decide to hit up your good friend Steve. Its time to make a plan and make amends. The one thing you didn't expect was feelings to resurface when you saw your old high school crush.

⛤Notes: This series is 18+ Minors scram. I've got a super extra long chapter for you guys today! @hellfiremunsonn is my faithful beta reader and assists me so much. Thank you guys for making my come-back series a fun one. My next chapter will be the end of this series.

⛤Chapter: 4 "Subtle" Chemistry Star court mall is always at least a little crowded. The lively hum of conversations, laughter, and distant music formed a vibrant backdrop. Storefronts beckoned with their displays of trendy fashion, electronics, and enticing sales. Shoppers meandered through the wide walkways, their bags filled with many treasures. Neon signs buzzing, the occasional sounds of a cash register, and the scent of cinnamon drifting through the air. It was just like you remembered it. You had a blast hanging out with Robin. She picked out a brand new pair of ankle length combat boots. You both decided to get ice cream and take a break from walking around. The food court wasn’t super crowded, it was the perfect place to chat. “Can I tell you something? It’s a secret so dont go telling Steve.” “Ohhhh is it secret time?” I won't tell Stevie boy, I promise.” Robin raises her right hand, “Scouts honor.” “Okay. Uhhh…well…I slept in Eddie’s bed last night. He came home from tour in the middle of the night.” Your face turns redder with every word. “Oh shit. Wow Y/N, I didn't think you had it in yah.” She chuckles and puts another spoonful of strawberry ice cream in her mouth. “We didn't do anything!” You affirm your tone a little on the defensive side. “What!? I’m just saying you guys have been madly in love with each other since sophomore year and neither of you have had the audacity to tell each other for some unspoken reason…until now.” She's not wrong, Robin has always been one to spell it out for you loud and clear. She never holds back, it's something you’ve always appreciated about her. Robin has been telling you to come clean for ages now.

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I don't want to screw up my friendship with Eddie. Also, he's like a big rockstar now, I doubt he has any time for stuff like that.” You explain as you sink into your chair. "He probably has some cool metalhead girlfriend I don't know about.” You take a bite of your vanilla ice cream. It's so fitting for this conversation, vanilla ice cream for a vanilla person.

“God it's been years and I still can’t wrap my head around your stupid self doubt.” Robin says, shaking her head. “Eddie doesn't have a girlfriend. When you left he moped around his trailer for weeks. No one could get him to come out, not even Dustin. One time I went over to his place to check on him and he was sloshed out of his mind. He told me, "The songs he sings don't mean a thing if you’re not there to hear it.”

“He didn't say that.” You scoff.

“Oh but he did, and he keeps a photo of you in his wallet.” Robin says teasingly.

“You know about that too?!” It's becoming apparent that everyone knows this except you.

“Of course I do. It's me, I know everything.” Robin says with a cocky tone.

You and Robin decide to float around the mall a little longer. A small department store was calling your name. The story had low lighting and they were playing some classic rock on the radio. Robin's goal was a pair of shoes, your goal however, was a hot outfit for tonight's party at the hideout. It honestly didn't take you long to find the cutest black skirt with chain embellishments, you picked out some new stockings too. —-------------- After the girls left Eddie felt like he could finally breathe. He finishes his coffee and breakfast, then falls backwards onto his bed. He stares at his ceiling as he finds himself lost in the intricate dance of thoughts that revolve around you. Images of you smiling genuine and heartwarming, flashed like snapshots in his imagination. Casual conversations, stolen glances, and the subtle chemistry that lingered in the air when you were near. The anticipation of his next encounter with you and the sweet nervousness that comes with it. The soft glow of the afternoon sun is casting a warm hue across his room. Steve and Dustin went grocery shopping, the apartment was silent. Eddie pulls himself out of his thoughts and shakes them off. He grabs a pre-rolled joint and lights it, Eddie is nervous and he knows it. All these years and he still can't tell you the truth. His life has changed so drastically for the better ever since he signed that record deal. But there was always something missing, something he was holding out for. Of course many girls are interested in him, but he's not interested in many girls. He promised himself after you left that next time he sees you, he is gonna tell you. If he misses this opportunity, he might lose you entirely. He almost completely gave up on you after a year of no contact. But every time he opened his wallet, he saw a glimpse of your face, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of you or the photo. Eddie puffs on his joint, each inhale making him a little less anxious. He tries to think about something else. It will be nice to hang out at the hideout again. That was where he played his very first gigs when the band was just starting out. They barely had any attendees and the band definitely sounded rough. Then Eddie recalls you being there for every single show. Your smiling face in the crowd, cheering him on after every song.  “Uhgg, get it together, man.” He says under his breath. He finishes his joint and decides to get dressed. —--------------- When you returned with Robin, Steve was putting away the last of the groceries. “We’re back!” Robin announces. Dustin is reading on the couch, when you look down the hall, Eddie’s bedroom door is open. “Welcome back, we will head to the bar when I finish this. I also need to get dressed. Eddie is out, said something about dropping off some equipment with Gareth. He’s gonna meet us there.” Steve says. Honestly, you were a little bummed. You were hoping he’d be around when you got back. But you shrug it off and take your stuff to his room. Robin follows you and shuts the door behind her. You both change into something a bit more stylish. You had a cropped Def Leppard shirt that you paired with the new skirt. This outfit would go well with boots and stockings. Robin didn't change anything really, just her shirt and shoes. You put on a couple of layered chain necklaces, a few rings, and a pair of small silver hoop earrings. “I am astonished really.” Robin says with a smile as she looks you up and down. You tilt your head in response and she laughs. “Eddie is gonna have a full on heart attack when he sees you.” Your face feels a little hot and you laugh nervously. “Do you think so?” “Oh yeah. No doubt.” She smirks. “Someones lookin’ to get lucky.” “Shut up!” You place your hand over her mouth. She does the unthinkable licks the palm of your hand. You give her this horrified face followed by both of you hysterically laughing like a couple of hyenas.  ---------------

The sun was setting and the sky grew darker with every passing minute. There is a chill in the air, which makes you shiver when you open the door. Steve drove to the hideout, it wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes away. When Steve pulled into the parking lot, you looked out the window and saw Eddie’s van. He’s already here, and you start to feel a bit anxious. The Hideout had not changed a bit. The neon signs in the window buzzed as you walked inside. Posters, fliers, and rustic decor filled the walls. You hear the low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses, the place has a warm glow to it. You used to watch Eddie play here all the time. It felt like your heart was swelling, it's that bittersweet feeling again. You turn the corner and see Eddie and Gareth sitting in a booth. Eddie waves and one by one you all walk over and pile into the same booth. You sit across from Eddie, you can see his face getting a little red. “You uh…look really good, Y/N.” Eddie says with a half smile. He reaches over and adjusts one of your chain necklaces. Robin sees this and covers her mouth, trying not to laugh at how embarrassed you are. But you had to pull all that on hold for now. Nancy and Johnathan walk up and greet the group. You practically climb over Robin and wrap Nancy in a tight hug. “Oh! Y/N? You’re here?! When did you get into town?!” She hugs you back just as hard. “The other day! It's so good to see you, Nance.” Nancy smiles and fights back tears, she didn't expect any kind of reunion. The thing is, You both grew up together. Your mom was friends with Mrs. Wheeler. You spent a lot of your childhood with Nancy and her brother Mike. When you left, Nancy thought she lost you to the city for good.  “Don’t cry! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.” “They are happy tears, it’s fine. I’m just so happy to see you.” Everyone in the group is touched to see two best friends reunite. Robin looks like she might start crying too. You give Jonathan a hug as well, It's nice to see him doing well. He wasn't always full of smiles and you’ve wondered how he's been over the years. You remember Jonathan used to take photos of the gang, half of the polaroids you have were probably taken by him. A bartender comes by and takes our order. Eddie ordered whiskey and so did you. Vodka soda for Nancy and Robin, Steve and Jonathan order beers. The clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter, and the subtle hum of the other patrons deep in conversation created a soundtrack to this shared experience. You updated your friends on your new life, and once again apologized for being an awful friend. Everyone was so happy to see you that it didn't matter anymore.  “You better not leave and go back to ignoring us.” Robin says. --------------------

The sun was setting and the sky grew darker with every passing minute. There is a chill in the air, which makes you shiver when you open the door. Steve drove to the hideout, it wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes away. When Steve pulled into the parking lot, you looked out the window and saw Eddie’s van. He’s already here, and you start to feel a bit anxious. The Hideout had not changed a bit. The neon signs in the window buzzed as you walked inside. Posters, fliers, and rustic decor filled the walls. You hear the low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses, the place has a warm glow to it. You used to watch Eddie play here all the time. It felt like your heart was swelling, it's that bittersweet feeling again. You turn the corner and see Eddie and Gareth sitting in a booth. Eddie waves and one by one you all walk over and pile into the same booth. You sit across from Eddie, you can see his face getting a little red. “You uh…look really good, Y/N.” Eddie says with a half smile. He reaches over and adjusts one of your chain necklaces. Robin sees this and covers her mouth, trying not to laugh at how embarrassed you are. But you had to pull all that on hold for now. Nancy and Johnathan walk up and greet the group. You practically climb over Robin and wrap Nancy in a tight hug. “Oh! Y/N? You’re here?! When did you get into town?!” She asks and hugs you back just as hard. “The other day! It's so good to see you, Nance.” Nancy smiles and fights back tears, she didn't expect any kind of reunion. The thing is, You both grew up together. Your mom was friends with Mrs. Wheeler. You spent a lot of your childhood with Nancy and her brother Mike. When you left, Nancy thought she lost you to the city for good.  “Don’t cry! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.” “They are happy tears, it’s fine. I’m just so happy to see you.” Nancy says between sobs. Everyone in the group is touched to see two best friends reunite. Robin looks like she might start crying too. You give Jonathan a hug as well, It's nice to see him doing well. He wasn't always full of smiles and you’ve wondered how he's been over the years. You remember Jonathan used to take photos of the gang, half of the polaroids you have were probably taken by him. A bartender comes by and takes our order. Eddie ordered whiskey and so did you. Vodka soda for Nancy and Robin, Steve and Jonathan order beers. The clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter, and the subtle hum of the other patrons deep in conversation created a soundtrack to this shared experience. You updated your friends on your new life, and once again apologized for being an awful friend. Everyone was so happy to see you that it didn't matter anymore.  “You better not leave and go back to ignoring us.” Robin says.

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” You reply.Hours slipped away unnoticed as the night unfolded, a mosaic of laughter, camaraderie, and the shared appreciation of the moment. Eddie could help but sneak glances at you, it was hard not to. He’s been trying to keep his cool all night, he had several shots of whiskey to build up some liquid courage. The world outside the café window dimmed as everyone delved into stories and life updates.

Eddie hands you his pack of cigarettes, silently asking if you’d like to go outside with him. You take one and place it between your lips. You and Eddie excuse yourselves from the group and head outside, the cold air sent a shiver up your spine.

“Brr! I forgot how cold it is when the sun goes down. I should have brought a coat.” You offhandedly say as Eddie lights your cigarette for you. Eddie removes his leather jacket, leaving him with a thick black hoodie. He drapes it around your shoulders and you are immediately much more comfortable. Your face gets a little red, he’s always been such a gentleman. You both lean up against Eddie's van. His thoughts are a symphony of emotions, dancing between hope and uncertainty. The evening was filled with a serene ambiance, and even in the quiet moments, you still felt comfort in his presence. “Y/N…” Eddie finally pipes up. “Yeah?” “I think we should talk. Y’know…about where we stand with each other.” Eddie admits. Your eyes widen, this is finally happening. The anxiety sets in and you try to swallow your nerves. Eddie stands in front of you, looking at his feet. “Do you remember, right before you left, that time we got high in my van next to lovers lake?” “Yeah. I do.” You answer quietly. “Do you remember me telling you that no one could ever replace you in my life?” He asks and you nod. You remember it like it was yesterday. It was a sunny day, the light glistening along the top of the water. You and Eddie passed a joint back and forth. You gave him a small wallet sized photo from picture day. “I still have that photo, I keep it in my wallet. You told me to keep it as a reminder, so I don't forget you. The thing is, meeting you was like finding my favorite song in a world full of noise, and I can't stop hitting replay no matter how many times I hear it.” Eddie takes a deep breath. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. You were stunned, absolutely speechless. In that moment, the unspoken became words, there was no going back now. Eddie moves a few inches closer, pinning you between himself and van. Under the glow from a nearby streetlamp, the air was charged with tension. You met his gaze with a gentle smile. Without another word, Eddie cupped your face in his hands. Time seemed to slow down as Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. You kiss him back, It spoke volumes with no words at all. Eddie presses his body against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. You can't stop shaking, your nerves combined with the cold air made it impossible to be completely still. Eddie finally breaks away from you and opens the back doors to his van. “Hop in, you’re freezing to death.” Eddie says, you take his hand as he helps you into the van then he climbs in after you and shuts the door. You take a seat on an upside down milk crate while Eddie starts the car and cranks the heat. You still can't believe what just happened, you’ve only ever dreamed of this moment. Eddie grabs his acoustic guitar and sits on top of a large amp. He took a deep breath, fingers gently caressing the strings of the guitar, and he started to strum. “I feel so stupid for leaving you alone out here.” You say while looking down at your hands. “If anyone deserves an apology it’s you. I just assumed you moved on and didn’t need any reminders.” “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I forgive you.” He chuckles. “Besides, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” You recognize the tune he's playing, you’ve heard it before. “What song is this?” You ask, it's so familiar. “Photograph by Def Leppard.” He answers with a half smile and you smile back at him, your eyes widen as you recall the lyrics. He played this song for you before, but you ant remember how long ago. 

“Y’know, I still haven't figured out how to sit across from you and not be madly in love with everything you do.” You reply, hearing him play was actually really calming, you’ve missed this side of him. The guitar became an extension of his feelings, his voice carrying a sweetness to it, like warm honey. ♫“I see your face every time I dream

On every page, every magazine

So wild and free,

So far from me

You're all I want, my fantasy

Oh, look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown

Oh-oh, look what you've done

Photograph~

I don't want your photograph

I don't need your photograph

All I've got is a photograph

But it's not enough”♫ As the last chord resonated. Eddie sets the guitar against the wall of the van. You spring into his arms, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in his shoulder, you didn't expect to get so emotional. You’re so happy but you still feel so guilty, you question why anyone would leave this feeling behind.

Eddie pulls you into his lap. “Are you crying?! Oh shit, no don’t cry…”Eddie squeezes you a little tighter. “Shhh…it's okay, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, “I love you, Eddie.” The words spilled out.  “I love you too. I’ve always loved you.” Eddie says, when you look back at him he smiles and brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. “Do you want to go back to mine?” He asks, it's like he read your mind. You nod in response and Eddie chuckles. “Let's get out of here.”

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Following the event of the kidnapping of his son, Thomas and the rest of the family learn you have killed a man. Confused and in a state of shock, the Shelbys debate whether or not they should accept you. But while they are debating, you are falling into a pit of anxiety. Now, it's Arthur's time to be there for you.

Words: 6K

TW: Light angst, canonical description of violence, mention of child abuse, smut, unprotected sex, mention of death and torture, trauma talk, fluff, hurt/comfort

Notes:

✞ Admittedly this part is longer than what I planned to do but it has plenty of essential moments and discussions. The next chapter wont be that long. As for the smut part, it is quite long too but it does have a purpose in the story. You can skip it if you want but you'll miss information.

✞ This chapter is complementary to the one-shot From Blood We'll Grow (but no need to read it)

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Thomas Shelby was leaning against the kitchen counter, cigarette hanging in his lips and piercing blue eyes focused on the needle of the pocket watch he was holding in his hand. It would not be long before Arthur and John would come back, consequently he did his best to enjoy the precious quietness of the house before some family chaos. He put the watch back in the pocket of his vest and took a quick look at Polly, Ada, and Michael, who had no other choice but to wait with him. When Tommy demanded a family reunion, every one of them knew they better not missed it. The two women were sitting at the table, a smoking hot cup of tea in their hands. Polly’s dark irises were staring at an invisible spot on the wall in front of her as she lost herself in the meanders of her own thoughts. Contrary to her aunt, Ada could not stay still. She was nervously moving her leg, eyes shifting between her big brother, the clock on the wall, and her own hands.

“Where’s she?!” Arthur’s voice suddenly roared in the kitchen, alongside the loud bang the door made when he almost burst it open.

Here we go, Tommy thought even though his face remain placid. Knowing Charlie was safe at home had extinguished his anger.

“Is she okay?” John asked, sincerely worried for you. As time passed, he had grown fond of your presence more and more. He was out of breath for he had been running behind his oldest brother, trying to catch up with him. When he entered the kitchen, less than one minute after Arthur, he had leaned against one chair with his hands and tried his best not to spit his burning lungs out.

“Calm down, Arthur.” Tommy issued with a neutral voice, looking at Arthur’s face which was distorted with both worry and rage.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Tom! Where the FOOK is she?” At first, Tommy thought his brother was just agitated, but when he saw Arthur coming at him with teeth bared and darkened eyes he understood it was not a simple tantrum. It was fury — the same fury that had pushed him to almost killed the man who had tried to murder Thomas at the horse race, to the point they had to choke him until he almost blacked out just to calm him. Tommy did not falter though and remained motionless.

Witnessing how enraged the oldest sibling was, Polly got up from her chair and grabbed him by the arm.

“She’s fine! I’ve taken care of her myself. She is fine.” Polly repeated louder, hoping her words would overcome her nephew’s terrifying fit. She had barely finished her sentence when Arthur turned his head to her in one vivid movement and growled like an animal. However, his facial expression relaxed a little despite his brows still furrowed and his eyes shooting bullets at everyone he was looking at. Anger was boiling in his veins, fueling his heart that was pumping to the rhythm of his growing anxiety. Breath hitching, teeth still slightly bared, Polly knew his nephew could snap at any moment. She knew he was like a jerrican of gasoline, whose slightest spark could turn into a destructive wildfire, “Arthur, please. She needs you lucid,” She paused and gently tightened her hands around his arm, “She just needs you.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds and inhaled. The gulp of fresh air managed to set his ideas straight — or was it simply because your well-being was more significant than anything else in the world? When he reopened his lids, he gathered all his strength to remain in control of his wild spirit. Another growl escaped from his lips.

“Where is she ?” These were the only words he could utter. Polly took a quick glance at Tommy and sighed. The whole family knew that Arthur, as stubborn as a dog refusing to give its stick, would not let it go. He would remain deaf to any of their explanations as long as he was not informed where his angel was.

“I’ve brought her to your house. I’ve helped her clean the blood from her skin. She was curled up in your bed when I left. See? She’s at home, safe and sound.”

“Hm.” He mumbled with his jaw clenched, right before starting to pace back and forth in the room like a caged lion under Tommy’s undisrupted eyes. The latter cleared his voice to get everyone’s attention.

“I want to know what happened in every detail. Michael?” Tommy’s voice was collected. So controlled and cold his breath almost turned the whole room into a castle of ice and frost. Michael shook his head. The latest events were still stuck on replay in his troubled mind: the sensation of Hughes's skin against his hands made him nauseous each time he thought about it. Even though he took the life of the monster who had robbed him of his innocence, the threatening shadow of the priest still floated above him, waiting for Michael to fall asleep to fill his nightmare with unspeakable and excruciating memories. Hughes was gone, but the wounds were still there, vey much opened. He lowered his head, unable to bear the weight of the family’s eyes staring at him.

“I’ve killed Hughes,” He started his left hand nervously scratching the back of his right one until his skin turned red, “I wanted to grab Charles and bring him home but he was not in there. That’s when I heard a kid screaming and a big thud. When I entered the other room Heaven was—“ He stopped, for he felt the burn of the ravaging fire that was blazing in Arthur’s eyes. The unspoken threat was clear enough for him to understand: he better be careful with the next words that were about to come from his mouth if he did not want the beast to tear him apart.

“She was?” Tommy’s authoritative and slightly impatient tone captured his attention again.

“She was covered with blood, Charles in her arms. She had killed the man who wanted to hurt your son by stabbing him with a pair of scissors. If Heaven had not been there, Hughes’ colleague would have shot me and Charlie down. I saw a gun a few inches from the corpse.”

No one dared to speak now that the facts had been spit, leaving no doubt on your implication in the whole mission. Tommy brought his hands to his face and rubbed it in an attempt to process all the information he had just learned. A part of him could not believe it: how could you so easily kill a man who was almost twice your height and weight? After all, you were such a frail and small creature he had trouble imagining you going feral and butchering someone with the sole strength of your tiny hands. Yet, he knew about the dead you left on your trail when you left France. Five men, his informants told him. Five men were found dead in the forest surrounding the village. The authorities who had reported the crime called it “inhumane”. When Tommy read the case file, his jaw almost dropped at the description of the bodies — these men had not only been murdered, they had been hunted down like animals. While he first doubt the veracity of the reports, today’s events made him realize they were not exaggerated. You were dangerous. As dangerous as unpredictable. And Tommy hated what he could not predict nor control.

“Heaven… killed him?” Arthur asked, thus breaking the silence. He had frozen, turned to an ice statue by Michael’s words. He could not believe it either. How could you, his sweet and holy angel, do such a thing? He swallowed, left utterly speechless and confused.

“She did!” Michael insisted when he saw the doubt on Arthur’s face. Then, he turned to Tommy once again, “I’d be fucking dead if she hadn’t been there. And Charles too.”

Tommy let out a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to kill his dawning headache.

“There was so much blood on her Tommy.”

So much blood, Arthur thought. His mind drifted away from the conversation as he tried to recreate the scene in his head. He imagined you, entering the office bathed in the pale moonlight, crimson ink bringing a frightening touch of color to your snow-white hair and skin. It felt surreal — and exciting.

“I’ve told you she was a fucking curse but no one listened to me. What am I supposed to do for people to fucking listen to me eh? Hear me Arthur?” Tommy’s chilling gaze looked upon his oldest brother.

“You know what? Fuck you, Tom. I’m done.” Arthur’s gruff voice was underlined with an unexpected and astounding calm. He had reached his breaking point, “What are ye gonna do now, eh? Wait, lemme guess. You’re gonna come at me and stand with your bossy demeanor, telling me I need to leave me angel because she’s some kind of psychotic freak to you. Then you’re gonna pat my back and tell me to forget her and that I’ll find a better woman. Maybe buy me a whore. Yes, that sounds like Tommy Shelby.” Arthur shook his head, a sarcastic chuckle coming from his lips, “You tried to make me suspect her, eh. Can't fucking believe it.” He chuckled again, far more nervously this time. “Wanna pull everyone down in your fall, that's what you want. If you can’t be happy no one around you shall be, right?“

“You don’t seem to realize what she did. And she told me to keep an eye on my son. Everyone would have suspected her.��� Tommy retorted, blizzard coating his words.

“But she saved him.” Everyone turned to Polly, whose remark caused Thomas Shelby to grit his teeth. The unpleasant truth felt like nails scratching a board. Except the board was his own bones and the nails his Aunt’s words.

“She risked her own life to save your son even though you had insulted her.”

“Polly, I do like her. But I understand Tommy. She killed someone. You get it? This is not a trivial way to resolve a problem.” Ada intervened, her fingers tapping the varnished wood of the table.

“That’s what we always do, Ada. That’s what I did too.” Polly spoke with indisputable sorrow in her voice, “Whether you like it or not this company’s license is written in blood, and its foundations are made with dead bodies. We are all standing on an empire of silent hearts and maimed flesh.” A fresh nightly breeze went through the open window, caressing Polly’s face and making her short curly hair dance in the wind. The power of her soliloquy tamed Ada’s fierce spirit, “Arthur and John have been killing for this family for years. I murdered Campbell. Regarding Michael — Michael put Hughes down. And you, Tommy, when did you lose count of the men you put to sleep?”

“Fucking right.” Arthur mumbled.

Thomas looked at his aunt with a neutral face, the only detail that betrayed him was the spark of interest shining in his piercing blue eyes.

“Think ‘bout it Tommy. She foresaw Charles’ abduction. And when her powers reached her limits, she had not been afraid to dive her own hands in shit to help us. Don’t you think she has proven her loyalty to this family?”

“She isn’t loyal to us, she is to Arthur.” He corrected.

“It makes little to no difference,” Arthur responded, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, then.” Tommy cut them all off, clapping his hands to close the debate. He had heard enough, “Since we all have different opinions about Arthur’s angel — the sarcasm in his voice was undeniable — we’re going to vote. Arthur?”

“A vote? ‘Bout me bloody life decisions? Go to Hell, Tom!” He roared in response, driven crazy by the fact you were all alone at home, aching and terrified, and that he was not here for you, “She’s the woman I’ll marry. The other half of my soul. You can go all fook off if you don’t accept her in the family.”

“Predictable. Ada?”

“I don’t know. She had been quite extreme and Finn is scared of her. “

“Gonna take this for a negative answer along with Finn’s opinion. I already know Esme’s thoughts on the topic so there are three people opposed to her joining this family and one rooting for it. John?”

John remained silent for a while, his sky-blue eyes staring at Tommy with palpable irritation, “How can you all even discuss the topic? She has done more to take care of Arthur than anyone here in this room.” He walked to his oldest brother and put one hand on his shoulder as a sign of support, “I like her, and she deserves a place in this fucking family, even though she'll soon understand she ain't the curse but this family name is.”

“Michael?” Tommy went on, unmoved.

“I did not really care until now. Don’t really trust the girl but she saved me so… “

“I’ll take that as a yes. And Polly?”

“I know I haven’t been easy with her but it was because I could not sense her intentions. I was afraid she would bring evil forces upon us but she has the gift of healing. My grandmother used to have it, you know, and it runs only through the veins of exceptionally gifted witches. She could be useful, you know. We could benefits from her powers. And tonight…” She took a deep breath, “She saved my son.” The way to a mother’s heart often was her children, and Polly Gray was no exception.

“Three against four. Seems like this whole debate is over, Tom. Now I think I’ve been patient enough with your bullshit. Stop wasting my time while my place is beside her.” Arthur took one last look at his family, fury blazing in his eyes, and left the house, making the whole building shake when he slammed the door close.

“Heaven!”

When Arthur stormed into your bedroom, he was welcomed with the sight of your quivering silhouette standing in front of the window and hugging itself. It felt like a stab in his heart as he was reminded that you had to face the latest events all alone. Worst than this, one of the last things he had expressed to you was a slight doubt about your involvement in Charles’ kidnapping. He had not only been absent, he had also been awful, and God knew how ashamed it made him feel.

“Are you okay?” It did not take more than one second for Arthur to rush toward you and cup your face between his large hands, “Fookin’ hell, angel I’m so so sorry!”

You did not reply but instead stared at his guilty blue eyes with an unfathomable expression on your face. Your silence convinced him you were mad at him.

“They told me what happened and — “

Arthur could not finish his sentence, for your small and cold fists grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in a ferocious kiss. Your lips crashed against his like a rogue wave breaking on the shore and destroying everything in his path.

You pulled away from the kiss, leaving his mouth hanging a few inches from yours.

Arthur, running out of breath, did not move except for his steel blue eyes that looked down at your body. You were wearing nothing but his white shirt adorned with stripes. The garment covered you down your thighs for it was far too large for your tiny being. “Christ,” He whispered to himself, struck by how the vision of you wearing his shirt as only clothes turned him on. His whiskey breath melted with yours, almost intoxicating you in the process as if you had drunk the whole bottle by yourself. But it was not alcohol that was making your head spin, but the instant relief the eldest Shelby gave you by his sole presence. Arthur’s tongue grazed your swollen lips with its tip, desperately hungry for more. He had been waiting to come back to you for countless hours, your face haunting his mind even when he had sent men to Hell in one big explosion. “Kiss me again, please.” He said in a soft but slightly impatient voice. He needed you to kiss him again. He needed to feel you did not hate him for doubting, nor for not having been there to protect you.

But you did not bless him with a second kiss despite the undeniable supplications in his fair eyes and the caress his feverish sighs left on your skin. You stood still, your irises firmly anchored in his for what seemed to be an eternity. Your lips remained sealed but one crystal tear rolled down your cheek.

“Hey. I’m here, love. I'm so sorry for everything you had to do…” Arthur said softly when he noticed you were crying.

No reply came from your tantalizing mouth. You kept staring at him, battling against the flood of emotions that was invading you now that your mind slowly but surely came to realize what happened last night. The blood — there had been so much blood.

“Heaven, talk to me.” He pressed one of his hands on your cheek, the cold silver of his rings alleviating your panic. And then it happened. You snapped out of your torpor all of a sudden and pushed him onto the bed. Arthur’s body fell on the soft mattress, leaving him both speechless and surprised by such unexpected reaction. Eyes wide opened, lips parted, he wondered what would you do such a thing. Did you — reject him?

“I need to forget this awful night.” Your voice was merely a whisper, but the power your words held shook him to his very soul. It was not anger nor resentment that coated your tone but lust. Without shifting your eyes from him, you brought your hands to the large shirt you were wearing and undid the first button, “I have to get it out of my goddamn head.” The way your French accent melted on your words like butter got him all fuzzy and weak.

“You sure, love?” He asked still surprised, taking a deep inhale through his nostrils.

“You have to erase it from my mind.” Your sentence broke up his core.

Arthur bit the flesh of his lower lip in anticipation as he understood what you wanted from him. Somehow, he got it: the blood, the adrenaline, the thrill of the kill… You had to find a way to release the tension. That was what he did with you in the shower last time he bashed someone’s head with his bare fists. Not only he got it, but he was ready to be your cure. His pale irises devoured your silhouette, desire burning within as you started to strip in front of him. You popped the second button with your frail fingers — and he flickered like a candle flame. Arthur’s fists closed on the bedsheet as frustration grew stronger at your languorous movements… And yet, that was the most exquisite form of torture he had ever experienced. He grunted, almost like an animal. If he had genuinely enjoyed the sight of you wearing his shirt, all he wanted now was to tear that bloody thing off you and exposed your naked body for him to see. When you finally popped the last button, a shiver of desire ran down his spine as if someone had just brushed him with the sharp tip of a knife.

The shirt was now open, showcasing more of your appetizing porcelain flesh. With one languid gesture, you let it fall on the floor and disclosed your whole being to Arthur’s starving eyes. The way the pale light of the sun coming through the window’s blinds drew patterns on your silky skin captivated him.

“Oh fuck — love,” His gruff voice said, carried away with a moan. The sensual sight made his whole body react, to the point he was now feeling far too tight in his trousers, and that was getting uncomfortable. Usually, he would not have waited so long for touching you, but today he could not help but admire your wildness. Petrified by a far too eery arousal, Arthur had the impression invisible ropes were wrapped around his body and pinned him to the mattress. He could not move and barely breathe. All he was able to do was to watch you with complete fascination. What stirred such a dizzying and strong effect was not only your angelic beauty, but also the dangerous energy that was radiating off you. This, combined with the few dried blood stains that were still adorning your skin from here and there left him feral. You stepped towards the bed, your hips swinging to the rhythm of your graceful walk. Arthur, hypnotized, swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth dry and his heart racing in his chest. You hopped on the mattress and straddled him. How could such a tiny creature like you hold so much power? He thought. Hell, he could have broken your frail bones so easily with his own hands but here you were, riding him. You. The sweet angel he had met at church.

But you had a twisted something.

And it made him fall even harder.

A twisted something Linda never had nor understood.

Arthur inhaled sharply and growled, realizing you had literally taken his breath away.

“I want you. ” You said with teary eyes.

“So what are you waiting for, love?” His words managed to reach his mouth despite the awe you instilled in him. As he said so, your hands boldly began to explore his chest. The friction of your palms and his shirt’s fabric against his skin unleashed a wave of warmth within. Arthur shivered and watched you, still enraptured, while he let you take control of him. To hell with Tommy’s doubts and the family’s fear, you could pull his strings he would not mind as long as you belonged to him. After you had opened his shirt and exposed his chest, scattered with millions of freckles you often liked to kiss, your fingers made their way down his boiling skin and left frost in their wake. Another gruff moan — you were giving him fever.

Once you reached his waist, you took his suspenders off and threw them somewhere in the bedroom. Arthur replied to your boldness by grabbing your hips with his large and calloused hands — scarred from murder — and by giving them a bruising squeeze. That simple touch, combined with the feeling of his hard shaft pressing between your legs, sent surges of electricity through your entire being.

“Let your man take care of you, eh,” The gravel in his voice made your cheeks burn. He wiped your golden tears with his thumb— as beautiful as they were, he just hated to see them on your pretty face. Somehow, Arthur was well aware he was a high-maintenance man and he could not thank you enough for everything you were doing for him. How many times Linda had told him he wasn’t worth her help? He wasn’t worth saving? He had lost count after a while, but you never did. Unable to wait any longer for your bodies to unite, he then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, those noises bringing goosebumps all over your skin, “there, love.” He softly uttered before pulling his pants down just enough to free his erection. You moved your hips in response, guiding his cock between your wet folds without further ado. Welcomed by your wet warmth, he let out a long sigh of pure delight. Nothing could have prepared him to the all-consuming, almost suffocating desire you stirred in him. Sometimes he wondered if you had cast a spell on him, for no other woman had such an irresistible effect upon him. Each time you touched him, even for the simplest and most innocent interaction, desire and love hit him like a bullet.

“Arthur…” You sighed, as he started to roll his hips under you and push against your entrance with the glistening head of his cock. It was too much for him to wait anymore: all he wanted now was to dive into your flesh and conquer the wild territory of your soul. You gritted your teeth, almost hissing with excitation at the hurricane of sensations that was tearing you apart. You could not wait either, because he was the one who could fill the void. That excruciating and gaping void, as painful as a sucking wound, that had first opened a few years ago when you killed these five men. Oh, don’t get it wrong, they deserved it as much as the priest, but it had left you empty since then— so empty it hurt. But Arthur found you one night, and everything changed. You were his savior, but he was your cure.

“Look at me, Heaven. “ He said, his tone candy-coated with tenderness, for you had lowered your gaze ashamed of your tears. You obeyed and dared to look, your aquamarine eyes shining like precious stones. “The first night you saw me killed a man you told me I was pretty with blood all over my face. I could not fookin’ believe it,” He left his sentence hanging and pushed inside you, his thick cock stretching your walls. You moaned, throwing your head back and closing your eyes at the delightful mix of pain and pleasure.

“Arthur!” You whined, a louder lament escaping from your quivering lips, “I— I remember… ” You managed to answer between two sighs. Speaking became a real struggle as he worked you open, causing heat to pool in your abdomen and blood to rush to your pale cheeks. Arthur gave another thrust, and another, until your hips met and every last inch of his cock was buried deep inside you. Fire spread within his soul and yours when you finally made one — like you were meant to be. “Arthur!“ You repeated in a desperate cry, glistening love juice dripping from your pussy as he started with a quick pace from the get-go. You took a sudden deep breath and opened your eyes wide as if you had suddenly come back to life — because that was the kind of effect he had on you: he made you feel alive. With each push and pull of his cock, he fogged your mind and let you forget all the bad memories.

“F-Fuck!“ Sucking in a sharp breath, he shattered at the way you chanted his name. Head spinning, heart drumming, Arthur could not help but enjoy your beauty — How magnificent you were with your back arching and blissed out. “Well, I see you right now, and lemme tell you…” He panted, forced to make short pauses between his words to let out hoarse growls of pleasure, “You don’t look pretty,” He straightened back up to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapped your waist with his long arms while his hips kept fucking you in a rough pace. The corner of his lips curled in a fierce grin now that he could watch the emotions on your face from far closer, “You look divine with blood stains all over you and my dick deep inside that tight holy pussy of yours.” His words, carried by the gravel of his voice, chased away the sorrow and brought a smile to your swollen lips. As a reply, you kissed him with hunger. Dancing tongues left him breathless, “And now I’m gonna fuck away the pain and fill you with something else than sadness…” He whispered against your mouth before abandoning it only to lay a myriad of enamored kisses on your throat. The way his mustache tickled your skin only strengthened the coiling tension that had formed a knot in your stomach. “Tonight, I’m the one who saves you, angel.”

His thrusts grew faster and rougher as he spoke. To the point you were now bouncing on his lap, the sound of snapping flesh echoing in the whole bedroom alongside your erratic breath, his hoarse moans, and your enchanting cries of pleasure. You felt full and he did his best to keep you so. In fact, he barely pulled his hips back — rather wanting to remain as deep as he could in your oh-so tight pussy, “You’re a good girl, yes you are. The prettiest little murderous thing ever created eh. The fookin’ perfection …” He purred in your neck, and each of his praises made your very soul quiver. His pace soon became frenzied, for he could barely contain himself at the delightful feeling of your fragile walls pulsing all around his cock and the way you almost growled like an animal when he left small bites on your skin. Pleasure was escalating, rattling your bones so violently your nails dug into the freckled skin of his back. Little crimson drops of blood beaded from the kitten scratches your nails left in their wake. The pleasant pain caused him to give you one meaner thrust in response along with a snarl — Fuck, he liked it. His cock twitched inside you, feeling climax building. Clenching his jaws, Arthur reopened his eyes he had closed a few seconds, backed up a little bit from your neck, and stared at you. Yes, he wanted to watch you. His steel blue eyes burnt with a gleam of madness and blazing love, “You’re so fookin’ beautiful eh. Me little angel. Me future wife.” The spectacle of you bouncing on his lap, covered with a thin layer of sweat glistening on your porcelain skin, and your wild ivory mane all messed up was the most magnificent view he had ever seen. Arthur dived one last time inside of you, all the muscles of his body tensing, and he fell apart. He spilled himself in your pussy with a long raspy moan, his half-closed eyes staring at you during his whole orgasm.

“Please don’t stop, don’t stop!” You yelled.

“Such a hungry little angel, eh. Yell louder.” He teased, still high from his little death. His hips jerked, and he released another rope of thick cum, “Come for your Arthur.”

The sensation of his warm semen filling you was the end of you. Your pleasure finally reached its peak as well. Your thighs trembled on either side of Arthur as his hips slowly roll to accompany your climax. Almost blacking out because of the intensity of your orgasm, you let out one final scream and collapsed in his arms, your body limp. Arthur’s hands gently stroked your back. You hugged him tighter in reply, your breasts crushed against his chest, and stars still dancing behind your eyelids. Locked up in a tight embrace, you were both catching your breath and savoring this moment of pure tenderness. How long did you stay here, firmly gripping each other, sweaty and panting, as if your life depended on it? None of you could tell, for you had both lost the notion of time. After a while, Arthur’s back fell on the mattress again and he pulled you with him. You put your head on his chest, closed your eyes, and smiled.

“Feels better, love?” He inquired, concerned about your well-being. His long fingers grazed your back in a lovely caress. Despite you having both come, Arthur stayed deep inside you for he just loved the sensation of your two bodies making one in the most intimate way possible.

“Definitely… “ You sighed in relief, lulled by his presence under, around, and inside you.

“You know, “ He started, “Maybe you would feel even better if you talked to me about that troubled past of yours. We’ve been together for a while so you know I won’t judge, eh.”

You crossed your arms on his chest and raised your head a little to plunge your eyes into his, “Nosey little gangster.”

“Little? Fook me, yer the little one here.” He teased, one brow raised, “You tiny brat.”

You stuck your tongue out as a reply, which made him laugh. Yeah, you were definitely the brattiest angel God ever created.

“I’ll let you keep my shirt if ya tell me. Sounds like a deal, eh?”

“Deal. You’ve won.” You replied, "I like your shirt too much to say no," Truth be told, what motivated you was not really the shirt itself but the fact you were done bearing the weight of your past all alone. In addition, Arthur had always been completely sincere with you from the day you met. He had been true about his demons, his fear, his flaws. About everything. You definitely owed him the truth, “ Alright… I was living a happy little life in the French Alps when Hughes came.” Your smile vanished from your face at the simple mention of his name, as if you had bitten into a pill of cyanide, “He replaced the town’s priest for a few months. We thought it wouldn’t make much difference but we were wrong. No one saw it coming you know? His words were so smooth that almost everyone was hanging onto his sermons. He was the one who spread the rumors witches were hidden among us. And weeks after weeks, the whole town slipped into insanity. Superstition and fear drove them all to accuse friends, family, or neighbors of concerting with the Devil.” You paused and swallowed the lump in your throat.

Arthur gently slipped one of your ivory strands of hair behind your ear, listening to you carefully.

“Five men came into our home one night, and they assaulted my mom, my dad, and my little sister who was sleeping in their bed. It’s true my mom was a witch, but she used her power to heal the ill and the wounded. No one knew the extent of her abilities, they just believed she was a brilliant herbalist… I was in my own bedroom when it happened so the noise woke me up. I wanted to help them but what could a thirteen years old girl could do against all those strong men?” You bit your lip.

“Take your time, love.” Arthur’s fingers lose themselves in your hair in a tender sign of affection and support.

“I escaped by my bedroom’s windows and hid in a bush. They were looking for me, calling me awful names and… Laughing. Yeah, they laughed as if they were having a fucking hunting party, except I was the bloody prey.” You clenched your jaw and frowned, hatred burning in your sanctified eyes, “They took my family away. I followed them discreetly, in hopes of helping them to escape. But I couldn't.” Fighting against your tears, you buried your face in Arthur’s neck. His arms tightened around your frail body in response. He wanted you to know he was there, “They’ve hung my dad. And they sent many women including, my mom and my sister, to the pyre. She was eight. She was just a fucking kid, Arthur.”

“Bloody hell…” Words were at loss at such awful revelations. He hugged you tighter in a reflex, his instincts wanting to protect that poor frightened little girl who was still crying somewhere in your mind. The little girl who never had a chance to heal.

“I still hear her screams at night. So full of agony that it was hard to believe they came from a human being. Her screams haunt me, along with villagers' chants around the bonfires,"

"Their chants?"

"Burn witch, burn witch, burn." You whispered, shaking like a leaf.

“How did you manage to escape?” His gruff and comforting voice asked. You snuggled a bit more in his arms in response.

“I knew the woods by heart. I walked for days to the village that was at the foot of the mountains and knocked on the first door I saw. An old woman used to live there. She took care of me. But as I grew up, I could not heal from that terrifying night. My mind kept replaying the screams, the laughter, and the chants, to the point it almost drove me crazy. I had to do something to soothe the anger that was burning within. So I waited and waited until the time to avenge my family came. I tracked down the five men that broke into our house and took my family. I hunted them like animals for weeks, instilling fear in them, as they did when they were looking for me. And when they finally died, I left France and tried to build a new life here, in Birmingham. Regarding the rest of the story, I think you already know it. I fell for a gangster and here I am. In your arms.”

“Which is exactly where you belong” He corrected. One of Arthur's hand grabbed your chin and gently forced you to look at him, “I am so sorry, love. So fookin’ sorry. But don’t feel bad for the men you killed… They deserved it — just like Hughes and his colleague. An eye of an eye,” His lips kissed your head with indescribable sweetness, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again eh. God forgive but I’ll make this city fucking bleed if someone dares to lay a finger upon you ever again,” His other hand stroke the curve of your hips, “I know no one will replace nor bring back your family. But… You have me,” He said awkwardly. As he did, he very lightly rolled his hips under you, causing you to sigh with pleasure for you had kept him warm and loved between your legs during the whole conversation. “You have me for-fucking-ever. And I’ll do my best to heal the pain and save you from your demons.”

You smiled at him, utterly touched by what he had just said. His promise was like a soothing balm on the gaping wound of your heart, “Am I not the one supposed to save you? ”

“We save each other, love.” He whispered, his lips collapsing with yours in a kiss filled with unspoken promises and undying love.

“I love you.” You mumbled between two eager kisses, barely finishing your sentence when Arthur’s lips captured yours again.

“Not as much as I do, love” He mumbled against the corner of your mouth, his mustache grazing your cheek when he did, because he refused to stop devouring your lips even for one second. The whisky taste of his tongue intoxicated you, making you so dizzy you did not understand how he flipped you on your back. Nor how you ended up gently pinned to the bed, the weight of his body on top of you. But it did not matter. All that mattered was the moment. The soft moans and sloppy kisses. The creaking bed and the endless sighs. You made love again— but this time it was more slow and sensual than earlier.

And late at night, when you finally fell asleep in his loving arms, you did not hear the screams anymore. Nor the evil laughter lurking in the shadows. Quite the contrary, you dozed off with a smile on your face and shooting stars filling your head, lulled by the soothing rhythm of Arthur’s heartbeat. His fire was the only one you would let consume you skin to bones.

He was the gasoline.

You were the match.

And if you both burnt,

The whole world would burn with you.

✞ gif by the talented @alicent-targaryen

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Normally, each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone but not this one. It's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 3 - Plans

So, it appears this story will wind up being 4 chapters long. The final chapter is in the midst of being written.

Fair warning - this chapter also has some rather intense scenes, so if the previous chapter threatened to give you nightmares, as some of you commented (and of which I'm secretly proud), don't read it just before going to sleep!

A huge thank you to my beta @hookedmom, who looked this over despite having just gone through emergency eye surgery for a torn retina. Please send her your thoughts and prayers for a quick and complete recovery. I can't thank @kmomof4 & @motherkatereloyshipper enough for the wonderful pic set. And of course, the mods of @cssns for having this great event.

Please continue to forgive me for any errors pertaining to ghost hunting and being a YouTuber.

Story Summary: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her. 

Rating: T (subject to change)

Words (Chapter 3): 8542

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

Belle put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, while a grim-faced Killian rubbed his hands up and down Emma’s biceps in an attempt to soothe her. Will said bluntly what they were all thinking. “The bloody bastard thinks you’re his and wants to drag you to hell with him?”

Emma looked up at Killian, tears shining in her eyes. “Can he do that? Is it possible?”

“No, Love,” he assured her. “Those movies where you see people being pulled kicking and screaming to the Underworld aren’t factual. He may keep haunting you, but he can’t physically take you somewhere against your will.” He looked at Belle and Will. “I think we’ve all had enough for today. I’m going to walk Emma back to her apartment.”

“We’ll clear things away here while you do that, won’t we, Belle?” Will stated.

She nodded her agreement and rose from her chair, moving to where Emma was slowly standing up, too. Taking her hands, Belle said, “Try not to worry about anything, Emma. These guys are good at what they do and I have no doubt that, in time, they’ll be able to get Neal to move on.” Then she wrapped her arms around the other woman in a warm hug.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. When Belle released her, she turned to Will and said, “And thank you, Will.”

“Yer welcome,” he replied, giving her a quick hug, too. “Like Belle said, don’t you worry ‘bout that git. Me and Kil, we’ll take care of him once and for all. Ain’t that right, Kil?”

“Aye,” Killian said softly, intertwining his fingers with Emma’s. “All you have to do is trust us and give us some time.”

Emma sighed. “I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m ready to get back to my boring, ghost-free life.”

Killian kept hold of her hand to lead her out of the room. Once they left his apartment, they meandered to her door, neither in a hurry to get there. Coming to a halt, he turned and faced her. “Are you going to be alright?”

She shrugged ever so slightly. “Until he’s gone, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder and thinking I hear something. This whole ordeal has made me paranoid and I hate it.”

Nodding in understanding, he said, “I know, and I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’re doing all you can and I truly appreciate it. I guess it pays to have a ghost hunter as a friend, huh?” she said, managing to give him a small smile.

He took a step closer, reaching up to brush some hair over her shoulder. “As I said before, I’m here for you, Emma - day or night. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“You might regret that offer.”

“Never. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t ready to follow up on it.”

Her lips ticked up in another hint of a smile, then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Killian.”

Holding her tightly, he rested his cheek against her silky hair. Having Emma Swan in his arms was something he had longed to do, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity, despite how much he hated the circumstances.

After several long, comforting moments, Emma pulled away, looking up to give him one more grateful smile, before turning and going into her apartment. Killian stood staring at the closed door for a while, breathing a prayer that she would have a long period of respite from the imbecile who had made her life miserable for far too long.

*********

Belle and Will were ready to walk out the door when he returned to his apartment. He bid them goodbye, taking note of how Will slung his arm across Belle’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway.

He knew from experience that going straight to bed following a lengthy review of everything they collected during an all-nighter, wouldn’t result in him being able to fall asleep. Instead, he went through his regular routine of getting something to eat, taking a long, hot shower, and making himself comfortable in loose sleep pants and a well-worn T-shirt. Then he settled into bed on his side, flipping through the pages of a magazine he kept on his nightstand.

His eyelids were just starting to droop, when he felt a familiar sensation. “Liam? Are you there?” he called out.

Sure enough, the apparition of his brother appeared in front of him. “Aye, little brother. I’m here.”

Killian opted to ignore the moniker that irritated him so much. “I was just about to go to sleep. We had an all-nighter at Emma’s apartment last night. Her ex-boyfriend provided us with a lot of stuff to analyze. He’s definitely haunting her, and get this - from what we deciphered, he’s determined to take her with him into the afterlife.”

Liam chuckled. “He hasn’t figured out it isn’t possible, huh?”

“He’s still an idiot,” Killian sighed. “And I hate the effect he’s having on her. Hated it while he was alive and hate it now that he’s…”

“Dead,” Liam finished for him. “You can say the word, you know. It’s not going to bother me. I’m well aware of my state of being.”

“I know, but I’d rather not think of you like that.”

“Killian,” Liam began, and Killian knew what his brother was about to say was serious. He rarely addressed him by his given name. It was almost always ‘Killy’ or ‘little brother’. “You know the day is going to come when I’m no longer with you. I’m going to have to…”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Killian interrupted.

“Well, it’s going to happen, whether you want to face it or not. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you afraid of me moving on?”

“I’m not afraid,” Killian said indignantly. “I just…I don’t want to be left all alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone. You have Will and that lovely lass, Belle…”

“Friends aren’t the same as family.”

“What about Emma?”

“What about her?” Killian hedged.

“If you were to marry her, she would be your family.”

Killian flopped back onto his pillow, hands over his face. “Not this again,” he said, voice muffled. “Why are you so insistent I ask her out?”

“Because I want to know you’re happy before I move on.”

“I’m not unhappy with my life,” Killian defended.

“I never thought my brother would grow up to be a coward,” Liam said.

Killian whipped his hands away from his face and sat up. “I’m not a coward! I have good reasons for not asking her out.”

“Excuses, you mean. You forget that I saw how upset you were every time she went out with someone, and how it tore you apart when she started seriously dating that guy, Neal. She’s a beautiful, fetching woman. Do you think she’s going to remain available until you finally get up the nerve to ask her out yourself?”

Killian didn’t answer, his head bowed and jaw ticking.

“Listen, little brother, I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I love you and only want the best for you. I don’t want to move on without knowing you’re going to be okay.”

“Then don’t move on.”

“Is that one of your excuses for not asking Emma out? You’re afraid I’ll move on?”

Killian looked up at his brother’s translucent form. “That’s your unfinished business, isn’t it? Making sure I have someone here to love so I won’t be alone. That’s why you‘ve pushed me so hard to ask Emma out.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Liam said, his voice fading as it always did before he disappeared. “You might not want me to go, but you need to live your life among the living, not hanging on to me. Think about that. I’ll see you soon, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Despite having gone through his established routine, it still took Killian a couple of hours to fall asleep after Liam left, his words ringing in Killian’s ears.

********

For the next three days and nights, there was no paranormal activity, allowing Emma to have restful sleep. Ruby informed her that the crime lords’ house of cards came tumbling down, and included a prominent judge, who was discovered to have planted a guard in the prison to take Neal out. There were several arrests and it appeared that Neal’s death helped put numerous dangerous people behind bars.

Emma began to hope that Neal’s unfinished business was to see justice done to those who were responsible for his death, and then he moved on. She informed Killian about everything that had happened, enabling him to join her in hoping her encounters with Neal were over.

Everything was beginning to feel almost back to normal, when the nightmares began again. Two nights of feeling as if she was being suffocated left her anxious and exhausted. After the second night, she texted Killian.

E: I thought the nightmares were over, but they came back. I had them for the last two nights.

His response was almost instantaneous.

K: We can do another all-nighter and try to talk to him again, if that’s alright with you.

E: I’ll do anything to get him to leave me alone.

Killian and Will set up the equipment again and were able to capture more light anomalies, evidence of an apparition in Emma’s bedroom and more words on the spirit box which sounded like he kept repeating ‘you’re…mine.’ Killian tried for over an hour to get the spirit to answer questions on the flux, to no avail.

When Emma sent another text stating that nothing changed, Killian and Will set up and ran the equipment for a third time a few nights later. When they arrived at Emma’s apartment to prepare everything, Killian was taken aback at her appearance. Her complexion was sallow, her hair limp and lifeless. Her usually sparkling eyes were sunken and dull, and she told Killian and Will she had taken sick days the last two evenings because she didn’t have the energy to work.

In the midst of them setting up, Emma left to use the bathroom. “I hate to say it, boss, but she looks bad,” Will whispered.

“Aye, she does. We’ve got to get Neal to move on before he completely wears her down.”

“D’ya think that’s what he’s tryin’ to do? Keep comin’ to her in her nightmares to drain her life force, like ghosts sometimes drain batteries?”

Killian’s eyes shot up to meet his assistant’s. “Bloody hell! I think you could be right, Will. I think his intention might be trying to make her so sick she dies, so he can take her with him!”

“Just like he said he’s gonna do,” Will spat disgustedly. “Are ya gonna tell her?”

Killian pondered the question, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t think so. She’s almost ready to break as it is. Knowing our theory about what he’s trying to do might just send her over the edge. We’ve got to give it our best shot tonight to get him to move on. If we’re not successful…”

“We have to be,” Will said decisively.

That night, it was nearly two AM before Emma finally fell into a fitful sleep. Killian was ready with the flux response device as soon as signs of Neal’s appearance were seen and heard through their monitors.

He entered her bedroom, his heart nearly shattering when he saw how she was thrashing about in her sleep, a look of desperate fright on her face. Setting the device on the nightstand with hands that were trembling with rage, he once again knelt beside the bed and began asking questions.

“Are you Neal Cassidy?”

There was a long pause. Just when he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, the green light glowed.

“Do you know you are dead?” Green light.

“Do you know how you died?” Green light.

“Do you still have unfinished business?” Green light.

“Once you’ve completed your unfinished business, will you move on to your eternal home?”

He waited several minutes before asking the question again. As soon as he did, the green light flicked on.

“Is your unfinished business getting justice for your death?” Red light.

“Is it saying goodbye to your loved ones?” Red light.

Killian drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, unwilling to ask the next question for fear of the answer he thought he might get.

“Is it…causing Emma to die?” After several tense moments, the green light lit up.

He cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to talk a spirit out of such an insane idea?

Tasting bile in his mouth, he swallowed hard, then asked, “Do you love Emma?” The response was immediate - a green light.

“Don’t you want her to have a long, happy life?” No response.

He decided to rephrase the question. “Would you rather have her die and be with you than go on living?” Green light.

Sick, selfish bastard.

Killian was done asking questions. He needed to somehow persuade Neal to move on.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and Emma told me she is, too. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the men who caused your death have been arrested and are going to be held accountable. The whole crime ring is toppling and they won’t be able to kill anyone else like they killed you.”

“It’s time for you to move on, Neal. Your plan to take Emma with you won’t work. Look at her.” He gestured to where she lay wrestling on the bed. “All you’re doing is causing her to be exhausted and miserable. She doesn’t want to die…”

His breath was stolen away, as what felt like a cold blast of air passed through him. The room went completely still and he realized Emma was no longer struggling or whimpering. He stood and looked down at her, then sat beside her on the bed, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. “Sleep now, Swan,” he whispered.

He was tucking the sheets around her, when Will cracked open the door and stuck his head in. “I think he’s gone, boss,” he said softly. “All the instrument readings are normal again. Should I pack up, or continue to monitor?”

“Let’s keep monitoring for another hour or so, just to see if he comes back. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Will nodded and closed the door with a soft click. Killian looked down at Emma again, surprised to see her eyes open. Her hand snuck out from under the sheet and gripped his wrist. “Please don’t leave me,” she rasped.

“We think Neal may have moved on.”

“I heard, but I still don’t want to be alone.”

“We’ll stay the rest of the night,” he assured her. “We’ll be out in the living…”

“No,” she interrupted, beginning to sit up. “Stay here with me. Please, Killian.”

Her pleading nearly undid him. He cupped her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. “Alright, Love, relax. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

She laid back down, but didn’t let go of his wrist or close her eyes. “Killian?” she said, her voice smaller than he had ever heard it.

“Aye?”

“Will…will you hold me?”

He blinked, absorbing what she was asking of him. Then he quickly toed off his shoes and laid down beside her on top of the covers. Without hesitation, she moved into his open arms, tucking herself tightly against his chest.

He slid one arm underneath her and wrapped both around her rigid form, murmuring reassuring words into her hair. It took several minutes, but he finally felt the tension begin to recede and heard her breathing deepen and even out.

Will peeked in again. “Do ya want me to turn off the video camera, Kil?”

Killian didn’t turn to look at him. “You can leave it on,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things. You can sleep if you want.”

“Thanks, Will.”

Then, holding the woman who held his heart, he took Will up on his offer.

*********

Emma awoke slowly the next morning, her foggy brain trying to figure out what felt different. When she tried to move and wasn’t immediately able to, she began to panic, pushing at the solid body in front of her.

“It’s okay, Swan. It’s okay,” a deep voice soothed. At the same time she felt the arms around her loosen.

As soon as it registered that it was Killian, she exhaled his name in relief, then said, “You stayed.”

“Aye, Love. Will packed up the equipment and left a couple of hours ago. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Thank you. I haven’t slept that well since Neal...”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian interrupted, making no move to let go of her and get out of bed.

She rested her cheek against his chest again. “Do you…do you think he’s really gone?”

“I told him to move on and that’s when I thought I felt him leave, which the equipment verified. Whether he’s gone for good, though - only time will tell.”

Emma sighed deeply and sat up, running her hands through her unruly hair. “Were you able to communicate with him at all? With that spirit box or flux capacitor thing?”

Killian swung around to sit on the side of the bed, chuckling. “I think you have my show mixed up with ‘Back to the Future’, Swan.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was his turn to sigh. “He did respond to quite a few questions I asked using the flux response device.”

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Are you going to tell me now, or will we watch it on the video later?”

“Um…” Killian stalled, trying to decide which option would cause Emma less pain. He felt her hand on his back and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

“Killian, what aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting on the bed to face her, he forced himself to meet her eyes. “I found out his unfinished business.”

“Which is…?”

His gaze shifted to where her hand rested on the bed. Taking it in his own, he concentrated on their linked fingers. “He’s…he’s, uh, planning to somehow cause you to die, so he can take you with him into the afterlife.”

“What the actual FUCK?” Emma exploded, gripping his hand so hard, he winced in pain. “He…he can’t…can he really do that?”

“It’s unlikely…”

“But not impossible?”

“Look how exhausted you are because of the nightmares. You haven’t even been able to work the last couple of days. Exhaustion can lead to serious illness, so while it’s improbable, it’s not entirely impossible.”

He watched her carefully as she digested what he said. Then she looked at him with glassy eyes and said flatly, “He’s not gone.”

“Emma…”

“No, Killian. I know he’s not gone. He wouldn’t give up that easily. You witnessed firsthand how persistent he was after I broke up with him. He’s obsessed with me, and being dead obviously hasn’t changed that. How am I gonna get away from him? Telling him to move on hasn’t worked…”

“Me telling him may not have worked, but you telling him you don’t want to die might,” Killian said thoughtfully.

“How am I supposed to do that when he only comes to me while I’m sleeping?”

Killian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I wish I had an answer for that. I’ll talk to Belle and Will about it today. Maybe together, we’ll come up with an idea.” Slowly, he stood to his feet. “I should probably go home. Will was going to crash at my place for a few hours, then we were going to review what we collected. Do you want to be there when we do?”

Emma chewed on her thumbnail, pondering. “No,” she decided. “You already told me about his plan. Hearing it once was enough.”

“I understand completely.” He studied her for several moments. “Are you going to be okay?”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “I think so, at least for today. Now that I got some sleep, I should be able to go back to work this afternoon.”

“Alright, then.” He picked up his shoes and moved to the doorway, turning to give her a smile. After he opened the door and stepped through, he heard her call his name. Poking his head back in the room, he asked, “Aye?”

“Thank you for staying with me last night. I just really didn’t want to be alone.”

“It was no hardship at all, believe me. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you figure out anything. Thanks again, Killian. For everything.”

“My pleasure, Love.”

*********

When he entered his apartment, he could hear voices coming from his office. He tossed his shoes in the living room, went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker, then walked down the hall.

He stopped short just before he went through the doorway, catching Will’s words.

“...was wondering if ya might, uh, might be interested in goin’ out with me.”

Killian took a step backward to be sure he wouldn’t be spotted and ruin the moment. There was a short pause, during which he held his breath, hoping that, no matter what Belle’s answer was, Will’s heart wouldn’t get broken.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask,” she said.

“Are ya sayin’ yes?” Will asked, and Killian could hear the nervous hopefulness in his friend’s voice.

“Yes, I’m saying yes,” Belle said with a giggle. “I would love to go out with you, Will.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Killian said, entering the room to see the couple embracing. They turned around to look at him, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“Were you eavesdroppin’ on us, boss?” Will asked. He tried to sound indignant, but was too happy to be successful.

“Technically, it’s my apartment, so I’m entitled to listen to anything going on here.”

“I’m not sure that’s an actual rule,” Will grumbled good-naturedly.

“My home, my rules,” Killian grinned.

“Will tells me you got a lot of responses on the flux overnight,” Belle said, effectively changing the subject.

Killian dropped down into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Aye. Has he told you any of Cassidy’s responses?”

“No, we were just cueing up the video to watch it when you came in.”

“Got sidetracked, huh?” Killian teased.

Belle and Will’s faces both reddened. “Maybe we should talk about how ya spent the night in Emma’s bed,” Will said.

“What?” Belle exclaimed, whipping her head around to look at Killian. “How did that happen?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “After the apparition left, she asked me to stay because she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted me to hold her and the only way I could do that was to lay in bed with her, but all we did was sleep.”

Belle gave him an understanding look. “Poor Emma. Will told me you think Neal’s spirit may have moved on. What do you think? Is he gone for good?”

“Sadly, Emma doesn’t think so, and neither do I. The guy wouldn’t take no for an answer when she broke it off with him, and now that we’ve learned what his plan is, we’re sure he’s not going to give up easily.”

“What’s his plan?” Belle asked.

“Let’s watch the video and you’ll find out,” Killian said, swiveling in his seat to face the monitor.

She nodded and tapped the space bar to wake the computer up, while Will took his place behind her chair. She clicked the play button and they saw Emma’s bedroom on the screen.

“This is just before her nightmare started,” Will said. “We should see evidence of that asshole’s ghost entering the room pretty soon. Pardon my language, Belle.”

“There’s no need to apologize. In this case, I completely agree with that assessment.”

They focused their attention back on the screen, and within a couple of minutes, saw a streak of light appear in the left side of the room. It seemed to pass through Emma’s sleeping form on the bed and they heard her let out a soft cry.

“You’ll see me come in soon,” Killian said.

Sure enough, Emma’s bedroom door opened and he entered with the flux response device. The three of them watched in silence as the exchange between Killian and the apparition took place.

When it ended, Belle paused the video and turned to look at the men, a look of incredulity on her face. “He has no regard for her life or what she wants? And he claims to love her? I think calling him an asshole is being far too kind!”

“Agreed,” Killian said.

“You truly don’t think he’s gone, boss?” Will asked.

“No,” Killian sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “I probably just pissed him off, so he left. I think Emma is going to have to be the one who tells him to move on, but he’s only there when she’s asleep. She can’t talk to him then because in her nightmares, she feels like she’s tied up and gagged. I told her I would ask the two of you if you have any ideas.”

They contemplated for several moments before Will declared, “That’s a head-scratcher. I’ll have to give it some thought, after I get some sleep.”

“I’ll think about it, too,” Belle said. “I just came over this morning to see the new material from last night. I’ve been editing and putting together what we have so far. This is going to be the longest episode we’ve ever had. We might have to split it in two.”

“I hope we won’t have much more to add to it,” Killian grumbled. “I want this to be over, for Emma’s sake.”

*********

Once Belle and Will left, Killian went through his regular routine, but had trouble falling asleep. He was sure it was because he slept for a few hours at Emma’s, added to the fact that he had so much on his mind.

He didn’t have a clue how to solve the problem of getting Neal to leave. Even if Emma was able to talk to him, that didn’t guarantee he would heed her plea. After all, he didn’t listen while he was alive, when she told him to leave her alone.

Killian finally dozed off on his couch late in the afternoon, waking up just after ten PM. After fixing himself a sandwich, he grabbed a beer and wandered back to his office to review some of the footage they had collected, hoping to find something they missed that might spark an idea.

An hour later, he was in the midst of repeatedly replaying the video from the previous night, when a scream caused him to jump, knocking over the nearly empty beer at his elbow. He quickly righted it before it spilled over his equipment, then got to his feet. “Emma,” he gasped, once his brain registered what he just heard.

He took off running through the apartment and was halfway out the front door, before realizing he needed the key for Emma’s apartment. Spinning around, he skidded into the kitchen, yanked open his junk drawer and began digging through it.

“Fuck!” he cursed, flinging miscellaneous items onto the counter as he searched frantically. Finally locating the key, he dashed out the door and over to Emma’s apartment. As he fumbled with getting the key into the lock, he heard another scream.

Once he got the door open, he ran to her bedroom to find her splayed out on the bed, her head agitatedly rolling from side-to-side, arms and legs thrashing about. She was choking out moans that were heartbreaking to hear.

Killian had purposely kept himself from touching her while they were recording, knowing it could awaken her and ruin chances of getting usable information. This time, however, he ached to bring her out of the nightmare that seemed to be causing her so much pain.

He shouted, “Swan! Emma! Wake up, Love!” then sat on the bed, grabbing both of her shoulders.

As soon as he touched her, a strange sensation that felt like a slight electrical current passed over him and his eyes slammed shut. When he tentatively opened them a few moments later, he was shocked to find himself in an alternate reality. He was able to see things fairly clearly, but it was like looking through a textured glass. Everything looked slightly distorted, as if he was in a Salvador Dali painting.

As the shock began to wane, he looked around and spotted Emma standing mutely in front of him. She was facing away from him, but he could tell by her slumped form, she was debilitated. He called out to her, but she showed no signs of hearing him. He moved until he was facing her. She stared blankly off into space and he realized she was in a trance, unable to respond.

Then he heard someone speaking, chanting something over and over. Concentrating harder, Killian was able to make out the words.

You’re mine, Ems.

You belong to me.

I’m taking you with me.

You’ll be happier with me.

Just let go of your sad, lonely life and come with me.

Neal Cassidy, the selfish son of a bitch, was holding Emma captive in her nightmare, trying to coerce her to end her life and join him.

Killian became enraged. “Emma!” he hollered, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. “Don’t listen to him! Wake up and come back to me!”

Suddenly, Neal’s apparition appeared over Emma’s shoulder, teeth bared and eyes blazing. “You can’t have her!” he screamed maniacally. “She’s coming with me! She’s MINE!”

“Leave her alone!” Killian replied. Judging by Neal’s reaction, he realized that, unlike Emma, Neal could hear him. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to come with you? She has a life and wants to keep living it!”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! I want her and I’ll have her!”

“Stop torturing her, you sick bastard! You’re dead! Move on!”

With a primal screech, Neal came at Killian, circled around him, then flew off and disappeared, trailing a string of expletives behind him.

Silence descended and Killian blinked, finding himself once again in Emma’s bedroom, still grasping her shoulders. Her body was unmoving, but her eyes remained tightly closed, giving her face a pinched, pained expression.

“Swan,” he said, gently shaking her. “You can open your eyes now. Your nightmare is over.”

Slowly, her face relaxed and, at last, she was looking at him. Then, she was in his arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he crooned, as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Love.”

“Wh- how…oh, how are you here?” she asked, voice breaking with emotion.

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I heard you scream, so I used my key to come in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here,” she cried.

Killian pulled her into his lap so he could hold her more tightly. Her sobs gradually lessened and her body sagged against him. “I…I can’t take this much longer,” she whispered.

“I know, but you have to stay strong. We’re going to get this figured out, I swear.”

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Because he’s twisted and demented. I told him you want to keep living your life, but he said he doesn’t care what you want…”

She pulled back to look at him. “He talked to you? You mean through that flux thingy?”

Killian could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t the way he planned to tell her. He was hoping to have time to prepare her before he told her about his experience.

Reaching up to rub a finger behind his ear, he explained haltingly, “I, um, when I came into your bedroom, you were thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm you by putting my hands on your shoulders. When I touched you, I was…I was drawn into your nightmare somehow. I could see you and talk to you, but in your dream, you were in some sort of…trance. It was like you were frozen. You couldn’t respond to me.”

He paused and swallowed hard at the look of absolute shock on her face. Her mouth hung open, her breathing labored. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Neal…he…his spirit…was there. We could see and hear each other. He was…he kept trying to get you to go with him. He was completely unhinged. When I told him to leave you alone and move on, he screamed and vanished, but I…I’m sure he’s not going to give up.”

“You…you were in my nightmare? How the hell were you able to do that?”

“I don’t really know,” he confessed. “I…I’ve always had a…an ability to sense paranormal activity. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but maybe that has something to do with it. I’ve never been able to be immersed into a dream like that before, though.” What he was thinking, but wasn’t going to say, was that his emotional connection to Emma might have something to do with it.

She heaved a sigh and rested her head against his chest. “Why did I ever get involved with that idiot? I have such terrible taste in men.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“Well, when I do, I can just imagine how it’s going to go. ‘I’ll marry you, but oh, by the way, I’m being haunted by my jackass ex-boyfriend, so there’s that’.”

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. “At least you still have your sense of humor, Swan.”

Suddenly, she sat up straight. “Wait a minute. If you were able to get into my dream, couldn’t you do it again and figure out a way to break me out of that trance? Maybe that’s why he keeps hanging around - because I haven’t been able to respond to him. If I can, I’ll tell him there’s no way I’m going with him.”

Killian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. “I suppose it’s worth a try. I wonder if Cassidy is somehow causing you to fall into a trance to make brainwashing you easier. Perhaps if I’m here with you from the very beginning of your nightmare, I can prevent that from happening.”

“You would be willing to do that?”

“Of course, Emma. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. I would have to stay here overnight, though. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You stayed last night and were a perfect gentleman.”

“Well, I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered a bit. “The thing is, I don’t have a nightmare every night. I’m sure Neal is the source of them and if he doesn’t show up, I might get a good night’s sleep.”

“I understand. With your permission, I’ll plan on being here every night until we have a chance to test our theory.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“I am,” he assured her. “The way he took off, I really don’t think he’ll be back any more tonight, though.”

She nodded and climbed off his lap. “I’ll let you go home and get some sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”

Killian stood up, turning to face her. Unable to help himself, he cupped her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll plan to be here tomorrow night. If you need me before then, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Killian,” she said. “You’re such a good friend.”

He fought to keep the smile on his face, deflated that she obviously only thought of him as a friend. “Goodnight, Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once he got back to his apartment, he went through his nightly routine and went to bed, where he lay wide awake, thinking about all that transpired at Emma’s. He had just decided to take his mind off of it by going into the living room to watch TV, when he heard the familiar sound of Liam’s voice.

“Greetings, little brother.”

“It’s pretty late for a visit from you,” Killian commented, sitting up in bed.

“Sometimes I pop in to see if you’re awake.”

“You mean there are times I miss visits from you because I’m asleep?”

“I always come back the next day. Why are you awake tonight?”

Killian pushed a hand through his hair. “Something really strange happened tonight and I’m trying to make sense of it.”

Liam’s apparition moved closer, but didn’t touch Killian. In the past, if he came in contact with his brother, it caused an uncomfortably cold chill. “You look very shaken. Can you tell me about it?”

“Last night, Will and I were doing another all-nighter at Emma’s…”

“That wanker’s ghost is still giving her trouble, then?”

“Aye, but I was finally able to get some answers from him on the flux response device last night. Basically, he admitted that he wants Emma to die so he can take her with him.”

“That’s nigh impossible, isn’t it?”

“He’s causing her to have nightmares and she’s utterly exhausted. You should see her, Liam. She’s still beautiful, but him haunting her is wearing her out physically, mentally and emotionally. She had to take a couple of days off work because she has no energy. If this keeps up, I’m afraid she’s going to end up becoming very ill.”

“Which could lead to…”

“Please don’t say it,” Killian interrupted. “I don’t even want to think that way. Anyway, I tried to tell him he needs to move on and I felt his spirit leave the room. When Emma woke up, she asked me to stay with her.”

“Don’t tell me you refused, little brother.”

“Of course I didn’t. She needed me, so I stayed the rest of the night. And before you ask, yes, I was in her bed, and no, nothing happened, except that we both got a good night’s sleep.”

“Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have insisted on you being such a gentleman.”

“Do you wan’t to hear the rest of the story, or not?” Killian asked peevishly. “You’re never here very long and if you keep interrupting, I won’t be able to tell you everything.”

“Sorry,” Liam said, making a circling motion with his finger. “ Continue.”

“I told Emma about Neal’s plan. She was understandably upset, but being the brave lass she is, she carried on with her day and so did I.” He ran both hands through the sides of his hair again, tugging slightly on the ends. “Then around eleven tonight, I was doing some work in my office when I heard a scream coming from Emma’s apartment. I ran over there and let myself in. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and when I grabbed hold of her to try to wake her up, I was pulled into it.”

“Into what?”

“Her nightmare. I could see her, but she couldn’t see or hear me. She appeared to be in a trance-like state. Neal was there and he could see and hear me. The two of us had a bit of a row and he took off in a rage.”

“He moved on?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s a stubborn S.O.B. and he’s determined not to move on without Emma.”

“That was the strange occurrence you mentioned?”

“That was part of it. I told Emma what happened, which came as a shock to her, of course. Then she had an idea. She wants me to try to get into her dream again, to break her out of the trance somehow. That would give her a chance to convince Neal to move on.”

“Will you be able to do it? Get into her dream again, I mean.”

“I don’t even know how I did it tonight. I guess touching her had something to do with it, combined with my abilities with paranormal phenomena. I’m hoping being with her from the onset of her nightmare will allow me to keep her from being put into a trance.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Liam asked. “Do you have a plan B?”

Killian shrugged. “Not really. Shouting at her and snapping my fingers in front of her face didn’t have any effect on her.”

“Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.”

“You’re hilarious, Liam. And also not very helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. True love’s kiss is supposed to be strong enough to break any curse.”

“Yeah, in fairy tales. In case you’ve forgotten, this is real life,” Killian grumbled.

“I guess I’ve been dead too long to remember what real life is like.”

Killian looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, brother.I was only joking. Think about what I said and tuck it in your pocket for a backup plan.”

Liam’s voice was fading fast and Killian knew his time with his brother was coming to an end. “I’ll try it if I’m desperate enough. Thanks for your help, Liam. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t need me. You’re smart enough to figure it out by yourself. I have to go, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Then he was alone in his bedroom again, thoughts swirling even more than before his brother’s appearance. Giving up on trying to go to sleep, he tossed back the covers and went out to the kitchen. After getting a glass of water, he settled on the couch and flipped on the TV.

He had just selected a crime drama show to watch, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His brow furrowed, wondering who would be texting him this late. Picking it up, he saw a notification from Emma.

E: You asleep?

Quickly, he typed a reply.

K: No, I can’t turn off my brain.

E: Lol. Me neither.

K: Do you want to talk?

E: Maybe. Do you mind if I come over?

K: Not at all.

He had just gotten the door unlocked, when there was a light tapping on the other side. He pulled it open to reveal Emma, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? It is nearly 1:30 in the morning.”

“I’m sure. I was getting ready to watch a show. Do you want to watch it, or would you rather talk?”

She shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood for television.”

He picked up the remote and hit the power button to turn it off. “Can I get you something to drink, or a snack, or both?”

“Water would be great. Do you have any Cheez-its?”

“I always have Cheez-its, because a certain neighbor of mine is obsessed with them.”

As he turned to head into the kitchen, he heard her call after him, “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He returned moments later to find her sitting with her back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out in front of her. He handed her the water, set the box of snack crackers on the coffee table, then sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

She moaned as he pulled her bare feet into his lap and began massaging them. On the odd occasion when she worked an afternoon shift at the hotel and later they shared a pizza over a movie, he found that she adored foot massages. As he rubbed and kneaded every part of her delicate feet and ankles, she purred like a contented cat, proclaiming his hands to be magic. He loved giving her those moments of pleasure and longed to use his magic hands on other parts of her enticing body.

She took a drink of water, set the bottle down and picked up the box of Cheez-its. Popping a couple into her mouth, she offered him the box, but he shook his head. “Suit yourself,” she said. “More for me.”

The room was quiet for several minutes, save the crunching sounds Emma was making.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“You just did.”

“Haha, funny guy. Earlier tonight, you said you’ve always had a gift for sensing paranormal activity. How did you figure out you could do that?”

“When I was a young lad, my mother found me talking to someone she couldn’t see. She thought I had made up an imaginary friend, and didn’t think much of it. Small children do that, you know. But one day I asked her why our neighbor, Mr. Shaw, always looked so sad, didn’t bring us sweets anymore, and entered our flat through the wall. I was shocked when she said he had passed away, because I could clearly see him.”

“Did she figure out that you were seeing a ghost?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know after that, whenever she heard me talking to someone whom she couldn’t see, she would ask who it was. Several times, it was a person who recently died. Sometimes she would see me staring off into space and ask if I could see someone. She never made a big deal of it, just treated it like it was a normal thing. When she passed, I saw her soul leave her body and drift upwards. By that time, I had realized my ability wasn’t normal, and at that moment, I was very glad I had it. That way I could tell my brother Liam she went to Heaven.”

Emma leaned forward to rub his shoulder. “That must have been very special, but also terrifying.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“If you can see ghosts, why do you have to use all of that equipment?”

One hand moved from massaging her feet, to scratch behind his ear. “It seems that I can only see them if I have a close connection to them. Mr. Shaw, our babysitter Mrs. Lucas, Mum, Liam…”

“How long ago did Liam die?” she asked solemnly.

“He was killed six years ago.”

“So his spirit appeared to you after he, um, passed away?”

Killian nodded, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Did you get to see his spirit move on to Heaven, too? Like you did your mother’s?”

He began massaging her feet again as he contemplated how to answer. He had never told anyone about being able to see and speak to his brother’s spirit, but now that he’d told Emma this much…well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“He, uh, he hasn’t moved on yet.”

She sat up a little straighter. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” he began, then looked up to make eye contact with her, “he still comes to see me.”

Her eyes widened. “He does?” She started looking around the room, “Is he here right now?”

“No,” he chuckled, a bit relieved she seemed to take it so well. “He drops in sporadically, but can never stay long.”

“Why not?”

“I think it takes a lot of his paranormal energy to appear and talk to me and…”

“He talks to you, too? Do you have to use your equipment to hear him?”

“No, I did originally buy it to communicate with him, but he was able to figure out a way to actually talk to me. I think he somehow channels his energy to do that, so it gets sapped quickly.”

“The fact he hasn’t moved on means he has unfinished business, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Killian dropped his eyes once again, rubbing his thumb along the arch of her foot. “He’s always been my protector. He won’t move on until he knows I’m happy,” he answered, a bit vaguely.

“You seem happy to me.”

He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have friends and a job I really enjoy, so I’m content.”

“Being content isn’t the same as being happy,” Emma pointed out.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed. “But it’s not as if I’m unhappy.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready for him to move on?” she asked quietly.

He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him out to be incredibly selfish. “After Mum died, Liam was my only family. Our father deserted us when I was a baby and we never saw him again. After I lost Liam, I was a mess. I moved to the United States because I thought getting away from where I experienced so much sadness would help. It did, to a certain degree, but when Liam started making appearances, I guess I became somewhat dependent on him again. I just…I don’t want to be by myself.”

“But you have people who care about you, Killian. You have Will, Belle…”

“You?”

She smiled. “Yes, me. I think this whole experience with Neal has made us closer, don’t you?”

“Well, nothing draws people together better than trying to get someone’s ex-boyfriend’s ghost to move on,” he quipped.

They fell quiet for a while as she munched more Cheez-its and he continued lightly rubbing her feet. “Can I ask you something else?” she finally said. “And don’t say I already did.”

He laughed. “Sure.”

“I don’t claim to know everything you do all the time. I try not to be a nosy neighbor, but it seems like you never…go out with anyone. On a date.”

The tips of his ears felt like they were burning. “I, uh, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the chipped red polish on her toe nails.

“I mean, I bet you could have just about any woman you want,” she added.

His heart began hammering so hard, he was sure she could hear it. “Why do you say that?” he blurted out.

“You’re a great listener, very sweet and helpful, easy on the eyes…and you give great foot massages. What’s not to love?”

Her choice of that phrase made him swallow hard. “Perhaps, like you, I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Or… maybe I just haven’t worked up the nerve to ask her out.”

Her brows rose. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind.”

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

*********

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[mistress-ofmagic]

Around the Realms in 80 days - chapter 21

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.

Notes:

Hi!!! Hope you are doing well! I don't have much to say here for once other than the fact I really loved writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it! This is my longest chapter to date standing at just over 5000 words so it has taken me a while! Please let me know what you think as all your comments mean the world!

Read this story on a03!

find all parts to this story on Tumblr here:

Your eyes flickered open. The world was moving fast in bright colours around you. You were vaguely aware of being in someones arms as you travelled through the rainbow tube. You tried open your mouth to speak but you blacked out again.

                                                                            ***

This time when you woke, you woke lying in a bed in the middle of a small room. Your eyes felt heavy, and difficult to open. You just wanted to go back to sleep but there was someone saying your name. 

“How are you feeling?” It was a man’s voice you didn’t recognise. 

“Hm.” You grunted. You mouth felt dry and strange to use. 

How were you feeling? Tired mainly but your torso ached and it felt like there was a heavy weight on your chest. 

“What would you give the pain out of 10?” 

In your state you thought it was a stupid question. You were too tired to concentrate on anything, you couldn’t even open your eyes, never mind try to think critically about pain. 

“It hurts. Like an 8.” You croaked out.  

“Okay. I’m just administering oxycodone, it’s a strong painkiller.” 

You didn’t care if he was administering orange juice, you just wanted to sleep. 

“What is it now?”

“A 6?”

You weren’t completely sure there had been any difference but you wanted to be left alone. The man checked in a couple more times but soon he left you to sleep. 

You spent the next few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, barely aware of your surroundings. Your thoughts meandered through your brain like clouds; never able to catch one and hold onto it for long. You were vaguely aware of people coming in and out to check on you, but you were never sure who or for how long they were there. 

Eventually you came round to keep your eyes open for long enough to notice the dark haired, blue eyed man sat on the chair next to you watching you closely. 

“You’re alive” He spoke matter of factly.

“So they tell me. Don’t get too excited.” 

You blinked heavily becoming more aware of your surroundings. You had an IV tube coming out of the cannula in your left hand and a thin oxygen tube in your nostrils that itched if you thought about it too much. You were donning a sexy hospital gown and were tucked under thin blankets. 

“What hospital is this?” You asked. 

“You’re in Stark Towers.” Loki said, grimly. “They have some wards here, free health care for Stark employees.”  Loki sniffed. “The care would have been better on Asgard.” 

“I’m not so sure Odin would be best pleased with that.” 

Loki didn’t disagree. 

He continued to stare at you, not exactly friendly.

“What?” You grunted, your voice still hoarse.

“What?” He parroted, “What?” His voice started to raise, “You’re lucky you are not dead you wretched girl. If you were not in so much pain right now…”

“Yeah well you’re lucky to be alive too! You’re welcome by the way Jesus, next time I won’t bother.” You were in pain and irritated. 

“Good, you shouldn’t.” He spat. “ I don’t think you realise… you could have died! I could have lost you.”

You both looked surprised at his admission. His eyes wide and mouth open slightly as if he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth.

“Well, I’m still here.” You said in a small voice. 

Loki sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He looked almost as tired as you felt, with dark circles under his eyes and unkempt hair. 

Your torso continued to hurt and you knew that if you tried to sit up it would be worse so you didn’t bother. After all that drama you felt exhausted.

“I apologise, I shouldn’t have raised my voice, not when you are in this condition.”  He breathed. “We can talk about this later.”

There was a few moments silence before you decided to change the subject. 

“What happened after I fell?”

“I took you back via the Bifrost.”

“And the Fire demons?”

“Thor and the others came out on top mostly, but we didn’t learn as much as we hoped.” He sighed. 

“Actually…” You repeated back the conversation you had with the fire demon who had cornered you. 

Loki looked thoughtful.

“I wonder what they’re using humans for.”

Your mind flicked back to that conversation which had resulted in you shooting the demon. 

You shuddered.

Loki quickly switched his attention back to you,

“Are you cold?” He asked, sharply. 

“Er, no.” You ignored the strange feeling in your stomach that arose due to his consideration, a feeling that had nothing to do with your injures. 

Loki was still staring at you and you signed, 

“I guess I feel bad about…hurting that fire demon.”

Loki continued to stare at you, unnerving you slightly. 

“Well,” You huffed defensively “What if he was married? What if he had tiny fire demon babies and enjoyed going to see fire demon movies at the pictures on weekends and I just…”

His eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted into a smile.

“Stop laughing at me, sorry I’m not a cold blooded killer like you.” You turned your face away from him.

Loki signed and looked at you amused. 

“You’re sweet.”

You turned back to him to scowl. A rare compliment from Loki and you were outraged. 

“I’m not sweet, fuck off.” 

He laughed and then spoke, seriously, as if just remembering again why you were here in the first place. 

“You saved my life.” This time he didn’t say it angrily.

“Yeah well, we all make mistakes.” You brought the tone back to being lighthearted. 

There was a pause for a moment and then Loki said, 

“Fire demons don’t get married and have babies, or go to the theatre.” 

You turned back to face him, still scowling. 

“Well” you spluttered “then how are they created?”

“They’re formed, where the volcanic ash meets the flowing lava in the core of Muspelheim. Some say they are all the offspring of Surtur.”

“Huh.” You let this information sink in. “All of them his offspring? Gets around a bit then doesn’t he, ol’ flame breath.” 

“Alas, I see you are back to your normal self.” 

You managed to crack a smile and then frowned thoughtfully. 

“What was that thing Surtur was talking about rag-thingy?”

Loki sighed and rubbed his head, “Ragnarok.” He spoke slowly. “The destruction of the cosmos and everything in it.” 

You took a second to take this in.

“Not to sound stupid but like…why would Surtur want to even cause that?”

He gave you a slide glance. 

“Its written in the prophecy that Surtur would bring about the ending of the realms, nothing left but the void. Then, in its place, a new, better world would emerge lead by superior beings.”

“Sounds kind of like a message a cult would try and push. And Surtur’s okay with dying if it means fulfilling the prophecy?” 

Loki gave a half shrug,

“Perhaps he thinks he will survive to lead as the superior being or perhaps he feels driven to simply fulfil his prophecy, who can tell.”

“Well the other realms will want to stop this right? He won’t be able to go ahead with it?”

To your surprise Loki continued to look grim. 

“It is like you said, some believe it is a mere fairytale, told as fiction or believed by an insolent few with nothing better to believe in. Would your people believe this?”

You shook your head, as you said before, it sounded like a stupid cult. 

“Other versions of the story talk of the destruction of the Aesier Gods and the rise of the new Gods and there are many who would wish for this to come to fruition, and rather than stopping it would help enable it. I believe Surtur would work with anyone to help him bring about Ragnarok.”

Your eyes felt heavy again. The conversation had been an exhausting one and despite the fact you should be horrified, you mainly just felt sleepy. Loki noticed your fatigued state.

“You should get some rest. The doctors say that you will be very drowsy after the strong medication you have been given.” 

“Thank you nurse Loki.” You yawned. 

You were out before you could catch his reply. 

                                                                             ***

The next time you work up, Loki was still sat in the chair next to you, squinting and looking irritated while he was apparently watching Ice Age 2 on the television. 

“You’re still here.” You blurted out, surprised. 

Loki glared at you, “I can leave if you’d prefer.” He said, affronted. 

“No.” You said too quickly, his expression turning to one of surprise. “What I meant is…I was just surprised that’s all. I assumed you’d have better things to do than sit with me while I fall in and out of sleep, I’m not exactly much company. 

“I grew up with Thor, believe me this is much more preferable company.” He turned back to the TV.

“How are you finding Ice Age 2?” You asked. 

“Pitiful. Is this really what Midgardians see as entertainment?”

“Hey, this is a classic.”

He gave you a disparaging look as the nurse came into the room.

“Ah good, you’re awake. How do you feel?” She shot a couple of anxious glances towards Loki but to your surprise didn’t react too adversely to his presence. 

“Tired still.” You said truthfully.

“The aesthetic will make you tired, it can take 24 hours for the effects to wear off so you are likely feel fatigued for a while. Now you are awake I can take your oxygen tube off.” 

She bent down to do so and you were grateful for the relief from the itchy feeling of the tube. 

“You should try and eat and drink something.” She advised you.

Ugh, the thought of food made you feel sick. She saw the look on your face and said,

“I’ll bring you something light, make sure you keep drinking through.” She indicated to the jug of water next to you.

“Here, let me sit you up a bit.” She pressed the button on the side of the bed and raised the back so you were sat instead of laying. 

You pushed yourself up higher and cringed in pain at the feeling of moving. 

“Are you okay?” Loki asked, quickly. 

“Fine just hurts.” You winced. 

Now that you were sat up, and feeling more awake, the nausea kicked in much heavily. You took a tiny sip of water and felt worse. 

The nurse popped out the room and brought back some crackers, laying them next to the water. You eyed them, grossed out by their presence. 

“I’ll come back to check on you later.” She said pleasantly and then left. 

You closed your eyes again and tried to fight off the feeling of nausea. 

“You should eat something.” 

You didn’t reply you were busy focusing very hard on not being sick. 

“You should eat something.” Loki repeated.

“Yeah thanks.” You mumbled non-committally. 

Loki tutted angrily. “Do not make me repeat myself a third time. Do you want me to feed you like a babe?”

You cracked an eye open. 

“Er no, no one wants that.” 

“Well then eat something you silly chit.” 

“You’re so pushy.” 

Unfortunately, opening your mouth to speak triggered your gag reflex. 

Loki jumped in his chair and moved his arms as if he was about to touch you and then thought better of it. 

“Can you get the nurse to bring me a sick bucket.” You moaned. 

“Right.” 

He disappeared out of the room for a moment and came back with some disposable sick bowls that you always thought looked like cardboard hats.

“Here.” He passed you the bowl.

You sat yourself up higher and resumed the “I’m going to be sick” position over the bowl. Loki still hadn’t left and you side eyed him. 

“Can you go please?” You gagged again. 

Even in your state, you had enough pride to not want a God watching you as you threw up.

“Nonsense.” 

To your surprise, Loki stepped towards you and gently moved your hair so it wasn’t in your face. 

“I have seen worse things than an ill maiden.” He spoke softly. 

Ugh, fine, you thought. If he wanted to stay for the show so be it, you couldn’t be bothered arguing. Nor did you have time as it turned out as you expelled the contents of your stomach. 

Loki passed you some tissue to wipe your mouth with. You groaned and lay back as the nurse came and took the bowl away, giving you a fresh one. 

The aesthetic and painkillers unfortunately did not agree with you, and you threw up a few more times. Loki continued to stay with you, despite the fact that you doubted Asgardian Gods regularly nursed over humans. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled grimly as he took away one of your sick bowls. 

“You have thanked me nearly ten times now mortal, stop it or I will shut your mouth for you.”

“I am thankful though, you really didn’t have to stay.” 

Loki didn’t reply but brought you back another bowl and sat close to you. 

“This is humiliating.” You moaned. 

“There is nothing humiliating about being ill. Mortals still have such old fashioned ideas about modesty.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. You have probably never done anything humiliating in your life.” 

Loki gave a little snort but didn’t reply. You stared at him with your eyes narrowed. 

“Go on then, what is the most humiliating thing you have done?” 

Loki looked at you, unconvinced. 

“You’ve just held my hair back while I was sick, you owe me one humiliating story. Also I saved your life so.”

Loki rolled his eyes. 

“You’re always going to use that as a bargaining chip to get what you want, aren’t you?” He said dryly. 

“Hm. Now spill.” 

He took a deep breath in.

He spoke slowly, “A couple of hundred years ago I…I slept with Fandral.” 

You stared at him, your mouth opened slightly and eyes widened in surprise. You really hadn’t expected him to say that, you thought he would say something like “once I tripped up in front of the royal council” or “one time Thor left me with a black eye.” 

He met your gaze, waiting for your reaction. 

“What was he like?” You asked.

He gave you a little flick on the nose.

“Ow. I’m being serious Loki. Fandral is a good looking guy. Sleeping with a good looking guy isn’t humiliating. That’s like me saying oh this one time I won an award for being the too sexy and hot, it was so embarrassing for me.” 

Loki ignored you and continued to look like he’d sucked a lemon. “They were dark days.” 

“We’ve all slept with someone we don’t like as a form of punishment.” You paused, “Thanks for telling me, I know it meant a lot to admit that.” 

He gave a tight smile.

“Don’t get too used to it mortal. I merely told you to stop you from winging about being embarrassed from throwing up in front of me.�� 

You spent the rest of the day flitting in and out of sleep, Loki beside you the whole time. You were to be kept a close eye on to ensure you were okay to be discharged so you stayed the night. To annoyance, Loki was asked to leave the ward at night. You persuaded him to go and get some rest and get a fresh pair of clothes and with great reluctance he agreed. 

That night, you dreamt you were back on Muspelheim fighting fire demons. This time, when you tried to run to save Loki your legs wouldn’t move and you had to watch on as one of the demons took him down. The next time, Loki was completely blue and he was the one attacking Thor and the others while you tried to get to him. 

You woke up abruptly, in a cold sweat and alone in your hospital bedroom.

Until now, you had completely forgotten about Loki’s skin turning blue and cooling your burns down. How could you have forgotten that? Was that part of Loki’s magic skills or something else? You were going to have to ask him about it when he visited later. Assuming that he did visit later of course, he had been there for the full day before he might decide his caring duties were finished. You closed your eyes again and managed to get back to sleep.

In the morning the nurse had brought you something to eat, which you managed to keep down. After she’d helped you to use the facilities you were sat up feeling a bit brighter now the aesthetic had worn off and watching day time T.V.  

The door swung open but it was Thor that tipped into your room looking somewhat sheepish and holding a big bunch of flowers. 

“You’re awake!” He greeted you, and planted a kiss on your cheek. 

“Thor! Thanks for the flowers.”

Seeing Thor, future king of of Asgard stood in your small room with the largest bunch of flowers you’ve ever seen felt very strange somehow, as if he didn’t quite fit the space he was in. 

“Er, sit down.” You indicated to the chair Loki had been residing in after a few moments of him stood awkwardly at the foot of your bed. 

He plonked himself in the chair and then said, rushed,

“Latte, I cannot apologise enough for what happened and I am so glad to see you well. I take full responsibility for what happened to you and -.” 

“Thor, oh my god, honestly it’s not your fault.” 

He continued to look grave. 

“I should have been keeping closer watch on you when we were on that forsaken planet and…” 

“Seriously, Thor it’s fine I made my own choices.” 

He sighed heavily but looked relieved. 

“Thank you for saving my brother.” He said seriously. “Just to think, a little while ago you both hated each other, and now look at you, firm friends.” He beamed.

“Well, okay, let’s not be too hasty.” You tried to sit yourself up a bit higher. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Fine, fine. The rest of the warriors headed back to Asgard. Stark wants to speak to you by the way when you are feeling better. He said he might come down and see how you’re doing.” 

There was a couple of moment of comfortable silence when you remembered your dream earlier. 

“Thor, erm, can you tell me more about Loki’s…parentage?” You asked, tentatively.

His forehead creased.

“Why do you ask?” 

“So there was this moment when I got hit by the fire demons Loki’s erm hand turned blue and like really cold?”

Thor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I think its’ best I let Loki tell you more about that.” 

You sighed, you thought he would say as much but it was worth a try. 

Thor actually stayed with you for a couple of hours, watching Madagascar and it was nice to have some company. Unlike Loki, Thor actually seemed to find cartoons amusing and kept guffawing with laughter.

After a while, Loki popped by to see you again. He looked a little fresher than when you’d last seen him, but still had dark under eyes and a pale complexion. He was holding a bunch of flowers himself and he seemed unsurprised but a little irritated to see Thor there. 

“I can take it from here, thanks.” Loki told his brother. 

Thor kept his eyes glued to the T.V, “I’m just waiting to see if these animals make it back to their zoo.” 

Loki glowered at him and Thor eventually looked up and got the hint. 

“Er, see you later then Latte. I’ll come down and see you soon.” He gave you another kiss on the cheek to which Loki scowled further and then left. 

Loki moved Thors flowers from your bedside table and put his down instead, moving Thor’s to further away from you. 

“You didn’t strike me as the flowers type.” You raised your eyebrows pointedly. 

“These are from my mother.”

“Huh?” 

Loki gave you an irritated look. “She wrote to say she wishes you well.” He fussed over the flowers.

“You… you wrote to your mother about me?”

You felt funny inside, you were both flattered and unsure how you felt about the Queen of Asgard perceiving you and knowing what you got up to.

Loki shrugged your comment off and sat down where Thor had been. 

You would normally spend longer pressing him but you really wanted to talk about the big blue elephant in the room.

“I need to ask you something.” You geared yourself up for your next question.

“Oh?” Loki was indifferent.

“Er yeah.” 

When you took a deep breath in you caught Loki’s attention and he eyed you cautiously.

“Is this about Fandral again because it was a long time ago and…”

“No! No it’s not about that.” You interjected.

Loki relaxed back into his chair,

“Ok, then…?”

“How come your hand turned blue and cold when I got shot with that fire bolt?” You blurted.

Loki froze in his seat for a couple of seconds.

“I - I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play silly buggers with me, I saw it.” 

“I - er what?” You threw him off momentarily with your figure of speech. 

You took this moment to push him further.

“Does it have something to do with your true parentage? I saw some things in a book about erm how maybe you come from an ice planet or something I forgot it’s name…” You faltered at the end of your sentence. “But those books you said are sometimes wrong so…”

Loki continued to stay very still, you weren’t even sure if he had taken a breath.

“You don’t have to tell me!” You rushed, “If it’s like a sensitive topic or something I was just curious but if you don’t want to tell me then that’s fine of course.” You blathered.

He blinked a couple of times before he spoke.

“Yes.” He seemed to force himself to say. 

You wanted to ask “yes what?” But you let yourself be quiet. 

There was a long pause and you thought about changing the subject when he finally spoke.

“I should probably tell you.” He spoke, strained. 

“Well, er, only if you’re sure.” You hung on to his every word.

“It seems to have put some of it together already. I can’t say I’m surprised.” He seemed to deflate. “My father, my true father is Laufey, a frost giant from Jotunheim. And my mother…well one assumes she was a lesser frost giant. Either way I was abandoned and Odin took me in as one of his trophies.” He spat. 

You remembered reading that now, and your mind flicked back to the pictures in your “Norse mythology for dummies” book. You do not remember them being described as an especially nice, kind people. In fact, you could remember that the Asgardians seemed to hate them.

It did not sound like Loki had the nicest of starts in life. 

“And did you always know…?”

“That I was a frost giant?” Loki snorted wildly, “No, Odin elected to withhold that piece of information until a few years ago.” 

Jesus, you weren’t sure how to respond to that. 

From what you knew and had gathered already you started to piece things together. The idea Loki grew up for years not knowing why Odin favoured Thor or knowing why he was different from others made you feel…sad. 

Loki’s face looked pained and although you couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking about, you felt you were well versed in Loki’s inner battles. He stayed staring down at the floor, and continued to not move. 

“Loki, thanks for sharing that with me.” 

He flicked his eyes up to you. 

“You seem unfazed by this.”  He scowled. 

It seemed he was waiting for something but you weren’t sure what he needed from you. How do you react when someone shares something so intimate with you? Perhaps he didn’t think you were being upset enough.

“No, no,  I’m not unfazed, I think its’ really sad! I’m really sorry to hear that happened to you.”

You cringed at your words, you were clearly not very good at this.

Loki scoffed, “You should be scared, not sad.”

Now you were genuinely confused,

“Why would I be scared?” You asked slowly.

“I’m a monster.” He flashed his eyes at you. 

“Well, I already knew that.” You caught his eye so he knew you were joking with him but he didn’t smile back.

“I look like a monster.” He said plainly, as if he wasn’t too bothered by this. 

You weren’t sure how to respond to that or if he was looking for an ego lift or not. He was normally so cocky about his looks too so this had thrown you for a loop. You felt your face grow warmer as you tried to navigate your words.

“Well er I don’t know if it makes you feel any better but I actually think you look rather…good…you know, er, you’re pretty good looking and it feels like you’ve never really had an issue you know, scoring or anything…”

“Not in this form, obviously.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Wh- like…an ultimate form or…?” 

“My frost giant form.”

“Right, well obviously I haven’t seen you in that form so I can’t really comment. I also don’t know loads about frost giants so it’s kind of hard for me to understand, I guess I haven’t got much context…” 

Loki nodded and stood up suddenly. You thought you must have offended him and he was going to leave but he stalked over to the door and shut it. 

“I’ll show you.” 

You tensed yourself, your heartbeat quickening, unsure of what was about to happen. 

Loki stood at the bottom of your bed and closed his eyes. 

Swiftly, his skin started turning a pale blue colour and he grew even taller. Markings appeared on his skin, trailing down his arms and face. Finally he opened his eyes and you were shocked to see that they were a bright red. 

Your mouth hung open and you took a couple of seconds to take in the transformation. 

“See. You are scared.” His eyes narrowed at you, getting angry at your reaction.

“No?” You stuttered, scared. 

You gripped onto your blankets, and swallowed hard. 

It really was a shock seeing him like this. It’s not every day someone in front of you suddenly completely changes.

“No.” You repeated stronger this time. “I’m not scared its just that you look, different, and it’s taking me a second to get used to it. If I grew a few feet and turned purple or something you would have to get used to it, ’m not saying it in a bad way or anything…”

Truthfully now you were settling in to seeing him like this and your breathing had calmed down you really didn’t hate it. He still looked like Loki, with the same long dark hair and facial structure. To be honest you thought the colour was pretty and the markings were very cool. The more you looked at him the more you liked it. 

“I actually think this is a good look. It kind of suits you.” You said, candidly.  “So does all of you look like this when you transform or…?” You asked, innocently. 

Loki flashed his startlingly red eyes at you but you thought you could see a hint of a smirk too. You were relieved to see a shadow of his normal self and humour peaking through a somewhat angsty mood. 

Loki turned himself back to how he normally looks. 

“I meant what I said Loki. It genuinely must have been horrific to learn that there was such a large part of your past that you had been missing up until now.” 

He didn’t say anything and continued to stand.

“The monster that parents tell their children about at night.” He chuckled.

“Well hey, if it makes you feel any better I definitely won’t be telling my children about you. And if you’re trying to scare me off you forget I have seen you with bed head, and I still stayed friends with you even after that, no form of you could be scarier than that.”

You managed to get a half smile out of him before he sighed.

“I have gotten used to this part of myself.”

You nodded, encouragingly,

“That can’t have been easy, to find out you are something that your people have always despised and been brought up to hate and to make peace with that. That’s a massive achievement.” You smiled at him. 

“Yes I know.” He said, stiffly and rolling his eyes.

“I have made peace with being a monster now.” He eyed you curiously “however a sane human would have rang for the nurse and asked me to leave.” 

You snorted, you thought about saying “I’m not like other girls” ironically but you didn’t think Loki would get the joke. 

“Are you saying I’m not sane? That’s kind of rude, I’m in hospital, aren’t you supposed to be cheering me up?”

Loki gave you the exasperated look you were used to him giving you.

“Come on, why don’t you sit that blue ass down and watch…” You flicked the guide on “…Harry Potter with me?” 

Loki gave you a stern look.

“I will sit down, but not because you told me, because you are unwell and have been through serious physical trauma. Clearly this trauma involved a sever bang to your head which has made you think you can talk to me in such a vernacular way. I will forgive you however, because you are a patient.” 

“That’s very generous of you your majesty.” 

Notes: What did you think?? let me know!

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[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

When you are writing a new chapter for a fic, how do you decide what to put in, and what to leave out?

I see a lot of advice about killing your darlings - whittling the scene down until it contains only what's necessary to advance the plot.

But I also see advice that says it's okay to include more than this, because you need to advance the characters as well, by giving them quiet moments in between all of the plot advancing parts.

I really struggle to find the balance. I love writing the quiet moments, and fleshing the characters out, but sometimes these moments run away on me, and I end up with a bloated mess that barely advances the plot at all.

Do you have a process or a rule-of-thumb you follow, to help you decide what does or doesn't make the cut?

How easy do you find it to remove stuff later, when you realize the story is better without it? Do you cry and have wine while you bury your dead, or are you a ruthless assassin? :)

Oh man, great question.

I’m going to answer for what for my original fiction. I don’t heavily edit my fanfics in any meaningful capacity, as any of my readers can attest, since that is my hobby and editing is work. Also, since it is my hobby, I am pretty self indulgent with what I include. I meander and wander all over the place with my plots and don’t keep them as tight as they probably need to be.

Exhibit A, the visual representation of the plot of Thus, Always 2.0 (one line being present day and the second being the past):

But for my original fiction, there’s a very long, drawn out process of editing.

For House of No Return, the current book (known as The Venetians in my tags), I wrote out the first draft. In that draft I put all the self indulgent stuff I wanted. Character studies, side plots, random asides, plot cul-de-sacs, and so on.

Then, when done, I rewrote the entire thing. Top to bottom second draft. This is because, by the time I was done with draft one, I knew my characters a lot better than when I started. I knew, more clearly, the story I wanted to tell. I had a better vision of how the plot should work.

Once the second (or third) draft is done, I let it sit. Ideally, you should let it sit for a few months. I don’t have patience and am riddled with a deep need to always be writing, so I can usually only make it a few weeks.

When I take it back out, I print out the manuscript and read it in one or two sittings. This is because I need to remember what the fuck I was doing. As I read, I make margin notes of where I bump or where things drag a bit. My second read through is much more methodical. I sit with a note book and jot out a detailed outline as I read. When I eventually type them up they usually look something like this:

As I read through the outline, that’s where I can see if there are baggy parts that need trimming. When I note them, I decide whether to completely remove, or shorten, or shift to another part of the story, or if I can convey any central information in other areas.

Sometimes colour coding helps – highlighting all the parts that are faster paced in red, the slower bits in green, the pure character study bits in blue (or what have you). The visual representation helps me, at least, see if there’s a part that’s bunched up with only one colour and may need to be broken out a bit.

I make edits to my outline in blue, usually, of what needs to be added or changed when I go to do the next big rewrite.

--

Throughout this whole outline review process, I’m also thinking through what sort of plot pattern/design best serves the story. There are a lot out there and each has a purpose and can strengthen aspects of the story that’s being told.

Good reference: Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative by Jane Alison.  

For House of No Return, it’s a pretty classic mountain form: start | rising action | point no return | climax | resolution.

Something a bit like this with the little plateaus representing times when the plot slows for a bit to allow the reader a break and an opportunity to sit with a character or an emotion or some new information.

These breaks can also ratchet up tension and help keep people on the edge of their seat. The horror genre is a great example of this. You know that when we’re having a quiet character moment, or a humourous moment, we’re about to get something horrific on the other side of it and we’re in trepidation until it happens. But the book can’t be all horrific moments or else the audience gets bored.

(Unless the author is Doing Something/There’s a Purpose Being Served in having 85,000-100,000 words of only horrific moments. Which can abosolutely be the case! Again, it’s about what you’re trying to do, how to best tell the story, and fundamentally what that story needs to be.)

Grief and trauma writing also benefit from the breaks. I think about this in fics where it’s all bleak torture and there’s no resting or lighter moments—it’s hard on the audience. Which, again, can be the author’s intent! And that’s fine! But usually if you want to keep people going with you on the journey you need to give them breaks. That is just reality.

So, when writing the classic model I would say write, write, write. Get every thing onto the page. Every little indulgement moment, every little character study etc.

Then think about how you want the story to be paced. Do you want it a heart pounding fast paced piece? Then yeah, trim it down to mostly bare bones with just enough breaks for character study/get the audience invested in who they’re reading about and to give them a bit of a breather. But it should be super tight, over all.

Steep, steep, steep – little moments here and there for a break – then shattering fall and people should be reading going “what the fuuuuck is going to happen next??” (Grady Hendrix is a master of this.)

 Some traditional mountains, though, are slower.

There's a long, langurous start. We’re all along for a gentle ride then it begins to build bit by bit until we realize we’re riding down the Tuscan hillside in a cart with no breaks.

This is the sort of story where you can really relish your character studies and soft moments between people and little side bits. But you do need to keep enough movement to keep the audience interested. This is one that is harder to pull off because the balance can be tricky.

I tend to write like this. Hilary Mantel has books that hit this kind of approach. Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic is a good example of a slow burn start but a good ride at the end. Laura Purcell’s The Silent Companions is another example.

-

All that said, not all stories need to follow the traditional approach! Some are meant to be tangled meditations. A lot of weaving, a lot of introspection, the story is more about the journey and not the destination. Sometimes the plots look a little like this:

Peak Literary Experimental Fiction shit right here. This can be a lot of character study, a lot of philosophical musings, a lot tangents or backtracking or jumping around a little. Justin Torres’ Blackouts is a great example of a meandering story that is as much about the characters and their conversations as it is about queerness and history.

Other stories are meant to be rolling hills or waves: up and down, up and down.

Jane Austin has a bit of a wave quality to some of her stories, not all, but some. Long, drawn out family epics that span generations tend to have this quality to them. Books like Pillars of the Earth tend to be more wavey than mountain climax.

-----

Anyway. I've done a diversion myself. Back to editing.

When I’m doing my trimming, I don’t have an exact process for determining what makes the cut or what stays. I go with my gut on a lot of it. Sometimes, there are scenes that are hitting the same note but coming at it in different ways.

Cristof’s anxiety over his friend’s gambling addiction, and his guilt around feeling as if he is enabling it, is something I overwrote in the first few drafts because I was trying to understand the psychology of their friendship and Cristof’s own inner demons. Therefore, as I trimmed, I picked three key things that the audience needed to know about Cristof and Jacopo and made sure those were captured. I cut and trimmed accordingly.

However, I do have some babies that get reused in different places once I realize the original scene wasn’t working.

This stupid joke was originally in a completely different scene and was said by different characters but that scene wasn’t working and so I had to cut it. But I was very enamoured with this little interaction, so I found a way to incorporate it.

-

It’s also important to remember that some character studies/the resting pauses can be brief. By all means write out the full seven page version but I bet it’s possible to trim it down to a really powerful short beat that can pack a bit of a punch. Writing out the full seven pages is sometimes necessary to get at the heart of what you’re trying to say. Then cut it back.

I had a full multi-page version of this paragraph:

But it’s a rest-beat in the middle of the apothecary/barbershop scene that is moving the plot along, and therefore this memory/character beat needed to be tight. Still, we get a bit of a glimpse at Cristof and Nicolo through it, and while it might not seem important on the surface, we do need to care about these two idiots and the fact that they’re dumb about each other and in love.  

-

Quiet moments can also be interspersed within action. You can weave them through, so you have:

Active Scene/Plot Moving

Restful introspection or memory

Back to the Active Scene.

If done right it can give a bit of a melodious, wave-like quality to what you’re writing. It’s not for every story, nor every scene, and shouldn’t be overused (I may be guilty of that), but it allows you to still get in those meaningful character moments without stopping the plot too much.

As for the ease with which I kill darlings? Depends on the darling. Some are easier than others. Some I like, but if I can incorporate the important bits in another fashion then I’m fine with it. The more I write, the more I edit, the more ruthless I become.

--

A lot of this is, fundamentally, all about practice and doing it a lot. And also all writing rules aren’t rules so much as broad guidelines and each story has its own needs and requirements to make it work.

Apologies for the long reply. I'm not sure it's what you're after but I hope it helps. There is, unfortunately, no "quick trick" that I have to do it. It's really just a very involved process.

[artemisdesari-blog]

Readers, Readers Everywhere, And Barely A Comment Between Them.

Okay, so my title may be a little misleading in my case at this particular moment in time. My current long fic is doing incredibly well for comments by my standards. My standards being based on when I was writing for The Hobbit and I was lucky to get six comments a chapter. I'm getting somewhat more than that now I've jumped fandoms to Star Wars, but the number of comments per chapter has still dramatically dropped now that I'm on eighty-nine chapters compared to what I was getting when I was on only twelve chapters. That's alright, I expect that because people have limited abilities to keep up with reading fic, especially ridiculously long ones like mine has turned into. This particular rant is more for the benefit of others than myself. I'm being thoroughly spoilt right now, but it hasn't always been like that.

My current feast does, however, show me just how important comments are to writers, whether that's here, on AO3, or Wattpad, or even FFN (which I abandoned a few years ago because, frankly, it's dying a slow death and I can't face watching it, a topic for another time). There are many types of writer, from the ones who get an idea and just meander their way through it until they have a story, to the ones who get an idea and meticulously plan every detail, and everyone who falls on some spectrum of in between. There are the ones who focus on one story at a time, and the ones who pump out two or three or a dozen different ones a week. There are the people who write drabbles and one shots, the people who write short stories, the people who write long stories, and the people who are attempting to outdo the longest published stories written. Some post as they go, some have a buffer, some write the whole thing before they post. Some write because they have an idea and simply want to explore it, some want to fix canon, and some people are going through some stuff (or have been through it) and are using writing to help them deal.

All that to say, writers come in all shapes and sizes and motivations. They are all very different, but they are all the same in one area; if they are writing fanfiction they are not getting paid. And if they are getting paid then they're breaking several copyright laws and putting fanfiction at risk of a repeat of the Anne Rice incidents 20+ years ago. So don't pay for it, the rest of us don't want corporate lawyers up our arses.

For those of us who have been around for longer than tik tok and tumblr and even Facebook, we remember the early days of online fanfiction. We remember the purges on livejournal and FFN. We remember when fanfic was scattered about the Internet, never all in one place and sometimes only accessible if you jumped through loads of hoops to get passwords. The people just discovering it today have no idea how lucky you are. But even in those days we got comments. In fact, in those days they were more abundant. I know that sounds like rose tinted glasses, but a quick look through stories posted ten years ago on AO3 versus stories posted now shows a similar trend. The art of the comment is dying.

Now, before anyone shouts "you write for yourself" or "but you're not entitled to comments", I am aware of both. But guess what. If I'm writing for myself and myself alone, why should I bother sharing it?

Writing is hard. Going through it and editing and spellchecking and making sure the grammar is at least passable is hard work. A lot of us do this when we probably (definitely in my case) should be doing other things. I write for myself, yes, because I want to explore how the story will come out. I post because I enjoy sharing, but I enjoy sharing far less when the response I get is crickets. Shouting into the void is not enjoyable, it does not make the work of editing and all the rest seem worth it. Shouting into the void tears apart any enjoyment I might have derived from crafting a line of dialogue or putting together a scene.

I'm not entitled to comments. This I know. I know it all too well. But guess what? Readers aren't entitled to my hard work either. Comments are what keep us going. They are what feeds the muse when we're otherwise in a pit of writers block. They're what helps us work around an awkward plot point when a reader says "but I wonder what will happen when X discovers Y". Comments are what get us to think "I haven't posted this week, I need to get that chapter out", or if it was an absolute beast to write seeing that people enjoyed it makes it worthwhile. I will and have dropped stories that get no engagement, because shouting to the void damages my mental health. It makes my work and effort feel absolutely worthless and I refuse to do that to myself. I know I can see the hit counters increasing, but that could be someone who clicked accidentally, or didn't like the opening chapter and moved on. Comments are essential to keeping up my motivation and while I will never have the absolute audacity to demand a certain number of comments before I update, I will stop. Because my time is valuable to me and I won't spend it doing something that leaves me feeling terrible and worthless.

And I know, people have been known to link some of my stories in rec blogs (I've seen it done), I have a commenter who tells me they read it with their friends. I know other writers who have stumbled on their fic being discussed in fandom discords or on blogs or tik tok, or have been told that it's a subject in a group chat. But guess what? Unless we obsessively search everywhere on the Internet for even a hint that our work is being talked about, we never see that. We never hear about it. The one person who wants to hear you thoughts, who can provide the answers to your questions and the resolution to the plot point, is the person you've cut out of the discussion. It's the person who is looking at their inbox and email and becoming more and more demoralised because there's kudos, and the hit counter is going up, but no one is saying anything.

I know some people have been burned by picky writers in the past. I'm actually not one of the ones who cares. I will take a heart, I will take someone writing "kudos", I will take a sentence or a paragraph or a 4000 word essay (which would be longer than 90% of my chapters but the point stands). What I can't take, and the same goes for many writers, is silence. So please, I beg of you, for the sake of writers everywhere, resurrect the art of the comment.

Feed us, we're starving.