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panticwritten · 5 years

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Unbind Me? (for whoever you want)

OKAY I FINALLY DID IT!! Sorry it took so long, and thank you so much for sending this!

This takes place August 2017. There’s not a lot of context here, but tbh it would take more than 1500 words to give anywhere near enough context to make some things in this make sense.

Content warnings: Unreality, implied memory loss, implied suicidal ideation.

—//—

I know Connor will have a great big I told you so waiting for me when we get back. I told you, he’ll say, that you can’t just ignore trauma. There’ll be a whole thing, and everyone is gonna agree with him even though no one else deals with their bullshit either.

“What’ll you do with him when we get back?” Jarie tugs at the rope between the two of us. She walks a step behind me, but I still feel the pointed look she aims at Jordan.

I tighten my grip on his wrist. Some might say it’s unnecessary, considering he’s also tied to me. I don’t trust him not to use the memories to wiggle away. Not for the reasons the Master thinks, but because of one trait I know he shares with Connor.

He doesn’t think he deserves forgiveness for crimes he never even committed.

“Figure out what’s really going on.”

“We know!” she snaps. “Do you think I’ve been running around with someone else in my head for fun?”

Guilt throbs from Jordan. He doesn’t say anything, still, and I wonder why. I wonder why he doesn’t defend himself, why he doesn’t tell her the truth. Doesn’t tell me the truth. He obviously thinks I think he did this if his insistence he stay out here means anything.

The lonely boy trapped in the memories, stuck in a hole in the darkness and surrounded by both my nightmares and his own. Jarie led me right to him, only a trace of what really controlled her left in her head by the time I tracked them both down.

Still. There’s something else.

Something, something, something doesn’t taste right around here.

“It’s just like you to stop with the easy answer,” I mutter around the buttery feeling in my mouth. “It’s all horses to you.”

A bolt of confusion lances through her irritation, through her anger. She doesn’t have to ask her question. Not here, not in a place as personal as the memories.

“I’m on a zebra hunt.”

Really, it’s so familiar. I’ve felt this before. The quality of those remnants in Jarie’s head, the vague taste of late nights and this feeling. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. It’s there, and whatever it is makes me much more nervous than the idea that Connor’s missing half might be secretly evil.

“Oh, great.”

The blank slate of the Memories shifts. A baby blue wall slams down in front of us, the floor now a ratty green carpet. The single window only shows inky darkness, no sign of what really would have been outside my room in…

What year would this have been?

I ignore both Jarie’s demand for an explanation and Jordan’s nervous protest when I drop his hand and twist around to assess the room.

Pictures up on the walls, a camping mat instead of a bed. Most of the furniture against the one wall, but that desk… next to the door…

“2013? No, no.” I snap around again, only limited by the rope still tight around my waist. Laptop on the dresser, the old one, the one I kept stealing from the living room. “2012. That summer, the good one.”

Jarie immediately stops her complaining. “That summer? What are we doing in 2012?”

“I was thinking, trying to remember.” I tilt my head and look out the window. Sharp, shifting red and blue. An easy assumption, but it wasn’t a real-life thing. No sirens, nothing out of the ordinary in the real world. “I’m so close, what is that taste?”

“What taste?” Jarie demands. “You’ve been weird since we picked him up.”

“Ugh, shut up!” I groan. “There’s a taste, like—like—“

I stop because we’re not alone in the room anymore. Based on how close Jarie shuffles to me, I’d say she feels it too. The memory itself isn’t tampered with, it’s normal even with the red and the blue that I only really saw through someone else’s eyes.

The lights! That red and blue wasn’t even here, I was trying to do something at—and that taste! It’s like—

“You would expect memories to be different, wouldn’t you?” a voice, a familiar voice, muses. I don’t need to look to see those eyes, for the growl of a smile to sink into my skin and root me to the floor. “But, then, you never go-ot the o-opportunity to really feel it, did you?”

Blank, blank, my brain turns to nothing but faint static and false clarity.

Jarie lunges toward the voice, still behind me. The rope keeps her from actually attacking. That’s good. Even a memory of Tchaikovsky could ruin us if we let it.

Jordan, on the other hand, stumbles in the opposite direction, away from the threat. He ends up where I can see him, red eyes wide and scared and anything but an enemy. He focuses on me, a plea.

It takes the purr of a laugh from behind me to really shake me out of it. It rubs the situation wrong, a thorn in the fabric. It’s just a memory, but this doesn’t fit.

I turn, too stiff, too mechanical. This fear, nothing more than the remnants of a horror movie. The big, bad monster stands in the middle of my old room and I know he can’t do a single thing to hurt me.

The victorious, smug glint is right. The line of the shoulders, the hungry touch in the air. The confidence. All of that’s right. The chuckle fits what I’m being told.

I narrow my eyes. That’s not a memory. That’s something else, and it’s lying to me.

“Jarie.” I flex my hand and curl my fingers around the newly-arrived map back home. She doesn’t answer with more than a frustrated agreement in the air. Good. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Don’t be so sure.” The specter shifts on its heels, as if it’s going to take a step forward. It laughs again when Jarie skitters back to stand just barely behind me. “Does your brava-ado hide the sa-ame cowardice?”

Jarie growls at my side and snatches the map from me. It takes less than a thought to reconfigure the ropes. I don’t even have to look away from the boogieman. From the fake.

The door slams shut out of sight, Jarie and Jordan both gone.

This is so familiar, why don’t I remember? That affect to its voice, I know I’ve heard it before!

“Tchaikovsky wasn’t here for this.” Might as well start with what I know for sure. Wary, tired, but at least I can keep a lie of control here. “Who are you, really?”

“I tho-ought you knew everything in your Cube.” It sneers and loses the characteristic poise of the face it wears. It does nothing to dispel the tension in the air. “You certainly believed so o-on this day, my fa-avorite interloper.”

Ah.

I shift, and in a blink I have it backed against a wall. I didn’t expect it to back up on its own, though it certainly makes this easier. White hot sparks fizz over the hand I raise toward the throat it stole from a man I’d love nothing more than to wipe from the Cube’s history.

“You,” I growl, my voice strange under the force of electricity I hold. “Don’t belong here.”

It breathes out a nervous laugh, and it really did choose the wrong face if it didn’t want me to be tempted to crush it like the worm it’s masquerading as. It shouldn’t be here, I haven’t even talked to Brennan in at least a year! It can’t be here!

“If you ever ca-ame to visit, you’d know I’ve been here for nearly five years.” It presses back against the wall, its voice strained and seething. “But then, you a-alwa-ays neglect to fo-ollow up o-on your little ga-ames, don’t you?”

It flinches when I raise my hand and a spark lands on its neck. Tchaikovsky’s milky skin fades there, just for a second, into the scratched plastic that it was hiding.

“You disappeared.” I shift just a little bit closer, close enough that I can really see through the illusion. Just a broken mannequin, full of a thing that doesn’t belong anywhere near my head. “I was thirteen. Why would I even think to look for you?”

“I stole ha-alf a-a summer from you!”

Now that I can see both its illusion and the blankness of its true face, it’s both less intimidating and more disconcerting. So close, though, I see something else. Something that speaks volumes more than anything it could say to me.

I step back, though I don’t take the sparks with me. They hang in the air, a simple enough threat, just beside its throat. It doesn’t relax. In fact, that same something only twists and shakes the air around those sparks.

“AA.” I dip into the voice I try to avoid. The voice of a leader, I suppose, or a commander as Jay’s described it. The voice of someone who expects their orders to be followed. I hate it, though it does get the attentiveness from AA that I’m looking for. “Why reveal yourself now?”

It doesn’t answer. I wait longer than I probably should, and I know what I have to do. I’m gonna get hell when I get back. I hate this slimy little monster, but I can’t feel that and see it in the air and still bring everyone the blood they’re going to want.

I’ll already be getting a trial for Jordan. I may as well get one for the thing that I’d be willing to bet is really behind all of this. Especially when I’m almost ninety percent sure it lured me out here just to kill it.

#writing #my writing #paraportal #prompt game #unbind me #AA #the original #jordan #the master #and there's AA's introduction #sort of #its technically been in a few things already ;)

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swanderful1 · 7 years

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A Cold Awakening: Ch 17/?

Notes: So so sorry for the repost, it's the same chapter I just had to fix it so the whole post wasn't occupying all of everyones feeds. I unfortunately, am not very tumblr savvy so that mistake is on me. If the majority of the work still isn't under the cut please, please let me know! Thanks!

Summary: Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT

Rating: M!!!!!!!

Word Count: ~7000

The whole work is on AO3 and ffnet

Enjoy! Read, comment, reach out! I love to hear from people!

Emma left the conference room with Killian, a place where she had been gentle and caring. Her voice soft with concern for the man who she had come to know so well and feel for so deeply. After he had left, and now that she was walking into another room to deal with Gold, her mood had changed considerably.

The man in question sat at a table opposite Graham. The metal chairs and table the only furniture in the room, the sparse look of its cinderblock framework not leaving anything to interpretation. If you were in this room, on the opposite end of questions, you were in trouble. It was a place Emma had spent many a time in here grilling adolescents for vandalism, getting confessions for shoplifting, nothing of this caliber though. And if she said she wasn’t a bit nervous she would be lying. But any nerves she had about the situation were completely overtaken by the amount of anger she had toward Robert Gold right now.

“Alright,” Emma said as she sat down in the seat next to Graham, who had already been questioning Gold for an hour to no avail, and hopefully he could prevent her from ringing this guy’s neck. She took a few deep breaths before opening her mouth again, “so I won’t sugarcoat this… it doesn’t look good for you right now.”

Gold didn’t say anything back, just leaning back in the chair crossing his arms over his chest. A smug look on his face. But beyond that Emma could tell he was nervous. She saw the way his bottom lip twitched in the absence of him speaking. The restricted body language, the small beads of sweat that formed on his forehead after being in the windowless room.

“From what I’ve heard you haven’t been very talkative this morning, Mr. Gold.” Emma started off. David had filled her in in the hall.

“Why should I be? I was ripped from my home this morning, held in this room, about a murder that happened twenty years ago.”

“For good reason.” She was fuming. The sheer arrogance of Gold in this scenario. He knew he was caught, that much was clear in his behavior. The deflection was solely for his ego. “The murder weapon was found in your shop, there’s physical evidence you carried on an illicit affair with one of the murder victims and harbored aggressive resentment for the other murder victim, namely her husband. Her goddamn ring was in your shop. Shall I continue?”

He leaned forward, pressing his forearms to the metal surface. “Do you really want to do this? Have Neal lose another parent?”

His gold tooth hit the fluorescent light and beamed as he ended on the word parent. Emma thought steam may come out of her ears. How dare he try to guilt her out of doing her job. How dare he bring Neal into this anymore than he already was. It was low. And it was nasty.

“We’ve got a double murder, that happened twenty years ago, and all of the arrows are pointing toward you,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers. Anger boiling beneath the surface of her skin.

“And what exactly are those arrows, deputy? Because from my view it seems like you have questions that still need answered.” The words on his lips sounded vicious even in their simplicity. There wasn’t a part of Emma that trusted him.

“I do need more answers, and you’re going to give them to me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if you want your son to ever speak to you again, you’ll do the right thing and cooperate.” She didn’t want to do it. Emma didn’t want to bring Neal into it. He was too good for this, but there was so much that tied Emma to this case she knew she would have to go low to get what she wanted.

If Gold was angered by the comment he made no show of it, but there was no way what Emma had said didn’t land. It got to him, whether he wanted to show it or not. Because at the end of the day, he knew she was right. There was a high likelihood Neal would cease all contact with his father when he found this out. Almost certainly. Eventually Neal would probably talk to his father again but Emma had fought with her ex enough to know how he handled conflict in his life. And this scenario was… completely unprecedented. He motioned his hand, as if to give her permission to speak, as if she didn’t already have it.

“Now that we understand each other…” Emma pulled her notebook and pen out, ready to jot things down despite the fact that the whole interaction was being recorded on camera. She was old school in that way. “When did you meet Moira Jones?”

“We met long before either of us were married…” His hand reached up and ran beneath his chin, probably a nervous tick. “She was… rather eye-catching. I was working at a coffee shop.”

His eyes looked beyond Emma now, focused on something behind her. If she didn’t know any better she would say he was getting emotional?

“She came in every day and ordered the same thing, had this lovely accent.” A smile. “I didn’t think she knew who I was… and then one day she saw me in the park, not in my uniform, and we got to talking.”

“When did it go south?” Graham asked, easing Gold into the story. He was clearly able to tell it. And he wasn’t lying Emma made sure of that. The words coming out of his mouth were nothing but the truth.

“When she met her husband.”

“But you two still carried on?” Emma jotted little things down as she listened to him talk.

“Brennan was… everything her parents wanted her to marry. And she didn’t want to disappoint them. So she made me a deal.”

“What was that?”

“She would marry him, but we would still be together in secret.” He looked back to Emma. “I said no… initially.”

Emma lifted her pen to her mouth, going over the timeline in her head that she had from Archie, the man who had also been a therapist for Moira Jones. How he had told Emma that Moira and her lover had taken time from each other. That he thought Moira’s affair picked up 5 years before she was murdered. But Emma knew it had been longer.

“How long did the two of you stop?” Emma eyed him, careful to make note of exactly how long things had stopped… and if he would dare lie about it.

“About a year before her first child was born…”

He told the love story Emma had long been trying to piece together. Giving her what she had needed all along. How he had posed as a “doctor” so he could see her in her home. The town of Storybrooke too small and gossipy to risk seeing each other in a public place. He had moved here from an even smaller town, following Moira’s lead. He was backed into a corner, knew there wasn’t a way for him to work his way out of this one. All they would need was his fingerprints on the knife and the blood test to show it belonged to either Jones. That which would arrive later that week and had already been sent away. Emma tried not to get too emotional, thinking of having to see Neal later. Gold would probably be in the holding cell at the station until the knife came back.

“The night of the murder, how was it that you ended up at the Jones house?” Emma urged, the last pieces of the story needing to fit together.

“She had planned to leave Brennan… that fall. My wife had long left me, I had my son. But I thought I could make it work…” his voice shook as he spoke, the normally confident, arrogant man gone. To reveal a version of Robert Gold she had never seen before. “And then the night before she was going to leave him she backed out. I guess Brennan had caught her packing and…. Well he got rough with her. ”

The room silent, the emotion so thick. Emma could picture the Jones family in the stately home now in such disrepair. Going off on each other, Brennan terrifying Moira. The idea of it all being kept behind such closed doors making the stakes much higher.

“It had happened before, she would promise to leave. Then she would take it back, telling me it wasn’t the right time. Not the right place.” He paused, hands shaking more now than ever. “And then he started to hit her. She was terrified of him. So I went there that night with the intention of standing up to him, and taking her away.

“But when it came time to leave she wouldn’t. Brennan had known for years, everything that went on. He only cared when it had the potential of being public. He did it all, pulled all of her strings. Took her out of his will, threatened to take the boys, anything to keep her there. He paralyzed her emotionally and despite everything, those boys were above all else.”

He took a long pause, scratching his nose, sucking in a deep breath. But Emma and Graham didn’t push him. They didn’t have to.

“She wouldn’t go. She never would. That night…. I… I never intended to hurt her. She was everything me. But after I had stabbed Brennan, she still defended him. As if he would magically come back.”

Another sharp intake of breath. A thick layer of tears. A look that could only be described as a mix of shame and regret.

“She would have never run away with me. Nor would she have ever forgiven me….” His head fell to his hands. Reliving every second of that night as he told it. “I was angry, hurt, irrational. Before I could stop myself I did to her what I had done to her husband. Then I ran. I took the knife, I left them there. I never spoke of it again.”

Emma had never expected him to be so… emotional. He was a cold man. A manipulative man. Even before all of this she hadn’t trusted him, he was slithery. And as she heard him tell his side of things, the only side of things they would ever have, she realized why Moira had stayed with her husband but kept Gold in her life. She felt trapped between two men who terrified her. Emma felt terrible. Her heart aching for the woman who had been in so much pain, so much turmoil for so long. Emma had gotten her confession, the admission of guilt from the murderer himself. In spite of all that she felt no relief. Perhaps it was the impending conversation she would have with Neal. Perhaps it was all of the pain Killian had been through because of the man in front of her.

Graham looked over at Emma, realizing she was about to break. He nodded, standing from the table to put the cuffs on Gold to arrest him. Allowing Emma to breathe. She stood and watched it happen, the silver links tying his wrists together. Graham ushering Gold out of the room. It felt like the whole world had gone silent, and there was only a ringing in Emma’s ears. Watching in slow motion as the answer to her work left her alone in the room.

Two days later, Emma was back in the office. Working with Ruby on trying to figure out who had been sending the clues. Neal and Henry had come home Sunday night. A tired, teary eyed Emma pulled Neal aside as he was dropping Henry off at her house. They sat on her porch over iced tea as she told him what all had happened.

“I just… I can’t believe it…” Neal overcome with emotion, leaned forward in the rocking chair to rest his head in his hands. “The bastard…”

“Did you have any idea he was having an affair?” Emma asked after a long while of them sitting on the porch. Neal’s reaction going from angry to sad to silent. She let him do what he needed. Hating that she was the one who told him. His heart breaking at the disappointment in one of his parents yet again.

“Honestly, I thought maybe, but then my mom left and he was okay for a while. And then I got older and didn’t really pay too much attention to him…” Neal’s eyes were tear stained, the same eyes he had passed along to their son.

“You know you always have our family, Neal, you don’t have to go through this alone.” She reached out and rubbed some of the tension out of his shoulder.

“I know…” He offered the only smile he could at the moment, “I guess we’ll have to let Henry know.”

They both looked in through the porch window that led into the living room. Where Henry sat watching tv. Completely unaware of the conversation happening between his parents.

“I can do it, if you just need some time,” Emma said.

“No. It’s okay, I can, we can do it together.”

They went into the house and broke the news to their son. Sparing him the illicit details. He didn’t need to know everything, just the basics. He was upset, rightfully so. He and Neal spent the night on the couch, just keeping each other company. Emma wasn’t far, she made one of the few things she could - popcorn. All of them just needed to feel like they had a family right now.

And now, the hunt was on for the person behind the clues. The ease of mind that came from locking up Gold was short lived when they had other people to apprehend. Emma had her suspicions but nothing concrete. She thought back to Sunday. When she had asked Belle about the murder weapon, and the woman had so willingly led her right to it. Then Emma thought of her initial suspicions. How the person had known exactly how to avoid being caught, how there was rarely a slip up in months worth of clues. How Emma had thought that it could have been an inside job. It made sense. But there was nothing of interest at Gold and Belle’s house. Nor the shop. It was another dead end. Though it didn’t keep Emma from digging.

Belle would make sense, perhaps she found something or knew something of Gold’s affair but like Moira was scared to come to the police with it. She could have reasoned out the scheme and planned it knowing all of the tricks of the trade. All week Emma and Ruby worked on this theory, worked to find something, anything that would give her reason to suspect Belle. But if the brunette had been the one behind the clues she wasn’t stupid. Knowing the end game goal of the thing to be the arrest of her husband, she wouldn’t have left anything incriminating behind. It would require a large amount of hunting, and the barest clue would give them what they needed. Assuming Emma’s answer was even correct, but no one else had come up with another solution. So for the time being it was what they were rolling with.

Friday night, Emma came home from the most emotionally, mentally, physically exhausting week of work she had ever experienced. She had the house to herself. Henry with his father, still reeling themselves from everything that had happened. Emma did her best to comfort her ex and her son in the wake of what had gone on but there was only so much she could do. So after four nights in a row of spending hours with the boys, she took the night to be alone.

The house quiet with emptiness she took in the vast space. While she loved having people in the house, and the little sounds that came from that, the silence was nice. The wood floors clean from a week of no feet, the kitchen free of dirty dishes, everything neatly tucked into its place. Emma breathed in the smell of home. Closing her eyes to block her mind out from the week that had led to this quiet. For a few moments she just stood.

Once her mind had been effectively calmed, she proceeded to go upstairs and soak herself in the goddamn tub for probably close to an hour. She had brought a book along with her, as if her mind could even handle the mere task at this stage of the day. Emma ended up mostly just laying her head on the lip of the clawfoot tub and allowing the stress to fall off her body like the droplets of water gliding down her skin. And for the first time, really ever, she wished she wasn’t alone in the bath tub.

Sunday. Nearly 5 days ago. Had been the last she had seen of Killian. She had tried calling him, he had tried calling her. A few texts were shared but they just weren’t on the same wavelength this week. It wasn’t great, after the past few weeks when they had spent so much of their time together. So many nights wrapped in each other, to go without that, even for a few days was hard. As much as she didn’t want to admit it she missed him. But at the same time Emma knew he needed time, and he knew she had a lot of work to do. So perhaps they were more in tune with one another than she thought.

Perhaps she could go over to his place again, surprise him, release some more of the tension pent up in her body from the week. Emma thought of the night before they arrested Gold. When she had shown up at Killian’s hotel and stayed there with him, his words just as clear now in her head, “I want to make love to you”. It had made her shiver with desire down to the fibers of her bones. And it wasn’t just the promise of physical contact with him, it was something more. She wasn’t stupid, stubborn definitely, but she knew what it felt like to fall for someone. It had happened so few times in her life that it was unfamiliar but still not unwelcome.

But when she climbed out of the tub to get dressed to head over to see Killian, she doubted herself. The last move had been hers. She had shown up there. She had initiated it. There was a selfish part of her that wanted him to do the same for her. After all, the case was drawing to a close, perhaps he had only been interested in her because she was a convenient fuck. Thinking beyond the case, or at the very least talking about it out loud, had never been something they had addressed. Maybe that was because he didn’t want anything further. He had a career, a life, in a whole other country. How could she possibly fit into that?

After toweling off and climbing into leggings and a t-shirt she felt better. Clean. Relaxed even, her muscles loose from the warm water of the bath. When she entered her bedroom it was entirely dark, the evening sun was setting leaving a scarce amount of light. Emma flicked on lights as she padded her way through the house, headed for the kitchen to make herself something to eat.

The house was still quiet, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall was the only noise around her. She thought of turning on some music but decided it would be better without it. Using her limited cooking skills Emma took out the supplies for the one meal she could actually make well…. Macaroni and cheese. Someday maybe she could benefit from watching her son prepare food. Henry was quite talented, she could learn a thing or two. But for now this would have to do. Her stomach was turning in on itself, for many reasons, but one was probably lack of food since lunch. She poured herself a glass of the only wine she had in the house at the moment. A sweet riesling she kept in the back of her fridge. There was no part of her that wanted to leave the house again tonight, so it would have to do.

Emma took a sip of her wine before setting it on the counter and filling a pot with water for dinner. She was about to light the stove when there was a very distinct knock on the front door. She leaned away from her task to try and see who was at the front door but it was nearly impossible in the dark so she conceded to walk down the hallway and see for herself.

Opening the door, knowing who was on the other side, she felt her heart grow lighter. Her mind quiet now that the man occupying her thoughts was now standing in front of her. Killian. She tried her best to mask the relief she felt, that he was here at her house. Because as much as she tried to remain casual about their whole dynamic, there was more beneath the surface of it. And while the thought of having an actual conversation with him about what happens next terrified her, it also excited her.

“Hi,” she said, not knowing anything better to greet him with. As the nature of his visit wasn’t exactly made clear to her. It was earlier than they usually saw each other. Not midnight, not 1 am. It was like…. 8 o’clock

“Hi, love.” The use of the familiar term making her a bit more relaxed. She was still wired though, there was something about seeing him at her house that invigorating. “Might I come in?”

His questions was almost sheepish, as his eyebrow went up though there was the promise of something more. And she hoped he wasn’t just dropping by.

“Of course, come in,” she said maybe a little too quickly, opening the door to let him in. He breezed past her, the fibers of his shirt brushing hers, the skin of his bare forearm dusting hers. She felt her nipples grow hard with the contact. She almost regretted not wearing a bra underneath her thin t-shirt. Almost.

“So I, uh…” he started, standing a few feet before her. His hand nervously reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “I’m um…”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around this week,” Emma blurted out. She wasn’t sure if he was headed toward an apology but she felt like she needed to say it.

A light smile played on his face, his beard was thicker today, like he hadn’t shaved all week. She liked it, decidedly, and wondered what it would feel like to have his face on hers. His beard tickling her skin.

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” he said, eyes meeting hers. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Liam and I… we took some time this week. Went off the grid for a bit.”

“Oh yeah?” Emma eased toward him, past him, and began walking into the kitchen. “Where did you guys go?”

He followed behind her into the kitchen, like this was the most familiar place in the world. It was nice that the effortless flow of their movement together wasn’t just sexual. It was in real life too. And now they were in her kitchen where she tried to resume cooking her dinner. “We went to our aunt’s lakehouse. An hour or so away. We needed some time to process.”

“How’s Liam doing with all of this?”

“He’s as okay as he can be, it’s not an easy pill to swallow.” Emma watched as he spoke, the tightening of the vein in his neck. “The man, we knew him, Emma. He was in our house.”

“I can’t imagine.” It felt like her eyes were beginning to tear up, again, as she watched him cross his arms and lean against the counter.

“Liam has a family of his own now though, and it’s growing. So that’s helped him a lot.”

“It’s growing? Is his wife…?”

“Yes, Laura’s pregnant again.” As sad as he had looked walking in here, the light behind his eyes at the mention of being an uncle a second time over was undeniable. “They’re planning to move back here now.”

Emma tilted her head to get a better look at Killian’s face. Was this the time to ask what he planned to do? As selfish as it was, a large part of her wanted to know. He looked like he had more to say, like he maybe wanted to articulate it himself. But he didn’t, he hesitated.

“I’m sure it’s helped him to have you around. The two of you have been through so much, only you know what he’s been through and vice versa… it’s nice that you have him.” Emma hopped up on the island, her favorite place to sit in her kitchen. While he talked to her, the gentle tone of his voice sounding the slightest bit broken.

“He isn’t the only one that I have.”

Emma felt herself blush. The slight red creeping up her skin as his eyes bore into her. The sentence was deliberate. He wasn’t talking about anyone else. And his expression backed that up.

“I’ve had you.” Killian pushed off the counter, stepping toward her. Occupying the space between where her legs dangled from the island. Close enough she could feel his breath on her face. A tingle went through her body. The look on his face suggestive that he wanted to be even closer. His proximity caused the worry she had felt about them before to slip away. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Whatever she was feeling, he felt it too.

She followed his lead, knowing how quickly the two of them could turn from casual conversation to all-consuming want. Emma looked up at him and very clearly said, “You’ve never had me on this counter.”

“Aye, love. That I have not.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Now dry from her earlier bath and probably wild with curls. Even the simplest touch, the lingering feeling of where his thumb had brushed her cheek, made desire boil within her. He looked at her like he may kiss her, and she wanted him to. God did she want him to. But instead he backed away. A smugness on his face that suggested he was far from done with her.

“What are you drinking, darling?” he said as he picked up the wine bottle that was sitting not far from her. Scanning the label. A playful look on his face, clearly pleased with how easily he could toy with her. And the same went for him. More than a few times he had been on the receiving end of her teasing. A form of foreplay they had come to love. “Riesling?”

“Yeah…” where was he going with this. “Would you like a glass?”

He looked up from the label, back to her, his angular features up to something. “Might I have just a taste first?”

“Sure,” she said cautiously, eyebrow going up as she handed him the glass of wine in her hand. He took it the wineglass, slowly, resuming his spot between her legs. His jeans grazing her legs. It took all of her willpower not to just wrap her legs around him and pull him all the way into her. But she was stubborn. And if she had any trust in this man she knew he wouldn’t disappoint her.

“What’s interesting about Riesling is how versatile it is.” He swirled the wine around in the glass, leaning his nose down to smell its aromas. “It’s sharp… but also sweet.” He set the glass down beside her.

She watched his every move, in anticipation for the next one. His hands went to either side of her waist, causing the warmth in her body to concentrate at her core. She bit back a gasp as his eyes didn’t leave hers, watching her closely as his hands tugged on the hem of her shirt.

“Its taste strong enough to stand up to more powerful flavors…” His tongue danced along his lower lip. His hands pulling her shirt over her head. There wasn’t a single ounce of her that would have resisted. Urging him with her eyes to continue, she was half bare before him. “Soft enough to go well with desserts…”

His head bent to press a passionate, but all too quick kiss to her lips. Killian kissed his way from her lips to the line of her jaw.

“Killian…” she groaned, the feel of his lips too much for her.

His only response being to continue kissing her as he pressed her back into the counter. Now laid out before him she was entirely vulnerable to his touch. The cool marble on her back. Killian pulled back, grabbing the glass of wine again, raising it above her waist.

“The only delicacy I can think of, unique enough to fit all of those qualities is you, darling,” he said, his voice velvet smooth with innuendo. Emma looked up at him, watching as he tipped the glass she could feel every shred of her succumbing to his toying. Heat in her center. She felt the light stream of wine meeting her skin.

Killian’s hands laid on her thighs pushing them open further so he could bend to lick a trail where he had just poured the wine. The feel of his tongue causing Emma to close her eyes in pleasure. He lapped up the liquid, from the top of her pants up to her breasts. He swirled her left nipple in his mouth while twisting the other to erection. His hips pressed into hers and she could feel every inch of his glorious length. Emma’s body became tense with aching need for him to ease the friction at her center.

“You taste divine, Emma,” he muttered before taking her pert bud between his teeth. “Damned minx, not wearing anything beneath your shirt.”

“Ah, Killian, I need…” she gasped. Her body shooting to meet him inch for inch. Her legs wrapping around his waist to pull his hardened cock toward her.

“What, my love, what do you need?”

“Please… you.” If anything his use of the word my serving as an amplifier to all that she felt for him. Her back arched off of the counter as his mouth moved from her breasts to the waistband of her leggings. Pressing a chaste kiss to her mound beneath the fabric of the leggings before ripping them off in one quick movement. Soon after her panties were torn from her, now leaving her entirely naked.

His eyes roved over her, appreciating the view. Confidence shot through her as he looked at her. Eyes hooded with want and passion and animalistic need. Then immediately he was on his knees, throwing her legs over his shoulders. His head pressed between them. The second she felt the scruff on his face hit her skin she needed more. He kissed up the sides of her thighs, making his way to where she needed him most. He licked a long line down her core. He whole body beginning to shake. Her hands went to the edge of the counter for support as she pulled his head closer to her with her thighs. Needing him to not be gentle.

That was the last slow movement he made because his mouth turned relentless. Tonguing at her clit. Fucking her with his tongue. It swirled around her clit, rough on her swollen center. Her back arched further. Pressing her bare mound further into his mouth. She heard him make an “mmm” sound the wetter she became.

“So impatient, Emma,” he spoke between swipes of his tongue. Everything he did was arousing to her. She could barely breath, feeling his mouth unforgiving on her sensitive flesh. The more she writhed in pleasure the more it urged him on. He cared so much for her needs, wants, desires, it was rare for someone to be that way. “But also so ready for me.”

Suddenly his mouth pulled from her, just as she was about to crest the peak. White hot anger shooting through her as she watched his face, chin coated with her arousal. He licked his lips. Smirking at how frustrated she probably appeared.

But before she could scream at him like she wanted to, he was undoing his pants, and freeing his cock from its confined space. Then he was on her, tugging her up and to the edge of the counter. Killian’s arms around her, aligning himself with her center. He kissed along her shoulder, neck, jaw, then her lips. Smoothly kissing her breathless as he sheathed himself inside of her.

“I couldn’t make it another second without being inside of you,” he whispered, their faces so close as she wrapped her legs tight around him to pull his cock completely into her. “I missed you, Emma.”

“I missed you too,” she cried. And she had. Not just this, though the sex was blow the doors off good, she missed all of him. He thrust into her, his gaze never leaving hers as he brought her to her peak. Fucking her with abandon but also looking at her like she was the only human being on this earth. His interesting blue eyes were stormy and filled with desire. She climaxed, her whole body fighting to keep him inside of her as he followed her over the edge.

Her body felt boneless, Killian taking her in his arms. She held her arms around his neck to keep her upright. The pleasure still so intense she could hardly believe it had felt so good. He wasn’t much better off, with his heavy breath in her ear. Her fingers toyed with the hair on the back of his neck, soothing both he and her as they collected themselves.

“I’m gonna need to get a new kitchen…” Emma joked after a few minutes of measured breathing.

“Why’s that, love?” he asked with a smile, sliding his arms to wrap around her lower waist so he could see her face.

“Because I’m never going to be able to look at this island the same again.” She giggled. The inappropriate nature of this encounter, the choice to fuck in the kitchen. It was exhilarating.

“Ah yes, well I’ll never be able to have a glass of that wine again without comparing to how it tasted with you.” His eyebrow went up. “I really did miss you this week, Emma.”

“I know.” She ran her hands down the front of him. Wishing he wasn’t wearing a shirt overtop of his chest. “I never thought that I… that we… I missed you too, Killian.”

He seemed to blush a bit at her admitting, again, that she felt as he did. Rarely was he bashful but right now it flickered. And then just as quickly as it came, it was gone, his confidence back as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Perhaps we could continue this in a place where you don’t prepare your food.”

He finished it off with a nip of her ear. Igniting her desire quickly once again. She had all but forgotten about the mac and cheese she had been trying to make, the pot sitting next to the stove. For right now the only appetite she had was for Killian. And as he whisked her into his arms with little effort, she allowed herself to be carried away by him.

It wasn’t long before they reached her bedroom and began engaging again. Falling into the bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be there together. Hot kisses, tangled fingers, smooth movements. Reaching their release at the same time, crying out for one another in ecstasy. As waves of pleasure ran through their sated bodies.

In the aftermath of their passion they lay together. Killian’s arms securing Emma to his side. She ran her fingers along his skin, just needing to touch him in some way. Every once in awhile he would press a soft kiss to her head or her hand to reassure her he was in no hurry to leave.

But in the quiet of the house, it was very distinct when Emma’s stomach began to growl. A result of her lack of food since lunch. Her face reddened in embarrassment at the sound, as Killian had clearly heard it.

“A bit hungry, love?” he asked between laughs.

“Just a little… I was kind of in the middle of making something when you showed up.”

“Darling if you were hungry you could have just said something we didn’t have to-”

“Oh yes we did.” Emma sat up, looking in his eyes. “We both needed that.”

“Do you have anything here to eat?” he asked, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Almost making her forget how hungry she was. Almost.

“Not really… I have macaroni and cheese..” judging by the look on Killian’s face he wasn’t too thrilled with sharing a child’s size box of easy mac. “Maybe we can just order take out.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips before Emma reached for her phone.

They had decided to order Chinese food. As it was one of the only food places still open for delivery at this hour nearby. Everything shut down so early in Storybrooke even on a Friday night. Killian and Emma stayed naked and basking in their fluff bubble as long as they could, before dressing when the food would arrive in a few moments.

“I must say you look especially gorgeous in one of my shirts,” Killian said from the bed. Emma had slipped into the thing, loving the natural smell of him that stayed with the fabric. As she looked at him posted up in her bed she thought to herself that this was something she had already gotten so used to, how could she ever go back to not being involved with him? It wasn’t that they were official, in fairness they hadn’t even gone on a date. It was in that moment, wearing his shirt, waiting for takeout with him, watching him lounge in her bed that she knew they would have to have a serious conversation about what came next for them. As much as the stubborn part of Emma wanted to just let him go back to London and not express anything she felt at the risk of sounding desperate, the part of her that had fallen for him was much stronger. So at some point she would have to ask him if he saw any kind of future with her. Because she was starting to with him.

“I don’t have any cash, do you?” she asked, looking through her wallet.

“I have some. Front pants pocket, love.”

“Thanks,” Emma said as she reached down to grab his jeans. She fumbled around in Killian’s wallet finally finding the cash, but as she pulled it out of the sleeve something else fell and hit the floor by her feet.

Looking down it appeared to just be a small, white, crumbled piece of paper, but as Emma picked it up and flattened out the worn paper she realized it was more than a piece of paper. In her hands was a photobooth picture of two people laughing in one, kissing in another, sticking their tongues out. Killian was one of the people, a lightness to him that wasn’t in him anymore. But the other person, a woman, wild brown hair, deep chocolate eyes.

“Killian…” Emma started, her voice shaking, hands unstable as well. “Who is this woman?”

“What?” he sat up, looking toward Emma to see what she was referring to. Genuine concern. His face fell when he saw what she was holding. “Emma, I swear I didn’t know that was in there….”

Her blood raced, a mix of anger, confusion, sadness, “who is she to you? Answer me.”

“That’s my ex-girlfriend… Grace… I thought I had taken that out of there… I’m so sorry Emma.” He stood from the bed, his face wrought with worry.

Emma couldn’t even say anything else, her emotions getting the better of her. She didn’t want to hurt him. God that was the last thing she wanted. She began to shake even more, her whole body in shock from finding it. Before she could react any other way she ran to her bathroom, closing the door, locking it behind her.

She slid down the solid door to the floor. Trying her best to take deep breathes as adrenaline took over. She didn’t know what to do. But what she did know was she couldn’t figure it out while looking at Killian, thinking of him the way she did.

“Emma!” She heard Killian knocking on the door, pleading with her to talk. “Emma please, I swear I didn’t know that was in there! I don’t… she doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, Emma. It’s you that I love!”

Emma lifted her head. Tears brimming in her eyes as the confession poured from him through the door. She could tell he meant it. Which made everything that much harder.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Emma. You must know that. There’s no one else. There never could be.” Though his voice through the door was muffled she heard him loud and clear. Feeling her heart physically break as she looked at the picture in her hand.

The woman in the picture, the woman who Killian had known as Grace, was actually someone else entirely.

The woman in the picture was Neal’s mother. And her name wasn’t Grace it was Milah.

#captain swan fanfiction #emma swan #killian jones #cs fanfics #cs ff au #cs modern au #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan

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firelightsglow · 8 years

Text

Fireflies

~*~ Originally written 1/24/17. The one who first lit the flame. ~*~ The World is changing. Darkness gathers like a storm, bringing fear and pain in its wake. And in the darkness, we cling to whatever light we can. The World burns, whether as a beacon or a pyre, and all eyes are drawn to the flame. But just for this moment, let us turn away. Let us look past the fires of martyrs and madmen, heroes and saints, lives so bright that they’re blinding to look upon. Let us look further, to the smallest of us, to the embers kicked up by the flame. This is a tale of those little souls. Those who did not quite succumb, or overcome, but those who simply survived the dark, and found light where they could, if only for a time. Those who were, perhaps, not great, but knew the presence of greatness, and basked in its glow. This is a tale of those who find light where they can- a tale of fireflies that yet flew among eagles. ~*~

I never did like my hair. Maybe that’s an inane thought to have. And, I mean, it is, especially at a time like this. Maybe I should back up. My hair is my shield, you see? My curtain. When I was a kid, I never wanted to talk to anybody. Never opened up. All I had to do was tip my head so my hair fell across my face and there you go- my shields are up, and no fear or worry can get to me. I’m older, now. A bit less withdrawn. A bit less reserved. And I’m a Hunter, so I can’t exactly show up for work with my hair in my face. That’s why, every morning, before we go to bell service, Yasmin sits on my bed and does my hair. That little bit of peace and quiet is my favorite part of every morning, when Yasmin pulls all my worries away and ties them into a tidy braid. Knowing all that, I’m sure you understand why I’m distracted. Because a lock of my hair’s wiggled out of the braid somehow, and that means a lock of worry dangling in front of my eyes, while a rancid, animated corpse is snapping at my face. Sorry. Maybe I should back up a little more. My name is Eliza Beauchene. I live on the planet Demeter, an agri-world before things went to shit twenty years ago, and honest-to-god monsters started running amok. I’m 5’5”, which is tall for my age, or so I hear. Yasmin Quintana is my best friend, and she’s also my, er, roommate. So it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for us when she looked out our window this morning, sighed, and said: “There’s a ghoul in our driveway.” Yasmin and I live in a town called Elk Lake, which has neither elk or a lake. We’re Hunters, which just means that if we see a ghoul- say, in our driveway- we don’t call for help, we are the help. And we’re also Adepts. The Professor says that’s just the general term for anyone who can use magic, but I think that’s giving us too much credit, since ‘adept’ makes it sound like we’re actually any good. So, that’s how we wound up here, in our driveway, fully dressed but only half-awake, dealing with a walking corpse prowling for its breakfast before we’ve even had ours. I am, understandably, not in the best mood. The ghoul was a man once, and a hockey fan at that, his torn jersey looking oddly right at home with the snowy ground and the gloomy, overcast sky. He must’ve caught all his games on the extranet, since Demeter never got cold enough for ice hockey. It barely got cold enough for snow, and we don’t even get the good kind- we get the dirty, slushy shit that makes walking a nightmare, never any of the nice fairy tale fluff. He lunges at me, his jaw hanging open, not unlike some morons I grew up with, and I punch him in the chin, slamming his jaw shut with a clack of bone. “I hope you bite your tongue in two!” I snap at him. I’m snippy today, raw, like a nerve, like the throbbing in my knuckles and in my thumb from poor technique. Closed fist. Yasmin would scoff. The ghoul falls on his ass, in the slush piling up on our driveway. He tries to get up, slips, then gets up again, his empty white eyes fixed on me. He groans, his rancid breath fogging the air, the cold only slightly dulling his stench. The stench of death. Something about that smell just rubs me raw. I grit my teeth, my patience slipping. I lift up my hand, and a halo of golden light forms around my fingers. I trace a sigil within the ring, my fingertips forming the stars of a new constellation- He’s on me, faster than I expected, grabbing me by the wrists and slamming me back against the garage door, hard enough to shake clumps of snow from the roof. The back of my head smacks against the door and gets my vision swimming. There’s a wet, meaty thud as Yasmin buries a blade in the ghoul’s head, chopping in from the side and lodging in the thing’s temple. She takes her machete by the handle and wrenches it sideways, sending the ghoul staggering towards the street, oblivious to gash in its head. I lift my hand and complete the sign. There’s a flash of light and a sound like glass shattering, and suddenly, the ghoul is ablaze from the waist up, burning with a smokeless white fire. It collapses into a shapeless heap, sliding down our driveway on a layer of slush before settling in the street. I take a deep breath. It doesn’t smell like death at all. My head hurts. I reach behind me and poke at it, wincing. I cast an irritable glare at the garage door. For its part, it doesn’t seem too apologetic. “Are you okay?” Yasmin asks me, slipping her machete back into the pouch on her hip. “I hit my head,” I whine. “You poor thing,” Yasmin coos. She pats me on the head, like a child, before pulling me close- I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze, just so. She stops, watching me. I shake my head. The anxiety is already worming into me, tightening my jaw. I swallow. “Not outside,” I say, finally. Yasmin nods. And that just sour my mood even more. Today I woke up to a gloomy, overcast day, had a ghoul almost bite my head off, smacked my head on the garage door… the day hasn’t had the best start, and we haven’t even gotten to work yet. But that little thing at the end- something as simple and small as stopping Yasmin from kissing me in public- that’s what really rankles. That’s what hurts. I sigh gloomily, making my way down to the street. Yasmin follows at my heels. “We’ll have to shovel eventually,” she says, back to business, though I can hear the tinge of disappointment in her voice. “I know.” “And the skimmer’s out of commission until we can get a new battery..” “I know.” “We’re going to be late for bell service.” “I know, Yas.” “The Professor won’t be happy…” I don’t want to snap at her. I don’t. But this morning’s piled up a litter of little things, and I’m committed to my bad mood. I’m ready, ready to whirl around and say something hurtful that’ll feel good for one smug, self-righteous second, and then I’ll regret it for the rest of the day. I don’t do that. Instead, I whirl around, open my mouth as if to say something, and then I slip on the sidewalk and fall on my ass. It happens so suddenly that I actually don’t know what to say. I stare at Yasmin, dumbly. “Are you okay?” She asks, offering me a hand. I reach up… ..and then I pull her down into the snow with me. “Are you okay?” I ask, snorting. “Don’t laugh,” Yasmin whines. “I’m not.” “Don’t laugh!” “I’m not!” I am. And so’s Yasmin. I’m laughing so hard that my chest hurts and the bump on my head throbs. We just lay there on the sidewalk, letting water seep into our clothes, laughing like idiots at the absurdity of it all. The ordinary sidewalk, slippery when wet, proved a more formidable foe than the servants of dark gods. I think about all the little things that can sour my mood and get me worrying- like a ghoul in my driveway, to gloomy weather, to even the tiniest things, like just having a hair out of place- and I think about how all those little annoyances just evaporate when I’m with her. I lie there, stifling giggles. Absently, Yasmin’s fingers curl around mine. I give her hand a squeeze. “...Y’know we’re going to have to change out of these clothes, right?” “Yep.” “Then we’re really going to be late for bell service.” “Yep!” “And the Professor definitely won’t be happy with us.” “Oh yeah?” I turn, and meet Yasmin’s eyes. I grin. “Well, fuck him!” We lay there, in Demeter’s terrible, slushy snow, and together, we laughed and laughed. ~*~ We were still laughing when we arrived at the chapel twenty minutes later, and Professor Brennan Maxwell was waiting in the doorway, leaning on his long-handled cane that was really more of a staff. “You’re late,” he said, without looking at us. “Sorry, Professor,” Yasmin mumbled. I couldn’t help but snort. “Got the giggles, Miss Beauchene?” he asked, which, of course, only made us giggle harder. He sighed wearily, waving us into the room. We moved to go in, but then he tapped the wooden floor with his cane, and we stopped. “Wipe your feet,” he tutted. I rolled my eyes, then did what I was told. We found a seat by our neighbors, the Shimizu twins, mainly because Mika Shimizu waved us over with an enthusiasm no one should be able to muster this early in the morning. We sidled into the pew beside her, exchanged awkward sitting-hugs, and then politely waved hello to her brother, Miki, who nodded at us stony-faced before returning his attention to the pulpit. “Hey! Where’ve you guys been?” Mika asked. “Sorry,” Yasmin said. “There was a ghoul in our driveway.” “Yeah? Did you kill it?” “Eliza did,” Yasmin nodded. “I blew it up with magic,” I grinned. “Oooh,” Mika cooed. “I wish I could’ve seen it.” Miki glared at us from behind his glasses. He raised a finger to his lips for silence. Fine. I guess we’ll catch up after service. It’s not like we hear this stuff every morning, Miki. Bell services take place at the three bells, morning, noon, and evening. Everyone in town is expected to go to at least one a day. Because of work, and class, Yasmin and I can’t make the later two, which means we go to morning bell service at sunrise- to my everlasting chagrin. The Shimizus aren’t just our neighbors. They’re Hunters, too. Not only that, but they’re also Adepts- and rather more adept at it than Yasmin and I. Miki can make magical barriers, which naturally makes him popular for sentry duty. I don’t think I’ve seen Mika use her powers. She says they’re “not ideal against ghouls”, whatever that means. I adore Mika. She’s everyone’s little sister. She’s cute and fun and full of energy, as lively and cheerful as Yasmin is grounded and practical. I don’t really know much about Miki, though, honestly. We don’t talk much. I do know that he goes to the trouble of wearing a tie to bell service, which I think says it all, really. I slouched forward, leaning my elbow on the pew in front of me, and resting my chin in my hand. Brother Eli was a nice enough guy out on the street, but he could just go on and on. I shifted in my seat, his droning sermon sailing comfortably over my head, instead finding my eyes drawn to the mosaic on the wall behind him. The mosaic depicted a woman in a white dress, her eyes hidden behind a crimson blindfold, her long blond hair forming a halo around her head, all depicted in chips of glass and stone. It was beautifully made, especially as it was made of scraps. But every morning, when I saw it looming over Brother Eli, it gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Let us pray,” Brother Eli said, and despite the eerie feeling the mosaic gave me, I couldn’t look away. “Today, and every day, we remember that moment of infamy twenty years ago when Seth, the Defiler, came upon our world. And today, and every day, we honor the Saint, by whose sacrifice the Mirage was cast from our land. And though she toppled their master, the servants of darkness continue to run amok- and so we send our champions to continue her fight, our proud Hunters, our warriors of light!” I screwed my eyes shut, trembling. Brother Eli’s words should be inspiring, but instead I felt a vicious melancholy settling around me, suffocating, like a widow’s veil. I sensed Mika and Yasmin watching me on either side. I hated the look they’re giving me. I didn’t want their pity. But I took their offered hands, regardless. “We raise our souls like candles to thee, our Lady who first lit the flame,” Brother Eli intoned. “In honor of the Saint, Elizabeth Beauchene. Bless her name!” “Bless her name,” the crowd chorused. “Bless her name,” I murmured, staring at the floor. ~*~ Leave it to bell service to put me in a bad mood. It lingered on me like a bad smell- not unlike a ghoul’s breath- and clouded my mood even after we left the chapel to start our rounds. I shuffled along, my hands stuffed in my pockets, staring at the ground. Normally, I’d want my hair veiling my face, to complete the look- but right then, I didn’t want the reminder that I had my mother’s hair. The Professor, to his credit, got the hint, and didn’t make a sound during our patrol save for the tapping of his staff on the pavement. So did Yasmin, who knew when I needed space without me having to say anything, and Miki, who was used to not talking much, anyway. But Mika, damn her, thought the silence was too uncomfortable, and couldn’t help but try to talk. “He’s young, isn’t he? Brother Eli,” Mika was saying. “He looks like he’s our age.” “Too young to be overseeing bell services,” Miki offered quietly. “He is,” Maxwell said. “He’s filling in for Father Joseph while he’s away.” “Why? What’s wrong with Father Joe?” Mika asked. “Sand sickness,” Maxwell said. “Oh,” Mika said. “Hm… Brother Eli, Eli… is that short for anything? Like, Elijah?” “No,” Maxwell said. He glanced at me, just for a second. “He was named after the Saint.” “Oh.” Mika said. She didn’t say much after that. ~*~ It’s said that the presence of the daemon lord, Seth, The Mirage, is heralded by a sandstorm, with the shadows of monsters lurking in the mist. When Seth invaded our planet, he brought his harbinger, the sandstorm, with him. But when he left, the sandstorm stayed, scouring our planet and ruining the vast majority of our farmland, for which we were famous. Some cities, however, Elk Lake included, escaped intact. They were protected by a barrier of shimmering white light, one that kept Seth’s sandstorm- and his minions- at bay. These barriers collectively became known as Saint Elizabeth’s Halo, her “last miracle” before supposedly sacrificing herself to banish Seth from the planet. I don’t know about that. I think I’d sooner believe that Demeter’s planetary government just had some last-ditch military-grade shield generators lying around in case of emergency, and the PDF switched on the ones they could before Seth’s forces overwhelmed them and they lost control. Miracle or not, the barriers won’t last forever. The Halo is losing power over time. It’s still strong enough to keep out Seth’s otherworldly sandstorm, but ghouls and other, worse things do occasionally slip inside. Some cities, I’ve heard, have started reducing the coverage of their Halo in order to maintain a stable field strength. That means having a perfectly safe daemon-free zone, that nonetheless loses more and more ground to the sandstorm each year. Other cities, like Elk Lake, allow the intrusions for the sake of keeping their territory intact- which means more Hunters, and more patrols. It’s not impossible for humans to pass through the Halo, by the way. There are some things that can survive outside the shielded zone- wind farms, for example, are a big one, and are one of the main reasons we still have electricity. But the perpetual sandstorm, and the constant threat of ghouls, or worse, mean you probably wouldn’t want to live out there. I would tell you about how the Halo’s glow serves as artificial sunlight or whatever, but I’m a Hunter, not a farmer. The gaps in the shield are getting wider each year, and it’s my job to make sure nothing gets through. It’s, uh, not as exciting as you think. Mainly, it’s just walking. Occasionally fighting, but Mika and the Professor handle that most of the time. Mika, because as scout, she’s up in front and sees them first; the Professor, because he’s a powerful Adept in his own right and doesn’t trust us to use our powers in combat just yet. As for the rest of the time... “Miss Beauchene,” the Professor began, as we entered the ninth hour of our slog through Elk Lake’s depressingly empty commercial district. “What is the Trinity of Magic and from where do they draw their power?” “Psionics, which draws from the mind, Divine, which draws from faith, and Arcane, which draws from the outside world,” I recited, my voice flat with fatigue. “And the outlier, Miss Quintana?” “Dark magic, which is any magic unclassified due to age, obscurity, or lack of study,” Yasmin put in beside me, doing her best to keep the skip in her step. “Very good, Miss Quintana,” the Professor went on, “so the saying goes, Dark magic is any magic that hasn’t been studied long enough to fall into the other three.” “So if I lose a spellbook under my bed, how long does it take for it turn into Dark magic?” Mika asked wryly. “As long as it takes for you to forget what it does,” Miki said flatly. “Ser Shimizu has the right idea,” the Professor said, gesturing with his cane. “‘Oh, dear, I’ve lost this incantation for a thousand years. I wonder where it goes. Ah! That’s what it does! Let me put it back on the shelf.’ Picture that, but for entire schools of magic, and you’ve got Dark magic, realm of the obscure, the obtuse, forbidden, and forgotten.” “Dark magic got lost while editing the wiki,” I mutter. Yasmin snorts. “Dark magic got lost while editing the wiki! Excellently said!” The Professor says, just a little too loudly, and I idly wonder if he knows what a wiki is at all. ~*~ Night came at the end of a cloudy day, cut through by the occasional shaft of light. Figuratively, of course. There was no day or night beneath the Halo. Beyond the Halo was the sandstorm, and who knew where the sun was beyond that? But there were subtle differences in the Halo over time. Sometimes, it would dim just a little bit in the evenings, and give us a nice twilight glow. Sometimes, it would grow brighter and then get dimmer, rise and fall, like a pulse- like it was alive. Some nights, if you didn’t know better, you might mistake the Halo’s glow for moonlight. But I did know better, and thinking about the Halo, and the Saint by extension, just gave me a headache. So I pulled the curtains shut and fell back into bed. I heard the sound of water dribbling into a bucket down the hall, and knew that it was Yasmin. As I lay there in bed, with my arm across my eyes, trying to blot out my throbbing headache, I had an idle fantasy of Yasmin and I, taking a real bath together. It was a silly thing, obviously. No one would be that careless with their water ration, even if Hunters got a larger cut. Still… I sighed. This morning’s melancholy just wouldn’t let up. And now I had a headache, too. My mind and my body were just ganging up on me today. I decided to put on the news, because if I was going to have a headache, I might as well double down. I reached out blindly with my free hand, clicking on the radio on my nightstand. A familiar voice sounded over the radio- Colonel Amadi Afolayan, Planetary Defense, one of the founders of the Elk Lake Hunter’s Association. “People of Demeter, I ask you: what is our worst enemy? I tell you now, it is not the sandstorm battering at our walls, or the ghouls walking the streets. Nor, even is it the master of these invaders, the Mirage, the Defiler himself. No; I speak to you of fear. Fear is what cages us; fear is what kills us. But what are we afraid of, really? We are not afraid of the dark; we are afraid of the unknown. We are not afraid of the invader; we are afraid of being powerless. We are not afraid to fight- we are afraid to fail, to lose, to die! Here at the Hunter’s Association, you have nothing to fear. Here you will learn the enemy, and know the enemy. Here you will grasp the power to defeat him, and know that you are not powerless. Here you will train and know that you can fight! That they can be beaten! Here at the Association, you will not be powerless, and you will not be alone. Look around you. This is your family. These are those who survived. We are brothers, sisters, comrades-in-arms! We are Hunters. Stand strong. Stand together. For together, we shall know no fear!” I’ve heard this speech a hundred times. It’s the Hunter recruitment speech, from who knows how long ago. Maybe even before the Halo went up. Damn it. All this talk of Halos and Hunters is just making that headache worse. And the cheering crowd from twenty years ago, a crowd of ghosts, certainly isn’t helping either. I rub my knuckles into my eyelids, feeling the cloud of melancholy rolling in... “Eh. It’s not all that.” One voice- her voice, like light through the clouds. I feel Yasmin settle in beside me, feel the towel across her shoulders and the wetness of her hair. Then, for a single, longing moment, she is above me, reaching over to my nightstand and silencing my radio with a click. “He makes being a Hunter sound so heroic,” Yasmin shrugged. I open my eyes and look at her- really, look at her. Warm, brown eyes. Brown skin. Dark undercut and sideshave that takes way less maintenance than my hair. Gentle smile. Solid. Grounded. The earth beneath my feet, catching me when I fall. It occurs to me that I should say something. I pick something corny. “You were pretty heroic this morning, pulling that guy off of me.” Yasmin smiles at me and mercifully doesn’t lambast my choice of line. Instead, she asks: “How was your day?” “You should know. You’ve been with me for all of it.” “Yeah,” she shrugs. “But it’s still good to ask.” The bump on the back of my head throbs, and the Halo’s soft glow peeks in past my curtains, both reminders that they’re still there. I groan and burrow my head in the crook of her shoulder. “It’s over,” I mutter into her skin. Softly, I feel her fingers on my scalp, in my hair. “You’re here,” Yasmin says. “You made it.” “I barely even did anything,” I protest. “You survived,” Yasmin says. “That’s not nothing.” The words echo in my ears, down the weeks, the years, to old hurts, old urges. I blink the memories away. They land, warm, and wet, on Yasmin’s perfect skin. So much of this world has tried to kill me. I don’t need anyone else on that list. “I’ll have to do the same thing tomorrow,” I say, and even as I say it I can feel the fatigue of today’s patrol chasing down my muscles, racing to my brain. “We’ll get there when we get there,” Yasmin says, her hand on my chin, and a question in her eyes. This is me. This is my world; my life. It’s not exciting, or glorious, or full of tragedy. It’s not the best or the worst life. But it’s a life, and I’ll hold on to it, for as long as I can. Yasmin’s right here; my friends are next door; the Professor’s just a phone call away. Tomorrow, there’ll be more of us. This world is ours to endure. ~*~ Some people say the World began on a turtle’s back, or as drops of dew falling from a spear. Some people say the World began with a word, or a song, or a bang. Me, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is how this world began- with a colony ship landing on a lush, uncharted planet, eager to transform it into the breadbasket of the system. That was how Demeter became the envy of the Olympian Cluster, our rolling fields feeding the waves of settlers chasing the galactic frontier. And, as cliche as it sounds, for a time, it was good. Then, twenty years ago, war came to my planet. The daemon lord, Seth, Aspect of Decay, invaded Demeter with legions of ghoulish undead and their grotesque masters. From one day to the next, Demeter went from a peaceful agri-world to a blazing ruin, with monsters swarming the streets. Then, suddenly, Seth vanished, taking with him the vast majority of his generals, his sorcerers. Bereft of their masters, his legions of ghouls lost the baleful will empowering them. They degenerated, becoming husks of themselves, reverting to basic instincts- mere animals, not soldiers. Just like that, for reasons no one could explain, the war was over. But there still wasn’t peace. My friends and I are the first generation born into a ravaged world- one where monsters roam the streets, and pockets of humanity hold on to whatever safe zones they can. Somehow, we manage to scrape a living. It’s not an easy life; I won’t lie. But I don’t want you to think it’s all bad, either. Twenty years ago, the sky fell in, and monsters descended upon us, but the world did not end. We’re still here, despite everything. We’ve made it this far. And we’ll make it further. I know we will. We’ll just take it a day at a time. My name is Eliza Beauchene, and this wretched world hasn’t killed us yet. Tomorrow is a new day. Let’s survive. ~*~

#original character #original fiction #post apocalyptic #writers on Tumblr #Those Who Carry the Flame #Fireflies

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