#once upon a time rocky road

[stahlop]

Once Upon a Time 4x03 “Rocky Road” Review

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So the ice cream lady is apparently the Snow Queen and she’s cursed Marian to become frozen! And she’s also, apparently, Elsa’s aunt and was trapped in the urn before Elsa was. Interesting that Elsa’s mother never thought to tell her scared daughter that ice powers run in the family! And Emma finally pushes past some of her trust issues with Hook!

Summary: Marian becomes frozen and True Love’s Kiss doesn’t work when Robin tries to save her. Hook resorts to blackmail to find out who else has powers like Elsa. In the past, Elsa and Kristoff fight Hans and his brothers and end up discovering a long-lost relative.

Opening: Any Given Sundae

New Characters:

Will Scarlet: He’s apparently an outcast from the Merry Men. How he’s come to be in Storybrooke is a mystery. He’s a thief and will always be a thief. The most helpful thing he does is show Emma and David that the ice cream shop doesn’t use anything to keep the ice cream cold. (For those that don’t know, Will was a favorite on the spin-off Once Upon a Time in Wonderland)

Character Observations:

The Snow Queen: She doesn’t have a name in Arendelle or Storybrooke yet, but Emma refers to her as the Snow Queen, so that’s what we’re going with. In Arendelle, she is revealed to have been trapped in the urn Hans was going to use to trap Elsa. Instead, the Snow Queen freezes Hans and scares his brothers away. She is revealed to be Elsa’s mother’s sister.

In Storybrooke, she is determined to make people think that Elsa is behind all the freezing mayhem that is going on. She does some kind of magic to Marian’s ice cream cone which eventually makes her frozen. She attempts to kill Hook in order to make it look like Elsa did it. Luckily, Emma comes and saves him. But the Snow Queen clearly knows Emma somehow, even if she doesn’t remember. Elsa also doesn’t remember her, but the Snow Queen tells her the Rock Trolls took her memories like they did with Anna when she was younger. She eventually disappears. We later see her talking to Gold. He offers to help her, which she rejects. He also warns her about Emma remembering her.

Regina: How the hell did she run a kingdom when she is terrible at subterfuge? She attempts to hook Henry in by buying him comic books and then makes obvious comments about how the storybook doesn’t have an author. Henry sees through her immediately. She goes on about finding the author and getting her happy ending. Henry, instead of telling her that’s not how this works, tells her it’s her best idea yet. Oy vey! Meanwhile, Marian has been frozen and Robin asks for her help to reverse whatever curse has been put upon her. It’s interesting that she automatically blames Elsa, when she, herself, has been unjustly accused of magical things happening in Storybrooke that ended up being other people (Cora in The Cricket Game).  She claims she’s trying to change, but she still jumps to conclusions at the first chance she gets. Elsa says only an act of true love can save Marian, so Robin kisses her, which doesn’t work. David claims the ice is acting as a barrier like when Frederick was turned to gold in What Happened to Frederick, but Robin later tells Regina it didn’t work because he’s in love with someone else. Regina takes it with grace, since he and Marian are technically still married. They decide to take Marian’s heart so she’s not frozen completely, and Regina can work on reversing the curse.

Emma: Her magic is acting wonky, but she won’t admit it. Regina calls her out on it when she goes to try and figure out what caused the freezing spell on Marian. Emma thinks she’s still mad about her bringing Marian back in the first place. Which, she’s not wrong, but also, neither is Regina. Hook wants to go with her, but she tells him to take Elsa to the sheriff’s station to protect her from the townspeople who think she’s responsible for Marian. Hook doesn’t want to leave Emma, but she gets angry and asks him to just listen to her for once. At Robin’s tent, Emma comes across former Merry Man, Will Scarlet. He runs when he finds out she’s the sheriff, but is taken down by David. Will gives them information about the ice cream shop’s ice cream still being frozen hours after the blackout happened. Will attempts to pick the lock of the ice cream shop to show them, but Emma gets impatient and does it for him, much to David’s surprise. They discover that Will was telling the truth when they see the back room is frozen. And also Will takes off and steals money from the till. Emma wants to go after him, but David says they have more important things to do concerning Marian and she can go after Will another time. Emma expresses self-doubt about her abilities, but David tries to lift her spirits. Emma and David arrive to the Snow Queen trying to kill Hook. The Snow Queen taunts Emma that her magic isn’t stronger than hers, but Emma knocks her back with a blast of magic and manages to magic David and Hook out of the way of the falling icicles. After the Snow Queen disappears, Emma tells David and Hook that the way the Snow Queen said her name sounded familiar, like she’d heard it before. Hook offers to help look for her lair, but Emma gets pissed at him for not following her directions and almost getting himself killed. Emma talks to Elsa who is upset that the Snow Queen told her that Anna put her in the urn. Emma thinks they’re all pawns for something bigger, since Emma brought Elsa there accidentally, but the Snow Queen was already there. Emma doesn’t think the curse brought her to Storybrooke. Emma runs into Hook outside of Granny’s and she’s not happy with his shenanigans. He accuses her of not trusting him, but Emma tells him the truth. She does trust him, but she’s afraid he’s going to get himself killed since every other guy she’s been with is dead. Hook promises her he’s a survivor and they start kissing in the middle of the street!

Hook: He certainly does not like being told what to do, which gets him in trouble with Emma, but not for the reasons he thinks. We start with him, Emma, and Elsa questioning Gold about how Elsa and the urn ended up in his vault. He claims not to know. Hook isn’t buying his BS about turning over a new leaf for a second. Even when Belle compels him to tell the truth with the dagger, you can tell he’s not buying it. Emma, Elsa, and Hook go to the mayor’s office when Marian has been frozen. Emma goes to look for whomever is responsible and Hook wants to go with her. He’s very upset when she asks him to take Elsa to the sheriff’s station instead. Immediately, Hook and Elsa decide not to follow Emma’s orders and take the investigation into their own hands. By going to Gold’s shop and blackmailing him. Can I just say how much this pains me to see Hook stooping so low when he’s trying to prove to Emma how trustworthy he is? To secretly go to Gold and blackmail him because he knows Belle doesn’t have the real dagger to get what he wants is the opposite of everything he’s trying to prove to Emma. I mean, I know it does help them find out where the ice cream lady/Snow Queen is, but using a way that harkens back to his villainous days is not the way to go about it. Sigh. Gold changes a piece of Marian’s frozen hair into snowflakes that leads Hook and Elsa to the Snow Queen. Hook attempts to call Emma, but she doesn’t answer and has to leave a message (the crux of which is, why did she get him a phone if she never answers it, lol). When Hook and Elsa attempt to leave to go find Emma (since she’s not answering the phone), Hook’s feet are frozen by the Snow Queen. Luckily, Emma saves him before the Snow Queen’s plan to kill him takes place. Later that night, Hook is drinking at Granny’s and Emma’s still pissed at him. He accuses her of not trusting him, but she says she does trust him. She’s just afraid of him getting killed. He tells her he’s a survivor before kissing her. And, this is the first time Hook has initiated a kiss with Emma, she’s initiated it every other time. Hot! Hot! Hot!

Elsa and Kristoff: In Arendelle, Elsa is freaking out over Anna. Kristoff is trying to calm her down by relaying all of Anna’s heroic feats, but Elsa is stressing big time. She then gets a report that Hans has an army and is heading towards Arendelle. Kristoff wants to go see what’s up, but Elsa won’t let him, using his status as Anna’s groom as her reasoning. He goes out anyway and overhears Hans telling his brothers about a magical urn. Kristoff reports back to Elsa that it can contain magical beings like her. He wants to bring some soldiers to go destroy the urn. Elsa wants to avoid war. She suggests just she and Kristoff go. Elsa almost walks herself off a cliff while she and Kristoff have a heart to heart. They get to the cave with the urn and Elsa goes to destroy it, but then some runes show up on it, and she’s trying to decipher them when Hans and his brothers enter. Elsa fights off two of them with her ice powers, and Kristoff dispatches another with a sword, but then Hans gets the drop on Kristoff and threatens to make Anna a widow if Elsa doesn’t hand over the urn (and Kristoff, with a sword to his neck, still makes a joke that he and Anna aren’t married so she wouldn’t technically be a widow). Elsa ends up giving Hans the urn, despite Kristoff’s protests. Hans continues to be the worst person ever by telling Elsa that she doesn’t belong anywhere so he’s going to put her in the urn like she doesn’t exist, which plays on all of Elsa’s magic insecurities. But surprise, surprise, when he opens the urn to put her inside, the Snow Queen comes out instead. And she freezes Hans and his brothers run off. Elsa is in heaven meeting someone who has ice powers like herself. They compare stories about making snowmen come to life and building ice castles. The Snow Queen sees the painting of Elsa’s parents and lets her know Elsa’s mother was her sister, making her Elsa’s aunt. Elsa is understandably confused as her mother never mentioned a sister. Elsa lets her know her mother was lost at sea and it’s just her and Anna now. She tells her how scared she is that Anna is missing, and the Snow Queen promises she’ll help her find her, because that is what family does.

In Storybrooke, Elsa is accused of using her powers to freeze Marian. Emma wants her and Hook to stay at the sheriff’s station, but they go looking for whomever actually froze Marian. They eventually find the Snow Queen in the woods. The Snow Queen wants the town to turn against Elsa and she doesn’t understand why. She tells Elsa the Rock Trolls stole her memories of when they met in Arendelle, but doesn’t say why. She also tells Elsa that Anna put her in the urn. Elsa is adamant that Anna would never do that.

Mary Margaret: She attempts to have a ‘fireside chat’ as the mayor to go over items in the town (complete with baby Neal in her arms), but all anyone wants to talk about is Elsa.Things go south quickly when Marian starts literally turning to ice. After the meeting, Mary Margaret gets some unsolicited advice from Archie about needing to let things go, meaning she doesn’t need to have baby Neal with her constantly and she’ll be better if they aren’t attached at the hip. Mary Margaret is obviously afraid she’ll miss something if she isn’t there with him constantly because of missing out on Emma growing up.

Questions:

Why isn’t Emma’s lie detector blaring when Gold says he’s decided to turn over a new leaf? Or when he says he’s given Belle the dagger? There should be sirens going off in her head.

Exactly how far away is Misthaven from Arendelle? With all the magic going on in the Enchanted Forest, how have they not heard of it in Arendelle?

Since the Snow Queen acknowledges Elsa is queen, why didn’t she realize her sister would have to be dead for that to happen? She seems genuinely shocked when Elsa tells her.

How did Elsa’s urn end up in Gold’s vault? Did the Snow Queen give it to Rumple since we know they know each other?

Have Gold and the Snow Queen been talking since the curse broke? How does he know that she knew Emma once? Does that mean the Snow Queen has been out of Storybrooke?

Observations:

This is the most casual we’ve ever seen Regina. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing a t-shirt and vest!

Emma looks amazing in this episode also. She’s letting her freckles shine through, and she just looks cute as a button.

The two comic books we see Regina get Henry are Thor and ShenLu.

Regina and Henry decide their search for the author will be called Operation Mongoose.

Hook tells Gold that he could have Belle summon him with the dagger and when he didn’t appear she’d have proof the dagger isn’t real. We’ve seen plenty of times when all someone had to do is say Rumpelstiltskin's name (even in other realms) and he’d appear.

The cage that Kristoff puts his torch in is already lit when he and Elsa enter the cave. Then he lights it again. Or there is another cage already lit, which should be a red flag that someone is already in the cave.

Hook now has a cell phone and it has an ‘Emma’ button.

Once Upon a Time Firsts:

Magic can change form but never be destroyed.

So, we find out a little bit more about the Snow Queen, but not what her end goal is yet. She is obviously very bitter about something having to do with her magic and people fearing it, and she doesn’t seem to care if people are okay with it like they are in Storybrooke. I am not happy about Hook blackmailing Gold as it just goes against everything he’s worked so hard to put in his past. But Emma and Hook seem to be getting on the right path for being together despite that! Yay!

Please leave comments and reblog! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future reviews.

@searchingwardrobes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @thisonesatellite​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @justbecauseyoubelievesomething​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​

[yellowbugifs]

184/365 days of regina mills

[dinneratgrannys]

killian jones vs the 21st century

[a-happy-beginning]

Why is it your compliments are so aggravating?

—Elsa to Kristoff, Once Upon a Time, “Rocky Road”

[kazoosandfannypacks]

subtle little captainswan lockscreen/wallpaper combos. rb or like if used! 🦢🏴‍☠️🧭

[allaboutjmo]

[enchantedxrpicons]

69 rp base icons of Emilie De Ravin as Belle French in tv show Once Upon A Time 4x03 (part 3/3)

100x100

all made by me, please do not steal them and claim as your own

sharpened and colored by me

feel free to add texture / border but in that case credit me somewhere on your blog

screencaps are from kissthemgoodbye.net

reblog if using

all 69 icons can be found on Belle's page

[qingxin-dream]

“Just One Good Thing”

summary | it’s hard to love someone who is broken, and even harder when two broken people love so deeply it hurts. (art credits: @/pastahands on twitter).

warnings | not proofread/vent writing, scaramouche lore spoilers, brief graphic depiction of death, illness, loss, profanity, TW heavy mental health topics, self-hatred, dissociation, depression, suicidal thoughts/ideation, graphic description of self-harm wounds, fear of abandonment, guilt, reader is hospitalized

genre | angst, hurt, comfort

word count | 2.5k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

This was not the first time the puppet experienced betrayal.

How could you have known? It was long before you came into existence, hundreds of years of anguish buried in layers upon layers beneath his artificial constitution. He had once been but an innocent, naive babe with the world sparkling in the reflection of his violet eyes, meant for something greater. He had once fulfilled a purpose.

To be brought into the world against your will, crafted from the divine hand of a grieving Archon, only to have every semblance of your being ripped from you and cast aside in the name of so-called mercy—is a fate akin to death itself.

You never knew his past.

How he was once an eccentric named Kabukimono who wandered from Shakkei Pavilion and made friends with the blade smiths of Tatarasuna. His first taste of human life was amid a blazing furnace and the clamoring of a hammer onto hot metal, learning what it meant to labor and create. He had grown to love the little village as his own, playing with the children and sipping on the bitter taste of tea leaves with his comrades.

The puppet who had called himself Kabukimono was painfully ignorant to the cruelty of fate.

He could have never fathomed the day he would hold the future of his village in his trembling, pale hands as the toxic Tatarigami fumes envelope him in chemicals. There he climbed deep inside the Mikage Furnace, the unique resilience of his artificial body left unharmed by the inhospitable temperatures glowing hot against his divine skin. Any normal human would’ve perished a thousand times over.

Inside the foreign device that promised to save his home lay the bloody, withering heart cut fresh from his closest companion’s chest.

“You are a human, Kabukimono,” Niwa had insisted with a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a comforting hand resting on the eccentric’s shoulder. “You just don’t have a heart.”

Yet there the puppet stood, his voice robbed from his aching throat, cradling the very essence of his friend’s humanity in his palm.

It was his fault. What a foolish creature he was to ever involve himself with humans, whom he could only bring suffering. His tears were evaporated instantly as the grotesque realization dawned on the distraught young Kabukimono. He would later discover that he had been betrayed by a man who introduced himself as Escher but was known among the Fatui as The Doctor.

The dirty pads of his bare feet had thumped through the rocky village path and down the dirt roads leading to the outskirts of the rural Inazuman wilderness. Crows rustled in the trees and flapped their feathers into the sky, jeering at the desolate and abandoned settlement.

The village should have been evacuated. All who could have been saved were rushed as far away as possible from the poisonous Tatarigami. Rows upon rows of homes and businesses were eerily vacant. Kabukimono, in his watery hysterics, had not paid any mind to his surroundings, leaving behind the only home he ever had for good.

That is, until he stumbled across a young boy who lived under an old sakura tree. Kabukimono immediately felt the void in his chest wrench with visceral guilt upon learning that the child’s parents were crafts-people. The house was utterly empty except for the lonely little boy.

For as much as the puppet wanted nothing more than to rid himself of human companionship, he felt responsible for the loss of the boy’s parents. He had an obligation to see that he was taken care of and safe from the Tatarigami. If he could not have saved his friends, perhaps he could atone for his sins in raising the orphaned child—who reminded him too much of himself.

“Promise me,” Kabukimono spoke up with a bit of a hoarse tone, his voice cracking with emotion, extending a shaky hand to the young boy. “That we can be family. I will watch over you.”

“Like a big brother?” asked the innocent boy with a hopeful smile. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, taking the eccentric’s hand in his own. “I’ve always wanted one… I promise, we will be family.”

For a short while, the puppet had learned to push the turmoil plaguing his conscience to the back of his mind. His focus had shifted entirely to ensuring the boy’s safety and happiness, trying to scavenge food for him and exchanging stories under the moonlight. Although, Kabukimono flinched with each cough from the boy that shattered the silence between them as they went to sleep.

He hated that he recognized the symptoms. The residue of the Tatarigami had somehow infected the child, no doubt. A dreadful thought occurred to him—perhaps he had given the sickness to the orphaned child after what happened at the Mikage Furnace. The idea was enough to eat him alive with worry. Kabukimono had secretly prayed that the boy would endure the illness.

The puppet had worked tirelessly to give him the best he possibly could. If his coughs were dry, he would fetch him water. If his stomach rumbled, he would prepare some Lavender Melons. If he needed a friend, Kabukimono would be there to hold his hand as he slept like a guardian angel.

The day the elderly sakura tree shed its pretty pink blossoms was the day the boy was found unresponsive.

Kabukimono, too, found himself hollow and devoid. What did it mean to be family? What did it mean to love? What was the point of having such worthless emotions?

A blazing inferno consumed the darkness of the night sky. Crackling embers swirled and smoke bellowed in the rural countryside as a rickety house succumbed to a hellish fate. No one was there to witness the flaming spectacle. No one to help, or save the vacant violet eyes of a nameless puppet who clutched a small doll in his lap.

It was laughable, truly, how sick and twisted the world could be. The puppet couldn’t fulfill his creator’s wishes, nor could he befriend humanity, or have a heart of his own. Oh, to perish in a fiery death would be far too simple for Celestia’s liking, wouldn’t it?

For five hundred years, Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche—no matter who he became—the feeling of inadequacy remained.

His divinely-created body was an immortal prison, shackling him to his sins. As a Fatui Harbinger, no needle, blade, or poison of the Doctor could kill him. No enemy or magic of the Abyss could ultimately break him. The puppet was built to withstand the likes of the Cataclysm that had taken his creator’s sister, yet the scars of these experiments litter his fair skin are a reminder that he is indeed alive.

Wanderer vividly remembers his dark fascination with testing his limits in the depths of his dissociation. Anything to serve as penance for the irreversible destruction he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his home. If he was lucky, perhaps the Doctor would find a way to end his misery or the maddening darkness of the Abyss would swallow him whole once and for all.

Even forsaking his autonomy and identity as Scaramouche to ascend to godhood would be a fitting death for the puppet. After all, the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom would never bow to his emotions like a weakling. Losing himself to infinite knowledge and truth would be a good ending, despite the insanity that would befall him.

All that mattered is he would cease to exist.

But it was you who defeated him, in all his might and glory as a fake Archon pumped full of divine wisdom and the sludgy remains of dead gods. It was you who found him after he tried to erase every part of his worthless being from Irminsul, and helped him pick up the pieces of himself in the aftermath.

The reality that lies within Irminsul had given him a new perspective as the Wanderer. Though he retained the poignant memories of his sins, Wanderer made sure to carve a special space in the void of his artificial body just for you. His savior.

Not a single one of those instances—absolutely fucking none of them—could ever compare to the morbid and desperate pit of despair that ravages Wanderer at the sight of your fragile body curled up in a white hospital gown. You are hooked up to a myriad of monitors and machines, wires and tubes tangling your frame like chains. The distant beep of the electrocardiogram is burned into Wanderer’s mind.

It’s your heartbeat, and the very reason for his continued existence. You had been reduced to small blip on a computer screen.

The hospital room was otherwise silent. The windows had the blinds slightly drawn, a cool ray of moonlight washing over Wanderer’s disheveled indigo hair from behind. Even if you were unconscious, Wanderer had wanted to tuck you in for the night, but he was terrified of hurting you. The fluorescent white light above your bed was off, bathing you both in warm darkness.

In the late hours, all Wanderer could do was stare at you with eyes reddened from crying, his crimson eyeliner smudged at the edge of lashes. He would occasionally lick his dry lips, which were chapped and peeling. The sting of the dead skin on his lips being tugged between his teeth was a momentary release from the overwhelming anxiety dwelling within.

His thin fingers are intertwined with yours on the hospital bed, one of the few ways the puppet can keep himself grounded in this moment. Every once in awhile, he’ll give your hand a gentle squeeze followed by a few broken wishes for you to open your eyes again. To see the life in you and hear your sweet voice again.

Sometimes it would get to be too much. Wanderer would raise your hand and kiss your knuckles with hot, salty tears pricking at his eyes. The stinging sensation would force his eyelids closed, sorrow streaming down his stained cheeks. He was sure that this was a result of his own shortcomings.

Your arms are wrapped in bandages with a few stitches here and there lying underneath. A deathly pale color flushed your beautiful face. And oh, Archons, those eyes of yours he had always adored endlessly were sunken darkly into your face, hidden in your slumber. His gaze drifted to your lips, still full and pink, perhaps his last vestige of hope as they parted for your sacred breaths.

To imagine you’re suffering as much as he had in his past is utterly unthinkable to Wanderer.

The only difference is your fragile mortality. He knows your pain now, he can see it carved onto your wrists in what must have been a frenzied meltdown.

Some cuts are lighter and faded, meaning this certainly isn’t the first time you hurt yourself. Other gashes in your arm are deeper and swollen, each one weighs on the puppet’s heart greater than the last. He couldn’t count how many times you must have taken that razor to your wrist. Wanderer silently curses himself for letting this happen to you.

“How stupid could I be? Letting her away from me,” he quietly lamented with his head in hands, fingers curling around his indigo locks tightly. “I had just one good thing.”

Rocking himself gently in the chair next to you, Wanderer continuously tugs at his hair to an almost extreme degree, unable to handle the anger, betrayal, and sadness overcoming him. He was practically attached to you at the hip, he should’ve noticed when your voice faltered or when your eyes betrayed your words. He should’ve seen the signs of you slipping through his fingers.

Even if every day wasn’t perfect, even if sometimes you both said hurtful things to each other, neither of you never truly meant it. Wanderer couldn’t bear to imagine not waking up next to you, the morning sunlight kissing your silhouette like an angel. He never thought that he’d find his purpose in you, in the most mundane moments that he cherished so deeply.

He knew you had a history of mental health struggles. So did he. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give you his everything—fingers entwined and sweat glistening on your bodies as he made you his for the umpteenth time.

The echo of the puppet’s soft sobs dissipates into the emptiness of the hospital room. His whole body is shaking with emotional agony. It’s the first time in centuries that he has allowed himself to feel vulnerable like this. How could he not when the love of his life—the meaning of his existence—had tried to take themselves out of it?

Wanderer finally releases his hair, taking your left hand again and passionately pressing his lips to your bare ring finger as an unspoken promise. You both had worked so hard to love better and be better. He wasn’t about to give you up.

There would never be another you in eternity.

He couldn’t bear the heavy burden on his heart anymore. Carefully, he pulled the thin blanket back and climbed into the hospital bed next to you. His fingers trembled at the contact, feeling your faint warmth. Wanderer gently pulled you close so that your head was safely tucked into his chest and he could rest his chin on your soft hair. He sighed, covering you both in the blanket once more.

Sobs tugged at his chest and his grip on you momentarily tightened. Though tears glistened at the corner of his broken violet eyes, Wanderer blinked them back with a shaky breath. You were in his arms and his world was made whole again.

“I love you, (Y/N),” his voice is gravely and barely audible. “I love you so fucking much… don’t you dare think otherwise.”

The puppet nuzzles his nose into your scalp, breathing in your familiarity like it’s home. He begins to play with your hair gently, combing and caressing your soft strands with his fingertips painted in black.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know…” Wanderer kisses your hair, closing his eyelids for a long moment to memorialize the feeling of your skin on his lips. “But I’m gonna get you out of here, baby. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”

His toned arms keep your body pressed to his, wanting to feel every part of your being entangled with him as it should be. The tickling sensation of your little breaths on his neck brought a small smile to his face because it meant you were sleeping comfortably and most importantly, alive. You were the missing piece in his puzzle, fitting perfectly into place with him.

“It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” the puppet whispers to you, hoping you could hear and feel his love in every way, shape, and form possible. His words also served as an assurance to himself because in this moment he felt so helpless, seeing the wounds on your precious skin.

“I won’t let anything hurt you anymore,” Wanderer solemnly vows, his voice slowly but surely trailing off as he succumbs to his exhaustion with you held close to his heart.

“Goodnight, my love.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[sefinaa]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: “𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠?”❞

How will the love of your life affect you?

YouTube | Masterlist | Tips | Paid Readings

—18+ readings

Not a tarot card reading, only based on my intuition.

Divider

Pile 1:

This person will expand your horizons, open you up to new opportunities that you believe were not possible. They will grab your hand and pull you up, they don’t care for your whines and complaints, they want to see you happy. Their happiness stems from you improving yourself and seeking a higher version of yourself. They want you to believe that you can have a better life and they want you to seek it in improvement.

Why?

“Because, I have been on the same road you have been, seeking adventures and a better life, but assuming I cannot do it. You already know you can do it, so why assume otherwise? I don’t understand why or what makes you afraid.”

As I channeled this message, the same imagery popped up in my head many times.

Imagine yourself on a tall rocky landscape, and the only way to escape is on a very thin line, not even a rope, a thin line to escape and walk on to make it to the other side. I can see and feel your fear upon this and you keep telling yourself, “I am scared,” or “I cannot do it.” Of course not, how will you do it if you have these assumptions? You cannot.

So what is the point of this imagery? Because this is how your lover’s feels, your lover is someone who will always pick up their feet when things go wrong and this will influence you to do the same. This person will make you whole once more and this person will make your life complete. They gave you advice and you change your life. Thank them, thank anyone, sure, but thank yourself the most.

Pile 2:

This is a rocky pile. Is anyone dealing with a lover who treats them like crap but they keep going back to?

Why are you going back? You have this angel looking around for you, to marry, to love, to have kids, whatever, and you have the audacity to disrespect yourself, for what? To make them happy? To control you? To manipulate you? What are you doing with your life? Sweetheart, you have an angel waiting for you, to love and adore, to caress you when you’re sobbing and to make you feel safe. Why are you going back to that person?!

This person is going to change your whole existence!! I mean it, I feel such amazing an energy radiating from this person, I can feel it in my whole being as I type your reading. This person is going to love you so much where you cannot even fathom how the heck you went back to this so called lover. This person will make you believe that you can become a billionaire, that you are worthy, that you deserve so much better. They will change your mindset to the point where you will be financially stable. You want to have kids, right? So do they. They want children who will be treated with so much love, dignity and respect. How can you have children like that if you don’t show the same to yourself? You cannot.

Know your worth and leave them, heal yourself and your angel will come to you. You’ll see.

[peachhcs]

mint rocky road

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will decides he wants to try and reconcile with samy during the family vacation

2.7k words

i'm trying to sort of post these in order of the timeline, but i like to jump around a little so it's a bit more fun :) this was like lowkey sad at first, but then it got somewhat happier 🤗

au masterlist

it only took will three days before deciding he should try talking to samy. the two had been avoiding one another since his family got to the lakehouse because obviously what else were they supposed to say to one another? avoiding each just seemed like the next best option. although, the boy kept thinking about what his mom and sister said a few weeks ago. it wouldn’t hurt to try and talk. 

if it went horribly then at least they were pretty good at dodging one another. the big lakehouse finally had its perks. 

everyone was wiped out from the long day in town. there was someone in every room either asleep or close to it, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to talk. will wandered the house in search of the brunette knowing she liked to hide herself in rooms no one ever looked in, but when he searched in all the hiding spots he could remember, he didn’t find any trace of the youngest hughes. it wasn’t until will wandered outside when he saw a faint figure all the way down on the dock. bingo. 

the walk down the yard had will running through every way this conversation could go. she could walk away before he even got there. she’d start bitching at him. she’d tell him she doesn’t want to talk to him ever again. the possibilities were looking a little endless, but the hockey player couldn’t be afraid. 

once upon a time, samy knew him like the back of her hand and vice versa. she was his best friend, so somewhere in there, will knew she wanted to at least hear him out. 

he would hear her out if it were the other way around, so will took his chances. the closer he got, the harder his heart beat against his chest in a rapid rhythm similar to the panic attack he had back at the combine. everything in will wanted to turn around and just continue avoiding samy, but the small part in him that included ryan and gabe’s nagging words kept his feet moving towards the girl now just inches away. 

words weren’t coming to him right now, so the hockey player slowly sat down beside her in an open spot almost as if she knew he was coming out here, so she left the space there. samy didn’t look his way, but she knew he was there. her own heart was now beating a bruise against her chest with will’s close proximity. 

the silence quickly filled in around them with both of their eyes glued to the lake. it was almost funny how they didn’t know what to say because if it were any other circumstance, the two could never shut up around one another. as soon as the smith’s were in the driveway, samy would pounce on the siblings with excitement in her bones to tell them about everything they missed since last summer. none of that happened this year which made this summer already feel a lot different than the previous ones. and maybe it was also a mix of growing up and childhood excitement escaping everyone now that they were all adults. 

“hey stranger,” samy finally broke their deafening silence. her gaze found will’s whose eyes were already on hers as soon as her mouth opened. a crinkle of a smile found its way to her lips sending a little buzz through the blonde. 

“hey,” will whispered like he was too afraid to speak any louder. 

“i didn't think you were coming this year,” the girl hummed, removing her gaze from will’s. the little frown replacing the smile on her lips hurt will more than he liked to admit. 

“i’d never miss the family vacation,” the boy said, but the brunette shrugged. 

“i just thought you’d skip because..you know,” she didn’t need to say it for will to know what she was talking about. her frown deepened along with his at her words. 

“i was actually hoping we could um..um talk about that. this. us,” he stumbled over his words making his cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

“i don’t really know if there’s much to talk about,” samy said all she could to will a month ago and he just pushed her away, so she didn’t know what else could really be said. 

will’s silence made her look back over at him. his gaze wasn’t on hers, but she could see the way his brain was turning, running through all the things he could say to her. his face was set, eyes sunken in as the sadness clouded over him and eventually her too. 

but god, did he look good. despite avoiding him, samy caught glimpses of him with her brothers in the last few days. his curls were grown back out around his ears and whatever he was doing in the offseason was really paying off. he’d grown a lot—arms and legs muscling up and his abs showing a lot more than usual. will was always fit, but for some reason he looked extra good and samy couldn’t really stop staring. 

“will you at least hear me out?” the blonde spoke again and samy snapped out of her little daze of him. 

his look was a bit pleading making it hard to say no, but she wouldn’t ever say no anyway, “i’m giving you five minutes to say something good.” 

“ten?” will negotiated knowing he wouldn’t be able to explain everything in just five minutes. 

his little pleading look continued and shit, he was hard to say no to even when they weren’t on speaking terms. “okay, fine. ten minutes, start talking.” 

“i know i really fucked up and i know i should’ve talked to you more. i-i don’t really know why i didn’t. there was a lot going on in my mind which i know isn’t an excuse, but i thought i could just figure everything out myself which was another dumb mistake. when we got back from worlds everything was going to happen so fast, it kind of freaked me out and i started making stupid decisions,” will began, eyes on anything but samy as he talked. 

“you pushed me away,” the girl stated. 

“i know and i shouldn’t have done that. i thought i was making the right choice by doing that and i realize now that it was the very, very wrong choice,” the blonde shook his head. 

“why didn’t you just talk to me? you know you can always talk to me,” samy’s tone softened at the last part creating this pinch in will’s heart hearing her talk to him like that. 

he finally met her eyes and it took everything in him to not break down. her expression was a mix of hurt and betrayal which was something will never wanted to see, especially when he was the cause of it all,. 

“i know. i-i got scared, i guess. i was scared i was going to lose you or something once i went to california. it was so hard for us to talk during the school year, i started imagining the worse if i was in california. i mean, come on, samy. you’re this amazing, popular person who’s awesome at soccer. you know you have guys at your feet lined up to talk to you. i thought letting you go would be better so i wasn’t holding you back and you could find someone who could actually be there for you. i thought i couldn’t be the boyfriend you wanted all the way across the country,” the tears couldn’t be stopped as will continued talking. his eyes glossed over, desperately trying to hold them in and samy didn’t look any better. 

she looked away hoping he wouldn’t see her own tears, but they both knew she was crying if he was crying. “you weren’t ever gonna lose me, will. i told you, i’m with you wherever you go. i don’t care about those other guys who are in my dms because you’re the one i chose,” her voice broke, sending will’s tears down his cheeks. 

“i know that now. i’m really, really sorry i didn’t get that until now. i never should’ve pushed you away. i got in my own head and i thought i was helping both of us,” the blonde frowned, quickly wiping the tears away. 

“you really hurt me, will. like a lot.” 

“i know,” the boy squeaked out. 

“i don’t really know if things can ever really be the same between us,” the admission hurt, but will knew it was coming. 

“can we at least try? at least the friends part?” not being together was fine, but will couldn’t not be her friend. 

“i don’t know..maybe it would be best for us to just..keep things how they are?” samy sighed, breaking will’s heart even further even though he deserved most of this. 

the silence engulfed them again, but neither of them moved from their spot on the dock. will’s gaze drifted down to where samy toyed with her charm bracelet. he noticed all the charms still there, even the ones he got her, so he took that as his comfort in knowing that somewhere in the back of samy’s mind, he was still there. 

not knowing what else could be said, will finally pushed himself to his feet. he watched the brunette for a moment, wondering if she’d turn around and tell him to stay or something, but she didn’t even move a muscle. 

that pinch in will’s heart grew larger as he forced himself to walk away back to the house. at least he tried. 

samy listened to his retreating footsteps, waiting until he was out of earshot to fully break down. her head sunk into her hands where the sobs quickly escaped her lips in little bursts between the pants. 

she wanted to take him back so bad. just looking at his broken expression made her wanna lunge at him, but she needed to hold some self-respect for herself. words alone weren’t going to fix all the broken things between them. she feared their relationship would never be the same anymore and that was scary because will was all samy’s ever known. 

a few minutes passed when the younger girl heard another pair of footsteps on the dock behind her. she expected it to be her mom or one of her brothers, so when long locks of blonde hair appeared beside her and a gentle hand belonging to grace, samy was very surprised. 

she hadn’t spoken to the oldest smith sibling since the breakup. she didn’t know if grace hated her now, so she sort of avoided her too, but the gentle look on the older girl’s face told samy that was far from the case. 

“are you okay?” grace wondered, taking the spot her brother was just in. 

“i don’t really know,” samy admitted because her heart and head kept telling her two very different things. 

“sorry, that was a bad question. i-i know we haven’t really talked a lot since…but i’m here to talk if you want. i thought my brother was really stupid for doing what he did. we all thought so. i just came down to check on you because i saw him come in,” the older girl continued a bit shyly. 

“we were just talking. he-he was..apologizing,” the younger brunette explained briefly. 

“he was?” 

“yeah. i didn’t really..forgive him. i just don’t know if i can…or if i even should. it’s so confusing in my mind right now,” samy frowned. 

“that’s okay. you don’t have to know all the answers right now. he hurt you and you’re hesitant. that’s perfectly okay,” grace reassured, rubbing her hand across samy’s arm. 

“he was my best friend and i don’t know anything but him.” 

“well, do you want him back in your life in any way?” grace hummed. 

“like a small part of me does, but i don’t even know where i’d start with that,” obviously, her and will wouldn’t just jump back into another like nothing happened. 

“you don’t have to know. starting back as friends is easy if that’s something you want. relearn him as friends and if your heart is still pulling you to him, then i’d say that’s your sign that you want him back as something more than that,” the older blonde gave her best advice based on what she’s learned when it came to this kind of thing. 

“i’m just scared i’ll get hurt again and i can’t do that.” 

“i get that, trust me, i do. it’s really scary, but i know my brother is really sorry and he really wants to be your friend again if you’ll have him. that’s not to excuse what happened and what he did, but i don’t think he could ever dream of hurting you again based on how much he’s hurt.” 

grace’s words sat in samy’s head for the entire rest of the time they were outside until they went back in. it was late. grace retreated to bed, but the younger brunette needed some sort of sweet treat, so she ventured into the kitchen before stopping in her tracks when she saw will sitting at the counter. 

his back was to her and samy considered turning around so she didn’t have to talk to him again, but something in her put one foot in front of the other until she was right beside him, 

“late night snack?” the girl spoke quietly because she didn’t want to wake up the sleeping house. 

her voice startled the boy as he jumped, quickly whipping his head in her direction. “oh, yeah. i couldn’t really sleep,” the blonde flushed. 

“we think alike,” samy mumbled as she walked around to dig through the freezer for any ice cream. 

will watched her from where he sat, heart racing still. being in her presence so close after not seeing one another for a month set his body on fire because if only she knew how much he missed her and hoped that a small part of her missed him too. 

“want any?” samy turned around once she found the carton she wanted. it was mint rocky road which was one of their favorites they always shared together. will wondered if she did that on purpose or not. 

“sure,” the boy said, so samy handed him his own spoon and popped the cover off. 

they took turns awkwardly digging their spoons into the ice cream without speaking. the only sound was someone’s snores in one of the rooms downstairs that was most definitely mr. smith because he snored loud. 

“i-i’m sorry for being kind of harsh earlier. i-i..there’s been a lot on my mind. it’s been weird seeing you after..everything..” the brunette began while will’s eyes glued to her own. “i’m still trying to figure out how i feel because honestly, i don’t really know. i’m really hurt still, yet i can’t ever be mad at you because you’re..you were my best friend and you’re family.” samy shook her head. 

will stayed silent, not sure where she was going with all of this. 

“i do want to try and be friends with you again. we were..inseparable once upon a time and as much as i don’t want to believe it, history is hard to forget about. you’re still someone i think about a lot and i don’t think that’s something that can be thrown away just like that,” her gaze found will’s. 

everything in his system practically exploded hearing her say that because god, he hoped she would. 

“really?” was all he could manage. 

“yeah, really. if..if we ever wanted to go back to..i think we need to start at the beginning first, you know?” samy’s eyes dropped from his back to the ice cream. 

“right, i totally agree. i’m really glad you said that,” a little smile found its way to his lips and so did samy’s. 

“we watched each other throw up everywhere, break bones, face plant on the ice..i think it would be impossible if we stopped being friends,” samy giggled, something will hadn't heard in a long time. 

“plus, i don’t think we could avoid one another forever with our parents being best friends,” will added and the girl nodded in agreement. 

“i still am hurt by everything, but i’m willing to start back as friends.” 

the two exchanged a smile and they spent the rest of the night eating all of the mint rocky road as if they were kids 

[disdoorted-crows]

i made a list of folk songs the mechs used in their music and now you can have it too

have you ever been listening to a folk playlist and thought, 'hey, i think i've heard this one on a mechs album!'? well, you probably have! the mechs' songs, especially their early stuff like once upon a time in space, often contained tunes from popular folk songs!

disclaimer: i got a lot of this information from either the genius lyrics page for the song or the lyric video from TheVoidSings, who of course has lyric videos for (i believe) all the mechs songs out there. so, shoutout to them for doing the research! i just compiled it. also, this is an incomplete list; it's just all the ones i could find.

the queens court - the deserter

tim goes crazy - battle hymn of the republic

the recruiters song - pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag

gassed last night - bombed last night

the toy soldiers song - over the hills and far away

blood and whiskey - o were I on Parnassus hill

pump shanty - pump shanty

cinders song - haul away joe

rose red - rose red

old king cole - old king cole

laid in blood - fifteen men on a dead man's chest

our boy jack - bella ciao

sleeping beauty - let all mortal flesh keep silence (picardy)

broken horses - skibbereen

sirens - gently johnny

riddle of the sphinx - greensleeves

favoured son - the rocky road to dublin

underworld blues - last kind words blues

ties that bind - blue in green

elysian fields - i am a poor wayfaring stranger

one eyed jacks - the house of the rising sun/when jonny comes marching home

iphis - house carpenter

pellinore and the beast - barbara allen

gunfight at the dolorous guard - my funny valentine

empty trail - when the levee breaks

the hanged man rusts - lannigan's ball

hellfire - dem bones (💀💀💀)

skin and bone - the raggle taggle gypsies

holder of the grail - the rising of the moon

peacemaker - sinnerman

once and future king - the snow it melts the soonest

thor - drowsy maggie

ragnarok I runaway - crazy train

drop dead - matty groves

lost in the cosmos - bonny grovewoodside

chop of their heads - mouse round (mending song)

[vonev]

Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself. 

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly. 

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence. 

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind. 

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential. 

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building. 

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums. 

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop. 

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense. 

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval. 

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance. 

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?” 

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

 He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though. 

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation. 

Maybe you are. 

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything. 

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct. 

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you. 

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary. 

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared. 

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.” 

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web. 

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized. 

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.  

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely. 

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings. 

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you. 

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls. 

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground. 

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt. 

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right? 

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight. 

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated. 

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

-

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.” 

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files. 

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.” 

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day. 

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you. 

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums. 

Food, water, sleep, you name it all. 

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried. 

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours. 

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere. 

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed. 

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves. 

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was. 

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed. 

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain. 

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture. 

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face. 

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too. 

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing. 

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive. 

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen. 

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”  

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma. 

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.” 

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him. 

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back. 

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive. 

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here. 

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him. 

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others. 

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered. 

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks. 

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking. 

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep. 

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man. 

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks. 

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class. 

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be. 

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other. 

“I love you.” 

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true? 

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never. 

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate. 

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his. 

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst. 

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always. 

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming. 

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape. 

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in. 

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“  

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up. 

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth. 

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins. 

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life. 

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

Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 12 || LALLYBROCH ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower.”

From the side of the mountain above, the broch that gave the small estate its name was no more than another mound of rocks, much like those that lay at the foot of the hills we had been traveling through. We came down through a narrow, rocky gap between two crags, leading the horse between boulders. Then the going was easier, the land sloping more gently down through the fields and scattered cottages, until at last we struck a small winding road that led to the house. It was larger than I had expected; a handsome three-story manor of harled white stone, windows outlined in the natural grey stone, a high slate roof with multiple chimneys, and several smaller whitewashed buildings clustered about it, like chicks about a hen. The old stone broch, situated on a small rise to the rear of the house, rose sixty feet above the ground, cone-topped like a witch’s hat, girdled with three rows of tiny arrow-slits. As we drew near, there was a sudden terrible racket from the direction of the outbuildings, and Donas shied and reared. No horseman, I promptly fell off, landing ignominiously in the dusty road. With an eye for the relative importance of things, Jamie leapt for the plunging horse’s bridle, leaving me to fend for myself. The dogs were almost upon me, baying and growling, by the time I found my feet. To my panicked eyes, there seemed to be at least a dozen of them, all with teeth bared and wicked. There was a shout from Jamie. “Bran! Luke! Sheas!” The dogs skidded to a halt within a few feet of me, confused. They milled, growling uncertainly, until he spoke again. “Sheas, mo maise! Stand, ye wee heathen!” They did, and the largest dog’s tail began gradually to wag, once, and then twice, questioningly. “Claire. Come take the horse. He’ll not let them close, and it’s me they want. Walk slowly; they’ll no harm ye.” He spoke casually, not to alarm either horse or dogs further. I was not so sanguine, but edged carefully toward him. Donas jerked his head and rolled his eyes as I took the bridle, but I was in no mood to put up with tantrums, and I yanked the rein firmly down and grabbed the headstall.

The thick velvet lips writhed back from his teeth, but I jerked harder. I put my face close to the big glaring golden eye and glared back. “Don’t try it!” I warned, “or you’ll end up as dogsmeat, and I won’t lift a hand to save you!” Jamie meanwhile was slowly walking toward the dogs, one hand held out fistlike toward them. What had seemed a large pack was only four dogs: a small brownish rat-terrier, two ruffed and spotted shepherds, and a huge black and tan monster that could have stood in for the Hound of the Baskervilles with no questions asked. This slavering creature stretched out a neck thicker than my waist and sniffed gently at the proffered knuckles. A tail like a ship’s cable beat back and forth with increasing fervor. Then it flung back its enormous head, baying with joy, and leaped on its master, knocking him flat in the road.

“‘In which Odysseus returns from the Trojan War and is recognized by his faithful hound,’ ”

I remarked to Donas, who snorted briefly, giving his opinion either of Homer, or of the undignified display of emotion going on in the roadway. Jamie, laughing, was ruffling the fur and pulling the ears of the dogs, who were all trying to lick his face at once. Finally he beat them back sufficiently to rise, keeping his feet with difficulty against their ecstatic demonstrations. “Well, someone’s glad to see me, at any rate,” he said, grinning, as he patted the beast’s head. “That’s Luke—” he pointed to the terrier, “and Elphin and Mars. Brothers, they are, and bonny sheep-dogs. And this,” he laid an affectionate hand on the enormous black head, which slobbered in appreciation, “is Bran.” “I’ll take your word for it,” I said, cautiously extending a knuckle to be sniffed. “What is he?” “A staghound.” He scratched the pricked ears, quoting“Thus Fingal chose his hounds:Eye like sloe, ear like leaf,Chest like horse, hough like sickleAnd the tail joint far from the head.” “If those are the qualifications, then you’re right,” I said, inspecting Bran. “If his tail joint were any further from his head, you could ride him.” “I used to, when I was small—not Bran, I don’t mean, but his grandfather, Nairn.” He gave the hound a final pat and straightened, gazing toward the house. He took the restive Donas’s bridle and turned him downhill. “In which Odysseus returns to his home, disguised as a beggar,…” he quoted in Greek, having picked up my earlier remark. “And now,” he said, straightening his collar with some grimness, “I suppose it’s time to go and deal with Penelope and her suitors.” When we reached the double doors, the dogs panting at our heels, Jamie hesitated.

“Should we knock?” I asked, a bit nervous. He looked at me in astonishment. “It’s my home,” he said, and pushed the door open.

26THE LAIRD’S RETURN ~ OUTLANDER

[dinneratgrannys]

Why do you keep pulling away from me?  Because everyone I’ve ever been with is dead. Neal and Graham, even Walsh. I lost everyone. I can’t lose you too.

[a-happy-beginning]

—Once Upon a Time, “Rocky Road”

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬/𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: general tomfoolery

↳ song: the rocky road to dublin—the dubliners

masterlist!

• Oh god there's two of you now

• That's what went through most people's heads upon meeting the both of you side by side

• Wil Turner especially. He can hardly deal with one Jack Sparrow, much less another one

• It falls on Elizabeth more times than not to keep the peace between all of you—but even she struggles with keeping the both of you in line

• "Remind me why we can't just throw them overboard Elizabeth?" Will all but pleaded at one point

• "Because it's their ship Will! Besides, they'd find us again anyways. They always do."

• "Got that right, lassie!" You'd hiccuped from somewhere above them, startling everyone as Will and Elizabeth looking up—only to be met with the sight of you clutching a bottle of gin in your hand and smiling drunkenly

• "Oh for fucks sake."

• They had to resort to using a mop to get you down from the mast in the end

• Apart from all of the other shenanigans the two of you get involved in on the regular, you and Jack have this little superstition

• It's not much—when one of you is having trouble thinking of any good ideas or a solution to something, they'll grab the other's hat and swap it with their own, wearing the stolen hat in its place

• It's almost as if the two of you believe bad energy gets stuck in the hat and that you have to get rid of it. It's stupid, but the superstition could be worse, that's for sure. Besides, you're the only one who gets the lay a finger on Jacks hat, so that's a bonus

• This should really go without saying, but expect some flirting from Captain Jack Sparrow

• He can hardly keep his hands to himself half the time, much less his wandering gaze, so you've been known to knock him on the head once or twice

• But all is well in the end, even if he does drown you in more nicknames than anyone else

• "Could you take the wheel for me real quick, love?"

• "Just call me by my name Jack. You've known me long enough by now to at least do that."

• "No thanks, darling. I much prefer this."

• Jack Sparrow is fucking insufferable, overly cocky, and a bit of an unorthodox pirate. But he's your unorthodox pirate—and vise versa

• Neither of you would give up the other for all the gold in the world