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elegantmadness · 1 year

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Seeds of Doubt, Chapter 1

Fandom(s): Final Fantasy VII (potential spoilers for Crisis Core, OG game, Remake, Intermission, Dirge of Cerberus, and/or Advent Children), Final Fantasy VIII, and Final Fantasy XIII. Please note, however, that this is not a cross-over; the characters I've brought in are considered to be from Gaia/FFVII's universe. Knowledge of FF 8 or 13 isn't necessary to understand.

Summary: President Shinra's sons have concocted a plan: bring the Seven, Shinra's First Class SOLDIERs, into the fold, and begin to dismantle the company from within.

But even with the aid of the Turks and peripheral support lent to Avalanche, all does not go according to plan.

Main/Major Characters: Sephiroth, Genesis Rhapsodos, Angeal Hewley, Zack Fair, Cloud Strife, Lightning, Squall Leonhart

Please note: Cetra/Ancient!Squall Leonhart, and Odin-living-inside-Lightning-a-la-Chaos-in-Vincent.

Side/Secondary Characters: Lazard Deusericus, Rufus Shinra, Auron

Mentioned Characters (as of ch. 2): Hojo, Hollander, Seifer Almasy, Irvine Kinneas, Rinoa Heartilly, Gast Faremis, Ifalna, Jenova, Edea Kramer, Gillian Hewley, Jecht, Serah Farron

Rating: For this first chapter, it's T. The overall fic will be E.

Pairing/Relationships: Oof. The Seven will be swinging. Any combination you can imagine will likely be involved. Each chapter will have its pairing/poly specified, however. This opener has no explicit pairing.

AO3 Link

Sephiroth’s gaze drifted away from his slowly-dwindling stack of paperwork as he glanced towards the analogue clock on the wall, and once more considered the meeting that was set to begin in less than twenty minutes. Something was going on, though that much was obvious from the news that every first-class SOLDIER would be in attendance. Sephiroth couldn’t recall a single time they’d all been involved in the same mission, though such was to be expected unless there was a crisis on the horizon. Lazard hadn’t been forthcoming about the details when Sephiroth had asked the previous day, the man proving even more cagey than usual. It was possible Angeal might know more – he and Lazard seemed rather friendly, after all – but it was rare to see his friend at headquarters anymore.

No doubt Shinra was… concerned about the three of them being in close proximity, and while he’d argued at the time, he’d been soundly overruled. Genesis was now in charge of Zone Two, half a world away in a region of Gaia that included Wutai, and Angeal had been given Zone Five in the north, home to Modeoheim and the otherwise frigid region surrounding their reactor and the well-known Icicle Inn.

He had to shake the memory free from his thoughts or he’d never finish his work, however.

Or, at least, that had been Sephiroth’s intention. He hadn’t seen Genesis or Angeal in months, and the solitude had begun to wear on him. There was no shortage of people working for Shinra, but most seemed either afraid or in awe of him: an idol to be seen as more – and less – than human, and he hadn’t the patience to deal with such things.

“Knock knock! You ready for the meeting?”

There had only ever been one exception to this beyond Genesis and Angeal, and Sephiroth felt his lips curl up into a soft smile as he looked up over his computer console and met Zack’s gaze. “It doesn’t start for another ten minutes,” Sephiroth reminded him, not at all surprised when Zack dropped his hand from the door jamb and slipped inside, his nervous energy palpable as he wrung his hands together and quickly shifted his weight from one foot to the other multiple times.

“But I’m excited!” Zack replied with a grin, his blue eyes glimmering as he finally let himself drop into the chair on the other side of Sephiroth’s desk. “I haven’t seen Angeal in ages! And have you even met the other Firsts? I’ve only read Leonhart’s reports when Lazard lets me, and I didn’t even know Farron was a woman until Lazard mentioned it in passing yesterday!”

Sephiroth let out a low chuckle at that. “I have never met Leonhart, but Farron and I have exchanged messages in the past. Never in person, though,” Sephiroth added a little slyly, watching as Zack’s mouth parted and subsequently closed before he could even voice his question. “And Strife? You and he have been on assignment together lately, haven’t you?”

“Oh, he’s good. Still embarrassed whenever I mention you, but good,” Zack offered, a touch of mirth twisting his lips almost into a smirk.

Sephiroth let out a quiet sigh at the reminder. When Strife had been training to take his place as a First, Sephiroth had gone with Zack to observe just as Strife’s weight distribution shifted in the wrong direction and the sword he’d been holding fell out of his hands and clattered to the floor. He’d turned such a dark shade of red Sephiroth had even feared he’d cut himself inadvertently…

“You’ve told him he doesn’t need to be embarrassed, yes? None of us were born with sword skills,” Sephiroth reminded him, though Zack merely arched an eyebrow at him.

“You sure about that, Seph? ‘Cause if you ask around it sounds like you popped out of the womb with Masamune in your hand.”

“Now there’s an interesting image.” The pair turned towards the doorway, and Sephiroth’s brow smoothed as Zack all-but-leaped out of his seat and threw himself into Angeal’s arms. “I missed you too, Zack.” Angeal’s chuckles were quiet and warm as he returned the embrace a little more gently, Sephiroth standing in a seamless motion and approaching as Zack finally released his old mentor.

“It’s been too long,” Angeal greeted Sephiroth with a fond smile, though Sephiroth merely lifted an eyebrow at the hand being held out to him.

“Seriously? A handshake? You two have met before, right?” Zack teased Angeal readily, laughing at the exasperated roll of Angeal’s eye before offering Sephiroth a one-armed hug.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Genesis yet, you have?” Angeal wondered aloud, though Zack and Sephiroth exchanged a look before shaking their heads. His smile fell at that before he nodded and straightened just a little. “Well. I guess we’d better get down to the meeting, then. With any luck, he’s already there and waiting for us.”

–

The briefing room hadn’t changed at all, and Genesis wasn’t entirely sure if such a revelation annoyed him to no end or gave him comfort. He’d been out west for months now, gauging the Wutaians’ intentions and trying his best to maintain the ceasefire and negotiate for a reactor, but for every step forward he made, something else always seemed to impede his path and drive him three steps back.

The novelty of being away from Midgar had worn off quickly. He’d yearned to return for the art and culture he missed being in the middle of nowhere, not to mention the friendships he’d spent years cultivating. He trusted the men under his command, helped them train, saw them through the worst of the mako injections and wartime injuries, but comrades-in-arms simply weren’t the same as those on equal footing. Angeal had been his rock, Sephiroth his muse and constant drive to do better, and they’d been taken away as though he’d been a naughty child.

Genesis glanced up as the briefing room door slid open with a quiet hiss, and straightened himself when a pair of mostly-unfamiliar men strode inside. The blond was vaguely familiar, with a head of hair so spiky it could have given Zack a run for his money, but the other… his face bore a scar right across the brim of his nose. It was almost startling to see, considering how quickly SOLDIERs healed, and Genesis idly wondered if he’d received the scar before his mako treatments.

There was… something else, Genesis was noticing. The scarred brunet seemed almost… overwhelmed. If his arm brushed the blond’s he winced away and tried to hide his natural inclination to recoil, but he never actively drew away. Auburn eyebrows narrowed curiously just as the pair of them turned their gazes in his direction.

“You are… Zack’s friend, yes?” It wasn’t the most welcoming introduction, but the blond simply nodded before settling into one of the chairs at the briefing table.

“Cloud Strife. You’re Genesis, I take it?” Genesis didn’t even try to stop his lips from curling into a lazy smirk.

“What gave me away? The garishly-red coat, perhaps?”

“Among other things, sure,” Cloud replied with a shrug, not rising to the bait and leaving Genesis just a little disappointed. The brunet had yet to say a single word, and Genesis let his gaze wander to the other man just as the door slid open again.

“Welllllll! Looks like a party in here,” Zack announced, dropping a hand onto Cloud’s shoulder and squeezing before looking over at Squall curiously. “Nice to meet ya! I’m Zack. I understand you’ve been helping my buddy here on a few missions lately, yeah? Thanks!” He reached a hand out for Squall to shake, and Zack pointedly ignored the glowing redness on Cloud’s cheeks as Squall blinked at him owlishly before offering Zack the briefest shake of hands physically possible.

“Ah! Angeal! I’d nearly forgotten what you looked like.” Angeal’s eyes rolled at Genesis’ greeting, though he didn’t shy away from the embrace when it came. “And you,” Genesis turned his attention to Sephiroth after pulling back from the lulling warmth and breadth of Angeal’s chest. “You’d better be prepared to spar.” Sephiroth offered him a weak smile as he tried to contain his sigh.

“You never change, do you?”

“Of course I do. I’ll keep getting stronger until I finally best you.”

“Gentlemen.”

The conversations ground to a halt when Lazard stepped inside, though he was not alone. Rufus Shinra trailed after him, his suit and hairstyle immaculate as he looked over the assembled Firsts.

“I count six, Lazard,” Rufus spoke lazily, knowingly, his blue eyes glinting. “Where’s the last?”

“On her way. There was a storm north of Junon that delayed their helicopter,” Lazard explained before turning his attention to the Firsts. “First, allow me to thank you all for coming back to Midgar. I know a meeting of this magnitude is unprecedented.”

“Yeah, what’s going on, Lazard? Is there going to be another war or something?” Zack piped up, though Genesis crossed his arms over his chest as he slipped into one of the chairs.

“Hush now, Puppy. Let the director finish.” Zack bristled a little at the old nickname, though took a seat on Cloud’s unoccupied side before glancing back up at Lazard.

“There is something going on within Shinra itself that warrants a great deal of… scrutiny, perhaps even action,” Lazard continued, trying his best to sound diplomatic.

“We are all well aware of the ethical… concerns Shinra scientists combat, Director,” Sephiroth interrupted stoically, taking a seat next to Genesis and folding his hands on the table.

“Is that right?” Rufus answered knowingly, producing a golden coin seemingly out of thin air and letting it fall over his knuckles. “I fear even you are unfamiliar with just how deep the depravity runs, Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth’s lips thinned at that, his hands tightening until what pigment they contained readily dissipated. Rufus Shinra had not been born in a lab, had not endured the physical and psychological torture–

He froze in place when a red-gloved hand settled over his, Genesis’ eyes glinting dangerously as his shoulders tensed. Was Genesis angry… on his behalf?

“Sorry I’m late.” More than half a dozen pairs of eyes snapped to Lightning immediately, though she simply straightened and looked ahead, seemingly uninterested.

“Not at all, Farron. Take a seat.”

“We can finally get this meeting started.” With that, Rufus pulled out his phone and pressed a single button, though if it had any sort of effect, no one noticed. “Lazard and I have been digging into the science team’s misadventures over the years, and came across several projects that involve…well, everyone in this room save for the director and myself.”

That particular bit of information had everyone suddenly quieting, the heaviness in the air reminiscent of a gravity spell a new cadet had misfired and caught them all inside.

“You’re really just going to… air Shinra’s dirty laundry?” Zack was the first to recover, his face contorted as though he smelled something particularly unpleasant. “To us? Now? Don’t you think it could get a little personal–”

“Oh, it will mister Fair, I assure you.” Lazard’s glasses glinted in the glow of the overheard monitor as he pushed them back up the brim of his nose. “No one here has been exempt from Shinra’s misdeeds. Perhaps we are overstepping our bounds, but I see no alternative if you all are truly to grasp the lengths Shinra will go to in order to obtain power or further their own scientific interests.”

“Hmph. Nice way of saying shut up, Director.” It was the first time Leonhart spoke, and the sarcasm in his tone was heavy, his eyes slipping shut as he leaned further back in his chair. Zack’s smile spilled over into a grin as he tried to contain his chuckles, and even Genesis and Sephiroth exchanged amused expressions.

“It seems you’ve volunteered first, Leonhart, which is just as well. Your particular circumstances are the most peculiar and mysterious.” It was Rufus who addressed him this time, though Squall did little but eye him warily. He knew better than to interrupt the vice president of Shinra even if he thought this entire meeting was pointless.

“So you’re just going to do this out in the open? With an unlocked door, glass windows, and recording devices watching us all?” Lightning spoke up this time, one of her gloved hands smoothing onto the table as she gave Rufus a rather demanding look. She’d taken the last, empty chair since stepping into the room: the one at the end by Leonhart, and leaned out far enough to see the pair of blonds glance at one another.

“She has a point, Director. If anyone were to see what we were doing, well, being fired would be the least of our troubles.” Angeal had settled between Zack and Genesis, and the tension in his form was noticeable to Genesis; no doubt Angeal was dreading to hear whatever these men had to tell them, but Genesis, for one, was curious to hear what they had to say.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rufus scoffed. “The Turks have dampened this room from security, and the room itself has been sealed and is currently projecting nothing more malicious than a briefing running long.”

Lightning seemed settled by that, though Angeal shifted in his seat only just – enough for Zack and Genesis both to notice. Zack even shot Genesis a tacit question with a raised eyebrow to which the redhead merely shrugged in return. Angeal had never liked secrets, had always preferred frank albeit hard conversations to hiding unpleasant truths.

“Now. If no one else has any objections…,” Lazard’s voice trailed off as he glanced around the room, waiting for several heartbeats before nodding to himself. “Very well.” The monitor came to life as he navigated to one of the files on the console, and Squall couldn’t quite help how his shoulders hunched and his jaw tightened as Lazard began to explain.

“Over twenty years ago, there was a scientist here at Shinra who was convinced that the way to procure the genetic material of an Ancient was to use Time Materia. This, of course, was before we made our discovery in the bowels of the Northern Crater.” The picture on the screen showed a slight woman, pale and dark-haired, and Squall’s jaw tightened even further. “Now, when I say Time Materia I refer not to that which we have now – these were not simple slow and stop spells she was attempting.”

“Wait wait. Ancients? Seriously? I thought they died out a long time ago,” Zack couldn’t stop himself from piping up, and Lazard inclined his head in Fair’s direction before answering.

“Precisely.”

“...She was attempting to use the Time Materia to travel to another time,” Sephiroth supplied for Lazard.

“We had no evidence of any remaining Ancients, so if Shinra wanted samples or specimens, returning to a time when they still lived undoubtedly seemed a logical step.” Genesis scoffed at that, though Angeal’s brows were furrowing. How did this relate to Leonhart…?

“So, what? You’re saying she succeeded?” Genesis offered mockingly, though the tense expression only grew on Lazard’s face.

“It’s impossible to say,” he finally offered. “The last of her logs were corrupted, though we suspect they were tampered with by Professor Gast.”

“Gast?” Sephiroth murmured softly, thoughtfully, a sliver of silver bangs falling against the long line of his nose. “Was he not the scientist who found Ifalna?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know about that,” Rufus remarked, leaning back in his chair as Lazard cleared his throat to regain attention.

“Gast claimed that Dr Kramer died from her own experiments, and that Leonhart wasn’t connected to her, but the timeline fits. When he returned from dealing with the remnants of Kramer’s research, he brought a young Leonhart with him. He claimed you were simply… suited for becoming a SOLDIER, but we have our suspicions. Your sensitivity to mako is of particular note, and your affinity for magic and materia is… substantial.” It was here Lazard paused, adjusting his glasses once more as Squall openly scoffed at his theory.

“So that makes me an Ancient, does it?” It little helped matters that he couldn’t recall anything before meeting Professor Gast, though that didn’t prove anything.

“This is ridiculous,” Lightning practically hissed in the Director’s direction. “If you don’t have anything worthwhile to tell us, then–”

“Sit down, Farron.” Lazard was rarely the type to raise his voice, and Lightning froze upon hearing it, her eyes gleaming menacingly before she clenched her jaw and sat back down.

“Lazard, please. You have to realize how ridiculous this all sounds. Everything you’ve shown us is circumstantial at best, even if the timeline does somehow fit.” Angeal was ever the voice of reason, though his protest was met only with a soft sigh from Lazard before the monitor on the wall changed.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you how far Professors Hojo and Hollander are willing to go when in the midst of an experiment, though I think you’ll agree that Projects S and G are radical, even for them.” Rufus was silent as Lazard did his best to explain, his probing gaze assessing the room. Leonhart was, as ever, unreadable, though a muscle twitched in his jaw from how tightly he grit his teeth. Under different circumstances, Rufus might have teased the man about breaking his jaw if he weren’t careful, but now wasn’t the time for levity.

“The remains found in the Northern Crater were not, as first suspected, those of an Ancient, but rather, from an alien who crash-landed on the planet millennia ago.”

Lazard clicked once more before a picture of the alien’s remains appeared on the screen, and a foreboding sense of dread permeated the room. “Jenova, a powerful specimen whose genetic structure we still have yet to fully understand. Its cells have been used in research experiments for over two decades now, and one fact is undeniable: each host that comes into contact with its cells becomes immensely more powerful.”

“I don’t like where this is going…,” Zack muttered quietly under his breath, though everyone heard it and silently agreed.

“Project G, or Project Gillian as Professor Hollander dubbed it, exposed Jenova’s cells to a host, one Gillian Hewley–”

“What?!” Angeal’s eyes were as wide as saucers, disbelief coloring his tone. “You’re telling me my mother had something to do with Shinra and these so-called experiments?”

“Of course, but you were not the only subject, Angeal,” Lazard answered him gently, knowing this sort of revelation would be… difficult to digest for a multitude of reasons.

“Not the… only test subject?” Angeal furrowed his brows in confusion before he connected the dots and glanced at Genesis.

Lazard let out a heavy sigh before pressing on. “Gillian’s cells were exposed to Genesis Rhapsodos as an infant; however, once Hollander determined no meaningful difference, he considered that particular experiment a failure.”

Angeal winced at Lazard’s choice of words, though he knew something was amiss when Genesis’ shoulders began to quake. He fully expected an explosion of sorts, expected Genesis to lash out, but the man instead began to laugh, manically and loudly. “A failed experiment?!” Genesis demanded, slamming a fist onto the table, his laughter making way for the growl that spilled out of his mouth.

“Genesis…,” Angeal tried to placate him with a hand on his shoulder, though the redhead dislodged his hand forcefully, the tension in his body growing further.

“His assessment, not mine,” Lazard pointed out. “I cannot pretend to understand the nature of these experiments, but you have done nothing but exemplary work for SOLDIER, Genesis.”

The director’s words did little to quell Genesis’ growing fury. “Save you pity for someone else, director,” Genesis scoffed at Lazard’s meager attempts at pity or sympathy or whatever he thought he was providing.

Angeal had grown quiet at Genesis’ side, contemplative even, and his hands clenched together as he stared up at the overhead monitor, his insides twisting themselves into knots. “And? That isn’t all, is it?”

Lazard frowned at the tone of Angeal’s voice; no doubt he didn’t want the answer to his question, though now that he was being confronted with it, he couldn’t look away. Angeal was unflinching in that regard, and Lazard admired him for it even as he pitied him. “You, Angeal, were Hollander’s success. Being Gillian’s natural-born son enabled you to show results Hollander was looking for, but…”

His voice trailed off, and the image on the monitor changed again. “Professor Hojo’s experiment was ultimately deemed the more successful of the two, which is why he now heads Shinra’s science department instead of Hollander. Instead of infusing a host with cells and exposing those cells to specimens, Hojo cut out the middle man. He directly injected Jenova’s cells into his colleague’s unborn child, and his results are inarguable.”

“Project S?” Genesis sneered, narrowing his eyes over at Sephiroth. “Who else could be the pinnacle of Shinra’s research but the almighty Sephiroth?”

The man in question betrayed no emotion save for the subtle tightening of his fingers and the slight twitch at one of his temples.

“Holy shit!” Zack reacted for him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “Who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to inject alien cells into a baby? I mean, Seph’s okay, but for fuck’s sake! What is wrong with that asshole?”

“I don’t think we’d have enough time to discuss what’s wrong with Hojo if we were here all night,” Cloud piped up, his arms crossed and his gaze down, though there was an unmistakable smile tugging at his mouth.

His words made Angeal smile despite himself, and even Genesis snorted in amusement, the cloud of his anger finally beginning to dispel.

“All night? We would have insufficient time were we to remain all week,” Sephiroth added glibly, and even Lightning chuckled at that, Squall’s lips twitching despite himself.

“I know it’s a lot, and I apologize for dumping this on all of you, but there is, unfortunately, more to cover.” The room seemed to heave a collective sigh of exasperation, though no one offered any resistance to the idea. Angeal, however, did glance over at Sephiroth, concern furrowing his brows. Sephiroth inclined his head only once to indicate he was all right, though Angeal decided they’d have a talk about it later. A drink sounded like just what he needed right then, even if it was near-impossible to get drunk.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all of the Nibelheim incident,” Lazard continued, the monitor’s image switching to a glimpse of the town and the reactor. Cloud tensed at the reminder, though Zack’s hand on his melted it away almost as easily as it had come. “Officially, there was an accident in the reactor, and one Cloud Strife and Zack Fair endured rather severe cases of mako poisoning. In all honesty, we weren’t sure you two would ever recover. Unofficially, however, Hojo engineered the accident to test another of his theories.”

“W-wait a sec,” Zack interrupted Lazard with a few, weak chuckles. “What exactly did he do to us? Because I don’t feel any different from before. Or, I don’t think so, anyway.”

“What does Hojo do best?” Rufus answered lazily, as though nothing in this meeting was of particular interest or importance to him. “Injects his test subjects with Jenova cells, of course, though in your case, S-cells from our dear General here.” Sephiroth flinched at the revelation, and Cloud merely shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“From what we can tell, Zack, you were resistant to them given your SOLDIER training and likely the mako infusions.” Zack breathed out a sigh of relief at that, though Cloud was holding his hands so tightly it was a wonder his bones hadn’t broken from the strain. “Cloud?” Zack whispered softly, laying a hand on his shoulder before the blond shrugged it off.

“I say we storm up to the science lab and torture the little bastard for a few days,” Genesis offered, settling back in his chair. No doubt he considered wheeling it back even further to rests his ankles on the table, but such was rather unseemly for a meeting.

“Because I’m sure Shinra would just love that,” Squall scoffed at the suggestion. No matter what horrors Hojo performed, all were things Shinra undoubtedly knew about and okayed before he set to work. After all, even a failed test subject could be a weapon against Shinra’s enemies.

“He’s right. If we touch Hojo you know they’d retaliate,” Lightning pointed out, much to Genesis’ annoyance.

“How, exactly? In case either of you have forgotten, we’re the best fighters Shinra has.”

“Did you forget the army of mechs they have in development? Or public security? Or all the SOLDIERs of second and third class they could throw at us?” Angeal snapped uncharacteristically, his lips thinning into a line.

“As pleased as I am to see that we’re on the same page, there’s still one more matter to discuss. Lazard?”

The spectacled man nodded as the image on the monitor shifted once more, though this time, it was a simple picture of a red sphere: summoning materia. “I’m sure you’re all aware that, while Shinra has been successful in replicating almost every type of materia, creating summoning materia remains out of our reach. Most have accepted as fact that it simply exists in nature, and there is no way to create it ourselves.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Genesis proffered when Lazard took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“It was believed that biologically engineering new summoning materia was a viable path, and so one of our scientists somehow managed to graft a summon’s consciousness onto a living being.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Zack muttered, and Angeal could only nod wordlessly, the idea in conjunction with everything else making him almost sick to his stomach.

“As I’m sure you can imagine, this didn’t end well. The child was examined shortly after birth, and the experiment deemed another failure.”

“Until I lost control,” Lightning supplied, staring down at the table as numerous pairs of eyes landed on her. “I can take over from here, director. It’s my story, after all.” He nodded before Lightning swallowed and looked up with a renewed sense of determination. “The Turks watched me when I was kid, visited all the time, though I had no idea why. And then… the visions started, the dreams and nightmares. It was terrifying; some days I could barely tell if I was still awake or stuck in a nightmare. I could hear thoughts that weren’t mine, could recall things I’d never experienced; I almost felt stuck in someone else’s body, with access to someone else’s memories.” Her hand clenched suddenly, and her jaw trembled before she pressed on.

“I didn’t realize he wanted out so badly, or that I was the only obstacle in his way, but when he took over…I was just a puppet.”

“So what happened?” Cloud was the one to ask, neither judgment nor curiosity in his tone.

“The Turks weren’t enough to stop me, stop him, so they called in SOLDIER. If it weren’t for Auron, I’d’ve been locked up in Hojo’s lab after he’d subdued me. He’s the one who taught me control, who taught me how to look after myself, and Odin.” There was unmistakable shame in her downcast gaze; this was not a story she told often for obvious reasons. After hearing all the horrible things everyone else had gone through, though, she felt she deserved to be just as transparent.

“So, he’s still there? Odin?” Zack asked gently, trying not to pry or let his eagerness show.

“All the time,” Lightning answered, slightly bemused by his caution. “If I focus, I can hear what he’s saying, but he gave up talking constantly in my ear a long time ago.”

“Does he still take control?”

Lightning blinked at the question Sephiroth posed, her lips pursing. “I won’t say it’s not a struggle sometimes. He can be an opportunistic bastard when he wants to be, but for the most part, we’re in sync. If something happened to me, we’re not sure what would happen to him, so it’s in his best interest to help if I’m in danger.”

“Must come in handy, having a summon at your command like that,” Genesis wondered aloud, though Lightning simply shrugged in response.

“I’d prefer to be alone with my thoughts,” Lightning answered drily, earning a few chuckles for her trouble.

“So,” Squall began, looking back towards Rufus and Lazard. “Now that you’ve got all that in the open, what now?”

“Now? Now we let you all consider. And once you come to the inevitable conclusion that Shinra needs to go, we’ll give you more of an idea of our plans,” Rufus responded simply.

“And you’re just that confident we won’t expose you?” Squall asked pointedly, though Lazard and Rufus simply shared a look.

“After all that you’ve just heard? I sincerely doubt it, mister Leonhart. Even if you don’t necessarily believe everything right now, it must be enough to give you pause; your own experiences within the company have likely been enough for that. But for now? No one’s going to be assigned before the week’s end, so take some time and think it over. Dismissed.”

Next Chapter ->

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #crisis core #ff7 crisis core #ffvii #sephiroth #zack fair #cloud strife #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #squall leonhart #lightning farron #my writing #ff7 fanfic #ffvii fanfic #final fantasy 7 fanfic #final fantasy vii fanfic

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notoriousjae · 6 years

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Time Drift || Supercat (1/?)

Title: Time Drift

Chapter Title: Blue Jean Baby and the L.A Lady

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant (And a bit of Alex Danvers/Lois Lane - yep)

Rating: T+ (For now)

Description:

Note: I’m really bad at posting these things on here but someone asked me to so...I’ll try to be better I promise.

**I’m not posting this one on ff.net because, tbh, I hate ff.net**

The song in this chapter: Tiny Dancer - Elton John

Chapter 1 (Current): AO3 | Below

Exhaustion sets down shoulders in a way Cat Grant absolutely refuses to show--thank God for shoulderpads, at least--sighing as she strides down the streets of Metropolis, ignoring the usual hustle and bustle of cars and music (who the fuck invented boomboxes, anyways?) as she makes her way down the street, an impatient hand pushing open a red door, eyes slitting as she pushes into the faint, smoky residue of a bar.

Clark’s. Cute. Maybe that’s why Lois has such a little crush on this place. Hopefully the inside is as charming but not nearly as folksy, because today feels like the day for a nice, neat entire bottle of hard liquor.

It’s a small, dingy little place on the corner of one of the more questionable streets of Metropolis (the sort of place she hasn’t frequented since she gave up the delusion of Perry ever giving her any of the important beats, at all, deciding to work on making her own news, instead; not that it’s all that hard with all those vigilantes as of late) and the inside is larger than the outside facade would ever hint towards. Like some kind of bar Narnia, opening up to red lights and natural wood highlighting a stage of red, a crowd of huddled, (likely regular) fans around the small little rickety stage. Cat’s fairly certain she’s seen strippers on larger stages--in more visible places, even, given the smoke curling up her lungs--and when she inhales it smells like gin and nicotine and regret.

Oh, yes. No wonder Lois likes this place--that girl has a lot of regrets and Cat is certain this is high up on her list next to whatever caked-on foundation she uses.

But there’s music--live music, even, that doesn’t sound half bad--and when Cat’s heels click along the dipping floors she can’t hear them. It tastes like anonymity and she’s not sure the last time she had that or the next time she will and suddenly, Cat doesn’t mind the small little dive bar, at all, because not a single person looks up at her when she enters, all eyes on that small little stage. But the rest of it seems horrible.

She’s not sure why Lois would suggest this place, at all, with those bright, obnoxiously knowing claims of good music--Jazz bars were so hard to find, let alone one with a decent singer--and Cat’s already determined that this is an awful fucking idea by the time she drops a briefcase down at the foot of a bar, kicking up in heels next to some smiling Jim who’s sizing her up like a piece of meat.

She’s had enough of men, today, given Perry’s ultimatum and Clark’s bumbling apology and she’s ready to just say fuck it all--

Until she hears it.

The music shifts and sways, one song hedging into another. There’s the faintest trill of a piano in the corner--a holler from the man next to her practically piercing an attentive eardrum and Cat has half a mind to risk the lawsuit and shove him out of his chair--and brows barely knit when she places the tune. It’s not much of a jazz bar if someone is singing Tiny Dancer , is it? But no one here seems to mind, at all, and it’s curious how the whole bar quiets. Cat’s apparently strode in during one of the last songs of this set, tonight, and curious eyes take in the sight of hunched shoulders over that piano across the way for the first time, smoke hanging in the room like a parting mist forming a halo around blue eyes like some kind of dream sequence from Grease --watching with a small hint of surprise as a young woman pulls down the tip of microphone by the piano, not stopping playing for a moment as she does.

The girl must be in her early twenties-- must be with that flawless skin and wide, wide smile that she could see from miles away--and Cat, who’s grabbed her briefcase, ready to just go take out her day’s frustration at getting nowhere into the bottom of a bottle at a regular bar, stops.

Just like everyone else in this bar. Just like all of Metropolis might, just for a moment, at the sound of her voice. It’s a little melodramatic, but it seems even more fitting when the girl laughs, something sweet and gentle, a voice like some sort of freakishly kind honey --calm and light and gentle--and Cat’s hand splays out over the bar, intent to listen, stopped in her tracks just like the rest of them.

“Ladies and gentlemen we’ve arrived at that time of the night where I actually take a break--I know, I know,” The singer practically coos to the sound of many a distressed voice in the bar, winking towards one patron as she continues to play, “I hate going, too. Trust me. So I wouldshamelessly like to remind you before I go--you know I hate peddling, detest it, but there’s a tip jar right here, underneath me, and I would like to take the time to thank you all again, tonight, for providing me with the tips to support my dear sister’s drinking habit, which this bar has solely been responsible for funding. The rest of the money will be put towards my therapy bills dealing with that very, very sad fact.”

There’s a few spattered laughs as she continues, hands shifting along chords, a faint hum in the back of her throat.

“I’m kidding. Alex is great, everyone here loves her, right?” There’s a cheer and that girl’s smile turns genuine and quite, “Really, though, thank you everyone. A serious reminder that the majority of your contributions go to the Metropolis orphanage and I love you all, thank you so much for having me, tonight.”

Cat’s eyebrows raise, a little curious--that ever present journalist skeptical that any of a starving artist’s tips would go to any charity--elbow resting on the bar as she listens to the girl seamlessly transition into song, like she’s done this a thousand times before.

It’s likely that she has.

“Blue jean baby--” The girl’s hands are emphatic--untrained--and it reminds Cat of the way a tutor used to snap a ruler by her fingers when she was a child, what feels like a lifetime ago. “ L.A lady, seamstress for the band.” But the girl’s voice...it’s something else. It’s something unassuming and kind, grating at the edges, floating above the line of quick fingers. “ Pretty eyes--pirate smile--you’ll marry a music man.” There’s a little more of a trill, there, and the crowd cheers as the girl’s shoulders roll, leaning into the microphone with a spreading smile, but those eyes close underneath the lights and Cat leans closer, watching this small little blonde in a dress captivate the world like it was something she was made to be--a spectacle happy to reveal itself underneath dim smoke and in this small little dive bar that should be too small to keep a hold on that big voice. “ Ballerina, you must have seen her. Dancing in the sand. And now she’s in me--always with me--” And the breath catches in Cat’s throat, smoke blinked out of an unsure gaze, when the girl looks up and their eyes meet.

And this stranger--this small little, unknown singer in an unknown bar that Cat was five seconds of storming out of--blinks like there’s a hint of recognition there, before it floats away underneath the weight of a blinding smile. “ Tiny dancer in my head.”

It’s nice, is what Cat tells herself--the song is nice--and that’s the reason why she stays glued to her bar stool for far longer than she ever should have without even thinking to order a drink, listening to an encore and quietly pulling out the few dollars she’s kept on hand out of her purse with it. For charity.

Just for charity.

Her mood is quiet--calm--until the singer leaves and she’s left with the meatsack next to her, who immediately remembers he has balls and apparently wants to use them, tonight, seizing the chance to hit on her, not getting a single hint.

“Hey, sexy, are you a big toe?” He’s slurring and short and balding and Cat is suddenly very unsure why she doesn’t have a drink in her hand, if just for the joy of throwing it in his face, “Because I’d like to bang you on every piece of furniture I--”

“Listen, Napoleon --” She snaps but there’s suddenly a hand curling around the man’s shoulders, pushing him back and away from Cat like they’ve done this a thousand times.

And maybe that’s true, too.

“Nick,” It’s a smooth, light voice--higher than the singing voice was, but just as smooth--and Cat blinks, turning up to see no other than Piano Girl--Tiny Little Dancer--herself, who’s looking down at the short little smurf with this almost freakish mix of patience, sharpness, and kindness. It shouldn’t be possible, especially not in a city like this, but here the girl is, smiling without a care in the world down at a creep. “Buddy, what have we said about hitting on women when they’re out of your league? Not that anyone’s out of your league, but we worked on this.” She pats his chest and the man sags, shoulders hanging like the useless meathooks they are. “You’re going to get out there--you’re gonna get on the playing field and grab the...what did we say?”

“Bulls by the horns?” He (Nick, apparently) mopes, face sagging.

“Bulls by the horns.” She snaps, “Right, that. Horns--but with respect , and not grabbing women’s...you know.” A hand waves in front of his face, pulling the man around to face her as she pats his cheek, “Anything. Not grabbing women or hitting on women or being creepy. Remember?”

“Yeah,” The apparent Nick sighs and sulks and the singer just slides his drink away with a sharp look to the bartender, who raises his hands in something close to defense, “I remember . No means no.”

“Very good, Nick.” And she beams down at him like he’s in fucking second grade and Cat has to look around to remember where in the world she is before glaring at the girl, “Scotty, you want to call Nick a cab?”

“Already called. It’s outside.” The bartender calls from around the corner and Nick grumbles before the girl hands him his coat--even helps him put it on--and pats his shoulder like she really is sending him off to the elementary school slide he likely drunkenly crawled out of five minutes prior.

“Bye, Nick.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye-bye, birdy.” Nick grumbles before he stumbles out of the door and the apparent birdy steals his seat, elbows resting on a bar and offering a wide, nearly sheepish smile up to Cat.

“Sorry about that. This bar has a lot of regulars and I keep telling them not to scare away the women, but they just...really do not do the listening thing so well sometimes.” The girl offers, that same easy smile on her lips and Cat’s really not sure why she hasn’t left a good thirty minutes, ago, instead waving a wrist.

“Most men don’t, they try too hard to listen through their dicks.” It’s a certain truth and the girl laughs at it, bright and gentle, and Cat watches, just for a moment, how the hair falls in front of her eyes before nodding towards the now-empty stage. “You were good up there.” Piano fingers push hair behind an ear as the girl, who apparently was fine and confident onstage, blushes underneath the faint lights reflected through the dim smoke covering the bar, nose ducking as the smile transforms into something quieter.

How Metropolis hasn’t ate this girl alive, yet, is anyone’s guess, and is something Cat doesn’t feel qualified to answer.

“Thank you. Oh,” She waves a hand towards the bartender when Cat leans forward, again, rightfully assuming she’ll order a drink. “Let me guess, and don't worry this isn't that kind of...power play guy thing that people like to do in bars. I just really like guessing,” The girl smiles, wagging a finger down towards tapping nails and raising eyebrows and suddenly Cat has no idea why she's even entertaining having the singer here, at all, save for those eyes and...that smile isn't all that bad, either. That smile is something she could certainly get used to. It doesn’t hurt that when the girl crosses her legs, her dress skims just a little higher above a knee. Maybe Cat can stay for a drink or two, after all. “Dry martini, two olives.”

“That's a safe bet.” Dark eyes slit and there's a light laugh behind those painted, young lips, and Cat might be a little annoyed when the bartender immediately goes to make it. “And what if I say you're wrong?”

“Oh, pfft,” And she smiles, a hint of a head shaking as the girl leans forward, hand falling to rest right by Cat's on a clean bar in such a brazen show of almost familiarity--comfortability in the girl’s own skin, perhaps--that a manicure curls into the lines of a palm. A manicure that isn’t nearly as perfect as it should be; she really does need to get a touch up before the interview tomorrow--she simply hasn't had the time--but instead she finds herself sitting here. Waiting for something--someone-- she doesn't even have a name for. “Since I'm wrong like 90% of the time, I wouldn't be surprised.”

And oh, this girl is humble and a little charming and Cat rolls her eyes, determined to not be affected.

“So you just like wasting your money on the wrong drinks?”

“I’m a singer, any money I have is considerably finite and usually doesn’t have more than one zero attached to a number when you try to count it, so believe me when I say it’s not a waste if I get the opportunity to buy you a drink and...wow. Oh, wow,” The girl raises a hand to hide a faint laugh behind lips and long fingers, “I'm so sorry, that sounded like an awful come on. I mean...hit on.” Blonde brows knit a little like she’s trying to think of what the phrase might be, “That's not how I meant it, really. I just mean that I...have a feeling about you. That that's your drink, and I'd be honored to be right.”

Cat bites the edge of her cheek to hide a smile because this girl doesn't seem all that worried about it sounding like a flirt, at all. And it's open and free and careless in a way she hasn't felt since France--maybe a little intoxicating, even--and a reporter leans into it just as much as a woman does, a husk of a near-flirting laugh of her own on the edge of smiling lips.

“You look so excited I'd almost hate to tell you it isn't.” Cat offers, eyes bright and the girl just leans a little closer, almost knowingly.

“That's because I'm right, isn't it? Not because you're throwing me a bone.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself for a girl who only gets 10% right.”

“I sound awfully sure of myself for someone who got yours right.” The girl challenges and Cat, most surprisingly to herself, laughs, and doesn't understand why this stranger looks so fond at the sight of it.

But hell if this girl doesn’t just look like...that type, too. The rare breed of person to just be happy that someone else is happy--how nauseating and naive and something Cat decidedly does not have time for--and she should really just roll eyes and turn away and order something else in an utter powerplay.

So no one is more further surprised than Cat, herself, that when the drink is set in front of her with a faint clink, she tucks it up with knowing fingers and sure eyes, not looking away from blue the moment her lips curl around the rim of a glass,.

“If you start to sound pompous I'm going to push you out of that stool and strut right on out of here.” Cat threatens but the girl just smiles that quiet, happy smile and drums her fingers along the edge of a bar with a laugh. “If there’s one thing I hate more than out-of-season clothes, it’s I-told-you-so’s .”

“I'm not that kind of girl, promise. I'm just glad I was right.”

“And what's yours?” Eyes slit a little in mirth, “Something fruity?”

“Oh, uh...I don’t really drink.” The girl laughs, nose barely scrunching as she leans up, hand sliding just a little closer to Cat’s wrist.

“The first person in Metropolis that wants to be sober onstage. You don’t sound very fun at a karaoke party.”

“My sister,” The girl leans forward like she’s telling her a great secret--an amazing talent--like she might be able to fly or go faster than a speeding bullet, “ Happens to tell me that I put the Kara in kara-oke. Which is my name. Kara. I think she said that anyways, once. That I was good with karaoke, not...my name. Though she’s said it several times and--I should...really shut up.”

“Probably.” Cat smiles, “You’re a little flighty, aren’t you.”

“Very. Sorry,” The girl--Kara’s, Cat cements the name deep in her chest--lips perk up a little bit, “Performance high. So, um...I see you’re going theWorking Girl route? That’s a nice briefcase.”

“Ah, yes. It’s horrible and unfashionable but, men’s world,” Cat hums, finger running along the rim of a glass as she plucks an olive, popping it in her mouth. There's no small amount of pleasure when she sees Kara follows every inch of its descent.

“Well, you make it look fashionable. But something tells me you’re the kind of woman that could do that with a paper bag. Hey, um--hey Scott?” The girl leans over the bar, adjusting glasses with a thousand watt smile that makes Cat’s hand still along the glass, a hint of a smile tucking the corners of her lips. “Can I get a club soda?”

“Oh, for you Danvers? How about I pull the moon down, huh? I’ll fly on up there and get it, myself.” She laughs a little too loud, swatting his arm.

“Hah, Scott. You kidder. Like people can fly. Anyways um,” Kara clears her throat, shifting to lean back on a stool, flashing her own thousand-watt towards Cat with a small shake of a head, thumb pointing back towards the bartender who immediately moves to fill the glass, “Kidder. So...work around here, or in town on business?”

“Both. I actually work for the Daily Planet but...I’ve been going out of town on meetings.” Cat would normally leave it at that and she must just be surprised that the girl hasn’t seen the press releases, already--because every other rag seems intent on turning into paparazzi about her, lately, teeth at the woman who’s biting the hand that fed her to try to start a company in the same field--but there’s something almost warm and familiar in that sunny smile when she leans forward, like Kara’s fully intent to hang on her every word. It’s a little intoxicating. Maybe she'll have a room of people looking at her that way, someday. For right now, she's happy for that room to be one small, unknowing girl. “I’m starting my own company.”

“Oh, wow. Your own company? That’s amazing. I was kidding about the Working Girl thing earlier, but it seems like a good look. What do you do?”

“I’m a journalist.”

“Oh. I um...I used to think I wanted to be a journalist.” A hand waves and there's a hint of sadness at the edges of her eyes, like there's a lifetime of stories she doesn't voice with one single word, “I’m a much better singer. I’ve always admired people that stick to it.”

“I would think singing would be harder than journalism.” Cat curiously notes.

“Well I haven’t actually made it, if you haven’t noticed. I just sing here at nights and...around at a few clubs. A few private events. With journalism, you…” There’s almost a wistful sigh, there, and Cat can't remember the last person who actually still believed in anything with such a calm little hopeful smile. “You make a difference. You help people--”

“When you’re actually allowed to write about something that makes a difference.” Cat cuts off and she misses having that sense of utter devotion and delusion in the girl’s eyes. Cat used to have it once. The business was quick to suck it out of her in a few short years. Now her wrists were all bones and no meat (a fact that unfortunately delights her mother) and her heart is usually a scratching little pitter patter that she isn't even sure is there, anymore. She used to marvel at how tall the buildings were, now she spends nights wondering how long it would take for all of them to set fire. But, really, she hasn't lost anything. She's just become a realist. “They’ve had me on gossip for the past two years. I cut my way up from myknuckles at that job.” A huff out of her nose, “I was an assistant, you know. Very undignified work--”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think assistants are important.” Kara hedges, hand raising up to shuffle glasses.

“Not when all you do is sling coffee.” Cat snipes, “And then I got my shot. I was so...excited. And even if it was just in fashion I figured I would work my way up, so I did...up to the gossip section. And gossip? It’s like the epitome of high school, only I’m the bitch behind everyone’s backs sharing their worst secrets. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy spreading the truth, but it just feels...so pointless. It’s like I’m still working fashion, only wondering about where these celebrities drop their Loubiton heels when they hop into bed instead of just talking about the heels. I mean, yes, Demi’s heels looked fabulous last week and she's likely sleeping with that idiot but who the fuck cares when we’re sitting on a political precipice, teetering on the edge of war with--” And this Kara girl is looking at her with something close to fondness in her eyes, sipping on this club soda that’s magically appeared, chin resting on knuckles as she watches her. And Cat realizes she has no idea how long she's even been talking. “What?”

“Nothing I just--” Kara laughs a little and looks away and when she looks back, Cat gets the distinct impression that there might be something more, though she has no earthly clue what.

“Are you okay?” Cat's not sure why she even asks--what about this girl has compelled her--and when blue eyes give her their sole attention, again, her skin burns and a tongue darts out over dry lips to keep from catching fire, herself.

“You’re just so...passionate about your job. It’s a little fascinating. I don’t mean to stare, it’s just...it’s nice. To see a woman that passionate and I--I’m sorry what...what did you say your name was?” Kara sounds almost a little pressing--almost a little breathless --and Cat shakes it off.

“I didn’t.” Cat’s smile spreads and this girl laughs, something small and quiet and almost secret as her fingers curve around a glass, leaning down to shake her head before looking back up and her eyes are so blue Cat’s ashamed to admit, for a moment--just a moment--she might forget whatever the hell her parents called her when she popped out of the womb, ready to take on the world.

Probably because her mother has always called her Kitty.

“Oh, well that explains me not knowing it.” Kara’s teeth tuck up the corner of her lip, “So...Ms... Secret, if you’re so unhappy with journalism...something tells me you’re not the type of person to take that sitting down. Is that what your company is?”

“Almost. It’s...not much, right now.” Cat admits, hand wistfully swirling the drink, eyes flicking out to a familiar city for only a breath before turning back, “But it’s the idea of something more.”

“An idea is a powerful thing.” Kara smiles, “Hope is even more powerful. You should never lose it.”

“Well…” Cat shakes her head, opening her mouth to instantly protest and suddenly fingers are around her wrist and she stills, looking up into sincere, smiling eyes, that gaze intense and so serious that she suddenly doesn’t feel like they’re in the corner of a bar, at all.

“No, I mean it.” Kara runs a thumb along her pulse and Cat’s shoulders stiffen, breath quivering against her lips, but the singer is seemingly oblivious and Cat, for once, doesn’t even begin to know how to look away, “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.”

“And who said that?” Cat’s eyebrows arch.

“Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.”

“Well the last thing I expected from a not- jazz singer at a rundown bar in the middle of nowhere was a Faust quote.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that that sounded very much like a back-handed insult and go back to inspiring you, thank you very much.” The girl snipes and Cat smirks because there’s apparently a little bit of backbone hidden behind that dazzling, charming smile, after all.

“You don’t even know what my company is.” Cat points out.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re passionate, and you look like you’re someone who wants to change the world and you can. You can change the world. An idea--a single person--a driven, passionate person, can change the world. Someone told me, once, that hope is one of the most important things someone can cling to. And it doesn’t matter if you’re...you’re a fashion journalist or a gossip rag or a woman trying to change the world on her own, you can do it, if you believe in yourself--and believe in helping people--they’ll believe in you. So you look like someone worth believing in.”

It’s an impassioned speech and Cat watches her--enraptured, now, by the way hair hangs in front of blue eyes and memorizes the feeling of fingers curling around a wrist--and...smiles, fascinated.

“That person sounds very wise. Who--”

“She was, I think.” There’s a hint of a nervous laugh and when Kara removes her fingers, Cat’s not sure her wrist has ever felt quite so cold. “A...very powerful woman who I had the pleasure of knowing for a little while. But I, um...it’s the damndest thing,” Her eyes skim along the edge of the bar, brows knitting for a moment, “I can’t remember her name.”

“Maybe the club soda is going to your head.” Cat offers and Kara’s smile is almost hauntingly sad at the edges, like a story waiting to be told and her fingers itch to tug out the pen from her briefcase and tell it.

It'd be a nice change of pace from gossip.

“You could help me out and tell me your name, instead. So I can learn something new to replace forgetting something old. Or,” She sighs a little bit, leaning back on the bar stool, “Leave me in misery and come back for another drink tomorrow, since I’m getting a very not-subtle cue over your shoulder--” Kara points and Cat laughs when she turns around to see a waving, very disgruntled man staring daggers and pointing to his watch, “That break time is up.”

“Come back tomorrow?” Cat’s eyebrows raise, “Trying to turn me into an alcoholic, Ms…” She remembers the bartender, finger flicking down to a club soda, “Danvers?”

“No, alcoholics don’t tip.” But her smile is charming and bright and Cat wonders just how long she can stay and listen to her sing without it being too creepy. “But since this one’s on me,” Blue eyes shoot a pointed look to the bartender, who shrugs, and Cat blinks in surprise, “The tipping doesn’t matter. I never turn down nice company and I would love to hear all about that business of yours, Ms...Secret.”

And with a small wink that’s all of the time Kara Danvers has, disappearing behind a backway door behind the stage and Cat waits until she’s on the forefront of it, a piano trilling through the distance and a laugh bubbling on Kara's lips when someone hoots her name as heels inevitably click along the small, red-lit stage. A little crowd has gathered in the front, Cat realizes, all practically swooning at her smile, and before she can think better of it, still-weary shoulders roll as the least powerful woman in Metropolis leans up to that bartender--Scott--and listens to Kara Danvers very effectively charm the hell out of the small lot of them.

“Scott,” Cat begs him forward, finger curling and he materializes with a charming smile, “Give me two more.”

“Going to stay awhile, eh?” And he looks almost knowing in a way that Cat detests, eyes slitting in response, “Hey, it’s alright. Why do you think there’s a crowd here, at all? She’s got charm in spades. Still want the same thing? She usually gets it wrong.”

“Actually…” And she thinks of the way Kara’s finger had curled along a glass after she’d ordered it, sharing a small smirk that's lost amidst the smoke and music, “Let’s try that first round, again.”

She doesn’t have to be on-air for a few more hours, anyways. She hardly needs the liquid courage but...maybe a little pep-sing won’t hurt.

So Cat leans back against this ratty little barstool and watches this Kara Danvers sing into a small little dingy club, and waits until their eyes meet to smile.

It’s nearly three AM when keys rattle and feet drag all across the room and a pillow is adamantly--adamantly--smothered over eyes before that body gets any ideas about waking her. The AC unit rattles and quivers like a smoker who went cold turkey and Alex Danvers is burning up-- dying --and the fact that they only have one bed is killing her. Because Kara radiates heat like she’s a fucking supernova and the last thing she wants after working a twelve-hour shift is to feel hot and sweaty while Kara shivers pitifully because apparently the world is cooler twenty years ago where the sun isn't nearly as bright.

Is it twenty years?

Alex doesn’t even know, anymore.

“Hey, Alex?” Kara’s voice is small as she snuggles into the small bed, comforters tugged over both of their heads the moment she has a chance, a grumble in response as a chin falls to rest on a collarbone. Alex moves to push her off--to take the little bit of her own space that she can--but Kara is adamant, and eventually a body sags, sighing as exhausted arms wrap around a waist.

Hot. She’s so hot , God. Alex is going to filet from the inside out and she tries to shove the indomitable weight off of her with a pitiful little shove until the small curl at the edge of her sister's voice gets to her, like it always does.

“What?” It’s a gruff groan underneath the unbearable weight of a pillow. She hadn’t even had money to cover it with a case when they bought it and she hasn’t bothered, since.

“I met someone, tonight.” It’s a whisper against the scratchy fabric of their comforter and Alex owlishly blinks underneath a mop of brown hair, pushing the pillow off.

“You meet a lot of people. All the time. And then you drag your feet all the way here and crawl into bed with me and pout about how you’re never going to get to tell anyone--”

“I think I knew her.” It’s barely a husk--it’s sad --and Alex eases up onto elbows at that, a hint of concern overriding the sleep there, covers slipping down both of their shoulders. The sleep and concern mix into a dangerous form of cocktail--worse than the whiskey half-empty by their bedside--and Alex doesn’t even feel the cool air, for a moment. Doesn't even feel the relief of being unburdened by sheets and heat because there's already a chill in her stomach.

“You think you--” A shaky breath, then, like Alex is desperately trying to reach for a word she can’t remember, a sweaty hand sliding up to brush the hair from Kara’s eyes so that she can see her, glad no glasses still her fingers’ descent. “You think you knew her?”

At least some things never change because her sister’s mouth practically unhinges the moment her lips open, a mess of jumbled symbols and furrowed brows trying to screw together a hasty sentence or five.

“She went to get a drink and I...got it for her, and I was right. And she looked so surprised and I remember thinking--it’s so...weird.” Kara swallows, like it seems so important, “To see her with her hair pulled back. And then I stopped and when she looked at me and smiled I just--I saw her. This...this flash. Like a memory, you know--like when sometimes...sometimes you know how we talk about looking at that corner of National City with that huge, unmarked building, before we left? How it feels familiar . But that was it. There was nothing else and she asked me if I was alright and I just--I just sat there Alex, because I tried to think of where I knew her from. When I knew her. I tried to think of what I...who I was. And then I realized that I can’t...I can’t remember anything other than us...us finding this apartment. And I can’t remember why we were looking or who we were and--”

“You...you don’t--” Alex stutters, suddenly not caring about the heat, at all, pulling Kara closer, like a suffocating weight is pressing down both of their shoulders and she doesn’t want her sister to bear it alone, “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I can’t remember, anymore.” Kara swallows, tears thick, a little more pressing--a little more frantic, “I can’t...I can’t remember anymore. Do you?”

“Hey,” Alex’s arms are fully around her in a second, tugging a small body into her arms and shuffling upwards so that shoulders rest against a tattered old wooden headboard, something they’d nailed together with scrap from around the corner. Kara had stained it dark brown like something out of a magazine, but it always looked like it was out of a different time zone, here--like it was out of a magazine that hasn’t become fashionable, yet--but Alex didn’t care, because this was their home. This was their small little slice of life. Kara had beamed, eyes bright and blue like she loved painting--like she was used to painting; like stain had a habit of getting underneath her nails--and had tackled Alex onto the bed with a happy, carefree laugh like they were kids wrestling underneath a blanket fort in a house neither of them remembered.

It’s like home! Remember, we always talked about moving out and getting our own apartment and it’d be sort of bad like Rent without, you know, the...um...Aids. But we’d have a steady income and a place to live and each other and, well, two out of three isn’t bad, right? We can make this work.

Kara had been breathless and happy but her eyes looked so sad. They're getting sadder by the day.

We can make this work, Alex. We can’t give up, now. We can’t--

And Alex might not remember why Kara had said that anymore, either. It's not a good realization to wake up to.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Alex whispers against her brow and Kara buries her nose into a neck, blinking away tears as fingers curl into shoulders. “It’s okay .”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember, Alex. I feel like I know her, like...like I really know her and I don’t--”

“Shh.” Alex’s lips brush over her temple again and again, eyes lingering outside the window. “We’ll...we’ll remember. Maybe we’ll…” Her breath quiets as Kara sobs and Alex holds her, head thunking inelegantly back into that same old ratty headboard, tears blinding her vision.

A siren sounds outside and her breath quivers as it leaves, swallowing down as she holds her...sister. Her sister. Her sister who stiffens like she wants to run out into the night and save the world with her bullheadedness and determination, alone, and Alex won’t leave her side.

That might be all she remembers, but...she feels like it’s not the first time her sister’s been all Alex has, and it won’t be the last, and she can do this. Probably.

Be the strong one. She’s got this on lock.

“...remember. Maybe we’ll remember. Maybe we’re just...stressed or...tired or...maybe we’ll remember. We have to remember.”

And fuck it, they’re in this battered down apartment with no heat or food and Kara is warm and sobbing and it’s fucking depressing, so Alex cries, too.

It doesn’t really matter that she doesn’t know why.

“Hey,” Alex asks the important question after they’re both cried out, Kara resting on her shoulder, head peaceful over a quiet heart in a way that lets her know a super ear is listening to the comfort and familiarity of it with every skip and beat. “...was she cute?”

Kara shoves her shoulder and they laugh and curl together on their small little bed, AC rattling to a stop like it’s committed some kind of appliance--is an HVAC unit even an appliance?--suicide. They both fall asleep, like that, Kara shivering and Alex tugging up the comforter over them both despite the sweat that clings to her neck.

In the bleary hours of the morning, all of their curtains drawn wide open (that being one solitary curtain above the dead-ass-AC) Kara drags over their small, shoe-sized television to the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged on the floor. An impatient hand smacks it three times before it works and Kara turns a knob to flick through static channels until they find a half-clear image that neither one of them feel some freaky kind of deja vu towards.

It’s the news. That's all they've got left, the news and old reruns of gameshows.

“So--” Kara shoves a mouthful of cereal into her mouth, seeming to have no qualms about speaking through it as Alex shrugs on a shirt, frowning down at her bra because the wire’s snapped and she’s definitely going to have to buy another one, soon, whenever they get enough cash to spare. Which apparently is now, Kara beaming up at her as she tosses her a wad of dollar bills.

Under the table. Always under the table.

“Big money, there, lil’ sis. You’re not sleeping with anyone, right? Because that’s a lot of--”

Kara sputters, bowl lowering with a look of indignation and Alex raises her hands in surrender. “Alex! Hey, come on. Like anyone would even--who would even--no!” Her cheeks are flame-red and Alex might find a little bit too much joy in it, wagging her eyebrows until Kara throws a nearby book at her head.

“You’re right, no one would pay you for that bedside manner you bed hog--woah, hey! Hey! Stop throwing stuff, I’ll stop, I’ll stop--” Alex catches the second book with a stuck-out tongue and stops before Kara can threaten to flush all of the alcohol out of the apartment, again. They have a silent agreement, after all. Alex can still buy booze. Kara can still buy books. And as long as Alex drinks all of the booze before Kara can find it she can be a happy alcoholic.

(It's not much of an agreement.)

And occasionally, at night, they’ll spend all of their money at the radioshack across the street for a drawer full of techno-babble for something they don’t even understand, anymore. But old habits die hard.

Another siren and Kara looks down at her milk with sad eyes.

Some old habits die harder than others.

“Hey,” Alex crosses the distance and squats down in front of her, smile spreading and kind, ruffling blonde locks until blue skitters up like a strained, lagging piece of string tied to the end of a car. But Kara smiles, anyways. She always smiles. “What if...what if we go out and canvas, tonight? Like old times.”

“Really?” Kara perks up at that, eyes too full of hope for Alex to think of doing anything else, now, like she's unknowingly lit that string on fire. “I can totally still keep a low-profile and--”

“I know, I know. But no big events, Kara. Remember. We can’t--”

“Change history.” And there’s something in her eyes at that, a quiet question on her lips, “How long...how long until you think we don’t even remember that, Alex? What if we already did it?”

“I don’t know.” Alex admits, shrugging, standing back up to slide into pants. “We could always just...keep writing notes to ourselves. Like Momento without all of the shooting.”

“Great, I can’t remember names, but I remember Memento .” Kara flops backwards, cereal bowl rumbling a little as her shoulders hit the bed. “How long until work?”

“I’ve got about an hour to go down there. Hopefully no one cancelled on me, this time. I mean...do you remember phones? Do you remember how nice cell phones are? Not some huge brick that I want to bash my face in with that rich people walk all around the street with--”

“Not really sure we could afford it, anyways, Alex.”

“Yeah, well.” Her hands flick the button, strapping it through jeans that make her look like fucking Jesse Spano and Kara pats her hip in sympathy. “I’ll be back later. Volunteering?”

“You bet.” Kara beams and Alex leans down to kiss her forehead, tugging keys up and hiding a gun underneath her ankle. Some habits definitely die hard. “Gonna come see me, later?”

Teasing and smirking and gladly not having to duck another book:

“You bet.”

An hour later Alex finds out that her job did cancel and she really fucking hates not having a cell phone, feet dragging up every single flight of their shitty apartment complex’s stairs, kicking open the door with a huff. She’s mid-rant about this very fact when she catches sight of Kara sitting there, their small little tv tugged up into her lap like she’s found the goddamned holy grail, eyes wide and spoon hanging out of her mouth.

“Aaaand you’re dead. Is this poltergeist? Did you--”

Kara waves a hand like the maestra of trying to shut her sister the fuck up, Alex slowly coming across rickety floorboards to squat down next to wide eyes.

It’s still the news, but now there’s some fresh-faced reporter on the screen, brought on as a consultant, and Kara slaps her shoulder three times--that’ll bruise--with a mouthful of cheerios and milk, flailing hands towards the screen, nearly spitting it out before she must remember to swallow and breathe.

“Holy crap-balls!”

“Well...that’s a new one. What even is a crapball and--what? What? Jesus-fuck, Kara, stop hittin--” Alex snaps up to grab her sister’s erratic hands, brows knitting as she leans forward to see...blonde hair and sharp eyes and…

Huh. She does look a little familiar. She looks... really familiar.

Hell if Alex knows why.

“That’s her!” Kara coughs a little, shoving her bowl of cereal (probably like the fifth bowl since she left--they probably need more cereal, now, another thing they can't afford) into Alex’s lap, shuffling close to the small little television, hands cupping it as she practically presses her nose against it. Alex, for her part, just starts eating the cereal because that’s the only likelihood, now, that she’ll get any of the food from their apartment before Kara can get it first. “That’s her.” Kara says a little quieter.

“So you think you know her?”

“I know I do.”

“Cat…” Alex squints, trying to read the small little pixelated scroll at the bottom of the screen, popping up underneath an insistent face. It’s a little hard to read through her sister’s shoulder. “Grant?”

“Talking about women’s rights, too. That seems like something she’d be all about and--wow, her hair is longer, isn’t it? I can tell now that it’s down and...and--oh. Oh, no .” Kara’s hand snaps up to her mouth, tv resting against knees. “Oh, no no no. ”

“What?” Alex’s eyes slit, bowl dropping as she takes in familiar blue, very, very guilty eyes. “ What .”

“I think…” Kara winces and lowers her hands and offers the smallest little half-shouldered, sheepish shrug. “I think I, um…” A cleared throat, “I might be a little into her?”

Alex just sighs. Because she feels like she doesn’t like that at all and from the look on her sister’s face Kara knows and it’s suddenly way, way too late for this, even if it’s morning.

“I’m going back to bed.”

She takes the cereal with her despite the very indignant squeal from the floor-- hey! --before Kara just turns back towards the tv, a frown settled on her face. It’s not like the bed is far away from the television, anyways. It’s not like their apartment is larger than a cat’s litterbox.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Alex crawls back under the covers before she remembers that it’s way too hot for them, shoving them away and eating a few more spoonfuls. Kara plops onto her legs like a restless, overzealous dog, plucking up the bowl from where it was left off the moment Alex stops. “Stop thinking about doing something really fucking stupid. I hear it. I hear you thinking stupid things.”

“Pfft…” Kara murmurs and Alex just throws the cover over a blonde head, instead, ignoring the way it bobs with another spoonful (her sister has great priorities) before it's tugged away. “I totally won’t.” Alex even pretends to not hear the mumbled probably that follows that statement as her breath evens amongst the soft chatter of a spoon in a bowl and Cat Grant’s voice, certain and even (and young?) in their small apartment.

Cat...Grant?

She tries not to focus on the thought that they’re fucked when she doesn’t even know why. She might even be good at it, until she squints an eye open and sees Kara looking at that screen with so much lost, raw admiration that Alex’s stomach ties itself into knots.

Nope, nope, they’re definitely fucked. Low profile her ass.

“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you.” Alex groans into the pillow when she feels the bed dip and the bowl deposited in the sink, a happy kiss presses on the top of a comforter-jostled as keys jangle.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Kara chirps before the front door slams and Alex flops onto her back, sighing at their ceiling, the little AC finding this the perfect moment to rattle to life for all of two seconds before sputtering to a complete stop.

“Oh yeah,” She commiserates, reaching for that bottle of whiskey and glaring when she finds it’s suddenly empty, her sister probably draining the last of it down the sink, “We’re fucked.”

#supercat #kara danvers/cat grant #supergirl #ff #ff: sc #ff: time drift #ff: time drift ch 1 #I'm q-ing this too

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

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Entwined: Family Outtakes Ch. 1

Summary: A collection of family-centered outtakes from the Entwined series. Enjoy some touching moments as we get a peek into the lives of Emma, Killian, Hook, and their three children as they grow and find their stride as a family in the peaceful town of Storybrooke.

Rating: G - T (to be safe)

AO3 - FF

Some SwanRook fluff and happiness inspired by and dedicated to @teamhook

Chapter One: All The Small Moments

“Hey, hey!” Emma called, coffee mug sloshing to the counter as she darted across the kitchen after the two kids barreling through the front door, snatching the two brown bags waiting on the tabletop. “Don't forget your lunches!”

“Oh – ” Henry spun around first, a distracted look on his face as hopped back up the stairs, his gaze lingering on the screen of his phone as he took the bag she waved back and forth in front of him. “Thanks, mom.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Emma smiled, wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair as she'd done so many times before, but at fourteen, it was gesture he didn't find nearly as endearing as he used to.

Alice strolled back to the house at a more sedate pace – for being a year younger than Henry, she was always a bit more restrained, and Emma couldn't help but wonder if it was still her uncertainty in this new realm, or just all the space that she wasn't quite used to having. Both thoughts made her chest tighten. Emma offered the paper bag with a smile, relieved when Alice returned it with one of her own.

It was more reserved then the beaming, open grins that she gave her Papa, and not quite as free as the ones she shared with Killian – especially when he did something silly to make her laugh – but it was a smile all the same, and Emma counted each one as another victory against the witch who'd left her daughter to be imprisoned in a tower.

“Thanks, Emma,” Alice murmured, her smile widening just enough that it finally reached her eyes before she turned and hurried after Henry, her son already holding out his phone to show her whatever was catching his attention as they shared the walk to school.

Emma tugged her cardigan more snugly around her waist and headed back into the house, her own smile lingering as she mopped coffee from the counter and thought about picking up bear claws to bring into the station – Killian's sweet tooth wasn't as bad as hers, but even he'd picked up her habit of enjoying pastries in the morning, though Hook still mostly turned up his nose at the sugary confections.

The house was quiet, Hook and Killian down at the docks helping Leroy get his boat into the dry dock and prepared for winter storage, and Emma could only just hear the sound of Henry's video games filtering through his closed door from upstairs. Alice was probably reading or painting in her own room, and for the first time in what had been a hectic week at the station, she found herself able to take a long breath and relax.

The chill outside was just bitter enough that it made its way into the house through the old windows, and she found herself boiling water for hot cocoa, humming something softly to herself as she found her favorite mug – most likely a tune she'd picked up from one of her boys – and got out the whipped cream and cinnamon.

“What are you doing?”

Emma jumped, grateful it was only the whipped cream that fell to the floor and not a mug of hot cocoa, a smile pulling at her cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ears and bent to pick it up.

“Sorry,” Alice muttered, shifting from the balls of her feet to her toes as she took in the whipped cream and cup. “Are you making hot cocoa?”

“Yup,” Emma grinned, “it's the perfect day for it – you know what else it's the perfect day for?”

“What?” Alice took a few more steps into the kitchen, casting her gaze around the room to see if she'd missed anything else.

“Cookies!” Emma sang triumphantly, reaching back into the fridge and pulling out a canister of the ready-to-bake chocolate chip version.

She'd noticed a while ago that on days like this, the ones where the house was empty – Henry wrapped up in whatever game or book he was stuck on, the fishing season keeping Hook busy at the harbor, and Killian and Emma working separate shifts – that the quiet seemed to get to Alice a little more, to creep up the stairs to the third floor and ruin the happiness she'd found in painting or reading.

It was something Emma remembered from her time in the system as a kid – Am I alone? Is anyone coming back? Can I trust the quiet – and she'd wanted to find one way she could remind Alice that here at least, in this house, the quiet was just that, and that she was never alone – not anymore.

Cookies had seemed like a good option. Emma definitely wasn't a baker, but even she could manage a canister of prepackaged dough, and the thought of the kitchen smelling like baking cookies seemed like just the homey type of thing they could both appreciate. No one bakes cookies when they're the only one to enjoy them.

“Those are cookies?” Alice questioned as she eyed the tube suspiciously, an eyebrow cocked in such a way that Emma's heart skipped a beat, the gesture mimicking her father so closely.

“Well, this world's version of them, at least...or maybe my version.” Emma rolled the canister in her hands, perusing the very simple instructions she was sure she couldn't mess up. “So, how about it, want to make some cookies with me? They'll go perfect with hot cocoa...”

“Yes!” Alice enthused, nodding her head vigorously and giving Emma one of those smiles that were coming a little easier each day. “Cookies sound great, Emma.”

“Alright, kid, let's find a baking sheet and...”

The afternoon drifted away, the noise spreading from the kitchen as Emma and Alice wrangled cookie sheets and mugs to the second floor as Henry won his game with a whoop and nearly galloped down the stairs to see what they were up to.

By the time both Hook and Killian strolled in from work, everything was far less quiet than it had been that morning. They stopped in the doorway to soak up the cozy view of their family gathered around the coffee table – mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of half eaten cookies spread among the deck of cards that neither of them recognized.

“Uno!” screeched Alice, slapping her card down on the table hard enough to make the mugs skitter, her knees bouncing with excitement against the floors.

“How did you get all the wilds?” Henry moped, eyeing the piles of cards as if he was going to spot some form of trickery. “Is this deck stacked?”

“It's just Uno, kid,” Emma consoled, her hand darting out to muss his hair as he leaned dramatically away, swatting her off. “I'm pretty sure you can't stack the deck.”

“Oh, I don't know, darling,” Hook mused as he shed his boots and both he and Killian joined everyone in the family room, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips as she smiled up at him, “a pirate always finds a way.”

Emma waited nervously outside the school, Henry barely pausing to give her a lopsided hug before taking off with his friend Jake for a weekend of video games, junk food, and boy jokes that Emma was perfectly happy to miss out on for once.

She kicked the light blanket of snow aimlessly beneath her boots, watching as the kids filtered out, joining other waiting parents or heading down the streets toward home by themselves. It didn't take long before she spied a familiar head of long blonde hair, her blue beanie pulled low over her ears, hands tucked inside the grey pea jacket she'd picked out herself.

“Alice!” Emma called, waving her over, her stomach only churning a little as Alice paused in confusion before jogging to her side – Emma wincing as she nearly slipped and fell on an icy patch before finally arriving in one piece.

This was the first time she was walking Alice back to the house instead of Hook, but he hadn't been feeling well, and Emma had insisted he stay home in bed while she went, reminding him that the break from the station would be nice. Alice was probably old enough to find her own way back, but neither Hook nor Alice seemed ready for that, and after everything they'd gone through, Emma wasn't about to judge him for still needing the assurance that his daughter was safe and sound – and though Alice was almost a teenager, she'd spent enough of her life alone.

“Emma!” Alice trilled, her words a puff of smoke in the cold air, “I didn't know you'd be walking me home today.”

“Your Papa isn't feeling so hot, so I told him to stay home while I came to get you. I hope that was okay,” she explained, biting back the sinking disappointment that maybe for Alice it wasn't, instead focusing on staying in step with her...step-daughter, she supposed...as they headed back toward home.

“I'm actually really glad you came today,” Alice confided, looking up at her shyly before turning her gaze back to the sidewalk stretching out before them. “I wanted to ask...well, is it okay if I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Emma stammered, brow furrowing as she wondered what Alice could possibly want to know – hoping it was something she could answer without needing to run it by Hook first. “Shoot, kid.”

“Shoot?”

“Sorry, that just means go ahead, ask away – you can talk to me about anything, Alice. I hope you know that...”

It was more of an offering than she would normally give someone, but Alice wasn't just someone. She was family – and Emma had stopped bringing up her walls for family a long time ago. If there was anything she wanted Alice to understand, it was that she wasn't just a part of Hook's family, and by extension, herself and Henry and Killian's, but that they were all in this together – all five of them.

She wanted her to know she was cared for, that she was loved.

“Yeah, I know that,” Alice murmured, her cheeks reddened by the cold beneath her hat, “and, well, I really don't want to ask Papa about this...what if you like someone, Emma. How do you get them to like you back?”

“Oh, well that's...” Emma faltered, suddenly less cheerful about the fact that Alice was opening up to her. She'd never had these kind of conversations with Henry – other than the one time in Camelot – but it hadn't been like this, not really. This was...this was something else entirely, and Emma didn't even have any memories of someone else having them with her to fall back on. “That's kind of a complicated one, but what's most important is understanding that someone should like you for who you already are. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of,” Alice hedged, her lips drawing into a thin line as her jaw clenched, another reminder of her father and Killian, “but what if, what if they wouldn't normally like someone like you?”

“Alice, Emma spoke, her voice soft but serious as she stopped and waited for the young girl next to her to look up. “You are brave, and smart, and fierce – and I've never met someone who's been through so much and still has the kindest, most trusting heart. Don't think you ever need to change, or pretend to be someone else just to get a boy to like you. Because if they don't see how great you are, they're crazy.”

Unwanted memories of Neal flickered through her head, memories of being scared and terrified and so desperate to not be alone that she overlooked every red flag that had popped up in that relationship.

“It's not...” Alice whispered, nibbling on the edge of her lip as she looked up at Emma with a furrowed brow. “What if it's not a boy? What if I like a girl, and I wished she liked me back?”

“Oh, well, the same rules apply,” Emma shrugged, “you just remember to always be yourself, and one day someone will come along who loves you for exactly who you are – boy, girl, it doesn't matter.”

“Did you ever like someone who didn't like you back?”

“Oh, for sure. Devon Sawa, for starters – I had it bad for him.”

“And he didn't like you back?”

“Didn't even know I existed,” Emma deadpanned, remembering flipping through the pages of a teen magazine at the bodega before the owner had yelled at her and run her out, “but you'll probably meet a lot of people that you like, kid, and sometimes, there will be people who like you, but you don't feel the same way about them.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“When it's right, you'll know it, because you'll look at each other and just know that there's something special there, something different – something worth fighting for.”

“You think?” Alice whispered, her lips pulling into a grin that Emma was slowly getting used to seeing more of.

“I sure do,” Emma nodded, ruffling Alice's beanie before offering her a gloved hand. “Come on, this section of the sidewalk is solid ice up ahead – let's try to get home in one piece.”

“No one cleaned it? You'll have to give them a ticket,” Alice advised, the rest of their conversation veering into territories Emma felt she had a better grip on – homework, and the day's lessons, and what was happening for dinner – it was lasagna, Granny's doing.

And as Alice chattered on about plans to invent a recipe that had at least one thing everyone in the family liked in it, it hit Emma that there was a time topics like homework and what was for dinner had felt pretty daunting too, and she thought that just maybe she was better suited to this parenting thing than she'd ever thought possible.

“Henry! Alice! Come on, guys!” Emma yelled, doubling back into the kitchen and snatching the brown paper bags from the table before hollering up the stairs at Killian and Hook to hurry up – everyone seemed distracted by something this morning.

The door slammed behind her as she jogged down the stairs and whistled sharply, Henry's head whipping around before he realized what they'd forgotten and headed back, tugging on Alice's sleeve to get her attention.

Alice pulled the headphones from her ears and looked back towards the house, watching as Emma strode toward them with the two bag lunches swinging in her hand.

“Thanks, mom,” Henry smiled, putting some extra twinkle into it since he knew everyone in the house was already running late for their day – and Emma had already mentioned more than once she had new office staff in to train that morning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffed, unable to keep her frown up as Henry flashed her a grin and one of the bags disappeared from her hand, Alice's fingers reaching and tugging the second free.

“Yup, thanks, mum!” Alice echoed, already moving to plug her headphones back into her ears before her hand paused in midair, an uncertain set to her lips as she turned and met Emma's eyes. “Is that...is it okay if I call you...”

“Hey,” Emma reassured, reaching her arms around the young girl and giving her a tight squeeze, her own eyes tearing up as she pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. “I would love if you called me mom.”

“I've never had a mum,” she whispered, eyebrows lifting as she tried to stifle the wide smile that was threatening to break over her face, “but I've always wanted one.”

“Well, you've got me now, kid. You know, I didn't have a mom either – or a family at all when I was your age – but then I found them.”

“Henry and Killian.”

“And your Papa, and you, Alice.”

“I like that a lot,” she nodded, “that we'll always be together – all of us.”

Emma nodded in agreement, stepping back as Alice tucked the headphones back into her ears, waving a shy goodbye as she hurried to catch up with Henry, who over the past year and half had become more and more of a brother to her.

“Is everything alright, love?” Killian asked, his hand settling onto the small of her back as she watched the kids round the corner ahead.

“Yeah,” she rasped, the word falling a little harshly from her lips as she cleared her throat and swallowed heavily, her eyes burning. “Everything's great.”

She turned at the sound of familiar footsteps, Hook stopping to join them. Both men were sharing identical looks of concern as they took in the glistening at the corner of her eyes, the way her smile was a little less steady than normal.

“What is it?” Hook worried, his gaze flickering to Killian to confirm that he was just as in the dark. “Is everything well with Alice and Henry?”

“Alice just asked if she could call me mom,” Emma beamed, swiping halfheartedly at the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. “I just thought – ”

Her breath flew from her in a rush as Hook swooped her into his arms, nearly crushing her against his chest as Killian leaned against them to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I had a feeling she'd get there soon,” he murmured into her hair as Hook wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I've seen the way she adores you, looks up to you.”

“It's just been so long since you became Dad to both of them,” she stammered, turning in Hook's arms so she could rest against his chest, her fingers wrapping with Killian's as he beamed at the memory. “I just kind of figured she was more comfortable having me just be...Emma.”

“Oh, love,” Hook murmured against her, his lips pressing soft kisses into her skin, “You've never been just anything. She only needed to get there in her own time – to realize it wasn't biology that makes a mother, but being there for all of the small moments.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, sweeping Emma into his arms the moment Hook let her go, the three of them overjoyed at the family moment that felt like such a huge step. “She's lucky to have a mother like you, Emma, as is Henry.”

Emma couldn't help the happy tears that started every now and then throughout the day, those memories that belonged to a little girl sitting alone on a bed – alone in a house that didn't want her – washed away by how full and meaningful her life had become.

END

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#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #sailtoafarawayland #entwined #love4teamhook #swanrook #emma swan #killian jones #wish hook #with appearances by henry mills

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pain-somnia · 4 years

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All Our Yesterdays [ch.1]

Fandom: That ‘70s Show Pairing(s): Jackie/Hyde, Buddy/Fez, Donna/Eric Rating: M Disclaimer: This story will utilize characters and situations that are the copyright of The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC . tomaday is in no way associated with the creator or producers of That '70s Show and no copyright infringement is intended. Obviously this is a fanfic meant solely for the entertainment of the fanfic author and (hopefully) it’s readers. Summary: After the events of "Street Fighting Man", Jackie and Hyde wish more than anything that things had happened differently.The next morning, they wake up in the past, on the morning of Vanstock where Jackie promptly makes one dream come true. They are not together—but, soon enough, one change snowballs into another... Day’s Notes: the notes for this fic are too large for for a tumblr post. they can be found in the links for FanFic and AO3. I hope you enjoy :) FF | AO3

chapter one: a sharp left in a different direction

Something was off. Completely and totally off.

Usually after a night of crying Jackie woke up with a headache. She couldn’t complain that she woke up nice and breezy, body relaxed as if nothing had ever happened. As if she didn’t cry more tears over a boy that called their future “crap.”

The sooner the pain hurt less, the easier everything would be. The easier it would be to compartmentalize her feelings for Steven Hyde and put them in a box inside of herself to be hidden just like her “Steven Box” was hidden in her closet.

Stretching her arms up over her head, Jackie froze and stared at her bare arm. Last night she had put on her favorite comfy flannel pajamas, the perfect set for when she wanted to feel warm and safe. Certain outfits were just as practical as they were cute.

But she hadn’t woken up wearing her cute flannel pajamas that were perfect for winter nights.

Why am I in my nightgown? Jackie sat up and examined her torso. Wait! Where are my—?

Jackie screamed in frustration as she clutched at her breasts—or the lack of them. She was small with slight curves, but they were perfect! Perfectly shaped and round not these small barely formed lumps she hadn’t had since she was fifteen.

For the second time since she woke up she froze. Taking a deep breath she turned to slide out of bed and put on her fuzzy slippers. She stared at her feet, eyeing the old slippers she used when she was a sophomore before they had to be replaced.

“What the hell is going on?” Jackie huffed as she examined her nightstand. Why would she have a photograph of Michael Kelso by her bed? Just last night she had gone to bed with a couple shot of her and Steven face down as it had been since she had broken up with him weeks prior.

She clutched at her hair, tightening her fingers around the curly locks. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breaths but it didn’t feel like she was taking in any oxygen. The pull on her roots hurt too much for her to still be sleeping. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mouthed a prayer to herself. She would open her eyes and everything would be back in its rightful place. It just had to be so.

Opening her eyes to the sight of her old purple suitcase with its matching traveling makeup case sitting by her bedroom door, Jackie screamed again.

She hadn’t seen that case since her sophomore year. The luggage set she used now was decidedly more adult—a lovely shade of carmine that was just right for her eighteen year old self.

I swear to God if my wardrobe isn’t up to date, heads are going to roll.

Jackie stomped to her closet and pushed through all of the cute clothes hanging in the proper color and seasonal order it was supposed to be in. The only problem was that most of her clothes, while super cute, were out of season for 1979. Most of them were trendy back in 1976 when she had first bought them.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jackie clutched her elbows and slid down her closet door. She didn’t even want to check the rest of her room. She didn’t need to look at her records to find out that the ones given to her by Steven were gone. She was sure if she dug through her closet she wouldn’t find a shoe box decorated and dedicated to hiding all of his notes and the ticket stubs from their dates and other keepsakes.

Lightly knocking her head back against her closet door repeatedly, Jackie let out an expletive worthy of Red Forman.

What was she going to do?

. .

The first person Jackie wanted to see was Steven. It angered her a little that no matter what he was the one her body, her mind, her soul would seek out. Just yesterday she had been crying her eyes out behind a pillar in public over him and yet now she was ready to run right to him.

Fate had it that the first person she did end up seeing was Fez of all people. As good of a friend as he was, she wasn’t as close to him as she was to Steven or Donna. He wouldn’t have been her first choice for comfort in a situation like this. Maybe if her hot rollers weren’t working properly, but not for finding out that she had slipped into some sort of crazy time rift and was now back in her fifteen year old body.

Great. And now she was sounding like dorky Eric, letting herself think about stuff like time travel.

Fez had come to walk with her to the Forman residence and to tote her luggage. Luckily for her, Fez wasn’t observant enough to recognize that her brain fog had anything to do with the fact that she wasn’t the Jackie he knew.

As if he would even know a thing about time travel or recognize it in a person.

He had fumbled through his explanation for why he was at her door, reminding her that she had called him the night before to help carry her stuff because she couldn’t have Michael picking her up or it would ruin her surprise.

Ugh. Jackie wrinkled her nose in disgust. Why couldn’t I have been sent to a time before I ever let Michael sleep with me?

Vanstock. Her first experience attending wouldn’t have been so awful had it not turned out that whorey Laurie had been sleeping with her first boyfriend while she had been dating him. It had tainted the memory of her good time.

Jackie had thought that the two of them could be really good friends considering they liked all of the same things. It was almost like having the missing half of what she wished Donna was like. All of the girly attributes that Donna just didn’t understand why they were so important.

The gang had all gone again the previous year in her original timeline and that was much better. But then again, she had spent the weekend with Steven and they had snuggled in his double sleeping bag. She had almost forgotten that they were sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

And with the reminder of Steven and their time together came the deep ache in her chest that was always present since she had broken up with him after the LOPP’s Christmas party. God, she missed him—missed them.

That was the one positive of the time travel. Yes it hurt, but her feelings for Steven were still there with her and her thoughts were her own despite being back in her underdeveloped fifteen year old body.

She wasn’t going to get over that. Applying her makeup on that morning had been frustrating each time she had to look at her rounder cheeks, still full of baby fat.

It’s a good thing I’m super cute no matter how old. Jackie turned her nose up at her own wandering thoughts. It was hard to focus on what was important when she couldn’t find the source of her problem.

At the moment all she could do was compartmentalize everything and create some order by what was a priority and by what she could actually fix within her own power.

Just because she was her fifteen year old self, it didn’t mean she had to live her fifteen year old self’s life. She was Jackie Burkhart and she got what she wanted when she wanted. And what she wanted was to not be that girl she was when she was sixteen.

It was a few weeks too soon but there was one matter she could take into her own hands right that moment. She just wished she had made her decision before Fez had carried her stuff all the way to the Formans’ house. Now she was going to be stuck taking it all back herself.

Going to Vanstock had seemed like a good idea when she had been faced with choosing between being with her friends or alone with her thoughts in an empty house. The housekeeper had been given the weekend off when her fifteen year old self had made the decision to surprise Michael with her attendance on the group’s road trip and she wasn’t in the right state of mind to be by herself.

“Jackie!” Donna was the first person to greet her when she walked up the Forman’s driveway. Her hair was totally flat and that god awful red but her cheeks still bloomed like she had a sunburn when she was flustered.

Jackie had to resist wrapping her arms around her best friend. She wanted nothing more than a hug and for someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay but this wasn’t the moment, especially when she knew what was making Donna so nervous.

She barely registered the mentions of mud and Canadians. Jackie’s gaze drifted from Donna to her future ex-boyfriend who stood in the back in his worn out denim jacket. She had to remind herself that this was Hyde not Steven. That while he was complicit in letting her heart get broken, this wasn’t the man that owed her any loyalty. It was just the boy that got his kicks where he could and didn’t recognize that what he was doing was terrible.

This was also the boy that would get his heart broken again in a few months and Jackie bit her lower lip to keep from shouting about everything she knew. This Steven Hyde wasn’t hers to protect like when he first met his real father.

And if she shared those secrets there were worse things that could happen to her than waking up almost a full bra cup size and a half smaller.

“Where’s Michael?” Jackie asked before anyone else could fumble some sort of weak reason as to why she shouldn’t go with them to Vanstock. Any moment now Steven was going to try to convince her that it was a fantastic idea regardless of the fact that Michael was bringing along the girl he was having an affair with.

“Jackie.” Steven stared her down, expression more solemn than she recalled him looking at sixteen. Last time when they stood in this driveway, he had been gleeful, downright giddy. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She wasn’t ready for this, whatever this was. His hair was longer and blonder, he wasn’t as muscular, but his voice was still the same deep timbre she loved and even though it should have been easy to separate this Steven from her Steven, she couldn’t do it. Jackie was convinced one look, one direct look, into her eyes and he would know everything.

Steven Hyde of 1976 would know she loved him.

“Can it wait?” Jackie’s gaze shifted anywhere but his face. “I really need to talk to Michael before you guys go.”

“Wait,” Eric looked back and forth between his best friend and her, “you’re not coming with us then? And why do you need to talk to Jackie?”

Jackie really didn’t need this right now. Eric Forman could hate her some other time but he wasn’t going to be wasting her time with his questions. “Makes no sense why I would be going.” Jackie crossed her arms across her chest protectively. “Doubt he’d let me come along after I dump him.”

“What?” Came everyone’s shocked response. . . Hyde leaned his head back and closed his eyes, propping his feet on the spool table. They should have been on the road over an hour ago. He should have been roaming the grounds and meeting up with his friends from Kenosha, dropping acid or smoking a joint in between the different musical acts performing.

The last time he had been there in 1976, that was exactly what he had done as well as hooking up with any willing hot chick. The desire for acid or a girl had significantly dropped since then, both for different reasons.

Opening his eyes, Hyde watched the smoke float in lazy circles up towards the ceiling. The swirls had his focus more than the conversation currently being had in the basement.

“You were just frenching Laurie not even ten minutes before she broke up with you, dillhole!” Donna huffed, passing the joint on to Forman.

That comment had Hyde peering at Donna from the corner of his eye. When she had discovered that Kelso had been cheating on Jackie back in his own 1976, she hadn’t warned Jackie at all. She still hadn’t warned her this time around, only weakly attempted to get her to change her mind about going on the trip. Not that Jackie needed to change her mind. She had shown up and broke up with Kelso in the simplest most blunt way possible.

“I don’t love you and you’re a cheating bastard. Have fun at Vanstock.” And then she just skipped away.

The divergence in the timeline was going to be interesting.

Waking up had been a trip. Hyde had woken up thinking he had been tripping. It had been so long since he kept his hair long enough to be as blonde as it was and he felt lighter than usual━his limbs no longer carrying the extra weight of the muscles he had developed over the past couple of years.

Time travel. It was a subject that only Forman out of everyone he could possibly have a serious discussion with. Kelso at this stage wouldn’t even try to jump into the conversation unless it was about a time machine that could take him back in time before Jackie broke up with him.

“Shouldn’t we be glad that we’re finally free?” Forman shrugged his shoulders passing him the joint. Hyde didn’t honor him with a response, only taking a long drag before skipping right over Kelso to Fez.

Kelso didn’t even notice that he had been skipped in the circle. His head hung low and his eyes were glazed over with unshed tears. Hyde cared for them just as much as he did the first time Jackie had broken up with Kelso━not at all.

Tears from his friend over a girl that he himself loved meant nothing.

Kelso crying over Jackie was a joke. It was a joke back when all she was was the bitchy anchor around Kelso’s neck. It was a joke when he got caught cheating with Laurie.

“We were in love,” Kelso choked out, voice thick and watery from crying.

“Kelso.” Hyde snapped his fingers in front of Kelso’s face and tried to capture his attention. “No you weren’t. You were cheating on her with the Earth Mother Whore.”

Kelso blinked at him and swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love Jackie.”

Rolling his eyes, Hyde took the joint back from Donna and took the last drag from the remaining stub. He coughed as the burnt smoke hit his lungs and pinched the dying ember on the paper between his index finger and thumb. The high from the marijuana wasn’t enough for Hyde to tolerate listening to Kelso talk about being in love with his chick.

Ex chick. Future ex chick.

Time travel was such a fucked concept. It was one thing to hide a hurt that he had reasons for having, but the hurt he felt wasn’t for the Jackie of 1976 but the Jackie of 1979. He was hiding a deep ache in his chest that was caused by a girl that had probably been crying over his moron friend the night before, not him.

Miles away there was a shrill, loud, bitchy cheerleader who was probably stuffing all of her Kelso paraphernalia into a box right at that moment and it was killing him that he couldn’t have her. And because of this time travel bullshit she didn’t even know that she had ever been his and he had been hers.

“I can’t believe we’re missing Vanstock all because of Jackie,” Forman scoffed. “Leave it to her to ruin everything.”

“Forman,” Hyde turned to him in disgust, “really? Are you forgetting certain important details?”

“I still can’t believe you all knew!” Donna slapped her hands on the spool table. She glared at them all and then stood up from her seat. “I’m going to go see Jackie.”

“Wait!” Fez called after her. “I’ll go with you!”

Hyde reached over and pulled Fez by the back of his shirt, forcing him back on the mushroom ottoman. “Sit down!” Like hell was he going to let an infatuated Fez try and take advantage of the situation again.

Fez wrinkled his nose and gave him a disgruntled look before shrugging it off. “So what happened with Laurie?”

Hyde rolled his eyes yet again. Right after Jackie had confronted Kelso, Laurie had taken off when it was obvious they weren’t going anywhere. She had looked downright gleeful when they all had dragged their stuff back inside, looking miserable. She took one look at a sad Kelso and shrugged it off. No one knew where she went after everything went down, but Laurie made herself scarce as soon as it was clear that no one was going anywhere.

Kelso was a dumbass, but the consequences for his actions lead to Hyde finding out that there was more to Jackie than they all originally thought. There was just one very important difference in this timeline.

Jackie wasn’t heartbroken over her split with Kelso. In 1976, Jackie had told Kelso it was over, tears thickening her voice, and then threw herself at Hyde for comfort. This time, Jackie tossed out the break up statement casually with the same attitude she would give a shoe department employee her size on whatever clogs took her fancy and then went on her merry way.

Hyde didn’t know what to make of that. As annoyed as he had been when he was last sixteen years old, Kelso and Jackie’s first real break up was the catalyst to his and Jackie’s relationship changing.

This was his punishment at last from the government. Kelso threatened the president and once they all were lulled into a false sense of security, Hyde was shifted to a different time and was forced to relive his teen years in a simulation that altered the events of his life out of his favor.

Out of his favor? Shouldn’t this be what he wanted? Hyde was back in a time that he and Jackie could just hang out without any of the complications of dating.

But life was a bitch because that’s not how it worked.

His body was closer to seventeen than twenty but his memories were still there. He could still remember the way Jackie felt under his fingertips, how she breathed into him when he laid kisses onto her inviting mouth...and how she looked with eyes full of tears from a broken heart.

Couldn’t rat out a friend? Hyde inwardly scoffed. Maybe his sixteen year old self had a point, but nineteen year old him had more loyalty to the tiny loud girl than his doofus friend.

Government simulation or not, he wasn’t going to let Jackie go through all of that bullshit again. Hyde had planned on warning Jackie before she surprised him and took things into her own hands.

“You could have just—and I’ll say this yet again,” Forman flattened his palms together and pressed his fingers to his mouth before shouting, “not make out with my sister!”

“No,” Kelso’s expression became serious as he turned his attention towards Eric, “I couldn’t, Eric.”

“You know what?” Eric threw his hands up and flailed them in exasperation. “I don’t even care anymore that you ruined Vanstock. What am I going to tell Donna? She’s going to ask me if I knew the whole time.”

Hyde rolled his eyes behind his aviators. He already knew how that turned out last time when Donna had stormed off, upset. “As entertaining as it would be to see you fuck this up further, Forman—just tell her the truth.”

“How is that not going to screw me over?” Forman gestured wildly again. “She’s going to know that I’ve been keeping this from her.”

“Because if you lie it will end up biting you in the ass later.”

“Hyde is right, Eric.” Fez nodded in agreement. “Just take a look at Kelso. It’s biting him in the ass right now.”

“And you already lied earlier when you tried to get me to cover for you about Don Juan El Tardo and The Village Whore.”

“No!” Kelso jabbed his finger at Hyde’s direction and then Forman’s. “Eric, you can’t tell Donna. She’ll tell Jackie how long it’s been going on and then I won’t be able to get her back.”

The other three boys stared at Kelso like he had grown a second head. Fez was the first one to fling something at him, tossing as many magazines and comic books he could reach. Forman was irritated by the events of the day and needed an outlet. Hyde already knew how Kelso was, wasn’t surprised by his statement but it didn’t stop from irritating him and the anger boiled deep in his gut.

“I’m out of here.”

He was done with this crap for the day. It finally hit where the punishment was. Hyde was going to have to witness Kelso jerking Jackie around all over again━only this time, he was going to have to pay the price for feeling more than he wanted to for her.

This crap ain’t happening again. He slammed the door shut for his bedroom and flopped on his cot. This is why he didn’t do love. Fuck the U.S. government. . . In a way, Jackie was grateful for the place in time she had been sent back to. She wouldn’t have to deal with anymore of Michael’s crap and she had less stuff of his to throw away.

“He really gave you a slinky for an anniversary?” Donna sat cross legged on Jackie’s bed, tossing it back and forth between her hands. “Kind of makes me appreciate Eric more.”

“Yeah, Michael’s a moron.” Jackie slipped the photo of Michael out from the frame on her bed and wrinkled her nose in thought. “You think Fez would want this?”

Donna’s face scrunched up in confusion and she shrugged. Jackie shrugged back and tossed it into the trash can by her desk. She wasn’t exactly sure when Fez became a little obsessed with her ex-boyfriend, but maybe this was before then if Donna didn’t understand the question.

“I’m really sorry about the Laurie thing,” Donna apologized for the second time since she had arrived at the Burkhart mansion. “I just found out before you showed up and was asking Eric about it.”

Jackie kept her gaze on the box of stuff she had collected from her year of dating Michael. She bit her lip to keep from smiling or making a comment, but she couldn’t help the warmth that spread in her chest.

Despite her friendship with the Donna of 1979, it sometimes felt like Donna sided with the boys over Jackie most of the time when they were younger. They had their moments though and Donna was like a less attractive, goofy older sister. It felt kind of nice to have her right now even if they weren’t as close as they would be some day.

“I wanted to tell you but once I saw you I blanked out a bit because...well,” Donna shrugged, hiking her shoulders up to her ears, “you’re kind of my friend and I didn’t want you to get hurt and for me to be the messenger that caused it.”

“Well, I deserved to know.” Jackie finally turned her gaze back to Donna and smiled slyly. “But you could always do something for me to make me feel better.”

Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation but she playfully shoved at Jackie’s shoulder. “Alright midget, what are you scheming at? And no, I’m not dumping Eric in solidarity or throwing out my clothes.”

“As great as those two options would totally be, that’s actually not what I was going to ask.”

Donna sat up straighter, her curiosity obvious. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion but nodded for Jackie to continue.

“I really meant what I said about not loving Michael and—“

“Jackie, you just told him you loved him three days ago.”

“Shh! Let me talk you big goon,” Jackie snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “Ignore that, that was the past and I’ve learned some stuff about myself, okay?”

“Okay. So what about not loving Kelso?”

“I don’t want him to bother me. I know he’s your friend and he’s been your friend longer than I have but can you be on my side about this? I really am over Michael Kelso and never want to be with him again.”

Donna stared impassively at her for a moment before nodding in understanding. “I’m guessing this means you’re asking me to run interference in case he tries to get you back like he did after the Pam Macy incident...incidents?”

Jackie nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly it. Look,” Jackie turned her whole body and sat cross legged on her bed, “Michael isn’t just cheating on me with Laurie but also some tramp from Sacred Heart and really that’s just what I know about.”

In reality, Jackie knew a lot more now thanks to Steven tricking Michael to reveal everything he had ever hidden from her.

“I know he’s a cheater but you don’t seem as upset as I expected you to be.” Donna raised a brow in confusion. “Like you sound a little angry but mostly resigned. I expected waterworks. Didn’t think you could get over stuff like this unless you found someone else.” Donna slapped her hands on the bed on either side of her hips. “Oh my god, Jackie! You already like someone else!”

“No,” Jackie lied, shaking her head and dragging out the vowel in the negation. Damn Donna always nailing it right on the head. 1976 Jackie didn’t love Steven and it would be weird if she suddenly had feelings for him. “I just realized that what hurts is my pride, not my heart. So, I don’t really love Michael.”

As much as the cheating hurt back in 1976, Jackie had recently felt pain that made the Michael cheating stuff feel like a mosquito bite in comparison.

She didn’t know when the timeline would spit her back to where she belonged, but the one thing she did know was that she wasn’t going to be spending her time in the past letting a boy she didn’t love touch her. And Jackie of 1976 might not know it yet, but she deserved better than to be with that doofus.

She found better. And she lost better.

Jackie blinked her eyes but the tears welling up in her eyes threatened to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t be sad about that. Steven wasn’t her boyfriend in 1979 and he wasn’t her boyfriend in 1976. It didn’t matter how much she wanted him to be. 1979 Steven didn’t see a future with her and 1976 Steven didn’t see her at all—at least not as anything other than an annoyance.

Her parents were never around, she just broke up with the cheating boyfriend she didn’t even want, Steven wasn’t her friend yet, dorky Eric wasn’t really an option, and Fez was way too into her to be a real friend. The only thing she really had was her tentative friendship with Donna.

How did Donna end up being her lifeline?

“Could we still hang out?” Jackie sniffed. “I know I’m not with Michael anymore and well I’m not really part of the group…but I think of you as my friend too. My best friend. Despite the fact that you’re a lumberjack and all.”

Jackie was about to tell Donna that her eyes would get stuck if she kept rolling her eyes but was cut off by the feel of a slightly calloused hand taking hers into its grip. Donna offered her a small smile and nodded.

“Of course, midget.”

1976 and going into 1977 was going to be a rough school year for Donna. Donna invited her to live with her when she didn’t have a home and would in the future of this timeline. The least Jackie could do is save her lumberjack heart some heartbreak. Especially ones she may have had a hand in—there would be no Casey Kelso this time around.

Squeezing Donna’s hand, Jackie smiled to herself. It was only a day and she already had more than 1976 Jackie had. She had no idea why she was there or how but she did know one thing:

She needed to make a list.

#zenmasters #t7s #that 70s show #jackie and hyde

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ttomatoez · 6 years

Text

Anata no Koe

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13125325/1/Anata-no-Koe

Summary: "The one who filled his lonely existence with the emotion called love was Sakura." - Kishimoto. Post-war, SasuSaku fluff and bonding.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Rating: T

A/N: I’m super new to tumblr (as far as posting goes), but I’ve always gotten my ff recommendations from this site, so I thought I’d post some of my own work here to share it with you guys! One day I hope to live up to the same standard as all the wonderful ff I’ve read over the years, but in the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this fic. :)

-CH. 1: 白詰草 - White Clover

She looks happier; peaceful, even.

It's the first thing he notices as he watches her emerge from the shadows outside his holding cell, wordlessly following the brush of her pink hair against the curve of her neck with his mismatched eyes as she steps down the stairs into the light.

He can already tell she's calmed down a lot. There's a softness to her features that he hasn't seen on her before, but he thinks he likes it. He likes the grace in which she walks in her heeled sandals, diligently focused on the metal tray full of first-aid supplies nestled in her arms (as if somehow the pair of quivering glass bottles are what she's been chasing after for so many years and not him). His gaze lingers, calm and curious on the angle of her jaw as she bends to place the tray on one of the visitors stools. It must be the serene expression on her face that's making his chest tighten. The natural arch of her brow leading down to the curve of her lashes, blinking softly. Or the warm half-smile at her lips that could just as easily be a smirk if only he were able to reach into her mind and access her thoughts.

"Sasuke-kun," she says lightly. The shy smile at her lips is soothingly familiar, but it's contradicted by the concerned pinch of her brows as she lifts her head to meet his gaze.

The smile is fake. She's upset.

For the moment, all is still and silent in the hollow, underground caves that have contained him over the past day and a half as they stare at each other in silence. Foreign chakra flickers like static around the otherwise ordinary steel bars, likely sealed three or more times to keep him from escaping. It would take a lot more than that to lock him up for more than five minutes, but he hasn't said anything about it. The drive to fight is lost on him now, discarded right along with his left arm and whatever else remained of his inner demons back at the valley of the end. If he still has any negative feelings buried underneath the numbness in his heart, he hasn't noticed. All that's left of his former self now is an empty shell, a broken bird with the world at its throat.

He looks away discretely, jaw tightening in frustration and shame, absorbing all the unspoken feelings smoldering in her gaze from the other side of the bars. She doesn't have to say anything for him to see what's inside her heart. There's so many conflicting emotions there: disappointment, confusion, anger, hurt, fear, but most of all concern. Concern, not for herself but for him. He's seen the same gut-wrenching pain reflected in her jade eyes over the course of several years, always born from the consequences of his selfish actions, always so selflessly forgiving... It's hard not to recognize it on a surface level - it's Sakura, after all - but without the blind rage and adrenaline-fueled hatred there to cloud his perceptions, he feels it start to gently penetrate the walls of his heart in a way that he can only describe as uncomfortable. For the first time, he can't bring himself to look at her.

She looks off nervously as well, following suit, the smile on her lips settling into an even line. What he may not realize is that over the years, she's become an expert at interpreting all of his non-verbal gestures. If he knows what's in her heart, she knows what's festering in his equally as well (to some extent), but she knows him well enough not to bring it up. For him to simply acknowledge her feelings like this is enough of an apology for right now, so she doesn't mind returning the favor by not pressuring him for more. Maybe someday they'll both be comfortable with expressing themselves out loud, but that day isn't today.

"How's your arm?" she asks, attempting to steer the conversation along. The bandages around his stump are still fresh from when she first put them on a day or so ago while he and Naruto were still unconscious. She did her best to close the opening, cauterizing it with chakra before covering it in healing ointment and wrapping it in several layers of thin gauze, but she knew that the blood would begin to build up again at some point and she would need to come back and change it.

That's what the first-aid supplies are for.

"It stings," he mumbles, glancing at it as if it belonged to someone else.

"Ahh," A genuine smile curls at her lips that he doesn't see. "It'll do that."

Behind him she's already started shuffling the items around in the tray, ripping the gauze into sheets and wetting them with saline. At first it's little more than background noise but curiosity gets the better of him eventually, and he finds himself once again quietly following her movements as if he were a child drinking in new information.

At one time, it must have been around age thirteen, he remembered his distaste for the pinkette had been so strong that he swore he wouldn't touch her if she were the last woman on the planet. He used to find creative places to eat lunch and take shortcuts through the forest just to avoid talking to her, but that had been a different Sakura the whole time. This Sakura; the one with sparkling green studs in her ears who's taller and blinks slower when having a conversation. This Sakura who is not so helplessly clumsy, who measures liquids with her lips slightly parted and barely looks at him anymore, even if it's just long enough to see all the minor ways in which he's changed in such a short amount of time. What would his younger self say if he saw the woman she is now?

They make eye contact as she carefully gathers the tray back into her arms. It feels electric - almost as if nothing ever happened between them in the first place - and she finds herself melting under the smoldering intensity of his gaze. Part of her yearns to know what he's hiding from her; the interest is there, taunting her from the depths of his natural eye. Burning, unyielding. It's the same look she recognizes from the battlefield when he'd caught her delicately under his arm, drinking her in as she drifted in and out of consciousness. At the time she assumed it was love, or at least something like it, but she was wrong.

She looks away for the second time, severing the connection faster than the heat can finish rushing into her face.

"Your bandages need to be changed every two days to prevent infection," she says evenly. The door to his cell would be hell to open for him, but it opens easily enough for her, allowing her to slip through and close it back behind her without ever coming close to dropping the tray. "Right now I'm doing it, but you should be able to yourself after a few sessions - oh, you don't have to stand, Sasuke-kun!"

It's as if she'd anticipated the pain, because by the time the stabbing sensation reaches his chest through his back, she's already lightly dropped the items and rushed to his side to hold him up.

"Here," she says, guiding him back to the wooden bench he was sitting on before. "Sit."

He's sure he must look like an old man, but that's really the least of his worries as he clutches his shirt tightly with the only hand he has left. The pain is similar to what he imagines it feels like to be stabbed by a fistful of chidori; duller and more achey but similar. Is it even possible to feel internal bleeding? Sakura answers his questions with her eyes faster than he can ask them.

"Lean back and relax," she says - it's really more of an instruction - as the pain slowly starts to recede, decaying gradually under the green hue of her chakra pressed to his chest. "I knew there was going to be a little bit of pain from muscle exhaustion, but I healed every major issue I saw when we found you."

Her hands are soft in contrast to the hardened look on her face, slim pink brows drawn together in concentration. The chakra pouring into him is light like a caress, and as more of the pain starts to disappear, he even catches the sweet scent of flowers that's probably her shampoo.

"Sakura-" he grinds out.

"Hush."

He gives her hand a squeeze. At first she thinks it's for comfort, instantly taking her back to their struggles in the chunin exams, but she realizes too late that he's actually pulling it away.

"Just leave it," he says.

Her frown deepens as she slips her hand from his grip. On her face are the words I don't understand.

"Sasuke-" she responds, omitting the honorific. "You're in pain."

When he doesn't look at her she knows there's something else there, but it's not the normal, everyday 'tsk', or 'you're annoying'. It's something deeper; something he probably doesn't even fully comprehend himself. He has a terrible track record of suffering in silence, which is something that has always annoyed her about him, but she continues to try and help him regardless. Even when he doesn't want it.

Her jade eyes blink at him for a few seconds, grasping for the tools to understand but receiving nothing. He's panting lightly now, and there's even a faint tic forming at his brow indicative of frustration.

"At least let me-"

"Sakura."

Naturally, she doesn't make it any easier for him to forget she's there.

The next few seconds pass by wordlessly. He wishes he knew what to say to make her stop worrying, but worrying for Sakura is like breathing and there's probably nothing he can do that will make the medic in her disappear. It's annoying, genuinely, but in a way that's justified by the part of him that isn't quite so wrapped up in his own stubbornness. In other words, his inner self; the part of him that's sealed under strict lock and key and that's often overpowered by his outward persona. The real Sasuke is a lot more docile and caves easily whenever she appears upset or needy. He's calm and curious at the same time but still excitable, much like his older brother, with a rather long-standing, subconscious need to love and be loved by someone that won't eventually disappear. Sakura has the ability to give him that, but that's perhaps what scares him the most about her.

He feels her shoulder shuffle against him and hazards a glance, only to find her pouting like a schoolgirl, lips slightly pursed, eyes downcast and focused on something in the distance. He can't help but look at her skeptically, a small smirk forming on his lips; the last time he saw that face, it was on a much younger version of herself. A much more energetic and aggressive version that once loved him with the strength of her entire being. Always chasing after him, dying for reciprocation. It's funny how simply seeing him in pain is enough to make her forget about all of those conflicting emotions he saw in her earlier. Now she's back to being Sakura again; the same girl that held him in her arms through all of his recklessness, shedding countless tears over his well-being and selflessly shouldering his pain whenever he lacked the ability to express it. She was there even when it put herself in danger. Even when he was the one doing it to her...

He leans his head back and sighs, resting his neck on the padding. The pain in his chest has dulled; he's starting to acclimate to it.

"I deserve it, Sakura," he says finally. "For what I've done."

Her eyes are on him again as he studies the intricate patterns decorating the cave ceiling. Before she speaks, she takes a second to think.

A statement like that is hard to deny when she considers how much trouble he's caused; how many people have lost their lives, directly and indirectly, as a result of his actions. It wasn't even that long ago that he'd betrayed them all completely, punching her through the gut and into a genjutsu. And if that isn't enough of a reason, he then threatened to take control of all the shinobi villages at all of their expense.

As if they meant nothing to him... As if she meant nothing.

The question of whether to forgive him or not weighed heavily on her at some point several months ago - she grieved for a full year when he left the village - but she's past the point of hating him now she thinks. Hatred is like a very strong poison, silent and contagious; it's what drove him to do most of what he did in the first place, but like all poisons, there's an antidote by the name of love. She decided a long time ago not to follow in that cycle, if she were even able to at all. If Naruto doesn't hate him, then neither does she.

He flinches at the sudden warmth of her fingers sliding over his knuckles to grasp his hand. It's such a foreign feeling that he figures it has to be an accident and attempts to tug it back, but (surprise) she doesn't let him go.

"What about if I have mercy on you then?" she replies to his earlier comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He doesn't realize how deadly he looks right now as he flicks his gaze on her, pinning her there with the weapons that are his eyes as if to say what are you doing? Sakura thinks that in his confusion he looks somewhat like a caged animal preparing to pounce at the slightest wrong touch, but it's strikes her more as cute than frightening. Sasuke's panic response has always been defensive rage, but the circumstances are in her favor this time since he's stuck here with her for the immediate time-being. Unbeknownst to her though, he's long forgotten the question.

Before he realizes it he's tracing her movements again, watching her like a hawk as she grasps his hand in both of her palms, slowly bringing it up to rest on her cheek. To his surprise, she closes her eyes, nuzzling it gently as if it's something precious to her.

...

His eyes widen. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry.

"We missed you Sasuke-kun," she says as her eyelids carefully lift to reveal a pair of somber green eyes, glistening now from welled up tears, still clutching his hand to her cheek. It's not that he's afraid to move it - maybe he would if he could - but his body has locked up entirely against his will. He can't move it.

"We all missed you, and-" There's that same bashful look again. How is it possible that he's the only one making eye contact? "W-We forgive you...ya know..?"

Her hands form nervous fists at her sides, but he doesn't seem to notice. She takes a quick glance at his face; it looks like he's been punched in the gut.

"That message is from all of us," she mumbles, fully aware of the heat spreading over her cheeks. She wishes he would say something; she can't stand the silence as it compels her to keep talking. "Even though you're locked up right now, it's only because Tsunade-sama is still out of the village You're fully pardoned, it's just that the council—ha?"

She jumps slightly, green eyes widening at the feel of his hand sliding slowly down her jaw, taking its time over her neck, before coming to rest on her shoulder.

His grip tightens, clutching her as his head gently lowers, shading his face with his bangs. The urge to pull her into him is so strong he can hardly stand it, but there's still a barrier there that pushes her away with equal force. The walls around his heart are still so impenetrable that sometimes, not even he can override them. No matter how much he wants to feel her head on his shoulder, tears of joy staining his shirt as she clutches him with the intensity he knows she's been repressing under fake smiles and gestures of strength for at least the past few years, he can't seem to make himself move.

"Sasuke-kun?" Her brows furrow gently but part of her is still able to understand. She feels the invisible pull of his heart as if it were made of gravity.

She moves before he has the chance to, gently wrapping her arms around him as if she were a blanket, gathering him into a warm hug that gradually tightens as she tries to hold back the tears that have already started to leak out of the corners of her eyes.

‘We forgive you.’

Somehow he thinks it will take him longer than a few minutes, or even a few days, to soak in those words, but in this moment he's thankful (almost as much as he is overwhelmed) for her presence; her touch, her scent, her voice...

He blinks into her shoulder, arm hovering over her lower back as he moves his head to look at her face. Physically, it feels the same as when she hugged him back at the hospital when they were genin. She's still just as soft and warm and feminine as she was back then, eyes squeezed shut in happiness, latched to him with every ounce of love left in her being. It's always been a lot for him to process - it still is - but he feels more now that he's ever felt in the past. Even as his arm squeezes her closer, softly succumbing to her efforts as he buries his face in her neck, he still feels paralyzed by insecurity and the weight of exactly how much he doesn't know. It's always just been easier to sever the bonds, but he's past that now.

"Sakura," he mumbles into the fabric of her collar, eyes softened and glazed over in concentration.

The past several hours left alone with nothing but his thoughts have had a substantial effect on him, giving him the opportunity to ponder over a litany of things; things that bother him, things that he thinks shouldbother him, things that don't even concern him... Now that the war is over, his goals achieved, he can't help but wonder what to do next. Did he even have a choice in the matter? Sure he's been pardoned, but was he really that innocent in the eyes of the village?

Her cheek brushes the side of his head as she turns to look at him. "Mm?"

He hesitates, closing his eyes against the comfort of her shoulder. "What do you think I should do?" he says. "About the village?"

She tries hard to swallow the sting of uneasiness lingering in her gut as she packs the extra gauze back in its wrapper, tossing his old, bloody ones on the right side of the tray where she'll be able to throw them away later. If only she'd been more prepared for that question, maybe she could have given him a better response than what she did...

‘Don't worry about the village. Worry about being a better you.’

Back over on the bench he looks over his new bandages, gripping his fingers as she'd told him to do to better adjust to the stiff material. Whatever he's thinking in that head of his, somehow, she feels like she only made things worse.

"Thank you, Sakura," he says as she lifts the tray back into her hands, ready to leave. At first she thinks it's just for the bandage change, but it's overreaching and actually applies to multiple things. He has the world to thank her for, but all she can seem to picture right now is the night he left, his words to her, and how she'd woken up to a cold bench at her back and a huge hole in her heart.

"Sasuke-kun," she bites her lip, brows drawing together in concern as she looks at him, at the sudden distance between them.

‘Please be here when I get back.’

"I'll be back in two days," she says, and he watches quietly as she disappears into the shadows, the sweet scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air.

#sasusaku #naruto shippuden #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku naruto #naruto shippuden fanfiction sasusaku #naruto fanfiction

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noahreids · 5 years

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Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 9/14

Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, runs. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Rated: M (Sexual content in later chapters & some Irish whiskey along the way).

Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 | Ch.3 | Ch.5 | Ch.7 | Ch.9 |

A/N: Your support has been wonderful, thank you to the moon and back. I hope you enjoy the next step of the journey. Thank you!

Please go check out @imagnifika‘s art for this chapter!!! (and all of it). It’s beyond perfect. The softness, the colors, the moments she captured it just makes my heart really happy, thanks Kate!

Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.

And now the answer to Emma’s question :)

Chapter 9

“So... what are we going to do about it?”

Her words stall in her throat as his eyes flash up to hers. His look leaves no question, neither does the tick in his jaw, nor his fingers that tighten against her hip.

And yet he doesn’t move.

Her whole body balances on the thin edge of her desire, breath coming quickly, flush spreading across her skin and the impatience of being so close to what she wants and yet--

“Would you just --” her words are silenced by his lips capturing to hers, warm and insistent. It’s everything and more that she’s been yearning for and suddenly there’s nothing else but this moment and the taste and feel of him. She rises to the tips of her toes, only wanting to get closer, to hold him tighter. With a step, his hips trap her against the car.

He swallows her gasp, tongue tangling with hers, wet and eager and all she can think of is more, more, more.

His hand drifts down from her hip to grip her thigh and she easily follows his guidance, a small hop and her legs wrap around his hips. He pulls back from her lips with a groan, eyes opening slowly, fixing her with a blue gaze that tightens the need coiling low in her belly.

She bites her lip and he groans again, head dipping to taste the skin along her jaw.

And it feels good, so good -- but she only just got her first taste, “Please,” she whispers against his ear, his rough stubble rubbing her cheek. She slips her fingers into his hair and gives an impatient tug.

He tilts his head back up, eyes dark.

“Aye,” he whispers back, letting her guide his mouth back to hers.

She tightens her thighs against him, not ready for any of this to end, not when she finally just got it, and all she can think of is how this would feel without the jeans and the cotton and -- what if they started with just one layer?

She almost doesn’t care that they are at a rest stop on the side of the road, almost, but before her thoughts can wander further down that path, they are suddenly reminded of exactly where they are by the blaring of a horn, and the yips and yells from a car driving by.

They pull apart and a deep chuckle slips past Killian’s lips as his eyes find hers. She’d be embarrassed at her breathlessness if she couldn’t feel his quick intake matching hers. She blinks at him, a little disoriented but her mouth ticks up on its own to match his grin.

“I guess we should um... “ he trails off, loosening his hold, allowing her to slip back to her feet but not giving her any space, he stays pressed against her, thighs to chest.

“Probably a good idea.”

She feels her face heat further, suddenly shy, not quite sure why, but fortunately, he doesn’t let her dwell on it.

“Hey. Come back,” he whispers, sensing her drifting thoughts and tilts her chin up. He waits until her eyes meet his before leaning in. He kisses her slowly, thoroughly and with enough heat that she feels it down to her toes. She anchors herself in his belt loops, her legs feeling a little unsteady.

When he finally does start to pull away again, it’s with lingering brushes to her lips and more whispered words.

“Ok?” and, “here with me now?”

She hums a reply, feeling more confident, but he’s not satisfied, his eyebrows raising as he waits, thumb brushing against her swollen lips. She can’t help but press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. The smile he gives her is one she’ll never forget.

“Yes, I’m here. Thank you.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before reaching down to find her hand.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve established that. But, I want to try this one last time before we get back on the road.”

She follows him without protest, her heart and mind finally at ease. She concentrates on the feel of his warm hand on hers and the breeze teasing her bare arms. He pulls them back to the front of the car and settles against it, guiding her once again between his splayed legs. She catches herself against his chest, hands over the steady beat of his heart.

“Close your eyes,” he urges, but instead she looks up at him with wide eyes. He chuckles his fingers running a path up and down her back. “I think the look you have right now is the opposite of close your eyes.”

“Ha, ha.”

But at his raised brow, she finally acquiesces, eyes fluttering shut.

“Okay, keep them closed, and just–”

Killian pauses and turns her in his arms, pulling her back against him. He rests his chin against her shoulder as his arms come around her middle.

As if this is going to help her relax.

“Okay, take a deep breath.”

She snorts.

“What is this, opposite day?” he asks, his lips near her ear. She shivers when she feels his nose trace the shell of her ear before he speaks again. “Deep breath, Emma. Like me.”

He exaggerates his breath and she can feel his chest rise. She matches it and lets it out slowly just as he does.

“That’s it, love.”

Something about the praise causes goosebumps to spread across her skin and she finds herself intent to hear it again. She continues to follow his deep breaths, continues to melt further into him as he whispers against her ear.

“See you’re fine. Perfect, really. No stress, just breathe.”

Her heart picks up at his words but the lingering nerves and worries gently slip away with the wind until she’s left feeling -- happy.

Her eyes pop open at the realization but Killian tuts “No, no. Keeping going and listen closely, can you hear it?”

“But --” she tries but her protest cuts suddenly when his teeth give a small tug to her earlobe. Instead she whimpers and just manages to choke out her next words, “hear what?”

“The sea,” he says quietly, exaggerating his deep breath again and after another slow in and out, she refocuses. It takes her a moment and she has to strain her ears but very faintly, in the distance she hears it, the unmistakable sounds of waves cresting and crashing in the distance.

And if saying hello, the breeze picks up and carries with it the briny smell of sea.

“Oh!”

She feels his chuckle more than she hears it and she finally settles in to listen and feel and to just be.

She’s not sure how long they stay but eventually, her eyes open again. She’s unclear if it’s from a passing car or the regrettable knowledge that they do eventually need to get back on the road but when she does, Emma sucks in a surprised breath at the beautiful vista below, honestly really seeing it for the first time. She blinks in awe. The green is brighter, the sky is splashed with pinks and purples as the sun begins to disappear and the road they’ve already travelled winds down the mountain like a stream. Her eyes follow the turns as the road curls back and forth, flowing fluidly into the valley.

“I’m so glad I’m here, right now, with you, I can’t imagine being anywhere else,” Emma whispers, the words slip from her mouth unexpected but completely honest, they wrap around her heart just as his arms tighten around her.

“Nor I,” Killian answers, his voice suddenly rough.

Emma turns and takes him in, blue eyes dark and considering. She wonder what he sees when he looks at her. If he can see all her emotions reflected back.

“I really like watching sunsets with you,” she adds softly, not wanting to break their quiet bubble. He looks like he wants to respond, that the words are right there but before he does, before she can ask what, he kisses her breathless. He kisses her so that when he pulls back she still feels him on her lips.

“So let’s chase as many as we can.”

Her eyes widen.

“That could take awhile.”

(It could take forever.)

Killian shrugs and suddenly anything seems possible.

“I’ve got time all the time in the world.”

She couldn’t hide her smile if she tried.

“Good.”

They stay long enough to watch the sun disappear and dusk fall over the valley and with that, Emma sighs. She knows they need to get back in the car but she can’t bring herself to lift her head from his shoulder and make her way back to the driver’s seat, not with the disappearing light and the road left to travel.

“Hey, let me drive. I promise to get us there safely,” Killian suddenly offers, reading her mind and Emma is so grateful, she can barely find it in herself to protest.

“Are you sure? You don’t --”

He nudges her with his hip and then turns her towards the passenger side.

“I should have offered sooner, let me make amends.”

He’s already making his way to the door and looking at the comfortable passenger seat, she definitely doesn’t have the strength to protest.

“We didn’t take a picture,” she notes as she buckles herself in, looking out.

“Do you think you’ll forget this any time soon?” Killian asks after adjusting the seat and mirror.

Emma kicks off her shoes and pulls her legs up to her chest, turning to face him, her cheek resting against the seat. She watches him quietly, cataloguing every feature, committing to memory every last detail. She frames him with her fingers and pretends to take a picture, the soft smile she wears mirrored back at her.

They pull onto the road and already her eyes feel heavy. She closes them for just a moment.

“No. I don’t think I could ever forget this,” she mumbles and forces her eyes open again.

Killian leans across the console and gives her thigh a last squeeze.

“Sleep, love. Archie and I will get us to where we need to be just fine.”

And with the echo of, “Sleep love,” rolling around in her head, she falls into a dreamless sleep.

“Emma.”

She hears her name somewhere far off and she wants to ignore it. She’s warm and comfortable.

“Mmm, no,” she mumbles and curls further into herself, tugging whatever is draped over her, up to her chin.

“Darling, I need you to wake up.”

She feels something soft against her cheek and leans into it, waking gently. Her eyes slowly blink open, trying to adjust to the darkness. It takes her a moment to realize night has completely fallen. As she slowly gets her bearings she finds Killian is grinning at her and she can’t help but match his smile even though she doesn’t know what they are smiling about it.

“What? Are we at the hostel?” she asks, her voice a little hoarse from sleep. His eyes darken and fall to her lips, but the hand that cups her cheek remains gentle, thumb running back and forth. Her belly swoops.

“No, not yet but I didn’t think you would want to miss this. Look.”

She glances around enough to realize they are idling in the middle of a small country road, and she follows his finger to where he points.

“What? Oh! Sheep! I told you!”

She smacks his arm, immediately perking up as she spots three sheep, relaxing right in the middle of the road, blocking the way.

“You did, Swan. I’ll never doubt you again.” There is a pause as he takes in her smile. “You want to get out, don’t you?”

Emma chews on her bottom lip looking outside before carefully unbuckling herself.

“Just for a picture? Just one?”

They take a few.

Once they manage to entice the sheep off the road, it’s not long until the reach their hostel, an old brick building tucked between a coffee shop and tattoo parlor. The sign for the hostel is faded and hangs precariously near the front door, but the warm light coming from the old sash windows is a welcome sight.

That is until she notes the stairs.

Emma eyes the narrow steps leading to the main door wearily. Even with the nap in the car, she’s still feeling the weight of the last few days catching up to her and the idea of dragging her huge dumb suitcase up the stairs is less than appealing.

“Give it here, Swan.”

She looks away from the stairs to Killian’s outstretched hand, his backpack already secured on his back.

“No.”

He takes a step forward and she takes a step in front of her bag.

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” Killian comments, all smiles to her frown. He takes another step and she almost trips over her bag, but he’s there to steady her, hand at her waist.

“I’m the idiot with the big bag, it shouldn’t be your punishment,” Emma grumbles, eyes focused on the ground.

“Perhaps you’re being a smidge dramatic, love.”

Her eyes flash up, a retort on the tip of her tongue but the hard press of his lips silences her momentarily.

“You know--” she mumbles against his lips, “you can’t--” he nips at her bottom lip and her words trail off. Killian takes the opportunity to reach for her bag and before she can react he’s already up two steps.

“What was that?” he asks.

Emma shakes her head, slowly following.

“Killian,” she warns and he stops, turning.

“Emma, it’s no punishment to help you and you’re not an idiot. Let me take care of you for once. Liam would have had my hide if he knew I wasn’t being a consummate gentleman. As a matter of fact he’s probably up there right now, watching, shaking his head in disappointment.”

Oh.

She stares after him, not sure he even realizes how easily he’s begun to drop his brother into conversation. He gives her a patient smile, one that shows more in his eyes than the small upturn of his lips. The combination of it all, his words, his help, the change she sees in him, it’s left her speechless.

She can feel her eyes warm and dammit -- she doesn’t want to cry. She’s not sad, she’s just overwhelmed by the-- her breath catches, by the affection she feels for this man.

She blinks quickly, trying to tuck away the emotions that are likely written across her face and slowly joins him on the step.

“Emma?” he questions but she shakes her head and frames his face with her hands. She takes a moment to brush her thumb across the scar on his cheek, to feel the stubble against her palm and the heat of him against her. She looks up and loses herself a little in the blue of his eyes and how they narrow in concern. It only serves to grow that overwhelming feeling.

(But a good overwhelming -- she thinks.)

She can tell he wants to say more, his lips parting to do just that but she doesn’t give him the chance, surprising him with her own kiss, nose slowly brushing his, lips soft and lingering.

She drops back to her feet when she feels something inside her settle.

(Maybe not so overwhelming after all.)

And maybe not something she’s ready to say out loud.

(Because that would be crazy. But -- )

But maybe they are words she’s ready to write on a postcard.

She watches him stand very still, dark lashes against his cheeks, before slowly blinking open. She drops her hand to his chest and enjoys the quick staccato beat of his heart.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t --” he tries to protest but she shakes her head.

“Actually, I think Liam would be proud of you. I just hope he approves of me.”

She gives the bottom of his shirt a little tug and he sways into her space. No words are spoken but his eyes tell their own story, as does the thud from the suitcase dropped at their feet, his hand now free to squeeze the words he can’t say into her skin.

He swallows hard and she gives him a timid smile but not wanting him to say anything in response, she hurries before he can.

“Let’s go see what kind of beds are left for us.”

He seems to weigh her statement, taking her in but finally gives her a small nod and follows her inside with the bags.

The hostel is dark and quiet when the door clicks shut behind them, save for a hint of light around the first corner. Emma steps forward, feet quiet on the carpet runner and peers around the doorframe.

A couple are lounging on a threadbare couch, pillows of vibrant and vivid colors on either end and books piled up all around. After a second look, the man seems to be asleep, while the woman cards her fingers through his hair, book perched against her knee.

“Oh hello!”

Emma almost startles but tamps down her surprise, bracing the doorframe, the sleeping man definitely startles awake and Killian hides his chuckle behind a cough.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to --” Emma starts but trails off when the woman pops up from the couch, leaving the man bereft of his sleeping spot. “Sorry,” Emma whispers again, but he waives her off, sitting up.

“You must be Emma and Killian. I’m glad you made it safe.”

The woman with cheeks flushed almost the same color as her hair, lends out her hand in a warm handshake, smile settling easy over her features.

“Are you the owners?” Emma inquires, glancing around. “We called to say we were coming in late? We gave up our private room for a group one?”

“Nah. We’re travellers like you. I’m Anna, this is Kristoff. We just overheard you were coming in late and Sidney, that’s the man who runs the place, looked tired. So since you’re bunking with us, it was no problem to wait up.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you, you must let us--” Killian started but Kristoff shook his head.

“We’ve learned a little kindness can go along way. No stress man. Honestly, you did us a favor. It gave Anna extra time to plan our day tomorrow, which we thought you might be interested in joining us in,” Kristoff explains before placing a quick kiss to the top of Anna’s head.

Emma watches the whole interaction with amazement, their kindness another kind of overwhelming and reaches back, finding Killian’s hand immediately.

“Anyway, you must be exhausted. We’ll show you your bunks.”

Emma can only nod and follow them down the hall.

It doesn’t take long for them to settle in, dropping their bags and quickly washing up in bathroom. Emma is standing against their bunks, finger tracing the picture of the winding road on her postcard, the words she wants to write too big, too extraordinary for a girl like her. She glances up when she hears Killian come back into the room.

“May I?” he whispers pointing to the light switch. Anna and Kristoff are already settled in their bunks and with the words too scary to write, Emma nods.

She is still standing by her bunk when Killian joins her, reluctant to crawl up.

She feels his warm breath against her ear before his low words follow.

“You said you would let me take care of you.”

She feels the press of his lips against her bare shoulder.

She turns, confused.

“What?” she whispers and she can just make him out in the darkness. He shakes his head and pulls back the sheets.

“Get in, love.”

She hesitates, feeling silly and needy and --

“I sleep better beside you. Let me return the favor tonight.”

She decides she doesn’t need more coaxing than that, not for something she wants so badly.

She slides under the blankets and makes room for him, easily settling against his chest. She listens to his heart and lets it lull her, the exhaustion already creeping back in but something pulls her back.

“Thank you, Killian. I just --”

Her words are barely a whisper and almost get caught in her throat but he stays patient, fingers running up and down her arm, letting her know he’s listening.

“Thank you,” she finally repeats, the emotions of the day just a little too much to put into words.

“Anything your heart desires, Swan.”

She holds him a little tighter, heart full.

“I’m going to write that on my next postcard,” she mumbles, sleep so very close.

She’s not sure if she dreamt the last words or actually said them outloud but their truth remains.

“I may have already found it.”

Thanks for reading!!

What’s the coolest thing you’ve come across on a road trip?

See you next week for chapter 10!

#cs ff #cs fanfic #csbb 2018 #captain swan #cs au #csbb #captain swan big bang #lana writes cs #fic: beauty in the aftermath

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catzumi-zer0 · 6 years

Text

Fright - BTS FF Kim Taehyung Ch 8 (Final Chapter)

Summary: Kim Taehyung was the perfect boyfriend. When you guys first met, it was love at first sight. Tall, handsome, a voice so deep and rich, every time he spoke, you felt it in your core. Your parents adored him and your friends approved of him too. Everything was perfect. Perfect….You thought you had your life set with Kim Taehyung. Everything was sparkles and roses and nothing could go wrong. Oh how wrong you were……dead wrong.

Genre: Angst/Horror

Trailer <— go watch the trailer!

Warning: Violence

Prologue Pt 1 / Prologue Pt 2

Watch it on Youtube <—–

Masterlist

"Oh god...Namjoon" you uttered in shock as you ran towards the direction of his scream. You and Hoseok opened all the doors in the warehouse, desperately searching for Taehyung and Namjoon.

"Namjoon! Where are you!" Hoseok shouted as he opened another door.

Desperation grew as each room they found was just an empty dead end.

Time was running out.

It they didn’t find Namjoon soon, who knows what Taehyung will do to him.

"This is the last room." Hoseok called out as he approached a Large metal door.

It was located at the very end of the warehouse, in the darkest corner. You noticed a trail of blood drops leading to the door.

"Namjoon!" You and Hoseok shouted as you pushed the door open.

As you entered, you found Namjoon laying on the floor in the middle of the room. He was groaning in pain as he clutched his bleeding arm.

Taehyung stood over him, in his hand was a large metal pipe. He raised the weapon high in the air, his eyes wide with madness.

You had to think of something quick before Taehyung went any further with his attack.

"Taehyung STOP!" You shouted as you ran for them.

"Y/N get back! It's too dangerous!" Hoseok warned.

"Y/N GET BACK!" Namjoon shouted as he braced himself for the impact of the pipe.

You ignored the both of them as you stood in between Namjoon and Taehyung.

"Y/N!" Hoseok and Namjoon shouted in unison.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the pain to strike. You waited and waited but nothing happened.

You slowly opened your eyes and flinched as the pipe had stopped an inch away from your head.

You looked up at Taehyung, his eyes wide with shock and anger. "Move." He whispered in a tone that was dark and dangerous.

"No." You said as you stood your ground. "I won't let you do this." You added as you looked him in the eyes.

You were searching for him, for the Taehyung that you remembered.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he lowered the weapon. "Y/N move." He repeated.

You shook your head.

"No." You said firmly.

Taehyung balled his fists as he begun to shake. "Why...why are you protecting him..."

"Because he's your friend." You replied.

Taehyung shook his head, he gripped the pipe firmly in his hands. He was lost between his insanity and his sanity. His mind was in limbo.

"You love him...don't you?" He asked.

"No. I don't"

Namjoon looked down to floor, sadness flashed in his eyes. Hoseok saw his reaction and slowly approached Namjoon.

Taehyung took noticed and raised his weapon again. "Another step and I'll kill her." He growled.

Hoseok stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't want to risk Taehyung hurting you.

"Go ahead, do it." You said.

The room went silent.

"Y/n, don’t fucking provoke him!" Namjoon shouted.

Taehyung's lips formed into a strained smile as he stared you down.

You stood your ground. You were not going to run away from him anymore. "I know you won't do it. No matter how hard you try, you won't do it because I know deep down the Taehyung we all know is still fighting his battle."

Taehyung's furrowed his brows at your words. They had hit a nerve which caused him to momentarily freeze.

"Taehyung, you still have a chance. You can still win that battle. And we-" you motioned over to Hoseok and Namjoon. "We will fight with you."

Taehyung eyes shifted to the ground. The pipe that he held so tightly, that his palm began to sore, fell to the ground with a loud CLANK.

Hoseok quickly went over to Namjoon to help him. Namjoon let out a low groan as he slowly sat up. His arm was in pain, most likely broken.

"We need to get you out of here." Hoseok said as he slowly helped Namjoon to his feet.

"Not without them." Namjoon said as he looked over to you Taehyung. "Taehyung, look at me." Namjoon ordered.

Taehyung's shoulders tensed as he lifted his head to meet Namjoon's eyes.

Namjoon softly smiled as he reached his hand out. Hoseok looked over to him in confusion. "Namjoon what are you doing?" He asked.

"Just reach your hand out." Namjoon replied as he waited for Taehyung to do the same.

Hosoek nodded as he reached his hand out on top of Namjoons. As soon as he did, he realized Namjoon's plan. Hoseok smiled to himself as he looked over to Taehyung. "Hey, hurry up!" He said with a smile.

Taehyung remained in his spot. He was unsure of Namjoon's actions.

You were confused as well.

Namjoon saw his hesitation and sighed. "I'm sorry Taehyung. I'm sorry that you have to go through that pain alone. I should have been a better leader, if not, a better friend. This is something I should have done the day we were disbanded. I should have reminded you that no matter where we are, or how far apart we are, we will always be Bangtan Sonyeondan."

Taehyungs eyes widened at his hyung's words. He felt his heart open up with a wave of emotions. For years he felt the pain of loneliness and abandonment. Jimin comforted him but in such a negative way that his mind was clouded by his friend's lies. Taehyung couldn't think for himself because he was too busy fighting his inner battles.

His own stigma was eating away at him.

Taehyung slowly reached out his hand and placed them on top of his hyungs.

He stood there looking at their hands. Memories for long ago flooded his heart. The battle that was inside of his head was slowly coming to an end.

"Hyung..." Taehyung uttered as a wave of emotion swept over him. Tears began to cascade down his cheeks as he closed his eyes.

"It's okay Taehyung. I'm here. WE are here with you." Namjoon assured. "You can finally let go of that pain."

With that, Taehyung broke down. He reached over and buried his face into Namjoon's shoulder. Namjoon grunted in pain but accepted his friend with an open arm.

"I'm sorry Hyung...I'm sorry...I'm sorry.." Taehyung muttered his apologies as he cried his heart out into Namjoon's shoulder.

Hoseok smiled gently as he patted Taehyung's back. "It's good to have you back." He said as he looked over to you.

You were silently crying with joy as Taehyung finally came back to his senses.

The nightmare was finally over.

BANG

"FREEZE!" A group of officers shouted as they entered the room.

Everyone jumped with fright as the officers had their guns drawn on Taehyung.

"Kim Taehyung, you are under arrest" one of them said as they harshly pulled him away from Namjoon and threw him on the ground.

"NO don't hurt him!" You begged as you reached out for him.

Hoseok grabbed you and held you back. "Y/N, let them do their job." He whispered to you.

Your heart pained for Taehyung.

He laid on the ground sobbing as the officers handcuffed him and picked him up from the floor. Another officer came over to you and examined Namjoon's arm. "We have a paramedic outside, follow me." He said as he helped Namjoon out the door.

Once outside, the tension you felt in your heart lifted a little. You were glad to be out of that place but heartbroken as you saw the officers put Taehyung in the backseat of their car. Jimin was in another car, far away from Taehyung.

"Y/N, over here!" Namjoon called.

You walked over to the ambulance and watched at the paramedic tended his wounds. His arm was placed in a temporary cast but he still needed more medical attention.

"So what's going to happen from here?" Hoseok asked.

"We need to make sure they BOTH Jimin and Taehyung get the help that they need." Namjoon replied as he looked over to the cop cars.

"But if they ask about your arm? What are you going to tell them?" You asked.

Namjoon shook his head with a small smile. "I am known to be clumsy. I'll say that I fell down the stairs while running. I don't want Taehyung to go to jail." He said as he looked down to his arm.

"One of you needs to make a statement about what happened." And officer said as he approached the three of you.

"I-I'll do it." Hoseok said as he walked away with the officer, leaving you alone with Namjoon.

"I better go to-"

"Y/n" Namjoon reached out and grabbed your wrist, stoping you from moving any further "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

You turned to him with a confused expression. "About what?" You asked.

"When Taehyung asked if you loved me...." He said as he looked at you with a straight face.

You felt the weight of his eyes on you. You felt terrible for not returning his feelings. You instantly thought about the kiss you shared with him but deep down inside you knew you would only be hurting him if you lied to him.

Your silence was drawing a knife into Namjoon's heart. "Y/n please say something." He begged.

"I'm sorry Namjoon. I can't return your feelings. You and I both know I'll only hurt you." You said quietly.

Namjoon's hand fell limp at his side. He nodded with a forced smile. "It's okay. Taehyung is lucky to have you by his side." He said sadly. "Please take care of him when he gets better, okay?"

"I promise." You said as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "I want us to still be friends."

Namjoon smiled brightly, his dimples making an appearance. "Always." He replied. He knew he couldn't have you but being close to you as friend was enough for him. He was used to the silence and the rejection. He learned how to welcome it like an old friend.

One Month Later:

The clock in the waiting room ticked vigorously as the time slowly drifted by. You tapped your fingers nervously as you waited.

Namjoon and Hoseok were with you, both waited patiently for the doctor.

A month had passed since the incident with Taehyung and Jimin. Both stood trial and both pleaded insanity. The judge ordered that they both be placed in a "Rehabilitation Center" for a year. They sent Jimin back to Busan while Taehyung stood in Daegu.

No one has seen them for an entire month.

"Alright, you guys can come see him." A nurse announced as she motioned for you, Namjoon and Hoseok to follow her.

You quickly got up and followed her down a long hallway. She stopped in front of a room and opened the door for you. "The patient is waiting inside. Please keep your hand to yourself and do not reach over the table. No physical contact is permitted." She said as she led you inside.

You quietly nodded and followed her inside. Namjoon and Hoseok followed along and the three of you sat down in front of a large metal table.

Taehyung was sitting on the other side. His head hung low in his heads. His shoulders were slumped as if he had slept in days.

"Taehyung, are you okay?" Namjoon asked.

Taehyung slowly lifted his head. You gasped as you saw how skinny he had gotten. His face was gaunt and pale. You could clearly see that he hadn't gotten any sleep. He smiled faintly at the sight of his Hyungs and you. "I'm so glad to see you guys." He said with a shaky voice.

"I'm glad to see you too." Namjoon said with a smile.

"Yeah, I'm happy that you are getting the help that you need." Hoseok added.

You remained quiet as you looked away. You felt horrible seeing him in that condition but you knew it was for the best.

You also couldn't look him in eyes because you had a secret.

You were leaving.

When your parents found out about everything, they demanded you go live with them in California. They didn’t want you living alone in Seoul, especially after all that's happened.

Namjoon and Hoseok already knew about your plans. It was all up to you to break it to Taehyung.

"So have you heard from Jimin?" Taehyung asked.

Namjoon and Hoseok stood quiet for a moment before answering.

"No one has heard from him. When I tried to go and visit him, he turned me away. He's not accepting any visitors at all." Namjoon said with a deep and heavy sigh. "I really wished I could talk to him." He added.

"I'm pretty sure the only person he'll talk to is either you or Jungkook and nobody has heard from Jungkook in a while." Hoseok added.

Taehyung slowly nodded. He was sad that he couldn’t see his friend but also relieved that he would no longer be poisoned by Jimin's lies.

Taehyung looked over to you, he found it odd that you hadn't said much since your arrival.

Hoseok and Namjoon looked at each other then back to you.

"I'll leave you two alone. Y/N has something personal to tell you." Namjoon said as he nudged Hoseok to follow him.

When they both left, you felt a heavy weight in your shoulders. You felt horrible for breaking the news to him.

"Taehyung I-"

"I missed you." He whispered.

You stood silent as you balled your fists. You felt horrible inside for what you were about to say.

"I'm leaving."

The air had gone cold between the both of you. Taehyung expression stood the same but inside he had already begun to cry.

"For how long?" He asked.

You took a deep breath and shifted in your seat. His expression stood the same, he wasn't angry, nor sad nor happy. "A year. I'll be living in California with my parents." You said.

Taehyung bit his lips nervously. He wanted to act out and plead for you not to go but deep down he knew it was for the best. "Are you planning on coming back?" He asked.

You Shrugged our shoulders. "I'm not sure." You said. "But I can't stay here by myself. I need some time to reflect on everything."

Taehyung nodded. After all that he's put you through, he wasn't surprised you were leaving. "Will you wait for me?" He asked. He gave you an innocent look.

You felt your heart die at his plea.

"Please Y/n, when you come back...and I come out...will you wait for me?" He asked again as he reached his hand out and grabbed yours. "Promise you'll wait for me?"

You squeezed his hand. You didn't want to let him go but you knew it was for the best. It was only a year. He squeezed your hands back. He felt your sadness.

You held back tears as you looked him the eyes. "I promise." You whispered as you let him got and stood up to leave.

"I love you." He called out.

You stopped and looked over to him. A small smile formed on his lips. You smiled back with a nod.

"I love you too."

One Year Later:

"Y/N! Over here! The show is about to start!" Yura called out as she waved your over through the crowd.

It was the annual summer festival in Busan. You had returned to Busan after a year living in the states.

"I'm coming, wait up!" You said as you brushed through the crowded streets. "Where are we going?" You asked as you approached her.

Yura smiled brightly and grabbed your hand. "Let's go, I have a surprise!" She said as she ran off with you, laughing happily.

You both ran towards the beach where everyone else had gathered. "Yura, what's going on?" You asked with a laugh. Your friend was up to something.

"Y/N! Yura!" You heard Namjoon's voice.

Yura smiled brightly. "Surprise!" She said as she ran over to Namjoon who was with Hoseok and another guy with black hair.

"Namjoon! Hoseok!" You shouted happily as you ran up to them and hugged them tightly.

Both were happy to see you. "Wow your hair grew!" Hoseok said as he looked at your hair.

"Thank you." You said shyly as you tucked it behind your ear. Your hair had grown back after a year.

"It looks beautiful." Namjoon commented with a smile. You felt your heart accelerate and you couldn’t help but giggle shyly.

"Thanks." You said as you then looked over to a guy with black hair. "your friend?" You asked.

"Ah, Hyung don't be shy, this is Y/n." Hoseok said as he motioned the shorter over to them.

"Y/N, this is Min Yoongi, Yoongi, this is Y/n." Namjoon introduced the both of you.

"Hello Y/n." Yoongi said quietly with a small gummy smile.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you Yoongi." you said as you looked over to Yura. "So this was the surprise?" You asked.

Yura shook her head. "No...the surprise is waiting for you by the beach, go before the show starts." She said as she nudged you forward.

You were confused but went anyways by yourself to the beach. You looked around at all the people that gathered for the festival. Mothers with their children, boyfriends with their girlfriends, families all together with friends.

You stopped and looked up into the sky as the fireworks. They painted the sky with vibrant colors. This moment reminded you when you had your first kiss with Taehyung.

You sighed sadly as you thought of him. You made him a promise a year ago that you were to going to wait for him.

"Y/n?"

Your eyes widened as you turned around and saw Taehyung. He looked healthier and happier than ever. A bright boxy smile was spread across his face, the smile that always made you happy.

"Taehyung!" You shouted as you ran into his arms. You hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go. He held you in his embrace, his face buried into your hair. "I missed you." You whispered.

"You waited for me. Just like you promised." He said as he looked you in the eyes.

You nodded with a smile. "We all waited for you." You said.

"And I'm right here. I'm back." He said as he pulled you in for another hug.

The sky light up again with more fireworks, the crowd around you cheered at the display. You looked up in excitement.

"Beautiful" you heard Taehyung whisper.

"I know right!" You said a you looked over to him. Taehyung was staring at you with a soft look in his eyes. As if he was seeing you for the first time.

"I wasn't talking about the fireworks." He said as he caressed your cheek.

"Taehyung.." You whispered his name as your leaned into him.

The gap between your lips grew smaller and smaller until both your lips found each other. A wave of nostalgia washed over you. These soft yet plumped lips were something you missed dearly. His warmth and his happiness is what you needed and he needed you too.

Namjoon watched quietly as you and Taehyung were lost in each other's embrace and covered by the fireworks above.

"Namjoon, coming?" Hosoek asked as he patted his shoulder.

Namjoon took one last look at the both of you and smiled. Everything is where is should be. Everything happens for a reason. "Yeah, let's go." He said as he walked away, leaving you and Taehyung lost in the sea of fireworks.

We all have our demons and we all fight a battle every day to keep them at bay. Some of us win and some of us lose.

You are not alone.

You are NEVER alone.

You'll never walk alone.

Alone....

Alone...

Chapter 7 < > Epilogue

#kim taehyung #bts #fan fiction #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung fanfic #jeonjungkook #bts angst #fright

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chocolatequeennk · 7 years

Text

A Day to Remember, 1/5

Walking hand in hand through crisp autumn leaves, drinking hot chocolate and eating warm apple pie, sitting together in front of a fire, and finding each other at a masquerade ball-the Doctor has planned the perfect first date, and it will be a day Rose will always remember.

Ten x Rose

This is my Fall Fic Fest story. I’m doing one chapter per theme, most of them running about 1000 words long. The last few will be a bit longer as they actually get around to talking about their relationship.

For @doctorroseprompts “autumn on an alien planet” prompt.

Betaed by @lastbluetardis--thank you!

AO3 | FF | TSP | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

The Doctor double-checked the coordinates he’d set, then glanced hopefully down the corridor for the tenth time since breakfast. He wanted to take Rose someplace special, but she was taking forever to get ready.

He scowled when his time senses automatically corrected his hyperbolic “forever” to the more reasonable “twenty minutes.” He had big plans for the day, and the longer he had to wait, the more nervous he got.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he spun around to grin at Rose. Instead, his mouth hung open as he watched her approach him. Her dark denim jeans, red jumper, and red Chucks might not be the most overtly sexy outfit he’d ever seen her in, but there was something about it today… And then she had the long multicoloured scarf she’d worn in Cardiff draped around her neck, and that brought with it the sensory memory of hugging her tight.

The Doctor swallowed hard as Rose took her place at the console. To distract her from his possibly-obvious staring, he wrapped his hand around the dematerialisation lever and threw it with a flourish. The TARDIS rocked through the Vortex, and his exhilaration came out in a laugh.

That laugh was echoed by Rose. He looked over the console at her, and his hearts stuttered in his chest when he saw the excitement shining in her eyes.

“All right then, Doctor, where are we off to?”

He grabbed onto the console as they hit a bad spot of turbulence, then shook his head. “Nope! You’ll find out when we get there.”

Rose sauntered around the console towards him, twirling her scarf, and he gulped at the smile on her face. It was the same flirtatious expression that had convinced him to go with her to the Tyler Mansion in the parallel universe. Blimey, he thought as he tugged on his tie, you’d think I’d be immune to that smile, after the way that adventure turned out.

Apparently, he was not—and only the hard landing as the TARDIS reached their destination stopped him from blurting out his entire surprise.

The Doctor spun away from her and snatched his coat off the coral strut where he’d left it. Rose was waiting for him at the door by the time he’d shrugged into it and shoved his arms through the sleeves. The little smirk on her face told him she knew exactly how close she’d come to breaking through his resolve, and he shook his head at her.

“You were so eager to know where we were going, and now you won’t even open the door?” he teased as he jogged down the ramp to join her.

Rose rolled her eyes at him, and the Doctor replied with a cheeky smile. However, as soon as she turned around to pull the door open, he felt his smile fade as nerves took over. The success of the day rested heavily on Rose’s reaction to their destination. If she didn’t like where they were, she wouldn’t enjoy the rest of the day.

Cool air swirled into the TARDIS, and over Rose’s shoulder, the Doctor spotted branches adorned with red and gold leaves. Some of his nerves eased at those signs that he’d taken them where he’d wanted to go. When Rose gasped quietly and rushed out of the TARDIS to kick through a pile of fallen leaves, he laughed and ran to join her, closing the door behind him.

Rose held her arms out and spun slowly as a few leaves fell on them from a nearby tree. “Where are we?”

“Icotea. First settled by humans in the twenty-eighth century, and a perennial favourite holiday planet because of the similarities to Earth. Same basic climate zones and topographical makeup, with a mixture of mountains, plains, desert, etc.”

Rose pulled a leaf out of her hair and turned to face the Doctor. He was talking just fast enough for her to suspect his ramble was inspired at least in part by nerves. Testing her theory, she looked at him without speaking, and it only took a moment for him to reach up and tug on his left ear.

“And, well, I thought we deserved a bit of a holiday—a day off to relax a bit, maybe enjoy some good food?” His voice was almost a squeak at the end.

“Sounds brilliant.” Rose reached for the Doctor’s hand and laced her fingers through his. “So, which way?”

The Doctor pointed to the right. “Just through there. We’re about a ten minute walk from town, where we can enjoy the aforementioned local food. And then, if I’ve timed this right…well, you’ll see when we get there. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Rose cast a sidelong glance at the Doctor as they followed the trail through the trees to a wider country lane. There was something decidedly domestic about spending an autumn day together outdoors, and even though she knew the danger of getting her hopes up, she couldn’t help herself.

“There’s more to your surprise than just the destination?” she asked as they walked along the lane. The grassy verge was nearly covered with red and gold leaves that crunched beneath their feet as they walked.

“Oh yes!” Beside her, the Doctor bounced lightly on his toes. “Because today is—”

His words cut off abruptly, and Rose giggled when he glared down at her. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, shooting him a cheeky smile.

The Doctor’s gaze drifted to her mouth, where Rose knew he could see the tip of her tongue peeking out behind her teeth. She’d realised shortly before he’d regenerated that he found this particular smile very distracting, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t purposely used that information more than once.

This time though, he returned her smile with one of his own. Rose shivered when the gleam in his eyes darkened to a smoulder, and she suddenly felt out-played at her own game.

“Rose Tyler,” he said, his voice nearly a purr as it curled sensuously around the syllables of her name, “I think I can promise today will be a day you’ll never forget.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #Fall fic fest #doctorroseprompts #fic by Nancy #cq's fic: a day to remember #fluff #romance #walking through autumn leaves together #the Doctor has a Plan

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sammie309-blog · 7 years

Text

If We Do? (Mingyu FF) Ch.1

Warning:Future Chapters will contain 18+ material, violence, and language.

Y/N: your name

F/N: your friends name

—-

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

–

It was the end of summer. You could feel the pressure in your chest as you thought about beginning your first day of college. No one had contacted you for the whole summer, your friends had all been doing their own thing wether it was being with their boyfriends or their families traveling to a place half way across the world. You sighed as you stared up at your white ceiling while laying in bed with your arm resting above your head. You wished you could be apart of it all. Families being together..smiling..laughing. Even to have someone by your side, someone you could feel safe with no matter what, somebody who would make you feel loved. “I wonder what that feels like…” you softly whispered to yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted as your mom hastily opened your bedroom door and walked in. “Your father is just…impossible!” She yelled, making you immediately feel annoyed. ‘Why does she always feel the need to involve me in this?’ You asked yourself. You sat up and watched as your mom paced back and forth while letting a scoff escape her lips as she continued, “You know, I should just leave him! Yeah! That’s what I’m gonna do!” You rolled your eyes as you stood up and began walking to your closet to pick out your outfit for school. It was always like this. They’d fight and spit a few words to each other, one of them would come into your room and threaten to leave the other, when will it all finally end? You began changing into a white off the shoulder blouse and some light blue jeans as your mom walked out of the room, nothing special but still feminine. As you finished adding little accessories here and there you thought to yourself, ‘Why did I decide to stay home instead of living on campus?’ You sighed at the thought while finishing up your light makeup and walking downstairs to the kitchen.

As soon as you grabbed a glass of orange juice, the sound of your parents yelling at each other could be heard throughout the entire house. “Why don’t you go fuck your secretary some more, maybe then I could get some fucking peace and quiet in this house!” Your mother yelled, in which your dad replied, “Go suck off your real estate partner, you’ve clearly got a big enough mouth to do it!” And with that you heard a loud slam come from upstairs as your dad walked down. Your eyes followed him as he came closer, “Morning, dad.” You stated. You looked down as he silently walked past you and headed out the door, slamming it hard enough to the point where you could feel the vibrations on the floor run under your feet. You stood up and grabbed your bag and shoes. Before leaving you turned around and looked up stairs. “I’m headed out now, mom! I love you!” You yelled, only to be met with nothing but silence as you walked out.

—

As you drove closer and closer to campus you could feel a slight knot in your stomach slowly begin to make its way up to your throat. It was understatement to say you were more than a little nervous, you were completely terrified. It was the same feeling you get when you have a near death experience or when you find out your first crush likes your best friend. Your stomach feels like it’s doing nothing but jumping hurdles inside of you. You were gonna be alone. You were never the easiest person to befriend, only because it took time for you to get to trust people and those you did trust would always take advantage of you or would leave you alone. When you trust someone you give your entire self to them. For you, that person is somebody you love and will do anything for…so when they break that trust…it shatters you deeply.

You sighed as you got to the parking lot. You stayed sitting in your car hoping that doing a few breathing exercises would calm you down before you went in. You took one last look in the mirror before stepping out of the car and heading to the building of your first class. You looked around. ‘So many people!’ You exclaimed to yourself. As you found your classroom, you slowly walked in and your professor came to greet you. “Hello! I’m Mrs. Watkins, I’ll be your physics professor this year!” She said as she held out her hand in front of you. You smiled as you shook her hand, “Hi, I’m y/n.” She smiled back, “Nice to meet, you may have a seat wherever you’d like, we’ll get started soon.” You look around the room and see everyone seemed to already be friendly with one another. You found a seat in the far back near the wall, you thought it was perfect since you didn’t really want anyone to notice you right now.

You exhaled deeply as you closed your eyes to help calm your nerves when you suddenly felt a cold air brush against your arm. Your eyes fluttered open and were met with someone else’s. “Hi! I’m f/n.” You had a surprised look on your face that quickly faded when you saw f/n looking at you confused. “I’m y/n.” You said softly.

She smiled at you as she leaned back in her chair, “Doesn’t this suck? My friends and I all drifted apart during high school so now I’m all alone..” She paused for a moment before shrugging her shoulders as she continued, “Oh, well, they were stuck up bitches anyways. They never showed any sort of compassion or empathy to anyone.” You smiled, you never really made friends that easily but inside you were kind of hoping she would want to be yours. You didn’t know if it was because she carried herself well or if it was because she seemed very similar to you but you had a feeling you two would be getting along well.

As your first class came to an end, you found out f/n was in three more of your classes. You both began to get closer and closer as each class passed by. After your fourth class you two were headed out of the building and began walking to the cafeteria. “Yeah, so I finally called this guy and told him that he-” f/n was cut off when a girl suddenly bumped into her and ran passed you without apologizing. “Hey, what the hell!” You yelled at the girl as you helped f/n pick up her stuff from off the ground that had fallen out of her bag. You looked in the direction of where the girl ran. With a confused look on your face you asked, “What’s going on?” Your eyes stared as a group of girls began to huddle around the post board that was in front of the cafeteria building. They seemed to be jumping and smiling as their eyes scanned over a sheet of paper that had been posted on the board but you couldn’t read it from the distance you guys were at.

Your focus suddenly changed when you heard f/n groan loudly, “What?” You asked as you saw her roll her eyes. “It’s probably something about Mr. Kim.” She said. “Who?” You asked as you both kept staring at the crowd of squealing girls surrounding the post board. “He’s apparently the hottest professor on campus. He took time off for a while or something but I guess he’s coming back.” F/n said. You nodded your head softly. “Hm.” You muttered as f/n grabbed your arm and you both walked off to get lunch.

You couldn’t help but wonder how handsome this guy was. From the looks on those girls faces, he must be pretty high up on the scale. Let’s just hope this year will go smoothly for you, the last thing you need is a distraction.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #mingyu #kim mingyu #s.coups #vernon #hoshi #joshua #wonwoo #dino #woozi #jeonghan #the8 #jun #seungkwan #dk

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allienjoyz · 7 years

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Sanji x Nami FF - Letting Go Ch.1

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece just my FF

Summary: This is a FF “Version” of the WCI-Theme set in an AU. The story differs a lot from the original

Warning: English is not my first language ;)

Next Chap: https://allienjoyz.tumblr.com/post/160626673943/sanji-x-nami-ff-letting-go-ch-2

Chapter I

Life has never been easy for the young lady and it sure as hell wouldn’t get easier anytime soon. At least she thought so. But who could blame her? The city she lived in and called home has been going rack and ruin for years now. Poverty, crimes and corrupt politicians have destroyed what was once a happy and vivid town. Still the young lady –and her friends who she thought of as family- stayed and they wouldn’t leave. For reasons one stranger than the other they stayed.

“Hey Nami…” the young woman rose her head and turned it towards her long-nosed friend who just called for her and teared her from the thoughtless. “Could you please turn up the volume a bit, I want to know to hear what happened at the town hall – it seems to be a big thing.” Ussop pointed at the TV. Nami nodded and did as requested. She hadn’t spent attention to the TV program, as she had been peeling the oranges she had just gathered from the plantation behind the house and drifted away with her thoughts just like so often. But now that she actually looked at the TV program she knew why Usopp wanted her to turn up the volume. An alarming red banner saying “Breaking News: Murder at the town hall” was spread wide across the screen. “… there has been no investigations yet, but based on first suppositions of the police officer the mayor of the capital has been murdered. His body was found in his office. Three gunshot wound in the stomach, one into the head. The police claimed not to have a suspect by now. The committee has not been seen and aside from the body there are no hints found yet – the police request all citizens to forward any information that could be helpful to the investigations. The vice mayor has declared that for personal reasons he won’t be assuming office. It is rumored that a so far fameless consultant of the dead mayor is going to inherit the office: Vinsmoke Jajji…..”

“Ha…” Nami turned around and looked to her friend Robin who had just thrusted out the disdainful laughter and she knew what her friend thought. She herself had never seen Jajji Vinsmoke, but she knew about the Vinsmoke family and that Jajji Vinsmoke was the head of it. They were infamous for their brutality and the family was one important force that turned the city to what it was now. “I can’t believe that…” her black haired friend Luffy stood up from his chair, breathing angrily. “I know what you think Luffy, but I guess it can’t be helped” Ussop stared at his friend knowing that Luffy, would want to run out of the house any time soon just to do something incredibly dumb, like always. Nami sighed “Ussops’s right Luffy, it can’t be helped. I mean how worse can it get?” She turned her head back to the TV, where she could see a tall blond guy standing in front of the cameras with a banner below him saying “Vinsmoke Jajji”. The man was not smiling or anything his cold eyes staring into the cameras in way that send down a cold shiver down her spine. “I am so angry that I am hungry …. Hey Sanji how about a second meal?” Luffy asked Sanji while sitting down again at the kitchen table. Nami rolled her eyes and turned again around to face Luffy, ready to bawl him not to eat their whole food again, but she got distracted when she Sanji. Her blonde friend, who normally would tell Luffy to shut up or kick his ass right out of the kitchen was just sitting there. He had his gaze fixed to the kitchen table and his body was strained. Namis knit her brows – something was going on in her friend, this wasn’t like him at all. She never saw him like this, normally he was, even if the world was trembling, calm and keeping a cool mind. “Hey Sanji? A second meal?” Luffy asked again tapping his friends shoulder. Sanji startled and was turning his head a bit disorientated, till he saw Luffy swinging on his chair curiously waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry Luffy what did you say?” Sanji asked quietly and politely. Namis further knit her brows. “A second meal?” Luffy repeated. “Sure… I’ll make you something.” With that Sanji stood up and went to the kitchen. Luffy now was happily giggling and Ussop demanded also a second meal just like Chopper and Franky. The report on TV had come to an end and Nami turned down the volume again continuing to peel her oranges, drifting again away with her thought but unlike most of the times she didn’t start thinking about her mother Bellemere but about the weird behavior of Sanji.

After the second meal, everyone was minding their or business or preparing to go to bed. Sanji was doing the dishes as noticed somebody approaching. He didn’t have to look in the direction of that somebody to know who was coming, since it wasn’t just somebody to him (even though nobody living in this house was just somebody to him). But this somebody was someone special, probably the most precious and important someone in his entire life – past, present and future. He knew this scent just too well – he would identify this sweet tangerine scent, which was right now coming at him like a breeze of a perfect summer day, anytime and everywhere. But even though he knew who was coming he rose his head, as he would never voluntary miss a chance to catch sight of this, his, beautiful goodness that he loved more than anything or anyone in the whole word. Nami now stood just the length of an arm away from him smiling softly with her mouth – but not with her eyes. Sanji put the dishes he had been washing till this moment back in the sink to give this orange-haired beauty all of his attention. “Nami-san, is there something I can do for you? Get you a dessert or a tea perhaps?” normally he would, swear his eternal love to her and compliment her beauty but he could tell from her eyes something was up – and besides he currently wasn’t in his best mood. “No Sanji-kun thank you.” She lowered the volume of her voice a bit “Actually I came for you. Is everything alright? You seem to be stressed by something.” Just for a small second Sanji dropped his smile. Just like her beauty her intelligence and senses were just perfect, of course she noticed his behavior. He didn’t want to lie to her but he didn’t want to tell her either – actually he didn’t want to tell anybody, he didn’t even want to think about it, all he wanted was to forget. So he decided to play it off. “Ahhhhhh Nami-swann are you worried about me? Is it because you actually do love me?” he swirled around her hoping behaving like he normally did would convince her that everything was ok. She rolled her eyes and picked him down by his hear so he was eye to eye with her. Her glance was serious and strict, but non the less having his face so close to hers blew the blonds mind. He couldn’t stop himself form staring at her. Just like the day he met her.

It was back in the time where he still went to Highschool. He was working his shift in the Baratie, the restaurant of this stepfather, flirting around with pretty girls just like he always did and still does. He was asking a girl for her number when he heard some loud noises from a table round the corner. He wanted to tell those noisy jerks to shut up and that this was not some kind of pub to get drunk in, be loud and annoy people with some infantile behavior and then return to that beautiful Lady. But when he had reached the corner and gained sight of the table where the noises were coming from – he stopped, just as his heart. A beautiful young Lady with short orange hair was sitting at the table with three firend laughing uncontrollably about the fight two of them were having. Her small and filigree hands slapping on the table and her well-shaped breast was moving up and down, as she was panting heavily trying to get some air between her laughter. She was an extraordinary beauty in his eyes. But that was not what stopped his heart from beating, it was something different. Till then he had fallen only for the beauty of women – but in that moment he had fallen for this young woman, not her beauty but her. The way she was honestly laughing, absolutly not caring about the annoyed stares from other people that laid on her – blew his mind and let him forget about the other. In that moment he had fallen in love with Nami. She approached to their table and one thing coming to another he befriended himself with Nami as well as with Ussop, Zoro and Luffy, who were with her at that day. Spend time with her, moved in with her and her friends and got to know her better and better. Over all this time she just got more and more beautiful in his eyes and his love for her just kept growing.

“Sanji-kun” for the second time today Sanji got drifted away with his thoughts. He noticed that he still was staring at Nami and he swear he noticed a faint blush on Namis cheeks. She let go of his ear. “Aw... I’m sorry Nami-san. Everything is alright. I am sorry for bothering you.” He smiled at her as good as he could. Nami sighed “Ok then. I will help you with the dishes… It’s already quite late and you have to get up early tomorrow right?” “Yes, but Nami-san please I don’t want to bother you any further. I ca…” he got interrupted by Nami “Sanji-kun I am gonna help you – so quit it.” She pushed herself behind Sanji to the sink and started with washing the dishes. Normally Sanji would be more than happy to spent time with his beloved, but right now he didn’t because he knew that she knew, that his smile was fake.

#sanjixnami #sanji vinsmoke #nami #sannami #fanfic #otp #one piece #romance #SANA #shipping

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tellytantra · 5 years

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She who was made of dreams.. Mishty.. She was sweet as honey,much like her name ,although she was never much fond it.her name was one of her serious concerns in life. She didn't like the sound of it and moreover it didn't match the profile of the kind of author she wished to become one day or a journalist even. An avid book lover she was. In her words - " birds have wings But humans have books!" She had long bushy black hair that she was never much fond of,for it reminded her of her mother and boy it was anything but a pleasant reminder. She had a habit of sitting through the night drinking coffee,penning down her thoughts.she didn't mind the company of her insomnia (although it was quite responsible her dark circles). It allowed her to be in her own company when the whole world was fast asleep..without any hustle. Her mind always had so much going on.it was always so noisy and all over the place in contrast to her personality (or the one she lets others to see). And autumn was her favourite. The season comforted her in unspeakable ways. For her - autumn was more the season of the soul than of nature....🍁 He who was all grey Abir.. A photographer. A painter. An occasional guitar player.. Bearer of perhaps the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes.. The one who was difficult to get hold of, for he travelled so vigorously. No strings attached with anyone. He wasn't much of a speaker but he had his way with words. Poetry especially. Life had dealt him some heavy blows that he was barely bearing alright. But then he was a fighter,whatever come may. His heart craved for a home but he was all too stubborn to admit it. He's made himself an intense and challenging man with a guarded heart.. Autumn was his favourite. It reminded him that broken and sad things still had a beauty about them,they were still capable of spreading some warmth in others heart. Perhaps not for long but they did. It was the season that filled him with hopes of distant dreams . Moreover, it was the season that brought him to her...🍂 Writer : Marsisn'tfar ch-1 "somewhere far from home.." " I want to swim in it sometimes This feeling of all engulfing Melancholy; And though it feels like it drowns me at times I know I can float and drift away..." ------------------------------------------ It was autumn. Fog was the spirit of the season,making the familiar unfamiliar,muting sounds and softening colours. The leaves are just beginning to turn and the air was staring to bite. It was drizzling that morning. Filling the weather with cold breezes. Abir didn't mind the cold that much. He liked how the world seems to slow down with the cold settling in. He was in his basement, standing in front of a huge canvas ,debating about the colours that he was going to blend that day. Trying to find the arc that was going to define his theme for the day. Finally after a lot of internal arguments he decided to go with blue. It matched with the weather. Besides he really enjoyed the blueish morning haze. So blue it is. He took a deep breath,soaking in the afterglow of a stormy night and letting his imagination run wild. He picked up a brush- a thin one- and open a tube of persian blue. He dabbed his brush on the paint and started to paint. With every stroke of the brush,he would feel more at ease. It was a therapeutic experience for him. he barely notices how time slips by when he's painting. painting lets him discover the parts of himself that he never could've otherwise. It was his safe haven. It was well past noon when he finally came out of his studio. He felt rather hungry so he made himself a cup of coffee. A strong one. With it he toasted two loafs of bread. He wasn't much of a cook but he enjoyed making his meals. he poured some milk for his cats - rose and Casper , whom he found abandoned down the street a few weeks back. He decided it wouldn't be bad to have some company. with his breakfast he came to sit beside the window,it was still raining outside. While eating he started to write down the errands that needed his attention that day- he needed to buy some milk and some groceries. That's it. He was glad. He grabbed his coat and his camera and set out of the house. He took his favourite woodland way. Alone in the eerie calm of the trees,he made his way to the store. He loved every bit of his life in this old town. He loved these drowsy lonely days ,the pouring rain and the city drowning in the foggy grey. It was a different life.much different from the one that he lead when he was with his family. And for that, he was glad . really glad. On most days he would sit in coffee shops and watch men and women cross roads.see the sun sink below the horizon and finally disappear. He would write at times and in other times he would mindlessly roam around the city with his camera,capturing random moments. Abir found a note ,that evening ,on his door when he returned from his grocery shoping which read- "your help will be much appreciated.cooperate with me. Stop smiling!this is serious matter. Am i even your friend ??coz remember - friend in need is a friend indeed !?! JUST TAKE THE JOB dammit P.s - please .." Abir could not stop laughing at his friend's foolish attempts to make him accept the job. This was heights now. For the entire past week Abir had received all sorts of things from bouqets of flowers,free concert tickets to serious threatening letters from sameer. His best friend. Well the situation was that ,sameer was the marketing head for his publishing company and the company's Editor in chief resigned without any prior notice and hence they were in dire need of an editor. And sameer was hellbent on making Abir take the position. Atleast for a short period of time. hence the desperate attempts. But Abir's relation with desk jobs was quite a complicated affair. He despised it. He did feel a little guilty for not wanting to do the job when he knew sameer was in need of help . and he was even thinking of reconsidering his decision about it.Just when he was lost in those thoughts a voice whispered from behind " hello, Mr Abir stubborn-Rajvansh". Abir jumped in surprise. It was sameer. "How did you even get in?" "Door was open my friend or should I say ex-friend?" He knew Abir hated taunts. " Sameer Trivedi! Relax. I have been thinking about this. I know you need my help. And i know you wouldn't have asked if it weren't for an emergency. I am accepting your job bu.." Before Abir could continue any further sameer jumped onto abir to give him a tight hug "now that's like my good boy" he said like a proud dad." I've raised you well." " but I'll be doing this for just three months. Until you find a suitable editor.just three months. Then i quit." "Done.done.but join from tomorrow. There's already a huge pile of work lined up. I demand no more delays" sameer said with this smug grin on his face. "Okay then, it's a deal." Abir sighed in defeat. realising how worthless it was to argue with his dramatic friend.so tomorrow it is. I can't believe he talked me into this. Abir hissed under his breath after sameer bid adieu. So , Editor in chief Abir Rajvansh, good luck with the job. What harm could a three month job do anyway. Maybe a little less time to paint ,less wandering in the streets .more stress.dreadful deadlines. He hated deadlines. It wont be too bad .He thought to himself completely oblivious to what awaited ahead of him. His life was going to take a complete about turn.

http://jodifiction.blogspot.com/2019/06/mishbir-ff-fleeting-love-yrhpk-mishti.html

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noahreids · 6 years

Text

Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 1/14

Rated: M (Sexual content in later chapters & some Irish whiskey along the way).

Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 |

AN: I have to start by thanking @sambethe for encouraging my second CSBB try, without your message I don’t know if I would have ever found the courage to attempt this again. @imagnifika your art has made me smile more than you’ll know, thank you for bringing this story to life. @shippingtheswann Samantha! I couldn’t have asked for a better beta! Your kind words kept me going when I needed them most. And @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings there would be no fic without you two. Thank you for everything. And finally but not in the least, thanks to all that are running @captainswanbigbang and everyone involved. What an amazing, talented, lovely crew. So happy to be apart of this. Go check out all the fantastic stories and art that have been created for you!

Ok, ok!! It’s finally time! Come to take a trip to Ireland with me :)

Beauty in the Aftermath - Chapter 1

“Granny, I got one for you,” Emma calls out from her spot at the counter. She swivels on the stool, pausing a moment to glance outside. Steely coloured clouds hang low in the sky, threats of a storm looming close. The occasional fat raindrop dampens the empty sidewalk, keeping the locals inside their homes, leaving the diner quiet for the afternoon.

Emma spins back to face the kitchen doors and waits patiently for the woman everyone in town calls Granny to emerge. This is a regular game they play, and she knows the older woman is never able to resist.

A beep sounds beyond the swinging doors and moments later the rich aroma of spices and cheese; garlic, basil, and a hint of parmesan drift into the diner. Granny’s classic lasagna. Emma knows it’s only moments now before the woman behind the masterpiece makes her entrance.

She pulls a pencil from her apron and taps the eraser end against her teeth as she studies the New York Times crossword puzzle. She quickly scribbles in an easy answer and glances up when she hears the doors swing open. Granny, wiping her hands on a towel steps through with a look that says, do your best.

Emma grins, Granny continues to watch her over rounded glasses that have slipped down her nose.

“A person who behaves without moral principles or a sense of responsibility, especially in sexual matters. Four letters.”

Emma shimmies on her perch, hoping for a reaction, but her boss only tuts, apparently unimpressed with the question’s lack of difficulty.

“Please try harder next time, dear. Wolf.”

The older woman turns to retreat back to the kitchen but pauses to tend to her messy curls atop her head. She delicately tucks a stray lock and raises her chin.

“Although some do call me ‘Gran.’”

She leaves Emma with a wink, returning to her tasks in the kitchen and Emma snorts as she fills in the four letters. As she hears the pots and pans clang in the background, she briefly wonders if she can convince the older woman to whip up a batch of cookies.

The afternoon continues on; clues being called out, the scratch of pencil on paper. And when every box is filled, and a middle age man and woman settle into a corner booth with their food, Emma finds herself back at the counter, chin in hand. She absently turns the display holding postcards, round and round, until one of the waterfront catches her eye: a tall ship docked at sunset. Emma smiles as she remembers when the famous photo was taken. The ship, on its way up the coast, docked in Storybrooke due to a minor emergency. They now returned every year after being so well received in their moment of need. That was Storybrooke for you.

Emma plucks the card from the rack and flips it over.

She absently writes her name and address, doodles small flowers down the side.

“You’ll have to pay for that, you know,” Granny announces, suddenly in front of her.

Emma only startles a moment before reaching into her tips and handing the woman a quarter. Granny makes a show of ringing her up and closes the cash with a flourish.

Emma tucks the card away in her apron.

“Everything ok over there?” Granny whispers, a small nod to the couple in the back.

They haven’t touched their food, too distracted by their own conversation, whispered words that neither Emma nor Granny can make out.

Emma shrugs.

“I’ve checked on them a few times. Very gracious, assured me everything is fine.”

Granny looks over again and nods absently just as something buzzes from her pocket. She pulls Emma’s phone out and holds it up as it vibrates again.

“This thing has been driving me crazy back there.”

Emma groans reading the name on her phone. She plucks it from Granny’s hand and silences it.

“Walsh,” she groans. “What was I thinking?”

Emma rubs her temples. She doesn’t need Granny to answer. She, along with everyone else, had let it be known what a terrible idea they all thought he was.

“I told him it was over. He told me I was making a mistake, that I wouldn’t get any better offers than his. He could show me the world. I was drinking a Guinness at the time, and so I told him I had actually just booked a trip to Ireland. Alone. I’ll show myself the world. Guess I’ll have to Photoshop myself into some pictures,” Emma explains, but before Granny can answer, they are interrupted by chairs scraping roughly against the diner floor.

Emma looks over to see the couple approaching, eyes wide. The petite woman with a dark pixie cut is clutching a manila envelope, her knuckles nearly white. Emma feels the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. She tries to push the feeling away.

“I hope everything was to your liking?” Emma asks, her voice infused with a brightness she doesn’t quite feel, just as the man speaks up. He’s tall and blond, with just the hint of gray at his temples, and Emma can’t help but think he looks almost familiar.

“Are you leaving?” he asks.

Emma’s words stall in her throat at the anxious looks they both carry. Looks that are directed expressly at her. The woman may have tears in her eyes. Emma’s eyes flit to the man – actually, he may have tears as well.

“I – I know this isn’t the best time or place, but we heard you say you were leaving and we just, just found you,” the woman’s words come out in a stuttered rush. She stops herself and takes a deep breath. “Emma,” she says, almost tasting the name instead of saying it. Emma can’t make sense of what the woman is trying to say but her heart picks up, especially when she realizes she never told the woman her name. Before she can think to ask what the woman means, the man speaks up.

“What we are trying to say is, we believe you are our daughter,” the man’s words are even, but his eyes betray him, a lone tear escaping down his cheek.

“David,” the woman quietly exclaims, likely not the way they had planned on breaking the news.

Her stomach drops away completely. She barely hears Granny gasp over the roaring in her ears, are you out of your fucking mind? She thinks, my parents abandoned me without a second thought.

“Impossible,” she says instead, her eyes narrowing at these strangers.

“It’s tr--”

“You can’t be,” Emma cuts off the woman. “And who comes into a diner and announces something like this?”

The couple don't seem to mind her vehement denial, too intent on staring at her with sad eyes.

“We’ve been looking for years, different private investigators. We think, we--” the woman trails off as Emma looks away.

Emma’s eyes find Granny who looks as shocked as Emma feels.

“Could we sit down?” the man tries a different tactic.

Sit down, with these people who think they are her parents? Emma’s mind races and she wants to be anywhere but here. She had never let herself believe a moment like this could happen. She isn’t equipped to deal with it and if these people really were her parents, where had they been? Why now?

Why leave her?

Emma feels the heat of tears behind her eyes and –

“I can’t. I’m leaving.” The devastation that crosses both their faces softens Emma’s resolve just a little, and she hesitates. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have any time right now.”

She surprises herself with her lie and she’s grateful her voice doesn’t waver. Her eyes flit to Granny who visibly deflates, it’s a different kind of sadness Emma sees in the older woman’s eyes, but Granny nods all the same.

“Yes, Emma here actually needs to go home and pack. She’s leaving for Ireland in just a few hours, and Lord knows the girl hasn’t even begun packing,” Granny says, as she moves around to lay a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder.

It’s clear the woman wants to say more, her eyes never leave Emma’s face, appearing to catalog every inch, but with a sudden determination, she thrusts the envelope she’s been clutching forward. Emma can’t help but accept it.

“Everything is in there, who we are, why we -” the woman’s voice cracks and she takes a deep breath. “Why we had to give you away. When you’re ready, please call or write, whatever you are comfortable with. We can wait, as long as it takes. Whenever. Please,” her last words are whispered but strong. Emma’s eyes bounce between them, trying to find a lie in her words but sees none.

The man reaches out but stops, his hand caught suspended halfway between them. With a sigh, he lets it fall but looks to her with the same determination as his partner.

“I’m David, and this is Mary Margaret, and we’ll be here. We’re sorry we weren’t before. More than you could ever know.”

There’s another beat of silence and Emma can’t find any words to fill it. The envelope feels heavy in her hands, but the hope and longing in their voices weighs heavier.

“I’ll, I’ll look it over,” Emma finally musters, and it seems to be enough. She receives watery smiles and nods before they slowly make their way to the exit. David (she tests the name in her mind a few times) holds the door open for Mary Margaret, giving Emma a last long look before following his wife out the door.

Emma stands dazed long after the bells signaling the couple's departure stopped ringing. There’s a tremor in her hands that she can’t stop, and she can’t tear her eyes away from the door until she feels Granny’s hand on her arm.

“Do you want to open it?” the older woman asks, in a voice gentler than Emma's ever heard.

She almost drops the envelope.

“No!” she nearly yells, suddenly wanting the envelope and all it contains as far away as possible.

“Well then, you better go pack for Ireland,” Granny responds, very matter-of-fact, her voice back to normal.

Emma looks at her like she has lost her mind. She can’t go to Ireland.

“I can’t go to Ireland.”

“Sure, you can. I know you have enough money saved away, I’m firing you from the diner, effective immediately, and I really hate that boss of yours at the bail bonds office. You can find something better when you get back. Spread your wings, dear. Sometimes distance can bring perspective.”

Emma sputters, unsure of which argument to attack first. It doesn’t make a difference either way because Granny doesn’t seem to care, already walking away. Emma can only watch as she disappears into the kitchen.

She looks down at the envelope, her name written in neat cursive on the front. She draws her finger over the lettering.

Granny bursts back through the doors, hands full. She drapes Emma’s coat over her arm, her purse over her head and captures her face.

“Go. Explore. Take care of you. The envelope can wait.”

With Emma’s face between her weathered hands, she kisses her forehead and whispers, “You can do this.”

Now, Emma really is going to cry.

“I can’t,” Emma whispers, “this is crazy.”

“You can. You are stronger than you know. Go.”

She turns Emma towards the door and gives her a firm shove. All Emma can do is walk out of the diner and towards a very different future than the one she woke up to that morning.

Fáilte go Aerfort Bhaile Átha Cliath. Welcome to Dublin Airport.

Oh, God. I think I might get sick. Emma’s stomach twists as she looks up at the sign.

Emma had always expected her first trip abroad would be to one of the warm, sandy places Tink often went on about. Somewhere she could sip Mai Tais and live in her bikini. Except Emma always got in her own way, finding excuses and putting it off. In college, there were exams to study for and extra shifts at the diner to pick up, money to be saved. Graduation came with a paper bearing her name, but a degree in criminology wasn’t enough to quell her fears.

She still felt like the lost little girl she had always been. Sure, she grew up and found a circle of people who loved her. She plays house in a warm little one bedroom apartment, but it’s never been quite enough to chase away the ghosts of her past. And so as a result, instead of using her degree, she keeps it tucked away. She lets herself believe she will use it as soon as she’s ready, and stays with the status quo. She picks up shifts at the diner when she isn’t working at the bail bonds office. Chasing skips isn’t the best work, but dealing with other broken souls reminds her of her past and how quickly the life she built can slip away. So she keeps her money in the bank and her sandy dreams on hold.

But right now, as the moment threatens to overwhelm her, Emma shakes her head against her wandering thoughts. Yes, Emma absolutely believed her first trip would be relaxing and fun, not because she wanted to get as far away from her worries as possible. Sure, she is no stranger to running from her problems, but it has never led her across an ocean. This is new, even for an old pro such as herself.

Emma glances up at the sign again, backpack weighing heavy on her shoulders; she ran all the way to Ireland.

The limited hours of broken sleep had allowed her brief moments of selective amnesia but now, standing alone amongst the crowd near the baggage claim, reality slams full force into her gut, tying it in knots. She watches as friends chatter enthusiastically about where they are going first, and she has to shut her eyes against tearful family hugging in the distance if she doesn’t want to become her own crying mess.

She presses her palms against her eyes until stars bloom behind her lids and she refuses to let her mind bring forth the image of the petite woman with a dark hair and tears in her eyes. Although, the words still rattle around in her brain like a pinball machine.

“We just found you.”

“We believe you’re our daughter.”

She can still see the sadness warring with hope on the face of the golden-haired man as he held out his hand for her and she can still feel the envelope gripped between her fingers. The envelope that is sitting at the bottom of her suitcase, a suitcase she still needs to find.

“Ugh,” Emma groans and allows herself two more breaths; deep in, shaky out.

Nope, try again.

Deep in, steady out.

Emma blinks her eyes open against the neon lights and focuses on the luggage carrousel: black duffle bag, purple hard shell, lonely car seat, and on and on. Her breath hitches at the sudden notion that her bag may be sitting somewhere else in the world, unclaimed.

Thankfully the panic is short-lived; her red suitcase slides down the shoot, an obnoxious bright orange sticker slapped across the front. DANGER: HEAVY.

“Excuse me,” she mumbles, easing her way to the baggage claim and on her second try manages to heft the bag off the carousel. She slips back to the periphery of the crowd and blows a lock of hair out of her face. A little dazed, bag handle clutched in her right hand, she looks around for some sort of direction.

Carr ar Cíos, Car Rental.

Right, car rental.

With her next goal in focus, everything else becomes background noise. Navigating through the people, pack rumbling behind her, she follows the signs for Carr ar Cios, Car Rental. She only pauses a brief moment when she sees a mailbox next to a small shop offering drinks and magazines. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the postcard from the counter at Granny’s. She traces the waterfront she knows so well and flips it over. Her name and address are already written out. She bites her lip in thought before approaching the store clerk.

“Excuse me, but would you have stamps for the United States?”

It only takes a moment to ring her up and another for her to figure out what to write on the back.

You can do this. I think. Good luck.

She stares at the words, they aren’t glowing with confidence but they are somewhat truthful, and she has to start somewhere. She shakes her head and drops the postcard into the mailbox.

She looks around. Right, car rentals. And with renewed focus, she spots the counter she needs.

The paperwork goes smoothly, and before she has time to fully process it, her suitcase is stowed and she’s sitting in the car, staring wide eyed at where the steering wheel should be.

“I knew this. This isn’t a surprise,” she mumbles, still somewhat expecting the steering wheel to appear in front of her on the left side of the car. She gives herself one more moment to take in her surroundings before finally sliding over the center console and into the driver seat.

With the key in the ignition and the car idling, the digital clock flashes the numbers of the early morning hour. Half past seven. Emma does the math, two-thirty in the morning back in Storybrooke, everyone likely asleep. The burning behind her eyes threatens to return, but as her foot eases off the clutch and she presses on the gas, her concentration on the potential adventure ahead manages to hold her emotions at bay.

“At the roundabout, take the second exit.”

The sudden sound of the artificial voice breaks the silence, and the car jumps forward. Emma hiccups a laugh but manages to keep the vehicle moving forward.

And she just may have screamed through her first roundabout but she makes the second exit, but with that accomplishment, everything else seems a little less scary.

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Tune in next Tuesday for Chapter 2!

#cs ff #cs fanfic #csbb #cs au #captain swan #csbb 2018 #captain swan big bang #lana writes cs #fic: beauty in the aftermath #it's here!

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