#the hands and face took forever and they’re the only parts that have marker

[dykebluejay]

i made a duct tape azula! i only used 3 colors of tape and a few markers. she took all week, and i'm glad i got her done in time for azulaweek2020! success! click for better quality and zoom in to look at the really intricate bits. i'm super proud of this one!

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part IV (x reader)

Summary: Reader visits Spencer at the university and finds that her old insecurities aren’t as dead as she thought.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, jealous!reader, insecure!reader, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen), mentions of cheating (Owen)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Owen’s really a piece of shit, huh?

Series Masterlist

———

“Could I come see you teach?”

Spencer looked up from his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It might be kind of boring. It’s a 100 level Intro to Profiling course.”

She peered over the side of the couch, closing her book. “Well, I don’t know anything about profiling, so an intro course would be right up my alley, don’t you think? And if you’re teaching it, I can guarantee it won’t be boring.”

He scrunched his nose in the way he sometimes did and clicked the cap on his pen once, twice, three times. “If you, um— if you really want to.”

She considered him for a moment before pushing herself up off the couch, coming around it to cross to his desk, perching herself on the corner. “You’ve seen me teach a bunch of times,” she said, knocking their knees together. “It’s only fair.”

He set his pen down and leaned back in his office chair, avoiding her eyes. She pulled her leg back, regretting her decision to ask. “It was just an idea. I don’t have to if you don’t want.”

As she moved to stand, he stopped her with a hand on her knee. “It’s not that. I don’t not want you to,” he clarified. He turned his chair to face her fully, peering up at her with a flush on his cheeks. “I just— I don’t know. You’re such a natural. I’m… awkward. Sometimes they just— stare at me.” 

Y/N scoffed. “I’m sure you’re not awkward.” She twirled one of the curls falling into his face around her finger, releasing it into a soft ringlet. “But seriously, if you don’t want me to come, it’s fine.”

He rolled his chair closer and ran his hands up the tops of her thighs. “I do want you to. Really.” 

He sat up straighter, craning his neck up towards her, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She leaned down to meet his lips, and his hands wandered up to grasp at her hips. She laughed as he pulled her off the desk and practically into his lap, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She let him take it a little further, his hands traveling under her shirt and up over her back. 

When she pulled back to catch her breath, his dazed expression had her heart pounding. Any insecurity that managed to weasel its way into her psyche evaporated every time he looked at her. She ran a soft finger over the bridge of his nose. “Can you take a break?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, standing up and dragging her toward the bedroom with only a little too much enthusiasm. 

… 

“Okay, can I help you with anything?” Y/N asked, setting her bag down on the lecture podium. 

“Actually, yeah. Could you, um— write these topic notes,” he pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, “on that half of the board?”

“You got it, professor.” She accepted the notebook, turning to the board and uncapping the dry erase marker.

They worked quietly together, scrawling his notes across the white board, shoulders brushing comfortably together every so often. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him finish his side, capping the marker and stepping back to watch her. 

“This is much faster with two people. I should hire you.”

“You couldn’t afford my hourly rate,” she teased, leaning down a bit to copy the last bullet point. 

“Is there a boyfriend discount?” he asked, a soft fingertip tracing down her spine. 

She laughed as she capped the marker and set it in the tray, turning to face him and tilting her head in consideration. “Maybe we could work something out.”

He brought his hands to her hips, dug his fingers in, and pulled her closer. “Yeah?” He brushed his lips over hers and stepped forward, nearly pressing her back against the board. 

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth. She used her hands on his tummy to push him back a little. “But I charge double if you smudge it.”

“Fair.” He smiled and kissed her again, this time bringing his hands up to cradle her face. 

“As much as I’d love to kiss you forever,” she mumbled against his lips, “your students are going to be here any minute.”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, and she laughed at his petulance. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and then I’ll sit up in the back. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He pulled back with a sigh. “You being here is all I’m going to think about.”

She kissed his nose and stepped around him to grab her bag. “I’ll try my best not to distract you.” She made her way off the lecture platform and up the aisle, turning back to ask, “Oh, office hours are right after class?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, leaning against the lecture podium. “1:00 to 2:00. The quad is beautiful this time of year, and there’s a coffee shop if you wanted to hang out there.”

… 

After her bathroom break, she re-entered the lecture hall as quietly as possible, slipping into the last row of seats and setting her bag down on the desk in front of her. The room was more than two thirds full, with students crammed into the first few rows and then sparsely sprinkled throughout the back half of the room. But she only had eyes for him.

She’d seen him, kissed him less than ten minutes ago, and yet here she was— blushing like a schoolgirl and resisting the urge to pull at her collar.

Even from the back row, she could see the way his suit coat stretched across his broad shoulders, the way the button at the bottom of his cardigan didn’t quite reach, the way his pants pulled taut across his thighs. She’d seen him pick the outfit out of his closet this morning, watched him put it on, even helped him with the knot of the tie. She shouldn’t realistically be this rattled by the sight of him.

But something about the way he set his shoulders back a little, the way his arm moved underneath the fabric as he scrawled an additional note across the board, the way he turned and put his hands in his pockets and waited quietly for the class to settle— felt different.

“We’ve got a lot to cover today. Let’s get started.”

She didn’t pull her collar, but she did remove her jacket— she was suddenly so, so hot, practically sweating— and draped it across the back of the chair. He caught her eye, gave her a small smile, and then launched into a lecture about the foundations of building victimology.

Just as she suspected, he was an absolute natural. Unbelievably knowledgeable of course, but also incredibly enthusiastic and positively captivating. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

And neither, it seemed, could the class. She scolded herself for the train of thought— of course they’re looking at him, he’s their professor. But he was right when he’d said that they... stare at him. The class was mostly young women, although the ogling seemed to cross gender lines. 

She couldn’t blame them. He answered questions with ease and gave witty responses to the devil’s advocate types. His enthusiasm was endearing and charming as hell. And, of course, he looked damn good doing it. 

With just over ten minutes left of class, she gathered her jacket and bag, standing quietly and moving into the aisle. She caught his eye as she headed for the door, slightly reassured when she saw a flash of concern in his eyes. She smiled and made a sipping gesture, and he nodded minutely and continued with his lecture. 

…

Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way back down the hallway toward his office, a coffee in each hand. When she turned the corner at 12:57, she was stunned to see that a line was already forming. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, approaching the crowd of undergraduates. 

One particularly perky coed stood directly in front of his door, and Y/N cleared her throat. When the girl turned, she held up the coffees and gestured to the door. “I’m so sorry. I— I’m just gonna drop this off. I’ll just be one minute.”

The girl took a small step back, barely allowing Y/N to squeeze through the door left slightly ajar. It creaked slightly as she stepped through it, and Spencer’s head lifted from where he was hunched over his desk. 

“Hey!” He stood and shuffled around the side of the desk.

“Hi.” She forced a smile. “Sorry, I won’t keep you, I just— thought you might like a pick-me-up,” she said, holding out the cup to him. 

He sighed with relief. “You’re a mind reader.” He accepted the coffee cup with a grateful smile. She moved to leave, and he lightly snagged her wrist. “Hey.” He slowly pulled her back toward the desk, his eyes darting down to her mouth. 

She hummed, and he leaned forward to kiss her, moved his hand up to cup her cheek in his warm palm. He sighed into her mouth and gently tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth before pressing a quick peck to it. “Thank you.” He pressed a final kiss to her mouth with chapstick-soft lips. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

“Mhm,” she smiled again, a little more genuinely. “See you then, professor.”

She slipped back through the door, avoiding the curious eyes of the crowd. The hallway felt tight and constricting, and she was grateful for the way the fresh air hit her as she pushed through the door back out into the quad. 

She found an empty seat on a bench and set her coffee and bag down, shuffling through the latter to find her book. She flipped open to her bookmark, sure that she could finish at least two chapters during his office hour. As she attempted to read, however, her mind could not stop turning over the image of Spencer being admired by fifty young, attractive coeds. 

She read the same sentence five times before closing her book with a huff. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, focusing on a deep inhalation and a long exhale. She carefully packed her book back into her bag, opting instead to sip her coffee and watch the bustle of the quad. 

It wasn’t that she was jealous, exactly. Jealousy wasn’t the right word. She trusted Spencer wholeheartedly. He was honest and kind, and he made it abundantly clear how much he was attracted to her.

She sighed shakily and closed her eyes against the unexpected tears that she could feel brimming just below the surface. It wasn’t jealousy. It was simply the insecurity that had always been there. Well, not always, she supposed, but long enough. Ten years. Owen had been out of her life for nearly half that time, but the mental scars he’d left her with would probably never fully heal. 

She was twenty one years old when they first started dating, and twenty six by the time he ended it. Five years of her life spent with a man who had conditioned her to believe that she had nothing to offer. Her work was insignificant. Her family was low-class. Her friends were irritating. Her laugh was obnoxious. She was immature and loud and annoying and daft. She should be grateful that he was interested in her despite these flaws. 

As if he hadn’t made all of that clear enough, he’d ended their relationship by cheating on her— not once, not twice, but consistently for nearly a year. And it seemed that almost everyone had known about it… except for her. That had been the most humiliating part; he’d had this woman in their bed, and she’d been completely unaware. She had cooked for him, attended his work events, slept beside him, subjected herself to his wrath, and never even considered that he could be with someone else.  

It took years for her to recover and rebuild. Years before she was ready to date again. It required her to construct a foundation of independence and self-love that she’d never had. And nearly five years later, she finally felt beautiful and strong and worthy. 

So why was her mind suddenly replaying every horrid thing Owen had ever said to her? Spencer was nothing like Owen. Spencer was kind, loving, and supportive. He was brilliant, talented, and accomplished. 

She pressed her lips together and swiped a hand under her eye, catching the lone tear that had managed to escape. That was exactly the problem. Spencer was all those wonderful things, and suddenly she couldn’t understand why he wanted her.

She pulled out her phone to check the time, huffing out a breath as she realized she’d spent nearly an hour dredging up old wounds. She closed her eyes and repeated her daily affirmation. I am powerful, and I am capable. I respect and honor my mind and my body. I am worthy, and I am enough. I love myself fully, just as I am. 

Now she just needed to believe it. 

She gathered her things, finishing up the last sips of her coffee before scoping out a garbage can. She tossed her empty cup in the bin on her way back to the building. As she opened the door, the blast of air conditioning cooled her sweaty skin. She stopped by the bathroom to splash her face with cool water, taking barely a moment to look at herself under the harsh fluorescent lights.

She made her way down the hallway, turning the corner to see that there were still three students in line outside Spencer’s office. She checked the time to see that it was technically five minutes past office hours. She dropped quietly into one of the two chairs across the hallway from his door. 

The other chair was occupied by a student, quite clearly waiting for Spencer, judging by the heavy sigh that accompanied his glance up at the office door. Y/N almost laughed at the way he aggressively checked his watch, tapping his foot rapidly on the floor. 

“Is it— um. Is it always like this?” She gestured to Spencer’s door. 

The tapping stopped, and the kid turned to her with another sigh. “Every. Goddamn. Time.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I get it. I do. But, man. I’m just trying to ask about the structure of the final. This is the third week in a row that I’ve been here and I still haven’t seen him.” He checked his watch again and then ran a hand over his face. “And now I gotta get to my next class. I’m gonna have to leave early next week to camp out,” he joked.

He stood and gathered his things, and Y/N did laugh a little then. “Good luck.”

He waved and headed off down the hallway, and Y/N turned back to see a girl leaving out through Spencer’s half-open door, looking positively dreamy. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the next girl stepped through the door. 

She waited another twenty minutes for the final two students to finish their visits. When the last student made her way out the door and down the hall, Y/N stood and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. She crossed the hallway and peered into his office, knocking on the door frame.

Spencer raised his head with a panicked look, his face softening into relief when he saw it was her. “Hey. Close the door,” he begged.

Y/N stepped into his office and closed the door quietly behind her. She finally took a look around the space— fairly small but tastefully decorated. The wall across from her was one enormous bookcase, filled to capacity, of course. Light filtered in from a single window, and his mahogany desk sat on the far wall, accompanied by a wing back leather office chair. Behind his desk was a low shelf lined with a globe, some other trinkets, and a plethora of picture frames. 

“Sorry that took so long.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know why my office hours are always so busy.”

She hummed, crossing to the gigantic bookshelf. “No?”

“No,” he confirmed exasperatedly. “No one else has that many students at their office hours. I asked.”

She laughed a little. “You asked?”

“Well, yeah.” He drew his brows together. “I don’t know if my syllabus is confusing, or if I’m— not clear enough in my lectures, maybe?” He dragged both hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair. “But there are always so many questions, and I mean— there are no stupid questions, but…” He sighed. “Sometimes the questions are stupid.”

She did laugh at that, full and loud. “Well, if my professors looked like Dr. Spencer Reid, I imagine I’d come up with a litany of questions, too. Stupid or otherwise.”

He was quiet, and she ran her finger along the book she was studying rather intently. She felt him moving toward her more than heard it, felt his eyes on her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, instead pretending to peruse the titles in front of her, books full of theories that she’d never be able to understand. 

“Are you— are you jealous?” he asked incredulously. 

“No,” she defended, a little too quickly and voice a little too high.

“It’s okay if you are. Jealousy is— it’s a very normal human emotion.” He cleared his throat. “It’s, um— it’s kind of hot, actually.”

She rolled her eyes, but his confession made her feel a little bit better. He put a hand on her waist to turn her to face him, and she could feel her cheeks burning— hoped he couldn’t see it. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, instead staring at a spot on the wall behind his head. 

“But you know you have no reason to be, right?” He cupped a gentle hand under her chin, finally brought her eyes to his. “Why would I be interested in girls when I already have a woman?”

When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “A woman who brings me coffee, and buys gifts for my fish, and helps me make PowerPoints, and goes to fancy dinners at Le Chateau LaMontagne.” 

Her lips twitched into the start of a smile, and he brought his hands down to lace their fingers together. “Who forgives me when I mess up, and lets me cry on her shoulder at 3:00am, and helps me be a better person.” 

She sniffed but tried to lighten the mood. “She sounds pretty great.”

“She is great. She’s remarkable.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

And there was that look again. Spencer looked at her like she’d hung the moon and the stars and every single celestial body in the galaxy. Like the answer to every question was contained within her atoms. It was almost enough to have her believing it, too. Maybe someday she would.

She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.” For now, that was enough.

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01  @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @s1utformgg  @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid  @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles

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Broken tags:  @radtwinkie @archer561

Series tags (x reader): @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94  @rotinireid @kyomito @outer-spacious @stupidcrazylittlething @princesssmooshie @luvspence @samanthareid06 @maddievevo​

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Nine

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing, fluff, me pretending that I know literally anything about art history or art forgery— again. Summary: You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop. 

You offered to help Marcus with the wedding errands that needed to be done, but he could see how distracted you were by the print-outs he’d been able to get of the x-rays and craquelure of Leda and the Swan. He shook his head, nodding to where you’d already set up shop at his desk. “Don’t worry about wedding stuff today,” He reassured, smiling. Then he tipped your head up for a quick peck and left.

You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop. You looked for comparisons between the x-rays of the Mona Lisa, Da Vinci’s sketches of Leda, and the other reproductions that you were more familiar with. Jill actually had to come up and draw you out of the room by taking Marcus’ laptop charging cord hostage. 

When Marcus returned that evening, he found you folding programs with laser focus. 

“Having fun?” He teased, settling down beside you on the floor. You were leaning back against the couch, as you had when you and Marcus had been putting the favors together. 

“Mhm,” You hummed lightly, peering down at the program and lining up the corners of the paper before smoothing down the middle. Marcus picked up an unfolded program, beginning to fold them as you did. 

“How were um-- Errands, how’d they… You know?” You asked absently. “They were fine. Tuxes have been acquired, venue’s got the final headcount, seating chart and favors, photographer’s got the shot list.” “Has Marnie called the hotel they’re staying at and found out if there was an upgrade available?” You glanced at Marcus, “Might be able to get something if she mentions it’s her wedding weekend.” Marcus’ brows rose. “I don’t think she has, but I’ll find out.” “Should probably check in with wherever the rehearsal dinner is being held, too,” You added, turning back to the programs. “I’ll keep that in mind...Are you okay?” Marcus asked as you dropped another folded program atop the pile. “Mhm.” “Hey,” Marcus reached out, setting his hand on your arm. You glanced over at him. “S’wrong?” “You seem a little tense,” He scooched closer, thigh pressing against yours, “I can take over program folding,” He added. “She’s mad at me,” Jill called from the kitchen. “I am not mad!” You called back. “What happened?” Marcus frowned, glancing between the two of you. Jill came into the living room, leaning over the back of the couch and peering down at the two of you. “I made her come out from hunching over those photos that you printed out this morning,” She told Marcus as you pointedly folded another program. Busted. “How long were you in there?” Marcus asked, rubbing his hand over the back of your neck gently. “Since you left. I only got the damn cord away from her half an hour ago,” Jill answered, pushing off of the couch, “Speakin’a which, you hungry, Marky?” You snickered, muttering, “Marky.” “No thanks, mom.” “What about you, honey?” “No thank you, Jill,” You glanced back, offering her a smile before dropping another program atop the pile. Marcus watched her go before he leaned a little closer. “Were you able to work anything out?” He asked, picking up another page. “Nothing substantive,” You grumbled, folding the page and setting it aside. Marcus set his on the pile before he drew you into his chest. You pouted a little, slouching against him as you reached for the next page. “You know I’ve got the team working on this, too, right? And the team working out of the Louvre.” “I know,” You mumbled. “So relax,” Marcus murmured, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m incredibly relaxed. I’m also very focused on folding these programs.” “Sweetheart, programs do not need to be that perfect.” 

“Agree to disagree.” You felt Marcus’ fingers tuck under your chin and turn your head to look at him. You paused in your folding, blinking up at him. “You sure you’re alright?” He asked gently. You were not— but what was one more lie in this house? “Yeah,” You murmured before you leaned up, taking a chance and pecking Marcus’ lips. You felt him smile as he cupped your cheek, keeping you close as he deepened the kiss. You sighed, relaxing a little more and resting a hand on his thigh. As the kiss broke, you rested your head against his neck, closing your eyes as Marcus rubbed his hand over your shoulder. “...Feel better?” He asked quietly. “I think so.” “I can do that anytime,” He added after a moment, and you smiled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

-- “You still doing that?” Marcus asked. “Hm?” You glanced back at him, catching sight of him in his pajamas. Jill had relinquished the laptop cord shortly after dinner, and Marcus had freed you of program-folding duty. “What...Time is it?” You asked, frowning. “It’s a little after midnight,” Marcus walked over to stand behind you, bracing his hands on the back of your chair and looking over your work, “You comin’ to bed?” You knew that you should— it had been a long day (after Jill had finally ceded the charging cord), and you were a bit tired. “Uh… N--No, not yet—” “C’mon,” Marcus murmured, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “You need to get some sleep.” “I know, I’m gonna, I just— I think I’m really close to something here,” You admitted, looking up at Marcus, “I wanna chase it down. I’ll take it into the living room so the light doesn’t keep you up,” You added, starting to gather up some of the materials. “If you’re sure,” Marcus conceded softly, “But get some sleep, huh?” “I will.” “Promise?” You glanced up at Marcus, smiling. “Promise.” He nodded, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading to bed. 

-- 

You leaned away from the markups on the coffee table, dropping your marker with a shaky hand. 

You’d made a call to where she’d been sent, and found out she had had her sentence shortened. She’d been out for nearly three years— she’d missed parole; there was a warrant out for her arrest. You hadn’t wanted to believe it was her work, you hadn’t, but you’d found the messages she always left. One was in the x-rayed under layers of the wreath of flowers around the swan’s neck: ‘Dominus ad ludere’. And then, another x-rayed layer, within one of the grey layers of the painting, near the darkened fold of the swan’s wing: ‘Ad opus domini’. The master at play, the master at work.  The lettering was small, difficult to spot, but you knew that handwriting, and you knew exactly where to look. You couldn’t help the sick, twisting feeling in your stomach as you picked up your phone. You grabbed your notebook where you’d jotted down your notes on the sketches and brushstrokes, the notes that she’d left behind, and you hurried out to the porch. You sat on the porch swing, peering out into the dark and settling your notebook on your lap. You tucked the phone against your ear, listening as it rang. “Special Agent Melinda Yuen,” Came the answer when the phone was picked up. You were fond of Marcus’ colleague; aside from Marcus, she was who you’d worked the closest with. “Hi, Mel, it’s me,” You said quietly, glancing toward the door. “Hey, professor! How ya been?” “Fine,” You smiled a little at her question, “You?” “I’m alright. If you’re calling looking for Marcus—” “No, I… I wanted to talk to you. Marcus sent me some of the stuff from that da Vinci picked up in Orléans. I took a look at it, it’s definitely not authentic.” “You got notes?” “You have a pen? I’m going to tell you exactly where to look.” You listed off the points and layers that you were able to identify, as well as the suspect for her to look into. Melinda went quiet on the other end for a moment. “Professor, isn’t that your grandm—” “Yes,” You answered hurriedly, “It is.” “...Shit.” “My feelings exactly— Look, Mel, I’ve gotta ask you a favor.” “Sure.” “Don’t...Don’t tell Marcus who called this in until he’s back in D.C.” “Why not?” “Just, please?” You pleaded softly, glancing toward the door. “...I don’t know, professor—” “I’m not asking you to keep it from him forever, just-- Couple’a days.”

“Alright,” Melinda sighed softly, before, “How do you know when he’ll be back, anyway?” “Oh, he uh— mentioned he was going to his sister’s wedding. I don’t wanna ruin his weekend, you know. Figured if I got you on the first ring on this number he must be down there, ‘specially with this big of a case in the office,” You fibbed quickly. “You figure correctly,” Melinda chuckled, “I’ll get these notes over to the team. Night, professor.” “Night, Mel, and thanks.” “Hey, thank you.” You lowered your phone, hanging it up and peering out over the backyard again. You sighed softly, pushing the swing back and forth with one foot. “Can’t sleep?” You jumped at the sound of the question, huffing a shaky laugh at the sight of Marnie. “No,” You confirmed, “What about you?” “Nope,” Marnie sighed, walking over to sit beside you, “I was working on my vows.” “Big speech-writing day in the Pike household,” You teased. “That Marcus’?” Marnie nodded to your notebook. “O-Oh! No. Some uh… Stuff on that painting. Inconsistencies, little things,” You set the notebook down between the two of them, giving Marnie the option to pick it up. She left it be, giving you a little bit of relief in what had been a mostly hellish day. “Think it’s serious?” You shrugged, “Could be inconsequential.” You were already lying to Marnie so much, what was one more? Though, frankly, it made you feel a little crummy. You were growing very fond of Marcus’ family. They were warm, and welcoming. You’d always imagined having a family like them. “You and Marcus seem good, you know?” Marnie said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “I mean...Happy.” You smiled, lowering your eyes. “Your brother is... amazing. All of you are, I mean— I don’t know any family that would open their home to someone they don’t know for a night, let alone an entire week. And your mom— the way she pulled me out of Marcus’ room earlier,” The two of you chuckled, “Well. I’ve appreciated everything since I’ve been here, how kind you all have been.” “Oh,” Marnie reached out, patting your hand lightly, “We’re happy to. ‘Sides, Marcus is clearly smitten with you.” Your stomach churned with unease as you peered down at your hands. Marcus was a better actor than he gave himself credit for. You knew you’d make a liar out of him. “Makes two of us,” You mumbled. Damn, but that was the truth. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @blueeyesatnight ; @elen-aranel ; @yespolkadotkitty ; @artsymaddie ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @lunaserenade ; @winniedaboo  ; @empress-palpat1ne ; @randomness501 ; @nutmeg-20 ; @leonieb ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @lou-la-lou ; @captain-jebi ; @supernaturalgirl ; @naturenebula21 ; @evelynseventyr ; @giselatropicana ; @heatherbel ; @marydjarin ; @annathewitch ; @absurdthirst ; @hnt-escape ; @writingletterstothefire ; @misswriter ; @bison-writes ; @xx-small-town-witch-xx ; @ajeff855 ; @hellovanessax​ ; @drinkingwhileblogging​ ; @strawberryperegrine​ ; @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​

[lis-likes-fics]

The Cullen Games

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader (but it has a lot of Cullen Family x Cullen!Reader) Word Count: 3189 words, I know Warnings: None. :P Author’s Note: I literally just thought about how fun it would be to have a piggy back ride with Emmett and then proceeded to concoct this beauty. Enjoy, pfft-

The moment the sun was high enough to make the light reflect beautifully off of the water in the streams, Y/N had a wicked grin on her face. It was officially the first day of spring and it was time for the seasonal Cullen Games.

She burst into the living room where a few of the family members had settled, Carlisle came in the door behind her with a silent smile on his face as she announced, "Cullens, it's that time of year. You love it, you live it. It's the Cullen Games!"

"The Cullen Games?" Bella asked, looking up from her book where Renesmee was sitting with her on the couch. "What's that?"

Carlisle wrapped his arm around his wife's waist as he smiled, "We usually have it four times a year, the first day of each season. It's our little taste of the mundane."

Alice clapped, "We have the most fun with it. We just haven't been able to do it in the past couple of years for...reasons."

Bella knew those reasons, they were quite obvious. They hadn't been able to do it in the past couple of years because she was there with a new problem every few months. But that wasn't the point. The point was, it was time for the Cullen Games.

Esme smiled, "Alice and Y/N have an intense rivalry every time. They're always trying to figure out whose team will win. I think they're at a tie this time."

"Yep," Carlisle sighed, "Which means this time around will be extra competitive."

Y/N nodded, "And we have a few new members to help up with the games this time."

Rosalie looked up with narrow eyes, "Who?"

She smiled wickedly, "Jacob, Seth, and Leah. They're part of the obstacle course. We're spicing things up this time. Plus, Seth really wanted to join."

Esme flipped through her book as she asked, "Have you chosen your teams yet?"

Y/N shrugged, "We don't pick until the day of, so no. But I know my team."

"Ah-ah-ah!" Alice exclaimed, "Not yet! We have to set up the course."

"Yes, I know, I know," Y/N sighed, "We're getting there."

Emmett cracked his knuckles, "This is gonna be great."

Y/N smiled wickedly once again, she did it a lot this time of year. She loved the Cullen Games, she was part of the reason they existed. It would start with the explaining of the courses, the choosing of the teams, and then the setting up of the courses. Once the teams were chosen, they would chose their roles and the game would start. Whoever's team won the games would chose a team member to kick off the first hunt of the season. No one really cared about the hunting part really, it was just a fun prize.

Y/N and Alice, however, did care a lot about who won. They've been doing this for forever, trying to beat one another in the games. After winning and losing and winning and losing, they were finally at a tie. There was no special prize in it, they just really wanted to see who won.

Everyone loved their competition, it was one of their favorite things about being a Cullen - getting to watch Alice and Y/N battle to find out who could do the games better.

Y/N grabbed the whiteboard she and Alice had been writing on for the past week to figure out what the games would consist of. She wheeled it into the room with a red marker and started explaining.

"The Station One is 'Tree Climb'. The team leaders -- spring season is me and Alice -- start the races this way. We will climb up the starting trees, travel on tree top, and then drop down when we see our next team members."

Alice explained the next bit, "Then there's Station Two, 'Piggy Back'. After getting down, you climb on your partner's back and they carry you to the halfway point. Once you reach the halfway, you switch to your next partner's back and they carry you to the endpoint."

Y/N nodded, "Right. Station Three is 'Hole In Three'. There will be three hoops. Once you get off your partner's back after reaching the endpoint line, you tag your next member. The other two members will get to their next positions during this station. The team member will pick up one ball and have to score it in each hoop in only one throw. You will only be able to see two hoops, you will have no clue where the third hoop is. If you miss a hoop, your team loses points. The wolves will howl for how many you got. After the throw, that member will tag the rider back in and they go to Station Four."

Alice rubbed her hands together as she started explaining the next station, Smacking her ruler on the board to the purposefully terrible drawing of a wolf. "Station Four is 'Wolf Chase'. After tagging your member back in, you'll both go to the next checkpoint where Jacob, Leah, and Seth will be waiting as wolves. They'll be chasing after you, you have to avoid them. If they get you, you lose points. Once out of bounds, you will grab your team flag."

"And there, you'll start Station Five," Y/N took over, "Station Five is a three-legged race. You'll grab the partner that took the second piggy back in the second station and tie your legs together. The flag must be wedged in between your legs and secure. If the flag falls, you lose points."

Alice nodded, "Once your couple reaches the checkpoint to start Station Six, 'Finish Line', you hand your flag to the member who started the piggy back and they will take it to the finish line where Renesmee will take the winning flag and wave the victory."

They took it all in as they thought over the games. Just then, the three wolves walked up the stairs and stared at the board in confusion and slight concern. "What'd we miss?" Jacob asked.

"You'll get a brief summary later," Alice explained, "Right now we pick teams! Since Y/N got the most points last games, she gets to pick her first member." Alice sighed at the last bit, mumbling to herself about how she won last games so she didn't even care.

Y/N smiled triumphantly and looked over the room. She looked at Carlisle, "I love you, but I'm choosing Emmett first. Come on, himbo bro."

Emmett stood, cracking his knuckles again as he laughed, "Nice." He high fived her and Alice looked over the room. "Edward," she smiled.

"But you get him every time!" Y/N whined.

"No, I don't! You had him last games and the games before that," Alice complained. Y/N mumbled under her breath before breathing out a laugh. She looked at them again and immediately picked Carlisle. "I love you," she mouthed to him. He smiled and chuckled silently, kissing her forehead and standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Jasper," Alice said.

"Bella."

"Rosalie."

"Seth, Jacob, and Leah are their own team," Y/N explained. She turned to Bella and smiled, "Welcome to the winning team." Bella chuckled, "Happy to be here." Alice scoffed and glanced at her team.

"Loser- I mean, Alice, what's your team name?" Y/N asked her with a smile.

Alice rolled her eyes, "Gone with the Win."

Y/N stuck her tongue out and put a thumbs down, "That's lame, terrible name."

"That's a great name, Y/N, I don't know what you're talking about," Rosalie commented with a laugh.

Y/N stood next to Emmett as she smiled, "Well, we're Blood Bath and Beyond." She high-fived Emmett proudly and Carlisle commented, "I don't know how to feel about that name."

She turned to her husband, "Well, you can join the loser's side. No one will judge you."

Emmett whispered, "Everyone will judge him."

Carlisle rolled his eyes with a smile and a laugh, "I'm okay, thank you." Y/N clapped her hands together with a proud smile, "Top that name, Alice. Bet you can't."

Alice rolled her eyes, "Whatever, discuss your team roles."

Y/N chuckled and they left the room to go to the next one and discuss - even if that didn't stop the others from listening in. The only reason they didn't was because it was cheating, they would be disqualified if they eavesdropped. Esme usually narrated the games or posed as a referee, so they would be in line. She had a little helper this season.

Y/N looked over her team as she assessed them, "Alright, maggots - just kidding, I love you - this season is going to be tough. It's the tiebreaker between me and Alice. We gotta show what real winners look like. Emmett, you'll start off the Station Two with the Piggy Back and you'll switch with Carlisle. You'll carry me to Station Three, where I'll tag Bella. I hope you have a good arm, because Esme will not be kind when she sets those hoops up. Once you hear the howls, you tag me back in and we'll head into the trees. When we get there, Carlisle and I will do the race. You'll stick the flag, securely, into the tie. When he get to the end of the race, I'll hand the flag to Emmett, who will carry us to victory, both literally and figuratively. Good?"

They all somehow understood her game plan and went with it. They gave her a single nod and she answered any questions they had. Once they finished, they picked their team colors. Naturally, red for Blood Bath and Beyond. Gone with the Win chose the color blue. They got their flags set at the checkpoints, then they set the lines down. After another hour, the hoops were set up, as well as the ties for the race, and Renesmee's podium at the finish line.

They went over the stations one more time, even if it was only slightly unnecessary, and everyone got in their positions. They gave their signal and Y/N turned to Alice, "Remember, you can't use your powers."

"I know, I know," she rolled her eyes. She smiled, "I'm still gonna make you take that 'L'."

"In your dreams, buttercup," Y/N scoffed.

"I don't dream," Alice said as they got to the two trees they would start the games at. Esme stood with Renesmee at her side. They started counting. "Three." "Two." "One." "Go!"

Alice and Y/N took off up the trees like bullets, moving in a blur to human eyes as they reached the top of their two trees in no time. When they reached the top, they carefully searched for their partners, locking with their targets and racing on treetop.

When she reached the last tree, Y/N completely skipped climbing down and just dropped down to the ground. Emmett knelt and she climbed on his back, her legs over his shoulders. He took off, racing through the trees and avoiding any that would knock them down. She looked behind her and saw Alice and Jasper gaining up on them on their side of the course.

Y/N silently cursed and patted Emmett, "Don't go around this one."

"But-"

"Trust me," she told him. They headed straight for a tree, the branch extended out and threatening to knock her off his shoulders. She steadied herself to her feet, still on his shoulders, and jumped over the branch. He had his hands held out for her. She did a flip before extending her body, he grabbed her in the air, placing her back on his shoulders. "You're crazy," he commented.

"Crazy wins the race," she commented with a smile.

When they finally reached the halfway point, instead of climbing off of Emmett's shoulders, she placed her hands on Carlisle's and jumped over Emmett's head and onto Carlisle. She glanced over and saw that Edward was waiting for Alice and Jasper impatiently.

Smart. Edward was the fastest.

Carlisle rushed to the next endpoint. Whatever had affected Jasper before, definitely wasn't affecting Edward as he darted through the woods. "Step on it, Carlisle!" Y/N exclaimed.

He told her, "Edward's faster."

She shrugged, "But can he throw better than you?"

"What?"

"When we get close to the line, throw me," Y/N instructed him. Carlisle sighed heavily, a smile playing on his lips at the ridiculousness of her plan, but nodded.

As expected, Edward passed them at some point as the finish line got closer. Carlisle took a hold of Y/N's waist as he reached up for her, gripping them in his hands before chucking her over the line from who knows how far. She shot like a bullet over the line, immediately tagging Bella.

"And Y/N comes flying to the third station, tagging Bella into the game!" Esme exclaimed as Bella picked up her red ball and aimed carefully. Carlisle went to his next station to wait. Alice finally got off of Edward's back, tagging Rosalie. "Here comes Alice in second, tagging Rose in for a chance at redemption," Esme continued to announce, as if they had an actual audience. Bella threw her ball and, after a moment, the sound of three wolves howling broke the silence of the distant air.

"Yes!" Bella exclaimed, tagging Y/N back in. Rosalie threw her ball and only received two howls. "Dammit!" Rosalie muttered, tagging Alice back in.

They darted to the boundary that the wolves were waiting in, treading carefully and silently through the trees. It was so silent, a snapping twig would disturb everything there. When Y/N heard a soft growl from where Bella was headed, she crouched and lunged forward, shoving her out of the way as Leah leapt from the trees, Jacob and Seth coming out as well as they lunged for the vampires. Leah knocked Y/N off her feet as Bella turned around momentarily. Y/N scrambled to her feet and dodged Seth and Jacob, dodging Leah's second attack.

Rosalie and Alice whizzed by her and Y/N motioned for Bella to keep going. They both darted out of the trees, seeing Alice and Edward putting their legs together as Rosalie began to tie them. Y/N cursed silently, rushing to Carlisle and getting herself ready.

Bella quickly tied their inside legs together and intertwined the flag in their ties. Y/N and Carlisle nodded, intertwining their inside hands before carefully rushing to the endpoint where Emmett was waiting to take the flag from them.

Y/N smiled when Alice and Edward's flag fell over and they had to call for Rosalie to fix it. Y/N and Carlisle reached their endpoint and tagged Emmett, who grabbed their flag and darted for the finish line.

When Jasper finally got their flag, it seemed as though he was going to win. But when they reached Renesmee with their arms extended and their flags waving in the air, everything seemed to stop as they tried to look as see whose flag was going to wave first, both flags were in her hands. It happened so quickly that no one but Renesmee would tell who won.

Esme looked to the girl as she asked, "Who's the winner?"

Renesmee smiled and raised an arm, waving the red flag in the air excitedly. Y/N and her team smiled and cheered as Esme announced, "And the winner of this season's Cullen Games is Blood Bath and Beyond!"

Emmett and Bella high fived and he brought her into a bear hug as they celebrated. Y/N looked to Carlisle with a large smile, hugging him tightly before finally kissing him. When they pulled back, she exclaimed, "We did it!"

"We did!" Carlisle replied, "But, next time, I pick the name."

"Oh, alright," she smirked, "You're a summer leader anyway." She turned to Bella, "Oh, that reminds me. Bella, you're joining Emmett as a Fall Leader. You'll have your own team for Fall Games."

She cheered to herself and then turned to Edward to rub her victory in his face. Y/N walked over to Alice, taking Carlisle with her since they were still tied together. Alice also had to haul Edward with her, they were also still tied together.

Y/N held out her hand and Alice shook it as they congratulated each other for a good game. Esme then talked with Renesmee as they rounded up the results. "Okay, we have the points added up. Gone with the Win had six points total. You received two points for making only two hoops, and you won three for successfully avoiding the wolves. You won one more point for getting to the Three-Legged race first, but you lost that point when you dropped your flag. You won an additional point when you managed to get your flag to Renesmee so quickly," Esme explained.

Renesmee spoke in her small voice, "Blood Bath and Beyond won seven points total, so Gramps will be choosing the first member for summer's games."

Alice's team cheered again and Esme smiled, "You won two points for finishing station one first and starting station two first. You got three points for making all three hoops - good job, Bella. You lost three points when you were attacked by the wolves and lost another point for starting second for the race. You got one more point back when you managed to keep your flag straight, and you won five additional points for winning."

"Who's starting the Spring Hunt?" Jasper asked Y/N since she was the leader of her team. She smiled at Carlisle, "Why don't we have our leader kick it off this season?" Carlisle bent down and kissed her gently and everyone agreed.

~

Later that evening, they sat around the fire they made outside with the addition of Seth and Jacob - Leah didn't really want to join. They laughed and talked for a while as the sun officially set and it got dark. After another short while, Seth went back to his home and left the Cullens to themselves. Jacob went into the house with Renesmee so she could sleep.

Right before they got ready for the hunt, Carlisle stood and look around at the faces of each member of his family. He smiled, "This season's games were fun. It was nice to be able to have those again after a handful of seasons away from them. Let's welcome our newest members of the games, Bella and Renesmee."

The family clapped for them before turning back to Carlisle. Y/N smiled up at him warmly as he continued, "May this spring be as good as any other as we welcome it this year."

There was a light whoop around the fire and he looked down at Y/N, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him. He smiled softly to her and then turned to the rest of the family. "Good hunting, everyone."

"Good hunting" was scattered around the fire and they took it as their rightful cues to begin. They left into the wood and Y/N stood with Carlisle, a hand in his as she smiled at him. "I love you," she muttered happily.

Carlisle kissed her gently, "I love you."

~~~~~

Dr. Cullen taglist: @libellule2001​

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain pt 11 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10. Just a little more smut, yeah?

Rhys woke up early and traced patterns lightly on Feyre’s skin as she slept.

They had just one more day together before he flew home to New York, but in the pale dawn light and with Feyre’s even breaths beneath his fingers, he couldn’t for the life of him think of why he needed to go back.

After a moment, Feyre stirred.

“Making me more tattoos, are you?” she mumbled, without opening her eyes. Rhys chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” “Why?” Feyre asked muzzily. She rolled around to face him, all smudged mascara and sleep-swollen lips. Beneath the sheets, Rhys was hard in an instant.

"Because I wanted to let you sleep." “But we only have one more day,” she said, and looked so cute when she frowned that it broke Rhys’ heart a little. He pulled her body over his, loving how soft she was all over, and kissed her nose.

"And what would you like to do with this one more day?" he asked her. Had not meant to add any suggestions of his own, but the way she was nuzzling into his chest, still waking slowly, had his hips sliding under her. Feyre's eyes widened a little, and colour bloomed on her cheeks.

"I could think of one thing," she breathed. "We don't have to-" Rhys started to say, but got cut off as Feyre put her lips on his throat. His words broke off into a stifled moan as the heat of her hovered just below his navel.

Her hands slid over his collar bones and around the back of his neck, and she was so marvelously warm on top of him. Next thing he knew, her tongue had made a blazing trail down his sternum, over his stomach, and around the head of his cock. Rhys gasped, and gripped the bars of the headboard hard enough for them to creak in protest.

When Feyre slid her mouth down over the length of him, Rhys's hips jerked forward reflexively.

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to hold still. But Feyre just moved her lips lower, letting him hit the back of her throat and sucking hard on the way back up. Rhys groaned, and the sound seemed to encourage her. She moved her head back and forth and the world shifted in and out of focus.

"That... feels amazing," Rhys told her, watching her move over his body. Feyre didn't reply, just kept up a steady rhythm until Rhys could barely stand it.

"You're going to have to slow down," he managed to get out. Feyre shook her head 'no,' and decidedly did not slow down. "Seriously," Rhys said between gritted teeth. "I'm not going to be much use you you in a second."

Feyre lifted her head long enough to say, "we don't have anymore condoms anyway," and then resumed her motion. Used her hand at the same time to cover the length of him. Rhys's hips arced up off the bed to meet her touch, and one hand moved through her hair before he realised he had reached out.

"Feyre stop I'm gonna come," he said, jaw clenched. But she showed no intention of doing any such thing. "Feyre." His control crumbled, and he started fucking hard into her mouth. She didn't pull back. "Feyre I'm gonna..." And then he was coming and she was swallowing him down and the sight of it was so unbearably sexy that his climax stretched on even after he was empty.

Feyre crawled back up his chest, kissed him with his own cum still on her tongue, and then promptly took a snooze right there on top of him like a cat. Rhys just watched her in wonder, and stroked her bare back while she slept.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke, they kissed lazily in bed and then in the shower, and then they strolled down the road to the bakery. And to the chemist.

On the way, Feyre chatted about Berlin sights she thought Rhys needed to see, iconic street art she could show him, and the best food in town. Rhys nodded along, saying very little and being content to watch Feyre animated and enthusiastic.

And he did want to do all of those things, wanted to go anywhere Feyre took him. Really, he did.

But then they got back to the hotel room, and did not manage to leave it again that day.

Did make love on the edge of the bed, fall off the side and fuck on the floor, get messy and have sex in the shower with their hands pressed up to the glass. Did cover each other's bodies in swirling patterns with black markers and ball point pens found in the hotel drawers. Did take breaks for pretzels and hot chocolate, before beginning again in the tangled white sheets with the 'do not disturb' tag hanging on the door handle outside.

They were just dozing off on the rug, Feyre in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties and black ink, Rhys completely naked, when Tarquin rang, and the sharp intrusion of the outside world in their little bubble was about as welcome to Rhys as a kick in the guts.

Feyre groaned. "Don't answer," she said, her head pillowed on Rhys' stomach. His fingers traced around her navel.

"Hello?" "Rhys! It's Tarquin. How are things over there?" "Fantastic," Rhys said. "We've finished painting and are tidying up now. I was just about to call you and tell you the good news."

Feyre took his fingers and guided them lower. She moaned softly as he pushed light circles onto her clit, over her underwear.

"You have? Wie schöne, that's wonderful news," Tarquin said. "I'll come meet you both up there."

Feyre reached out and stroked his cock while he dipped his fingers under her waistband.

"Actually," Rhys said, forcing his voice to come out evenly, "we're just leaving now. But I would still encourage you to go have a look." "Oh but I want to see it with you," Tarquin argued. "Give my thanks to you both. Shake your hands."

Rhys bit back a laugh. "Don't think you could shake out hands right now." Feyre giggled silently. "They're... covered in paint."

"Ah fair enough, but even figuratively speaking, it'd be good to see you both off." "Love to, Tarquin," Rhys said, eyeing Feyre. She was starting to arch off the floor, and little whimpers were escaping as his fingers sped up. He held a finger to his lips. "Unfortunately we actually have an engagement to get to. We're leaving the site now, and I'm going to eat something but I'll put Feyre on."

He handed the phone to Feyre, and at the same time rolled over her. Slid her underwear down and put his mouth on her pussy. She lifted her hips to him, and then mouthed Naughty, while her eyes sparkled above him.

"Hello?" she said. Breathlessly. "Oh, yes Tarquin do come have a look. It's-" here here breath hitched, "well I'm quite without words, Rhys is ve-ery skilled hmmmm I've been so glad to work with him on this project."

Rhys grinned, and reached his tongue deep inside her. Feyre clamped a hand down on the phone's speaker and bit down hard on her lip.

"No, we won't be there but I would love to... ah... to.. mm, to catch up with you later in the week. Sorry, yes I am a bit... uh... out of breath. We're carrying all the supplies back to my... umm.. my car."

Feyre swatted Rhys' head, but he just sped up his tongue on her clit.

"Doyouknowwhat, ah, Tarquin you head up there now, text me what you think and I... I'll speak to you later. Yep. Okay. Yesokaybye."

Feyre hung up the phone, threw it to one side and then moaned so loudly and deeply Rhys felt the vibration in her stomach. She wrapped her legs around his head, put her hands in her hair and pushed herself closer to him. She was hotter than anything, and then Rhys was palming his own cock while he watched writhe on the floor. It wasn't long before she was coming undone on his lips.

When she finally came, Rhys was struck with the desire to draw her, just like this, in gorgeous ecstasy and with the exact colour of the blush across her chest.

The next morning, Rhys was due to get on a plane.

They sat in Feyre's car, with Rhys' bag on the back seat, and sat outside the airport without saying a word. Eventually, Feyre said, "Do you know, I came a long way to get away from my ex, and now all I feel is homesick." "Do you now?" Rhys murmured. "I've honestly thought about moving back to New York. But I packed everything up and left. I have nothing there, I have nowhere to live."

Rhys leaned back in his seat, and grinned lazily at Feyre.

"I'll make you a bargain, Feyre darling," he said. "I'm listening," Feyre replied. "You move back to New York and you can stay with me while you look for somewhere, and then you just move out when you find a place." Feyre considered it. "That would make things easier," she agreed.

"And hey," Rhys continued. "Maybe you like living with me and you never move out." Feyre grinned right back. "Maybe you like me and we live happily ever after."

Rhys shrugged. "Anything could happen," he said. Feyre stuck her hand out.

"It's a deal," she said, and they shook on it. Rhys pulled her in by the hand and kissed her, committing to memory the exact way she tasted.

"Come home soon, then," he whispered. **** Theeeeee end! That's all lovers, thank you so, so much to everyone who has been with me on this super lovely ride. Your comments, reblogs and general love have been deeply appreciated and I am forever grateful. I am a bit sad this one is over.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[noemibalbii]

Six of Crows duology quotes

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”

“When someone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.”

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

“What do you want then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome, You, Inej, you.

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.”

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay, I want you to… I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set, It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“He’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”

“Facts are for the unimaginative.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.” “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.”

“How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach - the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.” “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.”

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.”

“You couldn’t train a falcon, then expect it not to hunt.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel - it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”

Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her.”

“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When i couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to write magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”

“Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don’t forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or want to kill us?” “So?” said Kaz. “Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

“She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.”

“No mourners. No funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.”

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?” “Guns?” asked Jesper. “Ships?” queried Inej. “Bombs?” suggested Wylan. “Political bribes?” offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

“We meet fear. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” “I’ll tell you a secret, Hannah. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Until this moment, Wylan hadn’t quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves. a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn’t keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he’d had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.”

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of a monster.” “No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. […] It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with none the wiser about it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“She could feel the press of Kaz’s fingers against her skin, feel the bird’s wing brush of his mouth against her neck, see his dilated eyes. Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again. A foolish wish, the sentimental hope of a girl who hadn’t had the firsts of her life stolen, who hadn’t ever felt Tante Heleen’s lash, who wasn’t covered in wounds and wanted by the law. Kaz would have laughed at her optimism.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.” “I will.” “Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo. It means we won’t repeat the same mistakes, that we won’t continue to do harm.”

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.” Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.” “You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan’s lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.”

“She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

“She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.”

“Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark - he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.”

“She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.”

“Brick by brick. Brick by brick. I will destroy you.” It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.”

“Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.”

“It was because she was listening so closely the she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.”

“Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

“This isn’t… it isn’t a trick, is it?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The shadow of something dark moved across Kaz’s face. “If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies. “All right,” she said. “How do we begin?” “Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

“You still may die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “I may. But I’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

“Why do you wear gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.”

“You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

“A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.” [...] “What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?”

[bloomyn]

satin robes & city smoke

pairing:  chrollo lucilfer x reader

tags: smut

warnings: badly written smut!!

unedited as of june 6th

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

you didn’t know how, but the packages always managed to find you. it didn’t matter if you were wrapped in a thick acres of trees or warped city skylines, nothing could stop the delicate bundles of lace from finding your arms. they were wrapped in the same shell every time, two fish emblazoned on the corner and a cross stamped on the inside flap. 

really, how discreet of the sender. 

-

there was a beautiful sort of despair that surrounded yorknew city. you never get used to the smell or the people but there’s a comfort in knowing that absolutely no one can rock your shit, that the foundation of the city rests idly in your hands and in just a wink you can send the city crumbling. the power in it all keeps you going, it gets you going.

you own this city.

the spider tattooed on your back decrees it.

-

a conversation from five years ago

“ since when are the legs more important than the head?” 

besides you chrollo laughed.

“i’m serious!” you sat up, jabbing a finger into his chest, “if you really want to make this happen you can’t hold yourself to a lower regard. you can’t be the most useless one.”

the man beside you sighed, “tell me, my love. would you die for me if it meant the safety of the group. could you sacrifice yourself if it meant the rest of us live.”

the smell of burnt metal wafts over the two of you and you scowl.

“that’s the dumbest question i’ve ever heard and you’ve said some pretty stupid shit to me.”

“hm. and i’d like to think that i’m the smarter one of the two of us.”

 you scoff, “would i die for the safety of the group?”

he nodded.

“we live in meteor city, i don’t even consider myself alive right now.”

-

but you do know something about the packages; besides the contents and what they’re meant to be used for. the packages are markers, date setters, they keep track of how long you’ve been away. the bigger the bouquet the longer you’ve been gone and the larger the reward for your return. sometimes the packages are nothing more than palm sized bundles, delicate lace decorating the inside and outside. 

the theme of the contents sitting inside stay the same.

the one sitting at your feet is different though. instead, the trademark fish and cross are gone, a twelve legged spider in it’s stead. the classic lace wrapping is painted red and you almost wish that the king could see the smirk decorating you’re face.

it seems you’ve been away from the city too long.

-

the black dress fits nicely, oh who are you kidding, chrollo was the one who sent it to you, of course it fits exactly. as you make your way towards the hotel you bask in the warmth of the city; the heat of street food, the smell of middle-aged men who’ve been left wifeless after losing their money in gambling schemes, it almost brings a smile to your face. 

and of course, the thought of chrollo waiting for you at the top floor of a highrise hotel has your thighs tensing in anticipation. the face you’re making right now must be a little much because when you arrive at the front desk the heart rate of the poor attendant spikes and her fingers quiver on the keyboard.

“h-here you go. please-please enjoy your stay.”

you tilt your head a little and flash a smile, “i’m sure i will.”

the elevator is empty when you step on and press for the top floor. you’re sure he can sense you by now if the shift in the air is anything but a dead giveaway. 

the lust enveloping your figure sparks at your fingertips and makes its way up until its rattling at your jaw. your toes curl inwards as the aura around you grows stronger, and your tongue goes numb at the sight of the doors sliding open. 

in front of you is a sight worthy of the most expensive canvases, delicate enough to view but almost too dangerous to touch.

and its all yours.

his back is broad and worn, his scapula protruding like wings, and your eyes can’t help but follow the way his lower back dips harshly into the waistband of his pants. when you look back up your eyes are caught by his own. his hair falls loosely around his face and internally you sigh.

“took you long enough.”

you hum, stepping into the hotel room, penthouse actually, and you can’t help the wash of pride when his eyes rake over your figure taking in every inch from the bottom of you calves to ‘those sweet sugary lips’ of yours. 

“miss me?” you tease, accepting his outstretched hand. he pulls you closer, his hands wandering to the down curve of your spine, while yours loop around his neck, resting on his shoulders. tracing your lips with his thumb he smirks, 

“i take it you got my presents.”

“you can see can’t you?” 

softly, chrollo unzips your dress, exposing the titillating lingerie beneath it. his gift to you.

it’s horrible how weak you make him, just the sight of you has his guard down for the count. he’s known you for years but he’s caught off guard everytime the two of you meet like this.

“i knew you’d look good in this,” he muses, “-look good in everything but you look even sexier in my gifts.”

“your ability to suck at being subtle is astounding.”

at that he laughs.

“can’t help it.” he sighs against your dewy skin, “gonna eat you up.”

your eyes flutter shut at the words and you let him guide you to the massive four post bed in the middle of the room. quick enough, he maneuvers you onto your back refusing to tear his eyes away from your silky curves. he likes you like this, squirming idly in his palm, right where he wants you. where nothing but time can pass over the two of you and leave you unscathed.

“stop teasing.” you plead, shifting your hips upward to graze against his. he ignores your words, opting to press kisses against your neck and leave you whining instead. swollen pink lips ghost over yours, refusing to meet them. “have you missed me?” his lips trace over yours.

“obviously.” you croon, “you’re the one who took forever to decide a time and place.”

lowering himself between your legs he parts your thighs just a little more, his hands massaging the smooth skin. using his teeth he drags your black panties down, eyes widening at the string of arousal sticking between you and the thin strip of fabric.

“chrollo i swear—”

but he doesn’t waste any time with a retort or tease instead delving his tongue into your core, not even bothering lick you open. you mewl at the feeling of his tongue working itself against your clit, you’re sure he’s mouthing prayers between your legs like your a deity meant to be worshipped.

they weren’t kidding when they said “you’re body is a temple.” it is infact a temple, a place where he could offer up everything to you. usually his body, his mouth...

his tongue moves in and out switching between spreading your pussy lips open and stretching your tight walls so they’re ready to take his cock. he loves this part, watching you squirm on his tongue, fingers holding your hips down because if he lets up for second you’ll snap your legs closed in embarrassment. and he can’t be having that, no, not after he’s waited six months to taste your arousal.

“thinking about something?” he ponders aloud, his face stained with your slick. he grins at the sight in front of him. you’re flushed, sweat dripping down the side your face and your eyes screwed shut. your nipples are pert against the lace.

ah cute, he thinks to himself, so helpless

and then he’s wrapping his mouth against your nipple, soaking in the moan you release, only encouraging him even more. his long fingers are pushing your soiled panties aside entering your pussy so gently, you almost scream at the way he flicks his wrist, pumping two fingers so fast you can’t tell if you’ve just orgasmed or if it’s really been that long since you’ve had something so deep inside you. but just the thought of his cock had you mewling , the idea of him filling you up, marking your walls with his cum while he works his mouth against yours; and decide you’ve had enough of his teasing.

you pull his mouth up to yours, almost regretting it when the cold air hits your bare pussy. you can taste yourself on his tongue, it’s not bad but by the way he eats you out you’d think your arousal would be the sweetest thing the world. your tongues work against each other, trying so hard to make each other submit.

but chrollos known you for years, he knows your endgame when you pull stunts like this, and absolutely revels in the sound of surprise you make when he sucks on your tongue.

“bastard.” you growl.

“behave and you’ll be rewarded.” he murmurs, “you know the rules.”

slowly, he unzips his pants revealing the hard outline of his cock. it takes all your willpower not to just flip him over and ride him till you’re crying.

but that will come later.

you whine impatiently as he slides his cock against your folds. you know he gets off on the idea of edging you, teasing you till your begging for him to fuck you, so you can’t help the nasty moan that spills out of your mouth when he slides his entire length inside you.

“oh f-fuck please,”

you don’t even know what you’re begging for, and you think that you might’ve come just from the feeling of his dick inside you but you have no time to decipher the pleasure running through your veins, not when he’s moving his hips so thoroughly against yours. your fingers knot themselves in his hair, and moans are pulled out of your mouth. incoherent garbles of his name are echoed across the room but all you can here the low grunts and groans up against your ear. he’s not a moaner or screamer, but the noises he does make enough to get you to clench tighter around his length .

“chrollo, baby please.”

he groans low in your ear, “want you to scream, wanna hear my good girl screaming my name.”

it’s not hard for you to comply.

your thighs are trembling when he lifts them over his shoulder, and he pulls you onto his cock. the sight of your legs tossed so easily onto his shoulders and the view of his impeccable abs push you closer to edge you’ve been waiting six goddamn months for. your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he pounds you recklessly, with no hesitation. he knows you can take his cock, he knows how far he can push you, and you forget he’s been waiting for this release too.

“never going to let you out of my sigh again.” he growls, “gonna fuck your pussy so hard it’ll be molded to my cock, never gonna be able to take some other bastards.”

“don’t want anyone else’s,” you pant, “only yours, only ever wanted yours.”

it only takes a few more slams of his cock and your orgasm rips through you so harshly you think you might pass out. you can hardly feel your legs and your hands are numb from gripping his shoulders so tight, but he doesn’t stop. he still hasn’t come and you know he won’t stop until he’s had his way with you, even if it means turning into his own pillow princess. so when he does come, spilling his load deep inside you with your name on his lips, you almost sigh in relief. you love the man you really do, but his stamina is unmatched and you only have an hour tops until he’s mounting you again.

-

nuzzling his face into your neck you bring a hand up to push his hair back.

“don’t leave.” he says childishly against your neck.

“—i know you want another round of course i won’t leave.”

it’s unbearable how adorable he looks like this. he’s just finished fucking your brains out but there he is, a pout sitting on his lips.

“no, that’s not what i meant.” he props the two of you up against the headboard, somehow keeping you stuffed with his dick, “don’t disappear again. stay here.”

“with you?”

“who else.”

you can’t say you love him out loud. it would be like admitting you have a weakness. there’s a reason you don’t stay in one place to long. a reason you act like you’re just another one of the spiders legs.

he makes your heart crescendo. and that’s dangerous.

your souls love each other too much, and maybe that’s more hazardous than keeping yourself away from each other. so when the sunday morning dawn comes over the horizon, you let him keep you in his arms, wrapped in satin sheets and city sunshine.

-

[atomic-taco-muffin]

Can you make a part 11 to the “MHA x Fem!Reader: Kingdom Hearts”

Kingdom Hearts Part 12

Warnings: Angst

Rating: SFW

Before I start this, here is your hero costume:

Now onto the series!

You and the others stepped onto a barren, windswept land.

“It’s time. The Keyblade Graveyard is up ahead,” Mickey said. You all nodded, directing your eyes toward your destination. 

“Someone’s coming,” Sora said softly. 

Beyond a cloud of dust, Master Xehanort approached you all across the wasteland, his pace calm and unhurried. 

“You were right, dunce face. He is gross,” Bakugou whispered. 

“Right?!” 

“I can feel him staring into my soul. That’s so no manly,” Kirishima whispered. 

Xehanort stopped before you all and began to speak. 

“Legend has it that darkness once covered the world. We know so little about the Keyblade War--only that it was just the beginning. If ruin brings about creation, what, then, would another Keyblade War bring? When the darkness falls, will we be found worthy of the precious light the legend speaks of?” he said. Ansem appeared beside Xehanort.

“Who’s that?” Mina asked Denki. 

“Ansem Seeker of Darkness. Xehanort’s Heartless,” Denki replied. 

“Or will all of creation be instead returned to shadows? Today, we will re-create the legend and see,” Ansem said. 

Next, Xemnas stepped forward, taking his place on the other side of Xehanort.

“That’s Xemnas. Xehanort’s Nobody,” Denki whispered. 

“But first...Your light shines far too brightly. It must be extinguished in order for the truth to be seen,” Xemnas said. Vanitas appeared in front of the previous three.

“That’s Vanitas. The dark part of Ventus’s heart,” Denki whispered. 

“Only when your hopes have been broken by battle upon battle can the key be claimed to Kingdom Hearts,” Vanitas said. 

“And break you is what we shall do,” Y!Xehanort said, who had appeared next to Vanitas. “It has been etched.”

“That’s Xehanort younger self. You can totally see where things went wrong,” Denki whispered. 

“That’s his younger self?” Mina asked. 

“Yep.” 

Darkness flowed from the five villains and surrounded the whole area, blocking out the sky itself. The cloud opened, and countless Heartless, Nobodies and Unversed began raining down upon you all. 

“Look at how many there are!” you said. 

“Okay, everyone, get ready!” Izuku said as the number of Heartless grew and grew. 

“Remember! The Nobodies can only be defeated by a Keyblade!” Sora said.

“Got it!” you and Class 1-A said. 

The number of creatures surrounding you all was fast growing into a near-endless horde. After managing to clear out the Heartless in your immediate vicinity, you and the others paused to catch your breath. 

“Is everybody okay?” you asked as you surveyed the team. When you saw that they were, you relaxed somewhat with relief. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Sora called out. But just as you all were about to get moving, yet another figure appeared in the distance. Ventus was the first one to notice. 

“Terra!” he shouted, running off before you all could get a word in. 

Aqua started after him, calling his name with a hint of apprehension. Ventus was unaware that Terra’s body was under Xehanort’s control.

“Terra! We found you!” Ventus exclaimed as he took his friend’s hand (protect this baby, okay? he deserves the world!). 

“Terra, please say you’re in there,” Aqua pleaded in a rather more cautious voice. 

“That’s not him, is it?” Sero asked Denki, who shook his head in response.

Instead of replying, Terra observed Aqua quietly. His blue eyes seemed to stare right through her, and she placed a hand on Ventus’s shoulder to draw him away.

“What gives, Aqua?” Ven asked. 

“I know that you’re not him,” she said as she placed herself before Ventus protectively. “Now, let our friend go!”

That was when Terra’s hair turned white, and his blue eyes turned to gold. 

“He is their thirteenth,” Mickey said softly. 

“Great. More Xehanort’s,” Bakugou said. 

“Hey! Now you’re catching on!” Denki said. 

“Shut up, dunce face!” 

“Today is the day you all lose,” Terranort quietly told you all. 

“What?!” Aqua cried. A dark fog began to congeal behind Terranort. 

“Before you even face the thirteen, every last one of you will be torn heart from body. But fear not. The χ-Blade will still be forged,” Terranort said. 

He called his Keyblade to his hand. Beyond the dark fog, atop of the cliffs looming above the wasteland, countless Keyblades stood thrust into the terrain like grave markers. 

“We’re not gonna lose to you,” you said. 

With a smirk at your challenge, Terranort launched himself at Ventus, closing the distance in a single moment, and dealt the boy with a devastating blow with his Keyblade. Ventus was sent flying and crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust. 

“Ven!” Aqua gasped. 

“That’s it!” Bakugou and Sora shouted as they charged at their foe. But Terranort caught Sora’s strike on his Keyblade and sent him sprawling on the dirt as well while he kicked Bakugou out of the way. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku shouted. 

“I’m fine, Deku,” Bakugou said. 

Terranort next set his sights for Kairi, lunging for her. Axel threw himself in front of her, but he, too, ended upcast to one side. 

“Axel!” Kairi cried. 

Terranort held his Keyblade over Kairi’s head, poised to strike. Scrambling to his feet, Sora rushed over and threw his arms around her protectively, you doing the same thing to Sora. 

“(Y/N)!” Class 1-A shouted.

“No! Sora!” Mickey shouted as Donald and Goofy rushed past him to either side. 

Goofy’s shield found its way in front of Terranort’s Keyblade just before it could connect with you and Sora. The clash sent both of them staggering back, while Donald poured his magic into a spell so powerful it created glowing emblems on the ground beneath him. 

“Zettaflare!” he shouted. 

A tremendous beam of light shot from Donald’s staff straight into Terranort, cascading over him and blasting him away. Utterly exhausted, Donald collapsed, and Goofy and Mickey hurried over to him. You rushed over to help Donald while Aqua checked on Ventus, Riku and Kairi went to aid Axel, and Deku rushed over to Bakugou.

“I said I’m fine, damn nerd!” Bakugou shouted. 

“This can’t be real,” Sora whispered. After healing Donald, you rushed over to Axel and did the same thing you did to Donald. You were all completely out of your depth. Sora could hardly believe what he’d just seen; Terranort had taken down four of them with almost no effort at all. And another dark whirlpool was growing beyond his fallen friends, releasing another wave of Heartless. Riku ran over to Sora and took him by the shoulder. 

“Pull it together, Sora! We haven’t lost them. They still have their hearts. But we have to protect them,” he said. 

“Right!” Sora agreed with a nod. The stream of countless Heartless in front of you all swirled upward into a vortex. 

“We stand together,” Aqua said as she came to join Sora and Riku, Keyblade in hand. 

“Go beyond!” Izuku said. 

“PLUS ULTRA!” you and Class 1-A said. Aqua looked back at the king.

“Mickey, Kairi, Goofy, watch the others,” she said. 

“No, we should all get to safety while we still can,” the king pleaded from where he knelt beside Donald. 

“It’s too late for that,” Todoroki replied as he watched the storm build in the sky. 

Masses of Heartless wove through the ravines, congealing into a colossal river that rushed straight at you all. The legion of Heartless--the Demon Tide--was so enormous you all could hardly understand what you were all-seeing.  This was nothing like anything you all had seen in the Realm of Darkness and back at U.A. You all looked on in stunned amazement as the Demon Tide reared into the sky like a whirlwind.

“Denki, what the hell is that?” Mineta asked. 

“It’s called the Demon Tide,” Denki replied. 

“It can’t be...No...” The memories from Aqua’s time in the darkness were rising in her mind. The nightmarish Heartless that came back, again and again, no matter how many times she struck them down...had been just like this. 

Perhaps sensing this sudden weakness in her mind, the storm of Heartless swept over her.

“Aqua!” Riku shouted. He watched as the Demon Tide swallowed up Class 1-A. Mickey, Goofy, Donald, and the rest in one fell swoop. You and Kairi knelt, protecting Axel, but were quickly carried away, too. 

Yours and Kairi’s hands reached Sora’s--but your fingers passed through empty air. As the strength left Sora’s body, his Keyblade slipped from his grasp and vanished. Sora dropped to his knees and screamed, falling forward onto his hands in the dust. 

“Sora!” Riku hurried over to his friend. 

“They’re gone. Kairi, Donald...Goofy, the king...I just lost (Y/N) for the second time...Gone forever.”  Sora raised his head slowly, eyes brimming with tears. “What do we do? Without them...I...All my strength came from them. They gave me all of it. Alone, I’m worthless. We’ve lost...it’s over.” 

Riku considered comforting Sora with a hand on the shoulder, but he chose to get to his feet instead. 

“Sora, you don’t believe that. I know you don’t,” he assured him, then walked toward the Demon Tide to face it himself. 

As Sora watched, the Heartless attacked, and Riku took the full brunt of it head-on. The flood of Heartless split in two against Riku’s Keyblade, streaming out around them to either side. But not even that was enough--eventually, the darkness swallowed him, too. Sora gasped--and then the world went black.

And so, as foretold, the darkness prevailed, and light expired...

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (2/5)

This is a trick.

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

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

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Rating: T Word Count: 9.1K which is also more than I remember writing. Which should probably be the subheadline of my life.  AN: Guys! All of you! Collectively! Separately! Thank you so much for your genuinely incredible response to this story that took on a life of its own. It’s very nice! You’re all very nice! More exclamation points! This time around we’ve got; a very discombobulated timeline, bedtime stories, peak!dad David, peak!dad Killian and f e e l i n g s. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || Or you can start from the start

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“How did you figure it out?” He lifts his eyebrow. Only one, and exactly the same way he does in whatever part of time the real Killian Jones is lingering in, but the thought of this Killian Jones not being entirely real makes Emma’s stomach knot. Several times over. She can’t stop staring at his eyebrow. It’s off-putting. And the complete opposite of that. “Out?” Killian echoes. “Not when?” “No, no I figured you knew pretty much from the get, but—” Emma shrugs. Tries very hard not to fall off the kitchen counter. Which might actually be made of granite. 

God, maybe they’re legitimately rich. 

She can’t imagine what the mortgage on a house like this is. 

She can’t imagine there are actually mortgages in Storybrooke. 

“Were you thinking about going to get your sword? Because it seems shitty to challenge an unarmed person to a fight.” The eyebrow gets higher. Arch'ier. Pointier, even. “As you’ve already pointed out today, I am a pirate. And that’s not really an answer to my question.” “Or mine,” Emma challenges. “Are you not a pirate anymore, then?” “You know you’d make a rather atrocious spy, darling.” Sneering is decidedly juvenile and the only thing Emma is capable of doing in the moment. “You are dancing around any answer and—” “—Well, if you’re a time traveling, abysmal spy then it seems wrong to provide you with any more information than what you’ve already gleaned from your day here, doesn’t it?”

She deflates. 

Shoulders sag and exhaustion creeps up the wholly unnatural and very uncomfortable curve of Emma’s spine, fear tickling the back of her mind because Killian hasn’t actually made a single move towards the basement, but she’s only passably sure of where the basement is and the specific sort of glint in his eyes makes her even more confident that he wouldn’t mind brandishing his sword at her. 

Literally in this instance. 

“I’m not sure it’s time travel,” she mumbles, staring at a floor that is questionably clean if it does in fact belong to her. Maybe Killian cleans. “Fascinating.” “I’m not the bad guy here.” “Because I am?”

Her shoulders can’t sink any lower. They try all the same, shamed by the hitch in his breath and the tilt of his head, angled to make his hair drift across his brows and eyes that are as distracting as ever and far too easy to get swept up in and—

Emma swallows. 

Exhales. She doesn’t remember when she decided to hold her breath. 

“I don’t know,” she admits softly, barely able to move her lips and no one remembered to turn the Christmas tree off. Lights reflect off the ridiculous number of windows in the wall, painting streaks of color on paint that isn’t blue and shouldn’t remind anyone of a ball gown Emma knows she hasn’t worn yet, but it’s pretty all the same and she wonders why she wound up here. At this point. This moment. 

Killian might not be breathing either. 

“What do you know, then?” 

Emma bites her lip. Hard. “That one second I was somewhere else, and then I was—” Shaking her head does not help what is undoubtedly a migraine blooming behind her left eye, but she hasn’t fallen off the counter yet and she imagines victories are going to be few and far between, so it seems fair to cling to them as they pass by. Six of her knuckles crack when she grips the kitchen counter. “Waking up, and you were telling me we had to go get paint, and people were bowing to me.” “They don’t do that where you’re from.” “Not a question.” “No,” Killian agrees, which is a very strange way of doing that, “more like a documented point. You haven’t tried to attack anyone yet, though. So I suppose that’s at least one marker on the positive column.” “I’m not going to attack anyone!” Eyes flashing at the crack in Emma’s voice, Killian’s neck all but snaps as he glances over his shoulder. Towards a staircase, and she hasn’t spent too much time upstairs yet, but those same stairs are as empty as they were sixteen seconds earlier and the force of Killian’s exhale ruffles the ends of his hair. 

“If you wouldn’t mind being just a touch quieter,” he all but growls at her, spinning back around with far more grace than Emma thinks is entirely fair, “I’d really appreciate it. Takes her forever to fall asleep.” “Hope, you mean? Don’t I, well—don’t we or…” “I’d suggest you stop talking.”

“And you’re still avoiding my questions,” Emma accuses through clenched teeth. That only hurts her jaw. And the rest of her, really. She’s so tired, she can’t believe she’s still forming coherent sentences. Counting that as another marker in the positive column is probably a dick move. 

And the standoff that ensues over the next twenty-seven and two-thirds seconds is something in the realm of ridiculous. Clenching her jaw tight enough to crush a variety of diamonds, Emma resolutely refuses to blink, and Killian’s an ass, apparently, so he simply stares right back, while his shoulders heave on every inhale. 

She doesn’t know what to say. Has no idea what string of words will convince this relative stranger, who still feels like someone who could potentially be hers in an overwhelming sort of way, that she’s not a threat and wouldn’t do anything to hurt that kid upstairs. Not when that kid did her own bit of staring at Emma all evening, like she was the sun and the moon, and a variety of constellations and—

Killian drags a hand over his face. Leaves red streaks in his wake, twisting the skin on his cheeks and the stubble there doesn’t move because it can’t, but Emma’s admittedly starting to teeter again. In more ways than one, really. 

The crinkles around his eyes are deeper. As if he’s used to laughing and smiling, and Hope had clung to him on their walk home. 

There’s that word again. 

Doing something silly to Emma’s heart. 

“I know you’re not going to attack anyone,” he sighs, “although I don’t really know if you’re in a position to demand I tell you anything, either.”

“What if we call it a request?” His lips twitch, fighting off the smile Emma can see tugging at his mouth and it’s definitely wrong to find any confidence in that. Charming a guy who’s already married and procreating with a different version of her shouldn’t be regarded as another victory. 

She’s going to do it anyway. 

“Tell me who you are, then.” “I’m—” Grunting hurts Emma’s throat, both of her elbows threatening to damage her ribs when she flails her hands. “I’m me. Just—” “—Not mine?” “Oh, that’s decidedly possessive.” Humming, Killian’s nod is barely that. More like a quick jerk of his chin and swipe of his tongue across the front of his teeth. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth. “Aye, it might be. I am having some difficulty wrapping my head around this, though. So you’ll have to forgive me.” Emma scoffs. Nearly laughs, really — which is as surprising as it is nice, and nothing about this can be nice. On principle. Her body doesn’t seem to care, and her heart certainly cares even less, and it’s still a struggle to rationalize this version of Killian with the one she left, but there are far more similarities than her brain is able to process quite yet and that same dark and distant part is very quick to point out she’d like to. 

No matter where she might be sitting.

If she’d let herself. 

“You can feel my magic?”

Killian nods. “Usually.” “What does that mean? It doesn’t always work?” “I—” Gritting his teeth only shows off how frustratingly straight there are, and at some point she’s going to ask about that. Pirates don’t get braces, after all. “I’d rather not disrupt all of time by telling you things you don’t already know.” “I don’t know anything,” Emma argues, trying very hard not to scream the words. And only sort of succeeding. 

“Did you fall into a portal?” “Are you fucking with me?” Killian glares at her again. “I’d advise very strongly that you answer the question, Swan.”

“Or what? You’ll legitimately go get your basement sword? Why do you keep your sword in the basement, anyway? Aren’t there—I mean, a monster a week in Storybrooke, right?” His goddamn fucking tongue is going to be the death of her. Sooner or later, Emma is positive. Shifting and poking at the side of his cheek, and she can hear the gears again, trying to place the few clues she’s given him with a life he’s already lived and it is absurd that she even thought the word clues. 

“Not in quite some time,” he admits, and Emma’s mind leaps. Back to conversations and knights and realm-borders. She needs a map. Or Regina, God help her. “That’s not the point, though. It’s—” Another head shake and hair movement, and pinching the bridge of his nose only makes it ten-thousand times easier to see the ring on his finger.

There are a lot of Christmas lights in this house. 

“You’re not someone else,” Killian finishes softly. 

“Disappointing, I know.” His head moves so quickly it’s hardly more than a semi-dark blur of hair and slightly pained eyes. Both of which make Emma very glad for her spot on the counter. If she had been standing, she would have fallen over. In a rather undignified heap. 

“No,” Killian exhales as the magnets make a glorious return. He crowds into her space before she’s entirely ready for it. Although that also suggests Emma would ever be ready for the way his face has twisted and how ridiculously warm he continues to be, the hand that’s already resting on her knee threatening to burn straight through her jeans. “Strange,” he adds, clenching his fingers when Emma flinches, “and possibly a little terrifying, since—” “—Your Emma has disappeared entirely.” He grins. It’s disarming, and inching closer to the kind of flirting they’d been dancing around before and Emma’s got to get off this dancing metaphor kick. She’s not a good dancer, anyway.  “No portal, right?” “No portal,” she confirms. “And I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a very lucid dream, so.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

She realizes that about halfway through the sentence. Any hint of camaraderie or déjà vu-based flirting disappears from Killian’s face and immediately shifts into the same brand of pain that came when she called him Hook. 

Biting her lip is really Emma’s only option.

“You don’t think this is real,” he whispers, another statement she doesn’t feel the need to point out. Shrugging, Emma’s vocal chords fail her again, and the step Killian takes away from her resembles a rather large chasm. 

Grand Canyon-esque. 

“We’re back to things I don’t know,” Emma says, “but um—do we have other kids? Aside from Hope, I mean? I—” Heat rises in her cheeks, the weight of the compliment threatening to burst out of her both foreign and necessary and Killian doesn’t do anything. Well, he lifts his eyebrows again, but that’s something like second nature to him and Emma refuses to count it and his fingers find the back of his hair. 

Huh. 

“Henry,” he replies.

“And you’re counting Henry? As—” Her tongue is really going to become a problem, if it’s going to remain this size in her mouth. “As your kid too?”

Strictly speaking, Emma’s not sure she actually wants an answer. Can only imagine what her emotions will do if she hears the confirmation that’s quite obviously pressing behind the seams of Killian’s mouth, but that confirmation might also prove several thousand things that have been at war in her for far longer than she’d ever be willing to admit, and he nods once. 

“In all the ways that matter,” Killian says. “And Neal is…” Shaking his head, all Emma gets is another smirk as soon as she huffs out her frustration, but the frustration is also kind of lacking when it feels like her whole body is running on overdrive and there’s no way he could fake the emotion behind those words. Even in a dream-like state. She’s not creative enough to come up with that particular voice inflection. 

“How’d you know?” she presses. “Honestly?” “Aside from your rather startling inability to act like yourself?” “Yeah. Aside from that.”

Stairs creak behind them, a not-quite ominous warning that this conversation has lasted longer than it should and there’s a kid of indeterminate age demanding to be put back to bed just out of sight. Emma should figure out how old her kid is. 

Hopefully that won’t ruin the space-time continuum, either. 

“You’ve got this lovely habit of calling me babe,” Killian drawls, leaning close enough that Emma swears she can smell him. Wishful thinking, maybe. “And I can’t remember the last time you called me Hook.”

He flashes her another grin — reminiscent of a man who is not this one, and then he’s gone, scooping up the kid and muttering promises against her hair, and Emma never knows how long she spends sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She does creep, eventually. 

Curiosity gets the better of Emma the longer she sits there, waiting without much hope for Killian to return. He’s not going to. She knows that. There’s only so many times he can come back, and this is a totally different thing than it was before, but it's also a perfect segue to the other reason she hopes off the counter. Her overall discomfort. Literally, and metaphorically. Marble, it seems, is a very fancy stone and good for the kitchen counters some alt-version of her eventually owns, but it also starts to dig into the back of her knees and those knees are bent kind of weird and in the grand scheme of where she wants to look again, inching up the stairs to peer through the barely closed door of Hope’s room is a much more appealing prospect than a basement that apparently houses weapons. 

So, Emma doesn’t spend too long thinking of the pros and cons, or how she should really be creeping towards the room of someone who might understand magic and why she’s here. Instead, she winces slightly on the creaky step halfway up the staircase and does her best to stay in the shadows, but these shadows aren’t quite as terrifying as they were in the realm she’s only just recently teleported from and that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot. 

He’s reading her a story. 

Captain Hook, terror of several storybook seas and probably a few Emma isn’t aware of, just to drive home the confusion point, sits propped up against a mess of pillows with his sock-covered feet stretched out in front of him, and curls pushed up against his side, a book balanced precariously on one thigh and she really would make the world’s worst spy. She hadn’t noticed the empty brace at the end of his arm. 

That’s never happened before. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even entirely sure it was possible, which is total asshole territory and maybe she’ll just collapse. Right here in the hallway. The carpet looks almost plush, so it might not be the worst move. 

And trying to memorize the look of it only feels like a half-dick'ish move, if only because the lack of a hook does sort of confirm the overall safety of this place, and Emma figures that outweighs whatever scene she’s interrupting. Or trying not to, as it were. 

Knotted scars line his skin, some of them looking older than others and that makes a few more of Emma’s internal organs flip. Something that feels a bit like anger rises in the back of her throat, an unexpected emotion that isn’t really directed at anyone except the people who caused those scars and that pain and he looks comfortable. 

Now, at least. 

Even slouched as he is against pillow cases that are far too frilly and remind Emma far too much of her mother. She keeps documenting. Lets her eyes trace over every inch of Killian — the way his fingers fluttering mindlessly against Hope’s back, brushing away strands of hair with the kind of ease that makes it clear this is a regular occurrence. His shoulders aren’t as taut as they were in the kitchen, but his head lolls towards the side more than once as fatigue starts to color his gaze. 

The story has princesses in it. Well, one princess. On a rather expansive adventure, if Emma’s actually keeping up with the plot. Dropped into a place she’s unfamiliar with, the princess in question naturally has a dashing love interest — although his name is Charles, so...maybe not all that dashing — and they get into several more adventures. Which include, but apparently are not limited to; taverns, a ridiculous amount of flirting, interactions with pirates, kissing as a distraction, the last of which endlessly entertains Hope, and the overall force of the little girl’s laugh makes Emma’s breath hitch, but then there’s more to the story and of course there’s a ball. More royalty, too. Obstacles are faced, only to be immediately overcome and Emma’s smile happens without any thought to the overall inappropriate nature of it. 

“And,” Killian says, shaking his head until his nose grazes Hope’s hair, “the exceptionally dashing prince took on the guards single-handedly, telling the princess to go and get the treasure they’d been looking for. While—” “—’Feating all of them, right?” Hope exclaims. As much as it’s possible to exclaim while also sounding half asleep. 

“In dramatic fashion. There was quite a lot of spinning involved. Made his jacket look all the more impressive. Fluttering tails and whatnot.”

Eyes flicker towards Emma’s garbage hiding spot, and she’s still not breathing correctly, so the odds aren’t very good he heard her, but she’s wondered more than once if he doesn’t just have a sixth sense when it comes to her and possibly them, and she pulls her lips behind her teeth. 

“What happened after that?” 

Most of Hope’s question comes out as a singular word, Killian’s soft laugh both indulgent and decidedly parental and he kisses her once before muttering, “Nuh uh, you’ve already gotten more story than you should, and you’ve got to get some rest.” “But I—”

Shaking his head once is all it takes for silence to descend on the room, although it does come with a slight pout and that’s—weird, it’s weird. Watching her own facial expressions reflect back to her from a kid she didn’t know existed a few hours earlier is more than enough to send Emma reeling. Wobbly knees shake underneath her, retreating in just enough time to not look totally suspicious as Killian mumbles something else and closes the door behind him, and she might have been right about the eye thing. 

They practically fly towards her. 

And the wall that was far closer than Emma anticipated. Hitting her head on it hurts more than it usually would, she imagines. 

“Truly,” he says, “an absolutely Gods awful spy.” “Was that supposed to be plural? On the Gods, I mean?” Tilting his head is the only response Emma gets, and she can’t blame him for that. For anything, really. “Does that happen a lot? The, uh—the stories.”

Silence. 

Relatively speaking. There’s the distinct sound of disgruntled kid on the other side of the other side of the door, what Emma figures are four flailing limbs as it appears Hope is determined to beat her half a dozen pillows into submission. 

Little sea monster makes a bit more sense now. 

“I do that too.”

Fatigue disappears. To make room for the invisible two-by-four that settles between Killian’s shoulder blades, shifting them until his spine is ramrod straight and he’s staring at Emma like that was the most obvious statement in the history of the world. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, but his voice drops, gruffer than it’s been all day. She’s going to bite both her lips in half. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s—makes sense, I guess. I, um—” No one actually told her to take her boots off, but Emma might have assumed, and the carpet does feel soft. Through her socks, at least. While she tries to dig a hole into the ground with her toe. So she can fall into it. “Seemed like a popular story.” “Aye, it is. Big fan of sword fights.”

“Ah, well, when they’re full of dashing princes who wouldn’t be?”

It’s another thoughtless sentence. One that makes Killian’s tongue shift and then his mouth shift and Emma only stares at that for a few seconds before her eyes drop to his arm and his wrist and—

He twists his arm. Behind his back. 

Her inability to dig a hole with her foot is genuinely disappointing. 

“A question for the ages,” he says. “What are the other ones, then?” “Excuse me?” “I cannot keep telling you how badly you mask your expressions. It seems redundant. So while I also can’t imagine getting too much information will be good, you’ve obviously got questions. As do I, if we’re being honest.” “Are we being honest?”

The lack of sword belt — or actual pants — makes it all the more absurd when he leans forward, thumb hooking into the top of the sleepwear he’s got on, and Emma’s fairly proud of her ability to not linger on that particular thing. Less so in her ability to temper the butterflies in her stomach as soon as Killian leans forward. 

Directly into her space. 

He must radiate heat. 

“I’ve never been anything except entirely honest with you, love,” Killian says, and there’s no way to doubt those words or that voice and Emma hasn’t. Ever, actually. 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Eventually you really do believe it.” Blood hits her tongue — sharp and absolutely disgusting, threatening to make her retch in the middle of the hallway. Only marginally better than her hole idea. By some miracle, sent from an apparently merciful God, Emma manages to take a deep breath, jutting her chin out and meeting Killian’s almost cautious gaze with a determination of her own. 

The kind that sends magic shooting down her arms, and directly into the tips of her fingers. His eyes widen. 

“That’s never been the problem. It’s—” They’ve got to stop cutting themselves off. Sentences that hang without end will torment Emma for the foreseeable future, but the muscles in her neck are going to seize up if she doesn’t twist them, and Killian’s fingers tense at his side when her hair moves. Like he wants to brush it away from her face. “Where’d the tree come from?” “Anton.”

“No.” “Swan, we just proclaimed honesty and now you’re—” “—Don’t know if it was a proclamation,” Emma grumbles, but Doc did call her your highness before so maybe she wields that kind of power now. Killian’s lips tilt up. 

Finding something else to stare at should be number one on the list of things Emma needs to be doing. Desperately. 

“Aye, that usually requires your mother’s seal anyway.”

“My mom? Why would...isn’t Regina mayor of this town?”

Exhaling through his teeth is oddly attractive. “Not as such, no.” “Huh.” “That’s about the right reaction. But to get back to your original question—” Emma sticks her tongue out, Killian’s laugh soaring out of him. Directly into her. It feels that way, at least. Warmth blooms between her ribs, another pulse of magic she resolutely ignores in favor of watching his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle and it would be very easy. All of it. Is, currently. If she’s being honest with herself.  

That’s a problem.  

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian murmurs. 

“Well, depending on who you ask, I either got tugged through time, or I’m being tormented in my dreams and—what?” His eyes have gone very thin. “Tormented, is it?” “That was a shitty choice of words.” Humming, Killian’s eyes move anywhere but Emma’s face, and the regret in her gut is like a black hole and dying star and several other space-based puns she does not understand at all. All she knows is what a mess this is becoming, and she’s been a mess for as long as she can remember so that’s all the excuse she needs, hands moving on a mix of want and instinct that she’ll let herself over analyze later. 

He doesn’t flinch. 

For another moment, it feels like he’s going to do something drastic. Parting his lips, Emma hears his exhale, the quick flick of his tongue making her toes curl and her fingers tighten, and she wants to run. That’s her schtick. She can’t. She’s rooted to the spot and this carpet, and there’s nowhere to go really. 

Getting back to Neverland already seems impossible. 

“He’s very happy here,” Killian says, and it takes her a second to realize they’re talking about a giant again. “Has been for years. Grows all sorts of stuff, and you didn’t see the Christmas tree your parents have, but it’s ridiculously massive. Apparently there’s some sort of giant-type gene that helps with that.”

“Well, yeah of course.”

Whatever sound he makes isn’t the laugh Emma selfishly wants it to be, but the air that finds her cheek is warm and his left arm isn’t behind his back anymore. “You can take the bed.”

“What?” “We do have a bed, love.” “Yeah, but—” “—Very gallant of me, I know,” Killian quips, stepping away from Emma and the moment and she can’t believe the moment included talk of a giant growing Christmas trees. Somehow that’s almost comforting. “But it’ll be fine, and well if you’re going to talk to Regina tomorrow—” “—You think I should talk to Regina?” “Don’t you?” Nodding hurts. Standing hurts. The whole thing’s ridiculously melodramatic. “Probably,” Emma admits. “Um, but...maybe on my own?”

She’ll never admit to wanting an objection — this isn’t her life, or her Killian, but it also feels wrong to claim any Killian, and this constant flipping between emotions is going to snap her skull in half. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “Two doors down on the left.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Nodding again, Killian gives her a barely-there smile before moving back towards the stairs he only sort of rushes down. That one step creaks again. 

Sleeping doesn’t happen. 

Emma didn’t think it would, but it’s disappointing and frustrating all the same. Her muscles ache, practically begging her for unconsciousness, but every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Killian’s face and the space between them and she’s got to get back to Neverland. 

Soon. 

Emma’s got to fix this. 

No one’s at Regina’s house. 

Waiting until everyone left her own house is something of a massive copout, and using that particular possessive makes Emma feel like a liar, but she couldn't bring herself to get off the bed until the front door slammed shut and she wasted quite a lot of time sitting on the mattress. 

Also very comfortable, despite the distinct lack of sleep it witnessed. 

So, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when no one answers Emma’s rather pointed knocks. Or the few kicks she levels at Regina’s front door, just to be sure. All that does is make the wreath hanging out front wobble precariously. “God, fucking—” Snowflakes land on Emma’s face when she tilts her head up, as if the gods she’s challenging are responding. She’s still a little caught on the polytheistic. “Alright, alright, where would she go?”

“Emma?” Spinning, she doesn’t wobble at all — a testament to Regina’s salting regiment for her front steps, and the blonde twenty-something with impressively thick glasses who called her name far too easily grins far too quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

There’s no hint of confusion to her question. At least not in regards to who Emma is. She’s obviously surprised to find her standing there, though, and nothing about her is familiar. 

“I’m looking for Regina. Do you know where she might be?”

“Yeah, of course. She went into the office early this morning, said she had to deal with the knights situation and magic acting up and—” “—Magic is acting up?”

“Didn’t Uncle David tell you?”

“No,” Emma shakes her head, already moving because there are only so many offices in this town and it’s got to be the same one. It isn’t until she makes it back to Main Street that her mind catches up with titles, but then the woman is jogging up the stairs of town hall and swinging open doors and Emma’s jaw drops. 

At the “Regina Mills, Queen of the Combined Realms” etched in glass in front of her. 

“You coming?” this nameless person asks, jerking her head towards the office and at least the wallpaper is the same. Emma gives a jerky nod, willing herself to step forward, but it’s shaky going at best and Regina is on the phone. 

The buzzing in her ears makes it difficult to hear the conversation, but Emma picks up the gist. Magic, and knights and the sound of her dad’s vaguely frantic tone, while Regina sighs at regular intervals, rolling her eyes occasionally as well. 

“Aunt Gina,” the woman hisses, slumping into the closest chair. Sliding a small handful of bills across her desk, Regina widens her eyes meaningfully, not bothering to cover the receiver before she mutters—

“Only what was on the list, ok? Henry’s stuff is already taken care of, don’t let Doc try and swindle you.”

She gives a crisp salute, Emma’s mind practically tripping over itself because that’s like a slap to her entire being and the sanity she’s only just clinging to at this point. “I’ll sic Killian on him, if he even tries,” she promises, leaning across the desk to kiss Regina’s cheek before breezing out of the office with a quick “see you later, Emma.”

Emma doesn’t move. 

And Regina hangs up on David. 

“Well,” she says, somehow dragging the word out until it sounds like those royal decrees Killian was talking about, “here you are, then.” “Should practice your surprised face.”

Gasping as dramatically as possible, Regina widens her eyes and jerks back, making her chair squeak on its wheels. Her hand flies to her chest, and the necklace that hangs over her shirt. It looks a bit like an arrow. “How was that?” “My dad called you.” “Probably two seconds after you left the farm. So,” she props her chin on her palm, “time travel, is it? You fall in another portal?”

Blinking as quickly as she is makes it difficult for Emma to stumble into the chair only recently vacated by that girl, but she manages somehow. And doesn’t twist anything in the process. Victories, she’s claiming all of them. “How many time-altering portals are there?” “Only one that I’m aware of, but you also didn’t answer my question and I don’t think you can alter something that hasn’t happened for you yet.” “Because this is the future.”

“Frankly?” “You’re going to do it either way,” Emma grumbles, Regina’s sneer not quite as challenging as she expects it to be. 

“Nothing is ever set in stone, not really. Which is why you can appear here. We're...a possibility for you at this point. So, no—I’m not sure you can destroy yourself with knowing. With staying, for sure, but—” “—Wait, what?”

Regina’s fingers flutter against her cheek. “When did you come from?

“Not here.” “Obviously.”

Slumping further into the chair, Emma’s knees nearly slam into her chest. It’s definitely an arrow around Regina’s neck. “Neverland,” she says, “we’d just left the Echo Caves and you’d gone off with Gold somewhere.” “Rumor has it you met Ariel.” “Is that seriously who that was?” Regina nods. Emma exhales. Loudly. “Ok, ok, well—” Recounting the rest isn’t as hard as she expects it to be, details flowing out of Emma like some other water joke she’s not willing to make and Regina doesn’t interrupt. Occasionally her hand drifts back towards the necklace, but Emma chooses to ignore that as well and her mouth is only sort of dry by the time she’s done. 

And then Regina purses her lips. 

Which speaks volumes, without actually saying words. She says words too. “A giant plant. That crawled out of the ground and—” “—Ok, I never once said it was giant, just that it exploded out of the ground.” “It’s not much better.” “Killian can feel my magic here.” “Yuh huh.”

Lifting both her hands in what Emma can only hope is obvious frustration and soon-to-be-resolved confusion, Regina doesn’t look all that impressed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Emma demands. “Is that a normal thing? I—as far as I know he can’t in Neverland.” “Well, normal is in the eye of the beholder, really, but have you ever actually asked the captain if he can feel your magic?” “Why would I—did you just call him captain? Are you and Killian friends now?” Clicking her tongue, Regina makes a noise that’s neither confirmation nor objection. “I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t—none of this is real.” “Ah, that’s actually a little rude.” “How did this happen, then?” Another noise. More guttural that time, and Emma hopes it hurts the inside of Regina’s throat. She’s feeling a little vindictive. No one’s explained the Unified Realms concept to her yet, that’s why. “I’ve got several working theories, some people who would know far more about Neverland’s vegetation and what its capable of than I would, and the deep-burning desire to know whether or not you told Killian about the plant.”

The gods are clearly feeling particularly charitable to Emma right now. All things considered, she feels like she deserves that. 

And she doesn’t fall out of the chair. 

“Do you think he remembers this? If I disappeared in Neverland, but he still married me here...God, that’s weird to say.” “Is it, though?’ Regina challenges, scrunching her nose like this is a conversation they can have.

“Why are you also being so goddamn weird?” “Time travels a funny thing. Lots of twists and turns, and potential pitfalls. And I’m not being weird, this is who I am now.” “Huh.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time,” Regina advises. “But I do think you’re right, you need to leave this part of the timeline. It’ll fall apart otherwise.” “You say so calmly.” “I’m almost very confident in your abilities.” “Almost,” Emma echoes, fully prepared for the snark-filled grin that gets her. Flames flicker between Regina’s fluttering fingers, not the first time that’s happened, but it usually only happens in times of particularly high stress and for as even-keeled as the so-called queen is acting, Emma knows at least part of it is a facade. “What happened with the knights? Also, shouldn’t knights from Camelot be under Arthur’s rule?” “That’s a whole other story. One your husband could recount much better than me.” “He’s not my husband.” “Not yet, I suppose.” Grimacing makes it harder to pull a breath in, but Emma’s butterflies make a triumphant return and the coffee maker was still on when she got downstairs. That might not be the coincidence she wants it to be. “The knights,” Emma demands, “what’s their deal?” “Nefarious, it seems. Which isn’t usually how they operate, and is wholly against the law.” “Of your kingdom?” Maybe Regina and Killian are friends. She’s much better at arching her eyebrow now. “Something like that. Anyway, the knights are here, without the proper paperwork, because they claim magic has been acting strangely in Camelot. And they’ve tracked it to our forest. What that magic is doing that’s so strange appears to be some sort of state secret, but Snow’s got a bird on it, so maybe we’ll find out eventually.” “That keeps happening.” “The fleeting nature of a bird’s attention span?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Is she not Mary Margaret, anymore?”

The flames disappear, Regina sitting up a little straighter like they’ve finally delved into the serious part of this conversation, and whatever’s churning in Emma’s gut is a bit like regret. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking about it, then?” “As someone who still hasn’t found Henry in Neverland yet.” “Sounds like we do.” “Not something you ever should have doubted.” “I don’t,” Emma says, only kind of a lie because she still can’t really shake her worry and her fear has always been such a strong part of her; the concept of letting that go is as terrifying as anything else. The coffee had been good that morning. “Why this spot? I mean—if I was going to get tugged to any point in my timeline, Christmas in Storybrooke seems a little out of left field, don’t you think?”

Regina considers that for a moment, drumming her still-flameless fingers on her vaguely imposing desk. “Honestly? Seems like a test.” “Of what?” “You, obviously.” “Speaking English, Your Highness.” “Majesty,” Regina corrects, sliding away from the desk so she can stand up and rest her palms on it and Emma’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. “And you’re being obtuse on purpose. I understand, but it’s—well, it’s only going to get more annoying, for both of us. The point is, games were part of Neverland. Tricks and sleight of hand, making you believe something that wasn’t there because that belief fueled the place. Belief’s even stronger for you, Emma. Because of what you are, and what you’ve done. Or will do, I guess.” “No pressure.” “Some, but—you’re distracting me. That’s still an unconfirmed theory.” “What is the point, then?” “The point,” Regina repeats archly, “is that pulling you out of Neverland, away from a place that made you feel like the Lost Girl you believe you are, turns this into something of a Utopia. Home, and safety. When’s the last time you celebrated Christmas?” “Never?” “See, everything you’ve ever wanted all tied up and—” “—I don’t want to be married to Hook.”

Disbelief colors every inch of Regina’s face, the sound of her laugh far more evil than she’s been all morning. “You’re an awful liar, Emma Swan. No matter what you do, and all you’ve ever been able to do is make eyes at the pirate.” “I don’t make eyes.” “Don’t worry, he does too. Even now, which is romantic if you like that sort of thing.” “The point, Regina.”

She grins. “You’re being offered a choice. Here, or there. Past or possible future. It’s a dangerous option, Emma, and one you can’t give into, no matter how much you might want.”

Finding her dad is far easier than Regina. 

Emma’s feet drift down the path towards the farm, boots squelching in the snow, but none of the moisture gets to her socks and the screen door opens before she can think about knocking. 

“Would have been offended if you had,” David says, pulling her against his chest and answering a question she didn’t have a chance to ask. It’s the hand that does it though. Cupping the back of Emma’s head, there’s something inherently safe about the whole thing, her cheek scrunched and her eyes stinging with more unshed tears and the first whimper she lets out is so goddamn depressing she can’t believe it came from her. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” David chants. Over and over, pressing the promise into her hair and her temple, the bridge of her nose once Emma finally lifts her head, and the slight jut of her chin because she’s nothing if not consistently stubborn and falling apart feels like failure. 

“C’mon, we’re going to sit down,” David continues, already directing Emma back into the hallway. And through the hallway. Past more pictures, and this couch looks even more comfortable than the one she’d woken up on, and she’d been right about her mother’s taste in pillows. An excess of frill. 

“Was I that obvious that you had to immediately call Regina yesterday?" David shrugs, lifting his arm in unspoken invitation. Emma slings her legs over his when she moves, the flannel now under her cheek oddly comforting. As is the kiss she feels pressed to the crown of her head. “A little,” he chuckles, “but mostly it was Killian’s blatant freakout.” “He wasn’t freaking out. At least not here.” “He was. Not loudly, maybe. But obviously. And you looked at Hope like you’d never seen her. That also kind of freaked out your mom.” “How old is she?”

Emma doesn’t bother being anymore specific. She knows she doesn’t have to — not when her dad’s arm tightens around her shoulders, and she wishes she’d come here first, if only to help keep her balanced on the precarious edge of lingering sanity, and she’s got absolutely no idea where Killian went. She should ask about that too. “Four.” “Shit. That’s—shit.” Another chuckle and second kiss, and David has to shift slightly to make sure Emma’s elbow doesn’t impale his side. “Reasonable response, really. Anything else?” “About a million and two things,” Emma admits, with enough acid in her voice to do permanent damage to the atmosphere. Making science-jokes is apparently a coping device now. “Regina thinks it’s a test. Of whether or not I really will leave, when given some sort of idyllic future.” “Well you’re not a selfish asshole, so I’m sure you’ll do what you have to.” “Kinda blunt, Dad.”

It’s not the first time she’s used that word — but titles have been thrown around in enough conversations already, and Emma’s really very wobbly on her metaphorical cliff and she wants something. Solid and dependable and she refuses to acknowledge how Killian might be both. Is definitely both. 

In any version of this life. 

“Kinda,” David agrees, “but the knights showed up when you did, and I don’t know if that’s a coincidence. There have been reports coming into the station, too. Stuff feeling out of whack across the realms—” “—How many realms are there, exactly? Is Regina in charge of all of them?”

“There was something of an election.” “For a queen?” “We’re a very progressive united coalition.”

“And you’re what? Prince of that?” David makes a contrary noise, and it takes longer than Emma expects to detail the hierarchy of this realm, but she understands why her mom would need to make royal decrees now and why people keep bowing to her and— “So that makes Killian a prince,” Emma says, pleasantly surprised to realize she does not in fact die when her heart explodes. Or when she realizes that some parts of that bedtime story may actually be based in reality. 

She kind of wants to see him spin in the middle of a sword fight. 

“Tell him that,” David suggests. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” “Makes me think he won’t.” “Sometimes people bow to him, just to see what he’ll do.” “Challenge them to a duel?” “Nah, that’d mean he has to get his sword and that’s a whole thing. Plus, he’s got stuff to do in the station and there’s a fair bit of sailing involved.” “He keeps his ship?” Emma asks, sharper than she intends because something’s fluttering at the back of her brain and it’s big and important and she’s got absolutely no idea why. “And did you just say station?” David hums. “Doesn’t like wearing the badge though. Which I think is an affront to the position of deputy, but—” She nearly hits his chin. Jerking her head up, Emma’s eyes widen quickly enough that they also water and her dad might be the asshole here because he doesn’t do anything except smile knowingly at her. “You’re happy here, Emma,” he says, “after everything. And there’s a lot of everything, but it ends eventually. Gets the happily ever after it deserves, that both of you deserve. Although he’s a merciless cheat in Monopoly, drives me nuts every Christmas.”

It’s not a laugh. Not really. Sagging forward, air flies out of Emma’s lungs and her very dry lips, and that second thing is because she keeps breathing out her mouth, and trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t all that interested in finishing before. Now it’s all she wants, desperate to see what the picture is, and it’s probably very pretty. 

A covered bridge, or an oceanscape or something. Thomas Kinkaid, maybe. And part of her hears the warning, knows all too well that she’s already failing the test, but the rest of her absolutely does not care. 

“Are you really here, or is that some kind of trick my mind came up with because you’re actually stuck in Neverland?�� David kisses her nose. “Here. And for the time being, so are you. Which means you can sleep.”

“Mind reading isn't one of your talents, as far as I knew.” “I get better at it,” he promises, tugging an exceptionally soft blanket off the back of the couch and Emma doesn’t put up much of a fight before resting her head on his shoulder and promptly falling asleep. 

There are lights on in half a dozen windows when David’s new — at least as far as Emma’s concerned — truck comes to a stop in front of her absolutely massive house, and she’s got to get out. Easier said than done, particularly with trembling fingers and obviously fluttering curtains in that one bay window, and it takes no less than four tries for her to undo her seatbelt,

“It’s going to be fine” David says again, “no matter what happens.” “Even with magic being weird?” “We’re not sure that’s entirely your fault.”

Scoffing, Emma tries very hard to believe that. No one’s updated them on the location of the bird. She kind of hates this bird. Possibly all birds, really. “Sure it’s not. So, what—I’m just supposed to go back into this stupidly large mansion and—” “—Wouldn’t all mansions be large?” David interrupts. “By default?” “Did we rob a bank to pay for this?” “You’d have to ask Killian, but I don’t think so.” “He says I call him babe.”

Wincing, Emma belatedly realizes this is probably not a conversation she should be having with her father, but she hasn’t really seen her mother and she wants to talk about it to Regina even less, and she obviously can’t bring it up to Killian when she’s avoiding him so much and—

A door slams. Footsteps rush towards them, voices on the breeze and the snowflakes that have kept falling all day because it’s New England and as far as Emma knows it’s required to snow in New England on Christmas. Or in the days leading up. 

David nods towards the door she should have opened five minutes ago. 

And it takes her about one sharp inhale, two eyes that very nearly fall out of her head, and that maternal-type adrenaline she’s starting to get used to, for Emma to tumble out of the truck, sprint the few feet between them and practically launch herself into Henry’s waiting arms. Arms that are much more adult than she’s familiar with. 

Although that does also make it easier for him to tighten them around Emma’s middle, and she supposes time-traveling beggars cannot be choosers. “Hey,” Henry breathes, mostly into her hair. Wind whips around them, only kind of unnatural and a little magical and the door opens again. Emma doesn’t look up. Seeing Killian standing there, with his feet crossed at the ankles, she’s sure, will only drive her closer to a line she’s not all that willing to cross. Yet. Or ever. 

No, definitely ever. 

Everyone calling him Killian is nice. Exceptionally, so. 

“Killian said it was bad, but…” Trailing off, Henry pulls back and Emma’s crying again. Like a total, entirely incompetent ass. She’s got so many questions still. Her arms tighten, a fresh round of terror rattling around her soul, or some other ridiculous sentiment, and Henry doesn’t argue. He kisses the top of her hair too. 

He’s much taller than her now. 

“Did Killian talk to you?”

“Mom,” Henry sighs, “c’mon—even when I was a kid, that shouldn’t have surprised you.” It doesn’t, not really. But there’s a grown man in her arms, and snow flying around them, and Henry’s barked “not now, Lu” causes another kid to scamper back up the porch. Towards Killian and his ridiculous grey-streaked hair, and he picks her up without looking away from Emma. 

He’s looking at Emma. 

Still, or always, or whatever. 

“Don’t ask what kind of favors he had to pull in to get us here,” Henry adds, “but he said you’d need it, and it might help and Ella definitely wanted to leave, even if she won’t admit to it, so—”

“Stop telling lies, Henry Mills,” another voice calls from behind Killian, and Emma’s going to pass out. For a variety of reasons, least of all her lack of caloric intake today. 

Henry clicks his tongue. A family trait, apparently. “It’s not a lie, she didn’t even really want to go, but Lu gets a ridiculous present haul, so we had to and—” Several puzzle pieces fly into place. Helped along by Lu’s rather loud screech of “papa” directly into Killian’s ear, and Emma is glad she hasn’t eaten. Throwing up on Henry’s shoes is not the festive reunion it should be. “I’m really here,” Henry adds, reading Emma’s mind. Or her face. “No matter what you think might have happened in Neverland, it didn’t. I’m here, and you’re here and Killian made food, so you should probably eat.” She’d been right about the puzzle, it is a pretty picture. One that doesn’t belong to her, entirely. But pretty all the same. Desirable, maybe. 

That’s a dangerous line of thinking. 

“Hook can cook? Ignore that rhyme, please.” Henry grins, marching them back towards the house as David yells something about getting Snow from school and then there are smells and kids and that goddamn Christmas tree. And it takes Emma a few moments she thinks she deserves to realize—

“How did Henry know I’d come from Neverland?” she asks Killian, standing in the middle of the kitchen. He’s stirring something. She’ll think about that for at least two hours. 

“I told him.” “How did you know?” Leveling her with an incredulous stare, Emma once again fails at the whole no blushing thing, and they own a stand mixer. Only adults own stand mixers. “How many times should I request you give me more credit before that also becomes redundant?” “This is probably good enough.” “Generous of you, and it wasn’t very hard. Although I am still trying to pinpoint when it was, exactly. Quite a lot happened in Neverland.” “Looking awfully smug about that.” He shakes his head, offering her the spoon and there’s sauce there. Delicious sauce. This must happen a lot. “Hard to do that when you can’t look at me straight on, but—” “—Echo Caves,” Emma says, rushing to interrupt him. Killian’s eyebrows jump. 

“Huh.” “Regina doesn’t think telling me things will affect anything.” “Huh.” “Nothing to add to that?” Silence. More relative, at least. The TV is on, and a pillow fort is apparently being engineered in the living room, and everyone was very quick to leave the pair of them alone. With the sauce. “Thank you, though.”

“For?” “Getting Henry here, whatever favors you had to call in. I—well, Dad told me some of the stuff, and it’s...nice.” His lips disappear when he presses them together. Emma’s still staring, it seems. “Part of the deal, I think.” “Of?” “You really want me to answer that?” “Probably not,” Emma exhales, “but—still. It’s nice, and I...well, I appreciate it.”

“That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Now, c’mon, I know you haven’t eaten and there are some ravenous kids out there who will mutiny if we don’t get them spaghetti soon.”

Emma nods, not able to say anything else because nice is suddenly a vast understatement, and she eats a second bowl of mostly sauce, and she never really knows how she gets back into bed, only that she fell asleep under the pillow fort with Killian’s shoulder close to hers. 

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Home Before Dark

Whumptober Day 26: If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad... Prompt: Concussion 

This cave trip was supposed to be a fun, easy adventure. Instead, Illinois falls through a hidden hole in the ground, and finds himself battling with a concussion as he tries to escape the cave before he can't anymore.

Warnings: Head injury, vomiting mention

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

Illinois could never get tired of this, of the dirt and sand under his boots, of the quiet tranquility of a cave system, of the places that haven’t seen a human in many years. He’s had his eye on this cave for a while, one of the rare adventures where he doesn’t expect a treasure at the end of the tunnel. Exploration and adventure is fun without a reward, and Lio likes traveling for travel’s sake. There doesn’t always need to be a goal, sometimes it’s fun to just be.

Of course, he’d like to follow the cave as deep as it can go. The cave isn’t totally explored, and he’s not foolish enough to go wiggling into a cavern he could get stuck in, but he’d like to see those caverns before he turns around and goes home. Caves are sometimes risky but they’re also a lot of fun. They aren’t as high-intensity as jungle treks or mountain climbs, but more strenuous and with more potential for unique experiences than hikes or forest walks. The cave he’s in now is quiet, no sound but water dripping somewhere far away. It’s dark, but not so dark that Lio’s headlamp can’t light his way forward. Lio sort of hopes he’ll see a cave creature at some point on his journey, but even if he doesn’t, there’s something exciting about being the only soul in a place.

These places make it easy to get lost in thought, and so Lio does, not coming back to the present until his foot touches an unsteady patch of ground just below him.

He tries to jump back but it’s already too late. The ground below him breaks apart and Lio falls among the rocks, a scream of surprise ripping from his throat. There’s not enough time to right himself in the air, and the first part of him to hit the ground is the side of his head. The blow knocks the wind out of him. Rocks fall around him, some bouncing off his back or legs, but they hardly register against Lio’s throbbing head. His vision swims and he lays there for a long moment, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Don’t pass out, Jones,” he thinks to himself, “Now is not the time for a nap.”

After several long moments, he’s finally able to lift his head and sit up. His head still hurts, but he can at least think straight and look around – mostly. Things are still a little blurry, but it’s nothing he can’t deal with.

He looks up to see that he hasn’t fallen too far, certainly not too far to climb back out of. He shrugs off his backpack to get his climbing gloves. He didn’t bring any ropes; there’s no use for them without a point at which to attach them, and in a situation like this, that’d be a two-person job. Once the gloves are on, he stands up – and immediately wobbles. His stomach rolls, and he has to pause, take a deep breath.

“Well, I’m definitely concussed,” he wheezes to himself. As if the blurred vision wasn’t enough of a clue.

Still, he doesn’t have any other way but climbing to get out of this hole. So he takes another deep breath, jumps onto the wall, and makes sure he has a good grip before he starts climbing.

It’s harder than he would’ve guessed. If his head wasn’t still giving him trouble it’d be easy, but as it is, he has to pause seemingly every inch to let his head stop swimming. But he knows this continual pausing is bad for the rest of him, and if he gets too tired, he’ll fall down again. He forces himself to keep climbing, forces his eyes to pick out secure spots for his hands to grab through the blurriness.

One hand slips, the section of wall he grabbed crumbling away. He scrambles for another, cursing himself for not seeing the integrity of the rock. He finds a place to hold onto and takes a moment for his racing heart to calm down. He can’t take long, though; his arms are beginning to tire of holding himself up, his feet are aching from curling around the rocks. He grits his teeth and keeps going.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he reaches the edge of the hole, and grunts as he heaves himself up and over and escapes.

“That sure was a workout,” he huffs, laying there on his stomach next to the hole he just climbed out of.

After a minute of catching his breath, he rolls over and sits up, looking ahead. The hole doesn’t span the entire width of the cave path, and considering the walls of the hole were strong enough to carry him, Lio should be able to walk around it. Hell, he could even jump over it if he got a running start; the hole is pretty small. His head still hurts, his vision is still a bit blurry, but a part of him wants to keep going and finish the adventure he started.

Then he stands up, and wobbles so much he nearly falls back into the hole. His stomach turns again as he takes a few steps back, putting some distance between himself and the hole.

“Alright, point taken,” he gasps. His head throbs, seemingly in response.

Still, he’s not overly worried. If he was able to climb a rock wall, surely walking home will be no problem, right?

It isn’t at first. The path he took to this point is a bit winding, but it’s mostly a straight shot to follow to the entrance – or exit, in this case. He walks slower than he did on the way in, still tired from climbing. He winces every so often as the pain in his head spikes in harshness. Things are still blurry...and if he’s not mistaken, they’re getting blurrier. He’s glad he decided to turn back. Really, he wants to take a nap. But he’s still cognizant enough to realize that that’s a bad idea.

When he comes to a fork in the path, he pauses. He’d forgotten this was here. He tries to remember which way is the right way back, but nothing comes to mind. He frowns at himself; he’s usually much better at remembering things like that, to the point where he hardly ever leaves himself markers to guide himself back. He stares at the forked path, hoping a solution might materialize. For a moment, the cave becomes darker.

He shakes his head, immediately regretting it, but at least his vision isn’t black anymore. Upon looking up again, he just barely spies his old footprints on one side of the forked path through his blurred vision. There’s no wind in this cave, so his prints were left undisturbed. Now satisfied, Lio walks over his old footprints and continues on his way out of the cave.

The satisfaction doesn’t last. His body feels like lead, each step is harder than the last. Blackness keeps fluttering into his vision, once or twice he catches himself standing still, swaying against his aching brain. It feels like jello sliding around in his skull, sending pings of pain through his head every time it hits a wall.

And here he thought he could walk home. At this rate, he’ll be lucky to make it out of the cave.

Fortunately, the warm light of the outside comes into view after what feels like an eternity of walking. At this point, it’s more like stumbling. Lio’s head is swimming, his vision is so blurry he can hardly see. But if he can’t go any further, then he’ll have to call or text someone for help. He fumbles around in his pocket for his phone, and it takes him a good few moments to get a grip on it. A sudden wave of nausea grips him, and instead of passing like the last two did, it only spikes by the second, until Lio has to use his free hand to brace himself against the mouth of the cave as he vomits onto the dirt.

“Ffffuck,” he mutters. The word slurs on its way out of his throat.

The vomiting only makes his head pound harder, and when he opens his phone, he can’t concentrate enough to find the right buttons. He ends up texting...someone, he can’t even tell who. He’s too out of it to care. He only manages a single word: h ekjp.

At some point he sits down in the dirt, unable to keep standing. He’s not cognizant enough to tell himself not to nod off anymore. He would have, if not for his phone suddenly vibrating and ringing in his hands. Luckily, he’s still able to answer.

“Lio, hey, are you okay?” says Yancy’s voice on the other line, concerned. “That text you just sent me is really weird, it’s got me kinda worried about youse.”

“Heyyy,” Lio mumbles, smiling a little through his wretched headache.

“Noisy? What’s going on?”

“F...fffell. Hit muh head.” Lio pauses to groan through a particularly bad spike of agony. “G...got out, but ’m tired...”

“Hey, hold on, stay awake!” Yancy cries, voice going shrill with fear. “Just hang in there, babe, I’m gonna get help, someone’ll come get youse soon! Just don’t hang up, alright?”

Lio lets the phone drop out of his hands onto the ground. He’s too tired to understand anything. The phone lands face-up, he can still hear Yancy talking to him, but nothing registers. He sighs, leans against the mouth of the cave, closes his eyes against his headache. It feels as if his brain is splitting open. Yancy’s voice on the phone gets louder, and suddenly it gets quieter, and his blurred vision fades from the edges in, and then all of it disappears as Lio falls into oblivion.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [9/9] - COMPLETE

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

It was a good party, but Adaar's mood just wasn't right for it.

She'd drunk enough to set her stomach churning, enough to dull the pain of her superficial wounds, but not enough to muddle her head. No, that seemed dangerous. Everyone in the village, even Hammond, swore up and down that all of Koster's Carvers had been caught up in the tavern and outside of it—but maybe they were mistaken. A cruel voice in the back of her head whispered, Or maybe they're lying. 

She wanted to believe that becoming Inquisitor had made her paranoid, but really, ever since that night in the cellar, ever since someone had taken a saw to one of her horns, it had been there, underlying. Her current circumstances just...exacerbated it.

She didn't like to feel that she needed to watch her back when she came home. Made it feel like it wasn't home anymore.

Maybe it wasn't, little though she wanted to admit it. Before the hole in the sky, she'd returned once a year, maybe twice if the Valo-kas happened to be passing nearby. Was it really home if she spent only a handful of nights there every year? Or was it just a place she went to visit ghosts, ghosts who'd taken home with them when they went?

She made her way down the narrow path in the dark, putting the party at her back: Hammond, merrily passing out the local brew, espousing its virtues to Cassandra; Harriet, playing a jig on the accordion, Dorian and Bull in the midst of the dancing crowd, red with laughter; Marguerite and Wilfred and Lonnie, gathered around a card table, groaning as Josephine took another round with a look of polite glee. Josephine, drinking Hammond's beer like she didn't mind the taste. Josephine, catching Adaar's eye above the heads of the dancers...

There would be time for that. Soon.

She kept the lantern she carried shuttered, unwilling to ruin her night vision, and besides, she'd always liked the fields of Duskfield under the stars. It was a far cry from Skyhold, that was for sure. You could see Skyhold burning miles off, up there in the mountain ahead of you; if she turned back now, the fires of the celebration would already be nearly out of sight. Only the Dancing Star would remain.

She came to the turnstile. Her father's handwriting had faded with the sun, and she hadn't re-inked it in a long while—hadn't had the chance or the time. She trailed her fingers over the word they'd brought with them from Par Vollen, the word that had failed so bitterly in its duty of care to define them, the word she carried. She walked on. 

The house, merely a dark, empty shape among a missing piece of the field, came into view. Every time she returned, she found herself surprised by its size, by the idea that she and two others had fit there. It seemed desperately small now, compared to the world she'd walked, putting holes in her boots.

She veered away, off into the field on the left. The house would be there, when she was ready. But the ghosts could not wait another minute.

Through the waving grains, toward the tree that stood stark and twisted against the starry sky, oddly bleached in the moonlight. The field parted to the little clearing, its careful rock formations intact. She released a breath. Jana had kept care of this place. Even the bench beneath the tree only had a few dead leaves; Adaar carefully brushed them aside.

But she didn't sit on the bench. She stood before the gravemarkers instead, letting a little more light from the lantern out, the better to see.

Hammond had helped her carve them. He'd taken the chisel from her whenever she'd wept too bitterly to continue. Silently offered her a handkerchief when she was ready to press on. She'd seen a few tears sneak down his old face in those hours of labor, too. She'd felt, fiercely, that her parents had been loved—that she had been loved.

"This doesn't change that," she said aloud, though no one was there to hear her. "I know it doesn't. I know that's what you would say. I just wish you were here to say it, dammit." She drew a shaky breath. "Where are my manners? Hi, Ma. Hi, Dad. You would never believe what's happened to me, and I don't think I could explain it if I tried. I just want to sit with you for a while, if you don't mind."

She put the lantern on the ground beside her when she sat. The low breeze rustled in the tree's leaves, in the grain. Here, so far from everything, she could almost believe the world was the same as it had always been, that these past few months had not happened at all. It was unchanged, here, where she'd written Beloved Husband, Beloved Father; Beloved Wife, Beloved Mother on the stones. She was unchanged.

"I'll skip all the nonsense," she said, when she'd been quiet long enough to regain her composure. "But help me get this piece right in my head. I've met someone. She's...hmm. She's not what you'd expect, I think. As different from me as it is possible to be. But she's also brave, and clever, and kind. I think you'd like her." She paused, tipping her head back to let the breeze catch her hair, ruffling up her hair like her father's hand, like her mother's kiss. "I like her. But I'm afraid of her." 

With the words out in the open like that, they seemed very silly. She snorted. "I know it's stupid. But...hell, you both must have been afraid, right? You loved each other so much that you left everything else you knew. Sacrificed everything else you'd ever known. Each of your societies, and your collective society, combined. And you were happy. I saw it. I felt it." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know if it's going to work out the same way for me, but you were right. What's life without a little risk, once in a while? And besides, I think...I think it might be time for me to move my roots somewhere else. For there to be a somewhere else for my roots to go. If there's a somewhere else left, after all my nonsense is through, anyway."

She brushed her fingers over the grave markers, over the words. They weren't here. Of course they weren't. They weren't sleeping forever in the dirt beneath her. Their ashes had been flung wide across these fields, over the place they'd chosen. It was the only place that had made sense to her. Give them back to the earth that had known such love, such care, from their hands.

They weren't here. But she felt them, anyway. The sharp edges of memory had faded, and she knew they would continue to crumble, but even when everything was out of focus, someday, she would still know them. Would know, always, what they wanted for her.

"You dreamed of bigger things," she said, her throat tight. "Guess I got it from somewhere, huh?"

Heartsore but decided, she stayed there, beside the markers, watching the stars, thinking. She wondered if they'd gone through this part, too. If, even when they'd decided, they'd been terrified out of their minds.

Probably. Probably they'd stayed scared for a long time. But it had been worth it.

She'd been there an hour, sore and tired and a little chilled, before she heard a voice call softly in the distance, "Adaar?"

Her heart spasmed painfully. She sat up a little from where she'd been slouched against the bench. The voice came again, closer this time, but the word had changed: "Herah? Are you out here?"

She steadied herself and called back, "Over here." She raised a hand, high enough to be seen above the grain in the slight glow of the lantern light, and waved.

Josephine emerged into the clearing, blinking a little; she carried her own lantern, but almost entirely shuttered, like Adaar's had been. She'd taken her hair out of all of its elaborate braids so that it fell, loose with waves, around her shoulders. There was a worried twist to her mouth, and Adaar felt a surge of guilt; she really ought to have told someone, anyone, that she was slipping away.

"Hammond told me you were probably out this way," Josephine said. Her eyes found the markers. "If I'm intruding—"

"Nah." Adaar waved this off. "I've been moping out here long enough. They'd want me to pull myself together."

Josephine offered a tentative smile, and sat on the ground, tucking her skirts beneath her, not terribly near Adaar but not terribly far, either. "I've never known you to mope."

"I wisely do it out of sight of other people, for the benefit of all." 

Josephine tilted her head a bit to one side. "Except you."

Adaar released a startled laugh. "How do you figure?"

Josephine looked to the markers, her eyes passing slowly over the letters. "If you mope alone, you have no one to comfort you."

"I suppose I'll have to carry on, then," Adaar said, "since you're here to comfort me."

Josephine gave her own breathless laugh, and offered her hand out, across the small distance between them. Adaar took it, intertwining their fingers.

Josephine looked up to the tree's canopy. "This is the oak?"

"Yes," Adaar said, unable to conceal how pleased she was that Josephine had remembered. "They added the bench, not long after they arrived. It felt like the right place for them, after they died. Sometimes, when I was a child, I'd wake up in the middle of the night, and I'd see this glow in the distance, beneath the tree."

"It sounds as if they truly loved one another." Adaar did not think she was imagining the wistfulness in Josephine's voice.

"It was embarrassing to me, back then. Now, I—I see how precious it was, what they had."

Josephine nodded, but didn't say anything more. They sat in a comfortable quiet for a little while; Josephine turned her face into the breeze now and then. The cozy, combined glow of their lanterns created a little pocket in this clearing, as if the rest of the world was held at bay by the shine, just for a little while. A secret, away from everything.

Adaar touched her father's gravemarker one more time, silently asking to borrow his courage. "Want to see the house?" she asked Josephine.

Josephine's face brightened. Surely she'd seen the shape of it as she'd walked past, searching for Adaar. Surely she knew it was nothing special. But she said, "Of course," as though delighted at the prospect.

Adaar got to her feet first, then helped Josephine up. They picked up their lanterns and moved away, back toward the path. As they walked, the backs of their hands brushed; Adaar took Josephine's hand this time, and she didn't pull away.

"Jana built her own place, a little further down the road," Adaar said, and pointed with her lantern past the closer house. Barely visible in the dark was another huddled shape among the fields. "She stayed in my parents' house, at first, but I think it felt too strange to her. Like I would have felt to keep living there, almost."

"Among memories," Josephine said.

"Right. But she comes through every month or so, dusts, airs the place out. I was never able to give much notice before I passed through."

"She wanted you to have a place to come back to."

"Yes," Adaar said, and left it at that.

They'd reached the clearing, the yard; together, they stood before the darkened house. She hesitated, but only for an instant.

"Come see," she said, leading the way toward the door.

The inside was much as it had always been: there, the humble kitchen off to the right with its hearth, shutters closed tight over the windows; there, the old armchair her mother had once sat in to darn socks, where she'd nursed her newborn child; there, the door to a passageway that could barely be called a hall, and two more doors at the end of it, leading to the two bedrooms. One—Adaar's—had been an addition to the original house, built by her parents. Jana and some of the other villagers had helped.

Despite the frequent airing, it still had the faint scent of misuse, of absence. It had always smelled of something delicious, a warm crackling fire, the spring breeze, when her parents had lived. Now it seemed a painful, empty shell.

There was a faint creak; she startled and looked around. Josephine moved systematically shutter to shutter, throwing them open. The night air drifted in, chasing away the stillness of neglect. Josephine leaned against one windowsill with a sigh, the breeze tugging at her hair.

"It's peaceful," she said over her shoulder. "A good place to grow up."

"It was," Adaar agreed, putting her lantern down on the kitchen table beside Josephine's. "Not…not magnificent, or anything, but still good."

Josephine turned to face her with a frown. "Not everything needs to be magnificent."

"Peace." Adaar shifted uneasily. "I know."

Josephine leaned back against the windowsill, her expression softening a little. "What's troubling you, Herah?"

A little of Adaar's anxiety melted away at that gentle voice, speaking her name. She took in a low breath. "You were right," she said. "I was afraid. I am afraid."

Josephine took a hesitant step closer. "Of what?"

"Oh, lots of stupid things." Adaar rubbed at her forehead. "That your family won't approve. That people will make snide remarks to you. That you'll have to work harder to extract what we need from our allies. That it will all add up, in the end, and we'll see that this was doomed from the start, and have only bitterness left for each other."

"Small worries," Josephine said, teasing but not dismissive. "Do not doom us before we've even had the chance to begin."

"You really don't worry about that? Any of it?"

"I can refute your points one by one, if you like."

Adaar gestured for her to go on. "Convince me, Ambassador."

She liked the coy little smile that came onto Josephine's face at those words. It was wonderfully distracting.

"My family, whenever we choose to make public declarations, will be all astonishment," she said thoughtfully. "Scandalized, but delighted. I've always been the pragmatic daughter, with no tendency toward feelings or frivolities. It will be such a relief to them that they'll hardly register who I have chosen, and when they do, they'll fall over themselves thanking you."

Adaar couldn't help but chuckle. Josephine smiled a little wider and continued.

"I have no fear of snide remarks. Frankly, the topics for condescension have been a little stale lately; perhaps this will liven them up. Besides, I have an arsenal of my own. I'm always looking for an excuse to use them. As for our allies...well, turnabout is fair play. They are hiding plenty of things that they think are salacious. I'm not above leaning on those secrets a little harder."

"You make interesting points," Adaar allowed. "And these?"

She unsheathed her daggers, dropping them one by one to the kitchen table. Josephine came forward, stopping just short of Adaar. Lightly, she touched one blade.

"You saved my life with these," she said softly. "You use them to great effect, never without thought, usually in the name of protecting others. But you have not fooled me into thinking they define you. They are only a part of you."

She looked up at Adaar; Adaar looked back, torn, wanting.

"That's the thing," she said. "It used to be simple, and now it's hideously complicated. If I went back to the Valo-kas, I wouldn't fit. Even coming back here, I don't fit. And I don't think I've quite made the leap to your world, either."

"And you don't need to. There is no my world. I do not have the authority to offer you something so abstract. There is just me. For now—to start—I would just ask you for a little time."

Josephine slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress, withdrawing a small, beautiful wooden box, polished to a high shine; even the golden hinges gleamed. She took Adaar's hand, turned it palm-up, and placed the box there. It fit neatly.

"What's this?" Adaar asked, momentarily thrown.

"A gift." Adaar got the feeling that Josephine had bitten her tongue on, Obviously.

"What for?"

She actually rolled her eyes, contrast to her fond smile. "As if you've ever made an excuse for the trinkets you give to me." At Adaar's raised brows, she huffed and said, "Very well, it is technically thanks for helping me with the House of Repose. In reality, though, I commissioned it as soon as you showed me the sketch."

"The sketch?" Adaar repeated, completely bemused now. "What sketch?"

"Open it and see."

Careful not to leave any marks in the varnish, Adaar opened the box. Nestled on a bed of dark green velvet was a delicate hourglass, gleaming in the faint light.

"I'm afraid I could only replicate one of the materials closely," Josephine said. Adaar lifted the dainty golden chain with numb fingers. "Wood, from a tree in Antiva. On the Montilyet estate, in fact. I'm certain it's not the same tree, but based on the sketch and the notes, I believe it's the same species."

Adaar could not have replied even if she'd known what to say; her tongue, usually so given to trip ahead of her thoughts, lay useless in her mouth. All the hair on her neck, her arms, stood on end. A ghost had walked right through her.

"And the gold your father used," Josephine continued, "that, of course, is irreplaceable, but the Valo-kas donated some for the purpose. The sand...Par Vollen is well out of even my reach, but I had some gathered on the shores of Haven. I remember…" Here, at last, she hesitated. "You seemed at home there. More so than in Skyhold. I thought you might like to carry it with you."

"You had the sketch in your hand for all of a moment," Adaar said, finding her voice at last. "How did you...it looks just like…"

"I have a good memory," Josephine said, with a modest smile. 

"I…" Adaar shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

"I have achieved the impossible. Herah Adaar, speechless." Some of Josephine's delight faded. "I hope I haven't overstepped. You do like it?"

Adaar held the hourglass out to Josephine. "Help me put it on?"

Josephine took it, plainly relieved. With deft fingers, she loosed the clasp, then fastened the chain around Adaar's neck; Adaar could feel her breath, just briefly, against her skin. She arranged the hourglass carefully, letting it fall into the V of Adaar's shirt, a little cool against her skin.

"I don't know how I'll ever repay you," Adaar said hoarsely.

"There is nothing to repay. This is a gift without strings. Though perhaps it lends a little weight to my request." Finally, Josephine's voice showed her nerves; it trembled a little. "I only ask for the next turn of the hourglass. That you set aside what you think might come, what might happen. Be with me, and when the sand runs out again, we will take stock of where we stand. Please?"

Adaar scraped a hand through her hair, driving the loose strands back from her face. "As we've established already, I can't say no to you."

Josephine's eyes gleamed. "That's not the same as saying yes."

There was not so much distance left between them now; Josephine had worked at it, chipping away right under Adaar's nose. The last of it fell away as she cupped Josephine's chin in her hand and bent her head to press her lips to Josephine's.

There had been a desperation, a stolen quality, to those other kisses—like a woman taking panicked gulps from the paltry spring she'd found in the desert, afraid that she would never drink again. But this was another thing entirely, a slow delight, something to be savored. She took her time, teased apart Josephine's lips with aching slowness, tangled her hand in Josephine's half-undone hair, lost herself in the sound of pleasure Josephine made in her throat.

When they parted, she drew just enough air to say, emphatically, "Yes."

Josephine did not wait for any further explanation; she, like Adaar, seemed to have decided that the time for conversation was past. She went up on tiptoe to kiss Adaar again, and Adaar picked her up to make it easier for her, arms tight around Josephine's waist. Josephine gave a breathless laugh of delight against her mouth. 

Adaar would still worry, she knew. But for now, she would set the trappings of fear aside. She would see where this turn of the hourglass took them.

[enkelimagnus]

HaMakom

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2146 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

In the plane to Riga, once Sam has fallen asleep, Bucky and Zemo find themselves in an atypical conversation: what is it like, to fight beside a god when you are yourself a believer?

Read on AO3

Part 25 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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“I wonder, James, what is it like, to fight beside a god when you are yourself a believer?”

Bucky looks up from where he was staring, a fine wrinkle on Sam’s skin, at the corner of his right eye, a mark of laughter and joy.

He meets Zemo’s eyes then. Zemo still looks tired, but he also looks awake, interested, ready to talk. Bucky sighs. Of course he is. There’s no getting any peace and quiet with a man like Zemo around, desperate to open you up and play with the inside of your brain like you’re nothing but a science experiment.

The question itself is too pointed and specific for a time like this, but it’s not surprising.

“Who says I’m a believer in anything?” He asks, voice sharp, with a hint of threat. He doesn’t like talking about religion, not with people like Zemo, not with anyone. How would Zemo know he’s Jewish anyway?

“Your files,” Zemo replies smoothly, undisturbed. “They report you called out for three people as you were tortured. The good Captain, Steve Rogers. Your mother. And God.”

Bucky shudders. Of course they would have recorded that. It’s the kind of leverage that could have proven useful if he took even longer to break than expected. And of course Zemo would know. This might actually be another attempt to show off.

Hasn’t he done enough already? Proven that he knew Bucky in the same way his Hydra handlers did? Is he that desperate to make sure Bucky’s aware that he has too much control over him, that he can make Bucky fold back into the role and space of the Asset?

“A lot of people call for God when they die, Zemo.”

The man hums. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a sharp needle of a rhetorical question. After all, Bucky’s made his own number of hurtful pointed remarks. He guesses he can take that one. It doesn’t sound like an insult, though. They’re both aware of what he’s done, and Zemo doesn’t seem to be that disgusted by it. After all, he’s a killer himself. Commander of a paramilitary death squad…

Bucky saw those skills at Buccaneer Bay, he saw the ease with which Zemo killed those bounty hunters. And that was after eight years in prison. Zemo is nothing if not competent, and Bucky can appreciate that. When you can look past the murder, it’s a beautiful, skillful display.

The Soldier would still have torn him apart, had they met in the field. There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind.

“So, what is it like, to meet the God of Thunder?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. So it’s about Thor.

“Thor’s not a God,” Bucky replies. “He’s just a man. A strong, powerful one. But a man nonetheless. He bleeds.”

“Is that the sum of a god to you?” Zemo asks, sharp eyes still on Bucky. “A person that doesn’t bleed?”

Oh, he wants to talk, he wants to have a conversation. He’s trying so hard to get Bucky to talk to him. A desperate, lonely man. Eight years in solitary confinement must have been torture to someone like Zemo, who obviously is no loner.

Bucky decides to humor him. “That’s actually it,” he starts. “God can’t have a body. Because God is everywhere at once, all the time. If he had a body he’d have to be in one single place at one single time. And God is omnipresent, and omnipotent. Unlimited, by definition.”

The words come easy. They’re words he pulls from the back of his mind, from the unsullied memories of his childhood, from Hebrew school and its Torah commentary lessons on Thursdays at 4pm. He’d run from his secular school to the little room at the back of the synagogue, where only the Romanian kids ever came, and they’d lovelingly insult each other in Yiddish until the class started.

Zemo leans forward, a bright light of interest in his eyes, resting his chin on his hand, watching him intently. “Yesodei haTorah also says that if there were many gods, they would have body and form, like entities are separated from each other only through the circumstances associated with body and form,” he replies and Bucky can’t help but stare at him.

The Hebrew words sound off on his tongue, but he sounds like the kids from down the street who went to the German synagogue, too, the annoying ones whose mom didn’t like Bucky’s.

“Thor could be a god. Because if he is the god of something as specific as thunder, he would have a body,” Zemo continues.

Bucky just keeps staring, for a long moment. He didn’t think Zemo would know this. He didn’t think Zemo would know this and be able to answer, to debate it properly, using the quote and the name of the text. He didn’t think Zemo actually wanted a complex conversation with him. But if he wants it… Bucky’s gonna give it to him.

“He could also just be a prophet. A prophet given the opportunity to show God’s miracles on Earth, through his physical form. A mouthpiece, of sorts,” Bucky replies to that. “But there is a whole species of Thor’s kind out there. There is no such thing as a species of prophets.”

Fucking hell, he hasn’t felt this steady, this self-assured in decades. This is something he remembers, something he knows. Something Hydra never got to touch. Something they never got to twist against him like they did everything else. He’s missed being certain, he’s missed being an authority on something, even if he’s far from an authority on the works of Rambam.

“Doesn’t the Talmud say there were hundreds of thousands of prophets?”

Bucky shakes his head. He was expecting that answer. “Maybe, but it still doesn’t make it a species. Being a prophet isn’t an innate biological property. It’s a result of specific personal spiritual and ethical achievements. The Shechinah doesn’t rest upon you because you are of a specific genetic makeup, or of a specific people. There were gentile prophets too. You can’t breed a race of prophets.”

Zemo nods after a moment, holding up his hands. “You know more about this than I do,” he admits and Bucky rolls his eyes. It’s unlike the man to admit defeat in a verbal debate.

“Says the guy who quoted the Mishneh Torah to me.”

He hasn’t pulled from his childhood lessons from Hebrew school in forever. It feels strange, but good. No one has asked something like that of him in years.

Zemo shrugs. “I have an interest. I dabble, you might say. Knowing what people believe in is interesting to me. It gives me an excellent window into their psyche. We are shaped by what we believe.”

“You don’t seem like the type who believes.”

Zemo has a slow, low chuckle. Bucky’s skin erupts in goosebumps at the sound. “I believe in human ingenuity. I believe in science.”

Bucky snorts at that. “Of course you do,” he mutters. “You’re that sort of guy.”

Zemo raises an eyebrow at him, sharp brown eyes trained on Bucky, the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly. He’s enjoying this. Unsurprising. Metaphysical debates seem perfect for Zemo’s spank bank. Bucky would be lying if he didn’t admit he was enjoying it as well.

“And what sort of guy is that, James?”

He’s one of the few who know his identity, who have met him while fighting alongside Steve in the 21st century that call him that. He admits he appreciates it. Zemo doesn’t force him into familiarity.

Once upon a time, he’d told him to call him Bucky and not James. Now he’s thankful Zemo has decided that request had an expiration date.

“The... atheist, crazy into evolutionary science and philosophy sort,” Bucky supplies. “Wealthy intellectual. Too much time on his hands.” He means it as a small poke at Zemo’s ego.

Zemo opens his hands in a sign of acceptance. “What can I say? My family was royalty, and I’ve spent the last eight years in a prison cell, all by my lonesome, except for the company of some literary treasures. I believe that qualifies me for ‘wealthy intellectual with too much time on his hands’. Besides, you seem to also enjoy evolutionary science and philosophy. Do not blame me for finding a common ground between us.”

Bucky huffs again. “It’s not exactly a niche interest.”

They fall into silence for a moment, the engine of the plane a comforting, soothing white noise.

“I don’t believe,” Bucky says after a moment. “I stopped in 1945 when the Soviets had me. I kept screaming his name out of habit,” he mutters. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that back, but I don’t think I want to.”

“Who wants to believe in a God that would make you suffer in such horrifying ways?” Zemo punctuates, nodding quietly, understandingly. “The fall of Sokovia and my family’s passing didn’t make me stop believing. I don’t think I ever really did. Perhaps, as a child… The same way one might believe in Father Christmas. I grew out of it.”

Like one grows out of shoes.

“What are you? Catholic?”

There’s another nod. Bingo. Though it wasn’t that hard of a guess. After all, Zemo’s European royalty. At this point, Bucky would have been surprised if he was anything else. Still, knowing things, being able to figure it out, feels good. He gets where Zemo’s penchant for analysis comes from.

“The Zemo line has Habsburg blood,” Zemo adds, as if Bucky asked for his pedigree. “Catholicism is nearly a genetic marker at this point.”

Bucky makes a slight face at that. “Habsburg. Those were the inbred ones.”

The man chuckles again, low and compliant. “I hear it has the tendency to happen, when people insist on reproducing with members of their own group,” he mutters, inhaling deeply. “I will not defend the stupidity of that part of my family tree, distant as it may be,” he adds on an exhale.

“Testament to your intelligence, then.” Bucky hums and looks back out of the window.

Catholicism. The only reason he was really in contact with it was Steve. Steve was Catholic. Like Zemo, it wasn’t something he actually believed in. He said grace because his mother taught him to, he went to church on Christmas and Easter and on the other important holidays. His priest must have been highly entertained by his confessions.

“For what it’s worth,” Zemo starts again, circling back. “I do agree with you that, if he exists, God isn’t a man like Thor. Or a man like Nagel.”

Bucky’s eyes snap back to the man’s face. He is serious, dark. There isn’t a hint of regret in his expression. Zemo’s eyes meet his.

Maybe he hadn’t been dead set on killing Nagel when they’d walked into his lab, but hearing him call himself a god for what he’d done, what he’d made, that had been the deciding factor. Bucky doesn’t need to ask to know. He agrees wholeheartedly.

The serum shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t have existed in the first place. It had only brought horror into this world. Without it, there would have been no Red Skull, no Zola, no Winter Soldier program, no experimenting on Isaiah Bradley.

From the second it enters your veins, your life is forever changed. First, the pain. Then, the uncontrollable senses and heightened feelings, all of it overwhelming you and making you dangerous to yourself and to others. And then, you become a weapon. Someone’s weapon, or something’s. And judging from the fact the Power Broker is racing to recreate the serum, the market for that kind of weaponry still exists.

Bucky is thankful Steve got to live a full life, free of his medical conditions. But the list of good ends there, and he’s not sure it’s worth it, even for someone he loves.

Despite it all, if someone came to him offering to cure him, to take the serum out of him, he doesn’t know what he’d say. The one thing he doesn’t hate about it is how easy it makes protecting the ones he cares about. He can take a bullet for them, and he doesn’t have to worry too much about it. He can stay awake, cut off his rations, give away his coat or his water for a while. Sacrificing his own comfort for those he loves has never been this easy.

“The serum isn’t a gift from God. It’s a human creation,” Zemo keeps going, as if he doesn’t believe Bucky gets what he means.

Bucky hums. “Horror always comes from humans. At least in my experience.” And fucking hell he has plenty of that.

There isn’t a single piece of proof of God’s existence, or Satan’s existence, he’s ever seen in his days of being the Soldier.

[sierracolorstheworldofwords]

Wilford Warfstache x suicidal reader

TRIGGER WARNING: THEMES OF SUICIDE, LOW SELF WORTH, AND DEPRESSION. This was a request on my wattpad, and I experimented with it a little bit. So, Im sorry if the writing style is confusing, but! Mainly everything in italics is a memory, which I wrote using present tense, because sometimes memories feel like they’re happening as you remember them so yee. 

The edge of the roof tempted you, the ground below called you, and you wanted to answer its song.

 You already left the note on his desk, there was no use trying to hesitate now, you could finally do it, you could finally jump. 

You gulped, heart pounding as you put your foot on the ledge, carefully lifting yourself up, using your arms for balance. You looked down onto the hard ground below,which was  cracked just like you were, old and broken. This was the perfect place. An abandoned building in the woods, where no one could find you. No one would have to watch you die. Everything would be fine. By the time Wilford got your note, you’d be gone. Everything was ready, you were prepared, you wrote the note, you gave everything away, it was okay. There was no point in living. There was no point.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding, guts churning, your thoughts whispering at you to do it, to jump. There was no point now. You could fall now..you could fall. So, why did you hesitate? Why did some tiny part of you feel so...afraid? Why was there a voice inside you whispering, don’t?  Why? Why did you feel so sad at the thought of your own passing? Was it because of all the memories playing inside your head? 

One seemed so similar to what you were going through...but oh so different too--

Wilford holds your hand, the two of you stand on a cliff, it’s not that high, only a few feet, but you’re still scared. Even if he reassures you. Before you can protest, he’s counting to three, making your heart pound. You feel so loved, so brave, even if you are afraid. He looks at you smiling, before screaming, “THREE!” The both of you jump, plugging your noses as you both plunge into the cold water. 

WAIT! You don’t need this right now, you didn’t deserve these memories, these fragments of happiness and joy, glimmering glass shards against the darkness within you, you didn’t need them, you didn’t-- 

You’re alone, sad, looking at the sunny summer sky-- why couldn’t you feel that way? Like the sun, or the clouds? A sigh leaves your lips. The, he pops into view-- a bright bubblegum ray of sunshine, asking what was wrong. How can he help-- 

No! You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t! 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to focus. You were worthless, stupid, an idiot. People always said that-- bullies, your family, until all the voices outside of you invaded your body, filled you, became you. You shook your head, taking a deep breath-- it was time. He would be better off without you. He would be better off-- 

“Oh cupcake, I wouldn’t know what to do without you--”

That was a lie! A lie! He would be so much better off, he would be okay!

“My life was so horrible, so dark..” he whispers, the both of you underneath the sunshine, flower crowns on the both of your heads, the sky shining with light, yet also raining gently, the rain drops looking like liquid gold. “But now, that I have you, I’m so happy--” 

No! No! None of those things are true! You deserved the hurt, the pain that had been festering inside you for years. You deserved it. You deserved it. You deserved it-- 

He holds you so close, the both of you in a pink pillow fort, huddled against the rain. A movie plays on the screen in front of you, but for some reason, you’re crying your eyes out. Bawling. You sniff, “Wh-what did I do..what did I do to deserve you?” He looks at you, brown eyes holding the universe, holding you in them, “Oh bumble bee, I ask what I did to deserve you, and I can’t and.. I can’t think of a single thing, butterscotch.” 

Your laugh is as watery as the tears falling out of your eyes, “Oh god W-Wilfy..I love you.” 

He smiles, holding your hand, “And I love you, gumdrop.”

No, no he doesn’t love you, you don’t deserve him. These memories needed to stop invading your head, making you feel loved, worthy, they needed to stop! You didn’t deserve him!

Then..then why does your heart feel so heavy at the thought of flying away, of leaving him? Why? Why do you want to have another memory of his smile?

He’s smiling at you, the sunset cascading  like rivers of water color behind him, filling your eyes with violet skies, and a rosy sun, clouds looking like sunflowers. He’s so happy, holding your hand, his nose red from the cold. It’s your first anniversary. One year. You lean on his shoulder, smiling, feeling so happy. He has a pink scarf on, and a yellow puffy coat, and you’re wearing the same thing. It’s near christmas time, the world covers itself with darkness, before adorning a cloak of colorful lights, blinking like rudolph’s nose, painting the world in circles of color. It is beautiful here. 

You had never felt so happy before. 

He’s asking what you want for christmas…

The memory hopscotches into another one, another one--

You both play in his backyard, shivering in the cold spring rain, he’s asking what you want for your birthday, even though it’s a while away. The rain is cold, yet so refreshing, so alive-- 

It hops into another.. 

He’s off from work today, and it’s raining, the sky looking as grumpy as you feel. You feel so angry. So mad. He wasn’t supposed to go in today, but he did, and now, you feel like the thunder outside as you look at him. He left in the middle of breakfast, and now, he’s at the front door, wondering why you locked him out. You turn up the radio so you don’t hear him. He frowns, poofing up a whiteboard and marker, writing why he had to go to work. ‘I was saving up for something.’ it says, ‘something important.’ 

You flick him off. 

He scoffs, before erasing the writing, ‘something really important.’ 

You roll your eyes. 

He erases the board again, getting on one knee, fishing something out of his pocket, before writing, ‘We’ve been together for years now..’ he erases it again, ‘and I’ve been wondering..’ 

You put your hands on your hips, ready to go back to the kitchen, instead of staring out the living room window like a stupid idiot. 

‘Will you marry me?’ 

You gasp, your hands going to your mouth before you rush out the door, Wilford looks at you, standing up, a ring in his hand. You hug him, holding him tightly, “YES!” you shriek, laughing in the rain. 

He gave you so much happiness, but what did you give him in return? Nothing. Nothing. It was time to do it. Nothing could stop you now. You heard the familiar sound of him poofing behind you, and cautiously turned, tears gathering in your eyes, your mind overcrowding with memories--

The both of you playing hopscotch. Dancing in the rain. Playing on the beach. His birthday, the both of you throwing cake at each other. The sound of music filling a disco hall, the disco ball glittering. There’s a party somewhere, sometime, and you are dancing-- 

“Cupcake!” You heard Wilford yell, “Get down from there, darling! O-oh sugar pl-please..” You turned to him, tears falling down your cheeks as you did. He extended his arms towards you, walking slowly towards you, until he stood behind you. 

“P-please..please p-puddin…” You saw the tears falling down his face, and you sobbed as he said, “Please, get down, honey, please.. Don’t leave me.” 

You turned towards him slowly, before falling into his arms, tears running down your face and staining his shirt as you buried your face in his chest. You sobbed into the soft fabric, taking in the smell of his cologne, feeling the comfort of his warmth. You felt water landing on your head, and looked up, expecting to see rain, but instead, you saw Wilford crying, begging you to never do that again. 

“I-I love..I love you pumpkin!” He sobbed, “Please.. Please don’t do that ever again! Please! I was so scared of losing you.. I w-wanna spend the rest of my l-life with y--you.. That’s why I asked you to m-marry me..” he whispers, tears falling down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, taking your face in his hands, wiping away your tears, “I wanna be with you for-forever, cupcake, and I-I’ll remind you everyday-- what ever I need to do, I-I’ll do it darling! Pl-please.. Please don’t you ever try something like that again..I love you so much..” 

Your eyes water and you nod, “I-I promise I-I won’t Wilfy, I’m so sorry..” “Shh,” he reassures you, “it’s okay, I’m gonna get you the help you need pumpkin, because I used to feel that way too, all the time, before I met you, but now..now I don’t, because I got help, cupcake, all for you. And you’re gonna do the same for me, okay?” You nod, and he wipes away your tears, a soft smile on his face, “Now let’s go home, alright?” “O-okay.” 

He poofs the two of you home, placing you in your shared bedroom, tucking you in, and sitting on the edge of the bed, conjuring up a pink phone in his hands as he does. He turns it on and calls Doc, setting up an appointment for the next day. You felt so selfish, so stupid--why didn’t you think? The wedding was months away, you had things to look forward to but...but you couldn’t help but feel..unwanted. Unneeded. Like you couldn’t do anything right, like you wanted to die--no, you needed to die. There wasn’t a place for you here, and Wilford was making a mistake by wanting to marry you of all people. 

Wilford hung up the phone and turned to you, still watery eyed, “You have an appointment tomorrow, sugar plum.” he whispered, blinking as a few tears rolled down his face, “I’m sorry, d-darling I just.. I-I’m sorry.” 

“I-I don’t apologize, Wilfy.. I-I’m sorry, I-I should’ve talked to you, f-first..” you take a deep breath, “I just... I always figure you’d be happier without me--” “No! Never, sugar plum!” 

He grabbed your hands in his, and noticed how.. You didn’t seem to believe him. It felt like.. Like no matter what he said would matter, so maybe..maybe he could show you. He closed his eyes, before taking a deep breath, concentrating. “Wilford, what are you--” 

“Close your eyes.” 

You shut them, and as you did, you felt sparks swirling around your wrists, snaking up your arms, like heated kisses, before reaching your head, your eyes became filled with the sight of bright pink light. Then, your eyes became filled with something else, a vision of a pink, slightly static, scene. 

You’re in Wilford’s office, and he’s sitting alone, slumping in his chair, tears in his eyes. 

“Wilford?”

He looks up at you, seeming as if he’s fading into the darkness that surrounds him. 

“Are you alright?” No reply. 

You walk in further, going to the large window behind him and pulling the curtains apart, letting in the sun, he still says nothing. He is a silent statue, he watches you climb on his desk, sitting in front of him. You lift his chin up, causing him to acknowledge you. 

“What’s wrong, Wilfy?” His eyes water, filling with pink bubbles-- you know he doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to relive the memories, feel the pain of the wounds again, but you can already see the bubbles floating, floating towards the ceiling. It’s his way of coping-- since bubbles make him so happy. 

“I-I dunno..” he says, his voice sounding so broken, like a wilting flower in a vase.

You stroke his face lovingly, before sitting his head in your lap, tears finally shedding from his eyes as he sobs, your soft coos bringing him comfort.

The last remaining pink bubbles float to the ceiling, popping one by one, filling your view with pink, before you’re in another memory, another time, another place-- his bedroom. The pink fades into grey, and he’s laying in bed, only in his boxers, staring numbly at the ceiling. He’s been like that all week. Unable to get up, unable to eat. 

You can’t take it anymore. Him laying there like a lifeless doll, you can’t. He’s your friend, but you feel so much more for him. 

You pick the lock of his door, he can hear it. He sighs, baggy eyed, hair tangled, and let’s you open it-- he doesn’t care, but you do. You tell him to get up, get dressed. 

He doesn’t care. Just snuggles deeper into the covers. 

You’ve had enough! 

You stomp to his bed, pull off the covers, and grab his arm, rushing him out of bed. 

“What do you want?” He asks. 

“I just want you to -- to take care of yourself!” :”What’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” You ask, “What’s the POINT? I’ll tell you what the POINT is, you have people who love you. Babies who depend on you, friends who worry about you-- come on. You’re getting dressed, you’re eating. Don’t argue.” He takes a shower, he gets dressed, and he eats the meal you prepare. 

The clack of plates and scrapping of forks fades into something else, into a fancy restaurant. You sit in front of him, nervous, sweating, biting your lip, “Wilford, I love you.” “I love you too!” “Not..not like that! More than a friend. I love you in a romantic way.” “You do?” You can see the surprise on his face, and he can see the fear in yours, he smiles, before leaning over the table and kissing you deeply. 

The kiss feels like.. Like warmth in winter, like hot cocoa after a cold day in the woods. 

The kiss fades into something else, the sight of him sleepily kissing you, looking at you so lovingly, saying, “You mean so much to me, sugar, you don’t know how sad I’d be without you. I was so sad without you..so sad..”

Before you respond, the memory breaks, shatters, revealing others, ones of Wilford alone at night, staring at a shot glass, crying softly. Others are of him smiling at the sight of you, laughing with you, there’s more of him crying alone-- crying, crying, crying. You don’t know where you are, but the tears are overwhelming, and you start crying too. Lost in the tears of the past. 

You felt the tears on your cheeks, the soft sobs that came out of your lips as you snapped back into reality. He gripped onto your shirt tightly sobbing with you, “Please don’t leave me, c-cupcake-- I don’t wanna be alone again. Don’t you know how happy you make me? You make me so happy, so, so happy-- please don’t leave. You mean so, so much!”

The both of you hold each other, and you felt the pain inside you uncoiling, releasing, somehow, as you cried. 

“You mean so much to me and other people, cupcake.” He whispers, “If you leave.. I wouldn’t know what to do without you, please-- promise me?”  You swallowed your tears, “I promise.” 

He smiled, tears leaking down his cheeks as he pulled away from you, cradling your face, kissing you so softly, and for a moment, when your lips met his, the edge didn’t call.

[writersrealmbts]

Shattered Pieces: Glue

Description: Kittens and Cubs grow quickly, and life goes on faster than you would like, but you still get to enjoy the ride.

Warnings: If this doesn’t destroy you a little, I give up as a writer.

Posted: 03/16/2020

Tags: hybrid bts, yoongi x reader

Mostly fluff with a surprise: 4,288 words

A/N: Last Part!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’ve been really stuck on this for a while, and I just wanted to finish this series so I could move on. So, I hope you guys like it and please let me know what you think of it!!!!!

You checked the clock again, then shrugged at Hoseok. “If they’re not back in half an hour we might have to send a search party.”

He nodded. “I know they thought to do this because Jimin used to catch the turkey every year, but Jimin spent days getting the turkey, and he mostly rounded up turkeys and then picked the one he wanted and released the others before humanely killing the turkey. A couple days before he planned to cook it.”

You rolled your eyes. “They were determined.”

“Predators,” Jungkook sighed, dramatic. He jumped back as you slapped at him for sneaking bites of the stuffing that you were preparing for tomorrow.

Jin hummed softly. “The babes are awake.”

You smiled and followed him to the nursery, checking on your coloring babes (all but Jihun—who had been dragged along despite his reservations) before getting your bitty babes who were still roly-polying in their separate cribs.

Yerin was babbling a little.

Cheolmin was sucking on his hand, but his eyes fell onto you and smiled.

Soyoung was barely awake.

You picked up Cheolmin, cuddling him close with a purr. “Look at my sleepy boy.”

Jin had Yerin, changing her diaper while she made various babble noises. “I still can’t believe they went hunting on Christmas Eve Day. There’s so much to do! I know Namjoon hasn’t finished Christmas shopping yet.”

“He’ll realize his mistake sooner or later.” You shrugged a little, and rubbing Soyoung’s belly as the kitten slowly blinked awake. She had mostly black fur like Yoongi, and you honestly thought she was the spitting image of her appa if it weren’t for the white stripe on the back of her left ear.

Yerin had your coloring.

Cheolmin was mixed between the two of you, but he had his dad’s eyes.

Yerin had your mother’s eyes, and sometimes when she blinked up at you….

You smiled softly as you stepped to the side for Hoseok to pick up Soyoung.

“So soft,” Jin whispered, nuzzling one of Yerin’s ears. “Baby fur is the best. Misuk’s baby fur is growing out.”

“I know, she’s getting big.” You sighed in resignation. “Soon we won’t have baby-soft fur to play with on her.”

“Terrifying,” Hoseok said, shuddering. “They’re growing too quickly.”

“Jihun reminds me of Jimin when we first met him,” Jin said, smiling.

Jungkook grinned and nodded. “I know. I found a picture of us from back then.”

“You’ll have to show me,” You said, pushing away the dissatisfaction of not being able to meet your cubs real parents. It was driving you crazy, because you couldn’t even watch their home videos because no one knew where they were. They’d been searching for the past three weeks because Jihun asked about it at Thanksgiving and all of them were certain there were home videos but none of them were certain where they were. You figured you’d probably find them the moment you started looking, because that’s a mom’s superpower and you’ve had that power for a long time. You just hadn’t had the chance since the kids were especially clingy ever since you’d had the kittens. You didn’t mind, it wasn’t an unhealthy clingyiness, but the addition of the milky scent on you made you a little more motherly and comforting to them. And Jihun needed a lot of help with his homework lately.

“Moooommm! We’re back,” Jihun sounded desperate and distressed.

You handed Cheolmin to Jungkook and darted out, freezing and covering your mouth.

All of them were filthy. Muddy, covered in leaves, dirt smeared on their faces and they definitely didn’t catch a turkey.

Jihun looked like he’d been dropped in a lake before the mud and leaves, his hair dripping.

Yoongi winced. “We, uh, we fought a muddy hill?”

“And thought coming in the back door was a good idea? Go around to the front. I’ll get some towels, Jihun.” You ushered them back out, darting to the linen closet and grabbing the beach towels for them. Your baby was probably chilled to the bone, and you didn’t want to send him back out, but you really didn’t want to deal with mud on the carpet.

Jihun was shivering but you quickly wrapped him in a towel. “Cold.”

“We’ll get you in a bath, baby,” You said comfortingly, helping him out of his shoes.

He nodded.

You managed to scoop him up (getting objecting sounds from all six men) and carried him to the nearest bathroom, setting him down and running a bath. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes and a towel, okay? Hoseok will be here to help you wash behind your ears. And your tail.”

He made a strangled sound, but nodded.

You kissed a clean spot on his forehead, then tested the water. “Alright, test the water before you get in, but I think it’s okay right now.”

He nodded again, shivering out of his clothes as you got out a big fluffy towel and let Hoseok slip past you.

The other boys were carefully traipsing to the other bathrooms, but you quickly passed them to get to Jihun’s room and grab him clean clothes, opting for his favorite pajamas since it was toward the evening anyway.

Hoseok took the clothes, gesturing that Jihun was half-asleep.

You nodded and went to check on the rest of your babies, seeing they were still coloring contentedly and talking to the kittens like they would understand.

Then you hurried upstairs to check on your mate.

Taehyung was pouting at the bathroom door. “Oh, come on, Namjoonie!”

You snorted and headed further, guessing Yoongi went right to the bathroom the others didn’t use—the one in Jimin’s old room.

He was already out of the shower and in boxers when you slipped in, but winced as he saw your face. “Yeah, I know, that was dangerous. I didn’t mean for that to happen, and we got him back here in record time.”

“No more pretending you know how to hunt. Stick to fishing, you’re better at it. Anyway, we figured this would happen and bought a turkey. It’s already brining.” You shook your head at the pile of muddy clothes. “You guys are so doing the laundry.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll gather up the muddy clothes and take care of them. How were the other kids?”

“Angels,” You replied, hearing the relief in it and laughing a bit. “Heirannie is teaching Jowoon to color in between the lines, not very successfully, but he’s actually improved throughout the day. Misuk is using the magic markers so she can’t make a mess.”

“They’re growing up so fast,” He whispered.

“Soyoung looks so much like you,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His skin was still warm from his shower, and it felt nice.

He purred a little, seeming embarrassed at how pleased he was by that. “Yerin looks more like you.”

“Has your hair, my mom’s eyes, and my fur,” You whispered. “But your adorable nose and mouth.”

He melted a little more under your touch, a mess of purring and fur. “I just want this time to last forever.”

You laughed softly. “I do too. We’ll keep them young forever, you and me.”

He laughed with you, hugging you more tightly. “You and me.”

——

You didn’t keep them young.

Jihun had been so excited to go to school. He’d woken up an hour before everyone else, he’d eaten breakfast and gotten ready for school, and then waited on teh couch for everyone else to get up, asking the first person—you, getting up to take care of the triplets who were two years old at the time—if it was time to leave yet.

You’d gotten him to help you with the triplets to distract him.

The only moment he seemed to be reluctant was when his siblings started crying at his leaving them. Heiran was especially inconsolable.

But Hoseok, Yoongi, and Yourself ushered Jihun out the door, and took him to school.

You and Hoseok cried on the way back to the house because Jihun was growing up so quickly and he was so independent.

Yoongi was quiet, but he spent an extra long time with all of the younger cubs that day.

Jihun had come home, quiet, eating his snack and cuddling up next to you without a word. Apparently not having said a word to Namjoon and Taehyung except to say hello and get into the car.

When he finally did say something, he murmured that he’d missed everyone here and that everyone else already had friends.

Seokjin had chuckled softly, then pulled Jihun into his arms. “Your father felt the same way. But he met Taehyung. And Taehyung introduced him to us. Just do your best, be nice to the other kids—”

“But if they bite you, bite back,” Yoongi muttered, earning glares and scoffs from Hoseok and Taehyung.

Seokjin just leveled him with an unamused look before turning back to Jihun. “And eventually you’ll meet some good friends. And if you don’t…well, we love you and we’ll find you sports or something you can play to make friends that way.” He stroked Jihun’s hair.

Jihun looked up at him, then shifted so he could hug the bunny-hybrid, face in the crook of his neck like he did as a cub. “If I don’t like it….”

“Then you can go back to homeschooling,” You agreed softly. “But I want you to give it a chance, Jihunnie.” You stroked his tail.

It flicked and he peeked at you to smile. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try. But…” His nose wrinkled. “Are we sure I’m in the right classes?”

“Oh?”

He slipped out of Jin’s arms, and grabbed his backpack, pulling out his school books and passing them to you.

You looked over it and sighed internally. The cubs ate up their lessons faster than you could come up with them, and Jihun was especially attentive in his schoolwork. Which meant he’d surpassed his classmates. But the schools insisted that he stay with his age group. “Well, we’ll figure something out, okay?”

He nodded, curling up into Hoseok’s lap with a soft chuff before falling asleep.

And he did make friends, quickly growing popular among his classmates, and yet he still spent most of his time at home with his siblings. He would go to their houses now and then, and he would have them for outdoor playdates, easily explaining that his siblings got sick really easily.

And he joined the soccer team, quickly becoming one of the star players.

Heiran was growing quickly too. She was active and playful and fast. So fast. She picked up languages like they were the triplets blocks, and while she still clung to you, and her family, she also was confident and strangely self-assured. She laughed easily and was excited for the day she could finally go to school—but didn’t do nearly as well there, reverting to her muteness and asking to be pulled out after the first three months. She blossomed again once she was home, though she still bounced back and forth between mute and loquacious.

Jowoon didn’t even want to try public school, but he joined an outdoor adventure club and quickly made his own friends. He was a bit of a home-body, having been cuddly all throughout his childhood and he definitely was still your baby. He was thoughtful, often sitting and asking Namjoon questions for hours after you would run out of answers, until Yoongi would step in and get him to help with some chore or other. Jowoon loved helping fix things, and there was a bet between Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok about what his future profession would be.

Misuk was probably the sassiest of all of the cubs, extremely independent as an elementary-aged cub, and oddly protective of the triplets. She had strong opinions, and was so expressive that sometimes you all had to stop yourselves from laughing when she needed to be scolded for talking back because she was so…confident in her decisions. She hated messes, and was picky about her clothes in the cutest way. She would only get messy if she was in her messy clothes. She was the hardest to keep away from her siblings friends, because she wanted to be with them but it was still dangerous given her immune system.

And then there were your triplets.

All of them were doted on by the cubs, and they didn’t mind staying away from outsiders for their siblings sake—not really even noticing because they were too busy listening to Jihun read a story to them. Or the girls would be playing with dolls while the boys were outside playing soccer.

Heiran bounced between both groups on those days (not that they were always separated, they especially all loved swimming together—though your kittens were definitely not fans at first and Soyoung definitely wouldn’t swim unless her oldest brother and Uncle Taehyung were also swimming), and she was usually on one team while the boys were on the other because she was fast and fierce. Everytime you saw her win with an astonishing amount of ferocity, you were reminded of your first Thanksgiving with the cubs, when she batted every kill-spot on Taehyung.

The scariest moment was when she found one of Jihun’s friends inside the house—with a cold. Granted, he’d only run in to use the bathroom, and with your permission.

But she’d literally dragged him out of the house with a growl (he was taller than her and weighed more and she wasn’t struggling), and the way she snarled at Jowoon had your fur rising and your kittens hiding in Yoongi’s arms while you had to calm her down.

She hadn’t even been thirteen.

Time flies too fast.

Jin and Jungkook lived in the carraige-house, never too far, but sometimes retreating to themselves. They were a mess, but a pretty happy mess that were actively involved in the cubs lives.

The other boys had their own lives, still coming around as often as they could—especially Hoseok, who eventually become some part of the strange relationship that Jungkook and Jin had.

You didn’t care to ask as long as your cubs and kits were okay.

Taehyung ended up mating with a sweet dog-hybrid, and they had pups some five years after your kits were born.

Namjoon ended up going overseas to open another division of his and Taehyung’s company, leaving for a few months at a time, before coming back for another few months to catch up with his favorite tigers, kittens, and pups. Eventually, he brought home a mate from his trip, who melded right into the family.

And Yoongi somehow started a revolution that established so much protection for humans that their numbers started rising again while still being the most active father/father-figure anyone could ask for. He was often exhausted, but you liked to think that you rewarded him well for his hard work.

———

“I can’t see,” Yerin whined, going up on her tiptoes again.

Namjoon scooped her up, putting her on his shoulders. “See him now?”

“Yes! Jihun!” She called.

Jihun turned and grinned, waving before signaling her to be quiet.

It wasn’t long before the Cheolmin and Soyoung were perched on Seokjin’s and Taehyung’s shoulders—respectively—to watch, though Soyoung did so with her hands over her ears from the noise of the crowd. She didn’t like noisy places, usually clinging and hiding with Yoongi or whoever was closest.

Jowoon and Misuk could see a little better, having both better positions, and standing on the chairs.

Heiran could see without standing on a chair, though she did have to go up on her tip-toes.

Both girls were carefully surrounded by yourself and the guys, having gotten more than their fair share of their mother’s looks, and getting quite a few lingering looks. They were already increasingly careful around their own brother’s friends and Misuk was only eleven.

Yoongi sighed. “This has to be a dream. He can’t be graduating high-school next week.”

You just smiled, looking at your family, then back at your oldest. “What are you going to do when it’s Heiran? Or Jowoon? Or Misuk—”

“Stop,” he grumbled. “You’re making me sad.”

You purred, taking his hand. “Just enjoy it, you softy. He’s valedictorian. And he wants to be a doctor.”

“He’s been taking college classes for the past two years, does it really count?” Heiran asked casually, but her gaze was proudly fixed on her brother as he stepped up to the podium to make a speech that had been a long time coming. It wasn’t his speech as valedictorian, but it was a speech his teachers had asked to give after he turned it in for a class.

You shushed her, grateful you didn’t have to worry about filming since Jungkook definitely had that covered.

Jihun—looking every bit like his father, with a certain something of his mother in his smile—gazed over the crowd after his initial greeting. “Next Friday marks the day that all of us have been waiting for. It’s a day of transition. It marks the end of one part of our lives, and the beginning of another as we leave the safety of this institution and enter the world of our parents and teachers. This can be terrifying, the unknown can be terrifying. My life…” He stopped, looking down and then quickly looking up, seeking you all out again and nodding. “My life has been filled with days of transition. Some that I don’t remember, such as the day I first became an older brother, and others that I do. I remember the day that I stopped thinking my life was normal, a day I know my family wishes I could forget, when myself and my mother were kidnapped and rescued by my father. I had never given thought to the fact that my mother was human, or what my species even meant for myself—and I didn’t understand until much later. I remember when I transitioned from having two parents that loved me and my siblings so completely, to being an orphan.”

Yoongi’s grip tightened on your hand, and you could see Heiran glance at you in the corner of your eye, but your gaze was fixed on Jihun.

“I remember my Uncles—friends of my parents, the only thing close to family that they had—desperately trying to fill the void my parents had left. The day my mom, my adoptive mom, came into our lives and made us into a family again. I remember wondering if my sister would ever talk again after losing our parents, and the pure joy that came when she did. I remember deciding that my mom could be just that, my mom. Finding out that those responsible for the death of my parents finally paid the price. Becoming an adopted brother. Watching my family change, and grow. Being able to finally go to school with other kids my age and make friends outside of my siblings. There have been so many days where my life has changed so completely, even if it was just from a change in my own perspective. In the way I viewed things. Our lives will always be filled with unknowns, but…because of my life before now, I’m not afraid of what the future holds. I know that my family will always catch me if I fall. I want to be a doctor, and I know that the road ahead of me will be hard. I know there will be times when I get scolded because I haven’t been taking care of myself—because I was raised by the most selfless people I will ever know. I know they’ll catch me when I do fall, because I watched them catch each other.”

He met your gaze across the crowd. “We are entering a world that has been changed by those that came before us. A world where humans are more than just…a means to an end. A world my parents died trying to make, and that my family continued to fight for—all while protecting us from those who opposed it. We are the next generation, and we have the ability to further that change, and make the world even better for those that come after. To learn from those that came before us. We will fall, and we will rise again. And we might fall a lot. But to change the world, and to help others…sometimes we’ll have to step back and take care of ourselves first.” He smiled a little to himself. “We help when we’re healthy, we rest if we’re sick, but if there’s a fire—we jump in and help as much as we can. And that doesn’t mean we get ourselves killed, Jeremy.”

His class started laughing and heckling Jeremy.

Not that your family wasn’t laughing, you all were familiar with Jeremy and the kid sometimes lacked common sense in a comical, life-threatening sort of way.

“I’ve had everything and nothing in my life,” Jihun continued after they calmed down. “I don’t know what’s next, but we’re going into this world with everything this school and our parents could provide us. Not everyone is that lucky. I want us all to leave here, and do at least one good thing. Just one. I know I can never surpass the things my adoptive family have done, I can never hope to be half as good as they are, but they make me want to try. To try and honor my deceased family. To set a good example for my younger siblings. To take care of myself and others. To gather up the shattered pieces and put them together again, just like my Mom did for me and my siblings, and my Uncles. That, which is far easier said than done, is my impossible dream that I hope to work toward everyday with my family to guide and support me. That is the one thing that I learned here, that I will never forget.”

You stood there, breathless as the audience clapped for him. Your little cub, all grown up.

Cheolmin was on the ground again, and he tugged on your sleeve. “Mommy, he’s adopted?”

Heiran started laughing, but she was crying as well. She tugged the 9-year-old into a hug. “We’ll explain later, Cheol.”

You ran a hand over her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Jihun slipped in, taller than you now, taller than Yoongi. A young man, only shadows of that seven-year-old cub you first met evident in the way he looked at you.

You squeezed his hand, knowing he was out of words. Knowing exactly what he was saying.

Yerin practically ran into his leg, hugging it with her ginger tail lashing playfully, looking up at him with a grin. “You talk pretty.”

Jihun started laughing, scooping her up easily since she was tiny (even smaller than Soyoung) and he definitely had the musculature befitting a white tiger. “Thanks, Yerin. You’re always pretty. So is Soyoung, and Misuk, and Heirannie,” He added quickly when her mouth opened, then he rubbed his nose against hers. “And Mom.”

She giggled and kept hugging his neck.

Soyoung was falling asleep on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Let’s get home,” Yoongi said.

Sitting at home later with your cubs and kittens, and the six men who had unknowingly changed the course of every life in that house, watching home videos that ranged from when Jihun was just a newborn cub, to a couple of years ago, you figured that even though it might not be the same as before, the shattered pieces of all of your lives had come together to create something new and even more beautiful.

And (unless you could bring their parents back, without losing your life with Yoongi, and your cubs and kits) you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

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Jimin woke with a start, checking on his precious mate before rushing down the hall to check on all of his cubs, then Yoongi and Seokjin—who had just moved in that day. The other guys would be moving in later that week.

He shook himself and got a glass of water, taking it back upstairs.

She was awake, and she looked at him sleepily. “You okay?”

“Bad dream. Weird dream. We died.”

She hummed shifting and sitting up. “Just us? Or the cubs—”

“Cubs were fine, the guys took care of them. They had help, but…everything worked out.” He set the glass down and crawled back into the bed with her.

She was humming a song now, stroking his cheek. “Oh?”

He nodded. “That meeting. I think it’s a good thing we didn’t go to it.”

She smiled. “Who helped them?”

“She was a teacher. Cat hybrid. Her and Yoongi ended up becoming mates.”

She nodded. “Well, maybe we should finally do as we’ve been discussing and get Jihun a tutor?”

Jimin nodded. “I’m starting to struggle.”

“Then we’ll look into it in the morning, and increase security otherwise?” She asked, sounding only a little uncertain.

He chuffed lovingly at her. “You’re so perfect.”

She just grinned at him, perfectly irresistable.

“Eomma?” Jihun whispered softly from the doorway.

She sat up again. “Jihun? Everything okay?”

He ran in and climbed onto the bed, snuggling between Jimin and her. He sighed in relief. “I had nightmares again.”

Jimin pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re safe, kiddo. I’m not letting any of you go.”

–

Previous Part.   Masterpost.  Masterlist.  

Tagging: @kimmie113080 , @jungshaking, @ephemeral-mindset, @young-yellkie​, @alex–awesome–22​, @pearylove​, @bryvada​, @missmoxxiesworld​, @knjhe​, 

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Graphic depiction of torture, graphic physical violence, captured/kidnapping, major character death

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 5,133

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​, @shrimpmsg​​,

AN: And it all goes downhill from here, Ladies...

Chapter 51: Begin

“I can’t stand you crying. I want to cry instead, although I can’t.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seoul – Samseong; Gangnam District South Korea

9:45 AM

Jungkook was three steps from heading to the insane asylum.

One step represented each day that he hadn’t been able to track Eden down.

He barely heard the words of comfort that Jimin was giving him. He knew that it had something to do with it not being his fault, but how could it not have been? He hadn’t heard from his wife in three days, assuming she got wrapped up with family affairs and was too busy to check in on the first day. The second day had him concerned that she’d gotten hurt. By the third day, Jungkook was at his wit’s end.

Only to find out that she’d been snatched up before she ever got the chance to leave for Daegu. He shouldn’t have put her second to his job. He shouldn’t have let her leave their house to go to the train station alone.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

The image of Eden’s beaten form in the video clip was branded across the forefront of his mind. Hoseok was angry, determined to track down the Jade Fang members who’d done this. Jungkook was angry that they were still part of the equation. They should have been eliminated years ago.

It wasn’t like they weren’t aware of what Im Changkyun was capable of. They’d seen the vicious things he’d done while they were Jade Fang members themselves. He didn’t think it was necessary to attend district meetings, feeling the rest of the bosses were beneath his standards of proper mafia leadership. Hoseok was his only equal and it appeared that he continued to see him as such.

Divine Intervention prevented Jungkook from leaving the house that night and storming the stronghold of the Jade Fangs alone. He would have burned every single one of their businesses down; he was determined to do so. Jimin escorted him home that night and there was a parcel waiting at home for Jungkook. His brother made him a drink and when Jungkook opened the package, he collapsed on the floor and cried until he could barely breathe.

It was a gift Eden prepared for him for his birthday – a handmade model of his dream car. Seated in the car were miniature figures of Eden and himself. He didn’t remember passing out. He didn’t remember Jimin tucking a blanket over him. He could only remember Eden’s face, smiling as they shared breakfast together the morning she was taken.

“Jungkook-ah,” called Jimin, pulling Jungkook out of his inner musings. There was concern painted over his brother’s face and he took a breath, waiting for him to continue. “I think we’ve covered everywhere here.”

Jungkook said nothing. Instead, he pulled out the small notebook he carried with him and scratched out Gangnam from the list. For two and a half days, they combed every single section of Gangnam they could. There was a part of him that knew that the Jade Fangs wouldn’t be so arrogant to hold her hostage in their former territory. But there was also a part of him that could reason Im Changkyun doing something so ridiculous as a form of “poetic justice” against them.

To him, the Golden Jackals never disbanded.

“What about the others?”

Jimin sighed, leaning against the driver’s side door of the car. “They’re hitting the other areas. Hoseok called in some favors from the other district bosses to let us through.”

All Jungkook did was nod. There was something off about this whole situation. Very off. There shouldn’t have been a single obstacle in the way of the other district heads when it came to taking over their territories. Yongsan and Gangnam were completely up for grabs; Hoseok said as much. Jungkook could only guess that Changkyun’s influence prevented them from stepping a single foot into their turf. He more than likely was determined to get Hoseok and the others back so they could do a mass district takeover.

“I don’t like that Tae Hyung went off by himself,” he suddenly said, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, “I don’t either.”

Jungkook frowned. “He still hasn’t checked in yet?”

“No.”

He didn’t want to prod any further. Jimin was probably more worried about Taehyung than any of them. While it was unsurprising that he went off on his own, it was unlike him to not have checked in by now. Taehyung wasn’t a morning person, which was why they all knew that he hadn’t slept while he was on the hunt.

Then again, none of them were really sleeping.

A soft ache throbbed at Jungkook’s temple. He pressed a hand to his chest, taking a small amount of comfort in feeling his wedding band dangling from the necklace chain. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle not knowing what was happening with Eden.

“Hyung, I—”

“She’s fine, Jungkook-ah.” Jimin’s words sliced through his own, as if he’d already predicted what he was going to say. When he met his brother’s gaze, he saw the reassuring smile tinged with just a hint of worry. “If I know her, she’ll make them regret the day they decided to take her.”

“Not before I do.”

Suddenly, Jimin and Jungkook’s phones chimed simultaneously – indicating they received a message. Both looked at their phones immediately and Jungkook felt his heart rate escalate. It wasn’t a matter of him losing hope as seeing the message renewed his vigor.

It was from Taehyung.

Taehyung: I found her. She’s near Namyangju in Gyeonggi-do. Somewhere in the Industrial District. I’m heading back now.

Jungkook looked at Jimin the same time he did. Without uttering a word, they flung the doors open to the car and hopped in. Jimin fired up the engine and punched it, speeding out of Gangnam. Jungkook stared at his phone as more messages came through from the others. It didn’t take him long to figure out that they were closer to that location than everyone else. It was a half an hour drive, traffic willing.

They’d get there first.

10:17 AM

Namyangju – Gyeonggi Province South Korea

Jungkook felt like it took them a hundred years to get to their destination. With every mile marker they passed, it brought him one step closer to finding Eden. One step closer to bringing her home. He clung to the smallest shreds of his willpower not to scream at Jimin to drive faster. They didn’t need to get into any kind of accident before they reached her.

Jimin swung the car into an empty street, the desolate district eerie even in the morning light. Jungkook tumbled from the passenger side, all but tearing his seatbelt from his body in the process. Jimin called after him, but he paid him no mind. His legs ate up the ground as he ran headlong into the central area of the decrepit buildings.

No one lived in the abandoned sections of the province anymore, but the government hadn’t bothered with tearing it down. His hope began to dwindle, realizing just how expansive the district was. It would take them hours to find her at this rate.

Resisting the urge to scream, he slowed to a jogging pace before stopping altogether. Running around blindly without a single clue as to where to look would get him nowhere. They were just wasting time. There was even the chance that the group would up and relocate themselves before they could even have a chance at finding them.

Eden would be lost forever.

He heard Jimin run up behind him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Jungkook did his best to tether his scattered thoughts, chasing away the worst possibilities from his mind. He needed to calm down and think.

“There were a few cars parked near the back,” he said after catching his breath, “we might need to go up top to get a better idea of where they might be.”

Jungkook nodded, pointing straight ahead. “I’ll head to that building down there. Text me if you find anything.”

Just as he was about to take off, Jimin grabbed him – halting his movements.

“No, we stick together.” Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but Jimin’s glare quickly silenced him. “If something happens, we won’t be able to do anything alone. We’re stronger together.”

While he wanted to argue, he knew that his brother was right. Even if splitting up would help them cover more ground, there was a good chance that they wouldn’t have a way to defend themselves if they got caught in a sticky situation. Jungkook did his best to push down his mounting impulsivities. Charging in blindly was foolish and would most likely get them killed.

“Alright, Hyung,” Jungkook said, relenting, “let’s go together.”

Not wasting another moment, they tore off down the center of the district – eyes rapidly searching in every direction their necks would allow them to turn.

10:32 AM

Minutes crept by at a snail’s pace.

Jungkook did everything he could to keep his head together. There were too many horrifying images playing rapidly in his head, like a flipbook that ended in blood splatters. Jimin stayed at his side, matching his pace as well as his fervor. Every so often, they would stop to peek into various buildings. They climbed up to higher vantage points to get a better lay of the area, dipping off to resume their search.

Everything looked so dead from the inside out.

A scream tore through the vast emptiness, causing Jungkook to trip over his own feet and he came crashing to the ground. Jimin was immediately beside him, grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him back up. Jungkook’s heart pounded double-time in his chest; it hurt. A cold sweat broke out over his skin and he couldn’t stop his body from trembling, even though Jimin rubbed small circles on his back.

“E-Eden,” he barely managed to croak, his legs shaking to the point where it was difficult to stand. Jimin continued to hold him up. “That was her!”

The sound was close.

Jimin said nothing. He continued to guide them along the path, turning around corners until he heard his wife scream again. It was even closer. They were almost to her!

He felt his brother release the hold he had on him and Jungkook involuntarily sagged against the side of a building. He didn’t know where they were or how deep into the district they’d gone. Jimin’s expression was focused and if he was feeling any sort of turmoil, it never showed. Not once.

The building they were pressed against was yellowed from age and neglect. Numerous cracks ran along the sides and bits of paint were peeling back; some pieces flying away from even the slightest gust of wind. The window had a long crack running from an upward angle to the corner of the pane; dirty and smudged. Jimin wiped a hand across the bottom to get rid of the dirt so he could see inside. Jungkook sidled up beside him to peek in as well.

He could feel Jimin’s vice-like grip on his shoulder, pinning him in place. Jungkook’s vision blurred momentarily before regaining focus, zeroing in on the image of his wife strung up like some animal. There were a few lackeys around and appeared to be bored – as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen. Jungkook felt the muscle at his jaw throbbing viciously as he clenched his teeth, grinding them in anger.

He wanted a gun. He would have emptied a clip into every single one of them.

Jungkook tried to move, but Jimin wouldn’t let him go.

“Hyung!” came his harsh whisper, but Jimin shook his head roughly.

“Wait, Jungkook,” he hissed back, finally letting him go, “just wait.”

“I can’t, dammit!”

“You can and you will.” Jimin’s words were final. “We don’t even know what kind of weapons they have in there. If Changkyun’s willing to play dirty like this, there’s no guarantee that his men won’t fill us full of holes with guns they obtained illegally.”

Jungkook wanted to protest, but he knew that Jimin was right. They needed to assess the situation fully before making a move. If they ran in there blindly without understanding what they were up against, there was a chance that Eden would die in the crossfire.

“So what now?”

Jimin continued to look through the window and he could see the wheels in his head turning. Strategy was his strongest suit so Jungkook did his best to be as patient as possible. A handful of seconds passed before he turned to meet his gaze.

“I’m going to go in from the front.”

“What?!” Jungkook gave him an incredulous look. “That’s crazy. Are you crazy?!”

“Shut-up and listen to me.” Jimin turned to look back through the window. “I’m going to draw their attention to me. This window is loose so as soon as I get them to chase me, I want you to go in and grab Eden and then get the hell out of here.”

He didn’t like this plan.

“There’s ten of them, Hyung. Maybe more. You can’t outrun them all.”

Jimin grinned, still peering into the building. “I can try.”

Jungkook grabbed his shoulder. “Hyung!”

He felt his arm being yanked off abruptly, causing him to take a step back. Jimin cast an icy glare in his direction.

“Do what I say.”

He wanted to protest again. He wanted to tell him that this was suicide. They should wait for the others. Wouldn’t that have been the smart thing?

But if they waited too long, then they may miss their chance. The Jade Fangs could probably swarm them, call for more men, and then overtake them completely. Jungkook knew that the plan was the best option they had right now.

It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Without waiting for him to agree or even disagree, Jimin turned and ran down one side of the building. He rounded the corner and disappeared on the other side, leaving Jungkook alone to wait. There was a distinct feeling of dread sweeping over him, telling him that there was danger to watch out for. But wasn’t that obvious? Didn’t they understand that, knowingly showing up to this place?

This was unavoidable.

A loud bang rang out inside the large interior. Jungkook peered over the bottom of the window, craning his neck as best he could. Light flooded into the dark space as he watched Jimin’s shadow stretching along the floor. All the men inside turned around, grabbing what weapons they had near them to launch an assault. Jimin immediately dispatched one of the lackeys close to the door before turning to run away from the building. All but two gave chase.

Now!

Jungkook thrust the window open, causing it to break further from the force. He leaped in through the opening and charged forward. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction caused by his entrance, Jungkook barreled into the man closest to him – taking him down with a swift grappling throw. The man landed on his head; a distinct crack heard from his skull smacking into the concrete.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of silver, and he dodged at the last second. Whirling his body around, he jumped back with his arms extended out as another man tried to hit him with a metal bat. Jungkook bobbed and weaved out of the way, moving just out of reach at the last possible moment. Pivoting on his back leg, he waited for the man to try to swing at him again before catching the bat in his hand and pulling it toward him. The man slid on his heels, the distance closing rapidly. Jungkook aimed a kick straight for his stomach and sent him flying.

He brought the bat down over the man’s head for good measure.

With the two men unconscious, Jungkook swerved around and ran toward Eden. He did his best to avoid looking at her injuries, not wanting to distract himself from the most important task he had: freeing her. As he looked at her restraints, he did his best to concentrate on her face. She was semi-conscious, the noise bringing her out of whatever fugue state she was in.

“J-Jungkook-ah?” She coughed. “Y-You shouldn’t be here…”

“Shh,” he admonished, his eyes flicking over her bindings, “save your strength.”

His hands moved with lightning speed, fidgeting over the ropes and chains binding her as she hung from a large hook attached to the ceiling. When he finally managed to loosen the ropes, he lifted her up by her waist so he could untether her from the hook. Her arms dangled limply around his neck; the chains clamped around her wrists jingling together with the sudden movement.

Her body lacked the strength to keep herself upright and she nearly collapsed to the ground. Jungkook held fast to her, moving her arms over his head so he could undo the chains around her wrists. He could tell she’d lost weight and she seemed almost a shell of who he knew her to be. He focused on getting her to safety – choosing to smother his fury into the pit of his stomach.

“Go,” she whispered as he held onto her, “get out of here.” She coughed again. “Leave me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” he snapped, draping her arm over his shoulder as he held onto her waist, “now come on.”

Jungkook wouldn’t hear anymore of this nonsense, even if it was coming from the woman he loved. She was barefoot, but there wasn’t any glass on the ground. If she didn’t think she’d be able to walk, he’d carry her on his back and dare her to say otherwise.

Shuffling toward the entrance, he could hear men yelling in the distance. But it sounded like it was getting closer. Jimin was circling back, probably to make sure that they’d gotten out. If they could hold out a little longer, the others would come and then they could cause a big enough scene to get the hell out.

Just as he reached the entryway, he turned to make sure the two men he’d dealt with were still on the ground. Satisfied that they weren’t going to be getting up anytime soon, he turned back toward the exit.

A shadow moved from the corner. Eden saw it before he did. Jungkook shuffled to the left. He was half a step short.

The pain didn’t register at first. All he could focus on was Yoo Kihyun who was now directly in his path to freedom. It wasn’t until he saw the older man take a step forward that Jungkook took a step back. But not of his own freewill. He was forced to step back.

The knife in his gut pushed him to move.

Eden screamed but he barely heard it. Jungkook nearly dropped her, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to fall. Not in front of him; her captor. A chilling smile painted over Kihyun’s face as he tilted his head, peering into Jungkook’s eyes. It was like he was asking him what his next move would be without having to say it out loud. For a split second, Jungkook’s vision blurred.

Releasing the hold he had on Eden’s arm, he grabbed a hold of the knife and pushed back – pulling the blade slowly from his gut. Kihyun blinked in surprise at him, watching as he drew the older man’s arm away from his body while still holding his wife fast to him. Again, Eden screamed, but this time she moved with whatever strength was left in her body – arms reaching out in a feral manner.

She scratched her nails across Kihyun’s face, forcing him to reach up and cover his cheek. Jungkook stepped forward, pulling the knife completely from his stomach, before spinning it in his blood-soaked fingers to grasp the blade’s handle. Kihyun stumbled backward a step and Jungkook quickly closed the distance, plunging the knife directly into his shoulder and aiming a kick to his knee. He waited for him to hit the dirt before pulling Eden quickly behind him.

He didn’t have to express the need for urgency.

They both disappeared into a nearby cluster of reeds.

10:45 AM

Blood wept from the side of Jimin’s head as he rounded the corner of a building. He held onto a rusty metal pipe, clutching it at his side. He knew one of his ribs were broken, if not two, and there was a good chance he very nearly sprained his ankle hopping over a broken-down car to avoid being clobbered with a length of chain. He quickly did a tally in his head, making a note that he was able to knock down four of the eight that were chasing him. Two of them he tripped up along their pursuit and the rest were now trying to comb the nearby streets in search of him.

Hearing Eden’s scream forced him to double back toward the building where he’d left Jungkook. It wasn’t the sound of agony. It was of outrage. Something must have happened. He needed to get back to them and quickly.

Jimin wiped some of the sweat and blood from his head, spitting at the ground. Once his heart calmed down, he tried to ascertain his whereabouts. Just two buildings over and he’d be right back where he’d started.

Come on, Park Jimin. Calm down and focus.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, eyeing the screen. It was from Yoongi.

Yoongi: We’re almost there! Where are you guys? Give us a landmark!

Taking a moment to breathe, he turned his head in every direction to try and gauge a decent landmark for the others to follow. There was a cluster of blue barrels far away from the abandoned buildings, just toward the edge where a large field of reeds were. He quickly texted him back, letting him know the location.

He slid the phone back into his pocket, gripping the metal pipe in both hands. Now he just needed to get back to Jungkook who, he hoped, had Eden in tow.

His phone buzzed again; this time in succession. Someone was calling him.

Dipping into a nearby building, he hunkered down in a shadowed corner to look at the phone. It was Jungkook. He answered.

“Jungkook-ah?”

“H-Hyung…”

Jimin could tell something was wrong.

“Where are you?”

“T-The…the reeds…”

He had to refrain from cursing. There were reeds in every direction. He took a breath to calm his nerves.

“What else do you see around you?”

There was a pregnant pause and he wondered if something was happening with the call.

Jimin-ah?”

It was Eden. His heart practically jumped into his throat.

“Oh, thank God he got you out. Are you alright?”

“Never mind that. Jungkook’s hurt.”

He could hear the frantic tone in her voice. Jimin tried to smooth his voice out in a way that would help take the edge off for her.

“Okay, just breathe. Can you tell me where you guys are right now?”

“I can’t really see anything. The reeds are so thick.”

“Can you see any barrels around you?”

“Hold on.”

It was only a few seconds, but Jimin felt like he was losing years off his life as he waited for her to answer.

“I can see some blue ones. But they’re far away.”

He resisted the urge to smile. They weren’t that far from his current location.

“How far?”

“Several yards. They’re across that dirt path.”

“Okay, good.” His side screamed at him from the position he was in, but he ignored it. “I want you to meet me there, okay?”

It sounded like she was about to sob which unnerved him.

“Can’t you just come here? Jungkook’s hurt badly and I don’t have the strength to carry him.”

Jimin hissed quietly to himself. I told him to be careful… He took a breath. “Alright, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hurry!”

Ending the call, Jimin slipped out the back of the building and made his way around the next bend. Part of him wanted to throw the pipe off in a different direction, hoping the noise would distract others away from his path. But if they got flanked, he’d need a way to defend Eden, Jungkook, and himself. Especially if Jungkook was as hurt as Eden claimed he was.

This isn’t good, he thought, tearing through the back alleyway and heading up the side of the street to disappear into the thicket of reeds.

10:57 AM

Even though he knew he’d only traveled a few blocks, it felt like he’d been moving for miles. Each turn he made, Jimin thought he was getting more and more lost. Every so often, he’d turn his head to look over his shoulder and spy out the buildings – making sure that he was still on a straight path to the others. He heard some of the other men shouting at each other, trying to figure out where they’d gone, and each of these times, Jimin would pause so that he didn’t give away his position.

Just as he was about to resume his search, he heard a distinct shuffling sound off to his right. It was close.

“J-Jimin-ah? Is that you?”

It was Eden. She sounded exhausted and halfway to the underworld, but it was her. Jimin quickly darted in the direction of her voice, parting the reeds in front of him as he went.

A lump of ice dropped in his stomach at what he saw.

There, cradled in her arms, was Jungkook. A large blood stain blossomed from his shirt and he saw Eden pressing his jacket to his stomach and putting pressure on the injury. She was crying, doing her best to keep her sobs nonexistent so they didn’t alert the others of where they were. She looked up, relief and despair battling for dominance over her features. Jimin dropped the pipe in his hands, his legs slowly carrying him toward Jungkook just as he spit up blood from his mouth.

“J-Jungkook-ah,” he stammered, collapsing to his knees.

Despite the obvious pain he was in, Jungkook flashed him a smile full of blood-stained teeth. “H-Hyung,” he managed to get out, albeit garbled from a mouthful of blood, “what took you so long?”

Jimin didn’t have the energy to snap back. He felt like part of his soul just left him completely. His eyes roved over Jungkook’s body, trying to figure out the cause of his brother’s current state. He lifted his gaze to meet Eden’s.

“What happened?”

“It was Kihyun,” she said weakly while brushing some of the fringe off of Jungkook’s forehead, “he came out of nowhere and—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook interjected, causing them both to focus on him, “Hyung, get her out of here.”

Another piece of his soul was pulled away.

“W-What?”

Eden shifted him in her arms, clinging to him in desperation. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Yes, you are.” Jungkook reached up to his neck, grabbing the necklace and popping it off in one quick motion. He smeared blood over his skin and clothes, holding it up for Eden. “Take it and go.”

She emphatically shook her head and Jimin could tell that even doing this was zapping her of what strength she had left.

“You bastard,” she muttered, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, “how can you expect me to leave you? Huh?” Eden lowered herself, pulling him against her body to hug him close. “Till death do us part, remember?”

Jungkook did his best to wrap an arm around her, coughing more blood out and staining her shirt. “…and this…is where…we part.”

Eden shot back, looking down at Jungkook as tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheeks.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered, her bottom lip trembling as her voice shook.

Again, he smiled up at her. “I love you, Eden.” He grabbed her hand and placed the necklace inside her palm, closing her fingers over it. “If…if I’m reborn, let me love you in the next life too, okay?”

Jimin could hear his own heart shattering in his chest.

“Hyung…take her and go.”

“But Jungkook-ah—”

“Please.”

Tears leaked out of Jimin’s eyes. It took everything he had, but he stood up and crossed over to where Eden was. She continued to hold onto her husband, refusing to let go even as Jimin tried to pull her up and onto her feet. She fought him but even she knew that she didn’t have the strength to keep it up. Jimin held her against him and they both gazed at the satisfied and peaceful expression on Jungkook’s face. He nodded to them, mouthing for them to go.

Jimin turned, hauling Eden with him as she wailed silently into the crook of his shoulder.

I’ll come back for you, Jungkook. I won’t leave you alone out here...

11:05 AM

He knew that it was only a few minutes since he watched Eden and his brother leave. In those few minutes, Jungkook believed it was several lifetimes. In those few minutes, he thought back to everything that led to this very moment. All the choices he’d made, the road he’d traveled, and the people he’d traveled on that road with along the way.

He regretted nothing up until that moment.

The only thing he knew he would have to repent for would be leaving his beautiful wife behind alone. They’d had a few chapters written in their life together, but they were pages filled with hopes and dreams for an uncertain future. Life never gave guarantees. The only certainty for life was death. It was the same for everyone.

The sun was reaching its peak over the skies. There were very little clouds littering the pale blue blanket above him and he wasn’t sure if it was the bright light that was making it difficult to see or something else. Jungkook lost feeling to the lower half of his body nearly two minutes earlier.

Again, he coughed and more blood sprayed from his mouth. Tears brimmed his eyes, slipping from the corners to seep into his ears.

My brothers…

Jungkook could feel his eyelids growing a little heavier with each passing second, but he forced them to stay open.

Eden…

But the darkness began to creep around the corners of his vision, blurring out the light until it was a faint glow in his line of sight.

He wanted to keep feeling the warmth of the sun on his face until the very end.

…until we meet again.